I wasn't there for the first bit, so this is my understanding of it up until I got there:

"Holmes!"

Mycroft tried to ignore them, he really did (Mummy would've been rather annoyed if he got in a fight, after all), but they were determined.

"Don't run from us, Holmes."

"Coward."

"Yeah, couldn't even tell us to our faces he ratted us out."

He turned around. "I'm not a coward. I turned you into Professor Elliot, yes, and I would do it again. I don't regret it, and you don't frighten me for a second."

They were crowding him out of sight of the road, making threats and generally insulting him, when I reached them.

"Mycroft!" I called worriedly at this, climbing off the bike and leaning in against a wall.

I was home schooled (I taught myself out of the textbooks and Mycroft tutored me when I got stuck)—Dad had decided he didn't want me going to Eton and wasting his drinking money on school uniforms—but I always joined Mycroft for his walk home.

Mycroft seemed relieved, though he kept up an air of indifference. "Hey, Darren."

I wasn't exactly what you'd call intimidating, son of the town drunk wearing clothing that had once belonged to Mycroft and had been tailored by Mrs. Holmes to be short enough for me, but I don't think they expected it to be anything more than a three-on-one fight.

Their moment of unease was enough for me to pull Mycroft away and stand between them.

"You're the guys he turned in for cheating, yeah?" I addressed them. They glared, but Mycroft gave an imperceptible nod. "You alright, Mycroft?"

"Fine."

"This doesn't concern you." One blurted out.

Suitably backed up, they regained their blustering attitudes. "Yeah, get out of here while you still can."

"Nope."

"Look, little Mycroft got himself a friend." One sneered.

"Holmes? Friends? I bet he's a bodyguard." The second added.

"He has no respect for authority either way." The first rejoined.

"Guess we'll have to teach both of you respect." The third snapped.

They started closing in and I glanced at my friend when they were in punching range.

"Mycroft?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Yes."

"Which?"

"Right."

The boy on the farthest right shifted out of my range, but that was alright, because Mycroft meant my right arm, which lined up perfectly for the guy in the middle. My fist met his jaw and knocked him back just as Mycroft smoothly intercepted a punch from the third (furthest left) meant for me—he caught the offending wrist tightly and twisted, thus doubling him over so Mycroft could knee him in the stomach.

The remaining one, who'd been lucky enough to move back, didn't get far towards Mycroft before I grabbed his upper arm, spun him around, and rammed him in the solar plexus.

"I taught you that one," Mycroft observed. "Effective, isn't it?"

"Yes, but we already knew that; Sherlock demonstrated it on me, at your suggestion."

We weren't even remotely out of breath, mostly because it didn't take much effort for us to second guess the other's next move and fight accordingly, but upon the stirring of one of our attackers he grabbed the edge of my sleeve and tugged me away.

"HEY!" The one I'd punched called (odd how only he'd managed to not get the wind knocked out of him; I'd have fixed it for the lucky bastard if he'd caught up with us—he never did) after us as we ran.

And we definitely were running, even though the likelihood of being chased after was slim. It was the only way to use up the excess adrenaline without Mummy murdering us.

"Let's not do that again." Mycroft said once we were far enough away to feel safe.

"Don't deny it; that was excellent stress relief."

"And otherwise pointless."

"No, it wasn't. Mummy keeps offering to buy me the stuff I'd need to go to Eton? I'm taking her up on the offer."

"I can defend myself." He insisted.

"Oh, I know. I'm more worried that they think you can't get friends who'll protect you without hiring them."

"And how exactly is my mother paying for you to attend Eton going to change that?"

"It won't."

"Then why bother? Your father will be furious."

"Always a good reason to do something."

He stopped on the doorstep and turned to stare. "You're insane."

"Absolutely bonkers," I agreed, pushing open the door. "Mummy! We're home!"

Writer here, the actual one, yeah, hi, it's SOCC.

I'm running out of actual ideas, and I've seen you sneakily favouriting this story and adding it to your Alert lists, so I know you're reading! I need suggestions. A question for Darren to answer as if it came out of the message system on his blog. Anything! *BORED*

{SOCC}