"So here's where we stand," Sherlock said at breakfast, all of the weird awkwardness of the night before gone. "Two goblins; two vases. Clearly the goblins worked for the smugglers, secreting the vases out of the two different vaults and replacing them with forgeries. However, one of the goblins got greedy. Took something that had been promised to the smugglers."

"The hairpin," John said thoughtfully, swirling his spoon around in his oats. "But why kill them both?"

"It's possible that the smugglers weren't sure which one was the thief, being unaware of which one worked which vault. Goblin loyalty is an unusual thing; neither would have betrayed the other."

"They were thieves," John pointed out, "and working for some bloody unsavory sorts. If they were so loyal, why'd they rob the bank in the first place?"

Sherlock sighed. "Now I can see why your marks are so rubbish. Look: the vases were goblin-made, correct? Which means that, in the eyes of the goblins, those vases weren't being stolen at all. More like…returned to their proper owners and then rightfully sold. It's flawed logic, certainly, but that's what goblins believe. Which is why we can also assume that the hairpin is goblin-made, and that one of the goblins probably had some sort of sentimental attachment to it. Perhaps one of his own ancestors created it."

John shrugged. "So what are we going to do now?"

"I have a few ideas," Sherlock said, but he didn't elaborate.

x

Schoolwork took over, and John spent all of Thursday night doing the essay he'd neglected on the previous evening. John could have run off with Sherlock on Friday, but it seemed his services weren't needed. Sherlock didn't call him or come around; perhaps he'd gotten lost in doxy eggs again. Maybe that was for the best. John was likely to do something very stupid if things continued to be so tense between them. Better to let his emotions cool off a bit. Thus thinking, John enjoyed a very rousing match of wizard's chess against Bill, and then lost several hours helping Mike trap a fairy which had somehow hatched in the bottom of his school trunk and flown out, quite angrily, when the trunk was finally opened to be repacked for the holidays.

It wasn't until he had finally lain down that he'd remembered his date with Sarah. He wasn't sure what to make of his feelings about the whole thing; what did it say about him that he was slightly dreading the whole venture?

Sarah is a nice girl, John told himself firmly, turning over and punching his pillow into comforting submission. Mum would like her. Probably Dad would have, too. Give her a chance.

x

Easier said than done, as it turned out.

John was standing in the Great Hall watching the students, all wrapped in warm coats and scarves, flood out and waiting for Sarah when Sherlock whisked over and stood in front of him, hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. "Oh, good," he said, "you're already down. Ready?"

"I, um," John stammered, caught a little off guard. Sherlock really didn't seem like the sort to enjoy Hogsmeade trips and it wasn't like they'd planned to go together or anything. So why was he suddenly feeling so guilty? "Sorry, but I've…I've got a date."

"A what?" Sherlock looked so shocked at the idea that John grew just the slightest bit defensive.

"A date," he said, folding his arms. "It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun."

"I know what a date is," Sherlock snapped, waving his hand erratically, "and that's practically what I was…no, that's fine. Good for you, John." He flashed one of his phoniest smiles. "Where are you taking her?"

"Erm, Honeydukes," John decided. "And…Zonko's, maybe? Then…" He flushed and had to actually will himself not to rub the back of his neck. "I was thinking about seeing if she wanted to go for a walk, maybe, and if that went well…" He shrugged. "Might try for a bit of a snog or something, I don't know."

Sherlock raised one of his eyebrows. "Oh. Candy store, prank shop. Hmm. Dull, boring, and childish. Good luck with that snog."

"Now, look here-"

"Try this instead," Sherlock said, drawing two slim green tickets from his pocket and handing them to John, his smile a little more sincere. "They're only in Hogsmeade this weekend. World famous dancers, I'm sure your date will love it."

John almost said something snippy…but the look on Sherlock's face stopped him. "Thanks, mate," he said instead, tucking the tickets into his pocket. "What about you?"

"Oh," Sherlock grinned, looking rather mischievous, "I'm sure I'll come up with something."

x

"Dancers," Sarah said, a hint of amusement in her voice.

"Er, yeah." John coughed and looked around, searching the pale sky as though it held the answer to everything. "World famous."

"And your friend…"

"Sherlock, yeah," John nodded. "He thought we might like them." Nudging Sarah with his shoulder, he smiled and said, "That's kind of a grand gesture, from him. Must mean he approves."

"Uh huh," Sarah said, smiling.

They made their way out to the outskirts of the village, to a small shop called the Lucky Cat. John had never been to the place before, and by the looks of it, not many students considered the trip worth their time. Sarah looked at the place a little warily before looking back at John, who shrugged and pulled the door open, waving her inside.

The shop was small but open, only the wall-mounted shelves lined with trinkets and goods. The vast majority of the sales floor was empty, and only a few people stood around the edges of the room, sipping drinks and murmuring in low voices. John thought he recognized one of the artsy Ravenclaw girls a year under him, and maybe one of the boys near the back, but mostly the lighting was too poor and the atmosphere so different from his usual that no one seemed overly familiar. John handed their tickets to the slight, frail-looking old woman at the door and led Sarah into the room by her elbow. When they'd chosen a spot, John looked around the room anxiously and was just thinking about how not snogged he was going to be for this when a very familiar voice spoke almost directly in his ear: "Hello."

John jumped and looked over at Sherlock, who was grinning at him like the cat that caught the canary. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see this show," Sherlock said, playacting at having his feelings hurt. "I bought those tickets for us, initially, but since you insisted on bringing some girl-"

"Sarah," John gritted, turning back to his date apologetically. "Sarah, I'm sorry. This is…well, this is Sherlock. The boy I'm mentoring." Looking back over at Sherlock, who was watching him closely, he gulped and turned back to Sarah, adding, "And my friend. He's, um…"

"Charmed," Sherlock said, reaching around John to shake Sarah's hand.

"Likewise," Sarah said, looking bemused. "Big fan of foreign dance, then?"

"Oh, no." Sherlock settled back against the wall, a little smile playing at his lips. "But I wouldn't want to miss this."

As if on cue, the lights faded, leaving only a circle in the middle of the room still cast in light. From the shadows, a woman appeared in costume, her face painted and her posture stiff. Music began, lilting and soft, and the woman moved in slow circles, her hands tipping and her feet shuffling. John licked his lips and looked over at Sarah, who at least seemed to be interested, and then over at Sherlock, who was watching him with undisguised amusement. John almost leaned over to ask him what this was all about when the music ramped up in intensity and the woman was joined by a man, who took her around the waist and spun her before drawing a wand from his belt, leaning back and crying something in Chinese.

The woman lifted into the air, upside-down, and the man took one of her hands and began to dance as she mirrored the moves in the sky.

"It's a sort of play on Mobilicorpsus," Sherlock explained in a whisper, his mouth nearly brushing John's ear. "It takes a great deal of concentration to keep her steady. In ancient China, warlocks used this dance to prove to potential suitors that they were skilled magicians."

The man in the middle of the room said something else, and the woman dropped neatly into his arms. He set her down and she went to one knee, raising her palms upward and lowering her head deferentially.

"A sign of acceptance," Sherlock whispered, and John shivered. He glanced over at Sarah, who was still transfixed. "But now she has to prove herself."

As Sherlock spoke, the woman stood and drew a fan from her elegant, multi-coloured robes. She began circling the man as she clicked the fan open and waved it slowly before her. Eventually she stopped and spun, letting her robes flare and then settle, before drawing her wand from her sleeve. She spun the wand and whispered something, then flicked her fingers delicately along the line of her throat and breathed out a spectacular gust of pink-tinted flame. John and Sarah both gasped, and the air filled with the scent of jasmine as the woman fanned out the flames and then pocketed both fan and wand, bowing deeply. The crowd began to clap and John turned to ask Sherlock how the woman had done it…but Sherlock was gone.

"That was brilliant!" Sarah breathed, grabbing John's arms. He looked at her and smiled distractedly; why would Sherlock have wandered off in the middle of the performance? Wasn't this whole thing his idea in the first place? And he'd been grinning like he had some big secret all day; maybe he'd gotten himself into trouble-

Just then, Sherlock tumbled through a door in the back of the room and fell over right in the middle of the spotlight, his wand raised and his hair even wilder than usual. The two dancers froze as he pointed his wand at the doorway and cried: "Expelliarmus!"

"Oh, Christ," John muttered, and then things began to move very quickly. A man rushed into the room, his wand at ready and his lips parted, only to be hit with three hexes at once. Simultaneously, enormous bogeys flew from his nose, rope wound around his chest, and his wand clattered loudly to the floor.

"The dancers!" Sherlock shouted, scrambling to his feet. "Don't let them get away!"

John only briefly registered that Sarah was holding her wand out in front of her, wide-eyed and breathing hard, before he was dashing out of the little store, close on Sherlock's heels. He burst out into the cold, the sunlight harsh after the dimness of the little shop, and cast around for the dancers.

"No, noo," Sherlock groaned, yanking at his hair.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell-"

"They were the smugglers!" Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and shook him. "The smugglers! And now they've gone off! Plus they've seen us. Merlin's beard, you imbecile, that was the whole point of you being there in the first place! You weren't supposed to let them get away!"

"Well maybe if you had informed me of the plan in the first place-"

"Maybe if you hadn't cocked up my plan by bringing some sodding date-"

"My date hit your attacker with a very well placed bat-bogey hex, thank you, and I'll have you know-"

"Boys, boys," Sarah said, and they both rounded on her at once. Looking vaguely amused, Sarah looked at them both in turn and said, "I don't know about you, but all that excitement's left me starved. Three Broomsticks?"

"Yes," John said gratefully, "that would be lovely. Sarah, really, I am sorry about all this-"

"I'll pass," Sherlock snapped, grimacing horribly. "John, a word?"

Sarah nodded him off, so John followed Sherlock a few paces away and put his hands on his hips. "Now, what?"

"What do you see in her?" Sherlock hissed. "She's an idiot and a distraction. Other than your shared ability to eat at all hours of the day, you have nothing in common. Make her leave."

"You're not serious!" Running his hand down his face, John said, "Sherlock, you berk, she's a nice girl! And she just tried to save your life."

"A nice girl," Sherlock sneered. "My life was never in any danger, and if I hadn't been so preoccupied wondering about you two I would have never been bested in the first place!"

John groaned. "Well, that's hardly my fault, is it? What do you want from me, Sherlock? We're not…you and I aren't…"

"We aren't what?" Sherlock spat.

"We're not together!" There it was; what John had been dancing around for weeks. "You don't want to date, fine, I accept that. Flattered by my interest and all that, well, fine. But you can't just…you can't expect me not to see other people, Sherlock! It's great that you're flattered but meanwhile I'm going mad! I have to…" John shook his head and drew in a sharp breath. "I can't be a good friend to you and feel like this, too. It's better for both of us if I just…get over it."

Sherlock swallowed and took a step back. "I don't want you to get over it," he said, his voice small.

"Well, too bad," John said, still angry. "This may come as a surprise to you but the sole purpose of my existence isn't stroking your ego. I'm going, Sherlock. Can we fight about this later?" John didn't wait for Sherlock's response; he stomped over to Sarah and grabbed her hand, setting a mean pace in the direction of the Three Broomsticks.