AN: good morning!

Damn, I'm sleepy today. I've just come home from holidays and it looks like I haven't relaxed at all there. *Sighs*

Anyway, here's the new chapter for those who are reading my new mess :) Enjoy it and drop a word if you feel to. You know: comments (negative, positive, whatever) are fully appreciated. And even if you don't drop a word, know that I love you anyway ;)

Well: all the rights to BBC, all the 'fun' to me!

(Already published on AO3 too)

Ten minutes later John was in his office filling in some forms the university gave him. It was a very tedious work to do: write your name, your tax code, your insurance number and so on. Tedious. As he thought of the word, the pale face of the young man came to his mind. That insolent young man. Not only he had almost managed to make John fall on the road that morning and hadn't even muttered an apology, but he also had given himself the permission to sleep during his lesson. Nevertheless he had to admit he was quite curious about him. He had looked at John for two minutes and had rattled off everything about his past life. That scared John. And tickled his curiosity at the same time.

He had to discover who that student was. He took his mobile out of his pocket and looked at the phone book until he reached the name of Mike Stamford. Having him been the previous professor of organic chemistry and being him the vice-chancellor of the university at the moment, he would surely have known who that icy eyes man was. He dialled and waited for the other man to pick up the call.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings. Maybe he was busy. Four rings. Five rings. He was about to hang up, when the harsh voice of Mike answered.

"Hello, John!", he said cordially.

"Hello, Mike. Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all. I've just finished the most boring conference I have ever had the disgrace to attend.", he laughed.

"I'm sorry!", laughed back John.

"Have you already met the students?"

"Yes. I finished my first lesson…", he looked at his watch "…about two hours ago."

"Went well?"

"Yes, yes. I thought it would've been horrible, but it went pretty well. Nothing compared to your lessons, though."

"I don't believe so. Or I wouldn't have chosen you as a substitute."

"You were desperate!", John laughed one more time.

"Desperate? Sure. But believe me I didn't do it just because I was desperate, whatever you think. Why did you call me by the way? Any problems?"

"Yes and no. Or no and yes, if you prefer."

"About what?"

"About who, would be a more appropriate question."

"A colleague? A student?", asked Mike.

From his friend's voice, it seemed to John that Mike had already understood the problem, but he knew that it was impossible. How could he? Or could he?

"A student. I don't know his name, but…"

"Sherlock Holmes.", was the answer coming from the other part of the receiver.

"Who?", John asked agape.

"The name of the student you were going to ask about. His name is Sherlock Holmes."

"How the hell? Have you become telepathic all of a sudden?"

Mike giggled.

"Am I that funny?"

Replied John, a bit irritated. Not only a student had made a fool of him, now even one of his dearest friends was.

"No, no, John. Sorry.", he promptly apologised "Just…I was expecting it."

"Why that? Who's he?"

"He's a professor's dream and nightmare at the same time, or so they say. I had never had the chance to teach him, but professor Donovan describes him as a 'freak' or a 'psychopath'. And these aren't even the worst words associated with him."

"So you don't know him personally?"

"No, not really. I've seen him a lot of times in the corridors, but never met him. So if you were asking for advice…I'm not the right man to help you. You could ask Donovan, but her opinions are anything but useful. I think you'll have to discover everything by yourself."

"Well, thank you anyway, Mike.", John concluded.

"Anything for you, doctor Watson."

And they closed the call.

John sat pensive at his desk. So the student's name was Sherlock Holmes and he was quite well known because he was a 'freak'. But John couldn't really portray him in his mind as a freak, he portrayed him more as an arrogant, maybe, but not as a freak. He had to admit, anyway, that he knew nothing about him and that his judgement came from only two brief encounters with the young man, one of which had actually been a clash in the middle of a park. All his information, then, came from the five minutes chat they had just had.

He thought for a while to go looking for the professor Donovan and ask her about Sherlock Holmes, but he decided that if Mike said that she was unreliable, he wouldn't obtain any new useful information about the young man.

He sighed. It was his first day there and he was already exhausted and stressed. Nice. For the end of the week he would've been dead. Good. He closed his eyes to relax for a bit. He had no other lessons that day, neither he had lessons the day after. Organic chemistry II, his subject, was taught three times a week to the second year students. Young men and women studying chemistry. When he had been about to enrol at medicine, his college professor had pleaded him to enrol at chemistry instead. He had refused fiercely. And now he was teaching it. Odd is the world.

Minutes later his thoughts were focused one more time on the insolent student. The university surely had an archive of his students for the professors to consult. He stood up and went straight to the administrative office.

A pale middle-aged woman, John guessed she was in her late forties, was sitting behind her desk and looked at him inquisitively as soon as he stepped in the room. He was new there, so he had no idea if he could see the files about the students, but he took his chances.

"Good morning!", he said with a smile.

"'orning.", muttered the secretary.

"Ahem.", he coughed, a little embarrassed "I am the new organic chemistry professor. I'm rather a newbie in the university environment, and I'd like to ask if I have somehow any access at the students' files."

The secretary looked at him askance, like he was some sort of an alien.

"Yes.", she eventually huffed "There are some files you can consult. Not everything, though. You can see only the student's names, birthdays, grading and such things."

"It would do anyway, thanks."

"Name?"

"John Watson. Professor John Watson."

"Ok.", she said while writing his name on the PC "Name of the student?"

"Ahem.", he coughed one more time "Sherlock Holmes."

The secretary's eyes brightened all of a sudden.

"Oh, him again. What has he done this time?"

John looked at her puzzled and confused.

"Sorry, what?"

"You aren't surely the first who comes here for his file."

She opened a drawer next to her and handled him a yellowish folder.

"Here it is. I always keep it in here. I had to print it down, since it is much requested. At least ten professors had asked for it."

John sat on a chair in the room and opened the folder. Inside there were three papers. The first claimed:

Sherlock Holmes

Enrolled: Chemistry BSc.

Currently: second year.

First year marks:

Organic chemistry I : A*

Inorganic chemistry I: A*

Physical chemistry I: A*

Second year marks:

And nothing more. He turned to the second page. He immediately noticed they were notes made by different professors.

Sherlock Holmes is surely one of the most gifted and talented students that has ever attended this university. His skills in chemistry and in any other subject are extraordinary, although he shows a complete lack of respects for the subjects studied and shows no respect to his fellow students either.

Professor William Alexander Hill

The student Sherlock Holmes provides professors, myself included, with an interesting case. He shows no interest at all in the subjects studied. He never does his assignments, he usually doesn't attend most of the lessons, or leaves the classroom without any valid explanation. Nevertheless his marks are always the top. He is extremely brilliant, but his behaviour obscures his cleverness.

Professor Sandra Holborn

The last one was the angriest note John had ever read.

Sherlock Holmes is one of the worst students I've ever had the chance to teach in my career. He's disrespectful not only towards his fellow students, but also towards the professor. He spends most of the time in the class huffing in annoyance or complaining because I, in his opinion, lack of knowledge in every topic. He also asks useless questions that has nothing to do with the course all the time and other times he just answers the questions I ask him by exposing the private life of some of his fellow students. He's a freak, as they say, but I'm quite sure he's some sort of a psychopath. That's probably the reason why, after two years of enrolment, he's still in his first year.

John didn't even need to look at the name to know that it was professor Donovan's report. He was in the second year now, so the reports had to be rather old. Nevertheless he was surprised that Mr. Holmes was still in his second year, despite his cleverness. Probably his behaviour irritated everyone and his lack of interest during the lessons had made it.

He stared at the last report for a while and, despite it being a very awful depiction of Holmes's character and behaviour, John smiled. He should've talked to professor Donovan after all, but not that day. He wanted to gather some other information about that student before facing the woman.

The third paper just showed the first page of a local newspaper with a very young Sherlock Holmes holding a prize for his chemistry project. Probably during his college years. He closed the folder and gave it back to the secretary.

It was becoming quite late and he was starting to be seriously tired. He had nothing to do anymore at the university, so he went to his office, took his briefcase and put on his jacket, ready to go back home.

It was six o'clock when he exited through the front door. The heavy rain of that morning had eventually given space to a clear sky. The sun was setting down and the sky was painted in various tones of red, purple and blue. Stripes of white clouds shattered on the horizon due to the cold, strong wind. The white lights of the city stood out from the black shapes of houses and skyscrapers, while the moon peered out from the blackest part of the sky, creating a picture worth to see. In evenings like those John remembered why he loved London so much.

He sat at the bus stop waiting for his bus to arrive. Ten minutes later he was on his way home. He was staying in that thanks to a little pension for veterans, totally paid by the state, and he despised it. But as soon as he had returned from Afghanistan he had no other place where to go, so that accommodation had been the only possible solution. The flat consisted of three squalid rooms: a living room with the smallest kitchen ever, a pit of a bedroom and a hole-bathroom. He hoped that with his new salary as a professor he could afford a bigger (tidier, at least) place. He had already started to look around for a new flat, but he needed to wait his first earnings before deciding. He had owned a house once. His proper house, but, after the divorce, everything had gone to his ex-wife. He sighed out loud.

Twenty minutes later, he was at home. He was literally starving and went straight to the fridge, only to discover that he had totally forgotten to do the shopping. He cursed himself. That meant two things: he could go to do the shopping now or he could go buy a sandwich in the pub nearby. He went for the second option.

He went downstairs, exited in the street again, entered The Privateer pub, greeted Phil, the owner, bought a tuna sandwich, ate it with a beer on the house, stayed for a while chatting about football with an habitué and went home again.

Sitting on the bed, John thought about his first strange day as a professor. Unconsciously, he switched on his laptop and, before even realising it, he was tapping the name 'Sherlock Holmes' on its keyboard. Seconds later a prominent result appeared.

The Science of Deduction by Sherlock Holmes.

It was his website. He scrolled down to read what he had written.

After five minutes he started to think that Sherlock Holmes was crazy. Or at least something very near to it. He claimed to be able to identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb. Madness, obviously. It was completely rubbish. He was just an arrogant prick that wanted show himself off. He grunted. Why was he always surrounded by weird people? Like that girl in the college, who resulted to be a very well-known drug dealer. Or that other bloke during his second year at the university, who had a 'fixation' for corpses' limbs and kept bringing them in their shared flat until he had discovered a skull under his bed. He had had almost died of heart attack back then. And now there was this young man, namely Sherlock Holmes, with a brilliant brain, a total lack of respect towards the authorities and the ego of an entire galaxy.

Apart from that, he couldn't really stop thinking about the way Holmes had exposed his whole life in front of his eyes. How he did that, John didn't know. That's why, despite everything, he found him extremely fascinating.

"Nice day, John, uh?", he said to himself.

He switched off the laptop and crawled into bed, starting to snore as soon as he hit the pillow.

Nevertheless, at two a.m., nightmares of war woke him up. He went to the fridge, drank some water and returned to bed, not managing to go back to sleep.