Chapter Text
After the estate burned down, the three Moriarty boys became wards of the Rockwell family. The Rockwells were a Count family, so the quality of life didn't change much in terms of wealth. However, their emotional and social quality of life improved greatly. You see, the Rockwells were a kind family, ones who weren’t as venom-filled as the rest of the nobility.
Since the Rockwells were of a more humane nature, their parties were less suffocating– or at least in Albert’s experience, they were. At one such party, Albert held the floor in conversation among a plethora of nobles who were invited. That came as no surprise since he was the oldest of the Moriarty line and the eldest ward of the host family. Being the center of attention wasn’t new, but it also wasn’t pleasant.
The fake, courteous smile on his face began to annoy him. He hated this. He hated parties. Everything was a bore.
‘What a bore,’ Mycroft mentally sighed as he sipped his wine. He knew he wasn’t really meant to be around these parts, but the Rockwells were kind enough to branch their invitation out to a family of country squires. As such, the Holmes’ went out of courtesy and gratitude, though they didn't garner much attention.
Sherlock, who was 12 at the time, was thrilled to be in such a place. The Holmes family was not short on money by any means, and in fact lived in a nice little manor themselves. However, Sherlock grew up around the working class, so even the extravagance of the lower nobility was far more than none at all. His eyes darted around the ballroom, analysing and appreciating all that he saw. His eyes glistened as he practically shook with excitement. He wasn't such a young child anymore, yet his face shone with that childlike wonder that he rarely showed anymore.
Seeing him like that truly reminded Mycroft of how young his brother really was. Though the boy was snide and cheeky, and knowledgeable beyond his years, he was still only a child.
"Mikey," he whispered into his older brother's ear, getting on his tiptoes to do so. "Can I look around?"
"Aren't you already doing so?" Mycroft whispered back
Sherlock looked annoyed for a second, and Mycroft nearly laughed. Still, he held back and just patted his head.
"Go on. Just don't get in trouble."
With that, Sherlock darted off to look closer at the adornments and people. At least he was having fun, unlike Mycroft. His father was around somewhere, being introduced to noble men and politely greeting others. His mother was by his side, no doubt, leaving him alone to deal with the sparse youth.
There were many, to his surprise: young nobles, that is. Though he supposed he should know that a party hosted by a house with children would also host children. Those closer to his age group wouldn't speak to him, and those who were younger were more entertained by those their own age. So he was alone, sipping wine in a secluded corner of this manner. His gaze lazily flowed between people, guessing a few things about each person he saw.
'That lady's having an affair…'
'That man just inherited a large sum of money.'
'Those two just got married.'
'That girl… she's in love with that boy.'
'How boring'
Then, his gaze fell on the "star" of the party: the young Moriarty. The first thing that caught Mycroft's eye was the smile on the boy's face. A false one, no doubt. It was obvious that he, too, was bored out of his mind with this party. The nobles who surrounded him like vultures, trying to coax him into an alliance. Had he been any other fifteen-year-old, he might have fallen for their kindness. Children are statistically easier to manipulate, and it's no doubt that those nobles want either wealth or power that comes with the Moriarty name. But the young Moriarty was different. He'd already mastered the polite pleasures of nobility and was merely complying with his duty as the star of tonight's party. But his eyes told the truth; he hated this and was bored enough to want to leave, but he knows he can't.
The eyes are the window to the soul, and the eyes don't lie. Mycroft knew this well. As he took another sip of his wine, a new thought crossed his mind:
'How Interesting…'