A/N: Hello again! I'm late again. I have no actual excuse; I just assumed that no one really cares much for updates. But nevertheless, here is some more of the adventures of our beloved Sherlock.
I will try to update more often. I hope you will enjoy! In this chapter, we're introducing some familiar faces to the story.

you are all precious muffins
~red owl feathers

P.S. I have edited this chapter, written new things and changed some others, so do not wonder if some things get repeated in the next chapters! As soon as I finish editing them, there will be no errors (hopefully)[(if there are, im just a shit writer)].


" Older men minus a bold spot and weird, unfitting suits were strange, but also interesting to stumble upon. "


It was a Saturday morning and Sherlock was lying in his bed with his hands over his stomach. He was staring at the ceiling and had a book beside him. It was half opened so that the pages faced the bed. The reader had headphones in his ears. His room smelled like apple and cinnamon and tiny rays of white sunlight peeked through Sherlock's curtains, annoying him more and more by the minute. An hour ago, he hadn't even noticed the tiny, rebellious strip of annoyance but since he had taken a glimpse at the window, it felt like it was blinding him. Sherlock was too lazy to get up and fix the curtains, so he remained with a bitter expression on his face.

There was a muffled noise coming from his left and Sherlock saw his brother enter the room. He was fully clothed in a suit with a vest and a red tie with a matching handkerchief in his vest pocket, Anthea had picked it out for him yesterday. Sherlock saw rather than heard Mycroft say something to him that he couldn't quite make out. Belfast? Dwayne D. Spinach? Sherlock hadn't really mastered the art of lip reading. Yet. When he decided whatever Mycroft was saying wasn't important enough for him to take his headphones out of his ears his brother did it for him instead.

"I said, we are having breakfast in twenty minutes, if you would care to go downstairs." he did that thing with his face that showed displeasure. Also known as Mycroft's normal grimace he wore as an accessory 24/7.

"And since when do you come for breakfast?" Sherlock shot him a questioning look.

Mycroft only rolled his eyes and walked out the room. How very Mycroft of him. You would think with him being twenty three years old and an important piece of the British government, he wouldn't bother to annoy his sibling so much with his presence. But yet again, Mycroft mostly took care of the younger Holmes, even if the latter didn't like it.

Sherlock decided he would do as Mycroft told him, just this once and changed his shirt before exiting his room. The smell of fabric softener joined him as he bounced down the stairs and to the kitchen. Sherlock's curly, black hair was incredibly tousled over his face. One side was pressed completely flat on his head and the other compensated for it.

"What in god's name died on your head this morning, Sherlock?!" His mother looked over at him as she was preparing the food. She could never handle that bob of his.

"Always glad to receive a complimenting comment in the morning, mother." Her son answered sleepily. His mum looked at him with her devilish look and continued washing the vegetables.
Siger Holmes, a somewhat silly man (but in a good, wonderful way), was sitting at the table with his morning newspaper, like he did every weekend. This tradition of his had been around since Mycroft could remember, Sherlock had once heard, and Mycroft could remember things and days way back. Just like their aunt Lysa, who always took things to seriously and gave people her psycho look.

Siger cleaned his throat, which was a sign he was about to start a conversation, or attempt at doing so. "So, Sherlock, you're going to school in two days. Don't you need some supplies, we could go shopping today?" His father looked at him over his newspaper. Sherlock shook his head and told him that he had some stuff he could use in his room. Papers, notebooks, pens, his desk was never clean and was completely covered with those.

"And, Sherlock, darling, don't forget to call. If someone has my boy mistreated of any sort I swear I shall go completely insane." His Mum warned him over the sizzling bacon in the pan and lifted her eyebrows, yet another typical thing.

"It would be so enjoyable if you ranted in the school again." Mycroft was looking at the newspaper over his dad's shoulder.

"Myc, it would be so enjoyable to have you do the dishes after breakfast again instead."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me, if you could please struggle to the end of it."

"Alright, girls, settle down." There was a slide of a chair and Mr. Holmes got up and started taking out plates. He seemed to put an end to the little domestic going on, mainly because he was the sanest person in the Holmes family. "I read about those cases Lestrade has going on, what about that Sherlock? Seemed interesting enough for you I reckon." Sherlock loved his dad, really.

"Well, if I have to be frank, it was intriguing. But" His voice raised a note "I was told not to get involved for a while." Sherlock shot his brother a glare and squinted a little. When Sherlock loved to be dramatic, he always used exaggerated moves and expressions, which made Mycroft sigh and roll his eyes, like some really old, really sarcastic grandpa (which description Mycroft covered only 54 percent).

"Will you still have the possibility of working on cases while in school, dear?" His mother was putting the food into dishes. Really nice smelling food.

Ah, the school subject again. They never do shut up about that. Sherlock was irritated but decided to just go along with it.

"I don't know yet. Mycroft over here probably has talked to the headmaster and threatened to have him sacked forever if they don't treat me right." He motioned to his brother sitting opposite him on their round table.

"I have done no such thing." Mycroft objected. He was constantly struggling not to mock Sherlock in any way. He thought he was a good brother.

"You're going to have a roommate and all, aren't you? That's sort of exciting, isn't it?" His dad shot Sherlock a pityingly hopeful look, as if he didn't know Sherlock wasn't a people's person.

"Not really. They probably will have me put alone, people sometimes get to choose the person they room with and probably no one is going to choose me." Sherlock cringed at the sound of his words, because even though he spoke them casually, their meaning was painfully clichéd.

"Nobody there knows you yet, don't make such conclusions." Violet Holmes assured him.

Siger looked positively excited, he always resembled a dog that thought it was a puppy and had floppy ears. "Well, not nobody. Gregory's son is going to that school. That's what got us looking at the brochures in the first place." Mycroft shrugged as a plate landed in front of his elbows. He had his chin propped on one hand, his suit was a bit too tight on him again and it was stretched on his forearm. Too much cake Sherlock thought.

"Who's Gregory?" Sherlock seemed confused.

Mr. Holmes gasped before he took a bite off a sausage. "Oh that's right. Greg is a nice lad, I'm sure his son resembles him in a good way." He smiled his kind, a little goofy at times smile and his elder son nodded. His younger son's eyes looked at all three of them confusedly.

"Who the hell is- oh never mind."

Two days had flown away way too fast and it was time for Sherlock to finally accept the fact he was going to interact with other people and face oblivion. What was the whole point of going to school? He didn't understand it even a little. If you knew everything or learned it at home why should you put yourself through hours and hours of boring lessons between four walls with all those idiots you are supposed to make friends with?

And what was even worse than spending tedious amounts of time in a boarding school- Mycroft was taking him with the car. Sherlock's suitcases were in the trunk and his red, full to the point of overflowing duffel bag was resting between him and his brother. The school wasn't too far away and Sherlock could have taken the train, but Mycroft insisted on taking him, because obviously, he wanted to make the day more unpleasant.

Ever since Sherlock had gone to hospital, Mycroft was acting rather overprotective. Sherlock found that rather annoying. He wasn't mad. He could take care of himself thank you very much. Well, if he had his experiments with him. And internet, for research. And some money. But apart from that, Sherlock could do fine on his own.

On another subject, Mycroft had never really believed in friends, but he seemed to not want his brother to be alone. No matter how many childish feuds happened between them on a daily basis, he truly wanted the best for Sherlock, even if he didn't admit that.

He talked to Lestrade, but the DI had said that he didn't know if his son has a roommate or not. He added that many kids had joined the school this year, so the dorms would be full. Then he gave Mycroft a poke with his elbow which Greg immediately regretted afterwards.

It was very strange for Gregory Lestrade when he was discussing schools with Mycroft Holmes, just because it was a strange and an unlikely thing to happen under any circumstances.

However, Gregory Junior had found out that Sherlock was going to the same school as him and promised to try to befriend him, not punch him, keep others from punching him, keep him from punching others and hold one eye open on was honestly all Mycroft had hoped for.

The Holmes arrived at Baker and Stubbs Boarding School after about two hours of driving. Well, the driver's driving, not Mycroft's. The building they stopped in front of was a two story facility with big windows. The walls were a pastel yellow and the grounds were surely much bigger and wider but they were all behind the long building.

Sherlock had stepped out of the car and had taken a deep breath of pine trees and rain smell. His brown, comfortable soldier boots, which Sherlock really liked, squished the mud beneath his feet. That feeling always left him content.

They entered the building through the main entrance, above which there was a big sign with the name of the school and the year when it was built. Tacky, thought Sherlock, but traditional.

They met with the headmaster in his office that was on the second floor of the yellow building right above the big entrance. The office was small and desks were filled with papers in the next room, their smell and the smell of office supplies were filling the air and Sherlock almost felt uncomfortable. Of course, the office had a very inutile waiting room, why the hell did they need a waiting room, with very, very hideous chairs.

The headmaster looked in about his fifties. He had a full head of white hair that looked great and straight, perfect teeth of the matching colour. Older men minus a bold spot and weird, unfitting suits were strange, but also interesting to stumble upon. Also, his looks did not fit his working place one bit.

He spoke about the rules and things like that that Sherlock didn't really listen to. Rules. Rules were boring. But after about twenty minutes of blabber, something interesting finally came up.

"The boys' dorm is on the right when you walk out of this building and into the school grounds." The headmaster began with his deep voice. "There are two corridors or parts of the building. There's A and there's B."

Sherlock almost sighed exasperatedly. Really? Really? He was going to see that by himself on his own! He just wanted to lie down and go to his mind palace.
He craved for a bed or a sofa or even the floor, anything but this narrow, awkward wooden chair he was sitting on.

"You will be positioned in room 221 corridor B, Mr. Holmes." The man opposite him said after he had looked at some papers on his desk to make sure.

"And, who will be his roommate?" Mycroft was direct as ever and the principal raised his eyebrows and looked over to the file. "Er… We have got James Moriarty written here. He… is a bit of a troublemaker. Rarely ever is in fact in school. Nobody knows where he's always off to." The man laughed half-heartedly, whilst the Holmes brothers remained with their typical deadpan masks on.

"We do not know if James is going to come and if you would actually meet him. I know he's assigned as your roommate, but you will practically be living alone during your stay. I hope that wouldn't bother you?" The headmaster looked nervous.

Mycroft opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock cut him off right away.
"That would be no problem." He tried to smile politely.

"Great." The man opposite the Holmes brothers went back to smiling. Sherlock wondered if that didn't hurt his mouth because he was doing it for way too long already. "So, if you could come with me to the secretary office so we could finish things off and you would be free to go to your dorm room."

Everybody stood up. The headmaster opened the door and gestured for the two men to walk out first. They turned left and took a trip down the corridor. The second door to the left had a cloud shaped peace of paper with "secretary" written on it with markers. It was one of those things schools did where they let pupils do things to the interior, or hanged their drawings in a corridor, just because in the case someone came to visit, it should attain the look of a happy place. The headmaster knocked on the door twice and opened it.

"Oh, Mr. Smith how glad I am to see y-"A nice woman in her fourties with mousy blonde hair who wore a floral dress was standing behind a huge desk full of paperwork. There was so much paperwork everywhere, Sherlock wondered where it all came from. The woman suddenly stopped talking when she saw Sherlock.

They both widened their eyes and before anybody knew what was happening, she walked around the desk and to Sherlock, a wide smile glued on her face.

"I can't believe it! What in the devil are you doing here Sherlock Holmes?" She hugged him and to Mycroft's and the headmaster's (whose name was apparently Mr. Smith) surprise, he hugged back, his long arms draped over her back, his neck uncomfortably craned because he was so tall.

"Mrs. Hudson." He nodded to her after they pulled away.

"I see you have met each other?" Mr. Smith had no idea what was happening.

"Oh yes, yes." Mrs. Hudson diverted her eyes from Sherlock to look at the headmaster. "He helped me out a lot when my husband was sentenced to death in Florida." She was still smiling, as if she was the happiest woman alive.

"You managed to save her husband from being executed?" Mr. Smith's eyes were as big as the pans they used in the cafeteria.

"Oh no, I ensured it." Sherlock waved the matter off with his hand.

Mr. Smith's eyes turned even bigger, if that was possible.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch your name?" Mrs. Hudson turned to Mycroft who had shown no visible reaction to what had just happened.

"Mycroft Holmes." He extended a hand which the woman shook.

"It's a pleasure Mr. Holmes! I assume you are Sherlock's brother?" Mrs. Hudson kept that look of utter delight on her face.

"Well, obviously." Mycroft hummed under his breath.

"Please, excuse him, he didn't get to finish his newspaper in the morning, so he's a bit grumpy." Sherlock turned to Mrs. Hudson and the corners of his mouth quirked up.