The younger man straightens subtly on the stair upon his recognition of the Challenge (and the Game); eyes suddenly a little more alert, head cocked ever so sligthly to the right. It's not a wholly unexpected counter which emerges from his brother, whom he might've known would not so easily accept the plain convenience of his initial answer. Despite his mellow at the table, the man who yet remains his mentor and his guardian now scours him, studying him, and with the sort of scrutiny not even his professors nor his fellow men of science up in Cambridge could hope to ever apply unto their research under the microscope--
It holds a touch of bittersweetness, that this be the only channel for his brother's rare relentlessness. However intrusive as it is to be the subject under the lens for once, it does, at the same time, strike him as rather oddly comforting, if for naught else than the reminder that he is returned to home again. He's apprehensive, reticent, under the gaze of Mycroft's perception, yes, but hardly surprised. In the wake of the past several weeks, it's something familiarly tiring.
And the debate, at least, somewhat incentivising.
"Well, the first part is a matter of subjectivism and the second-- semantics." With a slight clear of his still rather dry throat and a gentle shuffle in his place, Sherlock offers the equivalent of a verbal handwave as he reaches to rally his defense, rousing his mind further awake after the foggy carrage ride back down to London and their equally drowsy dinner. "John Newman argued - in his 1851 Dublin speech on the 'Discourses of University Education' - that the purpose of higher education is not vocational training but the 'general development of the Intellect, and of Moral and Social qualities for their own sake.'"
His brows perk, briefly. Quite proud of himself. See, there we are - sources. An appeal towards the credit of old, worldly men, such as his brother often strangely seemed to favour for some reason.
"Furthermore my 'knowledge and skill' should be proof enough by the evidence of their own merit, and not the say-so of a slip of paper. When half of my supposed peers are able to fumble their way into possession of the same certificate with lacking theorem or simply by virtue of their wealth, what is the implication of the value of my own?"
Tight lipped, he searches, meeting the other's steady eyeline. His rethorical query harbours a more genuine question within itself, and one that has found itself at heart (and odds) between the two of them before; What is the point of it? Of so many of these rules and rituals which everyone else seemed to insist upon? For all their similarities, his elder sees the meaning in so many things that he does not - and not for lack of trying to impart it on him.
Sometimes he wishes he could understand. Maybe it would've helped--
"-- And besides, I finished my report and final project months ago. If the benevolent institution elects not to accept it simply to penalize me on the grounds of personal disagreement or mere absence from lectures which are - objectively, at this stage - both redundant and superfluous, that is their own perogative." He unclasps his hands with a huff, gesturing broadly either side.
Queen's Knight to c6. A flexible defense, noncommitted in pursuit.
