so i posted this story a few days ago without realizing that there was just a little bit of another story idea that i wrote at like 3 am in the same document. so if you have read that version i am so very sorry. and of course i don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter. all rights go to the owners/writers. enjoy :)

The wall morphed and melted around the young boy as he effortlessly moved through the supposedly solid bricks. Many things had gone through his flustered mind as he had run full speed at the platform divider. Above all "what the bloody hell am I doing". The thought of how he must appear to bystanders sends shivers up his spine. 11 year old boys are not supposed to run into walls. He pushed the thought from his mind. Then again, he thought, how much did people really notice.

He burst through the wall and into the blinding light, suddenly a large old fashion train was starring him in the face. The sight was beyond baffling for the lonely boy. He just stood and watched the many people, young and old, bustling around with trunks and carts. The blaring horn of the train woke him from his daze and he pushed his own large cart towards the train and under the large sign: "WELCOME TO PLATFORM 9 ¾".

John pushed his heavy cart through the crowd, not wanting to roll over anyone's feet. Eventually he made it to the train doors. The young boy tried to pull his trunk up the stairs but to no avail. His trunk hadn't made it more than a foot off the ground when someone took the other end and heaved it up the stairs and onto the train. John breathed heavily and looked up to see a tall boy in a long coat with the collar flicked up. His slightly curly hair was the slightest bit messy and his cheekbones were too prominent to go unnoticed. He had a rather bored look on his face. John, being rather intimidated by the boy didn't say anything. The mystery boy gave John a rather quick smile that looked very sarcastic and forced before walking briskly away down the isle. John again just stood there contemplating before the train doors closed and it pulled away from the platform.

John walked down the isle, watching boys and girls lean out the windows waving a last goodbye at their parents. He himself put his head down and put his trunk next to the others before walking down the isle. He came across many little rooms with couches, all filled with people talking and laughing, probably catching up on summer events. He walked all the way down the train before he found a compartment that wasn't completely full, compartment 221B. He looked inside. It was the cheekbones boy that helped him with his trunk. He had his feet up on the couch, pulled into his chest, his collar was still up and his hands were pressed together under his chin with his eyes closed. John slid open the door and slowly walked inside.

The boy didn't even flinch; he only opened his mouth and said. "Oh its you, I figure everywhere else is full, well sit down, don't just stand there and stare."

John didn't know what to say so he sat down and after a few moments and deep thought decided on "Um, how did you…-"

"Your limp" the boy cut him off "its psychosomatic by the way. What happened? Bad fight in foster care?" He still hadn't opened his eyes or removed his hands from under his chin.

Once again john was speechless. "I don't…how did…how could you possibly know about foster care?"

This time the boy did open his eyes. They were the most striking blue in comparison to his pale skin and they matched his blue scarf. "No parents with you, rather small trunk implying not too many clothes, foster care it is. As far as your leg, you don't have crutches or a cane indicating that you often forget your injury, which isn't likely to happen if there was actually something wrong. The names Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes, and you are?" he stuck his hand out and after recovering John shook it back. "John, uh, John Watson."