“I do believe it’s time.” Mycroft smoothly spoke across the table to his mother.
“That you are.” Mummy Holmes murmured distracted into her teacup. She was not yet fully sold on this idea even if she had the previous thirteen years to think about it.
Mycroft knew she needed more convincing. “Father is sick. Now is the time to close the loops for this family to remain.” He leaned forward in his seat, “The way to do it is to honor the previous Kings wishes.”
“If you were to Marry, Mycroft, this wouldn’t be necessary.” His mother cut in quickly. “He’s too young and brash. You know your brother.”
“I will not be the face of this. We agreed, I’ll be in charge behind the scenes. Someone needs to be the face and if Sherlock doesn’t do it there is one other option.” Mycroft forced calm into his facial features.
“Precisely.” Mycroft leaned back. “Sherlock is ready. There is no point in keeping him from his duties any longer. Having something more to do might actually be better for him.”
His mother’s lips pursed before speaking. “I’ll call in for the box. Try not to antagonize your brother meanwhile.” She gave him a long and calculating look.
Mycroft inclined his head. “I’ll begin the search.” He stood to leave. “They will be informed to prepare.”
“I swear to fucking god Jim, stop pushing me into the fucking desk.” Sherlock snarled as the shorter boy pushed closer against him.
“Do keep up Sherlock. I’m not in the mood – either take your own shirt and trousers off or you’ll leave here without them.” Jim hissed while trying to work his belt off while touching Sherlock all the while.
Sherlock sniffed, irritated before pushing Jim away. Stopping to stare at each other, the glint in Jim’s eyes grew sharper while Sherlock’s grew colder as a moment later Sherlock began to undo his buttons.
“Good. You’ve learned.” Jim smiled sweetly before turning back to his belt.
“Shut up.” Sherlock replied with a bored tone while working on his own belt and trousers. Jim only grinned wider.
“We could always meet up at that posh palace you live in.” Jim added quickly.
“No.” Sherlock deadpanned. “You’re not allowed or invited.”
“You really know how to make a man feel wanted, Sherlock.”
Sherlock snorted. “You’re not a man, Jim.”
“That’s right. I’m so much more.” He murmured contemplatively before reaching his right hand to fist into Sherlock’s hair, yanking the boy down to meet his lips. His other hand dug his nails into Sherlock’s ribs.
Hissing in pain, Sherlock bit Jim’s lip in retaliation and adding a metallic flavor to their kiss. He pulled back spitting Jim’s blood from his mouth in disgust.
“You shouldn’t bite so hard then.” Jim huffed irritated as he tried to pull closer to Sherlock again.
“Shut up.” Sherlock bit out and avoided his mouth coming back into contact with Jim’s. That pulled his neck to the side where Jim quickly latched on.
John jumped in alarm before grinning weakly at his computer screen. “Sorry guys, dinner.” He grinned as farewell.
“Oh come on John!” Stephen protested, “Why did you leave this weekend?”
“Plans” John smirked as Sally snorted in amusement.
“Well come back soon. I still need help with a few questions for this Bio lesson.” Stephen sighed.
“Can’t until Sunday morning, Harry coming too” He gave as explanation as his mouth and eyes pinched at the edges while he shrugged.
“Tea” Sally blurted out. “Don’t forget your tea.” She laughed, “It’ll make you feel better after Harry”.
“Yeah, tea” John sighed. “Listen, how about we work on it some more Sunday after the game? I can manage a day without dinner.” He smiled trying to make amends.
“Mate, I’ll buy you ten bloody dinners if you help me Sunday.” Stephen muttered as his face grew smaller as he leaned back into his chair.
“I might hold you up to that.” John smiled kindly. “You keep working on it. I’ll have answers for you Sunday. Ta.” John finished as he shut his laptop down.
Sitting with his elbows resting on his old desk he sighed, he was positive he hated A Levels.
“John!” The voice called again with impatience beginning to lace his name.
“On my way” John called out as he pushed himself to his feet and out of his room. “Don’t want to miss the family dinner.” He muttered before he hitched a smile on his face.
“Johnny!” Harry cried loudly, “You haven’t grown!”
John Scowled. “Harry.” He greeted stiffly.
“Fine, hand it over.” John demanded with a long suffering sigh.
Bill grinned and handed over the plastic Ziploc containing coins and a list. “You’ll need this.” He handed over an empty gym bag larger than his own.
“Thanks.” John smirked as he turned on his heel for the Gym connected to the sports hall where the team was at and not tipping on his cleats expertly. A few calls of “You’re a life saver!” following his departure. Smiling at a few people as he made his way through the building he began running plays through his memory.
Soon he found himself emptying what was left in the vending machine, realizing that he hadn’t managed to get everything on the list. Exiting the hall and heading to the nearest building with vending machines so he made his way to the Art School further in the center of campus. He’d never actually stepped foot there if he was honest.
Bag slung over his shoulder he headed towards the stairs. Sure enough below the stairs next to the toilets was a cluster of well stocked machines.
Tossing the bag on the floor he began to pull the ziplock from his trousers.
“Just Marry me.” A voice snapped.
“That’s ridiculous.” Another male voice spoke up.
“Yes. But just do it, it wouldn’t be the most ridiculous thing we did.” The first voice spoke again. The voices began stirring recognition in his memory.
John stood frozen, not knowing what to do.
“Fine, but I don’t want to hear you whine.” The first voice snapped again.
John shook himself out of his stupor and for a moment contemplated leaving without getting what he came for. Squaring his shoulders and opening the bag for the money he began to get the crisps and packaged bread from the list.
The machine began to whirr and a few seconds later the door slammed open from the bathroom. John jumped, turning to look at the cause over his shoulder.
“What are you doing?” The boy hissed angrily at him.
John glanced back to the progress of the purchase before turning to look back at the boy. “I don’t think I have to spell it out, do I?” John asked raising his eyebrows in confusion.
“What did you hear?” The boy insisted.
“What did I hear? Nothing, No one’s in playing.” John felt his cheeks warming and looked at a nearby closed music room and pointing with his chin.
“That’s not what I meant.” The boy snapped quickly.
“Nothing that means anything to me” John shrugged starting to feel bewildered. He hadn’t planned on telling anyone; in fact he had planned on forgetting that he’d heard anything. He turned back to add more money into the machine for a different set of biscuits.
“If you say anyt-“
“I won’t. It’s not my business. No one will believe me.” John cut him off before walking further from the boy to the drinks machine. Thinking it was over he let himself relax before feeding more money into the machine as he took out the drinks and tossed them in the overflowing bag. Should have probably bought drinks first, John thought carelessly.
He found his cheek and chest pressed up against the front of the machine. The plastic burning at his cheek as he was held still. His left arm was twisted in a painful hold to his back that forced him to breathe shallowly to not jostle the hold. “fuck!” he hissed.
“If you say anything,” The boy insisted, “I’ll have you thrown out and barred from every University in the country.”
John groaned unaware of whether in pain or incredulity. “You can’t do that.” He insisted before expelling air in pain, “Christ-“ He hissed weakly as the other boy didn’t let go and only pushed him harder against the surface.
“I can and I will. Don’t give me a reason, Watson.” John could hear the sneer.
“Don’t be an idiot. I already told you it’s not my business.” John snapped, the tone used on his name irritating him. “Let me go Holmes or I’ll break my own shoulder just to bruise your eye - and let me tell you - it seems like a bloody good idea at the moment. It’ll be worth it. ”
There was an irritated huff behind him, a sudden and harder shove into the surface of the machine before he was let go.
Peeling himself off the machine he turned his back to it leaning against it, his metal cleats scratching against the linoleum, automatically rubbing his shoulder to ease the pain before his hand reached to rub against his burning raw cheek. “Christ” John murmured again as he flinched from his own hand.
Turning accusing eyes up at the taller boy, he let his hands fall to the front of his bare knees making him bend slightly. “That was completely unnecessary.” John huffed before glaring. “Don’t do that again.” He ordered eyes bright and narrow and voice hard and clipped.
He turned to remove the drinks clogging up the entrance before shoving more coins angrily into the machine and pressing another button for a different selection. His heart was racing. He hadn’t spoken to Sherlock Holmes since last year’s initiation party and the boy practically avoided everyone except for his occasional mandatory lab partners. John had luckily never been his lab partner; he wouldn’t know how to act around royalty all the time.
“Don’t give me another reason.” Sherlock Holmes mused.
John turned on his heels. “Another reason? Christ, Holmes, I really feel like punching you right now.” He trailed off angrily before reaching for the ejected soda without looking and tossing it into the bag hoping to expel his irritation in the toss. He breathed in deeply in a bid to calm down before he hurt the boy in front of him.
“Why won’t you?” Holmes had the gall to ask.
“Because,” John started, feeling daring and turning to purchase the last drink on his list. “You just got rejected, and who am I to attack at your weakest?” John said casually making his gaze meet the cool burning look in Holmes’ eyes.
It had been a much better answer than admitting he didn’t want crimes against country in his file. He bent to zip up the gym bag he had filled with drinks and snacks before straightening back up. Only to turn to see the power of that glare trained on him.
Shifting uncomfortably for a moment, he slung the bag over his right shoulder, cracked the lid off of a bottle of Gatorade and began to walk off while drinking. “Not everyone is out to make your life public knowledge.” John sighed, beginning to feel guilt after swallowing. “Sorry about what I said” John apologized. “I really won’t tell anyone.” And he walked away, taking yet another drink.
John only shivered then and expelled a shaky breath when he was out of the art building and heading to meet up with his team before heading to the field.
Who rejected Holmes?, John thought before calling out to his mates when he pushed the Sports Halls door open.
“Oi. Come get your slops you lazy fucks!”
“What happened to your cheek Watson?”
“Slapped, were you?”
John huffed, rubbing at his tender cheek again with now cool and moist fingers.
Sherlock glared at the retreating back of John Bloody Watson.
“You should have knocked him out.” Jim commented casually as he walked out of the lavatory. “Or better yet, have him arrested.”
“Why would I do that?” Sherlock asked, already beginning to feel bored.
“Because, he’ll spread it around, you of all people know how they are.” Jim shrugged as he walked away. “Later Sherlock, Do tell me how it goes. Or shall I keep an eye on the news?”
“Prick” Sherlock hissed under his breath before heading back into the lavatory for his violin case.
Emerging from the bathroom he came face to face with a man in a black suit. “Mr. Holmes.”
Sherlock looked to the heavens for patience. Muttering curses under his breath, Sherlock pushed past the man’s shoulders and walked out towards Bath Rode outside the front of the Art School. The man trailed him the whole way before rushing forward and opening his door.
Today there was no one waiting for him to make an appearance, everyone here was to watch Marlborough’s XV team beat Monmouth College.
“All of them, idiots” He glared.
“Don’t be obvious, Sherlock.” A cool and controlled voice spoke to him.
Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft without saying anything else.
“I take it your plan didn’t work.” Mycroft pushed.
Sherlock looked away and out the window.
“No matter, a marriage there will be. Would you like a peek at your future fiancé?”
“Fuck off, Mycroft!” Sherlock snarled
“If it helps, he’s your age.” Mycroft baited.
“He” Sherlock asked, looking up at his older brother with a slightly bewildered look on his face.
“It’s a marriage, Sherlock. We’re not doing this to torture you. Your preference was taken into account.” Mycroft answered while rolling his eyes slightly.
“I take it there was more than one sibling in the stupid family.”
“And he just agreed?” Sherlock asked.
Mycroft smiled blandly. “Soon enough, brother mine.”
Sherlock looked out of the window once more. Refusing to give anything else away, he wondered briefly if another rejection was to come his way. He didn’t know whether he preferred a rejection or not. He really wanted to hit something.
“Call my trainer.” Sherlock murmured.
“Certainly.” Mycroft answered before sending off a quick text.
A good few hours of Fencing should tire him out.
John licked his spoon clean. “God, that was good.” He groaned.
“Don’t be obscene.” Sally laughed, her brown eyes alight.
Flushing, John set his spoon down. “Shut up. Okay. What questions do you have?”
“All of chapter seven, mate.” Stephen huffed tiredly.
“Intro to Cellular Biology” John asked for confirmation, remembering it at the top of his head.
“Yeah, I don’t know what I did last year during this chapter.” He shrugged.
“Fair enough” John murmured, pushing his sweat tacky fringe from his forehead.
Three hours later he found John saying goodbye to Sally first who had walked to their dorms together and to Stephen who had kindly dropped him off outside his dorm room. “Thanks John. Really, life saver you are.”
John grinned, waving his goodbye. Turning towards his locked door he hitched his backpack and duffle on his right shoulder to use his left to unlock the door.
Entering the dark room, his phone buzzed. He picked up and his mother was on the other side. “John, you need to come home.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” John quickly asked, running to his closet for a jacket.
“I need you home.” She repeated.
“I’m on my way mum.” John breathed as he ran to his Housemasters room on the first floor to explain.
When John arrived home, he froze in his tracks. It was a mess.
“What the hell?” He mumbled.
Shutting the door he quickly rushed inside, wondering frantically if they’d been robbed. His gaze glanced to the telly, still there.
“John!” His mom called from outside his door and John changed directions so quickly only his years of rugby and casual football playing kept him upright, His heart hammered painfully in his throat to the point where he couldn’t swallow.
“Mum! Are you okay, what’s wrong? He demanded falling to his knees quickly and reaching out for her face to look at closely at the same time.
His mum stared at him before blinking. “Of course I’m okay. I just need your help.” She said as John looked in the mess she sat in, storage boxes brought down from the attic emptied around her.
Oh. John let go, reeling back and falling back to the heel of his shoes. His arms resting outstretched on his knees. “If it’s to clean up the house, I protest.” John added quickly before his mum continued, he did have classes in the morning.
His mom stared at him again, a curious look in her eye that John had never seen trained on him before. It made John uncomfortable.
“What is it?” He pushed gently to get an answer out of her.
“You dated Sarah last year.” She stated, watching John closely as he nodded. “And in high school there was Janette” She continued. “But I want to know if there was anything between you and Mark before Marlborough?”
John froze. He could swear his heart stopped. “What?” He spluttered, much too quickly. “Mark, from the shop? We were just working together.” John insisted as his cheeks grew steadily warmer, soon it would feel like his head was ready to explode.
“John” His mother replied quietly, reaching her hand out to gently take his wrist. “You can tell me. You know I’d be fine with the truth.” She gently coaxed.
He thought he was going to hyperventilate. She wasn’t supposed to ask about that. Harry was supposed to distract them all with her own coming out. It wasn’t meant to be obvious, only an experiment of sorts.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He replied, his voice going steadier as he began to reel himself in.
“I think you do.” His father spoke up from behind him taking him by surprise.
John exploded to his feet, shooting to stand straight and putting his back to the empty room to keep his parents in front of him. This was the second time he was to be cornered in one day. He bloody well didn’t like it.
“It’s not your business.” John snapped, at a complete loss to where this was coming from. “Why does it matter? It was two years ago. It shouldn’t matter, so why are you bringing it up?” He gave himself away.
“Because we need to know if you like boys Johnny” His father replied, and somehow that sounded like a taunt to him.
John turned to his mother. “Mum” he let out weakly, in a bid for help. Why were they doing this?
“It’s just a simple question, John.” His mom told him carefully as she stood up. “And we’d like an honest answer.”
John stared at them. There were ways to go about this, and this, pushing him, was not it. “Yes.” He grimaced, feeling a sting behind his eyelids. He knew the feeling of betrayal and this was close enough to it.
“We – I didn’t do anything. No – no stuff that wasn’t just, you know… kissing.” He tried to reassure them, not knowing why he felt the need to.
“Good. That’s good.” His mom smiled at him, and John grasped mentally at that smile like a drowning man to oxygen, already willing to forget her betrayal.
“Right” John exhaled. “Am I,” He paused to swallow. “Am I in trouble or something?” He asked, his hands fisted by his sides.
“Nothing like that” She smiled again. And John visibly relaxed; he would have liked the opportunity to sit down as the relief rushed through him. He chanced a glance at his dad, and there, that gleam in his eye was similar to the one his mom had sported much earlier.
“Is that all then?” John asked, feeling uncomfortable again.
“Yes. Yes, of course. Do you know where your Grandfather’s box is?” His mom asked him, her eyes widening.
“I – er…” John stumbled, attempting to catch up with the new topic. “Yeah, I think Harry had it. You know, she wanted to be a princess and all that.” John snorted, remembering his older sister swearing she’d be a princess.
“Where is it?” His father asked, John could feel the urgency in his words.
“Dunno” John shrugged. “Her dorm? Or maybe still holding up the shelf in her closet for the shoes?” John trailed off slowly. “Why does it matter?” He asked bewildered as both of his parents rushed to Harry’s old room.
John followed them. There was a bitter smell in the room from when Harry stayed over the day before. Ah, there it was the bottle on the windowsill.
“John, come over here.” His mom grabbed his sleeve to pull him closer. “Lift that” She commanded, pointing to the shelf.
John frowned, his parents behaving weirdly. “Did Harry do something?” He asked while simultaneously lifting the heavy shelf as his dad scooped down to pick up the box that was there after all.
“Nothing at all” His dad murmured, cradling the box to his chest while his mum reached out to touch it as well.
“Is it in there?” She gasped quietly.
John set the shelf down, steadying it as it began to tilt to its side. Leaning over he looked at the box as well. “Well?” John asked, starting to feel impatience himself.
His dad pried the metal box open at the edges until it opened, and inside, was a sleek black box trimmed with silver and gold. And his father lifted it out of the metal box, turned it to its side, and pushed at what looked like a crack. The other side of the box pushed out and his father shook out what was snugly tucked inside before pushing the piece back in and flipping the box over.
A solid gold key was in his father’s palm, and John frowned as he fit the key into the box and it softly clicked open.
His parents leaned in towards each other looking inside the box. John had held the box a few times, and never had he or Harry managed to open it. It was clear now why.
“Perfect” John heard his mother breathe giddily and his parents shared a look before turning to look back at John.
John blinked, his nose wrinkling in displeasure at that look.
Sherlock lay sprawled on the sofa in his room back in Colchester Castle. His head rested on a pillow while his legs dangled over one of the armrests. His grinning skull lay staring at him on his stomach. But Sherlock didn’t notice. His eyes were shut in deep concentration, closely following his thoughts and detail. Sherlock was lost to the world and he was lost in his head from a week ago.
“If I’m to marry, should I not choose my spouse?” Sherlock snarled. He was trapped. That’s what it was, Sherlock was trapped.
“Is there someone you have in mind?” His mother asked her voice cool and usually soothing.
Sherlock stared pointedly at her. “Perhaps, but even if I do not, should I still not have the power to choose.”
“You know things are done differently in this family.” Mycroft eased in.
Sherlock bristled. “What if I don’t care about this family? I don’t see why I have to suffer a marriage while you keep your freedom!”His nails dug into his palm, the pain grounding him.
“Sherlock, we need this.” His mother said quietly. “You know your father is ill. Mycroft will do all of the work while you get the benefits.”
Sherlock howled inside. Were they insane? “Absolutely no, I will not marry.”
“Then be prepared to have to work for your title Sherlock.” Mycroft added.
“I don’t care about my title.” Sherlock scoffed, leaning back into his seat. Aware of how stiffly he had been sitting.
“Your title comes with entitlement. Should you decide to discard it, be prepared to pay your own way through University and stand on your own for the rest of your life.”Mycroft hissed.
Sherlock stared at his older brother, contemplating on taking up the challenge.
“That’s enough, Mycroft!” His mother snapped.
Sherlock turned to look at her while she met his eyes. “We will allow you to negotiate terms, Sherlock.”
Sherlock instantly perked. He could negotiate his own terms. So what if he had a husband, no one expected them to marry for affection or something so ridiculous as love.
“That sounds more manageable.” Sherlock nodded, his arms uncoiling and resting loosely on the armrest.
“Do you need time?” Mummy asked him gently.
Sherlock snapped his eyes back to her after they slid smugly to look at Mycroft. “That won’t be necessary, I suggest you take notes.” Sherlock looked pointedly at Mycroft before leaning back, shutting his eyes and bringing his palms together with his finger tip touching his nose.
“I am ready.” His brother pulled a fountain pen and leather booklet to his knee.
“I will be allowed the opportunity to ask someone of my own choosing to be my spouse. Should that prove to be ineffective, you may decide. Whoever I decide, should they agree, will be fit to be my spouse. No questions. No comments. No plotting. I will be allowed to move out of the dorms – and not here to Colchester. After all, I will be a married man and will require my own quarters. I think a flat will do. My security detail will be removed. I will no longer attend political lessons here during breaks, the college should suffice. I will not be required to attend every event you have. I may choose upon me and my spouses discretion which to attend. You will not force all the traditions that are in the book upon my spouse and I. All of my expenses will be taken care of. All of my wants will be given to me. Whatever is to happen, there will be no forced counseling on any matter should I or my spouse not mention it first. You will not ask of me anything else. This is the last I will willingly give so freely, do not force my hands again. You cannot just bring me to Colchester at any whim.
His eyes snapped open to glare straight at Mycroft before shifting over to give a hard stare at his mother.
“I’m sure we can manage – ah – most of these.” Mycroft smiled tightly.
“See that you do.” Sherlock replied, already distracted as he stood to leave.
Sherlock stretched out his legs, his left palm falling flat on his sternum fingers splaying outwards.
“I suppose it’s a good thing Jim declined.” He spoke with his low voice to his skull. “He’d be trapped, and Jim doesn’t do trapped any better than I.” Sherlock fell off to a mumble. His eyes slid shut once more, his thoughts demanding all his attention once more.
The drive from Marlborough College back to the Castle of Colchester had been filled with tension and of the purest boredom. He was also not used to Mycroft making the journey with him. He usually used this time to think undisturbed. He knew he was being read throughout the whole drive no matter how well he schooled his features.
“And he just agreed?” Sherlock asked.
“Soon enough, brother mine.” Mycroft had replied.
So did this mean his fiancé – no, his future fiancé – hadn’t made a decision yet? Ah, he doesn’t know yet.
Sherlock squirmed in his position, his head lolling to the side to rest pressed against the back of the couch. Who was his fiancé? He knew he was male; he was also Sherlock’s age. It felt almost like a mercy that he would not be marrying anyone twice his age.
That however meant that he was going to be tethered to a complete imbecile. He’s constantly surrounded by boys his own age and not one of them had made a passable impression. Jim was only interesting on occasion, but even he was so boringly obvious.
Sherlock snapped up into a sitting position, pushing his body back so his back rested against the arm rest directly behind him. He should have taken a look at his future fiancés profile. And he would be his fiancé, no one ever said no to the Holmes’. No one in their right mind would. So that also guaranteed him that his fiancé would not be crazy.
Another small mercy, Sherlock thought to himself as he went to get the file.
John sat in the dark, at the edge of his bed, as he stared ahead at nothing. His mind echoed, No, no, Over and over.
Surely this was a nightmare. He’d always been susceptible to those after seeing a boy run over at a young age. But this one made him want to claw at himself and not at a physical outsider.
There was a hesitant knock at his door.
John flinched as his eyes simultaneously focused on the door. “Piss… off!” John hissed, pushing himself onto the bed and under the covers in the span of a few seconds. He hadn’t bothered getting out of his weekend jeans and shirt, and that was the least of his worries.
He pushed his face into the pillow feigning sleep, but sleep would not be coming.
The door to his room opened and muffled footsteps came in before pausing. A soft hand touched his shoulder gently before pulling away and heading back out closing the door behind them.
“He’s asleep.” He heard his mother’s muffled voice behind his closed door.
“It won’t do him any good. There’s no use in denying a promise.” His father spoke.
“He’ll come around when he finds out who he’s meant for.” His mother replied softly.
John scoffed. He was not going into an arranged marriage so easily.
Sherlock fell back into the leather chair upon opening the file. There, the first thing he saw was bright golden hair reflected in the harsh light. He knew for a fact this hair tended to look much darker than it did in this picture. The blue eyes, they were dark and bright and open wide in obvious delight. He briefly wondered where this photo was taken from.
“John Hamish Watson” A cool clipped tone spoke from the door.
Sherlock swiveled in the chair to face his brother, not bothering to look put off at being caught. “Him, this is who you picked?” Sherlock asked.
“Do you know him?” Mycroft replied, already knowing the answer.
Sherlock glared before looking back down at the file. This was far more ridiculous than it should have been already. “Don’t bore me, Mycroft.” Sherlock answered.
He trailed the features of the face in the photo with his sharp gaze, finally focusing on the mouth. John in the photo was beaming in obvious pleasure; John smiled brightly with the tips of his top teeth showing and the tip of his tongue making the smallest of appearance out at the corner of his mouth.
Sherlock wanted to claw it off his face; he had no right to be so happy. “This is who you decided on.” He drawled out in a bored tone instead.
“He is an acceptable choice.” Mycroft answered smoothly.
“He’s a commoner.” Sherlock pushed, “Sure you want one in the family?”
“His file reads him as a quick learner.”
Sherlock snorted. “Watson, a quick learner? Please. You should see him in my chemistry class, partners with some idiot bloke named Anderson.”
“But he is in your chemistry class.” Mycroft slipped in.
“Anyone can get in.” Sherlock answered obviously unimpressed.
“With money” Mycroft finished for him. “Money the Watsons do not have and the College provides.”
Sherlock glared at his brother. “Does he know yet?”
“His parents assured us he knows the situation. He does not yet know who it involves. He will not know until he accepts.” Mycroft assured him.
“How do you expect him to accept if he does not know who he is accepting?” Sherlock snapped, irritation beginning to take over.
“There are ways to make him choose the right decision.” Mycroft answered before turning to leave. “See that you leave the file in the desk when you’re finished.”
Sherlock glared at the empty doorway before looking back down at the file.