MCC #2: Reflection Unveils Ocean Eyes (Chapter 3)

Sibling Rivalries

"Why?"

John had spoken up first. His fright had done nothing but cause his trembling body to break down, his emotions spilling out as he shivered against the cold water. The downpour kept coming, smacking the Gryffindor in the eyes and causing a reaction of him crying out from the sharp stinging.

"John..."

How many times have I heard my own name today? No matter if it's been said from the lips of my best friend, I still can't stand to hear it anymore.

"Why does everything always happen to me? Or it's my fault?" He was shouting over the loud booms as Holmes stood with his coat turned up to fight with the wind. For one, the brunette didn't comprehend how to respond, but on the other hand he knew it was polite to help John with his problem.

"Come here."

Watson stated up at him with pink eyes and narrowed them from the blinding water droplets pounding on the front of his cheeks. His blue irises were painted with sorrow, and Sherlock thought he was looking down on a homeless boy if it hadn't been for the sweet complexion the lion had about him. The broad shoulders, muscular arms, chubby face, flat stomach, even the sweeping motion of his hair all belonged to him. There would be no mistake in picking out John Watson from a crowd of strangers.

The smaller boy was taken-aback by the Ravenclaw's demand and let the rain fall off his nose while his mouth was relaxed and open. The skeletal hand of the older friend flew out from under his jacket, palm up and exposed to allow his buddy to take it.

When Watson either refused or couldn't find the right reproach for the gesture, the younger Holmes brother fired back another sentence, repeating his first command to make himself clear.

"John, I said come here."

Sherlock was no one to mess with when he was annoyed. Lifting his heavy arm like a great weight, the shorter boy grabbed the brunette's semi-dry hand and hoisted himself from the ground, leaving a dent in the mulch covering the base of the tree.

John's navy blue shirt was splotched with patches of water, the pockets by his chest secured closed by white buttons, and his tan hiking shorts no longer held their original color. They looked mucky brown, and his shoeless feet were freezing while pressed against the grass. His sandy locks made him look like he'd received an electric shock, puffed up in the back and flaring rather than smoothed down in their usual stance.

Once they stood face to face, John collar bone sagged and coughed from the gunk building up in his throat. Then all of the sudden he found Sherlock's raincoat draped over his shoulders, blocking the water from entering his clothing and drowning him any more.

Underneath Sherlock's coat he's been using as an umbrella, he was dressed in a spare pair of sweatpants that made him look ridiculous. A second hoodie was covering his upper body, now only sprinkled with little speckles of the downpour taking advantage of the two boys.

The silence was broken by Holmes tugging Watson into a hug, pulling him in as close as possible and muttering soft tidings to his friend that only he could hear, slowly resembling a lullaby as he found his lines rhyming by no coincidence.

"Shh..." he whispered, rocking the shorter boy back and forth and leaning over so the blonde didn't have to reach up so high to hold onto his back. "It's okay. You just need a moment to take it all in. Not everything goes the way we plan for them to. You're just shook up over it." He now spoke directly into John's ear, doing anything to calm the twelve-year-old down and get his loving personality returned to normal.

"Do you think I'll be able to forgive her though?" John asked. "My mum?"

"Of course you will. There are much worse lies that can be told, and even then the victim always forgives their enemies in the end." They broke away up top so their faces were about a foot apart. "And you know what? You're John Hamish Watson. You can't stay angry at anyone for long."

He bopped the Gryffindor on the nose and John perked up a little, letting the irresistible urge to smile fly free like a dove. "I can't go back home tonight though," he said in a suffering tone. "I'll have to deal with a long talk and I don't want to witness that right now."

Sherlock laughed, using his hand to jerk John's head forward and ruffle his messy hair. If he desperately wanted a good laugh he could brush his fingers around and mold the lion's mane into a Mohawk, but seeing as the younger boy was practically on the edge already he wasn't going to risk it.

"That's no obstacle," he replied, and John raised an eyebrow at his complex arrangement of words. "You can sleep at my house tonight. I'm sure Mum won't mind, and Father works late at the Ministry, so you'll be welcome. If Mycroft doesn't approve, too bad."

John flattened his lips in a pleased manner. "Thank you," he told the brunette, squeezing the sharp nook of Holmes's shoulder. "And thanks for the coat," he added, inputting his joy in the extra layer of clothing.

"No problem. Come on," Sherlock beckoned, wrestling him in around his neck area, "let's get moving before you freeze to death."

John agreed without hesitation and was accelerated ahead by the taller kid, heading in the direction of the largely populated clump of houses to their right. The flicker of a lamp he'd seen earlier was indeed from Sherlock's bedroom, and now he could see a smidge of his experiment table through the window and the backboard of the Ravenclaw's mattress. Occasionally, the older boy's elbow would brush against the sleeve of his borrowed jacket, causing him to stir or flinch at an unexpected jolt of contact.

Passing between two houses, the thunderstorm began to build up and suddenly the sky pelted large droplets of water at them, like it was purposefully attempting to knock them over. Once they were safely under the roof of the Holmes' front deck, Sherlock told him to leave the jacket outside on one of the rocking chairs his mum enjoyed lounging in on summer mornings.

Sherlock pressed down on the latch to the front door and pushed inwards, revealing the open area of the living room to their left and one of the staircases to the second floor straight ahead. Far off beyond the couches in the family area was the kitchen with a short bar built next to the sink. Mrs. Holmes was cleaning up the last bit of dishes and cutting up a few tomatoes, but when she spotted her son lugging on his best friend through the entrance to their home she immediately paused and rushed over.

"Sherlock," she interjected, bringing her stern voice on, "Where have you been? What on earth were you doing outside in such a storm? You could have got seriously injured -"

"Mum!" he said, raising his voice so she stopped in a startled position, "John's had a row with his family."

Thanks for the news, Sherlock, Watson grumbled, standing behind the eagle like a person who didn't belong in that proper atmosphere. Mrs. Holmes let her mouth fall open in worry before her son went on with his description.

"Can he stay here tonight?" he pleaded, giving her his best puppy dog eyes. Sherlock's mum switched her attention to the boy hidden in the corner, suddenly becoming fidgety and giving John the look like he was her actual son who just been beaten up on the street by a passerby.

The brunette's parent adjusted the appearance of her flowered pink blouse, pulling down the sleeves so the skin on her arms no long showed. "Of course you can stay here, John," she welcomed, offering him a spot to be a part of their family. "Whenever you have trouble at home, you're more than welcome to come here."

"Thank you, Mrs. Holmes," the blonde great fully replied, stepping up closer so he became level with Sherlock. He went to stride forward but stopped abruptly when he realized his mistake. "I would hug you, but I'm all wet," he stated. The Ravenclaw's mother touched her hand to her heart, showing how sweet she thought the boy was being.

"Sherlock," she began to input her opinion, but her son was already on top of things and ahead of her.

"Don't worry, Mum. I'll take care of him." His gaze flew to the clock in the living room. "You should head off to bed. You look tired."

"Alright, dear. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Don't call me that," Holmes muttered as she walked away swiftly, her hips gently swinging from side to side. Then turning to John he added, "Come on," for urgency.

Watson found an arm shaking around his shoulder, pulling him in close for support. And one step at a time, they began to ascend the staircase together up to the second floor. Once they reached the top and turned the corner, John was able to pick out among the rows of doors which belonged to Sherlock's bedroom chamber.

The Ravenclaw gently pushed his bedroom door open with the pads of his fingers, letting his friend scoot into the area before he did so himself. John automatically shuffled to the side of the space, allowing a pathway for Sherlock to meander around and get everything situated. He rummaged around in a couple dresser drawers before extending his knees and turning to face the Gryffindor.

"Here," he said, his tone soothing but his hand motion a little too rough as a fresh pair of pajamas was tossed into John's arms. They consisted of a dark blue pair of cotton pants with a plaid pattern and a white tank top. The brunette was about to sneak put of the room before catching his own mistake and giving the lion an explanation. "I'll be right back," he simply put it. John asked no further questions and went to slip on the comfortable clothes he was offered to borrow.

He kept shivering as his teeth chattered, and even the new outfit didn't seem to keep him warm. Knowing Sherlock would have wanted him to, Watson crawled under the duvet on the eagle's mattress and leaned up against the backboard, closing his eyes tiredly. He rolled the thoughts of the day over in his head, wondering what would've happened if he hadn't mentioned the news at all.

What if I didn't tell Mum? What if I'd just left the matter to Sherlock instead? He seemed to have taken notice too.

The peaceful quiet and arguing of his brain was interrupted a few moments later by Sherlock knocking delicately on the door. John cranked his head down and twisted it to the right, watching the entrance open with his pupils. Holmes's curly head appeared around the edge, checking to make sure his buddy was fully-dressed and had nestled into his bed.

When his full figure was in sight, John noticed he held a steaming mug of tea in his hands, one grasping the handle and the other curled around the border of the open top. The cup was black and white striped, reminding the shorter boy almost of one of his favorite jumpers.

"Um, for you," Sherlock stated awkwardly, setting the drink on the bedside table next to the blonde. "Might be a little warm; I'd let it cool off if I were you."

He was acting so strange at doing his best to be polite that John found it cute. Sherlock scuttled around the bed and snatched up his own pajamas, which were falling off the covers flimsily. "Just give me a few minutes," he told his friend, slipping into his bathroom and shutting the door for privacy.

John nervously pulled the thick covers up to his chin, trying to find anything that would keep him toasty so he wouldn't freeze. His feet curled under himself, still wrapped in the wet socks he'd had on his feet for several hours. Feeling stupid, he roughly pulled them off and threw them across the room, landing on top of the pile of clothes that belonged to him.

There was a click as Sherlock came back into the room, neatly groomed and dressed in his lounging pajamas. Revealing his shoulders from under the blankets, John rubbed his bare upper arms and leaned forward to ask his lingering question.

"Do you have a spare shirt I could throw on?" He tried not to shake in front of the Ravenclaw.

"Oh for god's sake, John," the taller boy commented, "We're not in public. It's not like anyone's going to see you," he mentioned, remotely interested in his friend's strong muscles. Watson however, seemed to be hiding them. "It's not like you're fat or anything," Sherlock acknowledged, attempting to cheer the younger kid up.

"No!" John almost screamed, then grimaced at his rude behavior. He cowered beneath himself and lowered his voice to plead. "It's not that at all. I'm not embarrassed by that," he pointed out, "I'm just freezing that's all."

"Oh." Holmes felt ridiculous and bent his skull over to hide his blushing cheeks, turning childishly on the spot and fishing around for a long-sleeved shirt. "Actually," he spoke, more so to himself than anyone else, "I think I've got a top that matches the pants you're wearing." He chucked a few socks and a sweater across the ground before holding up a button-up shirt in triumph.

"Here you go," the older kid exclaimed, letting the piece of clothing escape from his fingers and John snatched it in the air.

"Thanks," Watson joyfully said, trying to wiggle the cover over his head. It got stuck on his neck so he pulled it off, having to suffer and undo all the buttons clasped to the front. He threaded his arms through the sleeves, feeling the smooth fabric against his skin as it gave him an extra layer. Satisfied, he sank off his bent knees and tucked them back under the covers.

Sherlock searched around for a few things before cuddling into bed with his friend, his large mattress able to provide enough space plus extra; there was at least a foot between them as they sat together. John leaned over to pick up his drink and brought it to his mouth. He blew and steam flung off the circumference of the mug, sending a warm wave of air over his fingers.

Suddenly he cringed a little when the liquid passed through his almost closed lips, not because of the temperature but because of the taste. He tried to hide it as he identified the sweet ingredient that had been added to the boiling mixture.

"Oh," Holmes noticed, squeezing his eyes shut in stupidity as the Gryffindor turned slightly to catch his eyes. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't take sugar."

"Don't worry, it's okay." Sherlock certainly didn't think so. "It's not acting like poison; it won't kill me or something. I'll survive." And to hide the fact that it was a little too sweet for him to handle, John slowly swallowed the tea over the course of the night. When there was a quarter of the drink left, he felt he'd had enough and set the glass back on the table to his right.

The blonde curled up and slouched against the pillow, trying to gather up enough heat so he felt welcome and like he was at home.

Home. What was going on at home?

Sherlock gave him a small smile that he just barely caught out of the corner of his vision. "You warm now?" he asked, checking to make sure.

"Yep," the tiny boy replied, playing with his feet under the covers in appreciation. He was acting like he was Sherlock's sibling, and secretly the brunette wishes that sometimes. He would do anything to have John as his brother rather than Mycroft, mainly because they got along so well and barely started an argument.

Watson looked extremely comfortable as he sank into the cushiony surface and tilted his head away from the Ravenclaw. His blonde locks were still messy and sticking up everywhere, the tiny hairs brushed off his handsome face. He heaved a monstrous sigh, letting all his troubles go and vanish from his mind in a split second. Sherlock remained silent for a few intended moments before making sure his best friend was feeling normal.

"You okay?" He asked with caution, afraid he might break the lion if he went too far in one move.

"I guess," the younger boy decided, still ignoring the gaze the questioner was giving him. His blue eyes looked mint colored from the dim light the lamp gave off. He licked his lips for no reason. That was one of the peeves that bothered Sherlock about John; he tended to lick his lips in public randomly, and at times it became irrelevant, distracting, or possibly inappropriate. He never said anything to the shorter kid though.

"So, is everything all sorted out now? You know, between you and your mum?" He sounded so afraid at asking such a thing.

John groaned. "Maybe." He wasn't at all thrilled to discuss the topic. His face looked so calm lying against the padded structure of the pillow.

Sherlock tried to explain how he knew all along but couldn't bring himself to do it. "I-I should have told you before; I just didn't know how you would react, even after we'd just started our first year at -"

"Oh, so you knew too?" His temper was rising now as he sat up and twisted to face Holmes.

"Um, actually it wasn't that hard to work out." Sherlock felt guilty as John sank heavily back onto the spare pillow the brunette lent him, skull crashing into the back of the Ravenclaw's bed. "I'm sorry," Sherlock projected with as much apology in his tone as he could muster. "I didn't know you'd be so affected -"

"No, it's not your fault." The taller boy turned his head in such a slow motion he felt like his brain was spinning in a compact maze. He just flat out didn't understand what route Watson was taking. John pulled his knees into his chest and tried to flatten his drenched, blonde hair. He ran his hand over the front of his face like someone who is in frustration, but it only made his front sandy colored locks to stick up like a tidal wave.

"You know what's really going on?" he asked, staring blankly at the pile of Hogwarts robes on the back of Holmes's desk chair, "I'm overreacting."

"Seriously?"

"I'm not joking. Honestly, I'm taking this all in at once, I can't handle it, but I'm acting like my life depends on it." Sherlock opened and closed his lips a few times but no sounds came out.

John swallowed and croaked as he tasted some of the hot tea still stuck between the ridges of his teeth. He sniffed before blaming himself harshly. "I'm being an idiot."

"No you're…Now stop it you!" Sherlock ordered, shifting his sitting position on the bed and shuffling over the fresh sheets to land right in front of the lion. "John, listen to me," he demanded, forcing the younger boy to stare right at him. "All of this stuff that's happening to you, the dementors, Moriarty, your family history, it's messing with your brain. All this nonsense is causing you to believe you're a bad person. Well guess what? You're the complete opposite of that." He said it with such a stern posture. The Gryffindor lifted his chin a tad higher.

"Those voices in your head, they're just hallucinations. You know deep down," he paused to place a hand on the little boy's heart, "that I will never be severely injured like that. Because you keep me close right here." John was right on the verge of tears and had to grab Sherlock's hand that was connected to his pumping organ.

"And Moriarty? You know you could defeat him any day. You could take him out with one swift punch if I'd let you." John made his oncoming cough an expressed giggle instead.

"As for your family, you just need to accept who you are now that you're aware of the truth. You still love them and care for them with everything you own." A salty drop of water fell from John's breaking blue iris, slipping down his cheeks and landing on the fabric of the shirt that rested on his stocky shoulders. The only sign of sadness Sherlock showed was in his florescent and interchanging pupils, turning miniature in the crepuscular light.

"And if anything goes wrong with family relationships, you know you've got me, right?"

"You are my family, Sherlock," John put out there, letting his head dive forward and fall into the brunette's collar bone while patting around the boy's waist to pull it into a hug.

Holmes felt like he'd been given a bar of soap to rinse out his mouth; terrified. What did that feel like? Having a best friend who…

Loves me? John just called me his brother.

"Oh, John…" The only reasonable thing to do was bring him into his body and comfort the blonde. "What would I do without you?" he questioned, thinking he would be miserable and lonely without his trusty lion around.

He loved the coordination of stroking John's fluffy head. He always kept his hair clean and tidy, but it was soft at the touch like the jumpers he always wore.

"Alright little Hamish?" he asked, pulling away and revealing the sulking kid underneath who was curled up like a bug.

"What did you call me?" He gave Holmes a very puzzled look, eyebrow included.

"Oh my god. I'm oblivious. I just called you by your middle name." The older boy couldn't help but grin foolishly.

"Shut up."

They broke apart and scooted away nervously, finding they'd invaded each other's personal bubbles. Sherlock looked considerably taller while sitting on his heels, dressed in his grey t-shirt that was far too big for him and his blue sweatpants. They sat facing each other on top of the white duvet, hands on one another's shoulders and foreheads pressed together.

John exhaled sharply, closing his ocean eyes and letting the relaxing sensation sink in. Sherlock squeezed the dent in the Gryffindor's collar bone, massaging the knotted muscles so the blonde could let everything out. When John re-opened his eyes, Sherlock was the first to speak and check on the human being he dedicated almost all of his attention to.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

John noticed Holmes cheated and pointed it out straight to his face. "You got that from a book, didn't you?"

"Course I did. What don't I get from a book?"

"Yourself."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well, because you're unique and nobody can match up to the best man I know."

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "That was a rhetorical question, but thanks anyway." He hopped off the bed enthusiastically and stopped in the archway of the bathroom. "You okay? You don't need anything else?"

John was struggling to get back under the sheets. When he was fully turned around, he answered the Ravenclaw. "No. I'm fine."

Sherlock smiled. "Just making sure." He spun on his heel and sort of galloped into the toilet room, grabbing the towel from the rack to the side of the door and flicking the level up on the sink. He stuck his finger under the tap to make sure the water temperature was just right, adjusting the knob when needed.

He used the scented face soap to wash around his cheekbones, covering his chin in the white substance. Twice he got soap in his eye but washed it out thoroughly with water and the towel.

When he'd finished, he hung the washcloth back on the hook and returned to his room, shutting off the light and catching sight of his best friend, now curled up on the far side of the bed with his eyes closed. The older boy could tell he wasn't asleep just by the intensity of his breathing, but he looked extremely adorable all snuggled up in the brunette's bed. As soon as Sherlock adjusted his position under the comforter, John cracked his eyes open a bit to watch the eagle's movements.

"Comfy?" the taller kid asked.

"I am now."

"Good." He nestled into the mattress while the smaller boy scooted a few inches closer. He found his left hand brushing over the smooth skin of John's cheek.

"Sleep, John. You've had a rough day. You need it." A weak smile crossed the bottom of his face before he shut his eyes from his long day.

It didn't take much effort before he was fast asleep, off in a world of dreams and quiet all around while Sherlock watched over him.

It was partly cloudy when Sherlock arose the next morning, mood groggy and activation level at about ten percent functional. John had his head buried into the bottom corner of the pillow, a frown on his face and his hand resting right where his ear would have been, if it hadn't been hidden by his cushion.

Without disturbing the little lion, he snuck out of bed and took the mug John had drunk from the previous night. There was still about a quarter of the liquid left, and by now Sherlock was surprised it hadn't left a reeking smell in his bedroom overnight. Quickly and quietly, he headed out into the hallway to prepare some breakfast for the beginning meal.

He wasn't sure why, but he tiptoed down the stairs and made sure to rinse out the cup before checking the fridge for available food to eat. He found some French toast and decided to test his cooking skills, getting out the butter and maple syrup. No one came to bother him while he made breakfast, and he even poured a glass of orange juice for his friend upstairs.

Careful to not spill everything off the tray, he ascended the steps one at a time until he reached the end of the hall, pushing open the door of his room with the upper half of his foot.

John was sitting up in bed, rubbing his pink eyes and yawning so strenuously. Turning sideways, Sherlock winced as he strolled through the entrance, presenting his visitor's meal with a proud sense about him.

"Oh! Morning," Watson heavily greeted, rubbing the back of his neck to get rid of the tightness.

"How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," he admitted, spotting the toast and drink that he assumed was for him.

"Here you go," the brunette said, setting the mini table in front of the blonde, making dents in the sheets around the boy's hips.

"Excellent," the eater said, and Sherlock took it as a compliment.

"So, are you ready to face your mum today?" Holmes made it seem like it was a big deal.

John swallowed and removed the fork from his mouth. "I suppose."

The Ravenclaw shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, biting on his lower lip. "Well, eat up. I'll walk you home a little later."

'A little later' classified as about two hours. John wouldn't fess up until he knew his mum would be out shopping, and he used the other excuse that his clothes from the night before were still wet. Sherlock immediately paused what he was doing and took the Gryffindor's clothes to be dried off. He set his wand down he was polishing onto the unmade bed and dashed out of the room, John attempting to call after the brunette but failing miserably.

"How much longer?" John asked, searching through a stack of chocolate frog cards for no particular reason. Sherlock raised his eyes from his stick he was tending to and peered at the clock across the room. Both boys seemed very antisocial, deciding to stay locked up inside the Ravenclaw's room for most of the day.

Holmes knew what Watson was referring to. "About fifteen minutes." His friend on the floor caught his eye and his posture turned to irritated. "You're not messing those up, are you?"

"Why?" the blonde asked cautiously, aware that he was undoubtedly doing something wrong while looking caught.

"I had them in alphabetical order," Sherlock muttered.

"Oh." Fifteen minutes isn't a lot of time. Better get started then. "I'll put them back in order," John said aloud, holding the bottom half of the stack that he never touched, which was an advantage as they were still sorted correctly. There were easily eighty of them, and Sherlock was determined he was going to have them all by his seventh year at Hogwarts.

"No, don't bother."

"Yes I will."

"No -"

"Sherlock -"

"I'm serious. It's not such a big deal." It didn't matter. He spotted the lion reorganizing them out of the corner of his eye.

It wasn't until his wand was fully cleaned that Holmes spoke up again. "By my calculations, we have an average of seven seconds left. Excuse me." And he was out the door without another peep.

John only managed to get sixty-five of the cards done when the older boy came back with his clothes. He vanished into the bathroom and swapped them out for the junky outfit Sherlock had lent him, and the fabric felt warm from the machine's cleaning process while they smelled of fresh detergent.

As soon as he extracted one toe from the changing room, Sherlock offered to walk him home. John accepted, figuring he may as well go sooner rather than later.

They took the long way round, striding down the wide road side by side while observing the variously sized houses in Sherlock's neighborhood. There were pretty sunflowers near the entrance, and they both stopped to smell them before rounding the corner and finding the Gryffindor's neighborhood just up ahead.

John scraped a few pebbles under the sole of his foot at the base of his driveway, giving Sherlock an almost toddler complaint expression. "Do I have to?" he questioned, pleading to the taller kid with his blue irises.

Holmes sighed with great discomfort. "Why are you so scared to face your mother?" He spun John around to face him near the shoulder area. "Just…be yourself. That's the best route to take." He put his hand around the back of Watson's neck. "Okay?" he asked.

"Okay."

"That's my boy."

John smiled sweetly before trotting off, pausing halfway up the pathway to look back for one last gesture. Taking a deep breath, he took the golden doorknob in his palm and turned, pushing the door open to be greeted with the familiar enlightenment of home.

He was alarmed when he walked lazily into down the hall and took the sharp corner to find his mother sitting in the dining room. Harriet must have been upstairs in her bedroom because she was nowhere in sight.

As soon as she heard his footsteps had stopped, Mrs. Watson spotted him over the vase of flowers she'd put on the table that morning. The time on the microwave read 2:17 P.M.

She dropped her magazine as soon as she saw her son, losing her page as her chair squeaked against the floor when she stood up. Her mouth was slightly open as she approached the blonde-haired kid with prudence. "John…" she whispered, her fingertips still glued to the gleaming surface. Her son remained in the entrance to the hallway that disappeared a few feet behind him, encompassing to the left to the main entryway to their house.

"Oh John…" She was now a few meters from reaching him. "I -"

"Me first," he said, cutting her off and holding up a single finger. She stopped and opened her ears to listen. John swallowed the lump in his throat before continuing.

"Mum…" He shook his head to get rid of the buzzing in his skull. He almost let out a little snort while trying to hide a confused smile. "I-I've been thinking since last night about what I want to say to you. I've chosen these words with care."

"Right," she said, her tone rising towards the end and making it sound more like a question.

John removed his gaze from the tiled floor to stare up into his mother's pupils. "You know I can never stay mad at you forever. That's just not who I am. I've been through difficult times, dealt with difficult people, but somehow I managed to pull through every time."

Mrs. Watson stayed silent while her child paused in the middle of his speech. The twelve-year-old's eyes drifted to the picture frame on top of the fireplace in the open family room, bearing two images of his parents. His father wore his military uniform, and his mother's was her portrait for work. Over his real mum's shoulder, he spotted a bluebird lurking in a nest through the sunroom window.

The wizard coughed. "To tell you the truth, I overreacted." The Squib that was his parent thought she'd heard wrong and misunderstood him, but she only lowered her eyebrows a centimeter. "I know," John admitted, spying the look on her face, "I know it sounds absurd. But honestly, it's true. I shouldn't have chewed it out on you like that." He straightened his spine so he didn't look so short next to her.

He cocked his head while speaking his next sentence right to her. "I just wish you never lied to me."

She had to but in. She couldn't stand not saying a word any longer. "John, I'm so sorry." Her eyes were swelling and tears were forming in the pink composure of them.

"But yes of course, I forgive you, Mum."

His forgiveness made her break down, but the child made the first move for the hug. He held out his arms for his mother to bring him in, and he found his head in her chest, accepting the warmth of her body. She was crying into her son's shoulder as he tilted his head to the side, part of his blonde locks being flattened against her ribs.

He pushed off her hips so she could let go a little, and he had to crane his neck back to look up at her. "Just promise me one thing?" he asked.

"What?" He was amazed at how clearly she was able to talk with a stuffy nose.

"That I can still be a wizard, no matter who I am."

She stopped her sniffling in a split second and gave him the sweetest smile she could muster. "Always." John's cheeks became chubby as he showed his teeth and giggled lightly. "You'll always be my little wizard." Their conversation ended with her planting a kiss on the top of his head.

"Thanks Mum."

He let go of Mrs. Watson so she could clean up in her bathroom, and John was honestly thrilled he'd apologized. He felt light a giant weight was lifted off his body and he wasn't under so much pressure anymore.

His moment just became awkward when there was a buzz in his pocket from his mobile phone.

And that's the John Watson I know. –SH

"What?" John looked around, aware that Sherlock must've been listening into their conversation; there was no other way he would've known that their relationship was settled once more.

Alright sneaky, where are you hiding? How can you possibly know? –JW

Shot in the dark. Good one though. Look to your left. –SH

John swerved around to check through the open sunroom, and sure enough, Sherlock was peeking over the ledge and must have been checking in on their conversation now and then. John jogged over and opened the glass down, leaning on the wooden support rod to have a tiny chat before Holmes said goodbye.

"Everything alright now?"

"Yeah. It's amazing what you can accomplish with a few words," the blonde replied with calmness.

"Yeah…Well, I'll see you later, John." Holmes waved in a funky manner and turned to leave, being polite and closing the white gate behind him as he started to cross the field alone.

"Bye," John followed with his farewell, way after the Ravenclaw was out of earshot. He closed the door and shut out the lovely breeze that brushed delicately over his neck, turning away and heading through the archway that opened into the rest of the Watsons' house.

His joy was dented when he saw his sister Harriet almost charging into the room, her long hair pulled back in a loose braid and her shorts almost down to her kneecaps. Her brother rolled his eyes and passed by, heading right for the cupboard to grab a tasty snack.

While he was cutting up some fruit from the fridge instead, Harry spoke to him in a drawling voice, almost intentionally teasing him. "If I were you, I wouldn't have bothered with it in the first place."

"Don't," the younger sibling snapped, aware as to where she was going with her point.

"Actually, it would've been better to have not accepted your school letter…"

"I said enough Harry!"

"You wouldn't have to deal with it if -"

"SHUT UP!" His threat was so fierce she went quiet in one moment. She seemed to have been sent into a petrified state.

"Jeez, I'm just saying," she retorted, coming back with attitude.

His wand was locked in his hand in such a flash she couldn't blink or else she'd miss it. Her eyes went wide and she backed into the end of the couch, clutching onto the furniture for dear life. "You…you wouldn't," she wondered, alarmed.

"You never know," he smirked, totally aware that he would do such a thing if his sister insulted him again.

"You could get expelled…"

"You know what, Harry? I am aware that you hate me." She gave him a look of pure disgust. "I know you always have. But you know what I want most of all? I don't want to take anymore of your crap. I've had it. You say I'm different, fine. I accept that. But nothing can stop me from being who I am." Her look was blank as he rambled on. "If you don't like me magic, well that sucks for you. You'll just have to deal with it."

He stored his weapon away in his pocket and walked up to her with his chest puffed out, making him look like a young soldier. Strong and tough, able to take on anything. When he was right in her face, he was prepared for her to burst out in a mortifying argument.

And that's exactly what she did. At first she started off in a low voice, but then it just rose with every word, but as she yelled, John only smiled evilly. "You're the one who's messed everything up for me! Because of you and your 'special wizard magic', you get all the attention. What do I get? NOTHING! You don't even need to ask for anything, but you get it all because you're mummy's boy."

"Oh, so you take it out on me because I'm doing nothing to get attention?"

"Yes you are!"

"How?" She couldn't answer. "Let me ask you that; how? How can I grab the attention of Mum with my magic?" He waited for her response, but none came. "If you know I'd get expelled if I performed magic, then how do I get her to focus on me?"

"That's not the point!" she shouted, her irascible personality showing. "The point is that you think you're cooler than everyone else in this family, and you don't bother to find out anything about them except the details of yourself!"

"That is entirely not true! You know that Harry. How many times have I shown it in the last year? Proved that I love every single human being in this household?"

"To me? I don't think you ever did! Maybe a couple times, but other than that, never!"

"Well why are you calling me out for it? I want to know about my future just as much as you do, Harry. I don't want it wrecked and causing a reaction that will twist my family relations."

"Well, if you want to have a decent relationship with me," she emphasized the word for an effect, "then you better not even show me a hint of magic while I'm near you!"

She's pissed. John knew she was maybe even going to punch him if she had the nerve, but he made the next move and promptly ended their fight.

"You know what?"

"Shut up. You've said that way too many times already…"

He made a clamping motion with his fingers to get her to shut her mouth. "Fine. You know what I believe?" he asked, leaning in closer so she had to bend her lower back and move away. "I think…you're jealous." What she thought her brother was playing at was unknown. He stopped and smiled behind sealed lips.

"Completely jealous."

And finishing off the battle he'd won, he brushed off his left shoulder with sass, spinning away and pacing down the hall, leaving his sister staring into space and alone, utterly in shock.