The day after that, Friday, Mycroft gets to class early to get his book. He runs into the room and grabs his book, but his teacher speaks up before he sits.
"Mister Holmes, our books aren't needed today."
Mycroft frowns. If the mystery writer has class before him, chances are they didn't reply. If their class is after his, then at least he gets yesterday's reply.
"Right," Mycroft says. "I just forgot a paper in here. I'll put the book back when I'm done."
The teacher just nods and goes back to her papers, leaving Mycroft alone with his.
Luckily, there's a reply.
"I like math, but I'm not very good at it. My favorite subject is gym, if that counts. Do you like gym? PS, are you a girl or a boy?"
Mycroft's already figured out that the mystery writer is a boy, judging by the scratchy stroke of pencil. Mycroft also knows he's left handed and nearsighted (their words are very small, whereas someone farsighted would write bigger to be able to see).
"I am male," Mycroft replies. "And I know you're male. And that you should also get your eyes examined. So you like gym? Can I assume you like sports?"
Mycroft leaves class disappointed. He won't talk to this mystery writer all weekend, and who knows if the boy will even reply now that he knows Mycroft is a boy, too. Maybe he was hoping for a girl, someone to be interested in romantically, not just friendship (like Mycroft).
Oh well, he thinks, leaving class. It was fun while it lasted.
At the end of the school day, Mycroft is very excited to get out of school. Weekends are his 'me-time', of course. He spends all weekend either alone in his bedroom or with his nine-year-old brother, helping the younger boy do experiments or school work. Mycroft loves it, it's the highlight of his week.
Unfortunately, getting out of school quickly would be too easy for him. He rushes around the last corner leading to the front doors when he bangs right into Greg.
Mycroft groans.
"Watch where you're going, dork."
Greg's friends laugh.
"Insults original as always, Greg."
Greg steps around Mycroft, stepping on Mycroft's books as he goes, and also flicks Mycroft in the ear. Mycroft grimaces and rubs his ear, hearing Greg's horrid laugh as he walks down the hall.
By Monday, he's pleased to find a reply on the paper.
"I thought you were a girl because of your fancy handwriting. Either way, it's quite lovely. And thanks about my eyes, I have an appointment tomorrow. Also yes, I love sports. I play football. You don't like sports?"
Pleased, Mycroft writes back. This time, he asks the mystery boy what his favorite book is.
The rest of the week is passed talking about things like books, movies, music, food, and other hobbies. Mycroft is very happy every time he sees a reply from the mystery boy, and he's so glad he has someone to talk to at school. And he and the mystery boy have so much in common, that just makes it that much better.
"Students," Mycroft's teacher says on Friday at the end of class. "Don't forget that next week is Fall Break. The rough draft of your term research paper is due on Monday when you return!"
Mycroft frowns. He forgot about break. A few weeks ago he was so excited to not have to go to school for a week, but now he's a bit sad. A week away from his mystery friend.
On a whim right before Mycroft puts his book away, he scribbles his mobile number on the bottom of the page. He doesn't expect anything, but at least he tried.
At the end of the school day, Mycroft practically runs out of the building to his bicycle (his mother thinks he needs exercise). He's excited to go home, and after Greg made a fool out of him in the lunch line, he really wants to forget about everything and leave.
But of course, that would be too easy. He gets out to his bike and finds the tires flat. On top of that, the caps that hold the air in are missing.
Mycroft frowns and gets down on the ground to look for the little caps.
"Lost something, Holmes?"
Mycroft slowly stands and brushes his jeans off. "I'm not in the mood, Lestrade."
"I wasn't done in the lunch room today."
Mycroft grins. "Finish too soon? That a common problem?"
Greg glares at him. "Funny."
Mycroft laughs. "I thought it was."
He turns around and walks away, back towards the building.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Back inside to wait for a cab because some arsehole ruined my bike."
"I thought it was funny."
"Yeah, I'm sure you did."
Mycroft is aware that Greg is following him.
"Leave me alone," Mycroft says over his shoulder.
"What if I don't want to?"
Mycroft quickly turns around. "What is your sick obsession with me? Just leave. Me. Alone! I get that I'm an easy target but you need to get over this stupid thing you have out for me."
"I pick on you because it's so funny!" Greg says, almost laughing.
"Funny? Fucking with my life is funny?!" Mycroft is angry now. "I could fucking punch you, Lestrade, I could."
"Yeah? Go on then."
Mycroft pants three times, then pulls his arm up to take a swing at Greg. He throws his fist towards Greg's face, but Greg catches his hand before he makes contact. In the same motion, Greg pushes Mycroft's chest so hard that Mycroft stumbles back.
"Umf!" Mycroft sounds, the wind getting knocked out of him. Before he can stand up straight, Greg winds back to retaliate the punch.
"Go ahead," Mycroft pants. "Just fucking hit me already so you can get it out of your system."
Greg snaps forward and Mycroft winces, but the punch never comes. Greg just stands there, his hand lifted over Mycroft. His expression is distant, like he doesn't know what he's doing.
"Yeah," Mycroft says. "That's what I thought. Leave me the fuck alone."
Mycroft turns around and walks back to the building, this time he knows Greg isn't following.
Mycroft calls a cab and they tell him it'll be ten minutes, so he sits on the front steps outside to wait. Only a second after he hangs up with the cab company, his phone vibrates with a text.
His stomach flips. He doesn't get texts. He never talks to anyone.
It flips again, over and over, when he sees it's from an unsaved number.
"Book #15?" the message says.
Mycroft smiles. "Yeah, that's me," he replies.
"Thank goodness. I was hoping you didn't fake number me."
"Do people do that?" Mycroft asks.
"All the time. To people they don't like."
Mycroft continues smiling. With such pleasant conversation, he forgets all about the incident with Lestrade.
