My sincerest thanks to Lilsherlockian1975 for betaing this. Also for the title, even though her earlier suggestion seemed more interesting, it got lost in cultural 'no' how...(see what I did there?)...

Molly groaned at the knocking on her office door. It was 5:45pm, on a Friday of a crazy week and she was ready to wrap up and head home. The last thing she needed was any of her students asking for her inputs, or even worse, the Scotland Yard and Inspector Lestrade (though she wouldn't really mind it being the handsome policeman).

As it turned out, it was neither. It was the student who took none of her classes, but attended all, who seemed to be extremely interested in biology but not enough to enrol for the courses the university offered.

It was Sherlock Holmes, the chemistry honours student, who performed bizarre experiments, sometimes in her lab, and came up with even more bizarre doubts and theories. To be honest, she did find the young man's observations interesting, but not on a Friday evening.

"Dr Hooper! Glad I could catch you before you left. I just need a moment…something just occurred to me." The innocent smile reminded her of wolves just before they grabbed their prey. She was certain Sherlock was responsible for the latest batch of grey she found on her head; though in all honesty, she was in her mid 30s.

"Oh come in Sherlock. I noticed the previous two times you came while I was with Prof Brown and Prof Mistry. So what is it this time? What experiment of your's is going to keep me from having an enjoyable weekend?"

"Oh but Dr Hooper, if only anyone else had the-"

"Ok, cut the crap, come to the point."

The devilish grin on his face showed exactly how she had walked right into his plans. The boy was a menace, she was surprised she hadn't heard many complaints from the girls (or boys, if rumours were to be believed) in his year.

It was almost eight as they wrapped up, Molly ensuring the lab was left clean, she just couldn't deal with Philip "Finch" Anderson's complaints about students and their irresponsible use of the uni labs.

"Can I drop you off anywhere Dr Hooper? I did keep you waiting after all."

She was tempted. Not only because Sherlock drove a mighty, gorgeous beast of a Jaguar but she couldn't wait to reach her flat and just drop down on her sofa, staying there for the entire weekend. But a professor taking a late night ride from her student could start tongues wagging; her plate was already full dealing with snide comments from her fellow professors commenting on her relatively young age.

"Oh, thank you, but the tube is faster. Besides, I wouldn't want to keep you from your weekend plans…just keep away from my labs ok?"

She had turned away before he could protest, praying to Gods above that she remain undisturbed this time.

Molly didn't pay much attention to the increased frequency of visits paid by the brilliant chemist-in-learning. Besides the obvious decade wide age gap, she acknowledged that she was a very popular teacher, her courses getting filled in no time and her classes always well attended. She loved teaching, firmly believing that the field of pathology was indeed an art that needed to be honed, with clues to be deciphered and answers to be dug out. She taught with an enthusiasm that some found misplaced in the morgue, but she put on her smile and carried on. It was her enthusiasm after all that helped Scotland Yard on cases when their in-house pathologists fell short.

It was during one such instant, when she had been discussing what seemed to be a dead end with Lestrade that she caught Sherlock loitering outside the lab doors, obviously eavesdropping. If he looked a little peaked, she attributed it to late night partying. Before she could pull him up for his actions, he rapidly started firing questions at Lestrade.

"Oi, who are you and where are all these questions coming from?"

"Oh come on, detective. I heard what you were discussing; it's obvious that you are missing the point and looking in the wrong direction." Saying which he gave the inspector pointers on where and how to investigate more, resulting in the criminal's identification.

He sauntered (yes that was the apt word to be used) out of the labs, a smug smile on his face.

"Who the hell was that?"

"That is Sherlock Holmes…yes that's his real name. A brilliant student of mine…well actually he doesn't take any of my courses but attends all lectures. And does weird experiments." She sighed, looking in the direction in which Sherlock departed, before turning to Lestrade. "He does make sense. We are stuck here, what's the harm in checking out what he said? We've nothing to lose."

As it turned out, Sherlock was right. Eerily spot on. Right up to the method and the motivation behind the crime.

"Congratulations Sherlock. Inspector Lestrade was very impressed; the suspect is now behind bars. That was fantastic; you should be working with Scotland Yard, instead of getting this Chemistry degree. Or is that your hidden ambition anyway, noting how I find you more in the path labs than in chemistry?"

The tips of his ears actually turned pink as he mumbled something under his breath and took his leave. Molly chuckled and shook her head; the more brilliant they came, the funnier they were.

"He has a crush on you, Molly," Lestrade teased. "His face lights up whenever he sees you…and scowls if I'm with you."

"Eesh…That's because I encourage him Greg, something I wished others did too. Brilliance is a fire that needs to be fanned in the right direction. I have a very sneaky doubt that Sherlock is right now walking a very thin line; a nudge in the right direction is what he needs, else that mind of his will devour him."

Truer words were never uttered, Greg thought. As fate would have it, during a raid on a doss house a few months later, he stumbled across a Sherlock drugged and lost completely out of his mind. It was only his past experience with the brilliant student and his respect for Molly Hooper that Greg immediately contacted his family, instead of putting Sherlock's name on record.

The guilty student had the decency to look slight sheepish when he visited Molly's lab a fortnight later, though he did try and put up an unaffected front.

"I can't let you around these chemicals Sherlock, if I can't guarantee that you are not in control of all your faculties!"

He had profusely apologised, accepting that it had been his first relapse (which meant he had been in rehab, Molly realised…her instinct had been spot on) and promised to continue therapy.

And he kept up his side of the bargain, working on his experiments in her labs, getting exceptional grades in his course and helping Greg here and there. Things were running smoothly, which turned out to be the calm before a storm that hit at the beginning of his last semester.

Molly loved her job; the university offered her great opportunities to extend her knowledge whereas Scotland Yard cases kept her abreast of its practical implementation.

But she felt adrift, a bit unsatisfied with how things were. A chance meeting with the visiting emeritus of Harvard gave her a view into the path breaking work they were doing with DNA testing and forensic science. It was an evolving field, with new discoveries and inventions made regularly. She knew what she wanted to do, and somehow managed to get into a programme Harvard offered without too much hassle.

Her students weren't thrilled to know their favourite professor was leaving but Sherlock's reaction she wouldn't have guessed for all she knew him.

"Why would you need to travel that far? It's not like they hide these discoveries, sooner or later we all follow those procedures." His tone was brusque; he looked most shaken of them all. "What says that you will be happy to return at the end of the year?"

"Listen, Sherlock, I too need update my knowledge. And not all things can be taught remotely, you know that. Besides, you graduate at the end of this semester; it's not like I am one of your professors. I will ensure or rather try my best to ensure that my successor helps you out-"

"But it won't be you," he cut in, trying his best to keep desperation out of his voice.

Molly frowned. She knew he would take this hard, but hadn't expected the scene to turn this…emotional. She then noticed that the undercurrents in that room had changed; it no longer felt like it was a student and a teacher. For the first time, she gave weightage to Greg's words, and it made her…uncomfortable, almost nervous.

For Sherlock's gaze had changed, it had become…personal, to say the least. She coughed, trying to get back in control of the situation but Sherlock's personality was not one to be easily overpowered. Yet, she tried again.

"Listen, Sherlock, every teacher needs to become a student again in order to improve…to become a better teacher. It's something we all have to do. It's just that the only place I feel fits my requirements is across the pond. And come on, this is the age of the internet. You can always contact me for anything you need, without hesitation, anytime. It's not as if you follow the schedule…bit late to form new habits, eh?"

Her attempt to lighten the air failed as he just stood there, arms folded, his eyes staring at her as if he was reading her entire story…till he moved and approached her, standing just a tad short of her personal space. It took all her resolve not to fidget or back away, something telling her he would just corner her.

It no longer felt like an interaction between her and a student; it was suddenly Molly Hooper, a woman and Sherlock Holmes, a young man his gaze turning personal, possessive, almost like a caress.

"But that's not enough for me."

His voice had dropped an octave, a slight frown between his brows, like he too was confused the way things had taken a turn.

She blinked, the air in her office suddenly feeling warm. She could almost feel the heat in his gaze as it caressed her face. She took a deep breath, trying again to gain control.

"Well then…what do you need, Sherlock?"

"You."