AN: This will probably be really sucky because I wrote it on a whim at 3:30 in the morning, really wishing that I had Sherlock's intelligence because then I might not have gotten a B in my own chem lab, but I digress. I hope you enjoy it, despite its suckiness.
Sherlock was fascinated by chemistry. His freshman chem lab, on the other hand, left much to be desired. It wasn't even a gen ed, and they were still reviewing calculation of enthalpy in the second semester. These were the things that he'd mastered in secondary school, but he still had to go to lecture for the attendance points.
Worse than the class itself, and that was saying a lot, was his lab. Every week he had to spend three hours doing some experiment for his lab instructor, some humorless asshole with an equally pretentious title of Dr. Anderson. The man always spoke as if he were smelling the most disgusting thing in the world, though in a laboratory full of freshmen and somewhat harsh chemicals, perhaps this was a conditioned response.
The TA was some perpetually kind grad student named John. He wasn't even a chemistry major, but had taken enough of it to TA an undergrad lab in his quest to become a doctor. Still, he was competent in the material, which was more than he could say for most of the imbeciles he encountered in his various studies.
Dr. Anderson seemed to hold disdain for his students equal to that which they held for him. He was condescending while completely incompetent himself, making mistakes that none of the others in the class could see because they lacked any understanding of the material beyond that which they were spoon-fed in class. Sometimes Sherlock would catch John grimacing at the mistakes, knowing that it was not his place to correct the professor, and they would make eye contact, John knowing that Sherlock, too, was pained by the errors. Unlike John, however, Sherlock did not feel a professional responsibility, and soon took to correcting the man, confusing the other students in the class and enraging Anderson himself. Sherlock couldn't be arsed to care though, and John's grateful glances made him feel a bit proud.
Still, Anderson's smug attitude wasn't anything more than annoying. It was far better than in high school when concerned teachers had asked concerned questions in hushed voices, wondering just why he was always exhausted and why his parents never came to parent-teacher conferences. Those teachers were risky, because too much interest led to secrets being revealed, and he knew that too much concern could interfere with his future. No, it was far better to have pretentious professors in college that thought themselves above interaction with the personal lives of their students.
John, on the other hand, seemed incredibly concerned about the lives of the students in the lab, though he never talked about himself. For some reason, Sherlock found bantering with the man to be comfortable, and even disclosed a few aspects of his life of which none of his peers were aware.
John didn't seem surprised by any of it though. It wasn't as if Sherlock was revealing anything terribly personal at first, but he disclosed far more than he normally would, and he wasn't quite sure why. When John casually asked him if his parents had taught him what he knew about chemistry, he answered honestly that his parents were mostly absent and that his brother had been the biggest influence in his upbringing.
The problem was, John didn't know.
Sherlock wore long sleeves to chem lab. At first it was because it was winter, the class having begun at the beginning of the second semester, but after having spent time in the class with Anderson, he didn't want to give the man the satisfaction of seeing his weakness, no matter how immature that was.
This didn't matter though, he supposed, as long as he wore short sleeves for the next two months until the semester was over. He couldn't exactly waltz in with his scars showing now and shock everyone who was not yet aware.
It was a great plan too, until his imbecile of a lab partner spilled 2 molar hydrochloric acid on his sleeve one day.