Author's Note: I own nothing, but am eternally grateful for the genius of ACD and now MG, SM, BC, MF and the BBC crew.

I am not an expert in most of the things I use in this story, just what I picked up from the interweb and my own imagination. As this is an AU I'm excusing any failures in authenticity as "well that's what happens in my universe." A cheap get out I know, but these are my scribblings and they make me happy.

Check chapters for specific trigger warnings.

Trigger warning: non-con/rape, underage sex, swearing

Mycroft Holmes' first view of sex was when he was 15.

Of course he well knew the theory of sexual reproduction, had occasionally seen animals mating on the farm neighbouring their estate, and had heard the rhythmic squelches that accompanied the grunts and suppressed moans from the boys in his dormitory when they should have been sleeping.

The whole abhorrent business bore nothing more than an academic interest for him. As he progressed through puberty he had come to realise the fascination the majority of the population had with the act. He also came to realise that knowledge of sex, and who was doing what with whom, made an effective source of control and manipulation. The power that sex had was made evident to him in a particularly unsavoury manner.

Mycroft had remained in school for the weekend. After breakfast he had spent several productive hours in the Library, completing his Prep, freeing the remainder of his weekend for his own interests. To his disgust, his fountain pen had developed a leak, smearing ink on the fingers of his right hand. The route back to his room in the dormitory block took him past one of the toilets. He decided to take advantage of the convenience to wash his hands to prevent the ink accidentally staining his jacket.

Walking through the door, he saw a small, uniformed boy kneeling on the floor in the open doorway of one of the cubicles. The boy knelt upright, his hands clenched tightly behind his back, his body rigid. His eyes were screwed tight shut and his body radiated pain and fear. A boy from Mycroft's form, Cartwright, stood before the youngster. His trousers and underwear were round his ankles, his right hand tightly grasping the younger boy's hair as he pounded into the boy's mouth with obvious enthusiasm.

Mycroft stood silently for a moment, taking in the scene. He heartily disliked Cartwright. He was a smug bully. His good looks and natural charm made him popular amongst the boys from less well-off families who could be easily enthralled by a boy flaunting his father's wealth and success. Mr Cartwright was the founder of a high profile commercial building company. They'd recently won contracts to build a prestigious hotel in Abu Dhabi, and were tendering for a similar project in Saudi Arabia. In Mycroft's opinion, Cartwright junior was the worst kind of bully. He possessed enough intelligence and cunning to weasel his way out of most situations he found himself in, and was charismatic enough to persuade lesser minds to take the blame for him when necessary. If all else failed, he resorted to blackmail or threats of physical violence to get his way and himself out of trouble. He was a truly odious oik, and, in Mycroft's opinion, a disgrace to the school. That he was sexually abusing members of the junior years was enough to persuade Mycroft to take action. It was not that he was disgusted by Cartwright's behaviour per se, nor felt much sympathy for the young victims, more that his misbehaviour could bring the school into disrepute, and that was anathema to Mycroft Holmes. Britain relied upon the reputations of its great institutions. Mycroft would not allow such a low-life to undermine his school's reputation, and therefore his own.

"Piss off Holmes. Find your own shag."

"Really, Cartwright? I wouldn't call this a shag so much as rape. The boy is obviously terrified and here under duress."

"So fuckin' what? I fuck who I want. I don't need to ask their permission, and I certainly don't have to ask yours."

"Perhaps not, but you would do well to be a little more circumspect in your choice of victims. The boy you are currently choking is Peterson Minor. His brother, Peterson Major, is captain of the rugby team. A very popular captain I understand, commanding the respect and support of his teammates. If that is not enough to deter you, perhaps your father will be interested to hear that the boy's father is an international human rights lawyer of considerable standing, and his mother is in the Cabinet. I suspect your father will find your actions beyond forgiveness when he loses a few of his international contracts. The boy's parents will almost certainly take swift and decisive action when they discover the sexual abuse of their youngest son. And then there is the Master. If you expect him to simply turn a blind eye to your behaviour when the reputation of this school is threatened you are a bigger fool than anyone thought. And what of the Old Boys? They will expect swift justice, so no scandal may besmirch this venerable institution's name, and by extension, their own. I anticipate none of them will be best pleased to hear that you think nothing of raping the juniors, especially when your victim is the scion of such a high profile family. What do you think Cartwright?"

Red faced with rage, Cartwright threw the boy away from him, dragged up his trousers and stormed towards Mycroft, his fists balled in rage.

"You say one word Holmes and I will break you. You are a soft, flabby, waste of flesh from a nothing family. After I'm done with you you'll be lucky …"

Cartwright had started to swing his fist at Mycroft's jaw. A foolish move. Mycroft may have a slight problem with puppy fat, but he was certainly not soft, and knew very well how to defend himself. He dodged the punch, retaliating with a swift jab to Cartwright's solar plexus, followed up with a knee to the groin, leaving Cartwright sprawled on the floor.

Stepping in to the cubicle, Mycroft helped the sobbing Peterson to his feet. "Are you alright? This was not your fault. I'll take you to the San where Matron can patch you up. You will tell the Master everything. With my witness statement we will ensure that Cartwright is expelled."

The boy turned his huge, frightened eyes to Mycroft, as his fingers tightened in the fabric of Mycroft's jacket. "Do I have to tell the Master?"

"Yes. It is how you reclaim your control and your dignity. You expose this animal for what he is, protecting yourself, and the boys that would have come after you."

It was with a great sense of satisfaction that, three days later, Mycroft was able to watch from the corridor window as Cartwright was dragged in disgrace to his father's car. He was dressed in a scruffy t-shirt and jeans, having been told he no longer had the right to wear the school uniform.

Peterson had stood tall as he quietly told the Master how Cartwright had stopped him in the corridor before man-handling him into the empty toilets, threatening him with violence and the ruin of his good name, before forcing him to his knees and commencing his assault. Mycroft had backed up the boy's story. The Master had praised both boys for their strength of character.

To Mycroft the events of the last few days were a confirmation of his own opinion of where his future lay. He had always excelled at observation; the small details that told him everything he needed to know about people. That he enjoyed the control, and ability to manipulate individuals and events for his own purposes, had helped inform his decision. But his true calling was Monarch and Country. Growing up he had been instilled with a strong sense of duty. This now manifested as his almost overwhelming desire to protect Britain's interests, its heritage, institutions and reputation, by any and all means.