The School and the Sociopath {Revised Edition} ~teen!potter!lock~

Chapter 8: Sentiment is Not an Advantage

A/N: This is Greg's POV. Mystrade chapter! Johnlock will return next chapter, johnlunkies. ~Kate

As Sherlock and John were carried out on the shoulders of the jubilant Hogwarts students, I noticed Mycroft slumped against one of the cold stone walls of the basement.

"Jealous?" I asked, leaning back next to him. He gave me an incredulous look.

"I am in the process of ruling the wizarding world, Greg, I have nothing to be jealous about." He raised an eyebrow at me, silently challenging me to argue further.

"Then what's up? You don't look too happy about things. It certainly was a happy ending to all this shit anyway."

"Was it?"

"Sure! Everyone's finally stopped giving John the silent treatment, that Imelda bitch is gone, and we have a new inter-house couple," I listed. "What's not to like?"

"Greg, you are blinded by your sentiment for John. I have told you repeatedly that sentiment is not an advantage," he said, letting that snottiness he sometimes carried about him to enter his voice. "If you thought past John, you would be wondering about those people Imelda mentioned." I remembered. The entire school had heard every last bitchy word Imelda had said.

"Imelda's brother," Mycroft continued, "Is a boy from my house, Slytherin. His name is Moriarty, Jim Moriarty."

"Him? But he seems like a fine kid. A little strange sometimes, but he doesn't seem like the type to have a sister like her," I said.

"Imelda was the most powerful witch on Earth, and cared for Jim quite a lot. Any Slytherin, brother or otherwise, would be loyal until death to her." I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Greg, Slytherins can be loyal; as long as they get something in return. Jim just saw his beloved sister killed before his eyes. She came to save him from Sherlock, but her murder might just cause that vendetta she foresaw." Mycroft locked eyes with me. "Sentiment is not an advantage, Greg. If not for it, Jim wouldn't have cared that his sister died, and he wouldn't have hated Sherlock. If not for it, Imelda wouldn't have come to kill Sherlock for her brother. If not for it, John wouldn't have saved Sherlock from Imelda. If not for it, John and Sherlock wouldn't have ruined their game." Mycroft brushed his immaculate robes off and made for the stairs. At the door, he turned back to me. "Do you understand me, now?"

"You're right, Mycroft. Sentiment isn't an advantage." I walked to him, staring into his face. He seemed totally bemused: quite the adorable look for him, actually. I grabbed him by the tie and pulled him to me. Surprisingly, he didn't resist. And then my hands were in his beautiful ginger hair and his lips were against mine. He wasn't reacting. Why the fuck wasn't he reacting? I wasn't expecting him to kiss me back, but if he didn't like the it, couldn't he just push me away? The uncomfortable kiss ended quickly, and I was taking the steps two at a time. Near the middle, without turning around, I called back to him.

"Sentiment isn't an advantage because it made me pull that shit."

And I ran back to the Gryffindor common room, to try to forget by carrying on about the new couple with the rest of them.

Mycroft was still standing there, unmoving, as I left. I didn't see him the rest of the day, or the next. Or the next.

For all I cared, the bloody prick was still there, like the stone statue he is.

And I didn't care. Not one bit. I didn't miss him. I didn't hate myself for ruining our friendship.

I didn't wish I was a feelingless rock like he was. I didn't wish I wasn't so succeptible to sentiment.

I didn't.