Chapter Text
“Stop braying at me you phlegmatic mule!”
“I… I do apologize, Sherlock, however, your hysteria is a welcome change of pace from my rather tedious day.”
“I am not a hysteric! The perturbations this… homunculus… has caused in my life are of monumental consequence to my mental serenity and I will not have them continue!”
“I would not have thought the mere presence of another human being in your sphere of sensory awareness would cause you such distress. Is there, perhaps, something notable about this particular specimen that makes him the exception?”
“Notable! He is as notable as a vanilla custard on a cream-colored table. His intellect is that of a discarded shovel and, though he believes himself possessed of a sense of humor, his attempts at wit are flat as a hat that you have sat upon. Notable… I choke on the term when applied to him.”
Mycroft leaned back against the headboard of his bed and let the warm wash of contentment flow over him like a delicious turn in the shower. To call home… such a soul-soothing thing to do. To hear his brother’s fantastical stories and his dearest love’s laughter in the background… he had to pity anyone who had not this in their lives.
“My, my… you have given a great deal of thought to his banality.”
“Proof that my mind is infected by forced proximity to this bumpkin. My association with the lackey is sufficiently debilitating that the addition of another of his primitive tribe in my day shall render me unfit for more than the most rudimentary of thought processes. I have a foot on the path of drooling insentience and I must take the second step tomorrow! It is intolerable!”
“Besides the ravages to your mind from your enforced escort duty, was the first day of your studies a successful one?”
“I can scarcely remember it so horrifying was the experience of John Watson.”
Not a single complaint about an instructor or his classes or any particular individual beyond this one boy… it had been a spectacularly successful day for his brother. And, Mycroft was convinced, in no small part to the tender and attentive ministrations of his husband. If absence was to be a more regular, though abhorrent, feature of his life, it was a tremendous source of relief that his Gregory would stand by his brother and provide the attention and support he required.
“Since the initial cut is always the most painful, I am confident tomorrow will cause you far less upset. Perhaps you might even find something enjoyable about this young man.”
Not that it was terribly likely. Sherlock was notorious for his inability to make friends, the fault lying both with himself and the other children whom he met. Sherlock refused to extend his hand in friendship and the others refused to offer him the time and understanding he needed to be sufficiently comfortable to extend that hand. That Gregory had done so was a miracle Mycroft still gave thanks for every day, but his love was unique in that action.
“There is little enjoyable about a lump of clay.”
“I can think of many an artist who would debate that point.”
“That you attempt to use artists to make your case is indicative of its limitations.”
“One can successfully argue that musicians are artists, so where does that leave your feeble rebuttal?”
“At least I do not play the day away with pencils and bits of chalk.”
“This is quite true, but perhaps we can remedy that with a slight alteration of your course schedule…”
“You would not dare! It was difficult enough to make the shop boy hold fast to your orders that I be exempted from sports! I shall not suffer a weedy paedophile attempting to seduce me into expressing my inner sexuality in watercolors!”
“Sherlock, the art instructor is not a paedophile…”
“I beg to differ! Have you seen how the so-called artists choose to represent male genitalia? I believe my position is proven.”
A discussion of art history would have to wait for another day. Perhaps another year or decade even.
“As arguing the inarguable is a foolish use of time, I shall concede the point so far as to say you are safe from art instruction this term.”
“It is wise that you see reason. My life is already upheaved to a degree that I cannot even find enjoyment trouncing you in a competition of wits.”
Mycroft was certain now that Sherlock’s attention had been tickled by the new boy. What a very intriguing development…
“I do hope that you are making notes of your interactions with young Mr. Watson. I would think he would be a rich source of data, if only for your own perceptions of his effects on you.”
“What! I… that is not entirely lacking in intelligence, which is surprising, given that you were the progenitor of the suggestion.”
“Good… you have a new project on which to work. May I now speak with Gregory?”
“I have not completed describing the full mental toxicity associated with the presence of John Watson.”
“I believe I have a very clear picture, so kindly hand the phone to Gregory…”
“I do not believe you do, else you would be scarcely able to speak for the crippling nausea and feeling of knife blades being inserted into your eyeballs.”
“With age comes more substantial personal fortifications. Now, you will allow me to speak with my husband…”
“And if I do not?”
“You do realize that the size of your laboratory in our new home is solely at my discretion, don’t you?”
“You bounder! You would not impede my intellectual development!”
“As is the inventory of your equipment. But you can do much with a pair of scissors, a plastic cup and a soup spoon, I’m sure.”
“When I am possessed of my share of our fortune, you will rue the day you dangled coins in front of me and bid me dance!”
“I have no doubt you have many items on your list for which you will exact your timely revenge, so I am not overly bothered by the addition of one more. Now, phone to Gregory, please, and I give you fair warning that our conversation may touch on subjects that will trouble you more than your new companion.”
“There is nothing that troubles me more than John Watson, however, I do not feel compelled to remain and have my ears brutalized by your treacly version of erotic prose.”
Mycroft listened to the muffled negotiations marking the transition between his brother and his spouse as phone partners and smiled broadly hearing his intended’s voice finally come on the line.
“Little bastard’s been completely off his nut tonight. I think he’s got himself a new friend to play with.”
“The ardor with which Sherlock is orating against this new boy is most telling. I do not believe I have heard him so much as mention any of his other classmates by name in all the time he has attended school.”
“I think it’s got something to do with the fact that this John kid actually talked to him all day, even though Sherlock was probably being… well, Sherlock.”
“I concur. In fact, it is entirely likely that Sherlock was on his worst behavior given the situation. Did the boy truly attempt conversation with Sherlock for the entire day?”
“Yeah, from what Sherlock has been shrieking to the four winds, I’d say the lad enjoyed his time with his escort. Even told Sherlock he was looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow.”
“Good heavens! I am now somewhat concerned that there is something wrong with the poor child.”
“Nah, sounds like a normal one to me. Could be that he’s the new boy and really didn’t have anyone else to talk to or…”
“That was a very pregnant pause, Gregory.”
“Well, I was thinking that maybe this John Watson actually liked Sherlock.”
“I find that a bit difficult to believe.”
“Oh come on… Sherlock’s a little tosser, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t find someone who he connected with. What was it your Gran said… personality that was difficult to embrace. Difficult doesn’t mean impossible, though.”
“That is an apt description of Sherlock’s demeanor…”
“She also included you in that.”
“Oh, well then, I am grieved to know I must now make suitable convalescent plans for my sadly senile Grandmama.”
“I think she was a little off on that, too, but I knew what she meant. Sometimes you need the right person to see just how wonderful someone is. Maybe John can see through Sherlock’s lunacy and likes what he sees.”
As much as Mycroft would like to believe that, it was not as easy idea to support. However, just because it had never happened before did not mean it was, as his spouse stated, an impossible thing…
“I shall bow to your greater skill for interpersonal relations, my dear, and maintain an optimistic attitude. You shall, I assume, monitor the situation and provide Sherlock with any guidance he may require if this does prove to be more than a new child taking as his anchor the first person to whom he is introduced.”
“Yep, I’m on that. Gonna drop Sherlock off again tomorrow and try to get a look at this kid, maybe see if I can chat him up a little. Don’t worry your pretty head, love. I’ll take care of things on this end, you just bother yourself with whatever it is you’re doing. How’s that going anyway?”
As he protected the outside world, his Gregory protected their own inner world. How perfectly they complemented each other…
“As well as can be expected. My presence is to help remediate the incompetence of others and I do wonder if that incompetence is growing the longer we pursue this particular course of action. It is tiring, but rewarding, in the end, when my thinking prevails and we do demonstrate tangible progress.”
“That’s my Mycroft, smartest man in the room and savior of them all. God I wish I could be there… you being all commanding makes me so hot we’d be at each other all night long.”
A thought that ricocheted through Mycroft’s mind like a stray bullet. He could not express how much he missed his spouse. Every day he found small things that he would love nothing more than to discuss with his Gregory, tiny items of nonsense over which to share a smile… of the nights alone in his bed with pillows piled next to him so he could pretend that it was his spouse’s body he curled against as he fell asleep. Just one night… what he would not give for a single night with his Gregory, alone in each other’s arms… but it was not to be. Not for a distressingly long amount of time. And he would not, absolutely would not, dwell on the magnitude of his loneliness when he left to pursue his degree. That was not something he could touch upon in his mind without a cold black fist grasping his heart and squeezing until he could feel the muscle crushed into dust. It was only the knowledge that his Gregory would wait patiently and lovingly and, when the ordeal was over, they would be together at long last that helped keep him from dissolving into a puddle of heavy, bitter tears. Someday they would be united as a married couple with their new life stretching out ahead of them… but it would be a brutal wait until that time finally arrived.
“And so we would… all the night and into the day, if I was to predict. And such is the nature of my dreams.”
“Me too. And my fantasies… had to stuff a shirt in my mouth last night because I knew I’d be screaming your name by the time I got done showing myself a nice time and thinking about you and me doing a whole host of very, very dirty things that would melt my tongue if I said them aloud.”
Perfection. So caring and considerate one moment, so primal and lustful the next… how one man could so seamlessly move through such a range of personas was something Mycroft would never be able to comprehend and would never care to try anyway. The mystery was but another layer of his spouse’s wonder.
“But would you not take the risk for me, my dear? I have been so very lonely without you…”
“Well… you got a little privacy?”
“I am confident I shall not be disturbed for quite some time.”
“Then let’s see if I can make you feel a little less lonely. Get comfortable, love… I plan on taking my time with you tonight.”
Oh, and wouldn’t that be the bright spot to Mycroft’s day… fortunately, his next meeting was not for some time to come…
__________
“I do not require a bodyguard to deliver me to school!”
“I just thought you might like another bit of the personal touch.”
“If it were from anyone but you, perhaps. However, it will take me at least an hour to find the appropriate disinfecting soap and scrub your poverty off of my body.”
“Wouldn’t you have to wash your clothes, too? That’d get contaminated first.”
“Already my day has been ruined by one of you gibbering riff-raff! And look! There! There stands another of your ilk ready to further compromise my educational advancement!”
Lestrade squinted and saw a small figure standing on the steps to the main entrance of the school. Sherlock slithered down in the seat and did his best to wave Lestrade to drive past the building, only to have his flailing hands swatted away and get a ride directly to the base of the steps, rather than dropped off a less-embarrassing distance away. This way, Lestrade could get a good look at the boy who was Sherlock’s current nemesis. And, he had to say he liked what he saw… small boy, but he didn’t look meek or shy. Sandy blonde hair and a friendly, easy smile that brightened when he caught sight of the riot of curls peeking up from the figure trying to hide on the floorboard.
“Get your skinny arse off the floor and go say hello to your friend.”
“Is there anything besides a mallet that can imprint into your skull the very simple truth that John Watson is not my friend?”
“He’s waving at you, so no.”
“Ugh… how completely infantile.”
“I’d say it’s completely FRIENDly.”
“You are correct; I was mistaken. YOU are completely infantile, which further cements my understanding of your relationship with my brother.”
“Get out of the car, you little coward. Your mate’s waiting for you.”
“I shall anoint myself with a bottle of the gardener’s ale and inform Mother Lestrade personally that you sought to get me intoxicated for the purposes of defilement.”
“Ah, that’s nice of you. Mum loves a good laugh.”
“I am being confounded at every turn by the rabble class!”
“If I have to shove you out of here, you’ll look the right idiot in front of your little friend, so GET OUT!”
“Fine! May I at least borrow a blindfold and earplugs so that my senses are not assaulted by his inanity?”
“One.”
“Perhaps some form of spray deodorant to mask the stink of his dull-wittedness?”
“Two.”
“Just a single sliver of cloth with which to gag…”
“Three.”
Lestrade reached across and popped the door latch with one hand, using the other one to drag Sherlock’s skinny body out of its hiding place.
“Wait! Unhand me you lout! If I am disheveled, I shall place the blame on you!”
“Since when do you care if you’re wrinkled?”
“Since I must demonstrate most forcefully how superior I am in every way to John Watson.”
“Or, if you’re honest, you want to look nice for your new friend.”
“I would hate you, but that would require an emotional connection between us and that thought is more than slightly laughable.”
With a haughty humph, Sherlock got out of the car and, clutching his satchel as if it was a shield, stalked up the stairs to where the smaller boy was waiting. Lestrade pushed down the very strong urge to roll down the window and yell something that would make Sherlock scream with rage, but decided to leave things be… for the moment. Instead he watched Sherlock try to walk past John without paying him any notice and John, instead, turning and running after him with a growing smile on his face. Oh yes, Sherlock had a friend. Now, he just had to make sure Sherlock didn’t push that new friend away…
__________
“Hi Sherlock!”
“What do you want?”
“Nothing. Just saying hi. It’s going to be a great day, I can already tell.”
“Oh, and on what empirical evidence do you base that assessment?”
“Had toast for breakfast. With jam. Lots of jam. And an egg just the way I like it. It’s got to be a good day when you get it started with your favorite breakfast.”
“I would point out how erroneous is that conclusion, however, you would not comprehend the breadth of my argument.”
“Well, compare that to the way your day would go if you started it with a breakfast you hated. If someone made you eat liver for breakfast, for instance, how do think you’re day would go?”
The logic was still highly flawed, but Sherlock had to grudgingly admit that if his day began with a serving of liver, there would be little that could improve his subsequent mood.
“I will go so far as to agree that liver is not an appropriate breakfast food.”
“I’m not sure it’s an appropriate food ever. Do you know what a liver does? It’s pretty gross.”
“I know the function of the liver, as well as its macro- and microscopic structure and embryological development.”
“That’s amazing! I don’t know all of that yet, but I will. I’m going to be a doctor, so I have to know what all my insides do.”
“Please inform me if you are able to beg your way through medical school and receive your work assignment so that I may avoid you at all costs in the event of a health emergency.”
“I don’t know why you’d say that – I’ll be a great doctor! I’m going to study real hard and learn all there is to learn to be the best there is. And I’m going to do everything I can to be nice and helpful to my patients because I know how important that is. So you’d be lucky to have me as your doctor. In fact, you could be my first patient! I’ll remember that, too. As soon as I have a job, I’ll call you and you can come over for an examination and be my very first patient.”
“We have a private physician.”
“So? Doesn’t mean you can’t come and let me give you a check-up.”
“The operative word is not can’t, it is won’t.”
“Well, it’ll be your loss. So, I’ll see you for lunch, right?”
“My sentence has not been commuted, so yes, I am forced to join you for lunch.”
“Hey, don’t make it sound like it’s awful or something!”
“Awful is the tamest world for the experience. Soul-destroying is far more fitting.”
“Just for that, see if I share my cake with you!”
Sherlock froze in his tracks and John had to swerve to avoid bowling over his new companion.
“Cake?”
“Yep. I already checked and there’s cake for lunch. I was even going to ask for a big piece so I could share, since you brought your lunch yesterday and it didn’t have any cake in it, but if you’re going to be mean then I’m not going to. I may not even be able to eat all of it it’s going to be so big, so too bad for you being so rude.”
Intolerable! Cook did not provide him cake when he requested a packed lunch! If anyone should be given cake it was him! Not this tiny flea of a beggar! If there was cake to be had then he, Sherlock Holmes, would take all necessary actions to acquire his proper share, even if it meant… conversing further with the gnome.
“I am not attempting to be mean, I am simply stating the facts and facts, by nature, are objective and not subject to emotional judgment.”
There. That was a very proper demonstration of his position as being in no way, as was stated, mean.
“That’s awful! That right there was a very mean thing to say!”
It was?
“It was?”
“You just told me it was a fact that you don’t like me!”
“No, you misunderstood. I said it was a fact that being in your company was similar to what must be the feel of a horde of swarming, soul-eating locusts descending on my naked and staked down body. That does not speak in any way to whether I did or did not like you.”
“Yes it does! It speaks to it very loudly, if you ask me. Now, say something nice or I won’t sit with you at lunch at all!”
How devastating was the pain of quandary! If he simply said nothing he could be rid of John Watson forever, but with John Watson would go John Watson’s cake! And cake today was at least a possible indicator of future cake and how could he allow such an opportunity to pass him by. But John Watson was chained to the cake like an illegitimate child to an unwed mother… why could he not have a choice! Cake or John Watson… there should be no ‘and’ substituted for the choice-based comparative ‘or.’ It should be that he sat down for lunch and was handed a piece of cake by the stupid boy as tribute for allowing him to sit and drink in the perfume of the lofty qualities of his betters. But, if some remark was not made, the cake would be lost and… this was the shop boy’s fault. This entire conversation could have been avoided if he had simply driven around to another door and facilitated the avoidance of the pea-sized purveyor of head pain that was standing there tapping his foot. Annoyingly.
“Well? Doesn’t that big brain of yours work anymore?”
The impertinence!
“My mind continues to work and at a level that far exceeds any other in this building.”
“But you can’t come up with one nice thing to say.”
“I…”
This was farcical! Of course he could fabricate a nicety when it was necessary. For instance… well, there was… of course, he could say… HANG IT ALL!
“I object most strongly to being strong armed in such a fashion. It is unkind of you to place me in such a position and I now have no intention of even attempting to concoct a pleasant phrase to buffer your overly-sensitive feelings.”
“That’s dumb. It’s easy – Sherlock Holmes is very smart. See? Easy.
“That is simply stating the obvious; there is nothing nice about it. Hence the thrust of my discussion about facts that overheated your substandard brain tissue.”
“You can be funny sometimes.”
What?
“What?”
“Remember yesterday when you were talking about my history textbook? You said it was as useful as a toothbrush to a worm. That was funny.”
It was?
“It was?”
“Sure! And it was true, too. It barely talks about any good battles or wars or interesting things like that. Oh, Battle of Whatsit in 1249, now moving on… what’s the fun in that? Where’s the good stuff about the fights and the plans and the heroes and villains and… the good stuff! So, you said something funny and it was true, which made it even more funny.”
Oh. Well, that was something Sherlock had not actually considered. He knew he had a marvelous sense of humor, but that was not an opinion others shared. It was hardly surprising since other people were lummoxes, but… it was disappointing, at times. The only other person who appreciated his humor, besides the mastodon, was the lackey and neither of them could be considered objective observers since their main role in life was to make his life as content and agreeable as possible. The liliputian actually found him amusing?
“So how about something for me? Come on, Sherlock… one little nice thing. If you can’t do it, then I have to say you’re not as smart as you keep barking about.”
How dare the little finger puppet! Well, Sherlock Holmes never backed down from a challenge…
“Very well… John Watson properly recognizes my greatness.”
“That was terrible. Say something nice about me that isn’t actually you just complimenting yourself.”
How was that in any way useful?
“If you did not impose restrictions on my…”
“Just say something nice!”
“Fine! You…”
Have cake?
“You…”
Are short enough to see over so ignoring you is made easier?
“You are…”
Not obviously diseased?
“I find you…”
Marginally less appallingly groomed than the other peon with whom I am acquainted?
“Sherlock!”
“You are… tenacious.”
“Ok… ok, that’s not bad.”
The cake was saved!
“We’ll have to work on you being nice, though. But we’ve got lots of time, so I’m not worried.”
Work on… DAMNATION! How much was he to suffer? Why had the gods forsaken him? He… the most worthy of all humans…
“Oh, we’d better hurry or we’ll be late. I’ll find you for lunch, though. Come on!”
And why did John Watson insist on running… grabbing him and running… as if it would matter if they were tardy. The class was a meaningless void until he arrived anyway…
__________
Lestrade debated for about two minutes before stopping by Mycroft’s and telling the driver that he’d pick up Sherlock from school. He simply had to see how Sherlock fared with his new little friend and, hopefully, get a chance to find out more about the boy. For anyone else, this would be ridiculous, but for Sherlock… Mycroft was right. Someone had to keep an eye on this and make sure that Sherlock wasn’t doing anything insane to the poor lad and that… well, that Sherlock didn’t get hurt. The worst possible thing would be for Sherlock to start to open up a little, only to find out it was too late and he’d driven too big a wedge between himself and this new lad.
Getting there a little early, Lestrade pulled the car over to a shady spot, got out to have a smoke before anyone came out and caught him, then waited for the stream of uniformed bodies to come flowing down the steps. It took a few moments once the lemming rush began to pick out Sherlock moving among the others and… yes!... John was right on his heels. Lestrade decided to really put a bug up Sherlock’s arse and began to sound the horn to draw attention. A very large +1 went into his win column seeing Sherlock’s enraged snarl. A small guided missile shot towards Lestrade and in a few seconds Sherlock was standing toe to toe with the older boy, glaring upwards with lethal intent.
“Have you taken leave of your already woefully-lacking senses?”
“Just making sure you saw me. Hate to have you roaming around looking for your driver… I know how much you hate to waste your time like that.”
A small face peered around from behind Sherlock and Lestrade turned his most disarming grin at the curious child.
“Hi, I’m Greg.”
“Do not speak to John Watson. You will only encourage his continued presence.”
“Can’t you just call him John, you pompous git?”
“I am attempting to depersonalize him.”
“Pay no attention to him, John. He just likes hearing himself talk. When there’s no one around, he still goes on and on and on…”
“Talking to myself is the only way I can be assured of intelligent conversation!”
“See what I mean? I could go off for a pint, come back and he’d still be going on.”
Lestrade smile widened as John began to giggle. Apparently, despite Sherlock’s acidity, the boy hadn’t quite been scared off, yet.
“Are you… are you Sherlock’s brother?”
Sherlock was halfway to the ground to begin dying, then rethought his options given the presence of his tethered haunting.
“He is the debauched gigolo who suffers my brother’s clumsy sexual gropings in exchange for the chance to dip his fingers in my family’s financial holdings.”
“He means, in his bastardy way, that I’m his brother’s boyfriend.”
“Oh… that’s nice. I mean, you seem very nice.”
“Why are you still here, John Watson?
“Shut it, Sherlock, or your bum won’t be warming the driver’s seat at all today.”
“He gets to… you get to drive? That’s… I don’t know anyone who gets to drive yet! You must be super at it!”
Sherlock had to admit that John Watson’s… John’s… very vociferous adulation was somewhat agreeable.
“I am a masterful driver. It is only the unnecessary restrictions placed on my actions by the shop boy that prevent me from successfully obtaining my driving license.”
“That and a bunch of years of life.”
“Peasants speak only when spoken to.”
“Well, this peasant is now waiting until after he drops you at home before going to the pub.”
“What? You shall not enter that den of public drunkenness without me!”
“You… you get to go to pubs, too? That’s… you get to have so much fun! You’re really lucky, Sherlock…”
Lucky? To be condemned to have his life disrupted by Mycroft and his concubine? It was they who were lucky to be able to support and entertain someone so brilliant and scintillating. Though… if he was forced to admit it, they did do a passable job of supporting and entertaining…
“You’re welcome to come along, if you want, John. Chips are my treat.”
“What! Thrust home the dagger deeper into my heart, why don’t you!
“Oh… I… I wish I could, but I have so much work to do for my classes and getting things together and…”
“It’s ok, lad, I’ll leave the invitation open. How about a ride home?”
“Actually… I live here.”
“John Watson…”
“Try again.”
“Fine, Gregory. John is a boarder.”
“I like the way you spit that out, like most of the lads here aren’t away from home.”
“It is not my fault that my family chose to erect this school so that males of my bloodline did not have to go away from home during our formative years.”
Both John and Lestrade stood staring a moment, but the older boy shook off the surprise far more quickly. Nothing should really surprise him when it came to Mycroft’s family.
“This… this is your school?”
“Don’t worry, John. Sherlock doesn’t own it or things would be run a lot differently.”
“As they should! If I was allowed to institute the appropriate changes, then this offense to mental enrichment would actually perform its designated function and I would not have to conduct most of my education myself! I believe it is time I had a discussion with Grandmama on the subject.”
“You’re not bothering your Gran over your maths classes.”
“I shall! And if she withholds the endowment, this ostentatious stack of bricks will crumble and I shall be free from its clutches!”
“Not happening. But if it did, then what? I don’t think you’d be happier where I went to school at your age.”
“There is not enough water on Earth to provide me with a sufficient number of showers to wash the pall of penury off of my flesh should that occur. I would pursue my own studies and you would assist me.”
“Again, not happening. Look, John, since you’re stuck here, if you need anything you call me, ok? Got a pen? Good… ok, here’s my phone number. And maybe you can come out with us after your lessons one afternoon. That sound ok?”
“Really? You mean that?”
“No.”
“Shut it, Sherlock. Yes, I mean it. This one can use the company and the more the merrier, I always say. So, when you’re settled in a bit, we’ll go off and have ourselves a nice afternoon.”
“Thanks! I’d like that… I bet it’d be a lot of fun!”
“If having an ignited road flare inserted into your mouth can be considered fun, then I concur.”
“See! I said you were funny, Sherlock, and that’s funny!”
Lestrade held back laughing at Sherlock’s astonished face and chose, instead, to pluck Sherlock’s satchel from off of his shoulder and motion the boy to get into the car.
“He is a funny little thing, isn’t he? Ok then, we’ll see you later, John. Try not to study too hard.”
“I’ll try! Bye, Sherlock! I’ll see you tomorrow!”
“Then I shall pray to die in my sleep.”
“Bye, John. And remember to call if you need anything.”
“I will, Greg. Thanks!”
Lestrade swung into the car and drove as sedately as he was capable away from the school and the little boy who stood watching them until they were out of sight.
“So, how was your day?”
“How could you provide him with a means of communication to you?”
“Jealous?”
Sherlock’s mouth dropped open and Lestrade looked around for something small to toss into it.
“Worried I’ll find myself a new favorite?”
“How… that is the most nonsensical thing I have ever heard!”
But there was a tiny mote of doubt in Sherlock’s voice that told Lestrade maybe he’d not been too far off the mark.
“I can promise you one thing, Sherlock, you’ll always be my favorite little brat. I just feel sorry for John, being all alone, especially if he’s a common boy like me and doesn’t really fit in with you posh types.”
Sherlock’s nearly invisible grin said that he gained some reassurance from Lestrade’s words and the older boy vowed to remember in the future just how insecure Sherlock actually could be under that layer of ear-splitting bluster.
“Well, it is his own fault for choosing to mix with those so far his superior. It is the height of foolishness to waste his time here, where he shall languish at the bottom of the social hierarchy, only return to his thatched-roof shack and live out his days in menial pursuits such as street sweeping or muck raking.”
“Or maybe, he gets a leg up on the other menials and makes himself a promising future.”
“Because your cognitive abilities are nearly nonexistent, I shall forgive you, this once, the disabling flaws in your thinking.”
“Doesn’t matter what the future might be like, right now he’s a lonely kid and there’s nothing wrong with being a little nicer to him…”
“Nice! What is it so important to be nice? I had to suffer his petulant foot-stamping on that very issue and it nearly cost me cake!”
“Cake?”
“Do not fear. The cake, ultimately, was mine.”
“Yeah, don’t really care about cake, but what was that about being nice?”
“The puny ruffian outrageously took offence at what he perceived was a lack of ‘niceness’ on my part.”
“Good for him. Seems like the two of you worked it out, though. Could it be you actually said you were sorry?”
Sherlock erupted in a very loud and very fake laugh, which halted abruptly after a few seconds with a fixed and fierce glare at the driver.
“Do not be absurd.”
“Then what’d you do?”
“I… I cannot divulge my shame.”
“Divulge away or you’re going to have to eat a big plate of soggy boiled carrots before you get your chips.”
“That is blisteringly unfair! I am not a rabbit!”
“What. Did. You. Do?”
“I may… in my pursuit for my rightful share of John’s luncheon cake, I was… I was forced to say something nice.”
Lestrade had to give an inner thumbs-up to John for figuring out on Day 2 how to make Sherlock more agreeable to civilized behavior.
“What’d you come up with?”
“I said… he was tenacious.”
Lackluster, but better than most people would have gotten out of the goblin.
“Ok, that’s good. Tenacious is something to be proud of. He say something nice about you?”
“Of course, for that is so simple even a lobotomized hamster such as John could excel. He said I am both smart and funny, which, of course, is painfully obvious, but pleasing to hear nonetheless.”
So, John did see something in Sherlock… at liked it well enough to want to try and be Sherlock’s friend. This was going to be a very interesting thing to watch…
“Sherlock Watson-Holmes. I like the sound of that.”
“What! You will retract that statement immediately!”
“Nope. You got yourself a nice friend and I’m going to make sure I enjoy every minute of it.”
“John Watson is not my friend!”
Still shrill and overly-emotive, but not quite as feverish as it had been before. Lestrade gave the car a little more zip because he definitely deserved a celebratory pint. Somewhere, deep inside Sherlock’s skull, his brain was at least gently poking with a very long stick the idea of having a friend and if anything deserved celebrating, that was it.
“Well, you better hope he is because I’m making sure he gets a little looking-in on now and then.”
“That is a pathetic use of your time, when it should be devoted in its entirety to me.”
“Poor little bugger’s going to be lonely, Sherlock. I think we can understand how he feels, right?”
Sherlock cut narrowed eyes at Lestrade, but didn’t reply. He didn’t need to, though because the older boy had learned to read Sherlock’s expressions to, at least, a minimal degree and he could tell the gears were turning in the child’s head. Sherlock would never admit to being lonely, never in a thousand years, but that was fine. He’d been brave enough to let Lestrade know and that would always be enough.
“If you choose to fritter away your leisure time with the tiny wind-up toy, then please feel free. It matters not to me.”
“Fritter away my leisure with John and you, you mean. Not going to leave you out, you brat, no matter how hard you struggle.”
Another barely-there smile, then a hearty snort and a stern crossing of his arms across his chest before Sherlock announced that the struggle would be to the death.
“Yours or mine?”
“That is something you will learn when the time comes.”