5 years later

John could feel his heart thump with excitement in his chest. He took a glance down the corridor, wondering why in hell he had even agreed to this. Snape could come around any minute and he had absolutely no reason to justify his presence. He slowly opened the door to the Potions Master's private store room and whispered hastily:

"Hurry Sherlock!"

He heard his friend groan in response and let out a deep sigh. Of course Sherlock would find a way to drag him into trouble only after a few weeks back at Hogwarts. John would never admit he secretly enjoyed it, the thrill of danger, knowing they were doing something illegal and that they could get caught any second.

Sherlock finally got out and closed the door, a wide grin plastered over his face. John couldn't help but grin back when he noticed the phial in Sherlock's hand. He grabbed his wrist and began running as fast as he could without making too much noise. He only allowed himself to slow back when they were two floors up, in the Ravenclaw common room.

Nobody noticed his presence. They had gotten used to him over the years. He finally released his friend's wrist and settled into a nearby chair. Sherlock comfortably sat on the arm-rest, chuckling softly.

"Aren't you worried Snape might figure it out?"

"He won't. He is too proud of his own theory."

"Which is?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Potter did it."

John shook his head but couldn't help a slight laugh from escaping his lips. "Then let's hope for you that Hermione never finds out either."

"I would never hear the end of it."

John had never questioned Sherlock's friendship with Hermione Granger. After all, Hermione was a lovely girl. He just didn't understand how Sherlock could have made a friend – other than himself, obviously – then again, they were both unbearably clever.

"What do you even need this for?"

"An experiment." Sherlock shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Of course." John answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'd better go, it's near curfew and you wouldn't want me to get into trouble, would you?"

Sherlock's smirk only grew wider. "Lunch time, as usual?"

John nodded and gave him a small smile. "Sure. Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John."

John sat at the Gryffindor Table the next morning and absent-mindedly grabbed a toast. He was in the process of swallowing it when Sherlock collapsed on the bench next to him, nearly causing him to choke. He coughed a few times and noticed Sherlock's puzzled expression.

"What is it?"

Sherlock put his elbows on the table, joining his hands under his chin in his thinking position. "The Headmaster sent me an owl this morning. Apparently he wants to see me around noon."

John's eyebrows shot up and panic quickly sank in. "Do you think he knows?"

"No, no." Sherlock shooed the thought away with his hand. "And even if he did, he has no way of proving it."

"How could you possibly know that?" The Ravenclaw sent John his trade-mark don't-be-so-stupid look and frowned. "There is something odd about this letter, but I can't quite put my finger on it."

"Well, you're gonna have to go and see him to understand then."

"Apparently. But this means I'll be late."

John hadn't even thought about that, but apparently that was the whole reason Sherlock had told him about the letter. He smiled softly, admitting that Sherlock could be quite considerate from time to time. It wasn't often, but when he was it always made him feel a little warm inside.

"It doesn't matter; I'll come and wait for you outside his office."

"There's no need. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes. I'll simply join you in the park when I'm done."

John nodded his head in agreement and Sherlock returned to his own table. The Gryffindor tried to go back to his breakfast but he could feel Hermione staring at him on the opposite side of the table. He raised his eyes to meet hers and gave her a small smile.

"You two really are quite inseparable, aren't you?" John could almost hear the glee in her voice.

"We're just as close to each other as you are to Harry and Ron." He shrugged.

For a moment, Hermione's gaze seemed to wander on someone near the teacher's table, but it was focused on him so soon again that John decided he had imagined the whole thing.

"Yeah, I suppose." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes but John decided not to comment on it.

"So are you looking forward to Quidditch practice tonight?"

John's smile grew wider. "Yeah, but I haven't had time to practice over the summer, so I'll be a bit rusty. Hopefully, Harry won't mind too much."

"I'll make sure he doesn't give you detention." John chuckled a bit at that. Harry certainly could get intense about Quidditch, though to be fair, it was his role as the team captain. "Will Sherlock come to watch you play?"

"I don't think so. I haven't even told him that practice was tonight."

Hermione seemed to restrain herself from rolling her eyes, but John couldn't understand why. She didn't give him any time to ponder over this as she rose from the table. "Well, I'll see you tonight then, the boys made me promise I would come."

John chuckled a bit. "See you."

At lunch time, John nearly ran out of his classroom and headed for the castle doors. It was a bit chilly outside but not uncomfortably so. He walked his way towards their usual bench, planning on waiting for Sherlock to eat. It was a bit of a tradition now.

He couldn't remember how or when it had begun, but they always met up in the park at lunch time. Sometimes Sherlock ate. Usually when John had the patience to force food down his throat. But most of the time he just sat there reading a book, sometimes he took John's feet on his lap, sometimes it was the other way around.

They never asked for the other's permission. They didn't have to.

However, John knew today was going to be unusual as soon as he saw someone seated on their bench. Someone he could recognize from five miles away: Mycroft. John didn't dislike him as much as his brother did but he always felt a bit wary in his presence. Both Holmes brothers could read him like an open book, but for some reason, he only minded when Mycroft did.

"Hello John." Mycroft said in his business-like tone.

John shook his head and sat next to him, knowing it was no use trying to escape. "What are you doing here Mycroft?"

"Don't worry; I will be gone by the time Sherlock finally gets here."

John let out a sigh. "So you wrote the letter. What for?"

"I needed an opportunity to talk to you. In private. Apparently, this was the only way to keep Sherlock away for more than a few seconds."

Mycroft was grinning like a cat and John decided to ignore what the elder Holmes was implying. It wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "Fine. What do you need to talk to me about?"

Mycroft crossed his legs and fixed his gaze on John's face, pinning him in place. "As you well know, this is my last year at Hogwarts."

John could have sworn he saw something akin to sadness in the Slytherin's eyes, but he quickly pushed the confusing thought away. "I know how close you are to my brother…"

"Stop right there." John interrupted him, putting his hand in the air. "If this is another attempt at convincing me to spy on Sherlock for you…"

"No. Nothing of the sort." Mycroft grinned. "Well, not exactly."

John frowned but the Slytherin didn't seem to notice. More probably, he didn't care. "I've always done my best to protect him, John, whether he appreciates it or not."

The Gryffindor thought that, considering the means Mycroft had used over the years, it was no mystery Sherlock wasn't pleased with his brother surveillance. However, he didn't speak and let Mycroft carry on.

"I want to make sure you will take care of him, even when I'm gone."

John's eyes shot open at that last sentence. He didn't know if he felt angrier that Mycroft seemed to think he could bully him into doing something for him or that he felt he needed it at all.

John opened his mouth to answer but Mycroft raised his hand, silencing him. "Let me make myself clear. I know you care for my brother, perhaps more than anyone in this castle." Mycroft swallowed hard and John felt his own throat tighten painfully.

"You've been a good friend to him all these years, and for that, I want to thank you."

John gaped at Mycroft, utterly flabbergasted. He had never expected Sherlock's brother to thank anyone… for anything, but mostly, he was shocked Mycroft even felt the need to thank him at all.

"I don't need you to thank me for being Sherlock's friend…" He shook his head in disbelief. "I'm not doing this because I pity him, or because I feel he needs to be protected. As you said, I… well I care for him. He's my best friend."

Mycroft rose in one swift motion and smiled down at John. "This is exactly what I'd hoped you would say." The Gryffindor blinked before he felt his hands clench into fists. "I'm sorry, John. I needed to be sure."

John ran a hand through his hair, not quite believing how far Mycroft could go to protect his little brother. In one way, it was sweet. Oddly enough though, John found it equally infuriating. Mycroft looked up at the castle gates and his face turned serious again. When his eyes found John's again, the Gryffindor felt he couldn't move one inch.

"There is only one thing I will ask of you, John." He took a step closer, making sure he was towering over John. "Whatever my brother might say, he has feelings, just like anyone. Don't. Toy. With. Them."

When Mycroft finally walked away, John felt he had just witnessed the most intense hurt-my-brother-and-I'll-kill-you speech of his life. Protective wasn't even enough to describe how Mycroft felt about his brother, and as much as John hated being threatened, he couldn't blame the Slytherin.

"What did Mycroft want?" Sherlock's voice made John jump. Placing a hand over his heart, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

Sherlock sat next to him, his eyebrow raised. John knew he couldn't escape his friend's questions. "How do you know it was Mycroft?"

But he could try. The Ravenclaw shook his head and John could almost read the word 'please' in his eyes. "Nothing in particular."

Sherlock sighed and lay down on the bench, letting his head fall down in John's lap, looking away. "It's no use trying to lie to me, John. I will find out if I want to."

The Gryffindor could almost see the pout on his friend's face. He ran his hand through the black curls before he could even realize what he was doing. He willed his body not to tense as realization dawned, but he knew Sherlock had felt it.

"You'll soon need to cut your hair, you know." He added a bit awkwardly.

Sherlock groaned and John's lips twisted into a smile. "I wish you wouldn't try to hide things from me."

John sighed. "If I told you that what Mycroft told me was between him and me, would you let it go?"

"No."

The Gryffindor let out a long chuckle and, even if he knew Sherlock would never admit it, he felt his friend smile in his lap.

John would never admit it, but as he rose on his broomstick that night, his mind was miles away from the Quidditch pitch. His brain seemed to play Mycroft's speech on a loop, and he couldn't stop over thinking the last words the Slytherin had said to him.

Whatever my brother might say, he has feelings, just like anyone. Don't. Toy. With. Them.

John swallowed the lump in his throat. To be honest, he felt a bit sick. His world seemed off-balance and he knew it had nothing to do with the way he was flying. What had Mycroft meant? Surely when he said 'feelings' he didn't mean… Well he only meant that Sherlock valued him as his friend.

Nothing more.

He tightened his grip on his bat and flew around the pitch, willing his mind to focus on today's practice. He hit a bludger as if it had personally offended him and nearly managed to knock Ginny off her broom. Harry gave him the thumbs-up and John felt instantly better, hearing cheering erupt from the small crowd.

He noticed a girl in his year sitting alone, a red-and-gold scarf tied around her neck. Sarah, her name was. Sarah Carson. She was applauding slowly, her eyes never leaving his, a big smile plastered all over her face. He smiled back, a warm feeling in his guts.

Harry called them back on the ground for a little mid-practice speech and John landed reluctantly. As their captain began explaining his next strategy, something else caught John's eyes in the background. Someone else, to be precise.

Sherlock was seated on the stands with Hermione. How he had found out about today's practice, John didn't know, and frankly, didn't care. The only thing his mind seemed able to process was how close they were to each other. They were chatting animatedly in a conspiratorial manner and- What was Hermione's hand doing on Sherlock's thigh?

"John! Are you listening?"

Harry's outburst pulled John out of his thoughts and seemed to draw the attention of the students he had been spying on. The Gryffindor clenched his jaw, willing his body to remain calm. "Yeah, yeah."

Harry frowned but didn't push the matter, and for that, John was thankful. Now that Hermione and Sherlock were seated at a respectable distance from one another, he couldn't remember what got him so worked up. After all, it was their business, he didn't care. He really didn't.

And if he kept glancing in their direction during the rest of the practice, it was just to make sure they weren't up to something. Not because he felt safer keeping an eye on them. Anyway, it didn't make him feel better, if anything, it made him feel angrier.

He wondered for a brief moment if someone would notice if he threw a bludger at them. Probably. And even if they didn't, Sherlock would probably deduce it himself.

When Harry called the session to an end, John felt more confused than he had felt in years. And it was all Mycroft's fault. If he didn't know then, he knew now. When Mycroft had mentioned Sherlock's feelings, he had meant as a friend. And if he had meant it otherwise, he'd been utterly wrong.

For all he knew, Sherlock was in love with Hermione. This would explain why she was his only female friend. And she probably felt the same way too. Perfect. Brilliant. Fantastic! He was happy for them, bloody ecstatic in fact.

He only felt angry because Sherlock hadn't been honest with him. Because he had kept a part of himself private when he never allowed John the same chance. Because he hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth. That was all.

John purposefully ignored the pang of pain in his chest as he walked out of the stadium to find Sherlock waiting for him, alone. He tried to smile but barely managed a feeble twitch on the corner of his lips.

He walked right past the Ravenclaw, his hands clenched into fists. He didn't even know why he was angry anymore; he just knew he wanted to be alone. And this time, alone meant without Sherlock as well.

Unfortunately, his friend was only good at reading people when it didn't especially matter. "What's wrong?" Sherlock asked as he caught up to John. He grabbed the Gryffindor's hand – it was a thing they did often since that first day before the Sorting – but John snapped his hand away.

Sherlock looked utterly surprised and… hurt. It was something John hadn't ever seen in his friend's eyes, and something he felt sure he never wanted to see again. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. Bad practice, not that you would know. I noticed you were pretty busy yourself."

John had tried to sound very casual, but even he knew he didn't fool anyone. Fortunately he was saved from further embarrassment as he heard someone call him from behind. He turned on his heels and saw Sarah walking towards him. He had never noticed how pretty she was before.

"Hi, I'm so glad I caught you." John couldn't help but smile. "I was wondering if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade this weekend. With me?"

John tried not to cringe when he heard how squeaky she had sounded towards the end. He turned to where Sherlock had been standing only to find he was nowhere to be seen. He blinked furiously for a few seconds.

They always went to Hogsmeade together, since their first visit. Apparently, not this time. He tried to swallow down his guilt, reminding himself that if Sherlock could moon over Hermione, he could take a nice girl to Hogsmeade himself. He didn't need his permission anyway.

"Yeah, sure."

And when he saw her face light up he decided that he might even like the squeaky noises she made.

Two new chapters tomorrow :)

*shameless begging for reviews*