Summary: You know when teachers like each other? It's basically that, except you're the teachers. And you kiss.

QOTP: If you were a teacher, what would you teach?

Word Count: 1371

Jim -
The psychopathic History professor and the shy Calculus professor

You're in your classroom ten minutes before any of your students are supposed to show up. Shuffling through papers on your desk, you suddenly hear the sound of your door closing.

"Hello, Professor Y/L/N."

A man enters, walking slowly toward your desk. You recognize him instantly and your face heats up, for you find him extremely attractive.

"P-Professor Moriarty," you stutter out, unable to look him in the eyes. He chuckles at this, finally reaching your desk. It's silent, so you look up; he's looking at you expectantly. You swallow. "Can-Can I help you?"

"Well..." he trails off, smirking. You, somehow, blush harder and look back down at your hands, which are rested on the desk. After a few seconds, you feel something on your hand. He's rested his hand on yours. Your breath hitches.

"You're very... intriguing, Professor," he says, apparently closer; you can feel his breath. Almost sheepishly, you glance up at him. Your heart beating quickly, your cheeks insurmountably red, and your breathing fast, you're unable to move as he leans forward and presses his lips to yours. It's slow, but too short for your liking.

He pulls away as students flood in, some catching just the last second of the kiss. You watch numbly as he lets go of your hand, chuckles at your tomato-red face, then walks out of the classroom.

"Professor?" a student asks; you're frozen at your desk. You jump, then immediately take off after him. He's about a hundred meters away from your classroom door. Your previous shock forgotten, you run to catch up.

"Hey!" you shout. He calmly turns and you're vaguely aware that you're alone.

He stands and waits for you to reach him. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah," you reply before crashing your lips to his. To your surprise and joy, he seems shocked, but he almost immediately kisses back.

And it's over all too soon for him.

"I've got a class, Professor," you say, "but I think I'd like to continue our... meeting."

John -
The fun Spanish teacher and the nervous Anatomy teacher

You're in the middle of teaching a Spanish 1 class conjugation when you receive a text:

'Sorry to bother you, but I've got an exchange student and I can't speak Spanish. - J.H.'

You chuckle to yourself, then tell your class you'll be out for a bit. The teacher across the hall agreed to make sure the class didn't get too loud.

Quickly, you make your way upstairs to the Anatomy teacher's classroom. With a quick tap on the door, you walk in to a relived John Watson.

"Hi, um, thank you," he says nervously. "She's-She's sitting in the back corner over there..."

You walk over to the girl he indicated as he continues the lesson. "Hola. ¿Cómo te llamas?"

"Sabrina."

"¿Tienes tú traductor?"

"Ella no esta aqui hoy."

You bite your lip, trying to think of what to do, unknowingly driving John crazy; he got distracted by you at almost the second you started speaking. His students of course, knew exactly why.

He was usually a bit stutter-y and nervous, but he was an absolute mess around you - blushing, completely unable to make eye contact, stuttering, and saying the stupidest things. He cringed after every conversation, but you found him adorable. Most of the students shipped you two - some even tried to help him ask you out. He, of course, didn't.

"¿Hablas ingles?" you ask Sabrina.

She takes a moment to respond. "A little."

You stand and turn to John. "Call the office, see if anyone can be her translator for today."

"Uh... yeah. Yes. Right. On it," he says, going to the phone on the wall.

After he calls the office, you go to leave, but he grabs your wrist before you make it out the door. You look at him expectingly, with a light blush to your cheeks. He seems shocked by what he did, but he doesn't let go.

"Um... Gracias."

"De nada... John."

You're starting to get a bit flustered and the students practically lean forward, waiting for something to happen. It seems like forever before you press your lips to his for just a split second. Immediately, you turn and walk out the door into the hallway, hearing outbursts from the students.

John, after a few seconds of shock, flings the door open and runs after you. "Y/N," he says, catching up; you didn't get very far. Sheepish and filled with regret, you turn around.

He kisses you again, this time longer, and you're surprised he worked up the confidence to do so, but you're not complaining.

Suddenly, you hear someone clear their throat. The translator from the office.

"I'll... I'll be going to my classroom now."

Sherlock -
Two English teachers. One is grumpy and rude, the other is awkward and adorable.

You're explaining a creative writing essay to your students when there's a knock on your classroom door. The kid closest to the door opens it.

Two boys walk in, both carrying a box. "Books," they say. Then, they leave.

Confused, you walk over to the boxes. "I didn't order any books..." you trail off.

Sure enough, the label doesn't have your name on it.

"To: Sherlock Holmes," you read to yourself. Then, you look back up at your students. "You guys hang tight," you say. "I'll be right back."

No, you didn't have to take the boxes yourself. Yes, they were very heavy. Yes, you dropped them twice.

But Sherlock Holmes is hot.

When you make it all the way upstairs and to his room, two boxes in your arms, you hear him through the door.

"This isn't that hard. I'm sure even the worst of you could achieve at least a B." You knock with your foot, then hear him shout, "Come in!" Of course, you can't open the door, so you knock again. Again, "Come in! It's unlocked!" And you knock again. You hear a loud, exasperated sigh, then the door opens. "What reason could you possibly have for inter- Oh. Y/N. I-I'm sorry, I didn't... Here, let me take those."

He immediately takes the boxes to his desk and you follow behind him. The students smirk, knowing full and well how he feels about you; the second you walk into the room, he's the farthest thing from moody. Stuttering, even.

"Those are, uh, books," you say. "They delivered them to my room by mistake."

"Why didn't you have your students bring them up?" he asks. Immediately, you blush, shrugging. He checks the labels, then looks up at you apologetically. "This one is actually yours..."

"I didn't order anything."

"It's got your name on it."

"Are you kidding-"

"I'll take it down for you." The both of you stop, surprised that he offered - especially at how quickly. He clears his throat. "If-If you'd like, that is."

"Uh, yeah. Yeah. That would be nice. Thanks."

He picks the box up and walks past you, brushing your shoulder. You go to follow, but you aren't out the door before you hear a student's comment. "Holmes is so in love."

Sherlock stops and you run into his back. The door closes behind you.

He sets the box down and adorably bites his lip. "Truthfully," he says, walking closer to you, "the box isn't yours..."

"What-"

And then he kisses you, and you're so shocked you can't move for the first few seconds. You can tell he's panicking because you aren't kissing back, but you finally get ahold of yourself and wrap your arms around him.

You're vaguely aware of the noise coming from inside the classroom when he pulls away. Then, he picks up his box and walks straight back inside.

Numbly, you start to walk back down the hallway, but then realize what's just happened and turn, running back.

You open the door while he's in the middle of his lecture.

"Call me."

And then you're gone.