PART II

MAY 1996

Victor was well and truly fucked.

He'd known about his end of term chemistry paper for well over a month. He'd known that it made up nearly half of his final grade. He'd known all that, and yet, had put it off and off and off until he had less than 36 hours to write one of the most important papers of his life.

Victor was an artist, a musician. He was no scientist, and never intended or pretended to be. He had taken a chemistry course this term for the sole purpose of fulfilling his science requirement, and had thought that it would be easy enough material since he did have some vague knowledge of the periodic table of elements, water being two hydrogen and one oxygen, and so on and so forth. How very wrong he was.

So here he was, a day and a half from his paper's due date, and not a single sentence written. Desperately, he took to the library, hoping to find inspiration in its tall shelves of dusty books, and failing miserably. He let his head fall down to the table he was sharing with his mate, Lucy, and let out his most pathetic groan.

Lucy, sat across from him, leaning her chair back on two legs, staring at the ceiling, 'I know,' she said suddenly, 'Why don't you get your father to give the dean a call, and tell him to excuse you from writing the paper? Tell him to name a new chemistry lab after you or something in exchange for passing marks?'

Victor snorted, 'You know my father would never agree to that, Luce. He's all about earning what we have, and work ethic and other such rubbish. I'll save myself the lecture, thanks, and just write the damn paper myself.'

'Well, you best get off your lazy arse and go find some books, then,' Lucy said with a laugh, letting her chair fall back down to the floor with a thud, 'Cos I'd hate to have to cancel your art showing next month due to you no longer being a student and getting booted from the university.'

'Very well,' Victor groaned, 'Just make sure you save me a seat at dinner later; I'm going to need my strength to get this whole paper finished in,' he looked at his watch 'Thirty-five hours and twenty-two minutes. Wish me luck, I suppose,' he said, getting up from the table.

'Luck!' Lucy called after him, her laughter ringing in his ears as he made his way to the science section of the library.

The topic of his paper was to chose one of the deadly toxins found in nature, and explain its effects, on the human body. It was dry, unpleasant research, and the photos that accompanied the text were often gruesome and unsettling. Victor had no such stomach for looking at corpses and the bloated, disfigured faces of those unlucky souls who had fallen victim to all sorts of poisonings.

He scanned the titles printed on the cracked spines of the books on the shelf before him, and reached for the one that said 'A History of Poison', thinking that that seemed like a good place to start, when he was startled to find his hand brush against long, pale fingers that retreated quickly as the contact was made, as if he had been physically injured by the touch.

'Oh, pardon m-' he started automatically, but broke off when he turned to face the owner of said hand.

It belonged to a tall, thin boy about his age, with a mess of brown curls, and startling blue-grey eyes. Victor had seen him around campus, but had never spoken to him. He examined the boy, taking in the clench of his jaw, and the way his right hand curled into a fist, as if trying to physically recoil as much as possible from the accidental touch, as he brought his left up to wrap around it. He noticed the callouses on the middle three fingers of the boy's left hand, the kind one usually only got from playing some sort of stringed instrument, and what appeared to be a fading bruise on his inner wrist.

'Oh,' he said again, 'Hi.' He felt very stupid at that moment, desperately wishing for something more interesting to say, but words seemed to fail him. The boy said nothing. Victor noticed the hitch in his breathing, but he did not turn and walk away, which was both awkward, and encouraging, so he decided to plow on.

'So you're looking for books on poisons, then, too, eh? For Professor Moore's chemistry class? I'm left scrambling now, trying to find a good one to write about for the term paper. Dreadful stuff, though, isn't it? I can't decide which one to write about; they all seem pretty nasty,' Victor said, knowing that he was rambling, but unable to stop himself.

The boy seemed startled by the direction the conversation had taken, and hesitated a moment before wetting his lips, and clearing his throat, 'Erm... No,' he said hesitantly, 'I actually — well, I mean, I've already — I mean... No. I took chemistry my first term here. I actually needed the book for research for an experiment I'm working on at the moment.' The boy ducked his head, his shoulders tensed, as if waiting for Victor to verbally attack him, though Victor didn't understand why.

'Wow, that's pretty impressive,' Victor said honestly, 'I'm quite envious that you seem to have an aptitude for this stuff. It's certainly not my area of expertise. I'm more inclined for artistic endeavours, you know, like painting or playing piano. By the way,' he said suddenly, 'Do you play the guitar or violin?'

If the boy was showing signs of being uncomfortable before, now he looked downright startled. He cocked his head to the side, and stared at Victor, as though studying him, or really seeing him for the first time. Victor shifted in place, feeling as though he were under the lens of a microscope. He began to wonder if he had crossed some sort of line when the boy let slip the faintest ghost of a smile.

'Violin,' he said, raising his eyes to meet Victor's, 'I've played since I was a small child.'

'Of course!' Victor exclaimed, 'I love the violin. I've played piano since primary school, but I always wanted to learn a string instrument. I was thinking possible the viola, since there never seem to be too many viola players. I'm Victor, by the way.'

'Sherlock,' the boy replied, 'Can I— Can I ask how you knew? About the violin, I mean.'

'Sherlock,' Victor repeated, 'Well, nice to meet you, Sherlock. I just guessed about the violin, honestly. I just noticed the callouses on your fingers,' Taking a chance, Victor gently reached for Sherlock's hand, and held it, palm up, and ran his fingers over the aforementioned callouses, as he continued, 'People usually only get them if they are used to playing some sort of stringed instrument, and most people play the guitar, or violin. Not too many viola players, as I said, same goes for the stringed bass. I supposed I could have said cello as well, but just didn't think of it.'

'That's quite an impressive deduction,' Sherlock commented quietly, his hand tense in Victor's, but he did not pull it away, 'Very logical. I can appreciate the hypothesis.'

'Spoken like a true scientist,' Victor teased gently, 'No wonder you took chemistry your first year, and run experiments. I don't suppose you have any suggestions for the best toxin to write 20,000 words on by tomorrow?'

'Botulinum,' Sherlock replied immediately, 'I think you will find a plethora of useful information on the topic. My first ever experiment was on the effects of botulinum on the human nervous system.' He suddenly glanced at the wall clock behind him, and then slowly disentangled his hand from Victor's. 'I'm afraid I must be going now. I have an... Erm... Appointment I must keep. It was nice to meet you.'

Sherlock turned to leave, leaving a slightly confused Victor in his wake. He took a moment to come to his senses, then quickly grabbed the book that had started the whole interaction from the shelf.

'Wait!' Victor said, taking a few steps toward Sherlock, 'Don't you need this for your experiment?'

'Apparently not as much as you do,' Sherlock replied, again allowing himself a small smile, 'Page 264 to 323 is all about botulinum. Also, try 'the Manual of Botulinum Toxin Therapy' and 'Botulinum Neurotoxin and Tetanus Toxin' from two shelves down. I believe you will find them exceedingly useful.' And with that, he walked away slowly, without another backwards glance.

'Thanks, Sherlock,' Victor called after him, watching the retreating form exit the library. He turned back to the shelf, and found the other two books Sherlock had recommended, and added them to his pile.

Tonight, he would meet Lucy for dinner, then sit down and write his paper. Tomorrow, he would move onto a far more interesting topic.

He couldn't wait to learn more about the curious case of Sherlock Holmes.