Welcome to my first attempt at fanfiction, hope you will like it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes, or anyone portrayed in this story. I also do not own Harry Potter. They belong to their respective owners.
Also, it spoils the Harry Potter 1, so read at your own discretion.

I actually liked violin. I wasn't ever forced to play them, so we had a mostly positive relationship, someone could even say, good. I liked them. I Liked them, until I moved in with a man called Sherlock Holmes. Please don't get me wrong, Sherlock is such a brilliant violinist. In my opinion he plays very good music. I like to listen to it, Sometimes. Not at three PM.

Now it is three PM and I am not sleeping. And please don't think it was my idea, or worse, my desire, No, not at all! As always in this apartment, it was Sherlock's fault. For some reason he thinks when he doesn't need to sleep, I don't need to either. So now he is playing violin at three pm! I can't even tell if it's his own work or he is playing decomposing man's composition. If he wasn't already dead, I would probably go to kill him myself. Everyone, be that Beethoven or Mozart or… I don't know, I am not musician, I am a doctor!

I REALLY HATE VIOLIN!

I am getting up from my bed and go to knock angrily on his doors. No response. I am not surprised at all. For now he is playing possum, because he knows how angry I am. In Afghanistan we take some sand and fill our friend's underwear with it, not only that but even the bed and other stuff. No one ever tried again to be loud after midnight.

I am thinking about doing that to Sherlock.

However that means that I must go into his bedroom… Now that I think about it again, going into his bedroom? No way. Well, maybe with gas mask. I sure should go to ask Miss Hudson if she has a gas mask. I give up and turn around to make some tea. After I do like five steps back he is playing again. For god's sake!

Half past four and he's still playing. It is incredible, but also awfully irritating. Twenty seven minutes in row! I counted it because I am praying silently for him to stop. Really when I don't have enough sleep I am worse than Moriarty himself. I bet Sherlock knows it.

I am not a believer but if this is not purgatory, nothing is.

"SHERLOCK!" I shouted angrily. Possum again. It takes almost a full minute then he resumes playing, or maybe he decided to start over. I can't decide, for me it's still just annoying way to annoy me. I am going to read in my sofa until he stops or I fall asleep. It's not the worst position I could slept in, you know, when I was in college I sometimes fell asleep in shower and once even on toilette, using the doors as a pillow. They said it was funny.

So, as I said, I decided to read so I pick one of books I wanted to read long time ago. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone.

Five in the morning and I'm still reading, when suddenly the doors from Sherlock's room creaked and our genius leaves his hideout.

His first destination is kitchen, then back inside his room and then returns once again. I can feel his gaze on the back of my head.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"I'm reading" I reply

"At this hour?" he looks surprised. "You are usually asleep at this hour."

I can't muster enough strength to throw this book at him. Maybe it is because I can't just throw away a boy who survived. So I allow Sherlock with his childish smile to leave the premises. I'm just at the part where Harry's fate is in Sorting's hat figurative hands. I'm so tense I almost can't breathe.

An hour later our black-haired detective leans over my shoulder.

"John?"

"mmhm?" is my response

"Wont you write on your blog?" I can feel he is somewhat disappointed. His ego may have been hurt.

"No" I say as I turn the page. Malfoy is reminding me of Mycroft. Arrogant, rich and his name begins with M, truly a devilish combination!

Sherlock walks around me twice before he asks another of his inquisitive questions. "What are you reading?"

"Harry Potter" I indulge him.

"Trivial" says our consultant detective.

"Yup" I answer, without even listening to him

Sherlock makes a long face and leaves.

I have absolutely no idea what makes him behave like this. While I'm concentrating on the story, Sherlock is intrigued and walks in circles around me every 30 minutes and studies me with his unbelieving gaze. At Eight o'clock he arrives in the living room with a triumphant look on his face.
"I just proved Einstein's theory of relativity wrong!"

"Mmhm" I don't care what he says, so I'm not listening.

"John? John.."

"Mmhm".

"I'm having a date with Molly." He tests both my patience and my perception at once.

"Mmhm".

"I'm getting myself a tattoo!" he's relentless

"Oh really?" I finally raise my gaze. He looks at me angrily, says something about me being worse than Miss Hudson and leaves the living room. Then he practices Russian Cossacks songs, they are both fast and annoying at once, but I don't care anymore.

"We have no more milk" He comes from his room to tell me this. It is around noon and I'm halfway through the book

"Why do you need milk?" I ask him while putting down the book. I know, he won't allow any discussion about milk, so I get my wallet and take my leave. I'm convinced that if I get him his milk, maybe he will leave me alone. Soon the great finale will come and I need to concentrate on that.

When I come back, Sherlock is sitting in my place and reads MY Harry Potter. I'm silently complaining while deciding to check my emails on my computer. Maybe he will grow bored.

"That's unbelievable!"

"What is unbelievable, Sherlock?" I growled

"It's a completely obvious that the sorting hat was wrong! Harry Potter survived Voldemort's attack, he must have had affinity for dark magic. Therefore his place is obviously in Slytherin!"

"Yeah, sure, whatever" I grumbled

An hour later, Sherlock once again decided to get on my nerves by squeaking. I didn't even know he could make such noise, but it was annoying!

"WHAT?!"

"It's completely obvious that it couldn't have possibly been Snape. Why would he let the dog bite his leg, instead of putting the mutt to sleep? A sleeping potion would have done the trick and it must have been primitive for him to make one. Judging by the obsessive behavior Quirrel was displaying, it is apparent that it is his doing. Even the troll in the basement was playing in his cards. Surely he must have entered the third floor, to get the philosopher stone guarded by the dog. The same stone Hagrid took from the safe when he went to get Harry, I bet Voldemort is trying to get it."

"Sherlock…" I warned him.

"He must be hidden somewhere ein the school, but where? Where would I be if I was Voldemort?"

"SHERLOCK!" I was almost screaming.

"When he died, he lost his physical body, therefore he must have gotten himself a different one. Oh, how brilliant! Of course he is in Quirrel, where he gets unlimited access to the Hogwarts, he even gets a valid reason to study a dark magic. Genius! He must be in his head!"

"YOU JUST RUINED HARRY POTTER FOR ME!" I yelled, he really just did that. I furiously left the living room to be alone in my room. I hate when he does that. He always spoils the story, Eragon, Hamlet, Da Vinci's Code, for god's sake he recited the whole Hamlet without the book. I say the skull part was awesome but…

"Are you angry at me?" he knocks on my door after an hour.

"Yes"

"And will you be angry even if I give you a present?" He tried

"I don't want another organs" I give him an evil eye through the doors.

"No, it is something better!"

"Come on in" I allowed him to get inside with a sigh.

Sherlock enters the room with triumphantly presenting a DVD.

"What is it?" I ask suspiciously.

"Harry Potter." He says proudly.

"Where did you get it?"

"I pirated it"

"You?" I was surprised.

"Me" he was even more proud

"Really?"

"Oh well, Lestrade pirated it for me. Do you want to watch it?"

I look him in the eye and then say: "Yes, I do"