On the way back, John kept on stealing little glances at Sherlock. For multiple reasons, really. Just… thinking.
Without looking away from the space ahead of him, Sherlock spoke.
"Keep your eyes to the front, or on me—one but not both. It's distracting."
John immediately flushed and averted his eyes so they were watching his feet pittering to catch up with Sherlock's strides.
Sherlock grinned, looking thoroughly pleased.
John pressed his lips together and looked at the trees in front of him, slightly miffed.
Sherlock certainly didn't seem very worried.
John sighed, feeling the last dregs of adrenaline seeping away. Honestly! It was June, he had just gotten used to magic and wizards and all that shebang, and the muggle club was taking off, and with two weeks left of the school year this happens. The past eight months probably shortened his lifespan more than his entire childhood.
And why the hell was Sherlock so calm? His magic was gone, for God's sake—
Sherlock's eyes snapped over to John's, wide and urgent, riddled with frustration, panic, and anger.
Perhaps there was still some of that adrenaline left, because John felt a buzz begin in his head. He immediately grabbed Sherlock's arm.
"What's wrong?" he hissed, filled with alarm.
Sherlock's eyes returned to the path and he sighed. "Do you know how it feels now?"
"I—oh." John rolled his eyes, feeling that buzz go away for good.
"But honestly, Sherlock," he continued, deciding screw it, he was going to ask, "how are you so calm about all this? I know you know what you're going to do. You have all the steps planned out. I know. So can you please just tell me?"
Sherlock's lips tightened.
"I trust you," he said, "but I can't tell you."
"What the fuck!" shouted John, flinging his arms up into the air.
Sherlock laughed, and put a hand on John's back, gently steering him into a walk.
John made a disgusted noise and crossed his arms, but walked nonetheless.
"I can't tell you," Sherlock continued. "John, I trust you more than I trust myself. But please let me keep this."
John scowled, made a noise in his throat, and wrung his hands out in front of him.
"Do you know how infuriating you are?" he asked. He was almost not joking. Actually, he sort of wasn't. He shut his eyes for a second and sighed again, before directing his gaze back to the front and picking up his pace once more. Silently.
Sherlock smiled. "Thank you, John."
They made the rest of the way back. They started up a silent rally of kicking a single pebble but it skittered away after a moment. John, despite everything, still gave Sherlock quick looks of curiosity and worry, and Sherlock gave them right back—mockingly.
When they reached the castle, Sherlock didn't slow in the slightest—in fact, he almost sped up.
John took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose, and followed.
Sherlock knocked twice and the door opened, revealing two very familiar people in the doorway.
"Greg!" John blurted out, then looked at the other. "Anderson!" He made several attempts to speak before succeeding. "I can explain."
"No need," Anderson said with a nod. "I know."
"Doubt it," Sherlock murmured under his breath.
"Due to unexpected circumstances you are excused from your lessons for today. Follow us."
"Okay, okay," John muttered, spooked at the austere air, nearly stepping on Lestrade's shoes in his hurry. Sherlock did the same, but with much less worry and much more indifference.
As they walked towards the Headmaster's office, Sherlock leaned closer and touched John's shoulder.
"You look absolutely terrified," he whispered. "Do you think I wouldn't've thought this through?"
John huffed and forced himself to arrange his features into a more passive look, making sure to fall back so he was in no more danger of treading over Lestrade's fancy black shoes.
"Mycroft bought them," Sherlock noted offhandedly. "He really does like him, eh? Still the ice-man, brother dear?"
"Speak for yourself, Sherlock Holmes," Lestrade suddenly said aloud, without turning.
Sherlock was immediately silenced.
They then walked quietly, footsteps echoing, quiet voices of lessons and lectures floating down the halls.
They reached the office. Anderson leaned in to furtively whisper the password (which resulted in all the remaining members of this little group to roll their eyes—the leader of the Ministry of Magic's boyfriend, brother, and the brother's best friend? As if they didn't know the password, or couldn't find it out).
The door opened with a click and they entered the office. Anderson waved his wand and the fireplace blazed. He then moved to behind the desk, where he sat down on a chair behind it.
"So, Sherlock," he began. "Magi-me-More? Quite ironic, you must admit."
Sherlock responded before John could process.
"It improves your magic as much as cough drops, it must have been quite a shock for you to realise that, and to have a fourteen year old to tell it to you, too. You must have wasted a dozen Galleons in the least."
It took John a minute, and when he did, he couldn't help it—he laughed, and looked at Anderson, who was becoming redder by the second.
"That is not true, and it has nothing to do with this," the Headmaster hissed.
"Wrong both times!" And before Anderson could interrupt, Sherlock began to walk towards the desk, all the while continuing to speak.
"I'm going to spare everyone the dramatics," he said in that all too familiar tone of voice that suggested John to start focusing more, because otherwise he'd never have a chance of understanding what the hell was going on, "and state what you were undoubtedly going to say, in a much quicker fashion than you would've.
"About six months ago, I revealed Magi-me-More as a complete scam. The corporate leader is quite known for his vindictiveness, and has only recently perfected this spell." He smiled, not pleasantly. "Is there anything I missed, Headmaster?"
And despite how much John was concentrating, his brain halted on the spot. He looked at Sherlock with a raised eyebrow.
Sherlock barely shook his head, but it was enough. John quieted, and simply watched.
Anderson's eyes were wide. He stood up so him and Sherlock were face to face.
"No, nothing at all, Mr. Holmes," he said calmly. "But, like you said, I am the Headmaster, and I will be the judge of what will happen to you, and I think you, being a Squib, should return home to your parents and stop your education at Hogwarts at once."
Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
Lestrade coughed.
"Um, actually," Lestrade said, sounding a bit pained. He bit his lip. "My—the Ministry of Magic has made their decision. Sherlock shall stay at Hogwarts 'till summer."
Anderson tilted his head and frowned. "But Sherlock cannot achieve an O.W.L. without his magic."
"He doesn't need to," Lestrade responded. "Sherlock is staying until the end of this school year, which he then will be able to decide what he will do next."
"He can join my club!" John blurted out, and stopped when all heads turned.
He shuffled on his feet and wiped his palms on his robe. "I mean, so, there's this club I made, it's this thing, and we do stuff—like, muggle stuff, like books and movies and telly and stuff like that. Sherlock could join." He coughed. "Er, if he wants."
"Ah, I've heard of that," Anderson piped up. "That seems like an excellent idea."
"That sounds reasonable," Sherlock said, shrugging.
Anderson smiled. He turned to Sherlock and extended a hand. "Mr. Holmes, my apologies for my outburst. It's, ah—a sensitive topic." He smiled wryly.
"You may stay, and attend the classes that do not require magic—join that club John was talking about. You can still do your case-solvings. We certainly still need that." He smiled. "And I expect that, with your help, John will achieve an excellent result on his O.W.L.s."
Sherlock nodded, and they shook hands. Lestrade let out a huge breath.
"I do hope we don't meet again," he joked feebly, and raised his wand.
"That's it?" John interrupted this farewell.
Everyone turned.
"That's all you're going to do about it?" John looked at Sherlock, who seemed a bit surprised.
"Sherlock lost his magic, oh, that's all fine, just finish this year and then go back to your pureblood parents, it'll work out perfectly!" John raised his hands. "Sherlock has no magic. What happens after school ends? Why are you guys being so nonchalant?"
There was a pause. John stood, breathing slightly heavily. The other three looked at each other, with a look that suggested John was the unreasonable one.
Finally, Sherlock cleared his throat.
"They could pity me," he said quietly. "They could give me funds, and a place to stay. They could mourn over me, and my magic. We could go through everything, bit by bit, saying things I know, and they know I know, I could figure out myself." He raised an eyebrow at John. "Do you think I'd enjoy that?"
John inhaled sharply.
God—he wanted to kick himself.
"I'm sorry," he rushed out, mumbling, fumbling at words.
"I have to go," Lestrade blurted. He held his wand with an arm that was trembling from the exertion of doing so for the entirety of John and Sherlock's conversation, and his face was completely red, and he seemed so incredibly awkward in that moment that the tension dissipated almost immediately.
"Yes, you can leave now," Sherlock said with a nod. A smile broke through. "Tell Mycroft to lay off the Magi-Me-More."
Lestrade smiled knowingly, and began to turn on the spot.
"Ah, and, Anderson—" Sherlock walked to behind the desk and whispered something in the Headmaster's ear.
Anderson turned positively scarlet. Sherlock grinned, pointed at a disappearing Lestrade and winked, then lightly tapped John's arm and walked out of the office.
"Magi-me-More?" John asked once they were safely in the halls.
"Yes." Sherlock shrugged. "Anderson is desperate to get on the Ministry's good side, there was no doubt he'd agree for me to stay. It's a reasonable story, and it will be the one that people will think of as true. Mycroft and I decided that family matters, should stay as family matters." He smiled. "You and Lestrade are honorary. Last resort, obviously. Memory wipes are quite the hassle."
John rolled his eyes. "And what was that you told Anderson?"
Sherlock smirked. "Anderson thinks Lestrade has a crush on him." He snickered. "Oh, dear. As if. Mycroft—just imagine."
And despite all that happened, John dissolved into giggles and elbowed Sherlock, just like before. He thought, as Sherlock suddenly veered off to the left and ushered John into another secret passage, to another unknown place to explore, he supposed, that some things never change.
I've been incredibly busy, and it was all I could do to get this short little chapter out. This story is at its home stretch—no more cases, just fun stories and perhaps some well deserved fluff. I say this a lot, but if you are reading this, I appreciate you with all my heart. Thank you 3
