This is the opening chapter of an AU that's been stuck in my head ever since I discovered lovely Lily, who is the Greg to my Mycroft, loved astronomy like I do (although she's a astrobiologist and I'm an astrophysicist). She helped me develop some ideas and I owe her the title of this fic. She is also beta for this fic, so HAIL LILY! :)

To Lily.

(In case you're wondering, Free Will Theorem of John H. Conway and Simon B. Kochen states that, if we have a certain amount of "free will", then, subject to certain assumptions, so must some elementary particles. Fascinating things.)

St. Bart's University is, bluntly put, financially dependant on its vast and successful astronomy department. The Baker Street family set in the world of academic in a world where Mrs. Hudson is the department's secretary, John Watson is a lecturer and Sherlock Holmes is a PhD student, Gregory Lestrade is the proud head of an astro-biology team, The Yard, and Mycroft Holmes has just taken a new position as an astrophysics researcher.

Rating: G (for now)
Warnings: Wild inaccuracies about the world of academic, grant-based research and astrological concepts. I am just a hobbyist and I left my astronomy book as my parent's house.

'I'm off,' Greg Lestrade said to the people around the small lunch table, a lightweight one that was easy to decontaminate and therefore often doubled as an extra table in the lab. 'Teaching at the hospital today.'

Quiet murmurs answered his departure, as they always would. Greg looked around the table at the sad remains of his research team. Following a break-through two weeks ago, they had been working more than fulltime to get more evidence. Greg guessed, quite correctly, that Donovan hadn't seen her own bed in four days, preferring Anderson's as it was closer by the department. Professor Dimmock hadn't been seen in the department since Greg's break-through and that made him secretly proud. The man was leader of a team researching a theory directly opposed to his and, upon Greg's discovery, he had fled the department with his tail between his legs.

Greg smiled, repeated that he was leaving, but didn't receive a new reply, so he left.

St. Barts University was, to put it bluntly, financially dependent on its Astronomy department. The university was good, definitely, but its Astronomy department excelled in every single subject area within Astronomy and was known worldwide.

And Doctor Gregory Lestrade was proud to be head researcher of Astrobiology, a prestigious position that, sadly, didn't save him from paperwork. As the head of a considerable research team, he was positively buried in paperwork most of the time.

On top of that, The Yard was miles away from St. Bart's main building, eloquently and unsurprisingly called St. Bart's, but more commonly referred to as 'the hospital'. That was where theories went to be prodded, researched and brought back to life (or die a miserable death, to become the laughing stock of the entire scientific community). It was also the building where incoming students were taught in vast, half-empty lecture theatres.

He knocked on the main window to the open plan lab on his way out, waving at Anderson, who was bent over the work surface and looked up with a grim expression. He must've been doing precision work, because he looked down again soon enough and Greg could hear him cursing through the thick glass. He hurried out of his department and rushed to the tube station.

Mycroft Holmes hadn't even thought about it when he showed up at his first day at St. Bart's sporting his father's wedding ring. After having received a considerable research grant, one he didn't actually need, and being offered a beautiful office with a team of high trained scientists by the university, he said yes. He was in need of a new 'home-base'. His previous research facility, one which hadn't even been known to the public, had been less than satisfactory, so he had packed up his knowledge and his assistant and left. His assistant, who had taken the name Anthea at St. Bart's, was an organisational wonder child and he had hired her straight out of university on the recommendations of an old friend of his.

His wedding ring, however, was an unfortunate mistake. Not because every single member of his team now mistook him to be married, which he didn't mind, but because he ran into one Gregory Lestrade. Doctor Lestrade, who turned out to be a researcher, made him want to be not-married. He didn't even get the chance to slip off the wedding ring before the observant Lestrade had seen it.

"Doctor Holmes? Hello, I'm professor Lestrade, I'm a big fan of your work," Lestrade grasped his hand eagerly and shook it without reserve. Mycroft was overwhelmed; he was used to timid PhD students and socially awkward researchers who were either too impressed or too scared to be in the same room as him. He already liked this new university.

"Splendid to meet you, but I'm afraid I haven't heard much about your work," Mycroft answered without thinking, internally kicking himself afterwards. He could have improvised. He had considerable knowledge about all fields of Astronomy and his assistant had briefed him on the research teams present at St. Bart's. He would just have to pick the right theory.

To his surprise, Lestrade smiled softly and answered that the theory was only just gaining ground, after a significant break-through only weeks ago.

"You are rather at the frontline of your field then, Doctor," Mycroft said pleasantly.

"My field is Astrobiology. And it's Greg - the Doctor is the man in the blue box," Lestrade said in return. "Are you here as a visiting lecturer?"

"No, I have actually taken a researcher position at St Bart's. This university really does have the best facilities."

"Speak for your own facilities," Greg huffed, "we have dirt everywhere at the Yard."

"I may have limited knowledge of Astrobiology, but I am quite certain there is very little soil involved in the subject area."

Greg laughed and Mycroft joined him quickly. It was controlled, an amused chuckle more than a laugh, but it was more than he had expressed in a while and it surprised him.

"So have you moved to London with your family?" Greg asked.

Mycroft moved to cover his ringed finger with his hand and coughed, "I am not actually married, Professor Lestrade," he said a low voice, "I moved here alone."

"Divorced?" Greg resorted innocently.

"Never married, in fact."

"Hiding your social awkwardness by being fake-married? I've never seen that one before," Greg replied with a glint in his eye.

Mycroft paused, one eyebrow raised as he couldn't help but compare this researcher to his little brother.

"Contrary to popular belief, not all scientists are socially awkward."

"We all have our quirks," Greg raked his hand through his hair, a mischievous smile on his face. It made him look young, Mycroft noted, he could pass as a student.

"I am so sorry, but I am lecturing right now and I have some very eager first-years just dying to hear about acid-based life forms," Greg said as he caught sight of his watch.

"No need for apologies, we are at work after all," Mycroft let the sentence hang mid-air, lingering on a possible invitation to meet outside of Bart's. He regretted it immediately as Greg chuckled again softly and turned to walk away. Mycroft checked if he had missed a ring that committed him to anything, but spotted none. Just too forward then, he let out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding.

Just too forward.

"Are you done being awkward, sir? Professor Sawyer is waiting to meet you to discuss lecture plans," Anthea appeared next to him, following his gaze until it landed on Lestrade. Mycroft coughed and shifted his weight onto his other foot. He considered fighting back for a moment, he was not awkward, but saw no point. Anthea may be perfectly capable of changing plans last minutes and picking up where he'd left off mid-conversation a day ago, but once she had an idea it was hard to distract her.

"Yes, Anthea, lead the way."