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This had been the wettest summer London had had in years. The weather wasn't just wet, it was... humid. It was wreaking havoc on the Holmes boys' hair. Of course, Sherlock didn't care much. He cared very little about his appearance most days, and the only person he spent any real time with was their new step brother, John. They came home from Johns rugby matches soaked through and smeared in mud. How Sherlock managed to get mud on him from simply watching was a wonder, but Mycroft didn't think much on the subject.

Thanks to such a match, as well as their parents' work schedules, it was Mycroft standing at the train station. Being the only one at home that day meant that he was the one to pick up Johns cousin, who was to stay with them for the entirety of the summer. The train was late and he could feel the rain soaking through the bottom of his trousers. His carefully straightened and gelled hair was beginning to frizz in the humidity.

Mycroft was unsure what to expect from the boy that would be staying with them. He didn't mind being near John, he was a nice enough boy, though they rarely had much of a real interaction. Johns father, Hamish, had explained that his brother had died over a decade before and left his wife and son alone. The wife had moved away and refused Hamish's offer to help them financially over the years. Now, the boy had turned 16 and she was sending him to stay with them while she went to another continent. All he new was the boy was a year younger than himself, and that his name was Gregory.

He tsked in annoyance as he finally heard the train approaching, 15 minutes late. Not that he had anywhere to be really. His mother had complained at him until he had agreed to cancel his summer plans. She wanted him to enjoy his last summer of high school.

There was a rush of people exiting the train. Most looked too old to be their new housemate. Ignoring an older woman who pushed past him rudely, he scrolled through his emails on his phone as he waited for the platform to clear. A tap on his shoulder made him groan as he turned around, not wanting to have someone ask him for directions again, he didn't work her-

"Hey, you must be Mycroft."

The boy in front of him with the smooth as silk voice looked to have stepped right out of a catalogue. Or a dirty magazine. He was slender through the hips with long legs, but not at all scrawny. Brown hair, damp from the rain, swept over his forehead, hanging just slightly in his brown eyes. He had a crooked smile and less crooked nose, presumably broken once or twice.

Mycroft cleared his throat and held out his hand. "Yes, Mycroft Holmes. You must be Gregory."

Greg shook his hand slowly, smiling just a bit broader. "Just Greg, actually. Not even my mother calls me Gregory."

Mycroft looked him over once more. In a look he could already tell that he and this boy were not going to get along very well. He was much too laidback, and the way he dressed was far too casual. His grey shirt was worn, and his jeans had small holes in them, though that did seem to be a style recently. "Right, well lets try and catch a cab back to the house. Where is your luggage?"

"This is it." He picked up the suitcase by his feet. It couldn't have held more than a dozen articles. Mycroft rolled his eyes and lead them from the station out to the street.