Goooood morning my darlings! Here is another new chapter for you all. ^^
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~SXS
Disclaimer: Any and all related elements from the Harry Potter or Sherlock universe are the sole property of their creators. I do not take any ownership of anything except for the ideas of the storyline.
Another time Sherlock would find John in the library, he was asleep, his head on a text book. The Ravenclaw approached his sleeping friend and examined the book underneath. A medical text, obviously Muggle in origin. He shook his head. John really was overworking himself. Gently he shook his shoulder. "John? John, wake up."
"Huh?" John jerked away and blinked blearily around. "Sherlock?" His groggy gaze passed over the library, looking confused as to how he'd gotten there.
Sherlock smiled faintly. "Sleeping on books in this position is hardly good for your back," he teased. "You should take a break," he added more seriously.
John rubbed his sleepy eyes and shook his head. "I can't afford to," he protested. "I have to keep up on my Muggle education too."
"You're running yourself into the ground," Sherlock said, quirking his mouth to the side. It wasn't often that he felt concern for others, but in John's case it was different. He actually cared about him.
"You can't take my classes for me, Sherlock," John countered. "And I will be fine. I have Sundays."
Though John's eyes were framed by dark circles, there was a strong determination in them. Sherlock sighed. "Sunday is a few days away and your body is telling you that you need to rest," he said. "Have you even eaten anything recently?"
That got John to pause and think. When was the last time he ate something other than a piece of toast and running off to the library or class or the Quidditch pitch? "Um..." Normally was was the one cajoling Sherlock to eat.
Sherlock started to close up John's books, marking the pages with spare bits of parchment. He wasn't about to let John collapse. "Come. I know how to get into the kitchens." He packed everything into John's bag and slung it over his own shoulder.
John thought about arguing, but really, arguing with Sherlock on a good day was like shouting abuse at a brick wall. Didn't get through. He stood up. "You don't need to carry my bag..."
"Bollocks. You haven't eaten for an indeterminate amount of time and you're exhausted. Plus this bag is quite heavy with all the books you carry. You'll thank me later." Sherlock turned and led the way out of the library and down towards the Entrance Hall. It was well past dinner time, so they had to be careful sneaking down. "Have you ever been to the kitchens before?"
"No, I've never had a need before," John admitted as he followed behind Sherlock. The way he stayed just at his heels was almost like a lost little puppy.
Sherlock smirked. "I think you'll like it." They continued down staircase after staircase until they were standing in front of a portrait of a bowl of fruit. Sherlock tickled the painted pear which giggled and turned into a doorknob. He then turned the knob and swung the painting open.
On the other side, the room was still bustling. House elves were darting around, cleaning dishes and preparing things for breakfast the next morning. Sherlock smiled to see John's reaction to the sight of it, eyes widening and mouth slightly ajar. "This castle never ceases to amaze me," he said as Sherlock nudged him inside. The air around them was warm with the smell of baking bread and roasted turkey. "It's quite incredible."
Just then, one of the house elves rushed up to Sherlock, staring up at him with a friendly smile. "Hello, Mr. Holmes! What can Missy get for Mr. Holmes?"
Sherlock grinned down at her. Missy was the first house elf that he'd befriended when he'd started coming to the kitchen at off hours for snacks. "Missy," he said, "this is my friend John Watson. He'll be the one eating tonight. John, what would you like?" he asked, looking to him.
"Um, I guess whatever they had for dinner tonight," John said with a shrug.
"A plate of everything then," Sherlock said, turning back to the elf. "And I'll have a few biscuits."
"Yes, Mr. Holmes." Missy bowed and went to the tables that were lined with leftover food to make a plate. Sherlock led John to a small table on the side where they sat down together.
John was still taking in the sight of the expansive kitchen as they sat. Then he looked to Sherlock again and smiled. "I take it that you come here often."
"From time to time. The house elves are better company than my housemates, and I get free biscuits." Sherlock grinned as Missy returned to them with a piled up plate for John and a smaller one of biscuits. "Thank you, Missy." She bowed and went back to work with the rest of the elves.
John thanked the elf as well, and then dug into his food. Just by the way that he was shoveling it in Sherlock could tell that it had been a while since he'd had a full meal. After a bit, the Gryffindor set his fork down and looked at Sherlock, half his plate now gone. "You really are a puzzle at times."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he munched on a biscuit. "You think so?"
"I do," John answered. "On hand, you ignore your Housemates, you think half the things they teach us in class is useless, you don't remember to sleep or eat unless made to do so..."
"All true. But that's hardly puzzling," Sherlock said.
"But yet you care about people in your own way. Yeah, I like my friends in Gryffindor, but none of them would have cajoled me into eating." John said honestly, "They would have left me to myself."
Sherlock smirked. "Well, you're my only friend. I can't let you starve to death."
John chuckled a bit. "Just wouldn't do, would it?"
"Of course not. I like having a friend and I don't think it'll be easy to make another." Sherlock paused to finish his biscuit. "Even if I could, it wouldn't be the same."
John smiled at that, and nudged Sherlock with his foot under the table. "You mean a lot to me. It's sappy yeah, but you don't expect anything from me. You don't expect me to be the best at Quidditch or be a genius."
Sherlock felt that warmth again at John's words. "I just reciprocate what you've done for me. You don't expect me to be normal." He looked into John's eyes, wanting to share the sincerity he always saw in his friend's deep blue ones. "You're the only person who's never called me a freak."
"Well, honestly, we both are," John pointed out with a short laugh. "We live in a thousand year old castle the better part of the year, we studying a culture that's kept from most of society, we hone our skill as wizards. To most of the world, we are freaks. But to us, this is normal."
"But you know what I mean," Sherlock insisted. "I'm a freak even among my own kind." He gave a wry smile. "I don't care for other people's opinions too much, but knowing that there's one person whose opinion isn't negative...it's nice."
John just shrugged at that. "You aren't a freak. Not to me. You may have some weird habits, but it's all fine. That's just you."
"Yes, weird habits..." Sherlock trailed off. "Not sleeping or eating, keeping to myself, deducing who's shagged whom the night before."
John giggled a little. "Yeah, the deduction thing is kind of strange. But deep down, it's just something you're good at. Just as medicine comes to me, people are obvious to you. Little things that they don't think are important, speak volumes to you."
Sherlock paused, and blinked. No one had ever said it so plainly before, like they understood. "Yes...That's exactly it," he said with a grin tugging at his lips.
John smiled back, and then finished up his food. Once the plate had been cleared, and he'd nibbled on a biscuit, he stood up. "I should head to the tower and at least attempt to get some sleep."
"Right," Sherlock said, looking at his watch. "It is getting late." He stood, handing John his bag.
John took the bag and turned, but then looked over his shoulder. "Thank you...for this." He smiled. "Night." Then he disappeared through the doorway.
Sherlock smiled. "Goodnight, John." He watched after John for a moment, then shook his head and headed to his own tower.
.~.OMWF.~.
When the holidays finally came around, Sherlock and John were among about seven students who had remained at Hogwarts instead of going home. They spent most of the first day together, including having all their meals together in the Great Hall. It was rather nice to have the castle so peaceful, and it really gave the two of them their first taste of real privacy since becoming friends.
As they dined at the Ravenclaw table that night, the large double doors suddenly opened. Both of them turned to see who was coming in and Sherlock's mouth dropped open in shock. A tall man in dress robes with an umbrella in hand walked into the room. "Sherlock. So glad I didn't have to go all the way up to the Ravenclaw tower to find you."
Sherlock glared at him, hot anger rising in his chest. He knew what was coming, and he was not happy. "What are you doing here?" John had frowned at the way Sherlock's whole demeanour changed and he reached out to touch his shoulder.
"I've come to take you home for Christmas," the man said, stepping closer. "Mummy would love to see you."
"Piss off, Mycroft," Sherlock snapped. "I'm staying here."
Mycroft smiled a bit too sweetly. "Come now, dear brother. The holidays are a family time." His eyes traveled to John who he looked up and down. "And the company is bound to be more worthy of your presence."
Sherlock felt his anger flare, while John merely arched an eyebrow. "I think it's best to do what your brother says and piss off," he said calmly.
"And I think it's best," Mycroft said, obviously displeased with having to address John directly, "to mind your own business, Mudblood. It's bad enough that you're tainting the purity of magic with your weakness, but I don't need you corrupting my brother as well."
Sherlock would have retaliated but John beat him too it. "Magic isn't getting weaker," he started, voice confident, but detached. "I believe that magic is limitless and it is only us who keep magic at the limits we believe it's at. And I believe it's single-minded fools like you that hinder magic." Something in John had changed. It was subtle, his back a little straighter, shoulders tensing, hands curling into fists, but it was there. This was a whole new side to the John Sherlock knew. And he couldn't help the ghost of a smile that tugged at his lips. No one ever talked to Mycroft like that.
Mycroft's fake grin dropped at John's words. He turned to Sherlock. "Get up. We are going home now."
Sherlock stood but rooted himself to the spot. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"Sherlock Holmes, you will come with me. Now." Sherlock could see that Mycroft was getting angry, but in the end he was all hot air. He grinned in the elder Holmes's face.
"You're wasting your breath. Why don't you take a piece of cake for the road and leave?"
"You can't make him go anywhere Mycroft," John added, standing as well. Sherlock didn't look at him, but he felt a rush of pride that John was his friend and that he was willing to stick up for him.
Mycroft, however, was less than pleased. "I suggest you keep your mouth shut," he snapped. "Unless you want to see just how much more powerful pureblood magic is. Sherlock, now."
But the Ravenclaw just stared defiantly into Mycroft's face. There was a silence in the Great Hall as they glared at each other without saying a word. After a few moments, Mycroft finally backed away. "Fine. I can see that this is a fruitless endeavour." He turned away and started out of the Great Hall but paused at the door. "This isn't over." Then he stalked away.
Once Mycroft was gone, Sherlock let his shoulders slump in relief. He turned to smile at John, only to find that the other boy was gathering his things. In the next second, he had left the Great Hall, all but sprinting towards the Gryffindor tower. Confused, Sherlock grabbed his things as well and ran out after him. "John!"
He chased him all the way to the moving staircases where John had to pause to wait for one to come to him. He stopped next to his friend, leaning over a little and panting to catch his breath. "What...happened?"
John didn't turn to look at him. His shoulders were still tensed and he was slightly hunched. The staircases seemed to be extra slow tonight. "What do you mean?" he muttered.
"Well," Sherlock said, then swallowed. "You ran away."
John sighed, and hunched over even more. "I'm... I'm angry, Sherlock." He turned around and Sherlock, for a moment, was afraid that John was angry with him. "Not at you," he added, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm angry at your brother and the bloody ridiculous ideas of pureblood and magic! I believe magic is limitless, that we can accomplish anything with it! It doesn't matter if your have purer blood than someone else, it just depends on the person!"
Sherlock gave him a sympathetic look. Or at least, what he hoped was a sympathetic look. "I know. You're absolutely right," he said. "Unfortunately Mycroft and the rest of them are stuck in their ways." He moved closer to John, offering him a small smile. "You know, someday the purebloods will die out, then we won't have to hear about their stupid ideas anymore."
That got John to smile a little, and he leaned against his friend. All the anger had seemed to disappear from his body as he sagged into Sherlock's side. He just looked...tired.
Sherlock felt himself getting warmer with John's weight against him and he went red in the face. On an instinct, he put an arm around John's shoulders. That's what friends did, right? Comforted each other like this.
They stayed that way in silence until John finally said, "I'm going back to my tower," voice weak. But he made no move to leave.
"I'm sorry, John," Sherlock said, tightening his grip a little. "You of all people don't deserve to be treated that way." Somehow he felt like this was his fault.
"I'll be fine," John said, voice a bit choked as he finally pulled away. He rubbed his face, trying to hide evidence of the sudden onslaught of tears, but Sherlock could tell they were there.
"John...You don't have to hide that from me," he said softly.
John looked up at him and swallowed, the tears changing his dark blue eyes to a lighter shade. "I'm sorry, Sherlock," he said, in almost a whimper.
"Don't apologise. You've done nothing wrong." Sherlock hesitated before reaching up a hand to wipe a tear off of John's face. "In fact, you did everything right. You stood up to Mycroft. No one ever stands up to Mycroft besides me."
John frowned at that. "I wasn't going to be cowed by him," he said, voice more firm now. "He's nothing more than a bully, like any pureblood supremacist." He dried his eyes with the edges of his sleeves.
"Too right," Sherlock agreed. "And you were quite impressive. He didn't even know how to respond."
The Gryffindor laughed a little at that and that made Sherlock feel a bit better. If John was laughing and smiling, things were okay. "I think us Muggleborns have more balls than most purebloods."
"I'd believe it," Sherlock said with a chuckle.
"Thanks, Sherlock," John said, giving him another smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" He waited just a few seconds longer than usual before turning to head up the stairs towards the tower. Sherlock watched him go with a little wave and a smile, then headed for his own house.
.~.OMWF.~.
"I don't think your really a Ravenclaw," John said suddenly. He and Sherlock were relaxing in the peaceful, quiet of the Gryffindor common room one night before Christmas day. It was the first time that Sherlock had been in any other house than his own. Even Mycroft hadn't let him into Slytherin when he'd still been at the school in Sherlock's first year. The place was nice, cozy. But maybe that was only because they were the only two there at the moment.
Either way, Sherlock was very much enjoying their little holiday together. "What makes you say that?" he asked in response to John's statement, leaning forward attentively.
"You have qualities of all four houses," John explained. "But, I believe you belong in a house all your own. It seems like you were forced into one of four preconceived notions of what everyone should be."
Sherlock steepled his hands beneath his chin. "Interesting. Though I don't exactly follow you. How am I like all four of the houses?"
John thought about it for a moment before shrugging. "You just are."
The dark-haired boy chuckled a little. "Perfectly sound analysis, but I was hoping you'd go deeper." There was a silent pause, then, "You are most certainly Gryffindor, but you also have some qualities of Hufflepuff."
John grinned. "That's what the hat said when it sorted me in first year."
"And the hat is never wrong." Sherlock smirked. "I don't know if you remember my being sorted but it took a while. It was Ravenclaw or Slytherin."
"I remember. I also remember one of the Weasleys complaining about how long it was taking." John chuckled. He reclined back against the arm of the couch.
"Not surprising." Sherlock thought back to that day, and the hat telling him that he was far beyond intelligent enough for Ravenclaw, but also that he had the cunning and solitary attitude of a Slytherin. In the end, it had left the choice to him, and since he had no desire to be anything like his brother, he'd picked Ravenclaw. "I suppose that you were right then," he said to John. "About me being like the other houses." There was another pause, in which Sherlock leaned back in his seat, thinking more on the subject. "I don't think we should have houses."
John immediately nodded. "It encourages us to make friends, to learn to live with strangers, but it doesn't make us interact with people outside our house."
"Exactly," Sherlock said with a smile. Once again, John understood him perfectly. "Plus it's like what you said before about preconceived notions. Being sorted generalises us."
"We're so much more than the houses we inhabit," John said, and it became apparent to Sherlock that he'd thought about this a lot. "It's thought that Ravenclaws often become healers, yet here I am, a Gryffindor, wanting to be something akin."
"Yes," Sherlock said with a nod. "And I'd like to become an Auror, which is something that usually Gryffindors aspire to."
John beamed. "You'd be fantastic at it. Absolutely fantastic. You're quick, smart, have a scathing wit and single mindedness when it comes to certain things."
Sherlock's cheeks were red by the end of John's praise, and he smiled wryly. "Thank you, John. I just hope those qualities are enough."
John grinned brightly at Sherlock in response. "They are. I know it." Then he looked around the room, at the empty chairs and tables, his face softening a little. "You know, the common room's is never this quiet."
Sherlock glanced around as well. "Yes, I've heard that Gryffindors tend to usually be rambunctious. This must feel a bit out of the ordinary."
"Feel right at home in fact..." he said, voice a shade quieter.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow in surprise."Really?"
John hummed. "When Harry, Mum, or Dads aren't having a row, yes. We keep to ourselves pretty often."
"Oh." Sherlock frowned. "Sorry. Perhaps I shouldn't have asked." John's family appeared to have problems too, different problems from his but still, and he felt he might have touched upon a sensitive subject.
But John just shook his head. "It's alright. We're friends, you can ask away. I'm always left alone."
Sherlock quirked his mouth to the side; no wonder John was so self-reliant. "Not much of a 'family' then really," he said. "I understand where you're coming from, although I elect to be alone. Do they fight very often?"
"Every bloody day. About Harry's drinking, about Harry's wife, ex-wife. About Dads' choice to join a rugby team at his age. It's all so damn annoying." The Gryffindor rubbed a hand over his face.
Sherlock nodded once. "I can imagine. Unsurprising you don't go home if you don't have to." He looked to John. "I'm sorry."
John just shrugged. "I'm used to it," he said honestly.
"But you shouldn't be. You shouldn't have had to get used to it."
"Every family is a bit off, Sherlock," John said, sitting up properly and leaning forward, watching Sherlock.
"Yes, but you don't deserve that, John," Sherlock said, keeping his eyes locked on John' didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did. John, who was so kind and caring and good, really didn't deserve to have such problems.
"Sherlock, I'm fine," John insisted. "I can make it on my own."
Sherlock frowned. "Just because you can doesn't mean you have to," he murmured, surprising himself.
John looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing only because he seemed to be really taking him in. Then slowly, a smile formed on his lips. He shook his head, and Sherlock knew the conversation was over. "What should we do today?"
The Ravenclaw thought for a moment. "We could go into Hogsmeade for a bit. We haven't been since the first trip."
"I'd like that," John said with a fond smile.
"Excellent. Shall we then?" Sherlock stood and extended a hand to John to help him up. Without hesitation, John reached out and took Sherlock's hand, curling his fingers around it with a smile, and he pulled him up from the sofa. The same warmth that usually appeared whenever he made physical contact with John bubbled up into his chest. He let his hand linger in John's for a moment, enjoying the feeling.
"Sherlock?" John said, looking up at him. Sherlock swallowed and let go.
"Sorry. Let's head out." He started ahead of John, hiding the slight tinting of his cheeks. He needed to stop this strangeness. He was sure John wasn't feeling these things.