It took less time than he thought it would for Robert to get used to his youngest student. Sherlock Holmes would come in on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. He'd turn in his prelab assignment, read the day's instructions, and then get to work.
The first time, Robert had hovered around him, explaining how to assemble the glassware and suggesting that he read the instructions carefully, until the child had glared at him and quoted back the instructions in the book verbatim. Robert backed away then, and let him work in peace. He was well acquainted with how to use the equipment, and he bristled at any suggestion that he didn't know what he was doing. What he did appreciate were the tricks and tips that Robert could give him about working with real substances. The things that you could only learn hands on. The kind of things that no one ever bothered to write into the text books. He stared engrossed at the way that Robert flicked the test tube to rapidly mix the sample, and he requested that he repeat it over and over until he could do it just as well and just as fast.
After a while, Robert began to look forward to his visits, for unlike most of the students who ran through their lab quickly hoping to get it out of the way as rapidly as possible so they could go on to visit their friends at the pub, Sherlock Holmes would repeat each step until it was perfect. He always came prepared, and he always finished with a good product. He was progressing very well indeed, until they reached their first group assignment.
Sherlock signed his name on the sheet on the wall, and others signed up below him only to move their names to other groups when they discovered who their partner would be. No one was willing to risk their grade on a child. In the end, Robert had to help him himself, although Sherlock insisted that he could easily do the entire assignment alone, and he did, doing each part of the chemical isolation himself (the work of four people) by spending extra hours in the lab. Often it would be dark when the man in the black suit would show up at the door to retrieve him. The man looked to be a servant, perhaps a chauffeur. Who were the Holmes family anyway? Despite having to do the assignment alone, Sherlock's grades were at the top of the class.
By this time in the term, friendships had begun to spring up in the lab, and the students formed study groups. Most of this 'studying', however, ended up going on in pubs or dorm rooms after hours. No one wanted a kid tagging after them, and even if they did, Sherlock had to be home by dark. The result was that Sherlock was alone most of the time.
Robert was locking up the door one Thursday morning when little Sherlock Holmes walked up the hall toward him carrying his book bag. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here for lab."
"Lab is closed today. Didn't anyone tell you?" The boy looked up at him and then at the door of the lab, wistfully. "You should go home."
"I can't. Harcourt dropped me off and then he has to take Mummy to the hair dresser. She'll be hours and hours."
"Then maybe you can get ahead on some other coursework. The Library is open. There's a good lad."
Robert picked up his bag and started down the hall. He would have made it out alright if he hadn't looked back. He turned his head to see if he had gone, only to watch the tousle-haired boy looking down at his feet, dejected.
The sight pulled at Robert's heart. He tried to keep going, but he couldn't continue. It was as if there was a rope anchoring him to the spot where the boy stood. He couldn't pull away, so he turned around and walked back to the door.
"I'm going to listen to a lecture. Would you like to come along?"
The smile that greeted him was entirely too warm and too open. He resisted the urge to ruffle the boy's hair. He turned on his heel and walked rapidly down the hall conscious all the while of the sound of feet skipping beside him. Pauli matrices for electron spin had never before elicited such glee, except perhaps to Wolfgang Pauli himself. He looked like the type of man who could chortle about eigenvalues. Robert didn't expect that Sherlock could understand any of the things that the dour faced white-haired lecturer was saying, but then again, you could never tell with this boy.
When the black coated man finally did show up at the lab door to retrieve the child, the look that the boy gave him was full of much too much hope. Robert wondered if he had just acquired a follower. He didn't think that he wanted a follower, and Robert was a bit too prejudiced about age to call him a friend. He was a student, a child, and he was as isolated on this university by his age as if he'd been alone on a deserted island. He had finally found a bridge to understanding University life, and unfortunately for Robert, it appeared to be him.