Chapter Text
“Professor Moriarty… that last problem was way too hard! There’s no way anybody in the mathematics department could ace that exam!”
“Haha, I was thinking it may have been too difficult earlier.”
The students, spirits freshly dampened by the impossible exam they’d just taken, had originally gone up to their math professor with genuine complaints about the test. After all, if every student in the class answered the final problem incorrectly, Professor Moriarty would have no choice but to remove that question from the final score, right?
But instead, Professor William James Moriarty, seemingly well-versed in the art of brushing off his students’ complaints, just sent them a small smile and laugh as his response. They’d seen that expression a lot. The smile that doesn’t let his opponent say a word. His demeanor was like that of a politician, which did not exactly fit the image of a prodigy math teacher. But that was not the point.
The point was that every single student who walked out of Professor Moriarty’s classroom knew that they had, without a doubt, failed.
—
William cast a glance at the retreating figures of his university students, their postures slouched and faces filled with immense disappointment. Their reactions were exactly as expected. He included the final question not searching for the correct answer, but rather, he was looking for the approach. Yet maybe, he should’ve chosen an easier example…
All the students had filed out the door, and he looked back down as he slid the last exam sheet a manila envelope so he could grade them during lunch. It was when he folded the envelope closed did he hear footsteps behind him.
Unhesitant, loud. Before he even turned around, he narrowed down who it could be. Not one of his students, likely not an attacker. A stranger would not be so bold as to practically stomp their way over to him. But then, what friend of his could possibly enter his classroom while others took an exam?
The answer reached him the exact moment he picked up the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Eyes widened, William turned backwards, and as expected, saw Sherlock Holmes walking towards him.
“Professor~”
There was that rugged voice, scratched through with years of smoking, but it was brazen and clear and very much like Sherlock. Most of the time William saw the detective was when he monitored him, his pawn that would further advance towards the Lord of Crime’s goal. But there the pawn was, standing in front of him, arm held out with a sheet of paper in his hand. The exam… seriously?
“Did I pass your test?”
“…Mr. Holmes.”
Greeting out of the way, Sherlock relaxed his posture, leaning backwards and stuffing his free hand in his pocket. A grin easily stretched across his face. “Yo, Liam! You’re actually teaching at a university at your age!”
William glanced from his face to his paper. “Did you take this exam along with the rest of my students? You really are surprising.”
Instead of a proper response, Sherlock just held out his arm further, saying, “Please score this for me!”
(Somewhere deep inside, William couldn’t help but laugh. Sherlock had the gall to act so confident, when with one glance he could immediately tell that he didn’t get a single question on the exam correct.)
Nevertheless, William took the paper, placing it in his envelope along with the others.
“Why are you in Durham?” He asked. London was hours away, it was simply stupid to make such a trip just to visit.
“I wanted to see your lecture at least once,” God, he had to be joking, “So I looked it up and came to the lecture hall, but there was an exam being taken.”
Sherlock had traveled all the way from London just to attend his lecture?
A sensation one could possibly label as gratitude overtook his disbelief.
Or, if they stretched it enough, one could call it affection.
Just as William opened his mouth to respond, however, he was struck once again. “Also, you promised that we’d have dinner after the train incident, didn’t you?”
With a coy smile, he turned away from the other man, towards the door. “I don’t recall saying I’d go,” he retorted. From the smile on his face and the carelessness in his tone, they both knew that he absolutely would.
“Don’t be so mean. It’s the reason I came all the way to Durham in the first place,” Sherlock complained. Without acknowledging it, the pair had walked out of the classroom and into the hallway. “There’s so much I want to talk with you about!”
“How interesting. However, I have another lecture scheduled for second period. I was planning to score these exams during my lunch break… we can talk then?”
“Ahh, that’s fine with me,” Sherlock said. After a pause, he added, “Can I sit in for your next lecture?”
“I don’t mind. I’ll be off to prepare, the lecture will be in the same room.”
“Okay!”
As William passed through the doorway leading to his office, he glanced back to find the detective excitedly making his way back to the lecture hall. He couldn’t help but smile.
The Lord of Crime in his heart reminded him how dangerous it could be to get close to the pawn in his schemes, the means to an end that he’d just end up using for his own game. Their closeness may serve as a catalyst to the potential breakdown to the ultimate goal, and there was nothing that could be done short of breaking off communication completely.
William was an expert in manipulation. Every moment in the public eye was a carefully fabricated image of himself, every word he exchanged with the nobles he met was planned out days ahead of time. It was all to get them to feel exactly how he meant them to. Of course, while he didn’t spend as much time in the spotlight as Albert did, both he and Louis were confident in their abilities to use their outward semblance as a way to further their goal. But with Sherlock, it couldn’t possibly be so easy.
Sherlock Holmes, the first man William had ever seen as his equal. His deductive abilities were nothing short of incredible, and from that William knew whatever he came up with to rid himself of their furthering relationship, Sherlock would see right through. Plus, severing ties completely would only send him backwards a few steps. The hero, the valiant light that existed as an opposition to the Lord of Crime’s endless dark, was absolutely necessary. To change England, he needed Sherlock. And while he knew of the detective’s obsession with the Lord of Crime, in case plans ever went wrong, there was truly no easier way to point him in the right direction than to be by his side. But still, William hadn’t initially accounted for the unlikely event that they’d actually get on quite well. In hindsight, it was obvious why they would. Finally, there was somebody there to keep up with his wit, to be able to decipher the hidden lines within his expression, to ask all the right questions and give all the right answers. Sherlock intrigued him.
However, that wasn’t all. There was a fair amount of interest, sure, but there was something else there as well. He thought about the detective increasingly often with every time they met. Not when William was planning his next move, but rather, in passing. He’d picture the sharp lines of the man’s face and his black hair curling around the edges of it, his hand adorned with the silver memento mori ring he was never seen without brushing the bangs from his face, that victorious smile that reflected everything he stood for. What’s worse was that William only managed to catch his thoughts wandering long after he started thinking of Sherlock. The distraction he brought was what worried William so, but then again, he needed to keep him around.
William was interrupted from his thoughts by the sound of wheels against the wooden floor. A young man walked by pushing a cart of boxes, and stopped right behind where the math professor was, still in front of his office’s doorway.
The man, apparently from Durham Printing, left William’s supplies that he had bought a week before on the desk of his office.
Even after his thoughts were interrupted, Sherlock’s face still remained present in William’s mind. Mentally, he shook it off. With a brief glance at his pocket watch, there were five minutes until the start of his next lecture. It was more than enough time to gather his lesson materials and leave for the lecture hall.
When he pulled open the door to his lecture hall, left ajar by one of his students, he could see that everyone was already seated. And, as he expected, that “everyone” included Sherlock, sitting attentively at the very top right corner (as if that “attention” would last more than ten minutes). William ensured to keep the detective in his peripheral vision, while at the same time not making direct eye contact. He had to focus on the lesson.
Halfway through his lecture, as he wrote down an equation for the students to practice, he once again took notice of Sherlock. As expected, he was looking boredly out the window, not sparing a single glance towards the chalkboard, or his note paper. After all Sherlock had done just to attend one of his lectures, he still couldn’t pay attention for the entirety of it…
William stopped talking completely as he turned to face the detective. One could just ignore his lack of attentiveness, but if Sherlock came to listen to his lectures, then he would be treated as a student. Even after five seconds of complete silence throughout the hall, the detective had still not looked up from where his eyes were trained. He had to have been deep in thought, and the reason why was perfectly clear once William recalled how Sherlock had jokingly accused him of being the Lord of Crime on the train. He must’ve been comparing William to the voice of Albert, the Moriarty that he’d spoken to while ensuring Bonde’s safety. Clever of him, using the lecture time to compare his suspect and the culprit. Unfortunately, such conduct was unacceptable for a student of his.
A couple of the students caught onto where their professor looked, turning to each other to mutter amongst themselves over whether they’d ever seen him before. Of course he’d be a familiar face, being London’s most infamous detective; but surely not a single person in the lecture hall would’ve expected Sherlock Holmes, the man they’d been seeing in the papers for weeks, to show up to their math class, so the guess did not even cross their minds.
Fully convinced that Sherlock would not be refocusing his attention anytime soon, William set down his stick of chalk and started to walk over towards Sherlock’s aisle and up the stairs to where he sat.
As he made his way up, the surrounding students flinched back. Their professor had that look on his face, the one he’d adopt whenever a student was being particularly obstreperous. Or unattentive. The way his eyes were set or the position of the mouth stayed exactly the same, however it was like a shadow clouded over his face, red eyes glowing menacingly…
William stopped at the side of Sherlock’s desk, posture rigid straight as he looked down at the detective. He wondered if Sherlock was so deep into his own brain that he lost track of surroundings, a fault William could admit to on multiple occasions. It seemed so, as he did not look up even when William’s reflection was clear on the window Sherlock gazed through.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Sherlock visibly jumped, immediately turning his back on the window, eyes wide.
“Christ, Liam, that scared the hell out of me!” Sherlock placed a hand on his chest to exaggerate his surprise.
Whatever William expected to feel in response, endearment definitely was not one of the options. But there were times where William would be sitting in an armchair in the Moriarty manor, eyes fixed on a tree or a drifting cloud from outside his window, his consciousness fixed entirely on whatever he was contemplating. It would take Louis a tap on the shoulder just to pull him from his own mind, and while he certainly was not nearly as animated as Sherlock was, he pictured himself feeling the same way in response to an interruption. With their similar intelligence levels, it was no surprise that they had similar habits. The two of them were different, but to see someone who could think as deeply as William could gave him a strange sense of companionship. He’d have to look into that later. But at the moment, a certain detective he knew was not paying attention to his lectures, so clearly there was some reform to be had…
—
The students looked back and forth between the two men. There was quite clearly some level of acquaintance with them, they were possibly friends seeing how the black-haired man addressed their teacher as “Liam.” The new student looked to be a couple years older than them, possibly older than Professor Moriarty…
—
William watched in silent satisfaction as the detective’s face went through multiple transformations within a second, before settling on his usual look.
“I wonder, Professor Liam, is there some sort of trouble?” Sherlock chose to feign innocence. From the grin on his face, it was like he wasn’t even trying to lie. It made sense, because nothing could get through William anyways.
William returned Sherlock’s smile, although his was in less severity. In truth, he fully expected Sherlock to find the lesson boring. But the detective made things fun, every interaction was interesting, William could keep his secrets around him yet he didn’t have to put up a mask to hide his true personality. In the simplest of terms, he found that around Sherlock, he could be himself. This was a first. There was likely nobody in London who could give William such a thrill from just a conversation. He found himself wanting to keep the man around, relishing in every time they met, his one respite from the infinite boredom that came with always being the best mind in the room. He made an effort to hold a conversation, not just to improve the stability of his plan, but also just for himself. Such a thought gave him a feeling of mild urgency to loosen their connection so as to not get too attached; but he’d need time to construct a proper plan. Anything involving London’s best detective had to be carefully thought out, after all. For the time being, there was no harm in talking.
So, William gave him a response. “Indeed there may be - if, say, a certain someone was staring out the window rather than focusing on my lecture.”
Sherlock threw his head back in laughter as he always did. “Aha! You really are a dedicated teacher, to call out someone who isn’t even your student!”
“Of course. I became a professor to share my knowledge, it’s only natural that I would point it out when someone was refusing to learn.”
“Man, Liam, you really are an interesting guy!” Somehow, his grin grew further, which originally seemed impossible (but that summed up Sherlock’s identity quite well, didn’t it?)
He’d been called interesting before, by many people, practically everyone he met. But to hear it from Sherlock was…different, somehow. It felt like an actual acknowledgment. William wasn’t the type to be driven by praise of those he respected, but it was nice.
“In that case, I hope you will indulge me in trying to find my lessons as interesting as you find me,” he said, and after turning back to the rest of the class, he added, “I apologize for the interruption. If you don’t mind, I’ll be continuing with the lecture.”
The rest of the period passed as quickly as all others did. Not a moment after he wrapped up his final words, the bell resounded throughout the campus, signaling the end of class.
“That will be all for today. Do remember to read ahead to chapter 11 in your textbooks tonight.”
William wiped down the chalkboard with the board eraser as his students descended the stairs. Quickly, he reviewed what he’d teach in the following period… period 3’s students were a chapter behind the other students, so he’d have to look for the notes he created for chapter nine…
“Uh, excuse me - Professor?”
Daniel Green, a timid young man with ashy brown hair that curled at the sides of his jaw, stood nervously with his hands behind his back. William never got much chance to talk with him, since he rarely asked questions in class. From the assignments he submitted, it was clear that he was skilled at retaining information but his logic abilities were lacking; he was alright at mathematics relative to his classmates but did not exactly stand out.
William turned around. “Is there something you need, Daniel?”
“Ah, no, I just… uh…” He stumbled over his words, unsure.
William sent him a kind smile, and said, “Go ahead and ask me anything you need. I am here to help you, after all.”
Daniel, likely unused to being the recipient of such welcoming words, turned bright red. “Thank you, professor, I was just wondering, about the man who just showed up today, will he be a new classmate of ours?”
“I see. No, he will not be,” he said tersely, setting down the eraser. Before Daniel’s facial situation had time to recover, a new voice joined their conversation.
“Hmm? Who won’t be what?”
While Daniel whirled around, William simply glanced over his student’s shoulder.
Daniel’s posture went rigid straight. “Oh! It’s - uh, nobody, we were just… um…” He stammered, briefly sending furtive glances towards his professor. He must’ve assumed Sherlock had heard them talking and was upset about it, when really he just wanted to hear what William had to say about him.
“Mr. Holmes, speak of the devil. We were just talking about you.”
“Gossiping, were you? I didn’t expect you’d be the type to do that, Liam,” Sherlock remarked. “So? Who’s this?” He nodded his head to Daniel, whose stance was just relaxing after the attention moved off of him.
“I’m - well, my name is Daniel Green, it’s a pleasure to meet you… sir.” Before introducing himself, the man had once again snuck his eyes over to William’s face. His level of dependency was astoundingly high for his age, most high-class gentlemen had already branched away from the support of their elders and learned to start thinking for themselves by 18 years old. He followed directions well, but without anyone to be his backbone, he struggled. It was quite obvious why, after considering how blank his face was when William mentioned ‘Mr. Holmes.’ Daniel was sheltered, extremely sheltered, so much so that he didn’t even know the name of one of England’s most prominent figures. He guessed this when he first met the student, so he had no qualms about addressing Sherlock as his surname, possibly connecting himself to the Lord of Crime.
After conspicuously drawing his eyes over Daniel’s face and torso, it seemed Sherlock had gathered the same thing. He gave a mischievous smirk. “Sir? Do I look like a sir to you, kid?”
“No! No, um, I’m sorry, I didn’t think before I spoke…”
Exactly the reaction William expected. It was word for word. The student was so predictable it was comical, and William covered his chuckle with a hand over his mouth.
Oh. That seemed to have a strange effect.
Immediately, both men turned back to William. Daniel was flush with embarrassment, while Sherlock’s eyes widened. Had he never heard him laugh before? Even if he hadn’t, that wouldn’t explain why the detective looked personally offended. The average person wouldn’t pick it up, but it was evident in the lines of his face that something had put him off. William recalled the previous interaction down to the millisecond, but there was nothing about Daniel making him laugh that would give Sherlock such an expression.
Quite unsurprisingly, Daniel was mortified at being laughed at by his math professor. He flailed about for a moment (verbally) before forcing out the slightly coherent phrase, “probably should leave because I need to go.”
On the other hand, the near withering glare that Sherlock sent at Daniel’s back on his way out was certainly more interesting. William added another thing about Sherlock he’d need to mentally deliberate on later. His list totaled to three. Three more things than he’d usually need time to consider. It was no wonder why the detective intrigued him so.
Another item appeared on his list when William picked up Sherlock’s irritated mutter, something about “laugh” and “getting to it first.”
It was another reason William wanted more interactions with him.