FF – Sherlock=HP

Sand in the hair

Warnings: N/A
Characters: John Watson, Sherlock Holmes, cameo by Greg Lestrade, mentions of others
Summary: John and Sherlock have issues they need to sort out. Set in the same verse as Dew and Warmth. Quick drabble based on 'morning, afternoon and night'.

A/N: Hi. Thanks Kitana for your very inspirational and prompting dreams!

"Move." Sherlock glared at a group of first years, who squirmed and shifted until there was sufficient space for him to sit. Across from John, Lestrade sniggered.

"Sherlock!" John started exasperatedly. "You can't just bully them into going away." He doesn't bother asking why Sherlock insisted sitting at the Gryffindor table – they've been through that several times over the past three years already.

Sherlock sniffed. "But I can. Anyway, we're going to Hogsmeade today."

John paused in eating his toast. "What? Weren't you busy with a case from Gabriels? Something about missing hawkeye feathers."

"Change of plans, I need ingredients for an experiment." Sherlock explained dryly. "Are you done?"

"Well, I've got plans of my own." John sighed when Sherlock gaped openly at him, as if wondering aloud why John actually had the audacity to have plans that did not involve, or making plans without discussing them with Sherlock. Alright, he was probably overthinking it. "I've got Quidditch tryouts, promised Greg I'd help. No buts, Sherlock."

Sherlock wrinkled his face in distaste. "Quidditch? Dull. You're above that."

"Hey!" Lestrade exclaimed. "Quidditch is a perfectly decent past time."

"Of course you'd say that, Captain." Sherlock smirked as he leaned across the table. "Cologne, is it? Hoping to charm some girl from Slytherin, going by the glances you keep throwing at their table?" He concluded triumphantly, leaning back in his seat. John rolled his eyes as Lestrade spluttered.

"Really, Sherlock, really?" John pushed himself up from the bench. "Well, I'm done here, so, see you at the pitch, Greg. You're free to come too, Sherlock. Mostly, I think."

Sherlock glowered after him as he walked away.

He found Sherlock skulking outside the changing rooms after tryouts.

"You've got sand in your hair." Sherlock stated as John approached.

"What?" He brushed his hair with a hand immediately, self-conscious. "Yeah, it was really warm out there, the ground all dried up and all that sand." He gives up and puts away his things instead. "What are you doing here, by the way?"

Sherlock shrugged. "I've finished the case." He held up a chocolate frog and pressed it into John's hands.

John stared at it curiously. "What's this for?"

Sherlock huffed. "Don't be obvious, John."

John sighed as he pocketed it. "You know, sometimes, I really don't understand you." They walked in silence around the grounds. "Too late for Hogsmeade now then, I suppose." He glanced up at the sky, twilight settling comfortably on the outline of the Forbidden Forest.

Sherlock muttered something that John pretended he didn't hear. "What was it that you wanted, anyway?"

"Moonflower petals and water newts. It's for a potion that's supposed to be left stewing during the new moon." Sherlock replied sulkily. Tomorrow was the last day of the moon cycle, John thinks. No wonder Sherlock was being such a pain about it, then. Water newts were usually a scarcity in the students' storage cupboards.

He pointed at the direction of the Forest. "Well, I've heard those newts were breeding in abundance this season." Sherlock seemed to brighten up, so he continued, "We could peek in for a quick search – hey!"

Sherlock was already dashing towards it, and John hurried to catch up.

The water newts were surprisingly easy enough to find. They caught a good number that were crawling about a pond's bank, and Sherlock seemed to have cheered up a good deal. That quick bit of searching stretched into a couple of hours, however, when most of the moonflowers they found where in bad condition.

Sherlock had been reduced to another one of his sullen mood swings again after the third hour and a fifth patch of moonflowers that was damaged beyond use.

"I suppose there's a hound out there of sorts, out to make my life miserable." Sherlock remarked. It's dark, and their path is only illuminated by the light from the tip of their wands, resulting in frequent trips over roots that seem to mysteriously find their way into their paths.

"Don't be silly, Sherlock." John murmured, and scowled when his foot sunk into quicksand. He tried to pull it out, and groaned when his foot slips deeper in.

"Oh, John, look! Perfect moonflowers!" Sherlock called. "Hurry up!" John looked up and saw Sherlock already some distance away, bending over a cluster of pale flowers that glistened.

"Yeah, just a second!" He shouted, and waving his wand, managed to pull his foot out with a charm. He's about to jog over to where Sherlock was, when his eyes widened in alarm.

A massive spider hung overhead from Sherlock, dangling by the grey thread and what looked like its jaw opened slowly as it neared its prey, its pincer-like limb reaching out.

"Stupefy!" John yelled, just as the spider clawed out, scratching Sherlock on the cheek. The bright spell hit, and the spider fell on to the ground, frozen. He hurried over, where Sherlock stared at it wide-eyed. "That was close, Sherlock, are you alright?"

"Yeah." Sherlock grimaced as he felt the fresh wound on face gingerly. "Ow."

John bit his lip at seeing the bleeding cut. "Let's get back to the castle, you're hurt."

"Wait!" Sherlock protested, frowning. John raised an eyebrow. "The moonflowers."

John rolled his eyes and grabbed a fistful of them, keeping them away in his pocket. "Would that be all, then?"

Sherlock was determinedly not meeting his eyes and was gesturing at the giant spider with his hand vaguely. "Spider. On my leg."

John blinked. "Oh. Oh." The spider was sitting on Sherlock's foot, and he muttered the levitation charm quickly to move it away. He hoped his stunning spell was strong enough as he leaned to look at Sherlock's foot. "I think you've sprained it. Come on, I'll help you up." He pulled Sherlock's arm around his shoulder, and tried to stabilise the both of them on the bumpy ground. "Hell, you're heave, and you don't even eat." Sherlock grunted unhappily as they limped along slowly.

"You know, you're really going to suffer when I'm not around, you know?" He added as he checked overhead for more spiders.

Sherlock frowned at him. "You're not leaving though, are you?"

John sighs, but there's a bit of a smile playing at his lips. "No, Sherlock. Never."