Unlike for some new first years, the station was familiar to Sherlock. He had been there multiple times in the past six years with his brother Mycroft. But it was different this year. This year, he himself would be departing from Platform 9 3/4, and going to Hogwarts. He was nervous, but completely refused to let it show on his face as he fought the urge to grab hold of his mother's hand, or maybe even Mycroft's. That's how nervous he was. "Come on, Sherlock, we don't want to miss the train!" Mrs Holmes hurried him along, pushing the trolley laden with cases and Mycroft's owl along in front of her. Sherlock begrudgingly picked up his pace.

The problem with school, he had decided, was the other people. If it wasn't for them, Sherlock would be so eager to get to Hogwarts that he would have run through the barrier between platforms nine and ten already. No, his problem was that he was going to have to share living space with lots of other people; he didn't even get his own room where he could go to get away from their inevitable stupidity. That, and people had a habit of not liking him. It wasn't Sherlock's fault, not really, he'd just never been very good at not upsetting or annoying people. "Sherlock!" The eleven year old jumped at the sound of his name. He had been completely lost in his own thoughts "Oh, erm, yeah?" He said, looking up at his brother.

"Are you coming or not?" Mycroft said impatiently, straightening his green and sliver Slytherin tie. "Are you alright, Sherlock?" He added in a softer voice, noticing the expression on his younger brother's face.

"Yeah… M'fine." Sherlock muttered.

"Excellent." Mrs Holmes beamed. She took Sherlock's hand, and despite his half-hearted complaints he was thankful for it. The barrier suddenly seemed much scarier than it had the past six years. He closed his eyes and walked through it with his mother, Mycroft only a short way behind.

The noise of the platform hit him like a wave. Being prone to sensory overloads, this was never a good thing. Sherlock had stuff his fingers in his ears and keep his eyes firmly shut to avoid going into a panic attack. He had become quite the expert at avoiding them, and hadn't had to experience one for over a year now. Doing this, however, caused him to completely lose his mother and brother in the steam of the train, and he suddenly felt very, very alone.

Just then, he felt a familiar hand on his back and Mrs Holmes was with him again. He let out a small, involuntary sigh of relief and cautiously opened his eyes and removed his fingers from his ears. He liked to consider himself mature and sensible, but for a moment there he had felt like just a lost little child. Maybe that's what he was. Mrs Holmes gave Sherlock an encouraging smile, ruffling his already messy raven black hair. Sherlock managed to smile back and tried desperately to push his worries to the back of his mind. He scanned the platform, now almost adjusted to the sights and sounds. What seemed like thousands of witches and wizards were bustling about, owls screeching and students laughing and chattering. "You'll do fine, love. Trust me." Mrs Holmes murmured into Sherlock's ear, giving him a hug. Sherlock nodded silently, still taking it all in. He had always had very mixed views on large crowds. On the one hand, they were fascinating and interesting, especially to someone with a mind like Sherlock's, who could simply see things about people. But, although he would never admit it to another living soul, there was something almost scary about it. Sherlock blamed his sensory overload problem and the fact that he could not yet work out how to stop making deductions. It could be quite difficult to handle large crowds sometimes; they made his head hurt.

Some time during Sherlock's reverie, Mycroft reappeared, pinning his new Head Boy badge that he had reminded everyone about every day for the whole summer onto his clothes, despite the fact he would have to take it off and change into his school robes on the train later. Show-off. In fairness, it was rather hypocritical of Sherlock to criticise Mycroft for being a show-off, when he himself would probably do the same thing. Sherlock didn't particularly care. "Sherlock, are you ready?" Mycroft asked, straightening Sherlock's jacket.

"Stop it… Yeah, I am." Sherlock said as calmly as he could.

"Good. Let's go then. I might not be coming home for Christmas this year, Mummy, what with it being NEWT year. I'll have to study if I want to do as well in them as I did in my OWLs." Mycroft smiled in a self-satisfied way.

"Oh, Mycroft honey, it won't hurt to take a few weeks off!" Mrs Holmes smiled, shaking her head. "Don't decide now, decide closer to the time and write to me. Sherlock will be coming home, won't you dear?"

"Yes, I suppose." Sherlock nodded. Privately, he wished Mycroft would stay at Hogwarts for Christmas. Sherlock loved those moments when his mother wasn't working and Mycroft wasn't around. Mrs Holmes beamed and Sherlock smiled back, a curl of hair falling down into his eyes. Mrs Holmes shook her head again and affectionately put the curl back into place. "Mummy! The train's going to leave!" Mycroft said impatiently.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear. It's just that both you boys have grown up so fast!" She smiled, but with a strange, almost sad look in her eye. Sherlock wasn't really sure what to say to that, so he just wrapped his arms around her and gave her a hug. "I'll miss you, Mummy." He whispered, so only she could hear him.

"I'll miss you too Sherlock." She whispered back "Be good, try and make friends and don't annoy your brother too much."

"Yes, Mummy." Sherlock agreed, rolling his eyes. Mrs Holmes turned her attention to Mycroft, and soon was waving them both off as they climbed onto the train.

"You okay now, Sherlock?" Mycroft asked once they were on board "I have to go and meet the prefects now, can you find a compartment by yourself?"

"Course I can." Sherlock said, a little defensively. Mycroft shrugged and wandered off down the train, leaving Sherlock just standing there, holding a suitcase. Sherlock decided quickly that he couldn't just stand there all day; he had to do as Mycroft said and find a compartment. A short way down the train, there was a nearly empty one with only two people in. "Hello." Sherlock said as he pulled open the door. The people inside looked about his age, one girl and one boy. "Hello." The girl replied, slightly coldly. "I'm Sally Donovan, who are you?" She spoke quickly, and almost coldly.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock replied quietly, trying to keep his voice calm. The girl's eyes narrowed. "Holmes? Like Mycroft Holmes?"

"He's my brother, yes." Sherlock said simply, utterly bemused as to why this was significant.

"Oh. Go away, then." Sally rose to her feet and made to physically push him out of the door. Sherlock was taken aback by her sudden dismissal of him. "Why?" He asked, a small frown forming on his face.

"Because," She said patronisingly, like someone would to a child refusing to understand that one and one makes two, "my sister Anthea says that Mycroft Holmes is really horrible and a freak and everyone hates him." She seemed to almost relish in telling Sherlock this.

"Well," Sherlock somehow managed to keep his voice level. It was at that moment that he decided he and Sally Donovan were never going to get on, and that wasn't really much of a loss. "I'll leave then."

A few more compartments along, Sherlock found one that just had one blonde boy in. He thought it was worth a try. He pulled open the door. "Hi." The boy said, smiling shyly. He seemed perfectly nice. "Hello." Sherlock greeted and sat down opposite him. "I'm Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson." The boy smiled. For Sherlock, this was pretty much successful social interaction. Nobody had thrown him out of the compartment yet, at least. "First year too, huh? That platform thing's really cool; I don't know when I'll get over all this wizard stuff." John smile became wider.

"Yeah, I'm first year. My brother Mycroft's in seventh though, so I've been on the platform loads of times before."

"Really? Do you come from a family of wizards?" John's face lit up with interest.

"Sort of. Mummy's a witch, but Father's a Muggle." John nodded, almost in amazement at Sherlock's words.

"I wish one of my parents was a wizard."

"Oh. You're Muggle born, then?" It wasn't really a question, the fact John was a Muggle born had been obvious from the moment Sherlock had entered the compartment. John nodded. "Is your brother jealous that you're a wizard and he's not?" Sherlock asked lightly.

"What?" John gasped, staring at Sherlock.

"Your brother, Harry. Is he jealous?"

"How did you know?" John asked incredulously.

"I didn't know, I noticed. The note in your pocket. From here, I can see it's signed by someone called Harry, the fact it says 'love from' tells me he's a relation. No kisses, so sibling is looking likely." Sherlock leant back, trying to stop the self-satisfied smile growing on his face.

"Brilliant. That was… brilliant." John shook his head in amazement. Sherlock smiled, slightly bemusedly at the praise.

"Do you think so? That's not what people usually say?"

"What do they usually say?" John was still staring, taking in this extraordinary boy before him.

"'Go away.'" Sherlock shrugged. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"Close. Harry's short for Harriet." John explained. "Still brilliant, though."

"Thanks." Sherlock was rather enjoying being praised for his deductions, something which didn't happen all that often.