Sherlock: Before He Became a Consulting Detective

4. Final Year Dropout

Sherlock stayed in hospital for another two weeks before his doctor discharged him. He never told anybody what actually happened to him that day, neither did he pressed charges against professor Marks.

After a month, he recovered of visible scars. The invisible ones remained, and that worried his family.

The first signs were showing when Sherlock refused to go back to university.

Mycroft flew in from London, on his mother's demand, to talk sense into his brother's head.

After a long discussion, Mycroft convinced him to go back to London. He would pull a few strings to get him into a university there.

A month later, he booked Sherlock a flight back to London.

Mycroft sent his chauffeur to pick his brother up from the airport, then to the university.

The next morning, Sherlock had to attend his first science class. He paused in front of the door for a while before he entered.

The lector stopped writing on the blackboard. His hand remained on the board as shut his eyes and bit on his teeth. He hated when someone interrupted him while writing a formula on the board. "Can I help you," he asked without looking at the person who entered.

"I'm transferred from Liverpool. My brother, Mycroft Holmes, arranged for it."

The lector lowered his hand and turned to him. His gasped when he laid eyes on the tall slender student with the ruffled black curly hair. He gaped at him. The man had a pair of cheekbones any women would envy. He looked like a boy with his flawless pale skin. He couldn't be older than nineteen.

"Am I in the right class, Professor?"

"Huh, um..." He stuttered when he replied. "Yes, sit here... I mean there..." He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "Take a seat, Mister, um..."

Sherlock smiled faintly. "Holmes, Sherlock Holmes." He turned away, searched for an open desk and strolled towards it."

"How old are you? This class for final year students. You can't possibly be in your final year."

He turned around. "I'm twenty-two, Professor. I am a final year student."

He arched a brow. "I'm Professor Linder, by the way."

"I know. Your name is on my subjects list." He turned back to the desk, chucked his sling bag on the floor and sat down.

Professor Linder nodded. "Oh, yes of course." He turned back to the blackboard and rolled his eyes. He made a complete fool of himself in front of the students.

The professor glanced at the formula on the blackboard, his mind a blank. He turned again to face the students. "Who can complete this formula?"

All of them raised their hands, except Sherlock. He didn't pay any attention. His head rested on his hand while he paged through the textbook.

"Mister Holmes, will you do us the honors?"

Sherlock didn't move. He didn't look up.

The professor walked over to him and knocked on his desk. "We don't daydream in my class, Mister Holmes."

There was still no reaction from him.

The professor reached for the textbook and shut it.

Sherlock gasped and raised his head.

"Your first day in my class and you're already daydreaming."

"I'm sorry I wasn't. I was thinking."