Chapter Text
The first day he attended Uni, John Watson heard the warnings from his upperclassmen about professors. Various stories were told, some about the all-nighters spent studying for quizzes and others about the Hellish projects assigned, but one point held firm: "Do not take a class by Professor Holmes unless you want your marks to drop." Professor Holmes had a reputation as the toughest professor, and he had no issue with publically humiliating anyone. However, Professor Holmes taught anatomy, chemistry, biology, and psychology. For most medical students, it was practically impossible to avoid having at least one class taught by Professor Holmes.
After making it a year and a half, John found himself at an impasse. Professor Holmes was teaching a topics course called “Proper Criminal Investigation and Forensic Techniques.” It centred on using "common sense and medical knowledge" to solve crimes at the scene. Despite knowing he might come to hate himself, John couldn’t keep himself from enrolling. Besides, it satisfied one of his graduation requirements, and it was far too interesting to pass up. His flatmates merely shook their heads solemnly when they found out, all but declaring him a dead man.
Now, he was walking down towards the front. The lecture hall was half-full, meaning a good 40 to 50 students already arrived, and everyone buzzed with excitement. Or perhaps nervousness. John couldn't discern which, really, as he shuffled his way down the empty first row. He preferred being in front of the lecture halls. It kept him from getting too distracted. Pulling out his notebook, he settled into his chair. Quickly, he marked the date at the top of his page and then waited for his new professor to show.
Time ticked by slowly, and John could hear restlessness settling in. Chairs squeaked, papers shuffled around, impatient sighs emitted, and the rapping of pens replaced the chatter. Ten minutes after the class was supposed to start, the side door burst open, banging against the wall. The man who strolled in was just as everyone described: tall, gaunt, striking, with unruly, dark hair, and cold, silver eyes. Removing his coat, he carefully draped it over his chair before turning on the projector.
“Welcome to this module. If you’re unsure of what this class will be about, please refer to the title of this course and then leave my classroom immediately because you are too unintelligent to pass,” Professor Holmes stated. He opened up a PowerPoint and immediately flipped it to the first slide. Waiting a moment, he glanced around the room, his cold eyes seeming to bore into everyone they passed. “No one has left yet. A promising start indeed.” With that, he clicked to the next screen, which showed the definition of the course given in the module catalogue. “This is also information that you should have previously known. If you just blindly joined this course due to needing another credit, I would suggest that you quickly remove yourselves and sign up for a different course instead.”
John didn’t dare look behind him. Being in front, he knew that he would only draw attention to himself. Professor Holmes, with his predatory gaze and sharp words, was certainly someone John was not interested in crossing. Even so, he didn’t hear anything, and that was enough for him. His pen remained at the ready to write at any moment.
Flipping to the next slide, Professor Holmes continued, “I will teach you the techniques required in order to understand a crime scene and all its aspects. I will also put those techniques to the test. All of your homework is optional. I will not collect it nor will I grade it, as I don’t have the time for something so frivolous. If you have questions about it, my office hours can be located online. If you continue to have issues, I advise you drop my course.”
Shocked, John felt worry seep into the corners of his mind. Maybe interest wouldn’t be enough to get him through this class. Perhaps he wasn't intelligent enough to keep up with the material. Certainly, the other students had good reason behind the warnings. Maybe he should have heeded them a bit more. He rapidly wrote himself a small note to check the drop date and other open modules in the corner of his page.
“Now, I have solved countless cases with these techniques. I have also tried – fruitlessly, let me assure you – to teach them to both detectives and your peers.” He flipped to a new slide, this one of how the grades would be split. “There will be three tests this semester. Your later tests will weigh more than your first one, as they are cumulative. This is why I suggest you do your homework.” He then turned to face them. “All of the cases you will see are ones that I solved on behalf of NSY, thus ensuring that the solution to the crime will be within the photos and evidence files you will receive. The key aspect you can take away from this, though, is that you need to observe and not merely see.”
John wrote the final sentence down, his anticipation gnawing at him to act. Suddenly, a bloke called out, “How are we supposed to know that you’re not just talking a load of crock?”
John nearly choked on laughter when he heard that. Who would dare to talk to a professor that way, nonetheless one as notorious as Professor Holmes?
“You want evidence. I can certainly respect that,” Professor Holmes noted before smirking. Walking around his desk, he leaned back against it. “Your government has - quite cleverly, I must admit - convinced you that there are two types of people in this world: Independents and Dependents. And you are assured that with one simple test, they can tell you which type of person you are.”
John shifted uncomfortably. He still remembered taking the Independent-Dependent Test, as did everyone. John had hardly been able to wait for his thirteenth birthday. Innumerable nights, he dreamed about being declared as an Independent and making his family proud. After all, Independents held the power and respect. John had no doubt he was to join that rank.
"From there, though, we do the rest of the work for the government. Independents become more confident, more resilient, have larger goals in life. Meanwhile, Dependents become more introverted, less likely to voice their opinion even if they're right, and more affectionate. Why does this happen? The simple answer is lies within societal pressures. Independents believe they must be ambitious in order to attract a Dependent. Likewise, Dependents believe they must be quiet and supportive while waiting for an Independent to notice them." His eyes flickered across the faces of the students, and they landed on John for a long moment. It seemed longer than usual. "Most of you have been turned into sheep, blindly obeying what the government and media tells you. That you should be a certain way or else you’re not really an Independent or Dependent.” He shook his head. “You don't think anymore. Not that many actually thought to begin with."
"What's your point?" the same bloke asked.
Rolling his eyes, Professor Holmes responded, "I can tell that you already have a Dependent because you were strong-headed and brash as a boy and probably enjoyed sex with her because you had no other experience for comparison. I know that you now regret that decision because she isn't what you want in life. Too clingy. Too needy. And the sex isn't what it used to be, as she no longer has to impress you."
The classroom went silent, and John dared to glance back. The bloke - a heavier ginger - had gone red in the face. Without a word, he snatched up his binder and backpack before storming out of the room. John stared at Professor Holmes in awe. How on Earth had he known all of that by just looking at someone? Worse still, what would he be able to tell by glancing at John? The unsettling thought nestled into the forefront of his mind.
"Anyone else share the same sentiments?"
John averted his eyes and wrote down a note to not insult or otherwise infuriate the professor. No one else said a word.
"Good. Now, take note that if any of you are squeamish about seeing blood, broken bones, corpses, and anything else you can imagine being included in a crime scene, I advise you to spare your stomachs and drop my course. I will not tailor to your needs. You might deem this heartless, but let me assure you that murderers do not care what your triggers are. Catering to your requests will not prepare you for the future. So let go of those petty feelings now or - as I said previously - drop out of my class.”
Tension thickened the atmosphere of the room. However, no one protested the statements. John, on the other hand, couldn’t help but appreciate Professor Holmes’s sheer honesty. It was a bit off-putting, yes, but also refreshing. Many professors acted as salesmen, utilizing their first day as pitches. How many times had John heard the same droll: "this will help you future," "you will be able to reference this on a resume," and "you will come out of this class with a better understanding of..."
“Here’s your syllabus,” Professor Holmes stated before splitting the stack in half. He handed a stack to John and the other to a guy sitting just a few seats off to the right of him. “I’m not your babysitter. Everything you need to know about this course is here. If you don’t notice an exam date until the day before, that’s your problem, not mine. I will not give you extended time to work on anything. It’s time you all learned that every action has a reaction, and those reactions have consequences.”
John took his packet and passed on the rest. Immediately, he pulled out a highlighter and began to mark the important dates. He noticed, partly to his amusement and partly to his horror, that Professor Holmes had added the drop date as well. After a moment's hesitation, John circled it.
“We will study Independent and Dependent cases separately so the less observant of you can notice the different tendencies between these crimes,” Professor Holmes continued. “Now, unless any of you have questions, it’s time for you to get out of my sight.”
Checking behind him, John found no one dared to raise a hand. The silence served as a solemn oath between all the students. Finally, after a couple of minutes, the first students began to pack up their items. John followed their lead, reassured by the fact that he wasn't the only one who looked shell-shocked. Carefully, he tucked the syllabus into the folder of his notebook. He dropped those towards the back of his bag.
Just as John was about to rise and leave, a shadow cast over him. Looking up, he found Professor Holmes looming. “It’s illegal to keep your status hidden, you know.”
John started, adrenaline coursing. His concerns had been realised. However, he knew he had to keep his calm. He never let his eyes waver, hoping it would provide a sense of confidence. Pitching his bag over his right shoulder, John brushed the back only to find cloth. He had definitely worn an Independent shirt today. His tattoo was hidden... “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You touching your tattoo just proved me correct," Professor Holmes stated, smirking. He then crossed his arms and examined John. "You think they graded your test wrong. How many times did you retake the I.D. Test before you just accepted that you scored as a Dependent?”
John scowled.
Tilting his head, Professor Holmes hummed softly to himself. “I am assuming five.”
Humiliation coloured John's face, overtaking his sense of anger. “Six,” he offered firmly, at least wanting to prove Professor Holmes wrong on that account.
“And yet you’re still unable to accept the fact that you’re a Dependent when you clearly are.”
Jaw setting, John bit back, “I am nothing like a Dependent!”
Professor Holmes quirked an eyebrow in amusement. “Nothing? I must say that I’ve never seen someone in such denial before.” With that, he motioned for John to set his backpack onto the table. Grudgingly, John conceded. After all, he couldn't have Professor Holmes raising the alarm about his status with the university officials. Professor Holmes proceeded to open it and pull out John's notebook. “You took several notes today. And I see you highlighted the information I told you would be important. Extraordinary eagerness to please is one marker for a Dependent.”
“I’ve seen Independents who were also eager to please,” John pointed out defiantly.
“Yes, well, I did say one marker for a Dependent. However, I do feel the need to point out that you were the only person in class to take notes. A class otherwise full of Independents.”
John shook his head and snatched his notebook back. Undoubtedly, he had been caught, but he couldn't afford to argue with the professor over semantics now. “Are you going to report me then?” he asked. A Dependent hiding his or her status was far from the worst crime in the world, but John would still prefer not having any black mark on his school record.
“No, that isn’t my current plan,” Professor Holmes answered. “But I will if you drop my class. Oh, and I expect you to be wearing appropriate clothing to my next lecture.”
Shocked, John retorted, “No one will respect me if they know!” It was the most painful truth of his life. The moment he turned fourteen and possessed the hideous marker of his status, no one treated him the same. Even schoolmates, all of whom had known him for years, started to address him differently. It was as though they had placed up a barrier, signifying that John could no longer be just John. He must be John the Dependent. Therefore, as long as John portrayed himself as an Independent, his opinions mattered. The moment they found out the truth, they started to see him as less capable... less significant.
“And why, might I ask, do any of them matter?”
John sputtered, shocked by the question. “They matter because they’re my peers. They matter because I have to work with them. They matter because they have all of the power in the world, so the only thing I can do is-”
“Change that,” Professor Holmes cut in. John felt as though the wind was knocked from his lungs. “People have been fighting oppression for centuries. It used to be based on race or gender or economical status, but now it’s based on one small tattoo. And as long as you keep yours hidden – remain ashamed of who you are – you’re never going to change anyone’s perception of Dependents. You have to shove it in their faces that you are just as good as they are, if not better.”
"No offense, Professor, but what do you know about any of this? You’re an Independent,” John bit back.
For a moment, Professor Holmes stiffened. He stared at John with narrowed, icy eyes. Then, suddenly, he smiled, but it was tighter - not as cocky - and there weren't any crinkles around his eyes. It was just off. Quickly, John realised that he touched a sore subject. He juggled for words for a moment, debating on taking back what he said. After all, he was just speaking in the heat of the moment.
“More than you think, actually,” Sherlock finally answered before turning on his heels. Walking back over to his desk, he fetched his coat and continued walking. “Let me remind you that I expect to see you in proper attire next class. Goodbye, John Watson.”
John said nothing in reply, instead shouldering his backpack and heading up the stairs to the other exit.
So much for staying hidden.