John gazed up at the large, red steam train that towered above him. He couldn't quite believe he was here, finally – here being platform 9 ¾, Kings Cross Station, London. It was a far cry from John's small London flat (he was pretty sure the entire train was bigger than it was) and he couldn't help feeling a little intimidated by everything. After all, he was a… what was it again? Oh, a muggleborn. All of this was new to him.

He had only found out a month beforehand (just after his 11th birthday) that he was 'specially gifted', as his mother had put it. A pretty young woman who had introduced herself as Hannah Rhodes, a fellow muggleborn, had arrived on his doorstep and explained to him and his family that yes, wizards existed, and yes, John was one of them. John remembered that Harry had thrown a huge hissy fit, and that she had screamed something along the lines of "I can't believe this shit, it's not fucking fair! It's always him; he's always the favored one! Why can't it be me for a change?!" and then stormed out of the room. John's mother had sat with him later, stroking his hair, after she had calmed Harry down. John had asked her if she still loved him, even though he was different, and she had smiled. "Of course I do, mo saigdear." she had whispered, her Scottish brogue warm and comforting to him. "I always will."

The same could not have been said for John's father. When he found out what his son was, he had bucked. Hard. After all, his single expectation had been for John to grow up and join the Army, to follow in his footsteps. Now, his father didn't even have that to anchor him to the family that gave him so much anguish.

He left the next day.

Since then, John had learnt a lot about the secret, hidden world within his own. He had walked the streets with new energy, noticing things his eyes had once slid over. It was (no pun intended) eye-opening. He had immersed himself in all of it, putting the stress of his now-fatherless home into finding out all he could about the wizarding world and Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry with his mother. His sister, exiled from all of this, had turned to heavy drinking. Thankfully, she was going into rehab soon.

His mother stroked his hair, bringing him out of his reverie. "Are you alright, my love?" she asked, a catch of nervous worry in her tone.

John shrugged it off.

"I'm fine, Mum."

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but let it drop. "Now," she said, glancing over at Harry, stood leaning against the station wall, "promise you'll write."

"Yes, Mum."

"Every week?" She smiled, tickling him.

John giggled. "Yes, Mum."

She smiled, pulling him into a hug, whispering softly in his ear; "Don't worry about Harry. I'll keep a good eye on her."

But who will keep an eye on you? The question hung, unspoken in the air.

His mother pulled away, patting him on the shoulder. "Remember, mo saighdear, whatever happens, I will always love you." John smiled, picking up his suitcase. "Bye, mum."

"Bye!" she said, with forced lightness, as she straightened up.

John stepped onto the train, and was immediately thrown on how long it seemed. He hurried down the carriage, looking into the compartments for somewhere to sit, but everywhere was full. Then he walked by a section with only one boy sat there.

The boy had curly black hair that contrasted greatly with is pale skin, and seemed engrossed in the book he was reading. Tentatively, John slid the door open and poked his head round. "Um… can I sit here?" he asked nervously. The boy looked up from his book, and John was smacked with an intense, scrutinizing gaze from two iridescent bluish eyes that seemed to swirl and change colour even as he stared into them. They mesmerized John, and he couldn't help but be pulled towards them, though he could not say why.

A long moment passed before the boy nodded curtly once. Gratefully, John stepped into the compartment. He stashed his suitcase above his seat, before flopping down opposite the boy.

"What was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?"

John stared in disbelief at the boy in front of him. A few incoherent spluttering noises escaped his mouth before he was able to form a word.

"W…Wha…What?"

"Where was your father stationed? Afghanistan or Iraq? The boy's voice had an edge of impatience to it.

"Af…Afghanistan, how did…?"

"How did I know? It's simple enough. Your suitcase speaks volumes."

John frowned. "What do you mean?"

The pale-skinned boy rolled his eyes. "Well, it's not exactly new, is it? It's a standard issue army case. You are obviously not old enough to be in the army yourself – why, even the most ignorant of purebloods could tell you that. Therefore, it is most likely to have belonged to an older sibling, or a parent. I noticed people who I would assume to be your mother and your sister on the platform, and obviously neither of them had ever been in the military. You don't display the characteristics of having an older brother (no hand me down clothes, for a start) so the most likely candidate would be your father."

John blanched at the word 'Father', but the boy didn't seem to notice. "The crucial factor, however," the boy continued, "is the weathering on the suitcase. The case has obviously been in heavy sunlight and hot temperatures – the leather is very cracked and faded. So, what hot countries would an army soldier be stationed in this day and age? Afghanistan or Iraq." He said all of this without (noticeably) pausing for breath. John stared at him, open-mouthed at this incredible display of intelligence. "That was…" (here the boy cringed, as if expecting a blow) "Amazing!"

Now it was the boy's turn to look shocked. "Do you really think so?" he asked, disbelief written all over his face.

"Yeah!"

"That's not what people usually say." the boy murmured.

"Why, what do they normally say?"

"Piss off."

John burst out laughing, and the boy smiled a tiny, strangely shy smile.

"I'm John Watson, by the way." John said, sticking his hand out, still grinning.

"Sherlock Holmes."

The two boys shook hands as the train chugged away from the station. Away from the muggle world. Away from everything John had ever known, and into a new life. One that, he was sure, would test him and challenge him in ways that he could never imagine.

But John did not think of that. Did not think of magic and wonder and new beginnings. Did not think of his sister and mother. He thought only of curly black hair and kaleidoscope eyes that seemed to pull and draw him in.

If all wizards are like Sherlock Holmes, he thought, then life at Hogwarts might not be so bad after all.

A/N: I have got to stop disappearing! And before you go and get mad at me for abandoning Bright Eyes Hide Dark Secrets, don't worry! I haven't forgotten it, I just haven't been inspired. I am writing more, though I may have to put it on a temporary hiatus. I don't know. We will see.

This was written for Butteredtopcorn for the Sherlock AU exchange on tumblr. I strongly recommend that you go and take a look at some of the amazing stuff that people have produced.

Mo saigdear= Scottish Gaelic for 'my solider'. I though it would be a cute pet name for John's mother to give John.

Please review & favorite this story if you enjoyed reading it. I may continue it if enough people like it!

Byesie Bye!

-ladyofbooks