Chapter Text
The clock was ticking above, William kept glancing up at it from his desk. He was currently in his office at Durham University, waiting for his students to finish their exams. It was a quite challenging exam, he wanted to see how his students would handle the challenge. How a person answers a question they don’t know can tell you a lot about that person. Will they get angry and blame others for their lack of knowledge, become despondent and give up, or will they stay level-headed and navigate through the challenge the best they can?
He hopes his students will choose the latter. Looking back at the clock, he sees it has just struck a quarter past ten. Getting up from his chair, he headed back to the class. Walking the empty halls back to the class, William wondered if he made that final question too hard. It was part of his own thesis he was working on, it was not something he went over in class; but he thought it would give his students a chance to problem solve rather than just memorizing a formula.
Walking into the classroom, he announces, “Time’s up, gentlemen.” He notices the proctor get startled awake by his voice, “Professor Lambeau, thank you for proctoring the exam in my stead.”
“No, no that’s quite all right. I had the time, as I’m retired now,” the professor says, shrugging William’s thanks off and heading for the door, patting William’s shoulder and yawning on the way out.
The students were whispering complaints to one another as they were walking down to hand him their exams. Most talked about how they have failed, this was quite normal in William’s opinion. Students often will believe the worst of their scores only to get back a decent mark.
The last three students walk up to him, handing him their papers before one of them says, “Professor Moriarty, that test was far too difficult, even for mathematics majors, like us. Professor, please tell me you don’t give problems that difficult to your general studies pupils!”
William laughs, “No, of course not, even I am not that cruel,” he says, letting the students pass him on the way out the door. He slips the three papers into the envelope, when he hears steps approaching him from the seats. He turns around, knowing he took all his students' papers; wondering who snuck into his classroom.
His breath catches when he meets sapphire eyes that pierce into his soul. Suddenly he was no longer a genius, all of his intelligence wiped away from one look. Sherlock Holmes was walking down the steps, one hand in his pocket the other holding a piece of paper and a lopsided grin on his face. He wore a dazzling dark suit with his collar undone, leaving his collarbone exposed. William has enough sense to know not to linger his gaze.
“Hey, Professor,” Sherlock says, his voice rich and sultry, “Did I pass your test?” Sherlock passes the paper to him, taking him out of his stupor. William shakes himself out of his daze, putting Sherlock’s paper with the others.
“Holmes,” Williams says as a form of greeting, fixing his composure.
“Hey, Liam,” Sherlock greets him back, ”So, you really are a university professor at your tender age!” Sherlock says, shifting his weight between each foot.
“Really, Holmes? You astound me,” William shakes his head, “I cannot believe you snuck in here to take an exam.”
“I do hope you’ll mark it with the others too,” Sherlock says, pointing to the envelope with all his students' papers.
William sighs, trying to sound bored despite his heart speeding up with how close Sherlock is to him, “What brings you here?”
Sherlock isn’t fooled by it, smirking at him, “I decided I’d like to sit in on one of your lectures and see what it was about. I did a little asking around and was directed here, but to think today was an exam day,” Sherlock laughs, tilting his head by and letting his Adam's apple show. William can’t help but let his gaze linger on the moment. “Besides, didn’t we promise to meet again after the incident on the train?” Sherlock finished, a silly smirk on his face.
William turns around to walk out of the class, not to let Sherlock see his smile nor his presumably dilated eyes, “I don’t recall you ever taking me up on the offer,” William says, deciding to do some teasing back.
“Oh, don’t be such a stickler. I’m here now, aren’t I?” Sherlock walks next to him, pouting, “I’ve a thousand things I want to discuss with you.”
“Oh? Now I’m curious,” William smirks, “However I’ve another lecture to give shortly.” William thinks for a moment, “I’d planned to spend my lunch break marking these exams. Perhaps we could talk then?” Which William recognizes as a bad idea, Sherlock confuses him, makes him forget what he is supposed to be doing. But the smile he receives in return makes him forget all about that.
“Sounds perfect. I’ll get to sit in on your lecture for real this time. Do you mind?”
Yes.
Is what he should have said.
“Not at all.”
Is what he says instead.
“Let me drop these answer sheets in my office and get my lecture notes.”
Heading into his office he is stopped by the sight of a boy in the hallway with a cart of paper.
“Professor Moriarty,” the boy stands tall, tipping his hat, “I’m with Durham Printing, sir.”
“Excellent, I’ll take enough for my coming lecture right now if you don’t mind?”
“Of course, sir, I’ll deliver the rest to your office,” the boy points to the envelope in William’s hand, “Are the answer sheets to your recent exam in that envelope? Shall I take that as well?”
“If you don’t mind, thank you,” William nods to the boy and hands him the envelope.
“Of course, sir, I’ll leave it on your desk,” the boy scurries off with his cart.
William goes back to where Sherlock is waiting for him and they both head off to his next lecture. Sherlock heads to the back of the class, leaning back on the chair and keeping his eyes locked on William the entire lecture. William can feel the heat from his gaze but William makes an effort to avoid it. Luckily even with Sherlock as a distraction he makes it through the lecture without any slips. William could do a lecture in his sleep, but it takes a considerable effort not to look back at Sherlock and his alluring eyes.
After the lecture everyone heads out and William goes to his office to grab the exams and then shows Sherlock to an outdoor table where he normally goes for his lunch break.
“It was a boring lecture, wasn’t it?” William teases, taking out the exams and starts to look through them.
“Hah! No comment,” Sherlock teases back, making William laugh. He has only met Sherlock twice beforehand, but the ease at which they talk is like they have known each other for centuries.
“Now then, Holmes. What could the most renowned detective in all of London want to discuss so much that he’d come all the way to Durham?” William asks, starting to mark the papers.
“Can’t you guess?” Sherlock spreads out his arms, “The Lord of Crime, of course.”
William is hit with the reminder of who he is, it is like a train has hit him and he is left bruised. He keeps his appearance calm and collected though, making sure not to show the effect those words had on him, “Have you made progress on his case?” he asks, knowing full well that Sherlock had a conversation with Albert a couple of days ago.
“Aye,” Sherlock nods, sitting on the chair with one of his legs propped up on the chair, “In fact, I’ve a fairly complete mental profile of him now.” He lights up a cigarette, taking a drag and blowing the excess smoke carefully away from William.
“Which is…?” William doesn’t look up from the exams, not wanting to seem too interested. He wonders how correct the detective got it, he feels like he is under a microscope and it was surprisingly exhilarating.
“People bandy about the idea that the Lord of Crime is actually a modern-day Robin Hood figure, but in the end, that’s no more than a hopeful but baseless rumor. No one knows if he truly exists, let alone whether he’s a Robin Hood or not,” Sherlock points the cigarette at William, drawing his eyes up to Sherlock’s, “No one, that is, except for me. The Lord of Crime does exist, that, I can say for certain. And if my deductions are correct— and they generally are, he clearly is a Robin Hood figure.”
“He is, hm?” There was something exciting about being this close to Sherlock as he talked about the Lord of Crime, with the Lord of Crime himself sitting right in front of him.
“Yes, I’m certain he is,” Sherlock says, placing his chin on the knee that was propped up.
“Well then, Holmes,” William places his pen down to give his undivided attention to Sherlock, “If you're convinced that the Lord of Crime both exists and is a Robin Hood figure, what will you do about it?” William clasps his hands together, “If you’re correct, and if the Lord of Crime is a Robin Hood figure, couldn’t it be argued that he is serving the greater good? That opens the door for you to simply turn the other way and let him be. On the other hand, it could be said that whatever his goals may be, he’s broken the law time and again and deserves to be punished accordingly. Which side of that conundrum do you take… Holmes,” William smirks, he already knew what Sherlock’s response will be, it is why William chose him to be their detective, the hero in this story William has crafted.
Sherlock takes a moment, looking to the fountain and taking a drag of the cigarette, “Even if the victims the Lord of Crime murdered had a good reason to be killed, and that’s a big if, that doesn’t make it okay to murder them. My way forward is clear, I must catch the Lord of Crime and make him atone for his crimes.”
William smiles, just as he suspected, Holmes is the perfect man for the role, “Indeed, that he does. That’s the only acceptable answer, really. Those who break the law must be made to pay for their transgressions. Whether he’s a Robin Hood or not is irrelevant.”
“Right,” Sherlock sighs, “To be honest, on my way here I still had some niggling doubts. You have shined a light on the situation for me, Liam. I’m glad I got to talk to you like this.”
“I’m happy to hear that,” William says, going back to marking the exam.
Sherlock crushes the cigarette out onto the table before stretching out, “Ah well, if it means solving the mystery behind the Lord of Crime and bringing him to justice, then I’m willing to put my own life on the line— and die for it, if need be.”
William freezes, his hands start to shake but he keeps a calm composure otherwise, putting on a smile, “Really? With dedication like that, I’m sure you’ll succeed.” Before William can think further on this the warning bell rings, “Lunch break is nearly over.”
He looks down at the final exam he has to grade, flying through it until he gets to the final question where he is left stumped, “Well, I’ll be… that is one way to approach it,” he whispers to himself.
“What is it, Liam?” Sherlock asks, leaning forward.
“I suppose you can say the impossible has happened,” William remarks.
“Oh? It isn’t every day one hears that out of you. What is it?”
“It’s simply that someone managed to score full marks on my exam,” William says.
“What?” Sherlock says, “Come now, it’s a university exam. Of course a handful of pupils will get full marks.”
“True,” William concedes, “Though with this exam, it’s nearly impossible. You see, I made the last question one so difficult that even my mathematics majors couldn’t possibly solve it. I added it to find out how they’d react when presented with such an aporia. However, this person,” William held up the exam, “managed to solve the problem in its entirety.”
“Really? Who in the world could solve a problem that not even your pupils could? Sherlock asks, taking the paper away from William.
“Who knows? They never wrote their name on the sheet. I don’t recognize the penmanship either. It seems we may have had another unannounced guest during the exam besides you, Holmes,” William says, taking a moment to think. No one new was in his classroom besides Sherlock. They would have had to pass him to hand in the exam… unless it happened after.
“A mystery pupil, who could solve an impossible problem, huh? Intriguing!” Sherlock smiles, putting his hands together, already analyzing the exam.
William smirks, pulling out the first paper he marked and showing it to Sherlock, “By the by, you got not a single question correct.”
“Oh…” Sherlock trails off, looking at his own exam, “I was never one for university. The structure never suited me.” Sherlock shrugs it off.
William laughs, handing him his exam, “Ah, well, be that as it may, I’ve got an afternoon lecture to give. Could I ask you to search for whoever turned in this answer sheet?” William speaks before he really thinks, something he doesn’t do often except when he is around Sherlock.
William already solved it, but he wants to see how Sherlock will handle the case without the knowledge that William has about the printing boy. There is also the possibility that William just wants to see Sherlock again. William goes to his next lecture with a smile on his face. The lecture is an hour long and his mind keeps going back to Sherlock Holmes. After the lecture is finished one of his students stops him just before he is about to leave.
“Um… Professor Moriarty, I just wanted to say that it was an amazing lecture,” the students says.
William smiles kindly at the boy, “Thank you, that is much appreciated.”
“Yeah, you seemed a lot happier today,” the boy says, before pausing and looking horrified, “Not to say you aren’t happy other days, of course. Or that your other lectures are bad, all of them are amazing.”
William laughs it off, “It’s fine. I was able to see a friend of mine today that I don’t often get to see.”
“Oh, okay,” the boy laughs off, “Well, I am glad you were able to see your friend. You seem a lot more relaxed today. Have a good day, Professor,” the boy waves him goodbye.
William waves back at him and heads to his office, thinking about the boy’s words. He did feel more relaxed, he took a moment to sit in his office with that feeling. He knew he was playing a dangerous game with Sherlock. He is not ignorant about what these feelings mean, he knows his relationship with Sherlock is inappropriate. But Sherlock Holmes is a temptation that William doesn’t think he has the strength to resist. As long as he doesn’t seek Sherlock out, he thinks he will be fine. After today he won’t talk with Sherlock again until the final act. Nothing will matter after that, he just has to remind himself of who exactly he is, what blood stains his hands.
Bang!
His office door gets slammed open, and in walks Sherlock dragging the printer boy by the neck before pushing him in the room and closing the door behind him. William gets up from his office chair and makes his way up to the boy, surveying him, “Ah, so it was him,” he says, looking at Sherlock.
With a big grin, Sherlock explains, “Finding him was simple enough. The meatier mystery was why he’d bother with all this when he isn’t even a pupil here. His name is Bill, he is with Durham Printing”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Bill says, squeezing his hat between his hands; fear lacing his eyes.
“Bill, your solutions were all quite elegant. Are you self-taught,” William says, grabbing Bill’s exam from his desk; marking the name on top.
“Yes, sir. I go to the library in my spare time between deliveries. I made a point to study your work, Professor Moriarty,” Bill says, stepping forward with a bit of a grin, “Your essay on binomial theorems was particularly fascinating. The solutions were so dynamic I couldn’t help but read and reread them,” his excitement turns into shame, “So, I thought I might, erm… I’m sorry, sir.”
Sherlock laughs, hitting Bill on the shoulder before looking over to William, “It’s clear as day that Bill’s got a passion for mathematics. Letting that passion go to waste is a shame, no matter what anybody says. This place lets new pupils transfer in mid-semester, right, Liam?”
William couldn’t help but agree with Sherlock’s assessment, and Durham does allow for transfers. It took a little convincing for the boy to also agree, with him not thinking he is worthy to be more than a printer boy. In cut open William’s heart that this boy would give up on his dream solely because of his social position. It lit a fire underneath Sherlock, giving a passionate speech to the boy to convince him to go after his own passions. The boy agreed with little work from William.
Talking with the Chancellor about the boy went swiftly, with William already being on good terms with him. And with Sherlock’s quick-wit and sharp tongue was able to negotiate the boy’s tuition costs. It was a wonder to see Sherlock in action, the passion in his eyes. Exiting the Chancellor’s office, William turns to look at Sherlock.
“That was quite successful.”
“I would say so as well,” Sherlock says, smiling wide, “We make a great team.”
William’s heart fluttered, “I will walk you back to the train station.”
“Oh? Don’t want to leave my company yet?” Sherlock teases.
William turns to look back at him, eyes half-lidded, “Based on your exam score, I worry for your mental capabilities.”
Sherlock bursts out laughing as they make their way to the station, “You wound me so, Liam. And here I thought you enjoyed my company.”
“What a weird thought you had,” William laughs, before thinking back to their early conversations. A cold goes over his body. It was only when they are at the train station and Sherlock is stepping onto the train, that William is able to speak up about it, “I have to mention, when you said that it’s a shame to allow a person’s passions to go to waste, I couldn’t have agreed more. That’s a way of thinking this country desperately needs right now.” William makes sure he has captured Sherlock’s eyes, “Also, I know you said you were willing to give your life to see the Lord of Crime brought to justice, but I think the world will still need you after this, Sherlock.”
The train horn blares at the end of his sentence, making the last word impossible to hear but Sherlock was watching closely and leaned out of the train, “Hold on, did you just call me ‘Sherlock’?” Sherlock yells, a giddy smile on his face.
William composes his face, acting confused, “Hm? No, I didn’t. I said ‘Holmes’.”
Sherlock lets out a big laugh as the train starts moving, “See you again in London, Liam!” he waves obnoxiously out the train door.
“Of course! I’d love to see you again sometime,” William yells back at him, then whispers, “Sherlock,” with a teasing smile. Knowing full well that is the last time they will speak to one another until the reveal.
At least that is what he thought until a week later, Fred comes knocking on his bedroom door.
“Come in,” William calls out.
Fred gently opens the door, and walks in with a letter in hand, “I believe this was addressed to you,” he says, handing the crisp white letter to William. His pulse quickens when he reads, “Liam”, on the front of the letter.
“Ah. Thank you, Fred,” William says, and Fred nods and walks out of the room. He is thankful that it was Fred that found the letter, as the others would most likely pry. William sets down the letter on his desk and just stares at it for ten minutes. He knows that he shouldn’t open it, he knows he should not entertain this relationship more than he already has. Yet here he is carefully opening the letter.
Dearest Liam,
I know it has only been a couple days since we last met, but I was thinking about you and couldn’t help but pick up my pen and write to you. I know we are both busy men therefore can’t visit each other often, but through writing I thought we could bridge that gap. If not for anything else but to have a physical object to remind me of you.
I believe I made my intentions clear each time we have met, but if I have not, I will say here. I wish to know you, Liam, and I wish for you to know me. So, I thought I would start with talking about my day with you, and I have a mystery I would like you to help me solve.
Today I have seemed to upset John, which isn’t uncommon for me to do, but I have no idea where I laid offence. It started in the morning at breakfast. We were having a normal conversation about a case we were working on when suddenly he got all quiet on me. Hasn’t spoken to me since and refuses to come with me to the crime scene. He won’t even tell me what I did wrong. How am I supposed to apologize for something I don’t know I did?
Yours,
Sherlock
William’s brain pauses on “Yours, Sherlock”. Yours, like a stake of claim that William has on Sherlock. William obsesses over it, moving his fingers over the ink. Analyzing each mark on the paper.
He shouldn’t respond, he should ignore Sherlock Holmes at all costs.
He opens his desk drawer and takes out a piece of paper. From the moment he met Sherlock he was doomed.