The Assistant Headmaster (Mystrade Fanfic)

Eleven

A/N - Hello, dear friends. I can't remember when I last updated (I'm disappointed in myself for that) and so I'm sorry. I've had Chemistry, Classics, English, Geography tests - actually, come to think of it, all of my classes have had tests going on. But that's no excuse. I have a laptop now (my tablet died a while back) but now I hope to publish a lot faster. Anywho, thanks guys so much for all the support so far, it means the absolute world to me. 

(P.S. - Am I the only one entirely confused by these Wattpad updates?)

-CHxx

Greg

School on Monday passed by slowly, and I found myself literally running out the door when the bell rang for the end of the final lesson. I had detention with Mr. Holmes again, and I didn't know what was going to happen. Nothing had happened on Saturday night after he put his arm around me. He just told me it was late and that I should go back to my dorm room.

I won't lie, I was disappointed. Of course I was. But Mr. Holmes was something else altogether. He was insanely brilliant, in every single way. He was insanely clever and brutally beautiful and all the girls loved him. Plus, I didn't doubt that he was straight.

I slowly walked to his and Anthea's offices, taking my time. People were talking about Jenny and I. I'd been asked out by four different girls over the course of the day - more had asked for a date on the past Sunday.

I got to the offices, and Anthea told me to go straight through. I nodded at her before going into Mr. Holmes' office. He was standing, looking out the window. I almost drooled at the sight. His back was perfectly straight and I could see his shoulder blades through the tight fabric of his light blue shirt. His hair was, as I found it usually was by this time of the day, tousled out of it's gelled back state.

I closed the door behind me, and as soon as it made the clicking sound, Mr. Holmes turned around to face me. His eyes seemed to have changed colour to complement his shirt - they seemed to be a dazzling blue colour.

"Mr. Lestrade," he said, his tone light and almost teasing, "Please, take a seat."

I did as he suggested, my fingers bracing the armrests. I stared up at him, and he didn't even look in my direction. Instead, he sat at his desk and began tapping away at his computer.

'Can't he see I'm going out of my mind here?!' I thought to myself. 'I can't even breathe properly around him, and he doesn't even seem to notice!' I stared at the man, most likely with a disbelieving expression on my face.

"Is something the matter, Mr. Lestrade?" The man asked, looking up at me with raised eyebrows, his bottom lip slightly pouted. God, he looked positively adorable like that.

"Huh? No, I'm fine."

The assistant headmaster let out a small huff of laughter - I think he was laughing at me, not with me - and looked back down at his computer. "Alright, if you say so."

I sat there for a while, just looking around the room. An inconspicuous framed photo caught my attention on top of one of the bookshelves. I could just see the edge of it, but something inside me burned to see what it was.

Suddenly, Mr. Holmes stood up. "I need to go to the printer in the staffroom. I'll be back in about ten minutes. It's a considerably long walk over there and back, and I've no interest in rushing. Anthea's still in her office so don't do anything stupid."

"I'd never," I responded with a cheeky grin.

Mr. Holmes smiled at me, and the fondness in his eyes was heartwarming. "You and I both know that's not quite true. You are here for beating two students to a pulp, let's not forget that. I'll be back soon."

With that, the man walked out of the room, once again closing the door behind him. I watched his clock above the window he seemed to like looking out of, and measured exactly one minute before bouncing out of the seat.

I needed to see what that picture was of. I can't tell you why. It was just one of those things that makes you twitch. You just feel the need to do something, even if it's unjustifiable. Even if it has nothing to do with you, even if it's the most stupid thing in the world, you're overcome with the need to do it.

It was way above my head. I tried to jump to grab it, but it was still too high. I didn't have long. I needed to see what that picture was of. Maybe it was a picture of him and his girlfriend. If it was, she was probably a blonde. Then I'd have no chance. I'd be a dark-haired male trying to win the heart of a man who loved blonde women. 'Greg, you're making absolutely no sense whatsoever. Just hurry up and do it, you wimp,' I scoffed at myself before pulling my seat over.

I reached up, my shirt coming untucked from my trousers, and tried to grab the picture. I still couldn't.

Grunting, I stood as high on my tiptoes as I could, much like that one Michael Jackson move. My fingers managed to brush past the photo, hooking slightly on the frame. I almost had it. Soon, I would be able to see, be able to see what I was up against. 'So close... Come on, Greg, one more tug and you'll have it!' I mentally cheered myself.

And then I felt two large warm hands on my waist, probably not meaning to touch my bare skin (where my shirt had ridden up) but doing so nonetheless. I gasped and fell backward in fright, falling right off the chair.

Before I could fall I felt those hands turn into arms that were fully supporting my body weight. In fact, I was being held. Mr. Holmes had stopped my fall.

He looked down into my eyes, still holding me. A soft smile played at his lips, and his eyes shone bright with a mischievous glint - one that showed me more than anything that he knew full-well what I had been trying to do. My breath came out rapidly, and my heart pounded in my chest. My mind was contradicting itself - it had shut itself off yet was still racing with ideas. Mr. Holmes is holding me, Mr. Holmes is staring into my eyes, and oh my goodness, his gaze is lowering!

I watched as he slowly looked down at my lips, which were slightly parted, before dragging those captivating eyes back into my eyes. I was certain he could feel my heart racing, even from the way he held me. "I believe, Mr. Lestrade, that there is a saying," he began slowly, his voice slightly deeper than usual, "That curiosity killed the cat."

"I... Erm... It..."

He let out a huff of laughter, which I could feel inside my mouth, and it was unbelievably sexy. It sounded more dangerous than usual, and it made me shiver. "You may be dismissed," he whispered, putting me back on my feet.

I stared at the man for a moment longer before turning quickly and leaving. Great, I needed a cold, twenty minute long shower. I looked down at the tent in my trousers, re-evaluating. At the rate I was going, I probably only needed five minutes.