The Sorting; something Sherlock was not looking forward to. He is worried about being put in Slytherin with Mycroft. The more he dwells on it, the more he worries. Then, right there, Professor McGonagall calls for "Holmes, Sherlock!" All eyes are on Sherlock as he puts the Sorting Hat on. Now what are you? The Hat asks, Well, I don't know. Sherlock answers, You could be a wonderful Slytherin. It could help you; guide you on your way. The Hat says, No. I will not be a Slytherin. Sherlock insists, Are you sure? The Hat asks, Positive. Now, where else do you think I could do well? Sherlock replies, You could be a Ravenclaw. A very good Ravenclaw. The Hat thinks, No, I don't think so. Too predictable. Besides, Ravenclaws are boring. Sherlock replies, How about- The Hat begins, Oh no, never Hufflepuff. I just want somewhere interesting. How about Gryffindor? Sherlock asks, Gryffindor? The Hat asks, Gryffindor. Sherlock repeats. There is an intense mind-stare-off. Well? Sherlock asks, It's been ten minutes. I'm in a hat stall. The Hat sighs, Just put me in Gryffindor. I insist. Sherlock insists, "Gryffindor!"
"Watson, John!" The stare is now on John. It takes only a few seconds to declare John to be a "Gryffindor!" John smiles and takes off The Hat. He heads towards the Gryffindor table, sitting with his new friend. He knows that this year will be crazy. It's just a feeling, but he is sure that with Sherlock and magic, anything is possible.
"Come on, let's go to Fluffy!" shouts Sherlock, "No, Sherlock." argues John, "But J-o-h-n, the Philosopher's Stone is there- I wasn't supposed to say that!" insists Sherlock, "The Philosopher's Stone? We've got to tell someone!" gasps John, "No! You can't tell anyone! John, someone wants the Stone! I have an idea, but not a very good one. John, do you trust me?" asks Sherlock, "Why-" begins John, "Do you trust me John?" repeats Sherlock, "I- yes." answers John, "Excellent. Come on, then! We're saving the world!"
"Okay, first task: get past Fluffy. Music, we need music." Sherlock looks around the corridor. "And what are you doing here, Sherlock?" asks Mycroft, stepping out of the shadows, "Saving the world. Help us?" answers Sherlock, "No." replies Mycroft, "Then go." commands Sherlock, "No." repeats Mycroft, "Well, come on then. We have to hurry!" insists Sherlock, "Fine, I'll help." sighs Mycroft. "He's here! We have to hurry, John!" yelps Sherlock. John begins to quickly open up the trapdoor. "Sherlock, what happened to the music?" he asks, "Just hurry, John! I've got it!" shouts Sherlock, and suddenly there is violin music filling the corridor. Very nice playing, not the kind that woke up John in the middle of the night. "You play well." notes Mycroft, jumping down into the trapdoor. "Okay, I've got it. Now, tell me why you can't play that nicely at night." asks John, "Simple, but I'm not telling just yet." replies Sherlock, jumping in after John.
"What is this?" asks John, wrestling with vines, "Devil's Snare. Now, how do you kill it? I've deleted it." answers Sherlock, hopping around the plant, "With fire! Use fire! Quickly!" chokes John. There is a fire almost instantly from Mycroft's direction; the plant releases John. "Run John, run!" yells Sherlock, "A door!" shouts John, "Open the door Sherlock!"
Behind the door, a fluttering noise, a bunch of jewel-bright things. "Birds? They put birds here?" asks John, "Not birds, but keys!" gasps Sherlock, "Broomsticks. We have to fly!" notes Mycroft, "I know you're in your element, John, but I don't want to fly." protests Sherlock, "But we must!" insists John, "I've never flown before!" argues Sherlock, "Sherlock, people could die! If whoever gets the Stone is as evil as you make them seem, than you could die! I could die." John looks into his friend's eyes. "Okay, fine. I will help." sighs Sherlock, "Good. Now, grip the broom tightly, kick off the ground, and do as I say." commands John. "Okay, we've got to try to catch it, so what do you suppose it looks like?" asks Sherlock, "Hmm, old, big, just like-" Mycroft whips his wand out "- this one."
"What next?" asks John, "A giant chess board! Chess, Sherlock." sighs Mycroft, "Like the one you used when you played yourself for a week?" chuckles Sherlock, "So we have to play?" asks John, "Yes." answers Mycroft, face draining of color. "Is it wizard chess?" asks Sherlock, "Yes." Mycroft answers, "Oh boy." The long, epic chess game ends with Sherlock nearly getting killed and Mycroft getting a checkmate.
"Sherlock, are you alright?!" screams Mycroft, "Just fine, Mycroft." replies Sherlock, "Not much longer, Sherlock." reassures John, "We have to stop him! Come on, it's not far." gasps Sherlock, "Are you sure?" asks John, "Positive. I know he's there. I know he's evil. And I've got to stop him." Sherlock looks dead serious, leaning heavily on John and Mycroft, pale, bloody, and bruised, with determination in his pale blue eyes. "To the next room."
"Okay, now what do we have here?" asks Mycroft. Suddenly, flames spring up at the doors, with no way out. "Ah! Paper. Words. Logic!" smiles Sherlock, "Logic? Okay, well, what is it?" asks John, "This is brilliant! But there's only some of the stuff left in it, only enough for one. Here's the stuff to get back. You take it, owl Dumbledore, and wait to save me. I'll go forward, try to save the day, and hopefully succeed." explains Sherlock, "Okay. You'll be alright?" asks Mycroft, "Let's go." John mumbles, looking away from Sherlock, "Will you be alright?!" shouts Mycroft, "I don't know." whispers Sherlock, "But go."
"I thought you would be here later." remarks Moriatry, "You. I knew it. Now, I think you'd like the Philosopher's Stone, right?" asks Sherlock, "Yes, me. Here for the Philosopher's Stone. How I wish to have it. Who wouldn't?" laughs Moriarty, "Me." replies Sherlock. "But you're just a kid. How would a kid like you even be able to imagine a thing like this?" asks Moriarty, "I don't need to." growls Sherlock. "Pity, how youth is wasted on the people who can't see the possibilities. Don't you agree?" asks Moriarty, "No. I don't. In fact, why don't you just see for yourself and get the Stone?" asks Sherlock, "Because I can't get it out of the mirror. You try to." Moriarty walks Sherlock up to the mirror. Not just any mirror, though: the Mirror of Erised. "What do you see?" asks Moriarty, "I seeā¦" begins Sherlock. At first be saw just his reflection, but then it looked to his right and there's John. John walks up to mirror-Sherlock and hands him something. John points at Moriarty, and then walks away. Sherlock grins and holds up a blood-red stone: The Philosopher's Stone. Sherlock feels a weight in his pocket. It's the Stone. "I see myself. But hang on, I'm older. Will I really look like that? Anyways, there's a body behind me and I- I'm happy." lies Sherlock. "You lie, Sherlock, you're lying." Moriarty grabs Sherlock's wrists; "You can't prove anything." shrugs Sherlock. "You've got the Stone. Now hand it over." commands Moriarty, "No. And you can't make me." shouts Sherlock, fighting against Moriarty's grip. He finally just bites Moriarty's arms. They fight; battering each other up until Sherlock takes a nasty blow to the head and blacks out.
"Sherlock, Sherlock, you're alive! Ha, yes!" smiles Mycroft, "Sherlock, you're back! We thought you were dead!" cheers John, "What happened?" asks Sherlock, "Well, we went to owl Dumbledore but we ran into him in the hall and told him what happened, and then we lead him back to where you were. He made it through to you in record time but by then you were on the ground. Moriarty was nowhere to be seen, so we thought he killed you and ran!" John recalls very quickly, "I'm alive. Just fine. Now get me something to eat. I'm starving!" yawns Sherlock, "Well, everyone's been sending you food, like Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and all those Chocolate Frogs." Smiles Mycroft, "You've been helping yourself to the Chocolate Cauldrons, Mycroft, and you may have some Chocolate Frogs, John." says Sherlock, opening a Chocolate Frog. "Morgana- I've gotten lucky. So, I guess it's time for me to recall my story." Sherlock goes no about everything that happened. "I haven't got a concussion, have I?" asks Sherlock, "No, but I am surprised." Replies Mycroft. "Will next school year be better?" asks John, "I don't know. Probably not, considering the circumstances." answers Sherlock.
"See you next year, John." says Sherlock, "Write to me? Every day. Owl me every day, Sherlock." asks John, "Yes, I'll write: write back, though." chuckles Sherlock, "Oh, I will, Sherlock. Be good, though. Don't die again." jokes John, "I'll try not to." laughs Sherlock, "Have a good Summer, John!" calls Sherlock, "Have a good Summer, Sherlock. Good bye, Mycroft." calls John.
