Prompt at the end

"You did what?"

Something thumped the floor as my attention shot to focus on Holmes. A long day had become a comfortably quiet evening, but several hours' silence had shattered beneath an almost musing—and more than a little horrifying—comment. Had I heard that correctly?

"I attended one of Moriarty's lecture series," he repeated, the barest hint of a grin revealing his amusement though he remained listlessly sprawled on the settee. My friend did not appreciate the lack of occupation today the way I did. "He did not know who I was at the time. Why does that surprise you?"

Because this was Moriarty—the man responsible for the largest crime network of our generation and who had first wanted to kill Holmes long before that day at the falls. He could hardly blame me for startling like that.

"Holmes! Holmes, answer me! Please!"

"Why in the world did you share a classroom with him?" Such a thing could hardly have been safe, disguised or not, but another moment finally considered the timelines. Some of my revulsion drained. "And when? You said he had stopped teaching before you caught his trail."

Understanding quickly joined a flicker of remorse. He had not expected me to tie the comment to the case.

"Late seventies," he answered. One hand idly claimed his pipe from the nearest table. "I attended two lecture series for credit at his former university, one a chemistry class and the other his introduction to mathematics. He was a brilliant man and a decent professor, but you know my strengths do not lie in numbers."

A faint smile escaped despite the lingering horror. That was true enough. More than "lacking strength," my friend could not be trusted with anything more complicated than balancing a chemical equation. I doubted either of us wished to repeat the incident.

"What did you think of him?"

"I noticed something wrong even then." He leaned back into the cushion, adding, "though I was inexperienced enough at the time that I could not have put it to words. The rumors that made him resign very likely held some element of truth."

In that Moriarty had probably already started building his network, I finished. Holmes had told me pieces of Moriarty's history that last day in my consulting room, but he had never discussed his university time. I waited for him to light his pipe before disregarding the professor.

"Did you pass?"

He inhaled when he should have exhaled. Surprise combined with irritation to produce a smoky coughing fit made more entertaining by the glare he tried to level at me. He had ribbed me many times about my marks both in medical school and as a child. I would not ignore the chance to do the same to him.

"What does that matter?" he finally managed, and my smile grew. He had not passed. I would remember this the next time he referenced my first pre-medical examinations.

"Is that why you never finished a degree? You could not master the mathematics portion?"

"No." The manufactured irritation subsided only when I proved immune. "I did not finish a degree because I did not need one. Criminals care only about avoiding discovery. Mycroft helped me decide what I needed to be a consulting detective, and I enrolled in any class that furthered that end."

I had thought as much. The small portions I had gathered about Holmes' early years had indicated a custom schooling meant to give him the knowledge he needed to hone his deductive talents. He had known from as young as twelve or thirteen years old something of what he wanted to do as an adult.

"Why his university, then? Surely any university would include chemistry and mathematics studies. What took you there?"

"Mycroft recommended the chemistry lab as having the best supplies."

And chemistry took precedence over most other subjects, of course. I heavily suspected Holmes' first interest in chemistry had started as a young child. He would have gone anywhere to further research that topic.

He also would refuse to confirm that deduction. I made use of his uncommon openness to choose a different tack.

"How many of your initial disguises did you build there?"

"Several," he admitted. Smoke rings drifted above the settee. "I tested only one by 'visiting' Moriarty's class, however. He did not see through it at the time, and I had retired the persona before I started trailing him."

He would not have used it during the investigation even if he had not retired it. Such a risk could have compromised the entire case, but a knock sounded below before I could form another question. A boy's voice greeted Mrs. Hudson, then she climbed the stairs a minute later.

"Telegram from the inspector, Mr. Holmes."

Languid boredom disappeared in an instant. He sprang to his feet, pipe held in his mouth though he nearly darted across the room. Haste dropped the ripped envelope to the rug.

"Body found in the East End!" he read aloud. "Ha! Come, Watson! The game is afoot!"

Paper crumpled to shove in his pocket, and he lunged for the door, conversation forgotten as he rushed to change clothes. I could only shake my head. We would never return to the discussion now.

I should have known better than to think he would answer too many questions.

From Wordwielder: Holmes sits in on one of Moriarty's mathematics lectures in disguise.

So, today I learned that universities in this time did not usually hold classes. They weren't teaching universities; they conducted exams and awarded degrees, though you would occasionally have a lecture series. Interesting tidbit

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