Author's Note: This chapter takes place in their second year. Last chapter was probably around fifth year. I'll try to say what age they are in the beginning to assuage confusion!

Sherlock had a subscription to the Daily Prophet for one reason: keeping up with the interesting deaths in the Wizarding World.

It had become a sort of ritual for him to eagerly scan the Prophet for something new as soon as the post owl delivered it at breakfast. Anything that caught Sherlock's interest would be explained to John later. One of the best things about having a friend, thought Sherlock, was having someone to talk to. Someone who wouldn't call him a freak for being fascinated with murder and the sheer amount of crime wizards were involved in.

After finishing a particularly intriguing article concerning the untimely death of a Ministry worker, Sherlock had hastened over to the Gryffindor table to get John's opinion on the matter. John was always willing to talk to him, even if he was surrounded by all of his Gryffindor friends and Sherlock's topic of conversation was not exactly conducive to someone who wanted to eat their breakfast.

"So, who was the murderer?" John asked with a mouth full of oatmeal after Sherlock had finished explaining the article.

Sherlock frowned at the paper in his hand, "Not enough data."

"You know that the murder weapon was a blunt object but you don't know who killed the guy?"

John had a glint of mirth in his eyes.

It was a somewhat new concept to Sherlock that not all taunting was done in a malicious way. John never taunted Sherlock maliciously.

"Well, I can't make bricks without clay after all." Sherlock responded absentmindedly.

John smiled at Sherlock and bumped his shoulder against Sherlock's companionably, "I'm only taking the mickey; your deductions were as amazing as always."

Sherlock nodded in a self-satisfied way as a warm glow blossomed in his chest. John's compliments had the strangest effect on him. Sherlock decided the warm glow must be happiness.

"Any plans for today, then?" John asked Sherlock as they got up from the table together. Sherlock was glad the professors didn't put up any resistance to Sherlock abandoning the Ravenclaw table to sit with John; after all, Sherlock had no wish to partake in the so-called philosophical discussions of his house.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally to answer John's question. John rolled his eyes at the lack of response. John directed his steps to Gryffindor tower; Sherlock followed without hesitation. Since John had expressed interest in his theories before, Sherlock kept up a running commentary on the potency of certain potions and how these same potions could be used most effectively for clever homicides.

John was a great listener. Before meeting John, Sherlock had relayed his thoughts to his dead great uncle's skull. That brainless cranium, however, could not compare to John's interested expression when Sherlock explained his deductions.

"… the asphodel serves as a catalyst that makes the eternal sleep even more absolute."

John nodded in understanding. They had reached Gryffindor tower. John stared at the Fat Lady blankly for a moment. "Damn." He muttered. "The password changed didn't it?" John asked the Fat Lady.

The Fat Lady nodded, looking amused. Sherlock smirked and glanced at the Fat Lady searchingly.

"The password is 'Murmuration'"

John raised his eyebrow at him as the Fat Lady winked at Sherlock and swung forward to admit them.

"I'll never know how you guess the passwords." John muttered.

Sherlock sat down in one of the woebegone armchairs by the fireplace. "I never guess."

"Yes, you do."

Sherlock smirked and steepled his hands under his chin.

"Just going to make yourself at home, then?" John asked as Sherlock settled himself deeper into the armchair.

"Hm." Sherlock grunted distractedly; he was clearly deep in his Mind Palace.

"Right." John said to himself. "Well, My Housemates should be used to your presence by now."

Sherlock sat at the Gryffindor table so often, and visited the common room so often, he was practically an honorary Gryffindor. John found Sherlock's insistence on following him everywhere endearing. Most, however, were annoyed by John's shadow and made their annoyance quite clear.

John walked up to the boy's dormitories to get his bag; he had to get a start on the Potions essay due on Tuesday. When John came back to the Common Room, Sherlock was gone. John sighed. Sherlock probably thought up some grand plan and had to dash off immediately to enact it.

Shaking his head, John pulled out his parchment and ink and got to work; Sherlock could storm back in at any moment to include John in his plans, and John wanted to be ready.