"John?" Mary's voice found him over the hustle and bustle of the gathering class. John winced, his gut dropping to his shoes. He obviously was not nearly as prepared to see his ex-girlfriend as he had imagined himself to be. "What are you doing here?"
The sickly sweet tone of her voice was the same as he remembered after spending his last summer avoiding her and studying up to be ready for 1L year at Harvard Law School. Her large toothy smile flashed at him as she approached the smile she saved for people she didn't particularly want to see but felt obligated to speak to. John forced a smile of his own, accepting a one-armed hug and a quick peck on the cheek from lips he had once loved.
"Hello, Mary. I'm here because I got in," John said simply, still smiling. Mary's eyes flashed with surprise.
"Oh. Well congratulations. I thought you were thinking about joining the Army," Mary's tone made it clear that's where she thought he belonged.
"I decided to try my luck here," John answered. "Class is about to start. We should get to our seats."
"It's good to see you, John," Mary said, handing John a card with her new phone number on it. "Let's catch up after class."
John nodded tightly and made his way to the other side of the room where his assigned seat was at the end of the room by the door, thankfully far away from Mary. He hated himself for the way his stomach still fluttered around that woman. He sat heavily and pulled out his old, battered laptop. It had certainly seen better days. A used copy of the textbook was placed next to it.
"Here on scholarship, are you?" A rich baritone voice asked from his side. John turned, startled and knocked his book to the ground. At least, that's where it would have gone had long fingers not reached out and grabbed it deftly out the air. "Careful with that, you're going to need it."
"Sorry, I'm sorry," John reached for his book and managed to place it back on the desk at a better angle. He felt uncomfortable under the searing gaze of the other man, like all his secrets were being told. He had black hair, pale skin, and was wearing a purple dress shirt and black slacks with such ease that John doubted he ever dressed any differently. "How did you know…?"
It was at this moment that the doors to the classroom swung open, cracking against the walls and silencing the room. A man stood in the door frame wearing an impeccable suit with a blood-red tie that seemed to accentuate the aura of power radiating off of him. John turned to ask his companion who he was but found that the tall man was striding confidently toward the older man.
"Ah, Professor Moriarty. Right on time," The man handed the professor a clipboard. "These are the students that during my preliminary sweep of the room are unlikely to pass."
"Thank you, Sherlock," Moriarty answered in a smooth tenor that reminded John of antifreeze. Sweet, but deadly in large doses. "I will be sure to allocate my resources to the more promising students then."
John kept his eyes on this Sherlock standing with Moriarty. He was obviously the teaching assistant for this class. Above all though, John had seen that clipboard. It had been blank.
"Now, students," Moriarty strode purposefully to the front of the classroom. He was shorter than Sherlock by a few inches but more obviously muscular. A sense of danger followed him, leaving most of the students wide-eyed and whispering amongst each other. "This is a first level criminal justice class. When I say first level, do not mistake it for easy. It is the first level that you must pass to become a lawyer. Fail my class, and you will fail in your career. Fail my class, and you might as well just…" Piercing eyes met John's. "…go home."
John shivered. Something about this new professor gave him a bad feeling that none of the others had. Moriarty was the best criminal trial lawyer around, and he had never lost a case. Rumor had it that he often took on first year students as interns during cases to help manage the workload, and he always had a case to work on.
"Now, first things first," Moriarty said in a sing-song voice. "This is my assistant, and soon to be partner at my firm, Sherlock Holmes. He is not your tutor, your friend, or your ticket to a good grade. He is my spy. He will help me weed out the worthless and point out the strong. Should there be a need for me to take on first year interns this year, he will help me choose them. And don't bother trying to get on his good side. He doesn't have one."
Sherlock, for his part, looked bored to John. Mary looked positively vicious as she gazed upon those she now considered competition.
"Now, let us begin," Moriarty clapped his hands together, making some students jump. "Hypothetical question: A potential client is accused of stealing jewelry and other valuables from the old woman he works for as an in-home nurse but they cannot be found in his apartment. John Watson: Would you take the case?"
John swallowed nervously.
"Is he guilty?" John asked quietly.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Moriarty feigned cupping his ear to hear better. "I thought you just asked if he was guilty." The class turned their eyes on john who was beginning wish he could just disappear in the woodwork. "Mr. Watson, what you have failed to comprehend is that it is not your job to determine guilt, but to prove innocence whether or not it is there. Mr…Moran. Same question."
Mary smiled cattishly at the man sitting next to her as he started to speak.
"This is an easy case. She's old, most likely bedridden at least for a good part of the day to need a live-in nurse. If the old woman can't prove theft, it would be easy to point at her deteriorating mental health as a culprit for these delusions about her loyal and gentle caregiver." Moran shot a glance at John momentarily. "Open and shut. My client wins, the old woman lands in the home."
"Very good, Mr. Moran. This type of case happens every day, all the time," Moriarty slammed his hand on his desk. "It is beneath a Harvard lawyer. Remember that Mr. Moran, before you try to be smart."
John breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least he wasn't the only one. As the lecture began, John felt eyes on him. He glanced up and saw Sherlock still staring at him with half-interest. John looked down quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. But he couldn't help but look back up. Stormy gray eyes remained on him.
After class, John tried to get away before Mary could catch up to him but with everyone crowding the door it was impossible. A perfectly manicured hand landed on his shoulder and he barely managed to fix a smile on his face before he turned around to greet her.
"Mary," John greeted.
"Well that was something, wasn't it?" Mary said with a grin. "He's the best trial lawyer in this part of the country."
"Not for long," An oily voice that John recognized chimed in. Moran sidled up to Mary and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Hey, babe." He was several inches taller than John and obviously very strong. He carried himself like a martial-artist and John sized him up cautiously.
"Not here, Seb," Mary pushed him playfully. "Sebastian Moran, this my friend and old flame, John Watson."
John shook Sebastian's offered hand, the grip just tight enough to remind John who was stronger.
"So this is the famous John Watson. Mary's told me much about you," Sebastian released John's hand. "They really have lowered Harvard's standards, haven't they? I'm just playing with you. See you later."
John raised an eyebrow as he sauntered away.
"A real charmer. Where'd you find that guy, Mary?" John asked, tamping down on his temper. Mary rolled her eyes.
"We went to high school together. His father is a senator." Mary said, as if that explained everything.
"I have to go. I'll see you later," John wanted to leave. Mary waved after him.
"Let's get lunch sometime!" She called after him. John made a vague response in her direction, hurrying to get away.
John tried to always be honest with himself. When Mary had broken up with him in favor of some "time alone", which strangely seemed to include dating several other men, it had hurt. They had been dating since high school, but the sweet girl that John had asked to prom had slowly been morphing a mean-spirited woman. But all of that John could have handled on this first day of class. What he couldn't take was the fact that he so obviously didn't fit in.
"Is he guilty? Good going, John," He muttered to himself as he worked on an assignment in the library. The computers were much nicer here. "Might as well have just broadcast it to the world: I'm an idiot."
"Do you realize you do that out loud?" A bored, British-tinged voice came from the computer in front of him. Sherlock.
"Sorry, I didn't realize," John blushed. "You're Moriarty's colleague. That clipboard you gave him was blank."
"Yes, thank you. I had forgotten before you reminded me," Sherlock said without breaking eye contact with the computer. "Jim likes to scare the new students."
"Right..." John trailed off. "Does Professor Moriarty always act so...intense?"
"You'll soon find out," Sherlock was still tapping away at his keyboard. "You should cut Mary Morstan out of your life. She's just using you for entertainment."
"What? How did you know about Mary? About my scholarship, too?" John watched Sherlock sigh and meet his eyes for the first time.
"You're clothes are all in good repair but fairly worn, meaning you don't have the money to replace them often and you take care of them properly. Your books are all used, not uncommon but they bear the sticker that shows they came from a common bargain book website and not the school bookstore or eBay. You needed books that were as cheap as possible. Also, your laptop. Shows-"
"Enough, I get it. I look poor," John sighed inwardly. "I know."
"You don't look poor. I was going to say your laptop is a an older model but still in working condition. You're here at the library and the assignment you're working on should take the average student around two hours to complete if they use minimal effort, three if they try. You are nearly finshed if the changing speed of your typing and expressions on your face are anything to go by. It's taken you two hours but you weren't slacking off. Therefore: you 'look poor' as you say, and you finish an assignment that is meant to test the will of the lesser student and break it in record time and two days early. Scholarship."
"That...was amazing," John was dumbstruck, his fingers motionless and still hovering over the keys. Sherlock looked momentarily intrigued.
"Not was I usually hear."
"What do people normally say?" John prodded.
"You're invading my privacy," Sherlock half-smiled. "We are at school full of future lawyers, remember? Now if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do."
"Bye. It was nice talking to you, I guess..." John called after him. Sherlock turned and winked at him over his shoulder.
"Likewise, Mr. Watson."
Then he was gone.
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