Chapter Text
Sherlock Holmes sat back in his leather office chair, staring at one contrite Joanna H. Watson with a mix of dismay and curiosity. She held promise in his chemistry class, certainly not as stupid as the rest of the sheep, yet he was holding in his hands a failed test of her’s, and not the first one. At the beginning she had proven herself to be a hard working, solid high marked student, getting a higher mark on the first exam than any student ever had in his class. Yet now there she was, failing. He was sorely disappointed.
"Can you please explain to me, Ms Watson, why one of my most promising students is failing my class? If it is due to committing yourself to other classes, I will tell you right now that it must stop. I assure you that my class is the most important class that you need to pay attention to this semester, so I really don't see why you have suddenly went from my top student to the bottom twenty percent. Please, enlighten me," he said in a clipped tone then waited impatiently for her excuse.
Joanna had known this was going to be a bad day from the moment she'd forced herself to roll out of bed, blatantly skipping her gaze over her roommate's side of the room (and the boy that was sleeping in her bed). She'd expected the test to be a total disaster, but she'd still had some small amount of hope that maybe, somehow, she'd at least managed to scrape in a solid 40. That hope had been quickly dashed when Professor Holmes hadn't even bothered to hand her back her test, merely commenting to her 'Stay after class' in such a frustrated tone Joanna had wanted to slide off her seat and disappear.
Now she was sitting in front of his desk wishing for the same thing again. She hated disappointing people, and Professor Holmes was by far one of the most brilliant teachers the university had. More than once Jo had wondered to herself what he was doing there when he could be teaching easily at Cambridge or Oxford, and he thought she was promising. Until she'd started slipping. The feeling was a bitter one.
Joanna sighed, glancing down at her lap for a moment before she looked back up at him. She had trouble, in those first few weeks of class, actually staring at him or she tended to daydream. Beyond being brilliant, he was utterly attractive, and had a low baritone voice that could make a girl blush if only everything he said wasn't painfully antisocial. Well, Joanna didn't think he was that bad, but everyone else did. In truth, she was one of the few people who honestly enjoyed his lessons, having had to cover her hand over her mouth more than once to stop herself from giggling when he made some subtle, sarcastic quip at another student's expense. Which brought her back to feeling awful for making him look at her like that.
"It's not that I can't keep up with my work," she explained finally, looking uncomfortable. "If I... well, I'm the sort of student who needs quiet to study. I get..." She paused, not wanting to say annoyed because that sounded like she was rude, "distracted by other people easily. My roommate is a bit of a partier... and a dater... and if you've ever been to the library you'll know no one could even hear themselves think in there. When the weather was still warm I could go outside and study somewhere quiet, but now that it's cold, I'm sort of stuck. I've been trying to adjust, but, you know." She waved vaguely at the test he was holding and shrugged. "I'm sorry. I love your class and I really want to do well. It's just been a bit of a struggle lately, but I'll try harder. It won't happen again, I promise."
Sherlock stared over her shoulder at the bland white walls with their depressing blue bordering, hidden in an valiant effort by many, many bookshelves. He tapped her useless test against his lips in thought. Usually after he was given the sniveling excuse, when he cared enough to reprimand a student for failing, he would just dismiss them and try not to hope too hard for the best. But Joanna was different. She was bright and paid attention not to mention he knew how she was obviously amused by him. Which was different. Usually his students hated or feared him. She respected him in a different way entirely. It was refreshing. So to have her fail his class was more disappointing than usual and he found himself for the first time, actually caring if she succeeded or not. He may reflect on that later.
"No, it won't happen again," he said slowly, coming to a decision. He snapped from his half slump and smacked her test on the top of his desk. "You say you need quiet, then we will conduct an experiment of sorts. You will study here on your free time, when I am in. You know my office hours and since I discourage students in bothering me greatly, you should be able to study uninterrupted. After I clear my desk," he looked down at the mess of paperwork with disdain, "There will be more than enough room for your work, so no excuses. I will even allow music, though at my choosing. We can start tomorrow. I know you do not have class during my first office hours, so I will be expecting you here," he said in a manner that brokered no argument from her. "Unless, of course, you actually wish to fail, which would be counter intuitive to getting into Med School. But your choice, Watson."
Joanna blinked, looking at him with honest surprise. That was... unexpectedly helpful. "No complaints here," she responded with a small, almost disbelieving smile. On the first day of class he had told them, 'Note in the syllabus my required office hours. Do not bother me before, during, or after these hours,' and based on what previous students had told her, she believed he meant it. So the fact that he was allowing her to come by (hell, practically demanding it) to give her a space to study was actually pretty fantastic. If she didn't feel like she shouldn't tell anyone, she'd almost like to brag for probably being the only student Professor Holmes had ever favoured, even a bit. But of course, she would keep that to herself.
She didn't ask how he knew her schedule, already knew better by that point, and just stood up with a bigger smile. "Thank you, Professor. Thank you so much, this is really generous of you. I'll be here tomorrow then." She moved to leave, giving him a little wave over her shoulder as she did so.
That had turned out better than Sherlock had expected. The professor had prepared to argue with her against a debate over morals, as Joanna did seem the sort to balk over stupid things like 'appearances,' and worrying about what people might think. Instead she had left smiling and thanking him and promising to show up in the morning. He had even smiled in return, reflectively, but he rarely smiled at all. So that was definitely one for the books.
---
True to her word, Joanna did show up next morning, ready to study though possibly nervous. Sherlock knew his reputation well so he didn't blame her for being slightly suspicious. It didn't bother him. He waved to the seat and the newly cleared space on his desk. From his laptop classical, well played classical music softly streamed, filling the air with a calm atmosphere. He found it best to concentrate to the sounds of Bach and the likes and Joanna really had no choice.
"I will be grading exams for another class today but feel free to interrupt me from the tedium if you have any questions," he said with a dismissive wave before returning his attention to his paperwork. He kept one eye on her though, noting her clothing, her mannerisms, perhaps more interested than he should be. But there was no denying that she intrigued him, he just hadn't figured out why exactly or what to do about it.
Joanna had, for once, actually gotten up early enough to shower in the morning so she looked presentable before 10am, finding herself looking forward to studying of all things. She suspected this had less to do with the content and more to do with the company, but she didn't allow herself to think about that too hard. And she really did have a lot of work to catch up on. She considered saying something cheeky to Professor Holmes when he spoke, something like 'Good morning to you too' but in the end, decided against it. He was offering to help her, after all, she wasn't about to accidentally make him angry.
"Thanks Professor," is what she said instead, cheerfully as she took a seat and pulled out her books. She'd never really been one to seek out the sort of classical music humming from his laptop, but she liked it well enough and it seemed like good sounds to concentrate to. She tucked a lock of chin length hair behind her ear, starting with Professor Holmes' work since that was what she needed to spend the most time on. She tried to keep her papers and things jammed into as little space as possible on the desk, feeling like it was the polite thing to do. Most professors gave you a look if you so much as rested an elbow on their desks, so she felt like she needed to respect his space as much as she could.
For about twenty minutes the two worked in silence, Joanna oddly enough not finding it quite as awkward as she had expected it to be. Her head eventually found itself totally bent over the book as she read, highlighting and jotting down neat, well-organized notes. Occasionally she'd open a reference book to check the meaning of a word or something, preferring to do as much as she could on her own before she asked for help. However, the more she worked, the more acutely aware she was of the fact that she was sitting in Professor Holmes' office, alone, with the invitation to talk to him. She'd never been one for silly teacher-crushes, and she still wasn't, but there was no doubt he was an interesting man and she almost felt like she was wasting an opportunity. Unless she annoyed him to the point that he revoked said invitation, and then she'd be out a study space as well. Choices, choices.
Eventually she settled on a question that she deemed as safe. "Who is this?" she asked him suddenly, pointing her pencil at his laptop slightly. "I don't listen to classical much, but I feel like maybe I should start. It's helpful." All true, and she genuinely wanted to know, which was why she deemed the question as safe and not some stupid 'making conversation' ice breaker or anything.
Sherlock looked up from his paperwork with a slim brow arched in amusement. He didn't mind the break, the students in his 230 class was an insipid lot and no one had yet to get high marks on the exam, and it was about something that he was passionate about, even if it was to fill in her regretful ignorance.
"Students these days," he muttered. "Too busy abusing computers and ears alike in attempts at creating a beat and all the while forgetting what real music is." He paused, frowning at a disturbing thought. He had just sounded like Mycroft. Oh that was very unfortunate and made him feel horribly old. He wasn't that old, he thought. Maybe barely ten years older than Joanna. That didn't actually make him feel better. Best distract himself from his own vanity.
"It's Bach," he said to actually answer her question. "Honestly, do you not recognise this? It is Chaconne, which has been heralded as his masterpiece, and for obvious reasons. You have the duality of an aching sorrow in the first half then a rising triumph in D-minor, which many believe was Bach's idea of life and death. I honestly don't know or care for his motivations, it doesn't make the masterful piece any easier to play. Trust me, I know."
He nodded at the bookshelf left to his desk where his violin case laid. He would often play during office hours to drown out the tedium of his colleagues or to help him concentrate. Of all his possessions, admittedly, the violin was his prize.
Joanna listened to him with honest interest, not expecting him to be quite so versed in the world of music. She didn't mind the disapproval, a lot of professors said things like that. And to be honest, Joanna didn't listen to much of any music that often, not just classical. "I didn't know you played," she responded when she looked at his violin, sounding slightly impressed, then frowned a little at her own words. Of course she didn't know, why the hell would she? It wasn't like he talked about himself in class ever.
The concept of the song supposedly signifying life and death was an interesting one, and it made her listen to it a bit more closely. Professor Holmes obviously didn't care about the meaning so much as the mechanics, but she did. She thought it made it more meaningful, beyond just pretty sound.
"Must be nice, to be able to turn your thoughts into something beautiful like that," she noted with a small smile, resting her elbow on her book so she was leaning forward slightly as she looked at the professor. Joanna could kick a ball around, but that was hardly a talent. And she didn't even do that anymore. "You don't hear about many science professors being a side-virtuoso," she noted, studying the man with interest. There was always that stereotype about those interesting, eccentric professor types at universities, but you never actually met any of them. Joanna wouldn't say that Professor Holmes fit a stereotype, though. He was just... intriguing.
Sherlock scoffed, now thoroughly distracted from his work but music was much more important than writing a bunch of 30’s and scathing remarks on a stack of papers. "I am not a one trick pony," he said arrogantly with a toss of his dark curls.
"I was classically trained as a child, you can say that my mother was very traditional. I play a number of instruments but I have a particular fondness for the violin." He stopped just before he could say something foolish, like offering to educate Joanna in the fine art of music.
He focused instead on Joanna, his sharp eyes taking in little clues of her life that he hadn't had the chance to notice before. Oh he had pretty much deduced her entire life history from one look the first time he saw her, but now he could get a closer look.
"Like yourself, for instance. There is more to you than your strive to be a doctor and cable knit jumpers." He planted his elbows on the desk and leaned closer over the space of wood and books between them. "For one there is your athletic career to consider, ended I am assuming by you having injured your shoulder. Which also ended the self defense classes that you had taught in your first year here. But what I find the most intriguing for a future doctor is the gun callouses on your hands. Not very typical for a healer."
Joanna blinked, staring at him for a moment. She'd seen him do something like that before, apparently knowing whatever he wanted to know about a person, but she had no idea how and had never had the courage to ask. Until now, when it was her that gaze was turned on. "How do you do that?" she asked him, no small amount of awe in her tone. He hadn't asked her about anything specifically, every sentence was declarative (and correct), so she saw no need to clarify any of it. She doubted he'd want to hear such a dull story anyway.
"The first day of class you told a boy to leave because you knew he was planning on going to Japan to be with his boyfriend before the month was out anyway. And another time you asked a girl why she bothered to show when she didn't have her essay and she hadn't even sat down at her desk yet. And now you know about a shoulder injury I haven't told anyone about and that I used to shoot. How?" None of it was said with malice, or even disbelief. She'd seen all those things he'd done, and more that she didn't list, which perhaps suggested she paid too much attention sometimes but she didn't care and somehow, she doubted he did either.
Sherlock sat back in his chair, rather smug. He loved it when people asked him to prove his deductions and there was no glasses of water at hand for Joanna to fling in his face. He was also intrigued by how observant Joanna was, reciting instances of his deductions very clearly. There were many implications to that, of which he may give further thought later. Right then, he had been given the opportunity to show off and he was going to take it.
"It's rather simple, really. I observe, and by observing, I notice things that go unnoticed. Your shoulder injury is elementary, really. You hold your handbag over your right shoulder exclusively and you favor your left, injured arm when you move or write. Once you were knocked against a wall and you deliberately turned your body so that you impacted with the right side of your body to prevent further injury. Also a testament to your reflexes and physical abilities."
He leaned up as to get a better look at her legs, hidden as they were by the desk. She sometimes wore such loose fitting clothing, but it was his luck that today she chose fashionable jeans that were comfortably snug on her. "I have also observed the way you carry yourself and the fit of your body. Your muscular calves attest to athleticism, as are your well formed thighs. The way you walk and carry yourself speaks of self defense but you instinctively command a room in study groups, telling me that you are used to leading, thus an instructor, obviously for money. Now, for the shooting. I already mentioned the callouses on your hands," he said, leaning forward to grab her wrist and flip her hand palm up. "Look. Here." He pointed to the rough patches on her left hand, the tip of his index finger smoothing over the textured flesh. "Obviously from holding a pistol with regularity. They are waning, so you haven't shot in a while, but just from looking at them I can judge that you shot with a .40 cal hand gun, likely a Glock if I'm correct. I can also say with certainty that you were quite good at it. Crack shot, I would say."
He finally looked up, expecting a reaction be it good or bad. Belatedly though, he realized that he was holding her wrist still, his thumb resting over a callous on the thick meat of her palm beneath her fingers. It did not escape him how inappropriate that might be but it was easily ignored in comparison to the unexpected electric energy that suddenly crackled between them when their eyes met over the desk.
Joanna had been expecting something clever, of course she had. But to hear it laid out like that, the way he spoke as if it were nothing. It was... "Amazing," Joanna breathed, her dumbfounded look morphing into a grin. "That's completely, totally amazing. I..." She licked the seam of her mouth slightly as she tried to find the right words, and her gaze flickered from his eyes that apparently saw everything and every meaning behind it, to their hands, hers still in his light grip with his thumb resting on her palm. She'd never noticed before, but he had beautiful fingers. And then there was him, who had noticed everything, including a detailed examination of her legs that perhaps should have made her slightly uncomfortable, but didn't. She wondered if he noticed that much about his other students, or if maybe he just paid attention to her. She found herself hoping for the latter.
It was that thought that made her gently pull her hand away, sitting it in her lap because really, it was one thing to admire a professor and another thing altogether to wish for his attention like that. And stupid, because he was obviously the most amazing, brilliant, interesting person she'd ever met and he probably had women, older and more sophisticated, throwing themselves at him all the time and... oh, right, and he was her bloody professor.
"What on earth are you doing teaching here, Professor Holmes? You should be at Cambridge, or Oxford or something. You must hate it here," she mentioned, more in an effort to get her thoughts back on an appropriate track. The university was good, but it wasn't that good.
Sherlock was oddly glad when Joanna pulled away, suddenly filled with self consciousness as he was. He pulled away as well, covering his emotions with a light cough into the palm of his hand. She had called him amazing, a reaction he had not expected and had found himself fighting a blush. He was completely bowled over by the declaration, unsure if he found it easier to deal with than a glass of water or wine to the face or not. It made his skin prickle warmly and his palms slightly sweaty. He tried not to think too greatly what that meant.
Luckily she gave him the perfect out, a distraction. He smiled weakly, settling himself more comfortably in his chair while busying his hands by stacking his papers. "You would think, wouldn't you? But in all honesty, I loathe the more esteemed universities. They are all filled with such pompous airheads, always thrusting their chests out and boring me to death with their philosophy. There is no personality there. Too many rules, much too stiff. I prefer it here where the students are far more honest and interesting. Not all spoilt brats here solely because of daddy forcing them to build a reputation. Students much like yourself, Miss Watson."
He smiled again then returned his gaze to his paperwork. His eyes happened to catch the time on his computer and he realized that his fifty minute office hour was almost up. He had a meeting soon, regrettably. Though a little space from Joanna might actually do him some good. He had much to think about and needed to clear his head.
"Though as much as I would like to lament on my profession, I'm afraid I need to prepare for a meeting. You can still return in two hours if you like. Feel free to leave your coursework if you can afford to."
Joanna looked confused for a moment until she too realized the time, her eyes going wide. Hell, she'd barely gotten anything done at all and she had class in twenty minutes. "Yeah, I can leave it. Thank you," she said automatically, a little flustered as she gathered up her things. She made a promise to herself to actually study when she got back, instead of chattering away like a little girl with a crush. She stood and smiled at him, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder as she turned to leave.
She paused at the door however, turning around to look at him. "Um, this isn't a big deal or anything..." she started, appearing slightly embarrassed. "But um, you can call me Joanna. I mean, a lot of people call me Watson, which is fine, but... usually it's people I don't really like." She gave him a sheepish smile, then disappeared out the door before he could reply so he didn't see the way she was blushing. She told people all the time not to call her by her last name, but never had she been so embarrassed about it before.
Sherlock watched Joanna leave, his head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation. He could feel that things were heading down dangerous territories, something he knew he should nip in the bud immediately. Joanna was a fine student, she need not be anything more than that to him. He sighed to himself with a shake of his head then focused on his upcoming meeting. There were other reasons beyond what he had told Joanna as to why he was teaching there and he needed to focus. He dared not think of the consequences should he screw up and lose his job. His last chance, really.