Warning: This story involves a male/male love relationship. If you don't like, don't read. Rated T for now will change to M.

Disclaimer: Please see intro.

A/N: Thanks to all of my new readers to this story. I'm sorry it has taken so long to update. I have fourteen stories open right now and about four miscellaneous open stories. Fourteen! What was I thinking? Sometimes I open them all and write a paragraph or two or spend a few days concentrating on a couple. Not sure why I did that.

I've been reading and researching our favorite detective. From my findings (or lack thereof for that "it" information) I've come to the conclusion that our favorite detective is a Gemini, like me. How did I arrive at this? He's highly intelligent (as all Geminis are), his mind goes ninety to nothing (as mine often does), he always has too many irons in the fire (as most Geminis do- we aren't comfortable any other way), and he probably as conversations with people no one else can see (as do I). All Geminis have a twin or an alter ego. Mine has only made itself know to me in the past five years or so. Still figuring it out. Therefore, I'm going to add this play in motion, starting with this chapter.

So let's check in on our favorite doctor and detective, shall we?

Chapter 5: The thirst for knowledge

About a month had gone by and Detective Sherlock Holmes was proud of himself. He was keeping his promise, which surprised him. Sherlock never put much stock in children's tales but he seemed to take an interest in "The Tortoise and the Hare". His motto now seemed to be, steady and slow wins the race. Therefore, he was taking this major change in his life one day at a time.

He still thought of John, especially when he had a moment's peace. They certainly weren't ones that he created himself for his mind was always going. But on those rare occasions and peaceful nights when there was no casework, no experiments that his brain was eager to try, he thought of John. His thoughts were of what John was doing, how he was feeling, how he was getting along with Mary. Did he even think of the detective? For a man who felt his own existence was to receive knowledge, know everything about everything and to impart said knowledge, not knowing was nearly detrimental.

John was faring a little better. He and Mary still weren't on the best of speaking terms. Neither of them knew how to make it better. Deep down, way down in Mary's heart she didn't trust John. After sneaking and reading a few more of his letters to Sherlock, she felt that she could never trust him. John repeatedly told her that he and Sherlock were done; there was nothing for her to worry about. He pointed this out to her, on more than three occasions. And if they were going to be parents, to make the marriage work she would have to trust him.

"Confound it woman! I don't know what else I can do. Sherlock is where he is and I am here with you. You either trust me or you don't. And if we don't have trust, we don't have anything." Mary would often sulk for a while after hearing these words. She knew he was right, but something in her just wouldn't let it go. And it bothered her that she didn't know why.

The former lovers had crossed paths, each taking care not to let the other see. Sherlock became a master of disguise. No, king was more like it; he was already a master at it. When invited to the symphony or opera, he knew John would be there. So he would add moustaches, wear different suits or hats (mostly things John knew Sherlock wouldn't wear) to hide in plain sight. John never spotted him in those clothes, but Sherlock always seemed to gaze longingly at John.

John would see the detective mostly out in public. They would be walking on opposite sides of the street. John might see him go into a restaurant or heading to Scotland Yard. Every time John saw his love, all he could think of was how lonely he looked. John didn't want him to be alone. The hope was that he would meet someone, discreetly of course. Maybe not so soon though. Sherlock wasn't one for making friends. Their relationship was the only thing the detective had, besides his cases.

Sherlock was pleased with his casework as of late. It was keeping him busy. However, it was becoming apparent to him how convenient it was to have John in his life. Dr. Hawthorne was excellent at his job consulting, but he was a family man and just wasn't always available at the time Sherlock's brain was in full gear. In his mind, he always knew there would be a time that Chester wouldn't be available. So he found a list of doctors in London and by getting suggestions and recommendations, narrowed them down to a few. Once these doctors had been informed of what Sherlock was looking for, they declined. His reputation went before him and they didn't want to be bothered.

The detective was at a crossroads in this journey. He had seen just about every doctor in London. Where was he going to find that all helpful medical expertise he sometimes desperately needed? He sat in the chair, John's chair and contemplated his problem. The fire gently roared as he sat with his legs crossed left over right. The pipe sticking out of the right side of his mouth had just about gone out. Sherlock's next thought was to ask John, try to figure out a way to ask him without asking him. Maybe ask for a letter of recommendation from an anonymous source…he thought. He got up to relight his pipe and shook his head at that suggestion. John would recognize my handwriting and my wording. No, that won't do. He paced the area in front of the fireplace, puffing on the relit pipe. What if someone else were to write the letter? He walked to the window and looked out at the dark London night, as if the person to write this hypothetical letter would appear. There were a few cabs and even fewer people out in the night air. No, it wouldn't work; John would see right through it. And I would have broken my own rules. Sherlock leaned against the wall with his shoulder, quietly listening to the silence of the room, as if the silence was going to render an answer. The swishing of skirts and the distinct clicking of Mrs. Hudson's heels shortly broke that silence.

"I brought you some tea. Thought it might help with your thinking." He turned from his position on the wall to see her set the tray down on the table between the chair and the settee.

"I doubt it will; nothing else has helped. But I do thank you." She smiled.

"You'll solve whatever it is by morning, I know it. I'm going to have a good read tonight. I'm off to market in the morning; if there is anything you want leave a note for me."

"Good night Mrs. Hudson." Again, silence filled the room.

Sherlock began pacing the floor again, hands clasped behind his back, pondering what he should do. It wasn't that important to have someone on call. Well, he never really had anyone on call; John just…John just was there. Did I take his expertise for granted? He wondered. Perhaps I did, perhaps… He walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of tea. As he sat, a question came to mind:

What kind of people do you consider to be smart and intelligent?

Barristers, professors, noblemen (Although some of them are nobleman just because of bloodlines), doctors, old people…

Doctors. How many people do you consider to be smarter than a doctor is?

I can be at times. Why do you ask?

Who teaches doctors?

Medical professors, I suppose. Why?

If you can't find a doctor, find a medical professor. Sherlock took a sip of his tea then titled his head to the right.

A medical professor. Hmmm. I never thought of that. Makes perfect sense though. Doctors have to learn somehow. A professor may have more time. It still doesn't help me if I need someone in the middle of the night.

No, it doesn't but at least you will have a second opinion handy if needed.

He sat back comfortably, enjoying the warmth of the fire. "Yes, I will," he said aloud.

The next morning found Detective Sherlock Holmes taking a cab to the University of London campus. There were many universities and colleges in the city but he felt this one would have all the answers he needed. Once he paid the driver and entered the gates, a security guard of sorts greeted him. Sherlock thought he looked like a Scotland Yard reject.

"Good Morning sir. How may I help you?"

"What makes you think I need help?"

"With all due respect, you don't look like a student sir." Sherlock looked about at the students crossing the campus. Some were in huge hurries; others were strolling in the crisp morning air.

"I could be a student."

"Aye, sir you could be but you wouldn't be dressed like that. Besides the administration doesn't enroll in the middle of the quarter." Sherlock shrugged at the little battle that he'd just lost. "Now, how may I help you?"

"Which way is St. Bartholomew's Hospital Medical School?"

"The east side of campus sir." He replied while pointing eastward.

"Thank you." Sherlock starting walking eastward when he heard the guard's whistle.

"One moment sir."

He turned to look at the guard and saw hi beckoning someone to come to where they were. "What was that for?"

"You'll need an inter-campus cab ride. It's a ways off sir." Sherlock waited and a smaller version of a London street cab came around the corner. "Bobby, please escort this gentleman to St. Bart's Administration Building."

"Aye Captain." Sherlock stepped into the mini cab and sat down. As they drove across the campus, the driver pointed out the buildings and various gates which one could enter the campus. It seemed to Sherlock that people would have to meet a security guard anytime anybody came to the campus who wasn't a student.

"Let me ask you something. How do the students get to class if the buildings are so far apart? You're making me take a cab to where I need to go."

"Well, sir the students have a block schedule. They spend so much time in one building for classes, take a break then go to another building."

"I see. And the dormitories?"

"They're in the center of campus just over there."

"In the center of everything yet they still have a ways to walk." Sherlock commented under his breath. The driver stopped at the place where the horses are supposed to stop and let Sherlock out. He tipped his hat to the driver and started towards the building.

Once inside, he could see the building was a fury of students and professors filing through the halls headed to their various destinations. He looked to the walls to see if he could find a map or a list of offices. After a few minutes of looking, he didn't see one. Sherlock must have looked too lost because a student came up to him.

"Are you lost?"

"I was looking for a list of offices but I don't see one."

"Where do you need to go?" The young man asked as he shifted his books from one arm to the other. "I can show you where it is."

"Administration. No, better yet, the dean of the Medical School."

"Great! It's right on my way. Follow me sir." They started down the hallway Sherlock immediately began bumping into students. "Oh, you might want to stick closer to the wall, sir. You'll bump into less people that way."

"Good to know." The detective replied. They finally made it through the maze of students to the dean's office.

"Dr. Hart is the dean but you've got to speak to Ms. Eggleston first, she's his secretary." He glanced up at the clock on the wall. "I've got class. Enjoy your day."

"Thank you, same to you." And the young man ran down the hall barely making it with his books.

Sherlock entered the office to find it filled with students. He hoped none of them needed to speak to the dean. It looked as if most of them were just filling out paperwork. New students maybe, he thought. The secretary looked up and noticed him. He did look quite out of place. He certainly looked older than the students did.

"Are you signing up to start next semester, turning in graduation intentions or selecting classes?" Ms. Eggleston asked.

"Uh, neither. I'd like to see the dean; I believe his name is Dr. Hart." She reaches for her appointment book.

"Do you have an appointment to see him?"

"No, I don't. Sorry."

"If you don't mind waiting a bit, you can probably see him in about forty-five minutes." He thought about it. He had come all that way, might as well wait.

"That's fine. Thank you."

"You can have a seat here." He smiled and nodded as he sat down. What was he going to do for forty-five minutes- what he did best…observe. Looking at the students, he could tell which one were the children of privilege; they were the ones with the least amount of patience. That will make for horrible bedside manner, he thought. He observed one student who was dropping out for a semester to work so he could have the money to continue. He'll probably be the best out of his class. Humble and completely grateful. After a few minutes, Sherlock was bored of that activity and he turned his skills towards the office staff. Ms. Eggleston looked like a middle-aged woman who was single; he didn't see a ring. He couldn't decide if she was divorced, hadn't married yet or starting her spinster hood. He smirked at the thought of her room full of cats waiting on her to get home.

After analyzing the staff, Dr. Hart was finally available to see him. Sherlock stepped into the office and was invited to take a seat.

"Well Detective how can we at St. Bartholomew be of assistance to you? Are you wishing to enroll?"

"Not at all Dr. Hart. I am in need to medical expertise. When working cases I occasionally come across something where I will need a medical opinion. I had a colleague whose talents are needed elsewhere. I do have one consultant right now but he has a practice and his time is limited."

"I don't understand how we can help."

"I think I can get the medical opinions I need from a medical professor. I should hope the professors here are capable. I just need a suggestion of a professor that you think would be interested. I just need one professor to work with. There would be a consultant fees based on the information."

"Ah, I see." Dr. Hart grabbed a list of the medical professors. "Any particular study of medicine?"

"I think general would be best. As the consultant they would be able to ask others for something specific if needed." Sherlock watched as the dean turned through the pages of names.

"Professor Stone, Professor Hawkins….uh maybe Professor Llewellyn. Yes, I think Professor Llewellyn would be the best choice."

"Is it possible for me to observe and meet the professor today?"

"Yes, he has a class just down in the lecture hall in about…" Dr. Hart pulled out his pocket watch. "...ten minutes. The students will be changing classes. I'll happy to escort you to the hall."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate it." They stood up and Sherlock followed him back into the larger office area then into the hall.

"I've found walking closer to the wall makes it easier to navigate. You won't feel so much like salmon swimming up stream."

"So I've been told."

They made it to the lecture hall. On the wall hung a wooden slat board with the professors' names and course numbers neatly slid in place.

E.E. Llewellyn General Anatomy 102-2.

"Here we are detective. Professor Llewellyn should be in momentarily. The students are filing in but there are plenty of seats available. You'll get a chance to speak with him afterward."

"Good."

"Enjoy the class and I hope you find what you are looking for."

"Thank you. Yes, I hope I find it too."

Dr. Hart left for his office and Sherlock entered the classroom, looking for a seat. This lecture room was built in theatre fashion with steps leading down to the lecture floor. The desks looked uncomfortable. They were made of wood with a top that lifted so students had a place for their books. Sherlock draped his coat over the chair back before sitting down. He chose to sit in the middle of the class, to get a better understanding of what was being taught and discussed. The students didn't seem to pay him any attention as he sat with his legs crossed.

"Good Morning to all those I haven't spoken to yet," said the voice behind him. The students mumbled a greeting of sorts back. "Oh, you are quite the grumpy bunch this morning, eh? Was Professor Carter's test that bad?" Sherlock heard a series of affirmative answers from all over the room. "Well, maybe I can cheer you up. I have graded your subject essays." Without looking Sherlock could hear him coming down the steps. "Much more impressive this time around. Robert if you could please pass these out while I call the roll." The professor walked to the front and proceeded to call the roll.

A boy. He looks like a boy. Just how old is he? He looks just like the students! Sherlock thought. Perhaps this was a bad idea. How much wisdom and knowledge can he have at such a young age?

Well, you were smart at his age. What makes you think you were the only one to have high intelligence at a young age? Give it a chance; you may just find what you're looking for.

The professor didn't notice Sherlock until he was done calling the roll.

"I wasn't aware of any new students. Welcome to General Anatomy."

"I'm not a student really; just here to observe. And thank you for the welcome."

"Observing eh? I hope the report will be good. I'm Professor Llewellyn and you are?"

"Detective Sherlock Holmes." The students gasped and turned their heads to see their visitor. Many of them had heard of the man, but had never seen him. Llewellyn was just as shocked as the class.

"Great day! Detective Holmes," He walked up the stairs to Sherlock's desk and held out his hand to shake. "It is indeed an honor and a pleasure to have you in my class this morning sir. I hope what we talk about today is beneficial to you." Sherlock shook the professor's hand.

"I think it will be. I'm just observing, please teach as you normally do."

"Very well then." The professor turned, headed back down the stairs to the lectern to teach.

After class, Sherlock observed how the professor answered the students' questions. He had to usher them out of the room so the next class could take place. Finally, the students were gone and the detective and professor were able to talk.

"Allow me to fully introduce myself. I am Professor Ethan Edward Llewellyn." Sherlock took a few seconds to look around the small office before sitting in the seat he was offered by hand gesture. "I've been teaching here for five years and I absolutely love it. Can't imagine myself anywhere else."

"I see. It makes me wonder how you avoided the family business. Seems like you were next in line to take it over."

"You know my family?"

"Yes. I've done work for you uncles Isaac and Theodore before."

"Ah, I see."

"So the life of a barrister wasn't for you?"

"No. I knew that before I became a teenager. Years and years of monotone repetition of laws and my Lord this my Lord that…it was enough to drive anyone to lunacy. I needed to do something else with my life. I'm happy with what I've chosen to do."

"First doctor in the family I presume?"

"Yes and first professor as well. So how can I be of assistance to you Detective? Are you here on official business for my uncles?"

"No, official business for myself. I am in need of a medical consultant on retainer for cases that I will be working on. My former consultant has a practice and it about to become a family man. The other also has a practice and already is a family man. I need someone who-"

"Isn't married, no practice and not a family man?"

"Precisely." Sherlock replied. "I would be able to bring the information here to you. I should think with your expertise I would have my results a few days later."

"And the retainer fee?"

"I don't mind if you choose to charge by the case; I've done it before. Or if you would like a percentage of what I earn, that's fine with me too." Ethan leaned back into his chair.

"I take it the money is not that important to you?"

"It is but solving the case is more important. Besides, I find the more grateful the client the bigger the payout can sometimes be." Ethan chuckled a bit.

"I knew it was there somewhere." He thought a moment. "I like challenges and puzzles and I'd like to see how I can help."

"Good. I hope you'll prove Dean Hart correct in his recommendation."

"When do I start?"

"Well, I don't have a case right now but that could change by day's end."

"Wonderful. Bring it by any time or I could stop by after or before classes. What's the address?"

"It's 221B Baker Street. If I'm not there you can leave it with my landlady Mrs. Hudson." Ethan wrote down the address.

"Great. You are welcome to sit in on classes anytime you wish. I can get you a syllabus on the remainder of classes in the quarter if there was something specific you wanted to sit through."

"I would appreciate it greatly. Well, I need to be going. I need to stop by Scotland Yard to see if there is anything of interest."

"I am Dean Hart recommended me. I'm happy to help in any way I can." Sherlock moved towards the door. "Remember when leaving to building, stick to the middle with the crowd."

"Thank you for the advice."

As Ethan closed his door behind the detective, he leaned against it and breathed a sigh of relief he didn't realize he was holding. He closed his eyes and placed his right hand over his heart.

"Oh delicate heart, I beg of you beat not too much and still yourself in reflection. My God, that man is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined! How will I ever be able to control myself alone in a room with him? His eyes, his scent, those nimble fingers. God help me, I may be in trouble."