Chapter Text
Winters flinched and looked up when Moriarty appeared on one side of her and Holmes on the other in the large lecture hall. Class had not started yet, and she was in the middle of taking her things out of a bag when her coursemates surrounded her. Neither of them appeared threatening; Louis Moriarty simply sat down in the row in front of her, slightly to her right, and turned toward her, resting his elbow beside Cathy Winters's closed notebook. Sherlock Holmes, the dark-haired man on her left, settled himself on the edge of the row, in the place occupied by Cathy's bag, and looked at her from atop the desk.
The girl tried to pay attention to both of them at once, but since Louis addressed her before Sherlock did, that made things easier: Cathy turned directly toward her blond coursemate when she heard her name.
“Sorry if we startled you,” he was saying. Cathy shook her head, trying to conceal her confusion at the boys' unexpected appearance.
She was not close enough with either of them for them to want to sit beside her during a lecture.
Seeing the gesture, Louis smiled at her and continued.
“Sherlock and I would like to compete in the Patrol Championship next week, and we wanted to ask if you'd like to enter with us.”
On her other side, Sherlock switched the position of his legs, nudging the bag with his knee, which had already been threatening to fall. Cathy reached out and caught it.
“Please,” Sherlock added with an expression as though he were having a tooth pulled. “Say you want to come! There has to be a girl on the team!”
“So that's the only reason...?” Cathy's voice hovered somewhere between hurt and playful teasing, ultimately leaning closer to the latter. “Actually, I wanted to enter too, but I haven't found anyone yet to go with.”
She left the sentence at that. She did not want to reveal that she was actually relieved, even if the boys' hearts had softened toward her only out of necessity.
Cathy Winters had a few friends in their year, but the three girls she liked had already entered the competition together earlier, while a fourth had no desire to participate at all; she preferred taking the exam that participation would replace. She could have asked someone else from their year, because the championship, thanks to being an easy substitute for the practical exam, attracted quite a lot of people, but based on her previous experiences, she could not work well enough with everyone to be effective as a team.
Although one of the goals, alongside improving endurance and having fun, was to strengthen unit cohesion, Cathy did not believe she would be successful in a carelessly chosen team. There were a few coursemates who did not think much of her; it would have been a great opportunity to prove herself in front of them, but if they had to work together, they might not have been willing to help her even at the cost of sacrificing victory.
She trusted Louis, however, and Sherlock Holmes, who had come with him, did not particularly concern her either. The latter's reputation preceded him, but during the months Cathy had spent attending the same classes, Sherlock had made a far better impression on her than the rumors had. His manner was peculiar, something he allowed himself because of his sharp mind and excellent deductive abilities, but he had a heart of gold, something that could be discovered even beneath the rude and occasionally alarming exterior.
Louis Moriarty, who, much like Cathy, belonged among the quiet observers and analysts, had been a similar surprise to her. At first glance, he gave the impression of a reserved, cool-headed and calm person who mostly stayed out of everything. However, there were moments when he demonstrated initiative, leadership ambitions, and insightful observations rivaling Sherlock's, while endurance and physical strength were not lacking in him either. Cathy had more than once watched Sherlock and him practicing self-defense techniques, paired exercises, or the execution of coercive measures on one another, as there was no one else in the group against whom the balance of strength would have been equal.
When Louis was paired with Cathy, he restrained himself only enough to avoid causing serious harm, and the girl appreciated that about him. He did not approach her the way most men did, but treated her as a partner, and acknowledged her abilities whenever she had the opportunity to let them shine. She was weaker than him, and there was still room for improvement in her endurance as well, but they were only at the beginning of their practical training. They had years ahead of them to grow stronger and acquire all the knowledge they would need for their future profession.
At least, that was how the girl saw it, but not everyone agreed. A mocking remark on the subject led to a conflict with one of the most insufferable members of their group, Tanner Morgan, and as the situation rapidly escalated, with Louis, with whom she had previously exchanged no more than three sentences.
*
Tanner was being rude to Cathy, to which the girl replied with something, but he twisted her words and insulted her even further, causing a nearby friend of his, who was just as insensitive, to burst out laughing. They behaved as though they were in middle school: they had singled Cathy out because she ran a little slower than the others and had not managed to climb the obstacle course wall on her first attempt, which made her an easy target for ridicule.
The exchange escalated to the point where those training around them stopped what they were doing, and conversations began to die away. Cathy pressed her lips together because she was so helplessly angry she was close to tears, but Tanner, standing in front of her, only continued. Before another sentence could leave his mouth, however, the previously silent Louis Moriarty stepped behind him and grabbed his arm.
“If you think Winters can't put you flat on your back, then just let her try.” Louis's otherwise brilliant eyes seemed dull and dark. He did not release Tanner's arm, and even tightened his grip slightly. “If you're afraid of her, leave it to me, I'll gladly demonstrate.”
Tanner stepped back and shook off his hand, offended. He shot an angry look first at the girl, then at Louis beside her.
“It's ridiculous that she needs you,” he threw back. “Nobody's going to protect that bint out there.”
“Because she doesn't need it. She's far more capable and resourceful than you are.” Louis spoke evenly, never taking his eyes off the coursemate standing before him, pale with anger and embarrassment. Though Tanner glanced around, no one came to intervene. “Not to mention she's a lot smarter too, since she didn't waste her time dealing with an idiot like you. Get lost. It's surprisingly easy to end up with a broken collarbone by accident.”
Louis's expression did not so much as twitch, and that was the most frightening thing about him.
Morgan swallowed. He had never liked Moriarty, but until now they had simply avoided one another. He could afford to make biting remarks behind his back, but now he was forced into a confrontation.
He was disgustingly perfect, and Morgan desperately searched for flaws in him. It seemed impossible that someone could be this intelligent, talented, observant, logical, apparently calm, and yet, from one moment to the next, surrounded by such an untamed aura of carefully controlled violence. There was something wrong with Louis Moriarty. He became convinced of it when he looked into his eyes and found a striking absence of emotion there: only cold contempt reflected back from those red eyes, making Morgan's throat tighten.
He was not afraid that Louis would carry out his threat, the instructor would have intervened. That is, if he had noticed: he was occupied with the other half of their group on the opposite side of the hall, those who were still waiting to be assessed.
They were left on their own, yet Louis did not lay a finger on him. By the time Morgan recovered, Moriarty was occupied with the girl and paid him no attention whatsoever. He quietly addressed Cathy and guided her away toward the wall, close to one of the exits.
Once Cathy could breathe again, she sank down onto the floor and pulled her knees up. Louis sat beside her and tried to calm her down, but afterward simply let her cry in silence. Even five minutes later, all he said was that she should stand up and try washing her face.
When Cathy later wanted to thank him for standing up for her, Louis brushed it aside.
“I was telling the truth,” he said calmly, cutting short the girl's gratitude. “Show them what you're capable of, all right? Even if you won't be studying in the same year as them for much longer.”
Cathy understood what he meant and smiled with restrained satisfaction. Louis was right. The attrition among their coursemates was noticeable, something that did not threaten either of them, but there was a good chance Tanner Morgan would not graduate alongside them.
They exchanged a knowing look, but did not grow any closer. Despite being polite to everyone, Louis visibly kept people at arm's length and did not allow anyone closer than necessary. He was reserved, only noticeably relaxing around his roommate and partner, Sherlock Holmes. Since beginning university, they had become attuned to one another and worked remarkably well together; the strengths of one balanced out the weaknesses of the other.
If Louis trusted Sherlock, then she could do the same, besides, the girl did not believe the rumors anyway. She had seen with her own eyes that Sherlock was not nearly as terrible as people claimed. It was true that he occasionally argued with the instructors and regularly clashed with Gregson, one of their veteran police guest lecturers, but sometimes he had a reason. Gregson was rather unfair toward him, and Sherlock was usually only defending his own innocence. They mutually disliked one another, so their verbal sparring had become a regular feature of the course, but the aspiring detective was otherwise quiet and calm. During most lectures he slept inconspicuously in the back row and only paid attention when something sparked his interest, though when that happened, he became completely absorbed.
Most of the girls quickly gave up on him. He was a handsome dark-haired boy with rare, remarkably deep blue eyes that were easy to get lost in whenever he was willing to look at the person standing in front of him, but the charm lasted only until he opened his mouth.
Sherlock spoke rather bluntly and occasionally forgot his manners, and when it came to girls he was downright awkward, visibly relieved whenever he could end a conversation with them as quickly as possible. Cathy's friends insisted it was a shame: if he were even half as kind as his face was beautiful, he would have been an excellent catch.
Sherlock, however, showed no interest in them beyond what was required for completing a shared assignment, and he had almost entirely withdrawn from university social life as well. He never went out with his coursemates; neither to the pub, nor to the cinema, nor even for lunch, despite surviving lectures, whenever he was awake, on takeaway coffee and packaged pastries, which he had to get from somewhere.
So he did go to cafés sometimes. Perhaps he could also be found in a pastry shop. On the other hand, he always said no whenever someone invited him to join a group, and before long those invitations dwindled to nothing. Sherlock became widely regarded as a strange, boring fellow interested only in crimes and incapable of relaxing. After that, it caused quite a stir that he had managed to form such a close friendship with his roommate, Louis Moriarty, who was nothing like him.
*
And now both eccentrics were hovering around Cathy Winters, eager to win her over. Sherlock, who was speaking to her for the first time in his life, had nevertheless formed a fairly accurate impression of her after months of sitting in the same lectures, and continued persuading her despite feeling that they had already won her over:
“Not only because of that, but we can't get around the rule,” he shrugged. “Obviously, we can't dress either Louis or me up as a girl.”
“Don't even say things like that!” Louis hissed from Cathy's other side. “We wouldn't gain anything from it if they found out we'd cheated in the end, and we'd only embarrass ourselves!”
Louis took the suggestion far more seriously than it deserved, which made Cathy laugh. She choked on it and hurriedly tried to banish the image from her mind of one of her two tall, broad-built coursemates attempting to pass himself off as a woman with makeup and a high ponytail.
“See? It's terrible,” Sherlock lamented further with exaggerated emphasis. “You can't let that happen, Cathy,” he smiled at her. “And we can't let that asshole Morgan place well in the competition while you don't even get the chance to grind him into the dirt.”
“Why would you even say that?” Cathy involuntarily glanced toward Louis. Sherlock nodded meaningfully, confirming his own assumptions. Although his roommate had never told him anything about the otherwise insignificant events that had taken place several weeks earlier, he was not blind and could draw his own conclusions about where they stood with one another.
“I know what I know.” His smile widened. “I'm sick of Morgan's bullshit too,” he said, casually swinging his legs with his back turned toward the rest of the hall. “Besides, this day is a gift. We run around a little, and suddenly we don't have to take the endurance exams. Do you really feel like going through all that?”
“No,” the girl admitted, “but I don't really care. The Patrol Championship is fun. All my friends will be there, I just couldn't go with them.” She lowered her head because she was embarrassed by her honesty and did not want the other two to look down on her because of it.
“We just invited you.” Louis's quiet, level voice reached her ears, and Cathy glanced up at him, afraid of what emotions she might find on his face. Moriarty appeared calm and gave her an encouraging look. “Please, let's enter together.”
He did not make the same sour face Sherlock had when the request left his mouth. Perhaps it offended his pride less to make his success dependent on someone else, while Sherlock did not enjoy having to adapt to the whims of chance. His hopes, however, were fulfilled: Cathy said yes, leaving them with nothing to do but submit their registration and wait for the following Wednesday, when the other participants from their year and students arriving from universities across the country would gather for the championship.
The Patrol Championship was held annually as part of the friendly competition between them. It would have brought great prestige to their university if one of their teams emerged victorious over all the others, and anyone could have had a chance at that. A significant portion of the participants did not take it particularly seriously and saw only the guaranteed good grade and the opportunity to have fun together, but Sherlock burned with a competitive spirit, and the scale of the challenge appealed to him.
Though only secondarily for his own sake: what truly interested him was how animated Louis's otherwise pale and emotionless face became whenever the competition was mentioned.
Sherlock had not heard much about his family, but he had gathered that no matter how exceptional Louis was, he had never been able to fully flourish beside his even more brilliant brother. However, he was the only member of the Moriarty family to pursue a law enforcement career: his genius older brother had been teaching mathematics at the Duharm University since the age of twenty-one, on the opposite side of the country, while the eldest Moriarty had taken on political and military responsibilities; their abilities in that field could not be compared to one another.
Louis had every reason to be proud of himself. Sherlock could see the talent in him, and he had to acknowledge it, even if they sometimes arrived at the same solution through entirely different lines of reasoning.
Louis was not predictable in the slightest, despite the fact that his emotions were sometimes displayed on his face with almost complete openness. What was actually going through his mind, however, he kept hidden, and Sherlock found that inscrutability fascinating.
He spent a great deal of time analyzing his roommate, and he had every opportunity to do so: if Louis had not retreated to the library or returned to his family's London home for the weekend, they were almost constantly together.
He considered him a good partner, so it was obvious that he should compete alongside him. With Louis by his side, the third member of the team could have been anyone; Sherlock trusted that they would be able to work together with them.
Yet Cathy Winters proved to be a good choice. She was not one of those girls whom Sherlock unintentionally offended or upset with a blunt remark. She was reserved and somewhat timid, but once she set aside her uncertainty, logical thinking and quick comprehension came to the forefront. She only needed a little encouragement to regain her footing, and she had received that from Louis.
How Sherlock's presence would affect her remained uncertain, but the aspiring detective was not worried about that. If he made even a slight effort, he could adopt a friendly tone just as easily as he hurt people with an inappropriate expression or an impatient wave of his hand.
*
When he was alert and interested, Sherlock was much easier to get along with, and that was exactly the case on the morning of the championship. They got up early to reach the meeting point on time, from where they, along with the other competitors, were transported to the university's training grounds outside the city.
Sherlock drank strong coffee that morning, yet despite that, he rested his head against the back of the seat with his eyes closed until the rocking of the bus lulled him into a half-asleep state. He was sitting beside Louis, who allowed Sherlock's head to slide onto his shoulder while exchanging a few messages on his phone.
He paid no attention to his roommate's head settling against him, merely brushing aside the dark strands that tickled his neck before returning to his phone. Cathy was sitting three rows ahead of them beside one of her friends. The other two girls who made up their team sat in front of them, but had turned around in their seats and were chatting animatedly, and every now and then Louis could clearly make out a louder word despite the distance.
Others around them were talking as well. There were twelve students from their year in total: Sherlock, Louis, and Cathy formed one team; Cathy's three cheerful friends formed another. Two confident girls and one of the less popular students in their year, Josh Conway, made up the next one (Louis only remembered the boy's name because Sherlock had shared a room with him during the first two weeks after moving into the dormitory and had complained about him endlessly).
Tanner Morgan, his best friend, and a girl named Stacy Hall formed the final team, which was noteworthy for two reasons. First, it was impossible to ignore the fact that Morgan was competing in the championship, giving Sherlock and Louis some additional motivation to take the event seriously. Second, the trio was arguing loudly.
Stacy and Tanner had fallen out over something, but unlike Cathy, the girl easily defeated him in a verbal sparring match, and after removing one of his earbuds, Louis listened for a while with a mocking smile. There was not the slightest harmony between them; a woman born to lead and an arrogant fool who imagined himself a leader. It seemed hopeless that they would be capable of teamwork or even reaching any kind of understanding.
Morgan's loyal friend occasionally tried to intervene, but Stacy Hall shut him down as well. Eventually, she retreated to one of the front rows of the bus with her belongings and stared resentfully at the buildings rushing past outside.
Once Louis turned his attention back to his surroundings, he surveyed the group. Cathy's friends were having a wonderful time; the two girls on the team centered around the boy nicknamed Sticky Josh were chatting calmly and paying no attention to the third member, who repeatedly tried to join the conversation with inappropriate remarks; Morgan's team had already fallen apart before things had even begun; and then there was their own. Sherlock was still breathing softly with his head resting on Louis's shoulder, even though they were already approaching the university's training grounds.
It was not far from the city. They were heading northeast, toward Westbere Marshes.
They soon left Canterbury behind, and the houses gave way first to stretches of untouched green grass and then to a belt of woodland. Beyond the sparse trees, small ponds could be seen, forming marshland deeper within; by going around it, one could reach an area the first-year students had only visited a handful of times, and even then not for investigations, merely for cross-country running.
The area served the training of aspiring detectives in many different ways. Several outdoor crime scene training sites were located there, places that could not be recreated inside the university buildings. A forest, a marshland, or a riverbed would have been difficult and unnecessary to construct artificially when they existed within arm's reach of the city.
There was also an outdoor shooting range on the grounds, the counterpart to the indoor facility on campus that the students had already visited before. Shooting was not among the championship events; it had its own separate competition, which would not be held again until autumn. However, the range served as a base for the arriving teams. Students from every university finished their courses there, and the bus carrying Sherlock's group also turned toward the entrance of the shooting range.