Christmas at Hogwarts was wonderful for any dedicated Ravenclaw- the library was to die for, an intellectual's dream, what with rows upon overflowing rows of leather bound spell books. But for on third- year in particular, it was an escape to happiness.

Sherlock Holmes didn't like going home for Christmas holiday- Mycroft had graduated from Hogwarts and already held a "minor" position in the Muggle Government(though the Holmes family was pureblood, they enjoyed muggle life; in fact, Sherlock planned on being a detective instead of an Auror), and Mummy and Father were boring, so he opted to stay at school this year.

As soon as he woke up Christmas morning, he washed and changed, ignoring his presents under the tree adorned with blue and bronze decorations, and headed to the library. One of the many perks of staying at school was that eating was optional, so breakfast was skipped. We was very eager to have the library on whole to himself so he could read without being bombarded by idiots. On a normal day, handfuls of slackers would come up to the young Ravenclaw to ask for help with homework. The first two years, he helped gladly, but he made a fatal mistake: he made off-hand deductions about people's lives. Rumors spread, and he was quickly deemed freak. People still used him for help, sometimes, but only a few Hufflepuffs who he could tolerate. Solitude in the library, then, was heaven- sent.

He piratically ran through those familiar oak doors. It took him less than a minute to find the book he wanted, then curl up in his favorite chair by the window, his robe covering his feet as if he were at home; in a sense, one could say he was. In fact, that's why he wore a robe on top of his comfy button-up an dark jeans(that's comfy to him-the Holmes family is fancy)- it felt like a dressing gown, and he felt pride in his house.

Sherlock had been lost in his book for some time, absorbing new spells and sorting them in his Mind Palace, when a familiar voice called out. He looked up, surprised. In front of him, a boy his age with sandy blond hair and a warm smile stood. It was his friend, John Watson.

Many people speculated as to how the odd pair became: One was a Ravenclaw, the other a Gryffindor; one distant, calculating, a freak, the other friendly, agreeable, warm; one mysterious, with the air of a Slytherin, the other loyal to his friend and comforting with the air of a Hufflepuff.

In reality, they perfected each other. When the question arouse as to who had stolen the Sorting Hat as a joke, Sherlock immediately volunteered to find it. As Sherlock paced the grounds upon the second hour of the search, the came across the John, deduced his (dead, pity) mother was a muggle detective("Of sorts...") and thought he could be of use. The conundrum was solved two hours later, the Hat was returned, 50 points were taken from Ravenclaw and Slytherin ("Only a Ravenclaw could figure it out, and only a Slytherin would have the cunning to do it," Sherlock had said.) and 75 points were given back to Ravenclaw, and 25 were given to Gryffindor for John's help. But more importantly, a great friendship was established.

"There you are!" John said, taking a seat next to his friend. "Wasn't expecting to see you at all," Sherlock replied. Oh, he thought, and began to deduce. Problems with Harriet, obviously. But he remained silent.

"Always nice to feel welcome!" John said with fake hurt in his voice. Sherlock said nothing in reply, only rolling his eyes. " Harry's being a real-" John proceeded to say a word his mother would have slapped him for, I'm sure, then continued, "-So I decided to stay here."

Sherlock deduced that his sister had been making fun of John's magic again. John was muggle born, which could always be a difficult situation- either you were made tormented by Jim Moriarty's gang of Slytherins, or you were made fun of at home.

Sherlock and John had a bit of a history already with Jim Moriarty. There had been rumors of them being a bit too close,(bit of a scandal still, in the '80s), of Sherlock being the one to steal the Sorting Hat and return it for his own glory, and both of them get into the Dark Arts. It was obvious that Moriary caused it, and all because he was bored.

Harry's torment of her brother added to all of that kindled Sherlock's rage. But again, he said nothing. Wanting to break the silence, John said, "Wanna go to the Great Hall, get some breakfast?"

"Not hungry."

"I'm starving!"

"Go ahead! I'll meet you on the grounds later."

"But, Sherlock, you can't be here by yourself!"

" Obviously I can."

" You shouldn't be alone at any time on Christmas!"

" Then stay with me if you must!"

John fidgeted. He would have, but he could have sworn he saw a certain Irene Adler. "People will talk."

"People are stupid," Sherlock replied, still not looking up from his book.

" Yeah, would you say that about the Girl?" John asked, devilishly. The Girl. The nickname the whole school had for Adler, and the name Sherlock called her, in respect for the time she mentally equaled even him, Slytherin that she was.

Sherlock calculated the possible repercussions of the Girl seeing John and he alone together in a corner of a deserted library, and relented to John's idea. He snapped his book closed, signed it out, almost snapping the quill as well with all the pressure he used, and stormed out of the library towards the Great Hall, John right behind him.

" Idiots!" Sherlock spat, voice rising, "Love and sentiment and intimacy, ALL they care about, controlling their minds-"

"Sherlock-" John tried to interject, tugging at his friends robe sleeve.

"-And you and I can't even walk down the halls together without being accused of being in a romantic relationship, when we are merely colleges-"

" Oh, Sherlock, dear!" a honey-sweet female voice cooed. Sherlock and John turned around to see a fifth year Slytherin in a scandalously short skirt and tight shirt under her black and green robes, with her silky hair done up perfectly, and her make-up done as if she went to a parlor.

" Hello Irene," Sherlock said, not- quite faking a smile. The game was on.