[Pros] and [Cons]

Of Breathing

[Sherlock]the Sword and the Shield[Jim]

[Sherlock]the Rock and the Balloon[John]

[Jim]the Prince and the Tiger[Sebastian]

[Mycroft]the Nest and the Secret[Gregory]

[Harry]the Power and the Pride[Mycroft]

[Henry]the Wolf and the Lamb[Martin]

[Molly]the Whisper and the Whip[Irene]

[Anderson]the Vengeful and the Bitter[Sally]

[Anthea]

Chapter One: 221 Baker Street School For the Talented

Jim & [Sebastian] & Sherlock

"I heard the school's going to start accepting paid scholarships."

"They've already lowered their scoring. I don't see how this will be much different."

"Because now we'll have really stupid rich people instead of just the smart rich people. Stupid rich people are gross and snobby and don't even do it right," Jim complained, kicking his heels against the side of the building. Sebastian held the back of his shirt to prevent him from taking a dive off the top of the six tiered building again.

"Honestly. If I could have paid my way in, I wouldn't have taken that stupid test. Now I'm going to have a whole bunch of bitchy rich boys in my business classes that don't even know what a business is."

"They'll rethink their decision when the school's test scores go down. It's inevitable."

"Easy for you to say. It's harder to pretend to be good at music," Jim scoffed. Sherlock only shrugged a little, though, agreeing with his friend carelessly. Quite honestly, it was easy for him to ignore people. It was a skill he had long since perfected to protect himself and his talent. If he let every idiot talk him into being ashamed of himself, he would have gotten nowhere.

"Carter is a cunt," Jim huffed, reaching back to take the cigarette out of Sebastian's hand and stealing a slow puff off of it. He held it in a moment before blowing it out the corner of his mouth and passing it back.

"Agreed," Sherlock answered, plucking at the strings of his violin. Sebastian offered him a drag on his cigarette and Sherlock gladly accepted, taking the fag between thin fingers and sucking in his fair share of sweet nicotine smoke. He passed it back.

"Let's put explosives in his office." Jim smiled back at his blond friend, a suggestive smile that could make poor Sebastian do anything under the sun. Unfortunately for Sebastian. He frowned.

"I have fireworks left over. That's it," Sebastian grunted, grabbing Jim around the upper arm as he flopped back onto the gravel rooftop. Sebastian dragged his little friend completely onto the roof, making sure he was safely stationary.

"Can you put them in his pants?" The Irish accent mused to the clouds. "Actually, anywhere near his genitals would be good."

"I'll see what I can do," Sebastian murmured, though he wasn't nearly as reluctant as he would have liked to have been. The principal was a cunt. Sebastian was, technically, expelled at the moment. He wasn't supposed to be anywhere near the school grounds, but Jim and Sherlock worked their magic in the same way they always did and no one actually knew. No record; no crime. Right on time, the bell rang and the two geniuses looked up to the old, rustic bell with similar frowned.

"I guess we should get to class," Jim said with a tired sigh. Sherlock nodded. Neither of them showed any sign of moving in any direction to do anything akin to going to class. Sebastian put his cigarette out in the gravel and grabbed Jim by the back of his collar. A heavy hand hoisted him off the ground and the tiny figure squirmed to getting his foot, still letting Sebastian do most the work. He grabbed Sherlock by his scarf and thankfully, the violinist followed with less reluctance, unwilling to be dragged and unwanting to be choked.

"Seb," Jim whined softly. "Class is boring. The teacher is stupid and my classmates are slow at best. Sebastian didn't dare released them until they were completely down the stairs and before the trio of lockers. Jim stuck his tongue out at him, but boredly went about spinning the combination on his locker excessively.

"I only came because it's Wednesday," Jim scoffed, opening his locker. He shuffled about it a little, collecting the excess of little 'love notes' from the last week. Sherlock settled his violin in the top of his locker and did the same.

"Eight!" Jim crinkled the papers between his fingers and thumb.

"Seven." Sherlock frowned at him.

"Fourteen." Sebastian actually glanced through his, however. He wasn't interested in any of them, but it was good to know. He'd look through Jim's too, but that was just to make sure Jim stayed away from them.

"What? How do you keep getting more than us? You're- you're not even pretty," Jim complained louder than he actually needed to. Sebastian didn't pay much attention to him. Of course he wasn't bloody pretty. Sherlock and Jim were 'pretty' which was probably why Sebastian got most of his love letters from girls.

"It's his features, clearly." Sherlock leaned into the lockers to Sebastian's left and peeked over his love letters to view his face. Jim mimicked him on Sebastian's right. "Intelligent people,"

"Using the term loosely."

"Are more often attracted to abnormal features. You and I have symmetrical faces, making us the targets for the more average population while Sebastian has uneven features due to his scarring and rugby injuries." He explained, pointing out the obvious marks and cuts on his friend's face. Sebastian ignored them.

"He's big, too. A protector type. More appealing to non-dominant personality types. Even in a school like this, sports are considered a valid form of entertainment, making Sebastian easily one of the most popular males in such a small school. What would you say, second?" Jim continued, squeezing Sebastian's firm, muscular upper arm with pointy fingers.

"Likely. Watson clearly takes first. Lestrade third. As far as sports go," Sherlock stated as if it were so simple.

"I wonder how many love letters Watson gets. His skill in rugby and his grades make him desirable to both sides. He's stupidly kind, decently handsome, and utterly normal. He's an overlap." The two geniuses nodded to one another, approving their combined idea. Neither of them actually cared, but it was something to keep them from gorging their eyes out in boredom. Sometimes Sebastian wondered which he preferred better.

"He doesn't get any. He has a girlfriend," Sebastian assured them, helping each of them (forcing both of them) to gather their things for the next class. Jim made his own money over the internet, taking care of himself and his needs without any help from his abusive father and neglectful mother, and he wouldn't be caught dead with a textbook. Like most of the school, he was on the edge of technology and even then, Sebastian had a hard time getting Jim to carry his tablet anywhere. Sherlock was only minutely easier and that was only because Sebastian could shove it in his coat pocket without any complaining. Jim and his bloody suits.

"That Hopper one?" Jim asked with an air of amusement.

"No. Sawyer," Sebastian corrected. Neither of them made any sign of knowing who that was. She wasn't exactly popular, after all. Watson kind of outshone her most the time. "Sarah Sawyer. Uh. I actually can't think of anyway to connect her to you."

"Then she's clearly dull," Jim scoffed.

"And a waste of time," Sherlock added.

"Besides. What does that have to do with receiving love letters?"

"Some people are actually courteous about whether the people they like is dating someone or not. Girls aren't going to send him love letters hoping he'll break up with her," Sebastian assured them in their daily dose of reality. Jim frowned in confusion and Sherlock's eyebrows came together. Not that they ever understood reality.

"I think we should send him some love letters," Jim announced.

"It would be a worthwhile experiment. The female Watson is gay, it would be curious to see how he reacts to it," Sherlock pondered back. The two of them walked in front of Sebastian, somehow always managing to exclude him and his smaller intellect. He had little hope of keeping up with either of them ever, so Sebastian never actually tried. It wasn't very rewarding anyways. He kept Jim from falling off buildings, and Sherlock from wandering into dangerous situations, and Jim getting in trouble and Sherlock from being bullied. In return, he could love Jim from up close and Sherlock wouldn't tell Jim of this infatuation. Sherlock agreed with him; Jim wouldn't return such mundane feelings.

"It would seem suspicious if we both sent him love letters. You play with Watson, who's more of his type?"

"Sherlock." Sebastian didn't miss a beat. He wasn't actually going to let Jim entwine himself with someone else. He did that all on his own, usually with someone far less intelligent despite all the complaining he did about stupid people. A second thought made his choice a good one regardless. Sherlock could get a rise out of anyone, even the calm tempered Watson.

"Mm. Lay it on thick, love," Jim purred.

"Let me use your red ink," Sherlock shot back, which was more than enough to answer. Using combined techniques learned from entertainment sources and the letters he received he could scrap together a convincing display of affection that will cause a variety of responses from his target. Sherlock wasn't sure what those responses would be just yet, but that was the point of the experiment.

"Don't expect much. Like I said, he does have a girlfriend and he is generally collected," Sebastian offered up even though he knew they were only challenges for the geniuses. Watson had one hell of a temper, but he knew how to control it most of the time. When he didn't people got hurt; badly. Sure enough, Sherlock ignored him. As they sat together in criminology, Sherlock scrolled out an elegantly written love letter with his danity pen and red, red ink. Jim's handwriting made the ink appear as though it'd been touched by death but Sherlock's hand flowered in an artistic touch. He must have been mimicking it from someone or somewhere. Sebastian never actually knew what his real handwriting looked like, if he had one. It confused the teachers constantly, especially when he and Jim insisted on using the same font. Neither of them were cheaters, but it was just unsettling at the best of times.

Sebastian knew he should be watching what Sherlock wrote, making sure it wasn't unusual, incriminating, or anything else that could possibly pop out of his pen, but he had already decided he wanted to stay as far away from this as possible.

While Sherlock wrote, Jim was busy flirting with his neighbor. Sebastian tried to pay attention to them and the class with little luck. He'd learned about sociopaths in his psychology class and unfortunately, both of his friends were sociopaths, so Sebastian couldn't wonder why Jim was so promiscuous. Sherlock wasn't in the least, but they were two sides of the same coin. Sherlock was the balance and form while Jim was the blade and mace. Sebastian supposed that made him the wielder, if his sword had a mind of its own, of course. And if he likes to stab himself with it repeatedly. He wasn't sure where this metaphor was going.

"Here. Give this to Watson," Sherlock instructed, handing him a pale envelope with 'John H. Watson' scripted on the front. Sebastian didn't want to know how he knew Watson's middle name.

"What? No. You give it to him." Sebastian wanted absolutely nothing to do with this. Watson was a teammate, though they weren't close friends, and he was generally a good person. Sebastian wasn't going to help them do anything dubious towards him. He wouldn't stop it, but that was the whole sword thing again.

"I can't." Sherlock sighed impatiently. Here came the explanation. "That dominate-confident behavior which is typically seen as alpha male behavior. If I appear too masculine, he will assume it is a 'prank'. Being too feminine will end the same. The letter itself is ambiguous. I need you to validate it. If I give it to him, it's confident and will make him nervous and unsure. I do not often associate myself with people like him. If you give it to him, he will take your presence as a confirmation that you wouldn't let any harm come to him and take the confession seriously."

"Duh, Seb. Don't be so obtuse." Jim giggled, leaning back and resting on Sebastian's shoulder. Fuck. That probably had something to do with the class. He needed to pay more attention.

"Can't you just act shy or something when you give it to 'im?" Sebastian nearly begged, even as he found himself moving to take the letter.

"Feminine behavior. Acting androgynous is disconcerting to people like Watson. It's for the best that you do it."

"Why don't you 'act' like yourself?" It wasn't like Sherlock was actively masculine or feminine. Sebastian wasn't even sure he was androgynous. Sherlock was malleable. It was no wonder he and Jim got along so well. That went back to the coin thing. Jim was both and Sherlock was neither. If there were any two people made for each other, it was Jim and Sherlock. Sebastian tried not to be jealous.

"God, Seb. We don't want to scare John away," Jim scoffed. Sebastian spotted the minute, barely noticeable expression that crossed Sherlock's face. Then again, maybe he didn't need to be too jealous.

"Alright. Fine." Sebastian tucked it into the pocket on his tablet to prevent it from getting crushed or burned in his trouser pocket. Sherlock and Jim spent the rest of the class using the inked pen on Sebastian's skin. He would have been upset, but rather than two guy friends who drew dicks on his arms, he had two friends who could complete complicated pieces of artwork. It would stain his skin for weeks, but at least he had a modern art statement of physics on one shoulder and the breakdown of chemicals on the other. The real reward was not having two bored sociopaths for a whole class.

His next class was just with Sherlock. Sebastian was both glad and worried. Glad because it was chemistry and Sherlock guaranteed him a good grade. Worried because that meant Jim had chemistry without him and that likely meant explosions. There hadn't been any problem yet, but it was bound to happen eventually. He lounged beside Sherlock, letting him do most of the exciting work on his own. Well, 'let' actually meaning Sherlock didn't like him touching anything unless he was told to. Sebastian didn't mind.

"Why do you keep pinning after Jim?" Sherlock mused, dropping a dubious looking liquid into a suspicious looking solid. Sebastian looked up from his tablet. "You know he'll deliberately hurt you if he ever found out. Not to mention your monogamous nature must make it displeasing to see Jim perform mating gestures with other people."

"I'm not monogamous."

"It means you prefer to be exclusive with your partner of choice."

"I know what it means."

"Then you wouldn't mind sharing Jim if he accepted your advances?" Sherlock glanced away from his experiment to look Sebastian in the face. Sebastian didn't answer. No; he wouldn't like that at all.

"I don't mean to pry, I'm simply trying to understand behavior of people like you. Obsessors have a higher chance of committed a jealous based crime due to love. A view of a codependent relationship will help me understand what path I should pursue with Watson," Sherlock mused on as he dripped a few more chemicals into his compound. It began to expand rapidly, bubbling out of the beaker and suddenly crystallizing into a single, shiny mass.

"Please stay on task, Mr. Holmes. I expect a solvent by the end of class," the teacher called from the front of the room. He was ignored.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't experiment on me," Sebastian scoffed.

"I'm not. I'm gathering data," Sherlock assured him as though that made it better. It didn't, actually. Not even in the slightest.

"Yeah, well why don't you 'gather data' elsewhere?"

"I can't. No one else shares a relationship like you. Besides, it's in my best interest to know your motives due to my likeness to Jim."

"I'm not going to commit a crime towards either of you," Sebastian assured him with a grunt of disapproval.

"I know. You're submissive. Jim would easily subdue you and big as you are, it would be easy for me to win a fight against you," Sherlock answered nonchalantly. That was comforting to Sebastian's ego, not that he didn't already know that. "But patterns are a valid source of information."

"Could we not talk about this," Sebastian grumbled reluctantly. Grey-blue eyes stared at him with the piercing gaze of a Holmes. He offered a small shrug, letting Sebastian know he would likely return to this conversation later. Sherlock grabbed his wrist and held his hand out above the desk. Before Sebastian could stop him, a strange liquid was being dropped onto the back of his hand.

"What the fuck! Ah!" It burned fiercely for several excruciating seconds and Sebastian clenched his hand as if it would stop. He smacked his fist against the tabletop viciously, startling the class already watching him. It stopped and Sebastian released his fingers. He tried to find his breath again, grinding his teeth in frustration. Sherlock examined the back of his hand.

"It worked," he announced carelessly. Sebastian glared at him. "An ink solvent. Perfectly safe to use on skin."

"Safe?" Sebastian snapped. "That burned like fuck."

"I said safe. Not painless," Sherlock corrected him. He turned to his tablet to scribble down whatever it was as the teacher hurried over.

"Mr. Moran! Are you alright?" the older man grabbed his hand, searching for any damage and finding none. Sebastian was just glad it wasn't a lingering pain.

"Yes," he ground out.

"I should suspend you for that, Mr. Holmes!"

"I said it's fine," Sebastian snapped protectively.

"It is not," the man continued firmly, doing his best to hold his strict attitude.

"Piss off," Sebastian growled, standing suddenly. Sherlock watched curiously and the rest of the class did the same. He was only sixteen and he was already taller than, well, everyone. Including the teacher. There was a moment of silence while he choose what to do. As it turned out, ignoring the problem was the answer. He turned away to return to his desk and Sebastian sat back down. He grabbed Sherlock around the collar, yanking him in close.

"Don't. Experiment. On. Me."

"I didn't. It's an ancient technical using the very basic active ingredients. It was an example, not a test." Sherlock always found loopholes, but he didn't so much exploit them than he just assumed that it was okay. It was so obvious to him, it didn't always occur to him that people didn't mention the small things because they weren't normal though.

"I hate you," Sebastian growled. Sherlock smiled a little.

Midday meal followed. Jim gladly launched himself at Sebastian in the middle of the hallway, hoisting himself onto the larger man's back and clinging there easily.

"Sebby! My teacher's a cunt!" he complained loudly, squeezing his arms around the younger boy's throat. Sebastian grabbed his arm to steady himself and keep Jim from strangling him.

"What happened this time?"

"He said my essay was inappropriate," Jim scoffed. Sebastian reached back to grab Jim around the thighs, holding his weight effortlessly. Sherlock trotted alongside them.

"Which version did you hand in?" Sebastian asked.

"Mine," Jim huffed. "Your corrections were stupid."

"Of course that was inappropriate. I told you," Sebastian sighed. Jim puffed his chest out, but ignored it.

"Because he's a cunt," Jim insisted.

"Yeah. He kind of is," Sherlock agreed.

"Your essay was inappropriate, too," Sebastian insisted. Sherlock didn't answer either. Death was simply not a subject someone needed to diverse into. And Jim didn't need to curse so much in his. Sebastian kept a hand on Jim's thigh while he bought his lunch. Neither genius bothered, though. They never did and Sebastian had to buy another lunch for the food they would steal off of his. They trotted out to the field where Sebastian's teammates were eating and practicing. John Watson, the rugby captain; Gregory Lestrade, co-captain; along with Sally Donovan, Paul Dimmock, and Henry Knight the football captain. Sebastian was the overlap. Sherlock and Jim weren't close friends with any of the other jocks and the jocks typically ignored Jim and Sherlock.

"This is so stupid," Jim complained as Sebastian dropped him on the bleachers. Sherlock seated himself in the grass, arm resting on the cool metal bench. "Sports are typically useless to the everyday person. I mean, if you're going to be a professional or join the army or something, fine; but how many people at this school are really going to pursue that career line?"

"Three of 'em are trying for police," Sebastian offered, lounging against the bench and starting on his lunch and lunch cigarette. Jim picked out his crate.

"I think Watson's going into medicine and Knight inherited his father's fortune already."

"Stupid," Jim scoffed. Sherlock was inclined to agree. Even so, it was clearly amusing to watch the group play with a football, aiming more to maim each other than actually practice. Sherlock pressed a foot against Sebastian's knee, getting his attention instantly.

"Now would be the ideal time," he insisted. Jim tossed another walnut at his mouth, which Sherlock was less reluctant to eat than he usually was. Sebastian sighed irritably.

"Now?" he demanded, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette and taking a quick drink from his soda can.

"Yes," Sherlock answered curtly. Sebastian handed Jim his cigarette, places his food aside, and withdrew the letter from his tablet pocket. This wasn't going to go well, but he didn't have a choice, did he? Slowly, he began the tortuous walk to his team.

Jim took a puff off of the cigarette before offering it to Sherlock who refused in order to keep a desired appearance for Watson. Jim giggled lowly.

"What'd you write, anyways?"

Sherlock & [John] & Greg

Moran's little friend bursted into laughter on the benches, spitting out the foul smoke in a huge puff. John stopped to watch, curious at the outburst. It wasn't unusual for Moran's friend, but it was still strange. Moran approached them and Greg tucked the oval ball under his arm.

"Watson," Moran nodded to him. John hoped he wasn't trying to get out of practice again. His friends were bad influences. "My friend wanted me to give this ta you," he murmured, not completely convinced of it himself, but still willing to hand the letter over. John accepted it kindly.

"You're, uh, friend?" he asked nervously.

"Sherlock," Moran assured him. Oh thank god. Holmes was far less worrying than Moriarty. John knew there were rumors that Moriarty liked to send passive aggressive letters to people that crossed him. Those people always left the school. Rumors that Moran confirmed.

"Open it, then," Greg insisted.

"I would suggest you do it in private," Moran suggested. John glanced toward the bleachers. Both of Moran's strange little friends were watching them closely. Sally scowled.

"Why? Is it a love letter?" she huffed bitterly.

"Yes," Moran informed simply. John blushed, much against his will.

"What?" Sally gasped before he could. That wasn't good. John glanced at her slightly. She couldn't possibly blame him for that. He couldn't control who Holmes liked. Sally had no interest in him, but her best friend was infatuated with Holmes. They'd all sort of figured he was asexual or something.

"I dunno." Moran shrugged. "I'm just delivering it," he assured them before beginning back toward his friends. "See ya at practice."

"It's got to be a joke," Paul insisted as they huddled around John. Everyone except Henry, of course, who was more interested it bouncing a football from knee to knee.

"Holmes doesn't like anyone," Sally agreed.

"Not necessarily. He could have always liked John. That would explain why he never responds to the love letters he gets. Too shy to do anything about it," Henry suggested helpfully. Greg snorted. Sally frowned her disapproval.

"Holmes? Shy? I don't we're talking about the same person, mate," she scoffed.

"You judge too quickly. If he's socially inept and shy, that's probably how he tried to make friends. You react badly and he refuses to try again. Remember when he and Jim met?"

"They got in a fistfight," John reminded him.

"Well, before that. They speak, I dunno, the same language I guess. You probably did something to make him think you understand him," Henry explained, bringing his ball under his arm to approach his friends.

"But he's a freak," Sally murmured, completely unconvinced.

"He's kind of a twat, too," Paul added.

"Yeah, but most of the school thinks he's a cute twat," Greg mused on. They all stared at the letter in John's hands, expecting him to open it. He wasn't. This was the sort of thing to be handled in private!

"Well, whatever. I'll- uh, deal with it by myself, thank you," John assured them, folding it over once to shove in his back pocket. He glanced nervously towards Holmes, still watching him with impossibly blue eyes.

"I say you ignore him like he does everyone else. That'll teach him," Sally scowled, crossing her arms over her chest bitterly. "Dino's been trying to get his attention for months and Holmes shrugs him off like nothing, the arsehole."

"Let's agree to not tell him about this, then. Hmm?" Greg suggested pointedly. "We don't need him trying to pick a fight with John." That wasn't something John wanted at all and thankfully, they all nodded in agreement. Even Sally, reluctantly. Anderson would be really upset if he found out.

When the bell rang, they all reluctantly headed in from the field in their small group. Anderson joined them at the door, being one of the many people at this school that refused to be athletic in any way.

"Hi Mycroft," Greg smiled as they passed this year's (and the last three year's) school president, his girlfriend, and the vice.

"Good afternoon, Gregory," Holmes answered with a familiar smile. His five friends tried not to giggle and once they were out of ears reach of the president, Sally elbowed Greg in the side.

"I think you should write a love letter to Holmes," she teased. Greg pushed her away with his shoulder, hurriedly undoing his combination to fetch his textbooks and shoved the rugby ball away.

"Very funny. Ha bleedin' ha."

"Oh, come off it. We all know you have a huge crush on him," Anderson teased as they all went about getting their own books. Henry, of course, being the odd one out again and not owning any actual textbooks.

"One; it's not like that," Greg began, stacking two books in his arms, "two; he wouldn't go out with someone like me. And three; he has a bleedin' girlfriend, anyways."

"No he doesn't," Henry assured him suddenly. "He's single."

"Nu uh. That pretty girl is his girlfriend. They're always together," Greg insisted.

"That's Anthea. She's on the board and she's just that; pretty. They're just for show." Henry, as well as being the football captain, easily juggled being on the school board as well. He helped plan the school outings and was fairly good friends with practically everyone. "And it's more likely he'd be dating Harry, anyways."

"Why? Is he gay?" Greg asked a little too hopefully for 'it to not be like that'. Henry shook his head.

"Not really. He's pansexual."

"What?" Greg stared at him in confusion. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad yet.

"It's like a cross between being asexual and bisexual. He's only attracted to the person he likes," Henry explained, balancing his football in the crook of his knee while he opened his locker.

"How do you know that?" John asked incredulously.

"Anthea told me. I asked her if Mycroft would be interested in dating Greg."

"You did what?!" Greg nearly dropped his books. Dimmock laughed.

"You clearly like him," Henry shrugged, putting his ball away and picking up his tablet.

"Well it doesn't matter because he doesn't like me," Greg huffed.

"Not exactly," Henry murmured again. "Martin was asexual before we met,"

"So Mycroft might change his mind-?"

"Probably not. Martin's the kind of person that likes to find himself. I don't think Mycroft has ever not known who he was. But, that wasn't the point I was making. Of course he doesn't like you, therefore isn't attracted to you, because he doesn't know you. Just get to know him." Henry shrugged as if it were actually that easy. Greg frowned at him.

"Why do you know so much about this stuff, anyways?" John mused curiously.

"Psychology class. That and Martin's, well, poor Martin's a wreck," Henry sighed, though it was a strangely happy sigh as he thought about his boyfriend in any way.

"Thanks Henry, but I think I'll keep it to myself," Greg mumbled. "He's like the government and I'm just an inspector."

"What?" John couldn't help a giggle. Greg shrugged awkwardly.

"I don't know. Don't call me on stuff like this," he complained, following John and Paul to their next class. Their little group parted ways, quietly.

"You might as well give it a shot," John suggested. He really didn't see the harm in it. Holmes was rather nice, at least nicer than his brother, and easily one of the smartest people in the school which was really saying something in a school full of intellectual geniuses. Greg grumbled a little, running a hand through his dark hair.

"But he's cute and smart and rich. I mean, Henry's right. Mycroft's probably pursuing Harry Carrthurs. They're already friends, after all." Greg sighed. It was disconcerting to see his friend giving up so easily. He never gave up so easily.

"Don't you think Holmes would already be dating him if he was so intent on it?" Paul reminded him.

"His elections are always brutal. When he wants something, he takes it swiftly," John agreed, setting his books down on his desk beside Sarah. She smiled at him sweetly.

"Yeah, but that means he doesn't want me," Greg pointed out, crashing on John's other side and dropping his head on his desk.

"Because he doesn't know you," Paul reminded him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Sarah asked curiously, wrapping an arm around John's and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Greg's infatuation with the school president," Paul teased.

"Just tell bleedin' everyone, why don't ya?"

"Oh Greg. Everyone already knows." Sarah reached over to pat the back of his head soothingly. Greg groaned loudly.

"Are we still going out tonight, John?" Sarah asked casually. John smiled.

"Sure. After practice, hmm?" he suggested. She agreed with a small nod. John liked Sarah. She was kind and adorable and smart. However, he couldn't in all good faith say it would last. He went through girlfriends faster than he was proud of. They always left him, though, so he could hardly be blamed.

John waited until his communications class to read his 'love note'. It probably wasn't even a love letter. Moran was just messing with him again. That was the only explanation. Henry sat next to him which made him a little more nervous about reading it. Not that Henry cared either way, actually. John swallowed as he gently opened it.

-Dear John,

I apologize for being unable to speak to you face to face. I'm afraid your friends would discourage you from speaking to me, but I hope you'd be willing to give me a chance. I've admired you from afar for a long time, unable to help myself from attending all of your games and finding it impossible to not follow you with my eyes whenever you're in sight. I am disappointed that I missed my chance to ask you on a date while you were single, but every time I tried to approach you, my heart seized in my chest. I do not love you, that is a ridiculous idea for someone I haven't had the chance to enjoy time with, but given the chance, I know I would come to and perhaps, you would come to love me. I don't want to cause you distress, but I had to make my feelings known. If you'd care to speak with me, you know where to locate me. I hope you will.

Love Sherlock Holmes-

John tried to keep his face the same color, but he could already feel the heat rising in his neck. He'd received plenty of love letters before, but this was something completely new. John's heart lumped up a little for reasons he didn't entirely understand. Sherlock was a prodigy, maybe a little misunderstood and a good bit mean, but he was still amazing. He was smart, he played violin like no one he had known, and absolutely gorgeous. John wasn't sure where he'd been hiding these thoughts, but they ambushed him from nowhere. John folded the letter back up and safely tucked it into his pocket.

"So?" Henry asked curiously. John only shook his head, though, and Henry understood. He focused on his class as much as possible, but most of his mind was trying to figure what to do with this new information. He couldn't just drop everything. He shouldn't even be thinking about it.

Greg met him in the hall to walk to their next class together. It was eerily quiet between them for much of the same reason.

"I'm going to talk to Mycroft," Greg finally said out loud. John nodded in a bit of a stupor.

"Uh. Yeah. I - I'm going to talk to Sherlock."

"You are?" Greg answered incredulously.

"What? Why? Do you think it's a bad idea?" John meet gazes with his friend. Greg held his hands up quickly.

"No! Not at all! I just- maybe you should wait it out?" Greg suggested. "Just in case?"

"Ah. You're right. No need to be brash." John nodded again, more to assure himself than Greg.

"Right. Good. Good." Greg patted his shoulder firmly. "Okay. There's Mycroft. Wish me luck."

[Mycroft] & Harry

"That still puts afternoon modern sculpting and young philosophers in the same room at the same time."

"I don't suppose they could share, could they?"

"I could ask them. I believe the sculptors are working on abstract pieces, however."

"See if they could change to modeled work and ask the philosophy club if they wouldn't mind being used for conceptual pieces."

"I'll see what I can do." Harry smiled at the president kindly. Mycroft made note of the changes in his tablet and sorted out the coloured mess of his schedule with a few taps of his stylus. Harry was his best tool in convincing people to do as they were told. Anthea was his best tool for making sure they were enforced and keeping track of school rumors and word. She was always on her mobile. It was the reason he always ran with them. Harry straightened his tie, the same matching blue and gold Mycroft wore today. Fortunately, the school didn't require uniform. That was a whole other level of stress Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing. Generally, the school population was good about dressing properly. He and Harry shared a dorm anyways, so it was easy to colour-coordinate outfits.

"Gregory Lestrade is approaching," Anthea murmured suddenly, though she hadn't looked up from her phone whatsoever.

"Thank you, Anthea."

"Hi Mycroft. Harry. Uh-" Lestrade glanced at Anthea who paid him no attention.

"Anthea," Harry chuckled softly.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I thought - nevermind." Lestrade shook it off. Anthea's name was constantly an area of confusion around the school.

"Hello Gregory," Mycroft greeted and Harry smiled his own. Lestrade glanced toward him, then Anthea nervously. He almost appeared as if he weren't going to say anything else.

"I - Uh. I was just wondering if you need help with anything?" he offered with a sudden found strength. Mycroft was aware he wasn't actually offering help. Even if he was, of course, Mycroft had no reason to accept it. He wasn't entirely sure what he was suggesting though. Mycroft wanted to assume it was a way to spend time together, but it was so awkwardly phrased it was difficult to be sure. Harry raised his tablet a little for Mycroft alone to see.

Yes.

"Yes?" That wasn't even an appropriate response. Mycroft didn't glare at his friend, but he didn't need to for Harry to know he was annoyed.

"Oh! You do?" Lestrade lost his strength all at once. Dammit, Harry.

"I suppose." Mycroft glanced down at his open schedule in order to find somewhere to put him. Harry gladly helped him by reaching over with his stylus. Because he was a twat. "Yes. Friday afternoon, hm? After classes I need to evaluate the building and yard for yearly management. I could use another set of eyes and some company." Mycroft offered a small smile.

"Sure. I'd be happy to." Lestrade smiled, taking a step back. "I'll see you then." He left calmly, but it was clearly it had made his day. Not so much Mycroft's. It was unneeded and only put more trouble on him. He stared at Harry blandly.

"What? He's adorable." Harry shrugged, bringing his lip between his teeth. Anthea rolled her eyes, mumbling something about Harry's libido. "Don't worry. I'll come with you. Make sure he doesn't jump you."

"Thanks," Mycroft answered sarcastically. "And I'll just have to make sure you don't 'jump' him."

"It'll be fun," Harry insisted, patting his back stiffly. Mycroft calmed himself with a steady breath. He would like to say Harry meant well, but he really didn't. He knew Mycroft wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship with anyone right now and yet he still insisted on trying his patience at every turn. They were good friends, though, and he knew Harry didn't mean any harm. He didn't mean well, but it wasn't malicious.

"Home economics wants to host a bake sale for the school. They'll be using out of pocket money for start up." And it was right back to business.

"They're free to, but be sure they remember to remain in the school's nutrition guidelines."

"Of course. Where should they set up? I wouldn't suggest the cafeteria. It's been overly crowded the last few days due to free block and computer skills switching times."

"Set them up at the doors during and after supper and during the rugby game as well."

"Approaching your brother, Mycroft."

Sherlock & [Sebastian] & Jim

"Do you think he's read it yet?" Jim giggled. "If he doesn't answer, you know you'll just have to send him more. They've got to be more intimate than that, too," he insisted excitedly, smoke exiting with his ever-amused laugh.

"I already have. They're ready to be delivered as needed," Sherlock smirked, taking the cigarette for a puff. Sebastian's hand was suddenly in his face, smothering the end of the cancer stick in his palm and gripping his hand tightly.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed passively. "Are you three smoking again?"

"Hullo Mycroft," Jim purred delicately. "We weren't doin' nuthin'," he promised, crossing his fingers over his chest.

"Liar," Anthea stated instantly. Jim stuck his tongue out at her. Mycroft only sighed though.

"Mr. Moran. Not expelled I see," he added on. Sebastian raised Sherlock's hand to his mouth, giving it an absent kiss.

"Couldn't stay away," Sebastian assured him, catching cold grey-green eyes with aggressive green ones.

"Stop loitering around the blind spot, boys. That's dangerous," Harry tacked on as they left again. Sherlock waited until they were gone before letting out his mouthful of smoke. Sebastian released his hand, shaking his burn out and wiping his palm on his jeans.

"Your brother's such a twat," Sebastian murmured.

"I dunno. I think he's kind of hot," Jim teased, swishing his hips around. "Lemme read the letters you wrote. Did you make them creepy?"

"No," Sherlock answered, flexing his probably bruised fingers. "They're increasingly dirty though. Sexual things seem to stimulate better responses."

"Sexual how?" Sebastian dared to ask.

"My sexual experience is made up entirely of your smut and Jim's stories, so," Sherlock didn't need to finish. Oh god, this was going to go horribly, horribly wrong. Sebastian had already allowed it to start (which was always his mistake) and now all he could do was watch everything implode.

"Oh my god. That's going to be brilliant, love!" Jim giggled uncontrollably. "I need a fucking camera or something for this."