Johnlock – The Philosopher's Stone

Author's Note: Many thanks for those who have already left lovely reviews for the last chapter! The chapters from here on will have more plot, but seeing as John and Sherlock are only eleven at this point, I want to establish their friendship before entering into serious Johnlock.

Chapter Two

The sun was already high in the sky as John and his fellow Gryffindors crossed the grounds to the greenhouses for their first lesson of the year – Herbology. When he'd first woken up that morning, it had taken him a moment to remember exactly where he was – not many of the beds he'd slept in had had plush velvet drapes around them – but when he remembered he'd bounced out of bed, dressed quickly and bounded down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. He'd had to bound in several different directions, after getting lost a couple of times, but after asking the way from a passing ghost he'd made it there eventually. The breakfast spread he'd sat down to had been a considerably different one than he was used to. Mostly at home he just had a bowl of cereal, but here he had the option of porridge, toast, bacon, eggs, kippers, kedgeree, croissants, and much more besides.

Sporting the same slightly-too-full feeling from last night – having eaten almost his whole weight in bacon sandwiches – John, Molly and the others waited outside the greenhouses for Professor Sprout – a plump witch with flyaway grey hair and a good deal of dirt on her robes and hands – with the Hufflepuffs, with whom they shared the lesson.

"Morning, first years!" she said jovially as they trouped into greenhouse one. The air was thick and humid inside, and the shelves and tables lining the walls were laden with many plants that most of the students had never seen or even imagined before. There were Venus flytraps with tendrils that swayed gently by themselves, plump green cacti with what looked like boils in place of spikes, and a long line what appeared to be normal pot-plants, except they were shivering slightly and emitting strange whining noises.

"Right," said Professor Sprout, pulling on a pair of thick garden gloves and grinning at the class. "For your first lesson, we're going to be identifying some of the specimens in this greenhouse. Each of you get your gloves on and take an apron and a clipboard. I want you to go round the room and see if you can tick off each of the plants on the list with the number attached to them. Just to see how much you already know, which I know for some of you will be more than others. And mind you don't get too close to the venomous tentacular – it's teething."

A round-faced boy standing near the swaying vines of the flytraps edged a little further away from them.

The next hour passed fairly pleasantly. John and Molly worked together – figuring that two clueless heads were better than one – and managed to correctly identify six plants out of twenty, which to them seemed quite an achievement considering they'd mostly got by on guesswork. A bossy-voiced Gryffindor girl with bushy brown hair was explaining loudly to anyone who would listen about the various features of each of the plants – having clearly memorised every paragraph of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

Next was Charms, with tiny Professor Flitwick. He said that to start with they were going to be learning a nifty Hover charm on some feathers he'd placed on every desk. John and Molly tried the incantation again and again, partnered with the swish-and-flick wand motion, but Molly only just managed to raise her feather about three centimetres, while John's just rolled about on the desk. They shared this class with the Ravenclaws, and by the end of the lesson the only two people who'd managed to successfully levitate their feather higher than two feet was the bushy girl from Herbology – Hermione Granger – and the curly-haired Ravenclaw boy from the Sorting, whose name John couldn't quite recall, who made his feather weave through the air like a puppeteer.

They'd worked up quite an appetite by the time lunch rolled around, and John and Molly helped themselves to shepherd's pie and carrots while laughing at a funny story the Weasley twins – Fred and George – were telling a little way down the table. Afterwards, Molly was invited by a couple of the other Gryffindor girls to explore the castle a bit before third lesson, leaving John to his own devices. Shouldering his book-bag, he made his way out of the huge doors and across the grounds to the lake, where a group of Hufflepuffs was throwing bits of toast to something beneath the water. As he watched, John saw a large tentacle curl around the floating bread and scoop it under.

"Wow," John muttered, heading towards a small group of trees and settling down in the shade, planning to read a bit more of Magical Drafts and Potions before their lesson with Professor Snape than afternoon. He was just pulling out the heavy book, leaning against the trunk of a tree, when a series of square and very heavy objects dropped down onto his head. "OUCH!"

"Whoops," said a voice from above him. Eyes watering, John looked up into the branches of the tree, massaging the lump forming beneath his dark blond hair.

The curly-haired Ravenclaw boy from Charms was sitting up in the tree – his foot resting on a limb, three books stacked on a V-shaped branch beside him. The remainder of the pile was now scattered around John.

"Apologies," he called down, not looking all that bothered at having nearby decapitated his classmate.

"You should watch out," John frowned, getting to his feet.

"Should I?" the boy said with a yawn, raising his dark eyebrows. "It seems to me that you might be the one who should watch where you sit."

"I didn't see you up there," said John irritably, tugging his bag back onto his shoulders.

"Clearly," the boy said. He swung his legs over and dropped down to the ground. He was a good few inches taller than John, and so skinny it made him look even more so. He stared, unsmiling, at John, who blushed awkwardly. "You could perhaps do with some lessons in observation, Watson," he said.

"How d'you know my name?" John asked.

"I remember you from the Sorting," the boy said. "I severely doubt you can remember mine."

"No," John said, feeling stupid.

"Not surprising," the boy said, starting to gather his fallen books. John noticed that he'd already heavily annotated the pages of A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration. Then, using some kind of Summoning charm John was fairly certain wasn't in The Standard Book of Spells, Grade One, he collected the rest of his books from the tree and stalked off in the direction of the castle.

Sitting back down on the grass now there wasn't any more risk of concussion, John stared after him as he pulled open one of the castle doors and disappeared inside. While John was still annoyed, and his head was starting to ache, there was a part of him that was, inexplicably, intrigued.

By the time they were lining up outside the dungeon classroom for Potions, John's head had started to throb painfully – the lump having grown to the size of a small chicken's egg. Molly suggested he go to the Hospital Wing, but John was determined not to miss his first Potions lesson. He'd heard tales of Professor Snape doling out horrible punishments to anyone who was late or skipped class, and he wasn't going to lose any points to Gryffindor before he'd even gained any.

Potions was an unpleasant experience. Professor Snape had the appearance of an overgrown bat, his black cloak billowing about him as he strode to the front of the class and started on about potions and the skills needed to make them. From the sounds of it, John wasn't going to have much success in this class. He'd never even mastered making hot chocolate properly, so goodness knows how he'd ever be able to concoct all these strange drafts Snape was talking about. After about fifteen minutes into the lesson, it became blindingly obvious that, while Snape showed nothing less than contempt for mostly all the Gryffindors, there was one in particular he disliked the most – Harry Potter. During the course of the hour, he deducted two points from Gryffindor for the most pointless reasons – even accusing Harry of not helping Neville Longbottom out of spite, but John was pretty sure Snape would have deducted points anyway if he'd seen Harry giving Neville any kind of help at all, or accused him of cheating. By the time they were packing up their books, poor Harry was looking both confused and angry, and John couldn't say he blamed him. He could hear Harry and his friend Ron Weasley bad-mouthing Snape all the way back to their common room. Their last lesson was Astronomy, to be held at midnight on the top of one of the many towers, and John was planning on getting at least couple of hours sleep before then, which would hopefully ease the pain in his head a bit. Molly settled down by the fire with a couple of other girls, and John made his way up the boys' dormitory stairs. He was just about to throw himself down on his newly-made bed, when he noticed something zooming round and round inside the drapes. It was a small paper aeroplane, obviously charmed to fly continuously until received. John, seeing his name written on one of the wings in dark blue ink, reached up and grabbed hold of it. As he opened the folds, something small and cylindrical fell out onto his duvet. He picked it up. It was a small glass phial of what looked like gooey white paste. He looked at the unfolded sheet of paper and saw written there in elegant writing – For your head. S.H.

S.H.? It took a moment for John to place the initials. He was fairly certain the Ravenclaw boy from before had had a name beginning with S. He reached round and gently touched the bump on the back of his skull. A little hesitantly, he uncorked the phial and let some of the paste run onto his fingers, then began to rub it cautiously onto the swelling. The effect was almost instant – the pain ceased, and he could feel the swelling subside like a deflated balloon. There was still a decent amount of paste left in the bottle, which he stowed away in the drawer of his bedside cabinet. He lay back on his bed for a while, staring up at the crimson curtains, contemplating the Ravenclaw boy. He'd not seemed to like John at all, so why would he have sent something to help him? It didn't make sense to John. Eventually, he shrugged and – hearing the many footsteps exiting the common room below for dinner – decided to join them. People were filing into the Great Hall from all directions when he arrived, as the golden dishes and plates were magically piled high with delicious food. Since hearty meals made him sleepy, John only ate one plate of chicken pie and chips, followed by just one cherry bun. He didn't want to dose off during his next lesson.

By the time the Gryffindors had reached the Astronomy tower, the Ravenclaws were already there. John immediately sought out the boy from the tree – standing on his own by the battlements – and gave him a nervous smile, which wasn't returned.

"Um. . ." John cleared his throat. "I just wanted. . . to say thanks. You know, for. . ." he gestured to the back of his head. The boy gave a smooth shrug and concealed a yawn. John was struck by how perfectly defined his cheekbones were – it was like his face was sculpted from marble.

"I liked the aeroplane," John said, flushing a little at the childish comment.

To his surprise, the boy's mouth curled into a small smile and he looked smug. "Just a simple levitation charm," he said.

"But you must've made it fly all the way up to Gryffindor tower," John said. "That's amazing."

He raised his eyebrows, but this time in genuine surprise rather than sarcasm.

"You think so?"

"Of course," John said with a slight laugh. "I'm willing to bet there's not many other first years who could do it."

The surprise on the boy's face eased back into the smug grin. "You're probably right," he said. "I've been doing magic since I was three."

"Show off," John smirked. "I blew up a bee's nest once."

"How'd that work out for you?"

"Not too great," John said, lifting the hem of his shirt just enough for the boy to see the three scars still imprinted on his stomach. "I think I managed to engorge their stings."

The boy chuckled. "How very clever of you, Watson."

"John," John said, then held out his hand.

The boy looked surprised again for a moment, before reaching out and shaking John's hand.

"Sherlock," he said. "Sherlock Holmes."