Petals Touch The

"Mr. Holmes."Sherlock froze, every nerve in his body standing on edge as he turned slowly, unwilling to believe that Professor William James Moriarty was speaking to him. But there he was, standing at the edge of the lecture platform, one hand resting casually on the desk, his scarlet eyes fixed intently on Sherlock."May I have a word?"Sherlock’s throat tightened, and for a moment, he considered bolting from the room. But his legs betrayed him, carrying him forward with a traitorous kind of obedience, until he stood directly before William, staring up at him, trying desperately to appear composed."Your grades," William began, his voice even and calm, "are not reflective of your potential."Sherlock blinked. He had expected criticism—disappointment, even. He had not expected this."You’re intelligent," William continued, his gaze unwavering. "It’s obvious. But intelligence without effort will only take you so far. You’re not trying, Mr. Holmes, and that’s a shame.""I… I’ve never been particularly passionate about the subjects I'm not into."A faint smile touched William’s lips, "That’s clear. But tell me—what would it take for you to care?"