Chapter Text
Mycroft couldn't imagine anything worse for year eleven. His parents, in an effort to make him and his brother more ‘normal,’ decided to send them to a public school instead of their normal private ones. Mycroft was truly spoiled by being surrounded by peers of similar determination for so long, he could even fathom the happenings of a public school. He couldn't even take all advanced placement classes because they didn't offer it, and had to settle for honors. To add just another nail in the coffin, he had to play football. him, the boy who lied his way out of every pe class, had to play football on a competitive team. He was screwed.
The last few days of freedom ticked away far too quickly. Sherlock had devised a plan of protest, which consisted of them locking themselves in their rooms until their parents gave up. Mycroft knew the plan would never work but he had to give his brother props for trying. When the day arrived, Mycroft felt a sense of dread as he showered and prepared for the day. What does one wear in public school? Mycroft wondered as he dressed in some trousers and a nice beige sweater. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table when mycroft made it downstairs. He had been more excited to not have a uniform then mycroft was. The younger boy was sporting a pirate graphic tee with some navy shorts. Mycroft smiled slightly, at least happy that his brother was excited.
“You look like a nerd.” Sherlock commented as mycroft sat down at the table. “No one likes a nerd, they're going to eat you alive.”
“At least I'm not dressed like an oversized toddler” Mycroft snapped back making the nine year old gasp in shock.
“Mummmm.. Mycroft's being mean " Sherlock whined as their mum put a bowl of cereal in front of myroft. Mum sighed and shook her head.
“You two get along, you've been bickering all summer.” She sighed. Bickering was an understatement, Sherlock blew up Mycroft's room three days into summer break for the sake of science. It took Mycroft at least half the summer to fix it. That was one thing Mycroft was glad about, being away from his brother for a little bit. He loved Sherlock but the kid was going to be the death of him one day.
The buses came soon, Sherlock went first. The nine year old was already unimpressed by the transport. Frowning as he climbed onto the bus and waved goodbye. The secondary school bus came a few minutes later. Mycroft climbed on with a blank expression. It was pretty quiet, most people asleep or whispering to their friends. Mycroft took a seat in the back of the bus, he placed his backpack next to him so no one could sit next to him. He pulled out his copy of The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, in Italian of course, that he had been reading for the past week, and hoped today would go fast.
His first class went smoothly enough. Honors geometry was easy, he was personally studying calculus in his free time so geometry was a piece of cake. AP World history was far more interesting, he knew all the material but he was able to have an intellectual conversation with the teacher. He could barely remember any of AP English, as he read his book the entire time. Then came lunch, which he enjoyed less. The cafeteria was crowded and the food was bad. He managed to find a corner to read in, but he couldn’t focus over the steady roar of people talking to one another. He watched the different people from across the room, able to deduce the main cliques of the school. That’s when he first spotted the football players, a group of guys sitting around a circular table. They were chatting loudly and occasionally broke out in laughter. One boy seemed to be their social leader, he looked athletic but his most defining feature was his prematurely grey hair. It was a stark contrast with his otherwise youthful look. That’s kinda.. Mycroft quickly snapped out of that thought and shook his head. He could already tell that football was going to make his life a living hell. Then came his study hall period, and the grey haired boy followed him into the same classroom. They were even assigned to the same table group. Mycroft didn't say anything, of course, he just pulled out his history textbook and started taking notes. He watched the grey haired boy pull out some maths work and sighed so dramatically. Mycroft found himself watching the boy more than he was actually studying. He has nice hands, he noted as he watched the boy write, and nice eyes.. Mycroft shook his head again to get rid of those thoughts. He didn't have the time to develop a crush purely off of looks, and he knew the boy's personality was likely not his type.
The rest of the day was a blur. French IV was an honest bore, he was already fluent but they still required him to take at least one foreign language class. But then it was time for football practice. Mycroft felt a pit in his stomach. A whole hour and a half surrounded by sporty people playing sports. It was far too hot to be outside let alone running . Mycroft sighed as he walked to the male locker room. Tired already. It was loud in the locker room, boy were greeting each other with enthusiastic fist bumps and odd handshakes. Mycroft didn't feel like he did belong and he knew he didn't. He took his sweater and put it in his locker, as well as his backpack. Everyone else had sports clothes to change into, mycroft remained in his undershirt and trousers, not willing to change into shorts. He sat there, quietly listening to their conversations.
“Ya, mate. I barely practiced over summer, Coach Peter is going to kill me.” One said
“Ah don't worry about it, it seems he's letting anyone play this year.” Another said
Mycroft felt their eyes on him suddenly and he tried to ignore it. He knew he wasn't exactly in football shape, he had been trying to lose weight for a few years but it never seemed to exactly work. To Mycrofts surprise, someone defended him. “Oi! Leave him alone, if he wasn't here then we would have enough players.” Mycroft looked to see it was the grey haired boy defending him. He then came and sat by mycroft with a friendly smile.
“My name's Greg, you're Holmes right?” The boy said, his eyes wrinkled from his smile making it even nicer.
“Correct, Mycroft Holmes.” Mycroft said matter of fact as he held his out for a handshake. Greg instead gave him some sort of horizontal high five, from what mycroft felt he had quite rough hands.
“Nice to meet ya, Mycroft. Ever play football before or is this your first time?” he asked and mucus quickly shook his head
“It's my first time. I'm not the sporty type. My parents forced me to join.” Mycroft felt oddly compelled to just share the details with Greg, which he never did with anyone ever. He never gave an explanation when he was asked a question.
“Well, I'll show you the ropes. I'm kinda the team captain.” He offered kindly. Mycroft could see why he would be team captain, he had very exquisite legs… which he noticed in a very normal way and definitely wasn't staring at all. He felt even more insecure about his body, he knew he should be on the same team as Greg, probably not even in the same room. “We have study hall together, I was the doing my maths homework and about to flip the table. It's crazy that I'm already drowning in homework on the first day.” He laughed at himself, and mycroft chuckled softly with him.
“I can always help, if you need. I'm decent at geometry.” Mycroft offered without thinking. Greg seemed to appreciate the offer.
“I might have take you up on that,” Greg smiled even brighter.
Before the conversation could continue, the coach came in and yelled at them to get out to the field and run two laps. Mycroft tried his best to keep up, but about half way through his first lap he was already walking. He was quickly lapped by the entire team who were all waiting by one the goals now. But then Greg appeared at his side, going Mycroft's pace but he was very lightly jogging.
“When you're doing laps, even if you need to go slow, keep going as if you're running. It helps with form, and it helps you get better stamina.” Greg said, his voice sounded like he didn't just run two laps. Mycroft made some noise that he intended to be a sigh but came out as a groan of pain. He tried his best to match what Greg was doing, and the grey-haired boy stayed right with him the whole time. Eventually, Mycroft was done with his two laps and wanted nothing more than to collapse onto the turf, but Greg insisted that he stayed upright. To his dismay, he realized that he would have to run a lot more. They started with dribbling drills that made Mycroft stumble more than a handful of times. The rest of the team was good, getting through it with practiced ease. Greg stayed close, coaching him through the cones and telling him what foot to kick the ball with. Mycroft appreciated it, all the help he was getting was much more than he was expecting.
After an hour and a half of running and kicking and hurting, they were finally done. Mycroft didn’t even bother going to the showers, opting to just take one in the privacy of his own house. As he was grabbing his backpack and sweater, Greg walked over and handed him a piece of paper. “Here, this is my number. So we can keep in contact about practice and stuff, and we can always talk as friends too.” He said with that beaming smile.
Mycroft was surprised, staring at the paper with disbelief. He felt his cheeks heat up with more than just sun. He had never been given someone’s phone number, let alone a somewhat attractive person's number. “Thank you. I’ll text you when I get home. Have a good day.” Mycroft said as coolly as he could as he turned and left quickly.
“You too! You did great today!” Greg yelled after Mycroft had left the locker room.
Mycroft had no idea why he felt this way. His cheeks were heated and he felt nervous, like really really nervous. He’s never felt like this about anyone before and he had barely even met the guy. The guy with the amazing grey hair, and the kindest eyes Mycroft had ever seen. It wasn’t until Mycroft got home when he realized how horribly screwed he was. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t someone to fall in love, but now here he was… completely and utterly screwed.