Considering that Moriarty was still running around somewhere unchecked, McGonagall made the decision to send the students home early. John privately thought she partly did it because all the professors needed a break after the couple months they'd had, but they of course said it was for the kids. The students would be given a three week break, considering all they had been through, and if Moriarty was found in that time, they would be free to come back. If he wasn't found, then they'd be sent a letter informing them that they needed to stay home for the rest of the term.

John feared that some parents wouldn't allow their kids to return, and that his mum would be one of them if he couldn't convince her otherwise.

So they only had a couple more days before they were to be shipped out home. There weren't any classes during that time and students had to be escorted around by a professor or an Auror. Most people spent their time in the Great Hall, because otherwise they were stuck in the common room and couldn't be with their friends from other houses.

John was doing better than he expected, but not as well as he wanted to be. He was paranoid, to start—he always expected to see Moriarty over his shoulder and he was barely sleeping. He'd probably feel better if he could sleep next to Sherlock, but security was too tight right now for him to get to the Room of Requirement. And maybe that should've been comforting, but it wasn't—he wouldn't feel safe again until Moriarty was in Azkaban or dead.

More than anything he was frustrated with everyone else's behaviour towards him. People had started treating the Muggleborns like landmines—touch them wrong and they'll explode. People were careful with their words and gave him a lot of supporting pats on the back, and it all just made him want to punch someone. He wasn't fragile. He didn't need peoples' sympathy or protection. And if one more person said the sentence, "I can't imagine what that must've been like for you" he was going to hex them. You're right, you can't imagine it, so quit bloody trying, and while you're at it stick your head in a blender.

John knew he was on edge because of Moriarty and that was why he was so touchy about things like that, but he also honestly felt like everyone around him was patronising him and it was pretty infuriating.

Sherlock was the only one treating him completely normally and for that he was grateful. Sherlock even went so far as to snap rude things at people—seemingly out of nowhere—if he could tell John was tensing up to hit someone for being too damn nice. John had never been so pleased to have Sherlock be a complete prat.

Though beyond that, Sherlock was being a lot nicer than usual. He didn't even go around telling everyone he'd been right about Moriarty all along and he stopped referring to their group as 'John's friends'—they apparently earned the title of his friends by helping him save John. There was also the fact that somewhere along the way Phil had begun to idolise Sherlock and he undoubtedly liked the attention. He pretended he was annoyed by everyone acting like he was a hero all the time, and tried time and time again to escape to be alone with John only to be stopped by an Auror, but John knew he was loving it.

It was the night before the Hogwarts Express was taking them back to King's Cross. John loved Hogwarts, but he just wanted to leave. For as long as Moriarty continued to be missing, he didn't want to be in this castle. He didn't like the idea of not being with Sherlock for that long, but John intended to send Sherlock a mobile so they could talk.

Mycroft had actually offered for John to stay at the Holmes estate, since Greg was already going to be there—his parents, whom he had a rubbish relationship with from what John could tell, couldn't make time to pick him up at King's Cross, so Mycroft said he should just stay at their place. But John had rejected the proposal with much gratitude—he'd said it was because his mum was already worried sick and she'd be furious if he didn't come back, but in all honesty he wanted to see her. No, he didn't need to be babied, not by his fellow students… but a little bit of time with home cooking from Mum, sleeping in his own bed, didn't sound so bad.

John thought Sherlock might whine, as he was sitting there listening and obviously knew it was a lie, but he said nothing. Maybe he understood that John needed that time and was trying to respect it.

They were in the Great Hall together, John leaning his head on Sherlock's shoulder. He could barely keep his eyes open. Everyone knew he wasn't sleeping, but knew not to mention it. Sherlock's fingers were laced with his under the table and it was relaxing. John was close to falling asleep right there.

Then Sherlock said, "Hello Dumbledore." It was casual, and full of a respect and fondness John didn't expect out of Sherlock—he could even reach Sherlock's stone heart. John opened his eyes to see Dumbledore was occupying the card in Sherlock's hand. John wasn't sure why he'd had it out in the first place, but the others all gathered 'round to take a look.

"No sign of Moriarty in any of my paintings," he told Sherlock. Ah. They were probably doing daily updates at a designated time. "I shall continue to keep an eye out."

"Thank you," said Greg.

"I thought I would let you know," Dumbledore continued, "that Barnabas Swank has been recruited by Mr Potter to be an Auror."

John had heard a little about this Barnabas fellow, but not much.

Molly seemed pleased. "Oh, that's wonderful! It's what he always wanted."

"It is indeed. He purchased a small portrait of me, so I was able to visit him in his new office and I daresay he's more chipper than ever."

"Good on 'im," said Greg.

"Guess it's never too late," Mike mused.

Sherlock said nothing, and John was quite sure he didn't care. Then again, Dumbledore probably knew that too.

"Never too late is right," Dumbledore responded. "You'd be well to remember that. Have a nice evening." With a small smile, he was gone.

As the others started to discuss Barnabas Swank's promotion, Sherlock turned and put his lips to John's ear. He thought he was going in for a kiss at first, but then he whispered, "Be up at midnight tonight. Don't come out until I tell you to on the pin."

John had to try hard not to smile so nobody would notice the exchange. They'd not tried to sneak to the Room of Requirement since the first night, but maybe Sherlock thought he knew a way to get there without getting caught tonight. He damn well hoped so because he needed some alone time with Sherlock desperately before they didn't see each other for three weeks. Tonight was a good night for a shag if John had ever seen one.

He was counting down the minutes.

Sherlock was surrounded by distractions that he couldn't afford. He was suddenly famous for having saved the Muggleborns, his friends were around him constantly because John was there now, there were Ministry officials everywhere—but Sherlock needed to find Moriarty. He'd wanted to find him before they were sent home, but that wasn't an option with the Aurors everywhere, so he just had to wait for them all to leave.

He wasn't telling John he planned to stay. He'd be beyond furious and might even offer to stay too—but if two of them tried to stay behind, someone would catch them. Sherlock could go unnoticed if he wanted to, so he was pretty sure he'd get away with it.

John would figure it out, of course, when he was nowhere to be found on the train, but not until they were already in motion and there was nothing he could do about it. Sherlock didn't like lying to him, but this was for John. John would clearly never relax until Moriarty was found. Most of Sherlock wanted to go home with John and find some way for them spend it together—convince John to go to his, sneak his way to John's, anything to make sure they weren't separated again—but Sherlock would sacrifice a hundred cosy holidays if that would put John at ease.

But if Sherlock was not only not going to see John for (another) three weeks, but was also going to make him very cross in the process, he was going to make sure tonight went well. He'd get them to the Room of Requirement however he could—if they stayed on the seventh floor, they'd be able to sneak about, Sherlock hoped—and he'd let him win at chess and pretend it was a real victory and they'd have a good fuck and Sherlock'd finally tell him he loved him and John would get some sleep… Sherlock was to say the least enthusiastic. He'd not slept with John for far too long—in every sense of the word.

Midnight couldn't come soon enough, and indeed the day felt long. They were all forced to go to their common rooms once it was dark and Sherlock sat in Ravenclaw's and ignored what people had to say about him saving everyone. How'd you know they were in the Chamber of Secrets, how did you get down there if the password was in Parseltongue, I heard you fought a full-sized Hungarian Horntail in there—it was endless. Sherlock didn't mind being given credit for his brilliance for once but did everyone have to ask such stupid questions?

When he left at fifteen to midnight—earlier than usual in case he had to hide to keep from getting caught—he was actually just a little bit nervous. Going across the seventh floor had never been an issue in the past, since Filch's rounds on the floor were so consistent. But now he had no idea who he'd run into. It was certainly possible that nobody was up here as well, but he hadn't wanted to risk that with John in tow. He needed to check the floor pretty well before taking John along.

He had Invisibility Potion, but not enough for him to make the trip to Gryffindor common room and the Room of Requirement—especially considering these damn nerves that he couldn't shake—so he had to wait to use it until he picked John up.

Sherlock took more care to stick to the walls while still avoiding loud paintings. It was going well—

"Oi! Who's there?"

Sherlock froze. Didn't even breathe. Maybe, as dark as it was, if he didn't move, he'd think he was imagining things.

"I already saw you, no point in hiding."

Well obviously there was no point in that. That voice was not a professor, it was an Auror, and if he thought Sherlock was Moriarty, he might curse first and ask questions later if Sherlock didn't reveal himself.

So Sherlock stepped out into the middle of the corridor, hands up for good measure, and turned 'round. The tall ginger man was easily recognisable—he'd been getting loads of attention at meals.

Sherlock didn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He'd not been careful enough. He was an idiot. Now he was going to turn him into McGonagall and she was already cross about the sword so she might just expel him—

"Oh, it's you," said Weasley. "You're the one who saved all the kids from the Chamber of Secrets."

Sherlock miraculously managed not to roll his eyes and nodded.

"Figures you're the type to sneak about at night," he said with an easy smile.

Wait. He wasn't angry.

Well, he'd been a Gryffindor. They'd spent time in the Room of Requirement, in fact, that was myth proved fact by Sherlock finding the place with Longbottom's help. Sherlock had originally taken for granted that he was caught by someone who himself was notorious for sneaking out at night in his school days, but this could be a very good thing.

"My boyfriend," Sherlock began, "he was one of the Muggleborns. And I've not seen him much since this all happened. I just… need to know he's alright."

It wasn't even really a lie, so it sounded more genuine than Sherlock even expected it to.

Weasley looked pensive. "Well, anyone else, I'd send them right back to bed, but I suppose you can handle yourself. Just be careful, yeah? There's a Dark wizard on the loose. He'd love to get his hands on you. Don't let him."

"I won't," Sherlock assured him.

He nodded. "Alright. Move along. I'm the only one on this floor, so quit sneaking. I nearly blew your arm off."

Well, that was a relief. Sherlock had been walking slower than he intended as it was and he was running out of time—he didn't want John to get antsy at midnight and go outside. As Weasley had stated, Moriarty was still on the loose.

So Sherlock went quickly down the corridor until he got to the common room door. "John," he started to say, but stopped. It echoed.

Which indicated John was standing outside the common room, which was exactly what Sherlock had told him not to do. He walked towards the tapestry, but then stepped on something. He looked down—

And there was a Chudley Cannons pin, face up on the ground, looking innocuous. But that item gave Sherlock a sense of dread like he'd never felt before. He picked it up, staring at it.

Then a voice rang through—which made no sense, because no voice other than Sherlock's should've come out of John's pin.

"Oh, this is a very clever invention, Sherlock." Sherlock had guessed what happened the moment he saw the pin on the ground, but when he heard Moriarty's voice, a fresh wave of fear went through him. "I wish you'd given them to all your little friends, as it would've been a little easier to get hold of them that way, but worry not, everyone's here for the party." Sherlock's lungs disappeared from his chest. Who all did Moriarty have? "I'm waiting for you, Sherlock. But the invitation isn't plus one, and I promise I shall get very naughty if you bring along that nasty Auror strutting about the top floor."

Sherlock took a moment to answer, finding himself too furious to find words for a moment. Then he said through gritted teeth, "Where?"

"Oh, I'm just doing some stargazing."

Sherlock set off immediately, a million possibilities running through his head at what Moriarty's plan might be, each worse than the last.

One of them being that John was already dead, and Moriarty just wanted Sherlock to see the body.

Sherlock walked faster. If that was the truth, he'd never forgive himself.

"Oh, and I suggest you hurry," said the pin. "When I'm bored, I tend to be a teensy bit homicidal."

"If you hurt them, I'll kill you. I promise you that," said Sherlock, his voice cold and hard without a bit of hesitation.

"We'll see about that."