Chapter 6

Mycroft's Point of View

I didn't like watching Grey sulk around his room, collecting seemingly random items of clothing to put into a traveling case. He had eventually given up fighting me and resorted to making me feel guilty, for something that wasn't my fault. I followed him as he went upstairs, collecting more random items as he went along.

Grey turned around. "Uncle Mycroft, I'm ready to go." Grey's curls and cheekbones resembled Sherlock so much that I cringed. His eyes were deep blue and accusing. He would not forgive me for taking him from his dad. I didn't want to take him, but if Sherlock thought it best then it was not my place to judge.

"My car is out front. I'll carry your case." Grey ran and hugged Sherlock. He was crying. Sherlock's suit crumpled and became wet with tears. My brother whispered something to his son before pushing him towards John, who in turn hugged the no longer crying boy. I couldn't understand what had caused the change in emotion so quickly.

I put the suitcase in the back of the car. Once I got in, Grey stared at me cautiously, "I'm not going to school."

"You have to go to school until you're sixteen. It's not my decision; it's the government's law." Grey gave me a sideways look.

"You're the government; change the law."

"I can't just change the law anytime my nephew wants me too. School isn't that bad. Both your father and I went to school and we came out fine."

"If by fine you mean sociopath, then sure you came out fine."

"Oh yes, because you fell so far from the tree. I don't have time to homeschool you, Grey. I'm sure that there is some school out there that'll be good for you. My old school might satisfy you.

"I'm not going to a boarding school! If you send me there, I assure you that I will get myself kicked out." That's what my dear brother said when my parents told him he had to go to school. The car stopped at my house a few miles outside of the city. "Wow, you live in that?", at first, couldn't tell what he was talking about, but then I realized that Grey had never been to my house before. I had always visited Sherlock at home or in a public place.

"Home sweet home."

Grey's Point of View

Uncle Mycroft's home was huge. It was exactly how I imagined it: with no sign that anyone really lived here. The floor next to the door was free of scratches. Uncle Mycroft must sleep at work a lot. Or maybe he had a flat closer in city.

"Do you actually live here?"

"Of course I do. Why else would I have a house if I didn't live in it?"

"For show." Uncle Mycroft gave me a look like I was a nutter. I walked through the kitchen (there was a chef cooking something), and the dining room, to what Mycroft called the guest room, or rather it was my room now. There was a four-poster bed, a desk and a wardrobe. It was possibly the dullest room I had ever walked into.

"Dinner's at 6. I'll just let you settle in. If you need me I'll be in my office." He set my case down on my bed before walking out with a grimace on his face. Ten seconds later I walked out and went down the hallway. I kept opening doors till I found what I looked for. The library.

Of course the library was well stocked; it was a Holmes we were talking about here. I picked a book off the shelf and started reading, letting the worries of the day go away as the words took me to a different place. I didn't want to care that my dad had effectively told me to go live with his estranged brother.

Dinner was relatively awkward, with Mycroft making calls to different people about arrangements for my stay. The dining table was long and made for many more people than were actually present, so I was a relatively far distance away from Mycroft. I was okay with that. The filet mignon was excellent, I was willing to admit. Mycroft made no attempt to talk; offering only small tense smiles. I hear him contacting his old boarding school, speaking to some lady about proper items a kid should have, talking to a doctor, inquiring about a couple of other schools, arguing some guy named Nark about the presidential elections in Egypt, that and my father. After dinner I helped the cook wash up, while Mycroft kept talking on his phone.

I retreated to the library for the rest of the night, leaving Mycroft to his government. I don't remember when Mycroft walked into the library. I had been trying to stay awake to read the last few chapters of my book and only had a few more pages to go. Then there I was in Mycroft's arms being carried to my bedroom. He kind of reminded me of my dad. He would do the same thing when we stayed up late working on something. I missed my dad.