Sherlock gazed quizzically around the hall. It was full of frustrated students, faces compressed in concentration, twirling in circles like idiots. Of course, no one had bothered to learn the theory. Of course, no one had bothered to teach it.
It wasn't the turning that did it. That was just a reminder that this wasn't blunt force magic, you couldn't force yourself through. You had to have focus, bring yourself to a point; twist into what everyone else thought of as nothingness and what Sherlock thought of as a fourth spatial dimension, and bring yourself out again at a different point. You occupied one of two positions in the universe, your destination the other. It took extraordinarily strong visualization.
Sherlock slowly straightened his scarf, flipped the collar of the long coat he wore in place of a cloak, and turned on the spot. He reappeared at the front of the hall, directly behind the Ministry-appointed Apparition instructor.
His voice had only begun recently to change, but when it dropped, as it did now, it promised a rich baritone.
"Boo."
Sherlock wondered idly why a man who placed such emphasis on the skill of Apparition chose to run screaming through the massed students instead of simply disappearing and reappearing at the end of the hall. Raucous laughter echoing through the room indicated that he was not the only one to wonder.
Sherlock turned in time to see the headmaster excuse himself hurriedly. Sweeping through the crowds of hushed students, he left the hall rather more quickly than was dignified, tears streaming behind his half-moon spectacles.