If, at any given moment, you were to ask a teenager their favorite day of the week, the answer would not as expected, always be Friday. Instead, the answer would often be an ammolgimation of days social life came to a peak, when a favorite class occurred, or simply the easiest day of the week. Often it would be followed shortly with the statement of their least favorite day, even if not asked. For Mycroft Holmes, the two days were one and the same.
Every Tuesday and Thursday, promptly at 4:00 PM (a fact of which he had insisted upon, else he find something better to do) he served as a tutor to a Mr. Gregory Lestrade. The other young man was a year and a half older than him, but in the same grade. They went to different schools, on different sides of the city, yet Mycroft made the trip across town to teach the boy whatever subject he was having difficulties with free of cost. Despite his quite frankly stunning academic life, and the connections his family name held, he was still required to serve a certain amount of community service hours to obtain his honors diploma. He refused to work somewhere with masses of people, knowing all too well that they would most likely drive him to insanity with boredom. The idea of anything dealing with soiled materials was out as well, and so when it was suggested that he gain his service hours doing a one on one session with a boy in which he would essentially get to do and say as he pleased to the delinquent, he agreed. He had already made up his mind on what type of person the boy would be, most likely rough, crude and tactless, and while it would be like pulling teeth there was no better option.
He had not, however, anticipated Gregory to be attractive. Upon first meeting the boy had been 15 minutes late ("Sorry mate I was caught up with the team. Johnson said he could squirt water through his nose on will and we had to call his bluff") , something Mycroft loathed. Yet he had flashed a brilliantly white smile that killed the furious words in their track. It took Mycroft only a matter of seconds to regain composure, maintaining a mask of annoyance while he did, but he was aware the damage had been done.
At first he cursed the man for his seemingly oblivious flirtations. It seemed second nature to the young man, and Mycroft had since understood how to dismiss it and move on to achieve their tutoring goals. Afterwards however he was left with a bittersweet taste in his mouth,l. Speaking with Gregory was much like tasting dark chocolate mousse long forgotten in favor of a thinner waistline. So delicious the moment it happened, but with instant regret that left him feeling hollow. The worst of it all was knowing how much of it had been created in Mycroft's mind.
For years Mycroft had sneaking suspicions of his own sexuality. He was a bit too keen to walk the yards of Eaton when the sports teams were practicing, and didn't mind nearly as much as he should have when, as a customary prank at the all boys school, the senior boys had slipped copies of "Out", a free gay pornography magazine, into many of the young freshman lockers. The idea was to humiliate them in front of their peers and all have a laugh at the break in composure so common for the aristocratic youth in attendance. Instead he had feigned a look of disinterest, heaving a large put out sigh as he plucked it delicately and placed it in a small plastic bag for disposal. The magazine however, never made it to a bin.
Instead the lewd material was snugly tucked into his backpack and smuggled into his room for review. He had never dared try and find any of this material anywhere else, ever fearful of his father's keen eye. Between Sherlock and he, father favored Mycroft as the golden child, and this meant that his every move was watched. While he was sure his internet browser wasn't check, and he wasn't really watched every moment of the day, he couldn't risk it. Aside from that he wasn't legally of age to purchase the material anyways. The magazine was meant to be a curse and it was, but it was also a blessing. That night and many to follow Mycroft found himself staring with glazed eyes at the ridiculously tacky male models in different level of undress and activity. It was under the influence of this magazine that he found his one hand drifting southward, his other clamped tight on his mouth as he brought himself to completion for the first time with the knowledge that nothing would quite be the same again.
All this, contributing greatly to his concerns and problems with Gregory. Until then, his attractions towards the rougher sex had been easy to control. He could admire from afar whomever he pleased without repercussion, so long as he did not attempt contact with them. This was an easily accomplished fact given the lack of social activities he participated in, and his tendency to fancy the rugby boys and their peers. That was his self given rule to control his urges, and it suited him quite well. This worked For him up until the point where he actually had to have contact with one on a twice weekly basis, one who was handsome and dark, rough but still charming.
All this adding up to why Mycroft Holmes knew the moment the other male entered the room with a wide smile and tussled hair, he was a complete goner.