The Assistant Headmaster (Mystrade Fanfic)

Twenty Six

A/N - Completely bombed my Chemistry exam today. But thank goodness I learned how to play 'Love Me Do' on the harmonica. Also Emily Dickinson's poem can be interpreted in many different ways, I guess, but I'm going for a loving sort of interpretation. Please enjoy, my lovelies.

-CHx

Mycroft

Going back in to teach Greg's English class was simply torturous. Again, he sat with his friends, the center of attention, and yet he held his phone in his hand the entire time. Discreetly catching a glance over his shoulder, I saw he was texting Irene Adler. Apparently that girl really knew no end to her seduction. Every so often, Greg would look up at me, a sadness in his eyes, and then someone would say something nearby, and he'd look away once more, laughing as though nothing was wrong. And my heart continued breaking.

"Orwell writes using an extended fable. Can anyone tell me what that fable is?" I asked the class. Greg was speaking. "Mr. Lestrade, perhaps you know the answer? It's very easy."

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"No, I won't answer the question."

There was an excited chatter around the class and I sighed impatiently. "It's a very simple question, Mr. Lestrade, and I suggest you answer it before I get angry."

"And what will happen if I don't?"

"Get out."

"You what?!" Greg sputtered.

"You heard me. Get out of my class. I have no time for immature children. Off you go."

No one could believe what was happening. Neither could Greg, and neither could I. Nevertheless, he stood up and left the room. I let out a sigh. "Alright, is there anyone else who wants to make a scene?" I was met with stunned silence. "No one? Good. Let's continue talking about extended fables then, shall we?"

The class was quiet for the rest of the lesson, but the girls who were attracted to me often answered the questions I asked - even though half of the answers were wrong. About ten minutes before the end of the lesson, and thirty minutes after I'd sent Greg out of the class, I went outside to talk to him, assuming that's what teachers were supposed to do.

I closed the door behind myself and he huffed when he saw me and turned the other way. It seemed he could be as childish as my brother. I stood there watching him for a moment. His hair looked messy, uncombed, which usually wasn't the case. Obviously he'd lost a lot of sleep too.

"Are you going to let me explain what happened the other night, or are you going to explain why you thought it a good idea to make a scene in the class?" I asked, standing perhaps a little too close.

"Neither option. I don't want to talk about it."

"I was only trying to look out for you, Greg. That's all," I said quietly. "Just go back into class and please don't allow it to happen again."

Greg nodded, still avoiding eye contact, and went back into the class, with me following close behind. This was going to be hard work.

The rest of the lesson passed by uneventfully, and I was glad when the bell rang. So was Greg, apparently, because he packed his bag up quickly and ran out of the class ahead of everyone else. Behind him, the rest of the students piled out, but Mike Stamford stayed behind.

"Hello, Mr. Stamford," I said, standing up to look at the boy.

"I just wanted to say... erm... Don't worry about Greg. He's just been gloomy since his girlfriend or someone broke his heart. Or something like that. But anyway, I'm sorry he gave you attitude."

"It's fine, Mr. Stamford. I'm sure I can handle him, but thank you for your concern. I do appreciate it."

"Any time, Sir."

I could've sworn that that boy, Mike Stamford winked at me as he walked out of the class. I shook my head. Maybe I was just going crazy.

Greg

"What was that about?" Mike asked, as we headed over to the gymnasium for rugby practice.

"What?"

"With Mr. Holmes in English. I thought you liked him."

"Yeah, once upon a time I thought he was a good guy."

"And now?"

"I think he's a pillock."

"Why?"

I shook my head. "It doesn't matter, Mike. I just... I don't know, okay?"

"Alright, fine. Let's speed up though, 'cause we're already late for practice."

We got to the gymnasium and went into the changing rooms. We quickly got into our P.E kit and headed back out onto the field where everyone else was waiting for us, including the coach.

'Maybe I should say something,' I thought to myself. 'Maybe I should tell him I know I wasn't meant to be the captain. But why should I? I know I'm a damn good player, and I'm the best captain this school's ever seen. And it's got nothing to do with me that Mr. Holmes organised it all. I mean, yeah, he never said anything. And yeah, he hasn't told me who Jenny was - oh.'

"Look, I gotta go," I said suddenly. "I just remembered I have to do something."

"Greg!" The coach called out after me as I ran towards the school building again. "Where the bloody hell are you going?!"

I ignored him and continued running. I pulled the door inside open and ran up the halls and stairs, coming finally to the door leading into Mr. Holmes and Anthea's offices. I walked straight through, but was stopped by Anthea. "Excuse me, do you have an appointment?"

"No," I sniffed indignantly. "Why? Is Mr. Holmes busy?"

"Well... He's not in. He went out not too long ago."

"Do you know when he'll be back?"

"No idea, sorry. I doubt if he'll be back in today though."

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. "Alright. Fine. It's really rather important that I speak to him though."

Anthea shrugged. "Sorry. Nothing I can do about it."

"Thanks for all your help," I said sarcastically, revealing probably a very bitter side of myself. I turned on my heel and left. Oh, I had been an idiot!

I got back to my room, my mind in a wild mess, and opened the door. On my bed was a piece of paper, folded to precision. The paper itself looked like it must've cost a fortune. I unfolded it and read what was written in elegant scrawl.

He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
I groped upon his breast.
It was a boundless place to me,
And silenced, as the awful sea
Puts minor streams to rest.

And now, I 'm different from before,
And now, I 'm different from before,
And now, I 'm different from before,
And now, I 'm different from before,

As if I breathed superior air,
Or brushed a royal gown;
My feet, too, that had wandered so,
My gypsy face transfigured now
To tenderer renown.
-Emily Dickinson.

Please forgive me, Greg. I never meant to hurt you.

-MH.

I really was such an idiot.