A/N: I decided to spilt the first chapter because it was too long. I hope you aren't too confused. But I promise a real new chapter by the end of today.
The boy had surprised Sherlock. He was laughing at the piss off. Actually laughing. It wasn't long until Sherlock was joining him. His tears had dried and he felt nothing but warmth in his chest where he thought it had gone cold.
"Thank you, John." Sherlock smiled and John smiled back.
"Well it's about time for class. I guess I'll be seeing you around, Sherlock."
Sherlock nodded and wandered off to his class, even more confused than he had the night before.
He went through his first day of classes in a daze as he tried to make out the boy. He had deduced everything about him but still he was a mystery. He didn't have to give Sherlock chocolate, he could have laughed it off and left Sherlock alone. And maybe he might have done had he not seen Sherlock's tears.
Sherlock hadn't meant to cry. In fact he didn't know he was until John stopped him from running off. It was so strange.
He was starting to wonder about the being alone bit. He shook it off. He couldn't get his hopes up. He couldn't.
At dinner Molly nudged him in the ribs.
"I figured the howler upset you so I took notes in all our classes so you don't fall behind."
Howler? Sherlock thought. Oh yes, from his mother. He'd deleted it. Other than the bit about not coming home for Christmas, of course.
"Hmm… yes of course thank you." Sherlock muttered. He took the notes from her and tucked them away in his bag. He had been distracted by the blond boy. John. His mind reminded him.
He went up to his room and laid on his bed thinking about this John Watson.
John had done his good dead for the day but he still kept his eye out for the younger boy. At lunch he made his to the library to look up Holmes and what he found wasn't very pleasant, they were a ruthless sort. There was even an uncle in Azkaban for Christ's sake. But Sherlock didn't seem like that at all. But he was young yet, John thought. But he wondered, was that really true? Or did John just want to believe that so that he would stay away from him.
"I saw you talking to the freak…" He heard a voice above him. He looked up and saw a brassy black girl glaring at him.
"Excuse me who?" John looked her up and down. "And who are you?"
"Sally Donavon, Hufflepuff beater."
"Right I've seen you around the quiddich pitch.
"Stay away from the freak." She said again.
"Who?"
"Sherlock Holmes." John looked up her, his eyebrows arching up so high that it almost reached his hair line.
"And why should I do that? I didn't think I needed anyone's permission to talk to someone else."
"He's off. He's interested in crime and death."
John shrugged her off. "So? So does your precious Lestrade. I've seen the books he's pulled out last year."
"He's interested in stopping crime. Sherlock's interested in committing crimes. There's a difference."
"Has he?" John asked.
"Has who what?" She was confused.
"Has Sherlock committed a crime to your knowledge?"
"Well no of course not he's too clever to get caught."
"Right, an eleven year old being a criminal master mind." John was laughing now. He stopped when he got shushed by the librarian.
"Just you wait and see. One day we'll be standing around a body and he'll be the one that put him there." John shook his head and wandered back to the Great Hall. Once he found him he walked up to where Sherlock was sitting.
"I talked to Sally Donavon."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Damn. Well there goes that. "And?" He tried to make his voice as cold as ice.
"Yeah, bit of a bitch ain't she?" Both Sherlock's eyebrows went up.
"Well… they all are really…" Sherlock hedged.
"Those from your home town?" John said as he sat down next to him.
"Yeah." Sherlock played around with his food, shoving it around his plate.
"Tossers the lot of them. Is it because of that… thing you did with me?"
"Mostly. That and having what was it Mrs. Donavon said… oh yes. No filter. I just say whatever comes to my head. It's not my fault they chose to take offense." He looked up at John. "Is it?"
"I'm sure some of it is. I mean people really don't want to hear that their girlfriend is cheating on them or have their friends hear that their parents are divorcing. People have pride and you tear it down so easily."
Sherlock looked down at his food. "I don't understand."
John cocked his head to the side curiously. "Don't understand what?"
"I thought they'd want to know these things. I would."
"I see. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually." John moved to get up but about half way he stopped and turned back.
"You like quiddich?" Sherlock shrugged.
"Don't know much about it really. My parents aren't fond of the sport."
"Meet me after History of Magic and I'll explain it to you."
"You really like it, don't you?" Sherlock asked.
"Yeah it's about the only sport where being light and fast in an advantage." John clapped him on the shoulder and rose the rest of the way. "Eat up. It gives you strength."
Sherlock wandered down to the quiddich pitch and looked around. There weren't any teams practicing so there was just one lonely boy in the center, with two broomsticks waiting.
Sherlock walked up to him. "Hey."
"You're from a wizarding family right? You know how to fly?"
Sherlock nodded. He could, he just didn't enjoy it.
John tossed him the other broomstick. Sherlock caught it with ease. "I'd say you'd make a fair chaser, if you weren't so small." John winked at him to let him know he was joking. Besides who was John to call anyone small not when he wasn't much taller.
"What does a chaser do?" Sherlock asked.
John opened the chest next to him and pulled out the red round ball. There were three other balls in there and Sherlock didn't like the look of any of them.
"A chaser's job is to get the quaffle past the keeper who guards the three loops on their end of the pitch. Each quaffle through the hoops is ten points."
"So the other team is trying to do the same?"
John nodded. "But it's not as easy as it sounds not with the bludgers banging around trying to knock you off your broom."
Sherlock looked down at the angry black balls trying to get free of their restraints.
"How do you avoid them?"
"That's what the team's beaters are for. They move around the field knocking the bludgers away from their teammates and to the other team."
"Brutal." Sherlock shuddered.
"A bit yeah."
"So which one are you?"
"None of the above. I'm a seeker." John bent down and picked up the ball. The golden snitch.
"My job is to catch this little blighter. It's worth 150 points."
"Why so much?"
"Because it's wicked fast and damn near impossible to see. Most games are won by the team that catches it."
"Most?" Sherlock found himself interested in spite of himself.
"There've been a few where the other team was so far behind that caught snitch to avoid further humiliation."
John looked at the younger boy, "You want to toss the quaffle around a bit? I really don't want to get the others out, It'll be dark soon and I don't want to have to explain to my captain why I lost our practice balls."
Sherlock shrugged again. There was no harm in trying after all. If he didn't like he wouldn't play again.
He mounted the broomstick and was soon in the air. They kept low to the ground at first until Sherlock got a hang of holding the broom with one and catching with the other.
Too soon the bell tolled for dinner.
"Well that's that, for the night. Thanks for coming." John said as he packed up the quaffle his cheeks red from the cold and excursion .
"That was fun." Sherlock admitted. "But I think I'll stick to the ground thanks." John laughed.
"Well we all can't be quiddich players."
"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Sherlock asked as he helped John cart the chest back to the Gryffindor changing rooms.
John blushed. "They tell me I'm a natural healer. A rare one that can heal without potions. Which is good because I'm terrible at potions. But I want to be an auror. Or whatever this world's version of the army is. Maybe I'll join the muggle's army do good that way. I want adventure and excitement."
"And you don't get enough of that just being in the wizarding world?" Sherlock inquired.
"It's not the same. Ever since I was a boy I want to be a soldier, fighting for peace and justice. My dad was an army medic- er.. healer. And that's what I was going to be. Until I found out I was a wizard." John looked crestfallen.
"So why don't you?"
John shrugged. He figured it went against the whole secret society bullshit that the wizards had.
"There are all sorts wizards in regular jobs to make sure the muggles don't accidentally find out about us. I figure there's a fair amount in the military. I mean surely the muggles would noticed the huge duel in the 40's otherwise." Sherlock pressed.
John thought about it. In the muggle world there had been a major world war and if what Sherlock said was true than that meant that wizards were having their own war at the time. As daft as most muggles were when it came to ignoring things under their noses something that big would have been noticed unless some of the key players were wizards directing the battles away from magical hot spots.
"Huh. I never thought of it that way. Thanks," John said, after he worked it all out. It was as though a weight had been lifted off his chest. Maybe he could enjoy this magic thing after all.
Sherlock beamed at his friend. No one had thanked him honestly before. When people usually said the word it was because they were forced to or because they were being sarcastic.
"Well you know all about me, what do you want to do when you grow up?"
Sherlock smiled. "A job far more eccentric then yours."
John blinked, far more eccentric than wanting to be in the muggle army? Was that even possible?
"What's that?" John furrowed his brow in curiosity.
"A consulting auror." Sherlock's grin nearly split his face.
"A what now?" The frown increased as he struggled to understand.
"Aurors are the people that go around catching dark wizards and the like. People who murder, steal, blackmail with magic. But I don't want to be bound by the Ministry rules. Dull!" John laughed at his friend. "So I'm going to take the cases I find interesting, help the people I want to. For a small fee of course." John started laughing so hard. Sherlock looked down at his friend.
"What so funny?" Sherlock demanded as John collapsed against a door frame they had past on their way to the Great Hall.
"Only you Sherlock. Only you." John said as he caught his breath.
"Only me what?" Sherlock was confused. He didn't understand what was so funny.
"I wasn't laughing to because what you said was funny as such. It's just the concept sounds very much like the private detectives in the old radio serials my parents grew up on. Going off on mad adventures, solving mysteries, getting the girl…"
Sherlock pursed his lips "Hmm… girls… not my area…" He hummed.
"Oh?" This surprised him. "Like boys then?"
"No…" Sherlock didn't understand the line of questioning.
"Well, that's fine too. You're young yet. No need to dash off and get into something that's over your head."
Sherlock was confused. But somehow he also felt accepted. That no matter if he liked girls, boys or none of the above, John would still be his friend.
John looked at his friend and wondered how he couldn't seem to grasp the finer emotions. Not that John knew everything about emotions but he felt that Sherlock's trade off for genius, (and there always was one) was that he didn't understand emotions. Not that he didn't feel them. John could see that he did. Sherlock just felt them deeper than most.
John's shoulders shook with repressed laughter. Sherlock was like those aliens in that old sci-fi series. But he knew that Sherlock wouldn't understand what he was talking about.
They made to the Great Hall and parted ways like always. He turned to his table and felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Kat and Gail were practically glued to each other's faces. Suddenly despite the vigorous exercise he had just participated in, he wasn't hungry. A red hot flush came to his cheeks and turned away and made his way back to the north tower.
The Fat Lady glared at him when showed up in the middle of her tea time with her friend. She sniffed and then completely ignored him. He sat at the base of her painting his knees curled up to chest as he fought the raging emotions that swirled around his head.
He had liked Gail. Why didn't they tell him they were together? He sighed. He guessed that they didn't want him feeling like a third wheel. It still hurt. He was snuffling in his shirt when he felt a light touch on his arm. He looked up to see the pale mousy Ravenclaw girl.
"You okay?" she asked as she crouched to his level. He looked up at her. Her brown eyes were filled with compassion.
"I guess. I'm John." He extended his hand to her.
"I know. Sherlock doesn't shut up about you." John's eyebrows shot up. He didn't think Sherlock talked to anyone.
"Molly, by the way." She said taking his hand and giving it a good firm shake. Maybe she wasn't as mousy as she appeared. But then he'd only ever seen her with Sherlock so…. He nearly smacked his head at the stupidity of his slow moving brain. Just as he had had a crush on Gail she had a crush on Sherlock. He knew that. He saw it their first day. He just assumed that she was naturally shy.
She moved to sit next to him.
"So you liked that girl?" He looked at her sharply. He thought only Sherlock was that observant. She blushed.
"Well, it wasn't that hard to tell. You walk in catch her snogging that other third year and you promptly walk back out. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you like her."
"I guess not. I just wish they had told me. I thought they were my friends."
"You can be my friend if you want. I don't have many friends and could use a few more."
"Thanks Molly. Though you sure you aren't just asking because that means you get to hang out with Sherlock more?" He winked at her and laughed when she went a bright shade of pink. "You aren't the only one to be observant, you know."
Molly laughed too. "I guess I thought I hid it better. But he's incredible, isn't he?"
John laughed. Yes, there was no doubt that Sherlock was a bit incredible. But he was also a bit of an ass too.
Below them they could hear the sounds of their fellow students breaking after dinner. Molly stood up.
"See you around, John." Molly smiled and dusted off her bottom. "I know it's not going to mean much coming from me but you'll find someone else." She patted his shoulder and made her way back to the Ravenclaw Tower.
John scrambled up and turned to face the painting again.
"Bottleberry." She rolled her eyes but swung open to allow him entrance. He dashed up to his dorm and quickly stripped. He jumped into bed and pulled the curtains around him. Heart pounding in his chest, he lay there trying to calm his breathing. He needed to appear that he had been there the whole time so that Kat wouldn't suspect anything.
He heard his dorm-mates stomp into the room and he closed his eyes.
"Dude! How did you get a leggy thing like Gail to snog your ugly ass?" That whiny tone could only be Freddy Hayworth. A black boy who was a scrawny thing that stuck to Kat mainly for protection from bullies. Hell, even second and first years took delight in picking on him, that how weak he was.
"Paid her is my bet!" Which meant that was Ken Gorey. He was an average looking boy with horn-rim glasses and brown hair and eyes.
"Oi! Did not! Some girls just like the strong, silent types. Which would be none of you lot!" Kat sounded a bit upset. Normally John would have rushed to defend him but he wasn't feeling particularly friendly toward Kat at the moment. John moved restlessly to his side and they must of heard the movement as they suddenly went quiet.
"John…?" Kat called out hesitantly. John squeezed his eyes tight and then opened them.
"Yeah?" his voice was raw from the earlier crying and fighting back the tears while they were in the room.
"How long you been there, mate?" Freddy asked.
"Since before dinner. Must have caught a cold or something." He coughed to clear his throat.
"Well I guess the cat's out of the bag now. Me and Gail having been seeing each other since end of term last year. I know you like her mate… but she really likes me. She sees me for who I am and not a troll like most people do."
"Come on, John say something…" Kat pleaded.
"Congrats." And a single tear streaked over his nose and hit his pillow.