"Wake up, John." Sherlock's voice was rough and yet somehow soft as he nudged John with his wand. "We have classes." And with this statement Sherlock emphasized the word 'classes' mockingly because they were most prominently necessary to be present at and he sure as Azkaban didn't need to (Oh, Merlin…) miss out on such things.
John grumbled something inaudible at Sherlock's adolescent actions before turning over in the purple covers. Wait… purple covers? But Gryffindor's colors were red and gold, why would the dorm now be purple? His eyes shot open and he looked around the Room of Requirement, suddenly remembering what had happened the night prior and why Sherlock was the one waking him.
His observation swooped the area of the space just before settling on an empty cage bordering the fireplace. "Where's Anth- Gladstone?" he inquired sleepily, rubbing his eyes as he did so.
"I let her out," said the younger boy whom was now sitting on the edge of John's mattress.
John's jaw dropped. "You…you let her out? Why the hell would you do that?"
The Gryffindor, in worry and anxiety, darted off the bed and sprinted around the room looking for the said beast as Sherlock made himself comfortable on the purple mattress. His hands clasped behind his head while he said, "Although this is quite the show, there's no need to worry. She won't harm you."
John stopped in his tracks, which was near the armchair when he saw it. There curled up into a furry ball was Gladstone, her black paws tucked up into her chest. "But- but she was a beast!" the older boy stammered in amazement.
"Yes, and now's she's not. The potion was simple- I made it this morning when you were still sleeping. She still has those qualities of which for hunting or when she becomes angered, but unless those specific things happen, she's a normal cat. Thought it would be easier for us to retain her," rambled Sherlock.
Hesitantly and slowly, John made his way to the sleeping creature and when he was close enough he reached his hand out carefully and caressed her back. She purred in her sleep as response to his gesture lovingly.
"How did I not hear you?"
"I can be exceedingly quiet, if you haven't yet noticed."
Outside the Come and Go Room, Hogwarts was glowing. At only eight in the morning, the golden fields shimmered with a translucent glaze and the Black Lake distantly seemed harmless. John looked off at the scenery while petting Gladstone before his eyes trailed the magical room again. Sherlock had stopped the fire while he was sleeping and a cauldron was set atop the desk in the corner of the room, leaving the space to smell of such ingredients, dungeons, and kindle.
"It'd be best if we left for Defense Against the Dark Arts soon," the Slytherin stated, rising from the bed and sauntering his way to the door, "seeing as we only have five minutes to make it across the castle."
•••
The pair made it to their first class with only seconds to spare that Thursday morning. The Room of Requirement had altered its position so when exiting their new hideout they were a few corridors from the classroom. Only Greg raised an eyebrow when they entered (Mike was still eating part of his breakfast and Albus had fallen asleep). Luckily for them, their Professor hadn't arrived yet, which gave them time to slip into their seats beside each other coolly.
"Where were you two lovebirds last night?" called Greg in a singsong voice a few tables over.
Sherlock took the independence of speaking while John shot him a glare and a slight sneer. "I was tutoring him in Astrology and we fell asleep at a table in the library, mind you"
Greg took little to no offense to this. "It was a joke, calm down," he affirmed with a nervous laugh. And this time it was.
Professor Podmore decided to storm in at that moment, ceasing their conversation immediately …and Merlin, he was upset. Albus woke and Mike shoved the last of his pastry into his already-full mouth, however John only grinned to himself, eager to learn more about magic.
Around ten minutes into Podmore going on and on and on about the Curse of Bogies and how Peeves once used this exact curse on Albus's father, Greg sent a fluttering note over to John. It read:
How'd he get a bruised eye studying? GL
John flipped over the parchment, scribbled out his dishonest response, and sent it back when Podmore wasn't looking.
Restricted section. JW
A few moments later, he received another from Greg.
Holmes has already ventured out there?! Thought he could restrain himself for at least a week… I owe Potter a galleon thanks to him. GL
John snickered at this, earning both a look from Podmore and an eye roll from Sherlock. He sighed, pressing the note into a page of The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection and flipped to the next page, sinking into his seat dreadfully. But soon he could feel Sherlock's eyes cutting him trough like ice from the spot next to him.
"What?" the Gryffindor whispered through his teeth.
Sherlock's smile only worked on half of his mouth, the other was perfectly still while his wild eyes roamed John's features. "Oh… nothing," he smirked deviously.
John shrugged, returning his gaze on his Professor who was now describing how it felt to go through a Curse of Bogies with a displeasing expression glued to his face.
•••
On his way to Charms that same Thursday morning, John Watson was dragged into an empty classroom unwillingly.
Two sixth years grabbed him by the robes and yanked him to their selected designation. Well, him and his shaking body, to be exact.
They heaved him into a room and locked the doors, leaving him alone with a boy whom John suspected to also be a sixth year.
He racked his brain for the few spells he'd learn in the past three days. It wasn't much, conversely he did know a good handful to use if this Slytherin student opposing him were to try something.
"Mycroft Holmes," the sixth year said, his head tilting to the side as a sly smile crept about his face. His hair was a deep mahogany color, nothing near the cavernous forest color Sherlock owned. His eyes weren't as enthusiastic and were almost uninhabited, but blue nonetheless. His mouth was formed with the thinnest of lips and they seemed to always find a slithering way of contorting themselves with his pronunciation of words. Overall, Mycroft Holmes wasn't close to what Sherlock came off to be.
John wasn't impressed.
He also had a poor taste in cats. And pet names. And bodyguards.
"You know I've got a wand. I could just do a spell or something," the Gryffindor muttered as a futile warning.
Mycroft didn't pay the slightest of attention to this except for a light chuckle and the twist of his mouth. "Yes, the bravery of the Gryffindor. Bravery is by far the kindest word for idiocy. What is your current relation to my brother, Sherlock Holmes?"
"A friend? I don't know, ask him."
"Mhm, but you two were seen exiting the Room of Requirement earlier this morning. Might we be expecting hand-holding later this evening?"
John shot the older boy a scowl, clearly showing his dislike (to say it kindly) of this older Holmes and his snobbish comments.
"What are you trying to get at?"
"Do you plan to continue your association with him?"
The Gryffindor broke eye contact, taking a decent moment to look down at his hand-me-down shoes intently as he thought. Would he? The previous night stealing Mycroft's cat was rather thrilling. "Is this really your business?" he asked, raising his eyes from the ground and tacking them unto Mycroft's.
"I worry about him. Constantly."
"If you're so worried about him, why don't you just talk to him yourself?" John's touché practically sliced through Mycroft's cold expression effortlessly, but only for the slightest of moments because soon the Slytherin had flung his comeback in John's direction.
"He doesn't wish to come into contact with me whatsoever. I was hoping you'd give me updates on his ways when necessary."
John cocked an eyebrow. "Will I be allowed to leave if I agree?"
Mycroft nodded once. There was nothing left to say.
"Yes."
•••
Sherlock had sent John a parchment via Hadar (How Sherlock got ahold of him, John didn't know) after their shared flying class. It read:
John.
I have your Astrology paper written. Meet near the Fat Lady before eleven-thirty tonight.
SH
John tugged on his jumper and pocketed his wand before heading down the stairs and into the common room. The deceiving brunet with wild eyes and startling height for his age was waiting promptly where he'd promised when John slid out from behind the painting at 11:33.
"Here," said the Slytherin, handing over a scrolled parchment. He was about to turn on his heal when John rest a hand on his shoulder.
"You didn't have to," John stated.
Sherlock chuckled. "Oh, but I promised."
And with that, the Slytherin made his way back down to the dungeons, fully awaiting the sight of John turning in the bloody awfull paper just minutes later.
Little did he know, John would receive a "Troll" on the said paper because Sherlock had written about the illogicality and stupidity of space itself. How likely.
•••
Sherlock was bunched up on the couch in the Come and Go Room, or as he was beginning to call it, the Flat (because after all, that's what it looked like). His legs were positioned oddly- one was stretched out; the other was tucked up against his chest with his arm strung around it. The air smelled like kindle and dust and the sun was just about to set behind the wall of windows. Gladstone curled up at the edge of the sofa, her tiny body coiled behind her tail. With every sight of her un-beastly form, Sherlock felt minor satisfaction flood through him. With only one night to experiment, it was a miracle he'd removed those fangs and claws.
On Friday night he'd found a way to removed the black eye he'd given himself (Murtlap was fantastic for these things) after an hour at the cauldron, Gladstone meowing from the floor near him. Apparently he'd forgotten to feed her and she made that abundantly clear so he placed some of the dead rat he had for potions in a bowl, put it on the ground, and continued with his useful hobby.
John wasn't there that night- he was probably screwing around with those stupid and foolish and idiotic friends of his and how could someone that was so smart want to be with his housemates? Oh yes, he remembered. John was normal; or a bit, to say the least.
But John was different. He hadn't made a harsh comment at Sherlock's "gift", he hadn't told him to 'piss off', hadn't ignored him the first chance he could, no, John came back and helped steal a cat. Oh, how the pair was so innocently foolish.
Sherlock couldn't fathom why he'd taken a liking to John. With only a few realistic (and boring) questions, John had agreeably gone along with him, sucked down all that juice, and lied to his "friends" about what they'd been doing. Hell, Sherlock had even overheard his conversation with Mycroft- the Gryffindor didn't even mentioned the cat! How could someone be so… so caring? Merlin, he hated the word. Couldn't stand it.
Sherlock sighed, resting his chin on his knee that was oddly propped up, his eyes closing and body falling limp. When was the last time he'd slept? He dozed off in History of Magic on Thursday and experimented on Friday night… Now it was Saturday and his eyes were shut tight and his breaths were evening. And soon, after his reluctant attempts at staying awake, he fell asleep for the second time on that sodding couch. Apparently it was comfortable.
•••
John picked through his meal on Monday afternoon when Sherlock slid onto the bench next to him, cloak fluttering behind in ripples of fabric as he moved. Watson groaned, piercing a piece of fried sausage.
"What?" Sherlock asked curiously, raising an eyebrow and flattening a portion of parchment onto the table.
"I have Herbology later."
Sherlock dismissed this and waited for John to inquisitively glance over at the paper that he'd placed down, but it didn't come. The Gryffindor stared down at his plate,
poking and prodding at the meat in front of him. Sherlock soon gave up his ways, concluding that John wouldn't give up his.
He spoke monotonously. "And how is Herbology so bad?"
Sherlock already knew John's reply before he said it (dark circles under his eyes, a loss of appetite, and slightly quivering fingertips). "We have a quiz… and I forgot to study," the older boy said in a grumble, balancing his head on his fist.
The Slytherin contorted his body as so he was facing his Gryffindor friend and smiled widely. It was almost malicious, but John didn't take the care to look up and see it.
"It's only Herbology. Longbottom's no good anyways, you'll do fine," the Slytherin retorted, silvery-blue eyes sparkling with excitement, "I have something to cheer you up."
"Sherlock, I'm not up for-"
The brunet cut him off. "We're going into the forbidden forest. Tonight."
John wasn't allowed time to protest because Sherlock was already explaining the situation for him and jabbing a finger at the list of elements on the parchment. "I need ingredients for a potion and you are going to help me. It's all really simple, John."
And with a flick of a wand to scroll up his paper and a fluttering of robes, Sherlock Holmes vanished from the Great Hall.
•••
Sherlock was almost a psychic because, just as he'd predicted, John had done exceeding well on his herbology exam. Lucky for him, John had a free period before his class and was able to study exceedingly. Professor Longbottom was nice about John's nerves anyway- he had said it was all normal for things like this to stir up.
John's legs were becoming rather stiff in his chair so he propped them up on the opposing seat. Only he, Albus, Greg, and Mike (from what they could see) were in the library, so it was intensively quiet. Well, until Mike burped and the boys laughed. Greg grinned while shaking his head, Albus's chortles could be heard in the dungeons, and John smiled like a fool. As quick as it began, the silence was erased almost as if it had never existed in the first place.
Soon their assorted books were shoved aside, Albus was searching the library for a chessboard, and Greg was making jokes about a Professor all while John continued to smile like a drunken bloke.
The young Potter eventually found one at a discarded table. He brought it to his friends in a half jog-half walking manner and placed it down with a pant. "Do the Muggles know how to play?" He asked, hands on his hips in direction to Greg who shrugged.
John's eyebrows furrowed. Chess? Of course he knew how to play. Almost everyone back at his Muggle school knew how to… so why was Albus asking if he could? Chess was a classic! And it was incredibly-
"Who doesn't?" exclaimed Mike in partial whisper, but Albus only smirked with his head cocked to the side.
"Not Muggle chess," he snickered, "wizard chess."
"Oh."
John leaned back in his chair when he realized. Albus and Greg had probably been playing it their whole lives, of course he and Mike didn't know. "So, how do you play?" said John, arms crossed over his. If he was as good as he was with Muggle chess with was Wizard, the three other boys would lose horridly.
Greg and Mike took turns explaining the process. It had the same aspects, they described, just that pieces broke and they had to use the Reparo spell to fix it all.
And almost immediately after they finished, Albus and John dived into a match; Mike cheering on the blond, Greg cheering on the brunet.
It was challenging, for Albus was just as good as Watson was, but John had a few tricks up his sleeve that he'd learnt from Harriet over the years. In the end, he resulted with the win. Except Albus secretly allowed him. Beginners luck, they would say.
•••
Because Sherlock never detailed as to where he would meet John (or when, frankly), the Gryffindor was left clueless as he was sprawled out on his bed. Believing that if he really needed to Sherlock could simply send Gladstone or Hadar with a letter, John skimmed through his Defence Against the Dark Arts book that Monday evening peacefully. Well, before Greg rushed up the stairs and yelled for John to come down.
When they finally reached the common room John frowned marginally with hands shoved deep in his pockets at what stood opposite of him. A few of his Gryffindor housemates stood around and stared shockingly at this new event.
"Merlin's beard, how did you get in here?" John inquired, a raised eyebrow and grin only partially suppressed.
Sherlock stood up straight, but his shoulders were slumped. His rambunctious dark hair sat at odd ends of his face- a few curls fell just in front of his eyes and one or two cupped the skin on his cheekbones. His eyes were the center stage, they were like curtains; bright and wild and clear and magical. No wonder why the theatre that homed them was so effortless.
"Lumos isn't the most challenging password, I hope you know," said the Slytherin matter-of-factly. He seemed very out of place in the Gryffindor common room with his green robes against their red furnishings. "John." he hissed, "Let's. Go."
Watson grumbled nonsense as he jogged back upstairs to fetch his jacket (he didn't believe his jumper would be enough in this cold September weather) and hurried downstairs once again. Without a single word, Sherlock took off, his cloak slashing behind him, forcing John to do his best in hopes of quickly following.
The Slytherin led the Gryffindor into a hidden passageway behind a portrait of a sophisticated feast, efficiently sending them outside and into the stale, fall, and darkened air.
A/N: Greetings! OkayI'mSoAwkwardSorry So I have been receiving some wonderful feedback for TIOSS on Tumblr, Ao3, and . I just wanted to take a quick second to thank you all for reading and to reply to some reviews.
Biku-sensei-sez-meow 8/20/13 . chapter 1
Funny! I love it. And it was pretty well written, I think. Though, I would have pegged Sherlock as a Ravenclaw. I suppose since this IS a romance, him being in Slytherin would make it more exciting. I really find it hilarious that they just stole Mycrofts cat. His CAT! Just the sort of thing I could see Sherlock actually doing. I hope you update soon. Meow!
Reply: I can see John and Sherlock in both of theur typical house selections (For Sherlock Slytherin or Ravenclaw and John Gryffindor or Hufflepuff) but for the plot of this story it seemed easier if I placed them in this fashion. Meow!
mynameispaige 9/4/13 . chapter 1
A lot of potential wonderfulness coming along here...Will there be more? :)
Reply: Defiantly. I have up to their Second year written currently. :D