Enter John Hamish Watson, never of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as I am unable to coordinate that into the story line. Yay!
John Watson had learned long ago to never assume anything about anyone. Whatever their two genders, whatever other people said about them, he had always chosen to never believe the rumours were correct in anyway. But from the moment he met Mycroft Holmes, it seemed that everything anyone had ever told him about the man was utterly and completely right.
The gist of it being that Mycroft Holmes is a bag of dicks.
"Hello, yes, excuse me, sorry." John murmured politely as he made his way through the crowd of students. "Hello!" He waved his arm frantically, finally drawing the attention of his friend from across the crowd. His face lit up and he began making his own way through the throng to greet him.
"Mike!" He exclaimed happily, pulling him into a big, friendly bear hug.
"John." Mike answered, hugging back just as enthusiastically.
They both pulled back, looking each other over for a while as the silence slowly turned awkward. They both laughed nervously, pushing off the uneasiness.
"It has been a long time." Mike reasoned, cocking his head with a smile.
"You're telling me." John replied easily, slipping his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his feet, breathing out a sigh. "So… Which building are you staying in?"
"Cooper." Mike replied, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Oh, cool. I can show you where it is, if you like." John offered, cocking his head.
"Yes, thank you." Mike answered. They stood there for a moment before they both burst out into laughter. "Look at the two of us, like two school ninnies; all polite and awkward. Man, I used to be over at your house every second day. Let's just forget about all this crap and get back to being best mates."
"Agreed." John grinned, letting Mike punch his shoulder with a twin grin of his own. He licked his lips. "I'm pretty sure Cooper building's this way." He said, pointing ahead of them before beginning to walk that way.
"Oh, Mister Hot Shot spends two weeks here on honours and suddenly thinks he knows everything." Mike joked, waving his hands about. "We need to do something about that big head of your's."
"Oh, haha. We both know I'm pretty good in that department. Especially compared to most Herculeans." John scrunched up his nose. All those Herculeans giving them a bad name. Those guys were just total dicks.
"Ah, yes. I have met many a man with a balloon for a head. Must make it very difficult to walk anywhere without tipping over." Mike answered seriously, giggling when John slapped his shoulder. "Ah, yes, here comes one now." Mike stuck his nose in the air. John glanced to his left to see a large Bentley pulling into the carpark.
"Quite correct, my good man." He answered with his poshest voice, sticking his own nose into the air with equal measure.
"Oh, Charles, shall I fetch the bags for you?"
"Of course, Augustus. But must I remind you once more; it's sir in public. Charles…" John leaned in close to Mike, whispering conspiratorially. "Is only for when we're alone."
"Aw, stop it, idiot." Mike shoved him, both of them laughing hysterically at their antics. John focused on the path once more, until he heard a hushed curse behind him.
"What?" He asked, spinning himself around quickly.
"Bentley over there," Mike gestured and John nodded for him to continue. "I know him. Big bag of dicks, of course, but it's just super creepy that he's here." Mike shivered. John glanced back to the Bentley, seeing a man in his mid twenties pulling an umbrella out of the backseat of his car. He gestured at the driver and the car rolled away. He began making his way across the pavement and towards the main building.
"Wait, I think know him." John nodded to himself. "Yeah, I think that guy's on the board of trustees or something. He's always around. No one really likes him apparently."
"Fuck, if I knew Mycroft was on the board here, I would never have come." Mike said.
"Don't say shit like that." John said, shoving Mike's shoulder. "If you hadn't come, we wouldn't be having such a fan-fucking-tastic time already."
"Oh, I suppose I could stay for you." Mike cooed, laughing when John sent him a glare.
"Seriously though, Mycroft is his name?" John asked disbelieving. Mike nodded in response. "Bit pretentious, isn't it?"
"Yes, well, I don't think he chose it." Mike joked. "But he is a bit of a git, yes."
"At least I know who to avoid." John shrugged. "Cooper house is this way."
"Cool."
He wasn't saying that he didn't trust Mike. He did, truly. He was like a brother to him, really. But that didn't mean he wasn't a little suspicious when Mike managed to make six friends in the space of one morning, especially when John had spent the majority of his first week lonely as fuck.
"Trust me, man, these guys a cool. They're not murderers of psychopaths or whatever you're afraid of. They just saw my Doctor Who scarf and started talking to me about Tv shows and shit. Really, it's all good." Mike insisted, looking at John with wide eyes.
"Okay." John ventured distrustfully, wrinkling his nose a little. "But just because they like Doctor Who, it doesn't mean I'm gonna like them." John stated.
"Yeah, yeah. You'll like them eventually." Mike waved him off dismissively, chuckling when John wrinkled his nose at him once more.
"I love them." John mouthed to Mike across the table, grinning from ear to ear.
"Told you." Mike mouthed back, smiling too as they both rejoined the conversation.
"Oh Shit! Creepy dude, three o'clock." Bill Murray hissed, pointing subtly. Bill murray was probably John's favourite out of the new friends they'd made. He was energetic and had this almost contagious happiness about him that John liked. John quickly glanced in the direction Bill had been pointing, gasping in recognition when he saw a familiar man dressed to the nines -waist coat and all.
"Yeah, that's Mycroft Holmes. We don't like him." Mike stated flatly.
"Oh, no one does." Sebastian dismissed, shoving a handful of french fries into his mouth. John wasn't quite sure about Sebastian yet. He seemed nice enough, but he couldn't be too be careful.
"He get's people to do the weirdest shit sometimes." Bill explained further, whispering almost conspiratorially. "Usually he just gets people to move around boxes and furniture and things, but once he got Roger to shoot a gun at an office window and James to start a fire in the court."
"What? Really?" John asked. James and Roger nodded in unison, solemn looks passing over their faces.
"He's completely crazy! He can't get people to do that!" John exploded, looking to the elusive Mr Holmes once more in utter shock.
"Oh, believe me, he can." Bill confirmed with a sure nod. "He's got this weird control over the board. Dude cannot be trusted."
"Sounds like the Mycroft I know." Mike muttered, rubbing his forehead like the very memory of the man gave him a headache.
John frowned thoughtfully. This Mycroft dude didn't sound like the type of guy he should be mixing with. John made a vow to himself then and there: He would never interfere with the business of Mr Mycroft Holmes.
"Mike? Are you okay?" John asked wearily. Mike was grinning girlishly at his phone, barely sliding his eyes off it when he spoke.
"'Course I'm okay. Why do you ask?" He answered.
"You just keep staring at your phone." John shrugged. "Is something up?"
"Nah, I'm just texting this wicked girl I met in Bio. She cracks me up." Mike shook his head, looking back to his phone. "Hey, what do you think about compatibility appraises?" He asked suddenly, looking at John curiously.
John winced. His parents had got together after their own compatibility appraise. Let's just say that it hadn't gone very well. It all added to the never ending debate: Fate or choice? Some people think fate should have all the power, that that somehow ensured that everyone ended up with the person they were meant to be with. But others thought that that was completely unfair. "We should decide our future, not wait for the universe to give us what we want" was a phrase he'd heard many a time. He wasn't completely sure what side he was on. All he knew was that his parent's marriage was a complete wreck but without it he would never have been born at all. So there was no harm either way really.
"If you're really sure about her." John answered finally. "I don't think you should ask straight away, though. Get to know her a bit. Just… be certain before you try anything."
"Okay." Mike smiled warmly at him. "Thanks mate."
"You're welcome."
John had never noticed how impeccably bare his ceiling was, but staring at it for a solid ten minutes while lying on his bed and listening to Beck's "Loser" on repeat, somehow made it more apparent than ever. It was just so blank. So empty. Not the good kind either. This wasn't a blank canvas, a place for never ending possibilities to form and grow and create. This was just a brick wall. A dead end.
John sighed. He had no idea why he was so down. It could be many things really. Mike seemed to be hanging out with "Molly from bio" much more often now and he hadn't been spending as much time with him. It's also Uni if he was completely honest. He'd hoped that going to Bart's would be a nice change of pace -new city, new school, new people, new life. But it's all the same. Sure, the routine is different ,but there's still the cramming study sessions, the cliques, the drama, the in-between moments where he has completely no idea what he's supposed to be doing.
John frowned. His mum would have told him to be more proactive, to "figure it out himself". Harry would just tell him to suck it up and stop being such a wuss. John sort of missed her. She was blunt and upfront but that was kind of refreshing compared to the endless line of pleasantries he was used to. It was weird to think that he was finally in the same city as her but he still hadn't seen her since his graduation. She'd showed up just on the edge of being drunk. She was close enough to tipsy to at least be happy drunk, which was good for John because he didn't think that he'd be able to survive another public undressing from his big sister. It was embarrassing mostly. But, when John was alone in his room and really thinking about it, it was mainly sad. Sad that his big sister had turned up that way, that John had no way of fixing it.
Knock, knock.
John broke from his dismal thoughts, raising his head from his pillow to stare at the door silently.
Knock, knock.
Sighing, John got up from the bed, pulling on his jersey as he padded toward the door.
Knock, knock.
"Yes, yes. I'm coming." John grumbled loudly. He turned the knob and pulled it open, looking up in surprise when the swinging wood revealed a rather large man dressed to the nines with a waistcoat and pocket watch to boot. His eyes were dark and disapproving, his mouth barely twitched into a scowl, his hawk like nose almost menacing. It was frickin' Mycroft.
"What do you want?" John snapped, crossing his arms. The man silently extended his hand, revealing a large envelope, embossed with gold and everything. John opened it, wincing a little as he ripped the expensive canvas paper. John scanned the fancy letters, skipping through the junk about The school board and Honour in order to get to the gist of it. "What does this mean?" John asked in confusion.
"It is a simple invitation to a social gathering occurring tomorrow evening." Mycroft answered, his eyebrows raised like John's question was somehow disapproving.
"I get that. I meant what for? I mean, I haven't exactly done anything." John explained, ignoring how his back tensed at the thought of Mycroft thinking of him as an idiot.
"It remains a simple invitation. It is not compulsory. You simply may come if you wish." The glare Mycroft gave him told John that although Mycroft's words were pleasant enough, not showing up could mean consequences.
"Right." John nodded, awkwardly looking around.
"I will bid you farewell." Mycroft departed with a nod.
"Right." John answered, looking around his bare room once more. "Right."
Dressing up always made John feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why, it just made him feel a bit pretentious. The whole process made no sense in his head really. Why should John have to dress up just to meet some other people who would probably be just as happy meeting him in his normal rugby jersey and jeans. They'd probably be a thousand times more comfortable in fact. Good clothes should be reserved for dates, in John's opinion. Impressing a pair makes much more sense than impressing someone he's only just met.
"Suck it up, Watson." John muttered to himself. It wasn't all bad. He could at least stick it out for one night.
Adjusting his blazer, John made his way to the bar, ordering a scotch reflexively and nodding in thanks when it was placed in front of him. He quickly wiped the perspiration from the glass with his sleeve before taking a long sip. He smiled in satisfaction as the liquid seeped through into his stomach.
John could appreciate a good scotch. Before he died, John's grandfather had always sneaked him large gulps from the flask he kept on his hip during the cold nights they went deer hunting together. Well, it wasn't deer hunting exactly. They had simply called it that to get John's dad off their case. No, they never actually hurt the deer. They just watched them. Together. In silence. It was peaceful and beautiful and the memory never failed to bring a smile to John's face.
Looking up from his glass, John caught the eye of a man on the dance floor. He had rather wild dark hair and striking cheekbones that flushed pink under John's stare. John smiled widely. The man was gorgeous. He was absolutely magnetizing.
Downing the rest of his drink, John stood up from the bar and made his way toward the man. John wasn't entirely sure what he planned to do but, then again, he rarely did. He just wanted to meet the guy.
Sadly, just before he could, the snooty sound of a man clearing his throat from beside him stopped John in his tracks.
"Mr Watson?" The man asked.
"Yes?" John answered distractedly, still watching the dark haired man move in small circles on the dance floor.
"You have a telephone call, sir."
"Tell them I'll take a message." John dismissed.
"I'm afraid it's urgent, sir."
"How urgent?" John asked, a bad feeling creeping into his stomach.
"It's your sister sir."
At first, it was simply a beat of silence. Everything was cool and calm, almost serene, all for just that one moment.
And then the moment passed and the world seemed to rush at him all at once, the edges of his vision almost going hazy as he reentered his surroundings. His heart was pounding and he instantly felt like he was going to be sick.
"What happened? Is she alright?" John croaked, so slow compared to the rush of thoughts buzzing through his mind.
"Not quite, sir." The man looked him up and down. "I think it would be best if you leave now, sir."
"Yes, yes. Of course, yes." John's words jumbled over each other as he stopped bothering to pay attention to his tongue and what it was doing. He looked around desperately for an exit, smiling gratefully when the man pointed him in the right direction.
"What are you so upset about? You're not the one that's in this mess." John wanted to beat her. To punch her into a pulp. But he also wanted to soothe her. To brush the hair away from her brow and make her feel whole again. How could she do this to them? How could everything have gone so wrong?
"You're wrong. This is as much my mess as it is yours." John shook his head, gaze travelling to his hands, unable to look her in the eye.
"How so?" She was getting her old funk back. John had almost forgotten what she was like sober. It had been a while. She had actually been a lovely sister growing up. Like she actually cared. Then she'd turned 15 and everything turned to shit and now he was left with broken pieces, so small they no longer fit together.
"Because you're my sister, Harry. My sister. We're supposed to take care of each other." John's voice had gone high, thin and reedy but Harry didn't appear to be laughing.
"That's exactly why I don't…" Harry sighed, shaking her head. "I don't want you getting messed up in my shit. I don't want you suffering just because I suffer. I'm not worth it. You have your whole life ahead of you and mine has already wasted away."
"Harry? What are you saying?"
"I'm telling you to stop. Don't bother with me. I'm just number one on a very long chain of anchors that will come into your life and weigh you down. Just unhook me. Let me sink to the bottom so you can sail free. I'm so tired, John." A small tear slipped from her eye, running gently down her cheek. "So tired. I don't think I can do it anymore. So we should both just stop trying. I mean, who are we kidding? Neither of us can fix me."
"Shut up." John spat fiercely. "I didn't go through all that shit with dad and school, only for you to give up now." John leaned in close, looking her in the eye gravely. "We can do this, you and I. Neither of us are giving up. Don't you dare say you're a lost cause. Believe me, you are anything but. Things might be tough but we can deal with it. We'll do it together. I promise."
"... okay." Harry whispered brokenly, another tear chasing down her cheek. "Okay."
John wriggled in his chair, trying to get comfortable once more as he turned the next page of his book. He hated hospital chairs. Plastic junk in his opinion. At least it was better than the floor. John shifted again, looking up when he heard a weak voice.
"You don't have to stay."
"Look, Harry." John sighed. "We've been over this. I'm not gonna go abandoning you."
"Yeah, well, what about uni and stuff? I mean, aren't you missing stuff, being here all the time?" Harry asked, fiddling with the peg on her finger.
"Mike's been helping. He brings me notes and stuff. And he paid some random guy in my PSGM class to take notes for that too." John shrugged. "As long as I get my work done, my professors don't mind so much."
"John…" Harry trailed off.
"Yeah." John encouraged.
"What do you learn in PSGM? I never got the chance to.. Well..." Harry went back to fiddling with the peg.
"That's okay." John said softly, running a hand through his hair before continuing. "Well the subject is mainly in the name, Psychology of the secondary gendered mind. I don't know really. We learn about pairs, about compatibility. Right now we're looking at true pairs. Their level of compatibility, how their minds and bodies respond to each other, that sort of thing." John smiled wistfully.
True pairs were extremely rare. People hardly ever saw them around anymore. People long ago abandoned the notion of "waiting for true love" and instead chose to simply find happiness in those around them. And it worked, for the most part.
"I would like to find my true pair." Harry sighed.
"So would I." John paused, grinning at Harry. "Must be a beast to put up with you."
"Oy." Harry made to sit up and swat John with a pillow but sank back into the cushions almost immediately when she began to cough uncontrollably. The change in oxygen levels set off a low, beeping alarm and the sharp click of heels sounded down the hallway as a nurse was sent to check up on them.
"What were you thinking?" She tutted, reaching behind Harry to fluff her pillows for her. She had short brown hair worn in a wavy bob around her ears and a sweet smile as she leaned over Harry.
"Cough, cough?" They suggested together, smiling a little.
"There, there. Let's have you settled." She soothed with a quiet laugh as she brushed a lock of Harry's hair away from her face. And, all at once, they froze.
At first, John had no idea what was going on. How would he? He'd never actually seen it from the outside before. It wasn't until he saw a thin trail of light slide down Harry's face and around the wrist of her hand that had finally stopped fiddling with the peg. It was then that it occurred to him, outrageous as it was, that fate had a habit of showing up when you least expected. And, sometimes when things are falling apart, they might actually be falling together.
"Hey, Harry." John greeted as he sauntered through the door, plonking his bag on what had become his hospital chair before leaning over to place a kiss on her forehead.
"Hey Johnny!" Harry greeted, a bright smile on her face.
"You look much better." John noticed happily.
"Must be the high-quality care service." A voice behind John joked.
"Hi, Clara." John chirped, turning around to face her. He couldn't help but agree with her comment. Clara had come into Harry's knotted mess of a life and slowly begun untangling and straightening her out. John would call it a miracle if he believed in them.
"Hey, babe." Harry greeted, smiling softly when Clara came and kissed her on the cheek. John was rather taken aback from the couple's progress. They may not have been true pairs but the way they moved around each other, spoke to each other, indicated a level of compatibility rarely met by the average pairing. John would be overcome with jealousy if he wasn't so happy to see Harry at peace for once.
"How's school been, John?" Clara asked seriously, smiling softly as Harry's fingers idly began playing with her hair.
"Great, thanks. Already catching up and I seem to be doing well. My professors seem pleased. Medicine's a hard subject but I'm fairly confident that I'm doing okay." John replied, looking down. That wasn't completely true. To tell the truth, John was feeling a little overwhelmed. He had so much work and not nearly enough time to do it. The work wasn't even particularly challenging, John had always been the top of his class. No, it was the sheer amount, piles of papers and books littering his room's floor.
All John could do is try his damned best try get on top of it. John Watson was not a quitter and he was ready as hell to prove it.
"... And then he's like 'who the hell is that?' and.." Mike paused, waiting for the boisterous laughter to quiet down. "And I was like 'what do you mean?' 'Cause like, how could he not know, right? And he just gives me the most hilarious look ever. It's like the weirdest mixture of confusion, offence and downright embarrassment."
Together, the group laughed uproariously, John looking on in slight bewilderment. Sure, it was pretty funny that a guy couldn't tell who Michael Jackson was, but it wasn't cause for this kind of spectacle. There were lot's of people who chose to distance themselves from pop culture in favour for other things they enjoy. What's so wrong with that?
John shrugged to himself, focusing on the text in front of him once more. He was cramming for a test tomorrow and just couldn't make heads or tails of the subject matter .How was he supposed to remember the names of each and every neuron that fires off in someone's brain during true pair bonding? It was insane.
"Dude, don't sweat it. You can study tonight. It's not even worth a large percentage of your grade anyway." Mike assured, slapping John on the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. That doesn't mean it's not important." John said, eyes tracing back to the thick block of text. Silence fell over the group. John continued smiling at first before frowning suspiciously and glancing up. The large silhouette of a very tall man blocked out the light, the shadow falling across the table. John swallowed hard. This was not what he'd been expecting.
"John Watson?" Asked Mycroft Holmes, not really needing a confirmation but acknowledging John when he nodded his head nonetheless. "Good." Mycroft smirked smugly, looking down his nose at John. "I trust you're enjoying this pleasant morning."
"Yes, sir." John replied hesitantly, looking at Mr Holmes questioningly. People like Mycroft always did take so long to get the point. It would be so much easier if the man just got straight to the point rather than spending all this time on frigid commentary.
"I am here to inquire about a private matter."
"... Right."
"If we could find somewhere more private." Mycroft looked down his nose at John's friends.
"Oh. Of course, I suppose."
"Follow me." Mycroft instructed with a crook of his fingers.
Mycroft lead John across the courtyard to a side building, opening the door and ushering him in. He walked through the halls, up dank and narrow staircases, taking so many turns John's head spun.
"Where the hell are we?" John asked once they finally came to a stop in a darkly lit, square room.
"I cannot divulge that information at this time, I'm afraid." Mycroft answered, tapping an umbrella he held at his side. "I have brought you here to make… an offer, we could say."
"What?" John asked eventually after waiting for Mycroft to continue.
"I have been informed of the unfortunate news that your sister has been admitted to hospital following a rather unfortunate incident involving several bottles of liquor and a tendency to rely on alcohol to solve problems when one can't themselves." Mycroft divulged. John's eyebrows knitted together, fury rushing through him so suddenly he wasn't sure what to do with it. Mycroft had no right, none at all.
"I have also been informed that during the first weeks of this period you have been indisposed for the most part and spending your time aiding in your sister's recovery rather than focusing on your studies." Mycroft paused, looking down at John disparagingly. "And, as I said before, I have an offer to make."
"Which is…?" John asked, fed up and impatient.
"Every missed paper, every catch up article, every future test involving an article you should've studied, they all disappear." Mycroft flicked his fingers like the supposedly disappearing troubles. "Every test an A, every accomplishment achieved, all for this semester." Mycroft smiled proudly, looking down his nose at John. "All you have to do is one little task. Trifle really. Do you accept?"
"You douchebag." John John responded, ignoring Mycroft's flabbergasted face for the moment but appreciating it nonetheless. "Why would you think I'd even consider that? You think I'd just sell out like that? What kind of man do you take me for. I knew the risks when I decided to put taking care of Harry above school, but I did it anyway, and I would do it again a thousand times over. But I'm not going to cheat and get help when I can do it all myself. I want to be a real doctor who really studied and actually tried, not some mediocre one who did everything half arsed and relied on huge dickheads in order to pass their grades. And so, sir," John spat, watching in satisfaction as Mycroft flinched, "I cannot be bought."
"Are you quite finished?" Mycroft asked, his left eye twitching the only visible sign that what John had said had made any impact. John nodded in response. "Good. Well, in that case, I have an alternate proposal.
"Goon." John ushered, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"I propose an alternate payment." Mycroft began.
"Oh, really?" John asked sarcastically.
"Yes." Mycroft growled before placing a hand on his chest to calm himself down. "I propose that instead of my previous suggestion, we go for a much more valuable one."
"What?" John asked suspiciously.
"All hospital bills pertaining to miss Harriet Watson paid, in full, no expense spared, for her life time." Mycroft announced. John's heart dropped to his stomach. He hated this guy, despised him, but… Harry. He'd already been stressing about the bills in between stressing about hi mountain of schoolwork. Harry couldn't pay for those bills all herself and John was barely scraping by as it was. He had no idea how the two of them could possibly get out of this mess and if Mycroft was offering…
John racked his brains for any possible solution, some out from this trap, a way to get it all under control and back on track. A way which didn't leave standing right there asking for help from a man like Mycroft Bloody Holmes.
"Do you accept?" Mycroft inquired, raising an eyebrow.
"Fine. Yes, I frickin' accept." John mumbled.
"Ah, quite right." Mycroft remarked, pleased with himself. "In that case, follow me." Mycroft instructed, heading towards the door.
"Wait, you want me to do it now?" John asked, confused.
"No time like the present." Mycroft responded, swinging his umbrella.
"Watchit, you'll take an eye out." John growled, pushing the umbrella down and enjoying the look of outrage on Mycroft's puffy face. "Let's go then. The sooner this is over the better."
"Harumph." Mycroft turned and lead the way through the maze of corridors and staircases again, seeming to know every turn like the back of his hand.
"Where are we going?" John asked after yet another turn. Mycroft simply smiled in response. "Well, can you at least tell me what you actually want me to do?" John sighed exasperatedly.
"I need someone to help test the windows in this building. Particularly the third floor." Mycroft answered, still walking steadfastly.
"What does that even mean?" John asked frustratedly.
"There have been safety concerns and it is my duty to right them." Mycroft answered simply. "Ah, here we are. We'll start this level and check this room first." Mycroft instructed, stopping outside the room he'd indicated. John peered through the small window in the door.
"There's a class in there." John stated confusedly.
"No matter." Mycroft informed him, reaching to tap his knuckles against the hard wooden door.
"What is it?" Called a calm voice from inside. Mycroft took that as his cue to open the door and walk straight inside. John hung back outside the door, looking in with wide eyes. The room was filled with a multitude of different students, all either looking at him, Mycroft or the papers on their own desks.
"Mr Holmes? What do you want?" A man with slightly thinning hair and thick rimmed glasses asked from his large desk at the front of the room.
"Continue as you were Mr Hendrix. Nothing to worry about." Mycroft assured.
"Mycroft…" John began pausing at the dark look Mycroft threw him for using his first name in front of a teacher. "I can't go in here."
"Why on earth not?" Mycroft asked.
"This is PSGM." John explained. "It's an oddity class."
"So?" Mycroft asked impatiently.
"I'm a Herculean. I'm not supposed to go to these classes." John said.
"Oh. I wouldn't have guessed that." Mycroft smirked. "No matter. I'm sure Mr Hendrix can allow a special circumstance."
"Uh- well, you see… um-" Mr Hendrix began.
"Perfect. Come on in John." Mycroft turned and strode towards the windows.
John followed after a moment, only one thought striking clearly through his head: Mycroft Holmes is a bag of dicks.