"I'm not a freak." The small boy stated firmly, staring levelly through the messy curls falling across his eyes.

"I don't think you're a freak." The man at the other side of the desk replied gently, a benevolent smile was implied in his eyes but never crossed his lips. The boy flexed his jaw and blinked. His eyes shifting subtly from blue-green to green-blue.

"This is a school for freaks. And obviously you're the headmaster. Why else would I be sent out here?"

"The term 'freak' implies there's something wrong with us. Mutations, although they sometimes need controlling or polishing, aren't disorders. This is a school for mutants." The man explained patiently, unfazed by the boy's bluntness.

"Very eloquently put, but still irrelevant as I am not a mutant." The boy stated, very maturely for a 13 year old. "Now kindly get out of my head." He said steadily, without so much as a twitch.

The headmaster complied with a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You may not have as drastic a mutation as some of our other students. But there is something there. Non-mutants have never been aware of my presence in their mind unless I bid it. Even other telepaths have difficulty realizing it." The boy's eyes wander lazily across the room. He's heard this before. Granted, never in those words in this specific situation. But it's always the same thing 'Sherlock is special. The holmes boys are... a bit odd. Sherlock is gifted. Mr. Holmes is very talented but if only he would learn how to apply those talents. Sherly's a freak.' "But still, as your skill isn't one that needs controlling, you have a choice. You can go back home to england and pretend you're just a boy. Or you can stay and learn how much more you can be."

"What ever this 'mutation' is, it's passed genetically. My grandmother and older brother have been coping just fine. With their experience they could provide more relevant guidance than this facility."

The man nods patiently as the boy makes his decision. "It's all up to you."

"No doubt it would be rather uncomfortable to be so far away from anything familiar to me." He pondered quietly to himself. "And Mycroft would worry himself sick. Alright I've decided."

"I'll arrange for you to be flo-"

"I'm staying." Charles raised an eyebrow, mildly surprised with the boy.

"You've just said-"

"You're not a very good mind-reader are you?" He smirked, mockingly. The headmaster just raised an eyebrow knowingly. They both knew the boy had made up his mind before the plane touched the ground. He was simply testing the Headmaster's reactions and responses. Judging his character and moral fiber. And Charles Xavier, knowing this, did what anyone would do to reassure a curious animal. Look away. Pretend you don't know they're there. "I despise my brother Mycroft, his method of 'guidance' is insufferably haughty and comfortable is boring." He purposefully screeched his chair against the floor as he stood.

"I'll find my own dorm. Good day, professor." And he flew out of the room, only thinly veiling his excitement at having free reign in a completely new environment.

"Sherlock Holmes..." Charles mumbled over the acceptance papers. "He'll be one to watch."