Sherlock had promised.
That was the thing. As a rule, Sherlock didn't do birthdays or anniversaries or holidays, as far as John knew. He just trudged along, chasing after what interested him and ignoring everything else. He was a fourth year and had never been to Hogsmeade, for Merlin's sake. John knew that Sherlock would find the village fascinating, which was why he suggested that they meet for his birthday and go down to the village together.
Sherlock had promised.
But that didn't stop John from feeling like an idiot, waiting for his ever elusive friend to show his face. He stood to the side of the courtyard, by the statue of the flying pig, just where he said he'd be. Sherlock was fifteen minutes late and John was sure that everyone who passed (which was most of the school) knew that he was being stood up. He licked his lip and searched the courtyard again. Still no Sherlock, but by now, everyone who wanted to go to Hogsmeade was pretty much there. John was contemplating leaving and going into town on his own when he noticed a tall figure quickly cutting through the hallways.
Sherlock burst into the courtyard and locked eyes with John. "I know, I know, I'm late," he said, winded. "But John, you won't believe what these potions are doing. I was brewing Draught of Living Death last night, and instead of using beetle's eyes, I used scorpion's eyes, and…"
John smiled indulgently and let Sherlock ramble on about his latest experiments. He started walking towards Hogsmeade and Sherlock kept up, gesticulating wildly as he spoke. Eventually Sherlock ended up walking backwards in front of John, and John had to keep maneuvering him around so he wouldn't get hurt.
"Sherlock," John interrupted when Sherlock paused to take a breath.
"What? Should I have asked you how your day was? That's what normal people do, yes? I mean, please, John, tell me about how you stayed up late writing that essay for Transfiguration and how you properly mastered that one spell for Defense Against the Dark Arts and how they didn't have any tea left over in the Great Hall so you had to go into the kitchens and get some from the house-elves—"
"No, Sherlock, I was going to tell you that we're here," John said, pointing over Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock whirled around and stopped to take in the village for the first time. John couldn't see his face, but he could imagine Sherlock's hungry eyes devouring all the deductions before him. Sherlock reached behind him, grabbed John's wrist, and took off, dragging a grinning John through the village.
Sherlock told him about how this building had been destroyed in the Second Wizarding War and that building had a secret passage under it, how this barkeep was watering down the firewhiskey and that sales clerk was stealing some of the food for the toads from the shop she worked for, on and on and on as they went into every building on the main street. Finally, John steered Sherlock into the Three Broomsticks and parked Sherlock at a table before going to get them drinks. He returned with a glass of mead (for him) and some butterbeer (for Sherlock).
"Drink up," John ordered, following his own advice.
Sherlock re-focused on John. "How did you…" he started before giving a small smile. He leaned back in his seat and said with a bit of pride, "Very good, John." John grinned and took Sherlock's money pouch out of his pocket, passing it back to Sherlock.
"The student becomes the teacher," John replied, grinning widely.
"Now now, don't get ahead of yourself," Sherlock lightly scolded, taking a drink of butterbeer and holding up John's wand in his long, pale fingers.
"Berk," John said fondly, taking his wand back and putting it inside his robes. Sherlock hummed noncommittally in response. They continued joking and talking as the finished their drinks, staying inside for a while since it was still bitterly cold out on the street. It was warm and cozy inside the pub, the chattering of the other customers a pleasant hum in the background. They were unbothered, just two more friends in a sea of students.
When they finally left the pub, John turned to go back to Hogwarts, but Sherlock stopped him. "Wait, what do people do on their birthdays?" Sherlock asked.
"Er," John said intelligently. "Have cake? Throw a party? Get presents?"
"That's the one," Sherlock replied with a nod. "I didn't do that for you."
John sighed. "You actually came out to Hogsmeade and you technically paid for the drinks. That's enough."
Sherlock shook his head. "No, it isn't. You're my only friend, John. You have been ever since that day you stopped those insipid bullies. I need to learn how to do these things correctly," he said decisively. Sherlock waved his arm out, encompassing the whole village. "Pick something. I'll buy it for you."
"No, Sherlock—" As usual, Sherlock didn't listen. Instead, he threw John into the street and then tapped his foot, a universal 'I'm waiting on your fat arse' signal. So John headed off down the road with Sherlock loping behind him.
He was about to pass Dervish and Banges when Sherlock guided him into the store. John looked around in the shop; it was one they hadn't been in yet. There were hundreds of magical items for sale, from Remembralls to enchanted mirrors. Over in the back corner of the shop was a display on different pocket watches with a sign that read, "Pocket Watches for Newly Of-Age Wizards." Sherlock practically dragged John over, apparently remembering that John turned seventeen this year. He and John both poured over the selections carefully.
There were a lot to look at. Ones with trains on the front, ones with maps for backings, ones with ancient runes instead of numbers, ones that tracked the phases of the moon, ones that had several markings for how people were doing or where they were. John looked and looked until he saw one that entranced him. It was a creamy, rosey gold color with a delicate swirling pattern on the front. The clock itself not only told the time, but also the date and sunrise and sunset. The whole thing was—there was no other word for it—beautiful.
Sherlock, of course, noticed. He swooped it out of John's hand and went up to the counter. John protested—it was too much, really, all he needed was something simple—and then protested again when the sales clerk spoke the price, but it fell on deaf ears. The watch and chain bought, Sherlock turned and gave it to John. John took it, examined it again, and breathed, "Thank you." Sherlock looked inordinately pleased and favored John with a smile. "Happy birthday," he replied.
