I'm still working on "Inexplicable," so for the fans of that, don't worry- I'm on it. However, I managed to injure myself at college today and get a lovely bruise on my ankle (don't ask me how, I'm not even sure) and all that limping around gave me this rather curious but delightful idea for a short little scene between Greg and Mycroft that resulted in this quick little work of fiction about them meeting as teenagers. I might well write a sequel to this at some point, but I just had to write it and, now that it's written, just had to share it. It's just too cute not to, I think. I do hope you like it. Enjoy!

~Wings

Mycroft sighed at the familiar heckling from the table where the football team and their many supporters had their lunches. He walked alone, as always, with his tray in his hands and his knapsack slung over one shoulder. Holding his head high, he ignored them, as always… which was why he didn't see the foot that one of them stuck out, a tactic that they hadn't tried yet, and as a result tripped over it. His food went flying while he caught his fall with his hands, but he felt his ankle twist and hissed in pain.

"Fuck," he gasped when he tried to get to his feet, only to find that his ankle was disinclined to support him in his attempt to rise. Humiliated, in pain, and just a little bit scared, Mycroft closed his eyes and wondered if his life could get any worse.

"Do you need help?" The voice was familiar, but it was that same familiarity that made his eyes snap open in surprise. Greg Lestrade, captain of the football team and easily one of the most popular boys in school, was kneeling by his side, concern written on his face as he studied Mycroft.

"I'm fine," said the redhead, scrabbling for what little dignity he had left. That concern, he was sure, would soon turn into spiteful humor, directed at him. Greg's cronies had always targeted Mycroft, and always would. To them, he was a freak, a complete weirdo who preferred to read and study while they played games and dated a new girl every week. They were almost entirely different species, and Mycroft didn't expect that to change anytime soon.

"You don't look fine to me. It looked like you twisted your ankle. C'mon, let me help. Those idiots didn't know what they were doing, but I doubt they meant to hurt you." Greg's expression and voice were so sincere even Mycroft couldn't deduce anything deceptive, even though he knew the idiot who'd tripped him was glad he was injured, so he decided to swallow what little pride he still possessed and accept Greg's assistance.

"Fine. If you could just help me hobble to the nurse…" Mycroft started, but before he could finish his sentence it was interrupted by his own squeal of shock, because Greg had simply picked him up in a bridal carry and was exiting the cafeteria, ignoring the gasps of amazement from the other students.

"What are you doing?" Mycroft was stunned. No one at school had ever so much as offered to help him, let alone done anything quite like this. He knew that Greg was the friendly sort, but they'd never so much as shared a conversation before. Mostly, Mycroft stayed away from him and his friends, due to their tendency to harm him with their "practical jokes" that often left him with black eyes, a bloody nose, or in this case, a twisted ankle.

"I'm helping you. Isn't that what people do?" Greg sounded amused, but Mycroft's expression was far more sober.

"Not you and your ilk."

"Me and my ilk?" Greg asked, easily carrying on the conversation despite the fact that Mycroft was still, much to his embarrassment, in his arms. The younger man tried to regroup mentally at the realization, a faint blush creeping up on his cheeks.

"Yes. I means you and those like you."
"I know what it means, Mycroft. I'm just wondering who you're grouping me in with, exactly."

"You and your friends. You hate people like me." Greg frowned at this statement, which sounded far too self-assured, and studied Mycroft's face carefully, from the way he wouldn't quite meet his gaze to the blush that was steadily growing darker.

"What do you mean by people like you?" His voice was soft, inviting Mycroft to spill his every deep dark secret, and the smart boy couldn't help his next words.

"Fags. Geeks. You all think I'm a freak for a number of reasons, none I particularly care to have an in-depth discussion with you about. Just drop it, won't you, Gregory?"

"You could call me Greg, you know." The football player didn't seem to take offense to the things Mycroft had said, his tone just as warm and pleasant as before. It was infuriating, but it was also a number of things Mycroft reminded himself not to think about just then.

"Were you even listening? You're carrying a faggot through the hallways. What is your fan club going to think?" Mycroft was sarcastic now, and Greg stopped about halfway through his second sentence, his face going curiously blank.

"First of all, I don't use words like that. If you're gay, it's fine, but I don't approve of my friends calling people that and it honestly seems really wrong for you to refer to yourself as a 'faggot,' no matter what it is people call you. I'm not like that, so don't lump me in as a homophobe. Second, I don't have a fan club."

Mycroft snorted at this, and even Greg had to crack a small smile, continuing to move as if he'd never stopped at all. His casual strength was quite impressive and for Mycroft, who'd had a small crush on him from afar for years, wondered how it could simultaneously be the best and worst moment in his life.

"Okay, maybe a small portion of the student body, mostly the female part, would consider themselves my fans. But none of them are in any way close enough to me to have a say in who I do or don't carry through the halls to the nurse's office, nor does anyone else. Is that fair enough, Mycroft?"

"How is it you know my name?" To the redhead, that was one of the most surprising parts of the whole exchange. If he was right, it sounded as if Greg didn't have a girlfriend… But that was ridiculous. Mycroft shook that thought off, deciding to focus on the way Greg's arms were strong around him, sturdy and warm and comforting in a way that shouldn't have been possible. He knew this would never happen again, but it was all the more bittersweet for that. No one had ever held him in his life; why should the first time be now, with a boy who was basically a stranger and as different from him as the sun from the moon?

"I've seen you around. You just assumed I never knew who you were. I'm not quite that self-obsessed, Mycroft. Give me some credit. Plus, you're the smartest boy in our class, despite being younger than the rest of us. You probably don't actually even need the lessons like the rest of us do, from what I've seen and heard."

Because that was essentially true, Mycroft said nothing. If his father had taught him anything, it was that true power came from being the man behind the curtain, staying in the shadows and pulling the strings of those who pretended to be in charge. That was the role he, too, aspired to fill one day, and part of that was having a seemingly ordinary education. He would follow in his father's footsteps and one day become a "minor" government official, and then it would all be worth it.

"Here we are. Open the door for us, mate?" Greg's friendly question startled him, both because he'd been thinking and because the older boy addressed him in such a familiar manner, and Mycroft hastened to turn the knob, banging his knuckles as a result. Greg didn't laugh, but offered him a small, sympathetic smile.

"Must be having a rough day. You're not usually so clumsy. In fact, usually when I see you you're downright graceful. That fall earlier must have you pretty shaken up." All this he said while he carried him inside and set him gently on one of the beds, calmly explaining to the nurse that he'd tripped in the cafeteria, but that Greg hadn't seen what had happened, only that he'd gone down.

Mycroft realized that Greg was giving him the choice. He could either turn the boy who'd done it in, and risk further retribution, or he could simply say it was an accident and leave it at that. When he opted for the second option, he thought the older boy looked sad for a second, but dismissed the idea. It was, frankly, ridiculous. And anyway, he knew he'd made the smarter choice. It would have been much worse the next time, if the boy had gotten in trouble. And more than one of them would likely have been a part of it.

"I'll just go ahead and call your parents then, young Mister Holmes." The nurse, ever proper, was fluttering around competently, but when she said that, Mycroft blanched a little.

"Um, no. I'll just get a ride home and let them know myself." Mycroft's father abhorred weakness of any kind, especially from his own children who he was attempting to bleed the emotion out of entirely, and his mother, a long-time alcoholic, wasn't going to be any help at all. He would have to find some other way. Maybe the last nanny, who Sherlock had scared off. She had quite liked Mycroft, after all…

"I could take him home. His parents are pretty busy, you know." Greg stepped up instantly when he saw the wheels turning desperately in Mycroft's head, and the nurse hesitated before nodding slowly.

"Quite right. I understand your father works for the government, Mycroft." And was one of the biggest contributors to the school's funding. He would have done that whether or not Mycroft went there, but nobody who worked for the school knew that, certainly. He planned to keep it that way.

"That's right," he murmured, keeping his head down but shooting Greg a confused look which the older boy ignored entirely.

"Well then, I'll just give the office a call and let them know that Greg here will be taking you home. Can you get him out to your car all right, dearie?" The nurse accepted Greg's nod and then saw to her next patient, a boy whose face was mildly green, while the football player picked Mycroft up in the same manner as before and carried him outside… to a motorcycle.

"Oh, dear." Mycroft looked worried, but Greg smiled sunnily at him, making it impossible to argue.

"I'm just going to go ahead and put you down for a minute here, Mycroft. Can you just stand on one foot for me while I go ahead and get on? You can hold the handlebar or my shoulder for balance. Then just swing your leg over and hold on tight."

Mycroft bit his lip but agreed, and it went surprisingly smoothly, so Greg had him home in less than an hour. At first, the younger boy thought that perhaps it had simply been his way of getting out of school early, but then he insisted on carrying Mycroft up to his room, as well as bringing him some pain medication and some ice. For whatever reason, the younger boy didn't want his parents to know he was injured, and it seemed like they weren't home.

That didn't mean, however, that the house was empty. When Greg was on his way up to Mycroft's room with his human burden, a little boy scooted around the corner and nearly crashed into him, barely catching himself at the last second. His eyes went comically wide and his mouth dropped open.

"Mycroft!" he exclaimed, eyes sparkling with mirth. "You brought a boy home!"

"Yes, Sherlock. Obviously. This is a boy from school. His name is Gregory." Sherlock gasped, but before he could say anything Mycroft cut him off with gentle amusement.

"Don't you have homework to be doing, Sherlock? I know you finished with your school work hours ago, but I'm going to guess that the report from your latest experiment isn't on my desk, if it's even done yet." At his words the little boy darted off again, leaving Greg to chuckle in amusement as they finally reached Mycroft's bedroom and got inside. The door stayed open, but Greg guessed they wouldn't be seeing or hearing from the small boy with the huge eyes, at least not for quite some time.

"You assign your brother homework?" If Sherlock was anything like Mycroft, he probably appreciated the challenge, but he had looked too tiny to Greg to be doing science experiments. He was thin and willowy, even though he looked tall for his age, and Greg wondered whether Mycroft had ever looked that innocent as he sat the boy down on his bed and took a seat on the desk chair.

Then he took a look around the room, and nearly fell right back of the seat, forgetting his previous question entirely.

"Holy shit, Mycroft! You've got a ton of books. Are you ever going to be able to read all of them?" Mycroft laughed at this a little bit.

"I've already read most of them, Gregory. I know they'd probably be a bit boring for your taste, but I want to learn as much as I can about everything. It's especially important to start now, so I can soak up as much as possible before I graduate."

"But why?" Greg wondered how anyone could possibly have so much time to dedicate to novels with names like "14th Century British Politics," and if he was honest with himself, he wanted to know more about Mycroft in general. The younger boy was fascinating, and frankly beautiful, and even though Greg hadn't dated in what seemed to him like a long time, he recognized the spark of interest he was feeling. He just desperately hoped he didn't screw it all up by doing something stupid like admitting it and scaring the boy off.

"Someday," Mycroft murmured, eyes glowing with pleasure, "I'm not going to be insignificant. I'm going to be someone important, the linchpin that holds everything together. I'll leave this all behind me."

"I don't think you're insignificant," Greg said, eyes downcast. He wasn't sure he could look at Mycroft while saying something like that and not blurt out everything he was thinking all at once.

"No? You're very kind, Gregory, but I can assure you that you don't have to be nice to me."

"Kind," Greg practically spat, looking up at Mycroft with a sudden sort of fire. "Don't think of me as kind, or nice, or anything like that. Because I'm not. That's not why I'm here, Mycroft."

"Then why are you here?" The younger boy asked, head tilted adorably in confusion. He didn't, couldn't, know that it was the perfect angle, but Greg did. With a groan, he lunged forward, sat on the bed, and pressed his lips to Mycroft's, no more able to resist the urge than he would have been to fly to the sun and back.

Mycroft's eyes went wide in response to the kiss, before he let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whimper as his eyes fluttered shut. He was pretty sure he was dreaming by this point, unable to believe that this could possibly be his reality, when Greg eased back slowly, eyes still shimmering with heat but in a lazier, sultrier way now.

"I'm sorry, Mycroft." He said the words, but didn't sound all that sorry. "I should probably have asked first. I know that the fact that you're gay doesn't necessarily mean that you're into me, so that was probably rude."

"So you're sorry you didn't ask, but you're not sorry you did it?" Mycroft's normally massive intellect was scrambled, and keeping up with the simple conversation was just about pushing his capacity, somehow.

"That sounds about right." Greg said, his voice low, and Mycroft grinned in relief. It was either the best dream he'd ever had or life was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

"Well, I'm not sorry for any of it, for the record, and the same thing would have happened if you had asked, so—" The older boy didn't let him finish his sentence, but it didn't seem to matter. He practically melted with the second kiss, barely noticing when Greg slowly pushed him backward, following him all the while, so they ended up lying flat on his bed, the football player sort of on top but careful of his injury, holding his weight on one elbow while he stroked his free hand down to Mycroft's chest, to lie just above his heart.

They actually continued on that way for a couple of hours, until Mycroft gently pushed the older boy away at fifteen minutes until six. Greg frowned, looking adorably dazed and confused for a few seconds, while Mycroft smiled.

"My father will be home in ten minutes, and dinner is always at 6 sharp. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

The meal was actually surprisingly nice, by which, Greg thought to himself, he really meant that Mr. Holmes had said nothing about Mycroft having a strange boy in at his house, though those eyes had obviously missed nothing, and there had been no extremely awkward small talk. Now, Mycroft was feeling better after some pain medication and had offered to walk Greg out to his motorcycle.

"I'm surprised your dad didn't say anything about me, back there." Greg wanted to stick around a while longer, and Mycroft didn't seem to object, shrugging and leaning against the brick side of the house, putting most of his weight on his uninjured foot.

"Father doesn't care what my preferences are, so long as I fulfil my duty as a Holmes." The younger boy rolled his eyes but looked a bit sat at this, his eyes far away for the moment.

"And your mother?" Greg knew the question probably wasn't one he had a right to ask yet, but couldn't help himself. Was Mycroft really so alone? And how long had it been that way? He didn't seem to have any friends at school, and if his brother was truly the only person in his life who'd showed him any sort of affection at all… well, Greg decided, he'd just have to show the younger boy enough of it to make up for the lack he'd so far experienced.

"She's… well, in and out of rehab. It's all very hush-hush, and no one but her doctors know, except us, and you, now… You won't tell anyone, will you?" Mycroft suddenly looked ill, as if he was afraid he'd said too much, and Greg impulsively took his hand, wanting to comfort him somehow.

"Of course I won't tell anyone, Mycroft. I'm not about to go blabbing your secrets through the entire school. I'm not like that."

Mycroft had a feeling he could trust the boy, but knew the small kernel of fear would remain in his stomach until time proved his words true.

"I hope that's the case. But I know that I don't really have any sort of claim on your silence or anything else, so…" He trailed off, not sure where he was going with that, and there was a long moment of silence before Greg spoke again, sounding just hopeful enough to make Mycroft's heart start trying to jump right out of his chest.

"Do you want me to have a claim like that, and vice versa?"

"What do you mean exactly?" Mycroft asked, scarcely daring to believe what Greg seemed to be telling him.

"Well, I guess I'm asking if you'd like to go out with me."

"Secretly or openly?" The question was probably rude, but Mycroft was a little past caring. He could actually hear his own heart pounding now, louder still when Greg brought his hand to his mouth and brushed his lips across Mycroft's knuckles in a gentle but blatant gesture.

"I don't do anything halfway, so if we're going to do this, you don't get to hide me because you're worried people might think you have low standards." Greg was teasing, Mycroft knew that, and it helped him relax a little.

"I… I suppose my answer is yes, then." Mycroft impulsively leaned forward and kissed Greg's cheek, the gesture somehow more meaningful than nearly all the kisses they'd shared earlier that afternoon. It was a promise of sorts, and from this shy, repressed boy with his heart of gold, it meant quite a lot to Greg.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then?" Greg grinned at this, shoving his hands down in the pockets of his jacket after stroking one finger down the side of his face gently.

"That you will, Mycroft. I might even pick you up at your locker and carry your books for you." With a wink Greg strode off, leaving the younger boy to stay where he was for a moment longer with a sweet, shy smile on his face.

As Greg got on his motorcycle and drove away, he found himself grinning. Mycroft might have been the one who'd tripped earlier, but it was Greg who already found himself falling. And he didn't mind in the slightest.