The Assistant Headmaster (Mystrade Fanfic)

Eighteen

A/N- Big brother Mycroft is very hot indeed. 

-CH

Mycroft

He's incredible. Gregory Lestrade is positively and utterly incredible. I drove home from dropping Greg off with a grin on my face. My face hurt from smiling so much and I felt warm and tingly inside. Was that happiness? I guessed it was. Something about that boy made me feel better than I ever had before. Already he was like a drug to me, and I was a willing addict.

There was something about his ready grin which made me lose track of myself. It was like whenever he looked at me, I found myself drowning in a pool of happiness - a sea of deep yellows and golds. It was an entirely irrational, illogical feeling, and I wasn't sure I liked it. It defied everything I stood for. Caring wasn't an advantage, I still stood by that motto, but it sure was a damn good feeling. 

My face hurt from grinning so much, and it was an entirely new feeling for me altogether. I knew I could lose my job because of him. It wasn't like it mattered though. I was an assistant headmaster. I also had recently applied for a minor position in the British Government. Basically that meant my position was the highest of them all. 

As I drove, I sang along to a song playing on the radio, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel. Usually I'd never be caught dead doing anything of that sort. You just didn't see superior people like me doing stuff like that. I pulled to a stop as the lights changed colour, and could feel eyes on me from the side of the road. 

"You have got to be fucking joking me!" I growled as I looked at the person in question, quite illegally cutting across the road, leaving cars tooting their horns at me while swerving as I executed a perfect stop on the road next to the person, where they stood watching me with an air of amusement. 

"Hello, Brother Dear," Sherlock said, standing on the footpath with another boy beside him. 

"Who's this, Sherlock?" I asked, feigning politeness. Of course Sherlock could see through it, could see my utter disgust at the whole scenario, just as I had wanted him to. 

"Victor," the other boy introduced himself, holding a hand out to me which I looked at in disgust. 

"You'll forgive me for not shaking your hand, Victor," I said mildly, "But I do not enjoy spending time around young drug dealers who get their supply from stealing from their parents who are split up and don't really care for their children. You understand, don't you?"

"Mycroft," Sherlock growled. 

"I... 'Ang on, how'd you know that?!" Victor demanded. 

"I'd watch that tone of voice, if I were you," I warned with a subtle viciousness. "You're not in a very good position now, as it is, do not make it worse for yourself."

Victor blinked, and Sherlock looked both embarrassed and annoyed. Good. 

"Were you enjoying yourself in the car, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, trying to change the topic. 

"You'll find out, won't you? You'll be joining me."

"Like hell I will!"

"Empty your pockets," I demanded. 

"What?" Sherlock asked.

"Empty your pockets now, Sherlock."

"No!"

I grabbed Sherlock by his collar roughly and pulled him in. "I am not in the mood for this Sherlock. I will not let you throw your life away like this. Now empty your pockets."

"Since when do you care about me?!"

"Since," I said, harshly grabbing Sherlock's wrist, "Right now. Empty your damn pockets."

Sherlock still refused, and so I did what had to be done. I got the teenager into a headlock and began rummaging through his pockets, pulling out small plastic bags of cocaine, and there was heroin there too. I dropped it all down drain on the road. 

"Hey, you bastard!" Victor shouted. 

"Shut it!" I said, my voice deadly cold. "Give me the money he gave you."  Victor took a wad of money out of his pocket and begrudgingly held it out to me. I snatched it from his hand, and turned my wrath back onto Sherlock. "Get your fucking arse in that car before I force you in there."

Both the boys looked at me with wide eyes, and after hearing me swear, Sherlock obviously realised I wasn't joking, and I most certainly wouldn't let up about it. He began on his way towards the car, and I roughly shoved him in, seeing red. 

"I'll be informing the police of your whereabouts, Mr. Trevor. Good evening."

I put the children's lock on the doors, before shutting Sherlock's, and getting into the drivers side. 

The way home was a quiet one. Every so often I looked at Sherlock, whose face was screwed up in anger, and he let out shaky breaths that indicated that he was trying not to cry. "You have to screw everything up, don't you?" He finally spat.

"You happened to 'screw up,' as you so poetically put it, a very nice evening yourself, so shut up. I will not sit back and watch you ruin your life in a way that I once did. I would never let that happen to you."

"Oh, but everything else is fine and dandy, isn't it, Mycroft? Let's just forget about those times I came to you for help and you just turned me away."

"Sherlock, I'm sorry, alright? I'm really, truly sorry. I never apologise to anyone, and I am apologising to you. I will never forgive myself for what I have done in the past, much in the same way that you will never forgive me. But I will never let anything hurt you ever again, alright? Not on my watch."

"Oh, shut it," Sherlock snapped, turning in his seat to rather dramatically glare out the window. 

I turned on my hands-free set and phoned the personal assistant the government had provided me with. "Yes, Ralph. Organise sniffer dogs and a private room at Saint Bartholomew hospital. I need a drug test for someone."

We got to Saint Bartholomew, and I pulled Sherlock out of the car, meeting Ralph by the door. "Is everything sorted?" I asked him. 

"Yes, Sir, it is."

"Great, let's go through. Come along, Sherlock."