Christmas on the Closed Ward

John slept through the whole day, only waking when the smell of food drifted up to him through the house.

'I can go and get some for you,' Sherlock offered, watching John try and fail to push himself up.

'No, it's fine. Just give me a minute.' His whole body was heavy, he could barely open his eyes, but the gnawing in his stomach motivated him to pull himself together, albeit slowly.

He eventually made it to his feet, and held onto Sherlock as they made their way downstairs.

Mrs Weasley beamed at them when they entered the kitchen.

'I've saved you something to eat, I hoped you'd be able to come down.'

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley,' John mumbled, sinking faintly into a chair. He struggled to pick up his fork, but felt much better as soon as he managed to eat something.

She bustled off, and John turned to Ron who, along with the other Weasleys, were glancing up at the ceiling nervously.

'What's going on?' John asked. 'Where's Harry?'

Ron glanced furtively at his mother, then leaned closer to whisper to him. 'We heard them all talking about Harry, saying he might be possessed by You-Know-Who.'

John frowned. 'But that's ridiculous.'

'Well yeah, obviously, but Harry took them seriously. He's pretending to be asleep.'

John grimaced. 'I can see why he'd be worried about it…' He trailed off as Mrs Weasley returned with more food. 'How is Mr Weasley?' he asked.

'Oh, he's going to be fine as soon as they can work out how to stop the bleeding,' Mrs Weasley smiled. 'He's already sitting up and reading the papers.'

'That's good news,' John said in relief.

'It really is.'

John finished his dinner, and got up to make himself a cup of tea, but Mrs Weasley pushed him back into his seat.

'Let me get that for you, dear.'

John smiled at her, sensing that despite her chirpy mood, she needed to keep her hands busy.

This extended to the following morning, when she insisted everyone help her put up Christmas decorations. Harry had retreated even further into the house, hiding in Buckbeak's room. He ignored Mrs Weasley's call for lunch.

At around six o'clock, the bell rang, waking Mrs Black. Her screaming reverberated through John's head, but she was soon quietened, and in came Hermione, Sam and Dean - Dean tripping into the kitchen.

'I thought you were going skiing with your parents,' John said to Hermione.

'It's not really my thing,' said Hermione, her face pink from the cold. 'Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I told them that anyone who's serious about their exams is staying behind to study. They want me to do well, so they understand.'

'They're making us stay here again,' Dean grumbled, dumping his trunk with a loud thump.

'It's probably for the best,' Hermione said sympathetically.

'Not really, I'd rather be at home.'

'Where's Harry anyway?' Hermione asked.

'Upstairs with Buckbeak. He's hiding,' John told her. 'He thinks he's been possessed by Voldemort.'

'Oh, well that's silly,' said Hermione.

'Try telling him that.'

'Actually, I think we will,' Ginny said, grabbing Hermione's arm. 'Come on, Hermione.' She dragged Hermione out of the room, and they heard them both climbing the stairs with purpose in their steps.

'Cas not coming?' John asked Dean, who was moodily shredding some tinsel.

Dean shook his head. 'He went home.'

'Oh, so that's why you're-' Sherlock began smugly, but John cut him off with an elbow.

Dean blushed and shook his head. 'I just have a bad feeling about it.'

'How come?' John asked curiously, sipping on the cup of tea that Mrs Weasley had put in front of him.

'I don't know… He was in a really good mood when we left Hogwarts. Kinda chipper actually, and you know Cas, he's never chipper.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Heaven forbid he actually be in a good mood for once.'

'It's not just that,' Dean protested. 'He didn't take any of his stuff with him. Said he didn't need it.'

Sherlock sat up straight at this. 'None of it? Not even his homework?'

John frowned, feeling the alarm coming from Sherlock.

'No, he said he'd finished it all.'

'That wouldn't surprise me,' John said.

'No, no, Dean's right,' said Sherlock. 'That's not like him at all. Something isn't right here.'

Dean bit his lip. 'What can we do about it? Do either of you know how to find him?'

'It would be difficult to sneak out, but not impossible…' Sherlock mused.

'I can't find him from here, and it's like Mrs Weasley said, what are we meant to do if we get there and find defensive spells that we can't get past?' John pointed out.

'We've got to do something,' Dean said, getting up and pacing restlessly around the table.

'Something about what?' said Mrs Weasley, bustling into the kitchen to cook dinner.

Dean glanced at John. 'Mrs Weasley, I'm worried about Cas - we're all worried about Cas.'

'Why's that, dear?'

'He just seemed off before we left. Not himself.'

Mrs Weasley began chopping up potatoes. 'I'm sure he'll tell you what's wrong when you get back to school.'

Dean groaned. 'I'm sick of trying to explain this, I'm going to find him right now.' Dean turned to storm out of the kitchen, but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder by Lupin as he entered the kitchen

'You mustn't leave, Dean, it's not safe,' he said quietly.

'But-'

'I'll go and see if I can find him.'

Dean's expression cleared. 'You will?'

'Yes.' Lupin's eyes briefly flickered up at Mrs Weasley, then back down to Dean. 'Somewhere in Snowdon, right?'

'Yeah.'

'Leave it to me.'

Dean nodded, placated. 'Just make sure he's okay? Please?'

'I'll do what I can.' Lupin left after grabbing a sandwich that was leftover from lunch and Dean sat back down, folding his arms tightly.

Mrs Weasley gave him a sympathetic look. 'I'm sorry, I know you're worried-'

'It's fine,' Dean snapped. ''Cause, you know what? Next month I'll be seventeen, and then none of you can stop me from doing what I gotta do.'

John squeezed Sherlock's hand, his heart wrenching. He could see quite plainly on Dean's face how concerned he really was, and wished more than anything he could use his power for something helpful for once. He got to his feet with a new determination.

'Come on,' he said to Dean, leading the way back out of the kitchen.

'John, you can't,' Sherlock said, catching up with him.

'Yes I can,' John said, more confidently than he felt.

They went up to their room, and John dragged the crystal ball out from under the bed, then pulled both Dean and Sherlock into their fort.

John would have expected Dean to make some kind of joke about the fort, but at that moment, Cas was all he was thinking about. He settled into position, cross-legged, holding the crystal ball in both hands.

'All right, let's try it this way,' John said. 'Put your hand on it here and think about Cas.'

Dean did as he was told, closing his eyes.

John bit his lip, then closed his eyes as Sherlock put a hand on his leg. 'Here we go.'

It took a moment for John to focus. Dean's feelings for Cas were a lot stronger than they had been last time John had tried to look at Cas through him, and he was almost bowled over by it. He shuffled into a more comfortable position and drew in a steadying breath, allowing himself to be pushed on by Dean's energy, rather than pressed down by it. As soon as he had a good hold on it, he opened his eyes and stared into the crystal ball.

He saw Cas almost immediately, and was so shocked he almost let go of the crystal ball.

'He's - he's sitting,' John mumbled, squinting at the faint image in the fog.

'What's he doing?' Dean asked immediately.

'Nothing, he's just sitting. On a bed maybe?' John's eyes watered and his head began to hurt, Castiel's brightness beginning to shine through the foggy image.

'Is he okay?' Dean asked urgently.

John blinked rapidly. 'I think so,' he said, tears dripping down his face, his eyes stinging. 'I don't feel anything from him.'

'Is that - is that bad?'

'I don't know. Normally I can feel when he's scared, which is a lot of the time. It's sort of his base emotion, but now there's nothing.'

Dean nodded. 'Okay, so that must mean he's not scared, which is good.'

'Right,' John mumbled. The image shifted. The shadow of wings appeared behind Castiel, then suddenly, all John could see was his piercing blue eyes. Everything turned white and he collapsed.

His nose was bleeding again when he woke up, and spots swam before his eyes. 'I'm okay,' he mumbled, taking a cup of water from Sherlock. 'Why does he glow like that?'

Dean bit his lip.

'Because of whatever Dean's not allowed to tell us about, I imagine,' said Sherlock.

'I can neither confirm nor deny,' Dean said, finally smiling, relieved.

Sherlock tucked the crystal ball away, and helped John get comfortable. 'I'll be right back,' he said, climbing out of the fort in search of more blankets.

'Hey, listen, I know how hard it is to look at Cas,' Dean said. 'I really appreciate you looking.'

'I'm just happy to help,' John said weakly.

Dean crawled out of the fort, and though he had been placated for now, John knew it wouldn't last long.

Dean spent the run up to Christmas helping Sirius transform the house until it was almost unrecognisable, hung with holly, tinsel and baubles. It kept his hands busy and his thoughts away from Cas, for the most part, until Lupin finally returned on Christmas Eve.

'Did you find him?' Dean asked, his heart jumping to his throat.

Lupin shook his head, taking off his jacket. 'Molly was right, I couldn't break through the enchantments around the house.'

'But you did find the house?' Dean said eagerly.

'It's certainly there, but the defensive spells are quite strong. I couldn't even see it.'

Dean nodded. 'Well, thanks for looking, I guess. Mince pie?' He offered one from the plate he'd been aimlessly carrying around.

'No thank you, Dean,' Lupin said, smiling in amusement.

'These are so weird,' Dean babbled, taking a bite of one. 'We don't have them at home, you know. They're good though, I can't stop eating them.'

Lupin chuckled and turned to Mrs Weasley. 'Did you put something in those?' he muttered.

'Only a few drops of a Peace Draught,' she said sheepishly. 'Poor thing has been so worried.'

Dean was the first to tire and drag himself to bed, but he was also the last to wake the following morning, and only when Sam shook him awake.

'What?' he grumbled, shoving a pillow over his head.

'Presents, man!' Sam said excitedly.

Dean sat up groggily, having completely forgotten that it was Christmas, and found a sizable pile at the foot of his bed. He didn't have much interest in any of them, however, when he saw that the one on top of the pile was the one he'd sent to Cas, returned unopened. He picked it up and sighed, stuffing it out of sight.

'He returned ours too,' John said sadly, holding up his own.

'Why would he do that?' Dean said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

'We'll just have to ask him when we get back.'

'Have you seen Hermione's present yet?' Sherlock smirked.

Dean dug through his pile of gifts until he found the one from Hermione. 'A homework planner,' Dean said. 'Wow.'

John rolled his eyes. 'Stop it, Sherlock, not all of us have your memory. I'm sure most people would find it useful.'

'Cas would,' Dean said, his mood sinking even lower.

'Look, we're all going to visit Mr Weasley later, why don't you come with us?' John suggested, attempting to make him feel better.

'No thanks,' Dean said miserably, pushing his unopened gifts off the end of the bed.

Sam grimaced. 'Come on, Dean, let's go get some breakfast.'

Dean sighed and dragged himself out of bed, following Sam downstairs.

Dean was still listless while they ate their Christmas dinner, and didn't bother moving from his seat when Mundungus arrived to escort them to St Mungo's. He had managed to "borrow" a car for the occasion, since the tube didn't run on Christmas Day. It had been enlarged so that all of them could fit comfortably inside, and Mundungus hopped into the driver's seat, as soon as he had helped himself to a serving of Christmas pudding.

John found himself between Sherlock and Mrs Weasley in the back seat of the car, and looped his arm through Sherlock's, uncomfortable with so many people so close to him.

Fortunately, the journey to St Mungo's was quite quick as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards was creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Once they had all extricated themselves from the car, Mundungus drove it around the corner to wait for them.

They strolled casually up to a window that displayed a dummy wearing green nylon and, one by one, stepped through the glass.

The reception area was pleasantly festive; holly hung in every doorway; and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles sat in every corner, each one topped with a gleaming gold star.

John moved towards the reception desk with everyone else, but was shunted aside by a witch with a satsuma jammed up her left nostril.

'Family argument, eh?' smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. 'You're the third I've seen today… Spell Damage, fourth floor.'

Mrs Weasley checked them in, then led everyone up to Mr Weasley's room, where they found him propped up in bed with a sheepish expression on his face.

'Everything all right, Arthur?' asked Mrs Weasley after they had all greeted him and handed over their presents.

'Fine, fine,' said Mr Weasley, a little too heartily. 'You - er - haven't seen Healer Smethywick, have you?'

'No,' said Mrs Weasley suspiciously, 'why?

'Nothing, nothing,' said Mr Weasley airily.

John winced as his chest twinged uncomfortably, and suddenly felt the need to leave the room.

You can if you want to, Sherlock's voice whispered in his mind.

He hasn't opened our gift yet, John protested.

'Oh, John, this is wonderful,' Mr Weasley said, as he finally opened John's gift of a plug, tiny screwdriver and printed paper instructions for taking it apart. As he leaned over to shake John's hand, Mrs Weasley peered at the bandages under his nightshirt.

'Arthur,' she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, 'you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had them changed a day early? They said you wouldn't need them doing until tomorrow.'

'What?' said Mr Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. 'No, no - it's nothing - it's - I -' He seemed to deflate under Mrs Weasley's piercing gaze. 'Well - now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea… he's a Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in … um … complementary medicine … I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies… well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on - on Muggle wounds -'

Mrs Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Bill muttered something about getting a cup of tea for himself and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.

'Do you mean to tell me,' said Mrs Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, 'that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?'

'Not messing about, Molly, dear,' said Mr Weasley imploring, 'it was just something Pye and I thought we'd try - only, most unfortunately - well, with these particular kinds of wounds - it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped - '

'Meaning?'

'Well… well, I don't know whether you know what - what stitches are?'

'It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together,' said Mrs Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, 'but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid-'

'I think I could do with a cup of tea,' John said, dragging Sherlock from the room.

They were swiftly joined by Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and the door swung closed behind them just as Mrs Weasley shrieked, 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?'

'Typical Dad,' said Ginny, shaking her head as they set off up the corridor. 'Stitches… I ask you…'

'Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds,' said Hermione fairly. 'I suppose something in the snake's venom dissolves them, or something. I wonder where the tearoom is?'

'Fifth floor,' said Harry.

They walked along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with portraits of brutal-looking Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously affronted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit.

'And what's that supposed to be?' he asked angrily, as the Healer pursued him through six more portraits, shoving the occupants out of the way.

''Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome than you are now-'

'Watch who you're calling gruesome!' said Ron, his ears turning red.

'-The only remedy is to take the liver of a toad, bind it tight around your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes-'

'I have not got spattergroit!'

'But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master-'

'They're freckles!' Ron said furiously. 'Now get back in your picture and leave me alone!'

He rounded on the others, all of whom but Sherlock were determinedly keeping straight faces.

'What floor's this?'

'I think it's the fifth,' said Hermione.

'Nah, it's the fourth,' said, 'one more-'

But as he stepped onto the landing, he came to an abrupt halt, staring at the small window set into the double doors that marked the start of a corridor signposted SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them all with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes and a broad vacant smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

'Blimey!' said Ron, also staring at the man.

'Oh, my goodness,' said Hermione, suddenly breathless. 'Professor Lockhart!'

John gaped at him and felt Sherlock's grip on him tighten. 'Sherlock,' he murmured.

White hot fury surged through both of them and Sherlock flew at their ex Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, fists aimed at his face.

John lunged and dragged Sherlock away up the stairs.

'What's the matter with you?' he exclaimed. 'You can't just go around punching patients!'

Sherlock paced up and down the corridor, his anger preventing him from answering coherently.

'Come on, let's get that tea,' John said, pulling Sherlock towards the tearoom and sitting him down at a table.

The room was empty but for Bill, Fred and George at their own table, laughing at Mr Weasley's exploits.

John made himself and Sherlock a strong cup of tea, and sat next to him, blocking him from Fred and George's view.

'Talk to me,' John said, covering Sherlock's hand with his own.

Sherlock pulled his hand away, then sighed and rubbed his forehead. 'I've never told you this… They weren't able to reverse the Memory Charms he put on me. I still don't remember most of our second year.'

John sucked in a breath. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

Sherlock shook his head bitterly. 'Because whatever he did affected my memory. I forget things, I'm slower than I was… I'm supposed to be there for you, to help you with your visions, but… My mind is all I have, John, I'm useless without it.'

'That is not true,' John said firmly.

'Yes it is,' Sherlock insisted. 'I'm not like you, I'm not good with people, my moral compass has much to be desired-'

'Enough,' John interrupted, squeezing Sherlock's hand. 'You're amazing. Even if you're "slow", you're still a hell of a lot quicker than most people. You're far from useless, and you do help me with my visions.'

Sherlock looked doubtful.

'Look, I - I love you, okay?' John stammered, blushing. 'I love you exactly the way you are.'

Sherlock too turned red and the anger causing him to shake dissipated.

'I know we've never said that out loud before, but - but you deserve to hear it. I wouldn't have you any different.'

Sherlock sniffed, tears forming in his eyes.

John leaned closer, so he could whisper to Sherlock. 'We're both under a lot of pressure with all this, but there's no need to hide these things from me. You're brilliant and I love you.'

Sherlock nodded. 'All right.' He lifted a hand and gently stroked John's cheek. 'I love you too.'

John kept an eye on the others as they were coaxed into the ward by the Healer that was looking after Lockhart, while Sherlock slowly sipped his tea. He winced as they bumped into Neville and his grandmother, visiting Mr and Mrs Longbottom for Christmas, and Neville stared at his shoes while his grandmother explained what happened. Soon it became too difficult for John to watch, so he turned his attention back to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley was still shouting, so John watched her until she began to calm down, long after he'd finished his cup of tea. Eventually, Bill, Fred and George wandered out of the tearoom, and John and Sherlock followed after them.

John stroked the back of Sherlock's hand as they walked. It's all right, he thought, as reassuringly as he could.

Sherlock bent to kiss John softly on the cheek, murmuring, 'Merry Christmas.'

Welcome back everyone! Thanks to Time Lord Consultant and Meep for the reviews! See you again next time :)