The Assistant Headmaster (Mystrade Fanfic)

Seventeen

Greg

I was walking back from rugby practice when I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. "Oi!" I shouted as I was pulled around the corner, a hand since clamped over my mouth. 

"Honestly, Gregory, don't draw attention," Mr. Holmes - I mean, Mycroft - murmured in my ear. 

I grinned against his hand, and he pulled it away slowly. "Hi," I breathed. 

Mycroft gave me a fond look before replying. "Hello."

We stood there for a moment in an awkward silence before he spoke again. "I was thinking. About the... date. Dinner, rather," He added the last part quickly. 

Something told me that despite being so drop dead gorgeous and popular with the females, Mr. Holmes didn't ask people out often. Honestly, I felt touched. I nodded. "What about it?"

"I'd like to take you out tonight," he shrugged. "I know a nice restaurant, it has nice meals, even nicer cake. It's out of the way... Will you come?"

I grinned again - as I usually did around him. "Yes, of course I will. When and where shall I meet you?"

"Back here at... Seven. It'll be dark by then, everyone will be having dinner."

"Brilliant. I'll see you then."

Mr. Holmes nodded, and I calmly walked back to my room. 

Once I got back - and saw Anderson wasn't in - I closed the door and leaned back against it. "Shit."

What was I going to wear? Did I have anything nice? I had to look good. No school or P.E uniforms to protect me. I needed to stand out. Needed to make Mr. Holmes - Mycroft - go 'wow.'  I looked at my drawers and sighed. It was five o'clock already. I only had two hours until I was meeting Mycroft again, and of course, he was going to look immaculate, like he always did. He would like a male supermodel and I would look like the bloody stupid high school student that I was. 

I groaned loudly, and heard a bang on the wall. "Tone it down in there, Greg! Save it for the showers!" Came a shout from next door. 

"Oh, shut up!" I shouted back. 

There was a muffled 'sorry,' and I sighed before proceeding to pull out the contents of my drawers. 

Anderson walked into the room as I was pulling shirts up to my torso, sighing and throwing them down. He had the skip in his step that suggested that he'd just got laid. I fought the urge to scowl.

"What're you up to?" He asked as he plonked himself down on my bed. Then I really did scowl. 

"Getting ready for a date," I replied through gritted teeth. 

"Getting frustrated with it?"

"Getting frustrated with something," I replied, meaning him. 

"Oh." I thought he got the message. "Sexually frustrated? I'm sorry, I can't relate. I've been shagging Sally pretty much every day for a -"

"Anderson," I cut him off. "I really don't care about what you and Donovan get up to."

"Oh. Sorry."

I sighed and nodded, picking up a woolen jumper. Nope, that wouldn't work either. 

"This girl means a lot to you, doesn't she?" Anderson asked, tilting his head to the side. 

"Yes. They mean an awful lot to me, actually."

Anderson huffed out a laugh, though it sounded sympathetic. "I'm sure she'll love you whatever you wear. Even if you look like shit, you're the captain of the rugby team." He shrugged as though it made up for something.