Defense against the dark arts was their favorite class. Sherlock and John waited in line to perform the Riddikulus spell they had just learned.
"What do you think yours is going to turn into Sherlock?" John asked fiddling his wand. Sherlock thought a moment.
"Probably Mycroft." They both laughed. "What about you? What do you think yours is going to be?" John tapped his chin with the tip of his wand.
"I don't know actually." John shrugged.
"Is that because you're afraid of so many things you don't know what it will turn up as?" Sherlock giggled. John shoved him jokingly.
"Come off it you lousy prick."
"Well don't worry. Whatever it is, I'll save you if I need to." Sherlock said. John thought he was joking and turned around to shove him again, but when he looked on his face, he found he was being serious. Sherlock waved John forward. It was Johns turn to perform the spell.
As John walked forward he heard the boggart inside the chest give a low grumble. The latch rattled. John prepared himself for whatever was about to come out. The teacher gave a flick of his wand, and the lid of the chest flew open. Johns eyes went wide and there was a gasp from the entire class. Quickly John turned his head to see if Sherlock was still there behind him. He was. And he had the same look on his face as the rest of the class.
John turned back around. Sherlock was crawling out of the chest. Blood was splattered all across the side of his face and was oozing onto the floor. As he emerged from inside the chest, John could see his entire body was covered in thick, red blood. It poured from a gash in his stomach. He held onto his side and stepped out of the chest. John started to turn pail. He forgot the spell; he forgot how to speak and how to breathe. He just stood there petrified.
Sherlock looked up at John and began to slowly limp forward towards him. He held out his hand.
"John. John, help me please." Sherlock whispered. John couldn't move. He knew it wasn't the real Sherlock, but the sight still made him sick. He wanted to help. Sherlock fell over on the floor, blood still flowing freely from the gashes on his body. Tears started to form in Johns eyes as Sherlock looked up at John with pain and hurt.
"Please." Sherlock said again. A tear streaked down Sherlock's face, and so did Johns. John felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Just say the spell John." Sherlock said from behind him. "Riddikuls. It's not real." John shook his head.
"I can't." John turned his back towards the boggart and buried himself into Sherlocks embrace. Sherlock enveloped him. And looked down at himself lying in the pool of blood. He hugged John tighter. The kids behind them talked. Some were snickering, but some were admiring their friendship.
Sherlock pulled John in tighter as he saw his figure on the floor begin to change. He watched as it changed from him, into John. Still covered in the blood. Still with the same look of pain. But Sherlock would not stand for it. He gently waved his wand.
"Riddikuls." He said softly, still hugging John. The boggart on the floor changed from a blood covered best friend, into a water puddle. Sherlock pulled John in closer. "It's gone. It's okay." Sherlock whispered. "Nothing like that will ever happen."