The Professor

That weekend, Hamish came home from school gushing about his favorite professor.

"He's just like you, Dad! He's really smart and really interesting and he's always pushing me to be cleverer, and he laughs when I show up the other students! You have to meet him!"

Hamish had brought back an invitation that "cordially invited" parents to attend the school over the coming weekend.

"Do you work next Saturday, John?" Sherlock asked, handing over the invitation.

"I don't."

"So you'll come?" Hamish asked eagerly.

John looked at Sherlock and nodded. Hamish danced around with glee, than ran up to put his suitcase in his bedroom.

"Nice to have some youthful energy around here again, isn't it?" John hung his bowler on the hat stand and walked over to kiss Sherlock.

It wasn't long before Sherlock had the violin tuned and was creating songs as he went, drawing the bow in long sweeps across the strings.

At the music, Hamish came bounding down the stairs. "I love it when you play the violin, Dad! You should teach me."

"That violin's a bit big for you, Hamish," John pointed out.

Sherlock played a final note before dropping the violin from his shoulder. "Do you really want to learn?"

Hamish dropped his eyes. "I know you're busy, and that I'm only here on weekends."

"If you'd like to try, I can show you. I'm likely a bad teacher, though. Come here."

Over the next hour, Sherlock showed Hamish how to hold the violin, and how to grasp the bow, steering his arm, letting him play a few notes. Soon Hamish was awkwardly holding the large violin by himself, experimentally sawing at the strings.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist as they watched their son concentrate. Both men were so engrossed in the playing that they failed to hear Mary's footsteps and only just managed to jump away from each other when she opened the door.

John wondered if Mary had seen anything. She did seem to be giving Sherlock and him a strange look, but it quickly faded when she saw Hamish playing.

"Learning the violin! We missed you very much here, Hamish."

"Mary!" Hamish ran to give her a hug and began chattering about school.

Sherlock gave John a quick, concerned look before whipping the violin back up to his shoulder and playing a spirited gavotte, going to stand by the window as he played.

"Are you cooking dinner again, Mary? Food at school is horrid and you can never have seconds—not that you'd want to. My friend Robert told me they put crushed worms in the gravy."

Mary laughed and pushed Hamish's curls from his eyes. "No worms tonight, love. I'm making your favorite. Steak and kidney pie."

"Brilliant; that's Dad's favorite, isn't it, Dad?"

Sherlock and John both looked over, then Sherlock quickly turned back to the window, mentally reprimanding himself.

"Thank you, Mary. I'm amazed you managed to pull something like that together on our tight budget." John had reduced the shopping budget and had cut other corners to save up for Sherlock's violin, but Sherlock hadn't noticed or minded the potato and cabbage-centric dinners of late.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. As long as you know the right grocers and markets to go to...I'm happy to help." Sherlock glanced her way and she blinked a couple times, looking embarrassed and a trifle uncomfortable. She turned her attention back to Hamish. "If you help me in the kitchen, I'll let you sample everything before we serve it."

"Yes, please!"

The two disappeared into the kitchen, and John approached Sherlock and murmured, "Do you think she saw us?"

Sherlock continued playing. "Yes."

"We'll need to tell her, then. I will. After dinner."

When Mary had cleared up after dinner, John pulled her aside in the hallway and explained quietly that the reason she and he couldn't be together was because John was in love.

"But I've never seen you with another woman," Mary said, and John gave her a meaningful look.

It took several moments for Mary to understand. "Oh! You…but he's…a man."

"Yes. We'd still love to have you around, Hamish especially. We both want what's best for him. We just…we just want to be a family."

Mary considered this, then gave John a quick, uncertain smile and left down the staircase, leaving John to wonder if she was going to tell the whole neighborhood or if she was simply going to avoid them from here on out.

When Saturday rolled around, John and Sherlock took a carriage south of the Thames to Hamish's school. In the main foyer, parents milled about with their sons, all of whom were clad in the school's stark uniforms, and it wasn't long before they spotted Hamish waving excitedly amidst the sea of wool navy jackets.

Sherlock scanned the crowed, deconstructing the posh, upper class men and women strolling about, and John wondered if Hamish was making friends his own age; he was so tight-lipped about his social life.

"You both have to meet my favorite professor. He's really really smart. Come on!" Hamish pulled on his parents' sleeves, yanking them in the direction of the main hall, where the professors were milling about, having a meet and greet with the parents.

"I see him! Come on!" Sherlock and John followed him across the room and approached the back of a dark-haired man in a top hat. Sherlock clears his throat as Hamish reaches out to tug on the man's sleeve. The man turned around and John and Sherlock stared in horror at James Moriarty.

"Best close your mouths, boys. Did you miss me?" Jim grinned, enjoying their shock.

Sherlock took an involuntary step back. "How—how are you here?!" He lunged forward and grabbed Moriarty's tie and hissed, "HOW ARE YOU HERE?! I WATCHED YOU DIE!"

Hamish looked in wide-eyed alarm between Sherlock and Jim, baffled. "Da—Uncle Sherlock, stop!"

Jim pushed Sherlock off, brushing off his suit and straightening his tie. "Easy there—hand tailored. Bet you weren't expecting this, were you?" He smiled down at Hamish and tousled his hair. "Adooorable kid you've got here. Ever so clever. Just like Daddy."

John yanked Hamish away from his hand. "Don't you dare touch him!"

Jim clucked his tongue. "Ohh, Johnny-Boy...what makes you think you could ever stop me? Hamish and I are rather good friends, aren't we?" He smiled, snake-like, down at the boy.

Hamish frowned and struggled away from John. "Yeah, Dad, we're friends!"

"How are you here? How are you not dead?" Sherlock repeated.

"I could ask the same thing about you. Except wait…I already know! Faked your death...nice job on that, very nice. And then...what did he call them? The weeping angels. Brilliant- look at you two. Barely used to all this." Jim looked around at the parents milling around. "Simpletons, all of them." He glared at them, then turned back them, his eyes dark and his expression unreadable. "I was dead, you know. But he brought me back."

Sherlock's brain whirled as he tried to keep up and make sense out of it all. Moriarty. Alive. Here, in 1895. It was even more impossible than himself and John being here.

"Who? The Doctor?"

"The Doctor?" Jim spit out the name in disgust. "No, no, no. The Master. Not a name I reserve for anyone aside from myself, normally, but he is rather brilliant. Enjoys causing mayhem. He brought me back and gave me a whole new life here."

The name was unfamiliar to Sherlock. He glared at Moriarty for a moment before taking a deep breath, collecting himself, the straightening, looking his nemesis over coolly. Hamish stuck his head around Sherlock, still confused.

"Will somebody please tell me what's wrong?" Hamish asked.

Sherlock kept Hamish from moving any closer to Jim. He locked his eyes with Moriarty, who had a small smile on his lips, clearly enjoying every moment of catching Sherlock and John so off guard.

"Don't worry, Hamish, dear, your daddies are just a bit behind the times."

"We're going," Sherlock growled.

"Hamish. Go wait outside for a few minutes," John said.

"But Dad—" John cast Hamish such a stern and desperate look that Hamish closed his mouth and obeyed.

Once he was gone, Sherlock turned back to Jim with cold and calculating eyes. "Why are you here?"

Jim breathed in through his nose. "To live," he said. He opened his eyes and rolled them dramatically. "And to tutor bright young lads. Like Hamish. Hamish. The poor boy—who chose that name? Bet it was you, Johnny." He grinned at John, who lunged at him.

"I swear, if you touch a hair on his—"

Moriarty lazily stepped back. "Restrain your pet, Sherlock, before he does something stupid. We both know trying to hurt me now will only reflect poorly on you. I'm an esteemed professor here, you forget."

Sherlock threw an arm out to stop John, knowing Jim was right.

"All those crimes. The faceless 'Professor' organizing dozens of crimes throughout the city. It was you," Sherlock muttered. "I'm glad you're entertaining yourself, Professor. Creative name. Very cute."

Jim grinned. "You want to talk cute? How about the fact that you two are tangled in a sweet, forbidden love affair and caring for a child the magical man in the funny blue box created for you? Honestly, it's so sweet I'm going diabetic just looking at you two." He leaned forward to John. "Be honest, Johnny-boy...does he make you scream in bed?" He cocked his head and held Sherlock's gaze as John clenched his jaw, turning bright red and looking away. "Bet he does."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Jealous, Jim? I imagine your nights have been rather lonely without your dear Sebastian." Jim's jaw tightened ever so slightly, just for a moment, but Sherlock noticed. "Ooh, yes, I know all about you two and how you liked to be pushed around the bedroom. Liked having a few minutes of not having to think, did you? I'd tell him hello for you, but he's dead or he will be, in our time. Shot right through the head. Bit ironic, considering his profession, don't you agree?"

Jim adopted a bored drawl, his voice dripping apathy. "Well, he had it coming...the man had stamina, but he was never the brightest. Easy to manipulate." He twisted his mouth into a cruel smile. "Love is such a detriment to winning. Isn't that what you always said, Sherlock? How you've changed. I'll be keeping a very close eye on your son, while Daddy's away. He's got potential. ...Ooh! I wonder if I could adopt him once his fathers are incarcerated!"

Sherlock restrained John as he lunged forward again, then smirked at Jim. "We'll be keeping a close eye on you, Jim."

"Ooh! I'm flattered."

"Goodbye, Jim," Sherlock said cold, then turned away, spinning John with him and towing how toward the door, where Hamish was waiting.

John leaned down to give Hamish a tight hug. "That professor Moriarty? I don't care how nice he seems. Don't trust him, and don't let him get you alone."

"But he tutors me!"

"Switch tutors," Sherlock said. "In fact, we should switch you to another school entirely."

Hamish looked stricken. "What? Why? No! I've got friends here—I like Professor Moriarty! I don't want to leave!"

"We'll discuss it later, but until later notice, you're coming home with us," Sherlock said.

"But Parents Day's just started! We can't leave yet! I was going to show you my dormitory and the dining hall!"

It was a very sulky ride back to Baker Street. Hamish was angry and glum the rest of the week. John and Sherlock pulled him out of the school and enrolled him in a less prestigious school closer to Westminster, where he could come home every day.

To make matters worse, one day they received a note with their mail that said, "See you soon. xx JM."

Sherlock looked up at Mary and showed her the note. "Who delivered this?"

"I didn't see, sir. It was dropped through the mail slot with the other letters, and I assumed it was some sort of calling card. Who's 'JM'?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair, pursing his lips in annoyance. "Jim Moriarty. An old acquaintance. He's a professor at Hamish's old school." He proceeded to give her a brief but detailed description of his appearance. Mary was taken aback when Sherlock continued with great earnestness, "Mary, if this man comes to the door, you are not, under any circumstances, to let him in. Do you understand me? The only exception is if I am here."

Mary met his eye and nodded. "I understand, Mr. Holmes. Moriarty...that name sounds familiar."

"He's the one I was telling Arthur about...the one who made Sherlock fake his own death," John put in.

Mary's eyes widened as she turned back to Sherlock. "Oh! The one you jumped off a waterfall with?"

Sherlock frowned and mouthed "waterfall?" at John, who gave an apologetic smile. Arthur did enjoy his adaptations and embellishments.

"Dr. Watson's rendition of that adventure made me cry, sir! He's a good storyteller, your—friend."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her word choice, full well that Mary knew they were more than friends, but he didn't press the subject. If Mary chose to share the information with anyone, it could ruin them.

"This isn't some man from a story. He is not only a danger to John and Hamish, but to you and Arthur as well, and will risk others' lives without a second thought if he thinks it will help him get to me. If he comes to the door and no one is here, or even they are for that matter, act as if you don't care for me at all." He looked her up and down. "Which shouldn't be too difficult for you, and wouldn't be that hard for him to believe either."

Mary nodded seriously, then looked at the floor. "I do care for you, sir...both of you. And...and your…secret is safe with me. About you two."

Sherlock glanced at John, who looked relieved, then back to her, reaching his hand out to raise her chin so their eyes met. Sherlock searched her face for a moment. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Mary blushed at his touch and gives a quick nod. "I should go...but I'll do as you say. Of course."

Once Mary had ducked out of the room, Sherlock sighed and sank further into his chair, crossing one leg over the other and steepling his fingers, thinking. "John, I'm going to tell you this now, and I would appreciate it if you didn't bother trying to argue with me. If Moriarty takes either you or Hamish, or both for that matter, I'm trading myself in for you. He wants me and you two have no business getting pulled into it. ...Again, in your case."

John stepped over to look at Sherlock, his arms crossed. "Hamish, I can understand. But if he takes me...I'm sorry, I'm not going to accept that.

Sherlock stared at the fireplace. "Unfortunately for you, that's not your call. Jim won't care if you want to be traded or not. It's my decision. I just thought you should know my intentions, should it happen."

John clenched his jaw. "Fine. I understand. But it's not going to come to that. And even if he won, do you really think he'd accept a trade anyway? He plays by his own rules."

"Oh, he trades...he's just creative about it. If you'll recall, he traded yours, Mrs. Hudson's, and Lestrade's life for mine...although I imagine that this time he'll want to stick around to make sure I hold up my end of the bargain."