"Why are you wearing my clothes, James?" Sherlock asked, a tone of irritatement was clear in his voice.

The said latter only shrugged,
"Yours are much looser than mine."

There was a short pause before Sherlock nodded, as if accepting the reason easily,

"I see." He mumbled. Frowning.

"Now now, let's talk about those predicaments somewhere else. For now, I think it's the best if we cleared up few things to these gentlemen." The boy in suit spoke up, nudging his head towards John and Greg when he uttered the word 'gentlemen'.

Immediately, Sherlock made a face that can only be described as annoyed and bored.

"Why yes, of course." He clasped his hands and inhaled, eying John with a particular look.

"I am Sherlock of the House Holmes,-as you already heard and know-, this is Mycroft, my elder sibling and that," He pointed at the long haired boy.

"-is James Moriarty. Or Jim. Whatever he wanted. Just call him Moriarty if you're unsure."

"What?"
Mycroft cleared his throat.

"So, Watson. Taking the doctorade major, yet on a full scholarship? My, I must say that is quite a heavy feat."

John went agape. Then blinked, shaking his head before speaking out,

"How- how do you know that?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock hissed, sending a glare towards his older brother.

Yet the latter continued on as if he did not notice.

"Do you play cricket?"

"N-no."

"Had you been drinking tea recently? Specifically darjeeling?"

"No."

Mycroft hummed. John did not miss how Sherlock took a step to stand infront of him. Though his stance was relaxed, he could see how the taller boy's shoulders tensed just the slightest.

Mycroft went and stood infront of Greg then, the umbrella in one hand as he raised it to yank the older boy's chin up.

"Aren't you the one who volunteered to the Scotland Yard every saturday morn to the eve?" Mycroft said, almost a whisper as John watched Greg's eyes went wide.

"How in the bloody hell's name do you know that?!" Greg barked, his chin knocking over the tip of the umbrella.

"I know many things." Mycroft muttered, sauntering over towards James.

"He's not bad. You ought to keep him?"
It took John a moment to realize Mycroft was talking to Sherlock.

Sherlock growled, clucking his tongue irritatingly as he narrowed his eyes.

"He is not my pet."

"I never said he was." Mycroft countered, turning sideways to that he could level Sherlock's gaze. They locked stares for a quite long time, untill James hopped down from the table and started patting his trousers as if cleaning dusts.

"Come now, we still have things to do now. Mycroft, if this shebang had satisfy your overprotectiveness, we ought to return back to what we should be doing."

This time Mycroft narrowed his eyes towards James.

"I am not overprotective, I-"

"Oh save the charade for the damned germans later. You know how bloody well this is going to be." Sherlock growled, crossing his arms as if to challenge the older. They glared at eachother once more before Mycroft sighed and fixed his hat.

"Fine then. Come James, and don't forget your apple."

----

"So. That is your brother." Greg said once Sherlock had loose them from the restraints.

"Yes."

"He's... exciting."

"Don't start," Sherlock groaned.
"He's the worse sibling one could ever ask for."

"What's with all the questions he asked me?" John said whilst rubbing his sore wrists. He needed to know, the inquiries were strange as they sound yet somehow made sense to the minds of the Holmes.

Sherlock motioned them to follow him, so they did. Going through the winding corridors in search for the exit.

"He's a bloody old oaf. All that protectiveness shenanigans. Pah! He knew clearly well I can fight; even better than him, but no! He still babies me as though I am five!" Sherlock started.

"Why would he do that, then?" John carefully asked, wanting to continue to conversation though he knew well he was stepping on a thin line of personal bussiness.

"Duty, most likely," Sherlock spat out before continuing softly,

"And guilt."

"What was that?" John hadn't quite catch it. Unlike Greg, yet the older boy hadn't the heart to say so.

"Nothing."

"Why would he ask about cricket? Or what tea I drank?" John continued.

"He's deducing you." Sherlock stated. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

John gave an exhasperated sigh.

"Explain."

"Your calloused hands. Signs you have been gripping something tightly. Pen? No, too small. Stick? No. Something like a lean pole or bigger, but still grippable. A batter he presumed, but you said you didn't play cricket. So he forgone it."

"I could've lie."

Sherlock smirked.
"John, you're a bad liar."

"Gee. Thanks." John replied dryly.

"Welcome."

"Comtinue please."

"Right," Sherlock tapped his chin, "He thought again. Seeing how you positioned your legs, he knew it was a cane then. But your legs are far too mobile and healthy for a sick one so he knew it was psychogenic, too.

"The darjeeling tea was to ask whether or not you are an addict."

"How's that supposed to make sense?" John frowned.

"You didn't read the newspaper?" Greg was the one who spoke up.

"It was a new trend. Opium and crack addicts have been using 'tea powder' as excuses. They also had been snaring customers by putting few on tea drinkers' teacups so whence they got addicted, they'll buy more tea from them and all that. It's a classic, really. Sherlock's brother is probably just checking whether or not you got snared; he seems very paranoid."

"Because he is." Sherlock moaned as he yank the door to their exit open.

"I'm going to bet he's on his time of the month."

"Uhh, that idiom is not really appropriate Sherlock." John said.

He missed the incredulous look Sherlock sent him.

"Idiom?"

"I know how over-reacting Mycroft is by kidnapping us and that, but really he's just trying to protect-"

"No no no, Watson." Sherlock stared at him dead in the eyes.

"That is not an idiom."

John laughed.
"Oh Sherlock, for a bright man you sure are too innocent. Men do not have periods."

But the taller boy didn't change his expression.
"You don't realize it?" Sherlock asked, almost incredously with an annoying look that made John felt like he was the stupidest being on planet.

"Well obviously no. Do enlighten." John deadpanned, trying to rub off the annoyed feeling.

Sherlock slowed his fast paced walk to be side by side with John, and he begun to speak,

"James, Mycroft, and I are anatomically females."
John paused.

'Wait just a second-'

"You're a woman?!" John exclaimed, stopping himself when he saw the bored yet pained,-must've been just John's imagination-, look in Sherlock's eyes.

Greg's jaw went slack as he paled.

"No. I'm not." Sherlock hissed, yet it was inaudible towards the blond.

It was hard for John to see Sherlock as a woman. He- she looked nothing like at a woman. Yes she was lean and slender, yet she was too tall, too narrow hips, too sharp cheekbones, and too thin lips. She looked nothing as sorts of what a lady would.

Yet, somehow John found it rather entrancing, if the moment was quite given.

It was Greg's voice that snapped him off the reverie,
"I change my clothes infront of a lady."

"Yes, yes, it's not a big deal." Sherlock waved as Greg muttered around how 'unculturedly ungentlemanly' he was towards such a woman. Of House Holmes no less!

"Why are you even out in such nights? Wearing clothes like that? Won't your parents-" John caught his words when he saw the dark look Sherlock gave him. But it was too late.

"Honestly, forget it! This is never a big deal and it really shouldn't have been!" Sherlock yelled. She snapped, too close towards John that he could see how her eyes blazed with uncontrollable rage. At that moment, John froze.

Sherlock then swiveled around her heels and went down the streets, disappearing just after three blocks. Leaving John and Greg alone, few yards away from the school.

Yaaaayyy!!! Im not dead!!!! Whoohooooo!!!

So ye the thing is out guys what do we do now ?? *rubs hands* huehuehuehue

....imtiredineedsleepokayitslike2amwhatbyebyethankyousomuchloveya