John Watson stood in a line with many other eleven year-olds in what he was told was the 'Great Hall', shaking with nerves. He lifted his sandy blond head and stared in amazement once more at the roofless ceiling. Glittering stars twinkled in the night sky and a few meteors whizzed past. "You know," a girl with poufy red hair said, "It's not really the outside you're looking at. It's enchanted to look like the sky above it." John looked at her wide-eyed. "I'm Molly, by the way. Molly Prewett." She stuck out her hand.

John shook it slowly. "Aren't you out of your alphabetical order?" Did he just say that? The first person to talk to him the whole time and he corrected her. He mentally face palmed.

Her face fell. "Yes, but I just wanted to say hi. You looked lonely." She spun on her heel and stomped back to her place in line.

John wanted to apologize, but he let it go and watched as the willowy woman who had met them in the other room brought a stool out to rest in front of the crowd. The simple wooden chair had a very battered looking hat on it. The woman introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, welcomed us all to Hogwarts, and explained that they were soon to be sorted. Apparently, whatever House you're in, was going to be like your family. John was nervous again. What if the sorting came up without a House for him? Would he be kicked out? He'd been so excited when he'd found out that he was a wizard and was accepted into school, that to have to be sent home now would be so depressing. John's hands began to shake.

Then something unexpected happened: the ratty hat on the stool began to sing! It sang a song about the different houses and what they were each like, then when it had finished, the rest of the hall gave it a rousing round of applause. Professor McGonagall unrolled a sheet of paper and began to read names. John watched as each kid went up to the stool and got the hat placed on their head. Two seconds later, their house would be called out and they would receive cheers and applause from the older kids in their house. John watched eagerly as Black, Bellatrix was put in Slytherin along with Crouch, Bartemius Jr. and some fellow named Goyle. There were a few Hufflepuffs, and a large amount of Gryffindors, too, in the first handful of kids.

Hilden, Laura jumped down off the stool and skittered quickly over to the Hufflepuff table before McGonagall called out, "Holmes, Sherlock" and a small boy with long, dark, curly hair and who looked as if he'd never been fed stepped forward from the crowd.

Sherlock was bored. Sure, he was finally at Hogwarts, where he'd been waiting to go since his parents told him about the magical school when he was just little, and especially after Mycroft had gotten his letter six years ago. But Sherlock had thought this process was going to be more exciting than this, and so he was bored. He walked up and sat down on the hard wooden stool. He caught a brief glimpse of Mycroft flashing him a thumbs up from the Slytherin table before the felt hat slipped over his eyes.

"Oh wow." A voice whispered in his ear. "You're an interesting fellow, aren't you? Such a mind in your head, it's almost difficult to fully read. Let's see: you have a large thirst for knowledge, Mr. Holmes, but you also have a potential larger than you know."

"Or maybe my ignorance is just what I let you think." Sherlock thought back to the hat.

It laughed, but then seemed to gasp when Sherlock dropped a small amount of his mental walls. That is, if hats can gasp. "You really do understand, don't you? But what you don't know is the consequences of your smarts. There is a potential in all of us for great good, but also a potential for great evil." The hat thought for a moment.

"I know what house you're going to put me in."

The hat paused. "So I see that you do. And you will grow there, Mr. Holmes. BUT you must promise me that you'll consider one statement as you go through your years here."

"What?"

"That a good man will do what's necessary, but a great man will do what's right." Sherlock nodded. "I know just where you should go."

John felt bad for the poor curly haired boy. He'd been up there for ten minutes already, and the hat still hadn't announced where to put him. Finally, the hat called out in a loud voice, "RAVENCLAW!" and the boy walked quickly over to his table, a bored look plastered on his face.

John fidgeted in line as more and more kids in front of him were sorted. Soon enough, McGonagall called out, "Watson, John" and John froze completely. He could feel everyone staring at him, but he couldn't move.

That is until the kid behind him, who had introduced himself earlier as Arthur Weasley, gave him a shove. John stumbled up to the stool, and before the hat had barely been on his head, it screamed, "GRYFFINDOR!" The red and gold table cheered and John ran over, smiling with relief, and collapsed into a seat at the end of the bench.

He eagerly watched and cheered for the final three kids to get sorted, then, still bouncing with excitement he tried to listen to the Headmaster's speech. But his stomach was growling so loudly, he barely registered what was being said. Finally, the Headmaster said, "Let's eat!" and piles of food appeared on the plates in front of him.

John took only a split second to gape at the delicious-looking food, before tearing into the chicken and potatoes and pork in front of him. It was all so good.

In between bites of food, he got to know the other kids at his table. He mostly listened, though, because the Arthur kid wouldn't shut up about what he called 'Muggle stuff'. John had no idea what that was. He was listening to the red head chat nonstop about the mysteriousness of rubber ducks (John didn't understand why he was so mystified) when he happened to glance over to the Ravenclaw table. The curly haired boy was sitting all alone at the end of the table, pushing food around his plate. John frowned. Everyone in Gryffindor was so welcoming and friendly, was that not the case in Ravenclaw? John continued to watch the boy for the next several minutes, and the other boy didn't put a single bite of food in his mouth the whole time. He just muttered to himself and kept his eyes trained on the fork that was moving food absently around.

Ten minutes later, John realized he was still staring at the boy. He had no idea why, though, the kid wasn't doing anything interesting at all. It was just hard to look away. John found him intriguing. "Your name is John, right?" A voice said behind him.

John turned around and saw a very tall, very thin Seventh Year Slytherin standing there. He had short brown hair and a demeanor that said 'I mean business'. John froze for a second, wondering what this older kid was going to do to him, then nodded slowly. "Yes. John Watson. From London."

The older kid smiled and it changed his whole face. He seemed pleasant now. "I'm Mycroft Holmes. That," he pointed to the lonely kid, "Is my younger brother, Sherlock."

"Ok?" John said, not sure where this was going.

"I saw you watching him and I was just wondering if you'd do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Watch out for him. I worry about him sometimes and Hogwarts can be a difficult place for people like him. And I think you two would make good friends." Mycroft said very businesslike.

"I can make my own friends, and I'm sure your brother can, too." John said, narrowing his eyes. He didn't know what the older kid was trying to do, but he wanted to make his own friends and make his own decisions. He watched Mycroft shrug and turn to leave, before he went back to the food on the table, which had switched to deserts now.

After John had eaten himself into a food coma, and almost everyone else had gone to bed, he stood up from the table in the Great Hall and went out into the entryway to try and locate the Gryffindor common room. As he was heading toward the staircase, a small movement from the shadows caught his eye: that Sherlock kid was sitting against the wall next to the staircase, staring blankly ahead, mumbling to himself again.

John considered going up the stairs and ignoring the situation, but his curiosity won the best of him and he went over and sat down next to the boy. He opened his mouth to say hello, but got interrupted. "You're from London." The boy said in a voice deeper than what he should have at that age.

John was caught off guard. "Um, yes. Your brother told you, then?"

"No. I noticed it. You're from London, but you've spent some time in the countryside of Scotland as a small child. Your family members are Muggles, and are poorer than they like to admit."

John gaped at him. "How the hell did you know all that?"

"Like I said," Sherlock turned to look at him, "I didn't know, I noticed." John looked confused, and Sherlock sighed, "Everyone else took the cobblestone hill walk much slower on the way to the boats, because they weren't used to it. You, however, were moving along at a pace that suggested you were familiar with it, and I knew then about your time in the Scotland countryside because they have cobblestone streets everywhere. I knew you're from London because I saw your luggage on the way in. I knew about your family because of the way you reacted to everything here and I knew they were poor because you eat like you might never again."

There was a long stretch of silence. "So you've been watching me?"

"As you've been watching me." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

More silence, before John said, "So does this mean we're friends now?"

"I would assume so." Sherlock said. "Are you OK with that?"

John thought for a second. "Yes, I am."

There was more silence as the two eleven year-old sat side-by-side and stared at the dark room. Then Sherlock said, "Good. Because I am too."

Then they started to giggle at the absurd way they'd each made a friend.