Disclaimer:

Remington Steele and its characters are owned by MTM. No copyright infringement intended. For entertainment purposes only.

Set after Season 4. Season 5 doesn't exist in my universe.

Chapter 1:

The class was starting to get boring. It was always the same thing; the room almost in darkness, except for the light coming from the ceiling lamp. All the students piled up in the same place. A body on the autopsy table surrounded by the most excellent pupils knowing every answer, even those not asked yet, an unpleasant smell invading everything. And a weird doctor playing professor was the last addition to the surreal situation. Or maybe it was an odd professor playing doctor; nobody cared about that.

Forensics wasn't the most enjoyable subject, but it was impossible to avoid. It was the last one until the thesis, and it was the last class. The topic of the day was 'human lethal intoxications,' an interesting topic since the origin of mankind. A lot of wars and murders could have been avoided in history if the knowledge had been developed before. From the Borgia Family to Romeo and Juliet, everything could have been at least, less complicated. But what was history without those bitter performances? Just a retelling.

If there was one thing that he loved the most, it was the hidden story behind the crimes in history. There was always a connection between love, betrayal, passion, or power; and an art masterpiece's disappearance. Just the mere thought of that helped him to survive until the end of the class. He wasn't a fan of forensic affairs, so he remained as far as he could from the autopsy table. He never understood what the attraction of forensics was.

He was thinking about that when he noticed a woman slyly staring at him. She took her eyes off of him when she realized he was looking at her. He tried to return to his previous thoughts, but then he looked back at her, and her eyes were again on him. He gave her a crooked smile, and she didn't dare to look at him back until the end of the class.

The torture was finishing, with only ten minutes left, when the professor began his last round of questions. Everyone asked was giving a correct answer. It was a monotonous hum.

"If the symptoms are nausea, drooling, vomiting, slow pulse, low blood pressure, diarrhea, seizures, coma, and death; and the symptoms take about six hours to begin; What do you think had been used to kill somebody,?" asked Professor O'Higgins.

"One of the options could have been rhododendrons and azaleas," said one of the students standing in front of the body.

"Good answer, Mr. Stewart. And what would it be if the symptoms were a gradual weakening of the muscles and intense pain as the muscles deteriorate and die? Though sight might be lost, the mind remains clear until death occurs. Symptoms begin in thirty minutes, though it takes several hours to die," asked the doctor. This time nobody was brave enough to answer. The man looked up through the pile of students. There was a man there that was always in silence. Why I don't give him a try, he thought. "You, the tall man beside Meyers," said the professor.

He hoped that the professor wasn't talking to him, and he just turned his head looking for someone tall near him. But he was the only tall one beside Meyers. The question was for him. Hesitant, trying to find some time to elaborate a convincing answer, he looked sideways, to the woman standing beside him and said, "I suppose you are talking to me…"

"Yes sir, I am talking to you. Do you have an answer?"

The woman that had been staring at him before, Caroline Meyers was doing it again. But this time, seeing that he wasn't prepared to give a response, took pity on him and whispered some kind of help. "Ahem, Sherlock…" she said almost trying to make a joke on him. Everybody near them, understanding the whole situation, endured a chuckle.

He looked at her, not knowing if it was a joke or the woman was cynical. But then he caught the meaning of her words and said, "My instincts tell me that with all the symptoms you described, professor, the victim could have been poisoned with hemlock," he stated.

"You're correct, young man. Good answer. And your name is?" he asked.

With a slight and compelling smile, he answered, "Steele, sir, Remington Steele."