Consulting Sniper (Moran's Story)

Chapter 11: Oxford University

By that summer, Mycroft had already graduated. So I never actually saw her again. Actually, by then, she was already living with Sherlock at 221B and teaching her how to be a consulting detective.

But that's an entirely different story. Literally.

My life hadn't started yet. Not in the way you'd think. You probably wonder why this book is even called "Consulting Sniper" in the first place. I haven't really done any sniping yet.

I'll tell you now how I met Jim Moriarty.

Much of my life revolves around him, similarly to how much of Mycroft's revolved around the Diogenes. Except for the fact that the Diogenes Club is not a person that could die at any time and leave you with nothing...

I had chosen to major in Psychology. I'm glad I did. If I hadn't, I would never have met Jim. He taught a major-specific Psychology of the Human Mind class that there were only three seats left in when I enrolled.

My first day of class wasn't anything special. I walked in on the first day of June to the lecture hall. There were hundreds of students in there, and I sat somewhere in the back.

Our professor walked in right on time. It didn't take me too long to realize that he was just slightly different from most of my other professors.

He was younger than most. He wore an expensive black streamlined suit, not sweatpants like my English professor did. He had dark hair that was gelled over to the side and these dark eyes that looked like bottomless pits. I was sitting in the back, and I felt like I was sitting right in front of him. I love people like that.

I can tell you everything he said when he first presented himself to us. I'll never forget it.

"Hello, class. Welcome to Psychology of the Human Mind. I am Professor Moriarty, and I'll be doing your lectures for this summer semester. As I see there's a lot of you, I'll be looking for a teacher's assistant later on so we can possibly split into groups. So let's begin," he said, turning to the chalkboard.

I heard his accent, and it was distinctly Irish-sounding. That was something we had in common, I guess. We were both away from home.

I'm not going to tell you that I had a crush on Jim from the second I saw him like other students probably could. In fact, I had a strict rule that I followed with regards to that. But something about him struck me; maybe it was that he taught something I was passionate about and was also not terrible-looking?

I don't know. But knowing what happened to us, me and him, after we met, I can barely write this part... I've tried a few times and threw it out, my rage almost uncontrollable. How could I not get it right?! This is the farthest I've ever gotten.

I'll spare you the dull and boring details about how the first half of my semester went. Basically, I did very well. Better than any of the other students. Maybe it was my age? I'll never know. But after class one day, when I was luckily sitting toward the front of the hall, Professor Moriarty called me up to the stage.

Everyone else had already left, and we were alone. But it wasn't like that yet! It didn't get like that for a while, at least not consciously between us. Moriarty shook my hand when I stepped up to the stage.

"You are Sabrina Moran?"

"I am, yes. It is nice to meet you face-to-face, Professor Moriarty."

"Oh, you're American! Well, you're my best student by far. Highest grades in the class. And, as you probably know, I need a teacher assistant. I was wondering... Would you be up to the job?"

"Of course! And in case you were wondering, I am a citizen of Great Britain," I said. "It would be an honor to work so closely with a professor. I'm excited about this opportunity. When should we meet for the first time to discuss class?"

"Are you free now?"

I checked my watch. 6:00 pm. "I don't have any more classes today. I guess so. I don't have to be back at Conduit Street until midnight before I'm at risk of being locked out of my apartment."

Jim's eyes widened. "Lock you out?" he asked, smiling in disbelief. "Why would your landlord lock you out?"

"It's not the best neighbourhood in London, Professor Moriarty, if you know what I mean. He's afraid someone will break in. Except there's not much in my apartment for him to steal, except for my... Yeah, I should get back before midnight."

"Alright," Jim said. "You know what? Don't even call me Professor Moriarty anymore. Just call me Jim. Teacher Assistants aren't usually so formal with one another."

"Okay," I said, not repeating his name. He noticed my stand-offishness and took it for what it was. "Well, I do have some lesson plans if you'd like to look them over."

He took me out of the building and showed me to his actual office in another hall I'd never been to.

"This my office," he said, showing me into a late room with papers all over the place and countless books on shelves lining the room. Think Mycroft's Diogenes Club Stranger's Room on steroids, and Jim's office is what you'd get.

"Oh, wait one second!" Jim suddenly yelled, picking up three large folders and shoving them into a designated desk drawer. "Classified. Sorry."

"Alright, fine," I responded. "So where are those lesson plans?"

We sat in his office for five hours going over papers. It was eleven o'clock by the time I was on my way out.

"Well, you should be able to get back in time, right?"

"Yeah. I'll drive sixty kilometers per hour in alley streets. But it's worth it, trust me," I said when Jim began to look a little bit apologetic.

"You're ready for Thursday's class. Everything's in there for your first lesson as a teacher's assistant," Jim said, referring to the file folder I was holding in my hand.

"Great. Talk to you later, Jim," I said, shaking his hand and beginning to walk away.

Crap! I'd almost told Jim about my guns at one point. Did I think he'd mind? Probably not.

Now, knowing what I know, I wish I'd told him earlier.