When he woke up from bed on The Dreaded Saturday Of The Ball, Sherlock still didn't have a date. In reality, he had never planned on getting one. He merely told John he was working on it to shut the boy up-he was persistent. It wasn't so much that Sherlock wasn't interested in girls so much as he wasn't really interested in anyone. Generally, people annoyed him and he preferred to spend as little time around them as possible. He used to be able to put up with Mycroft (if his brother deigned to put up with him), and Collins as well, but for years it had been no one; that is, until John came along.

When he had asked John to go with him, it was 1 part because he wanted to go with the boy, 1 part because he thought John owed it to him (convincing him to enter the tournament and all), and 3 parts because he really didn't want to have to go with anyone else.

And quite frankly, he didn't care about what Collins said-that they were required to have a date. If those ministry wizards thought Moriarty would show up with a girl on his arm, they were in for a shocker.

Throwing on a sweater and some trousers, Sherlock dragged his schoolbag into the common room and settled himself in the velvet window seat with the best view of the grounds. He planned to spend the day studying and working to make sense of that accursed rhyme, and had previously decided it would be best to not do so in the library.

The last thing the young Ravenclaw needed was a run-in with any of the other champions; or John for that matter, interrogating him about the ball. It was plausible that John would come find him, since he knew where the common room was (and possible that he would be able to answer the question to open the door), but he doubted even a Gryffindor would have quite that much nerve.

Content, the boy spread his books out around him, and lost himself in his studies as the sun moved west across the sky, painting the grounds brilliant hues of red and gold.

One thing that could be said for Ravenclaws is that most of them were not overly social. When Sherlock discovered that they would leave him alone, he began to like them quite a lot. However, it seemed even the intelligent shut-ins of the castle were excited about the ball that night.

After lunch, the common room was filled with girls in gowns helping fix each other's hair with magic, putting on makeup, and all sorts of other frivolous nonsense. Sherlock didn't see why they couldn't do it in their dormitory, where they wouldn't bother anyone-"anyone" namely being him.

He didn't see many boys getting dressed up so early, and since it was an unnaturally warm day for the beginning of February, most of them were outside.

Despite the noise, the boy couldn't be bothered to bring all of his stuff to the library for the next few hours, and he eventually relocated to his bed where he did some pleasure reading and watched the students milling about on the grounds, enjoying the winter sunlight.

At approximately six thirty, only half an hour before the ball was to begin, Sherlock finally closed his books, and took as much time as possible changing into his dressrobes and putting on his nice pair of shoes.

Sighing, he finally managed to stand, and made it to the Great Hall approximately two minutes before the event started, where John was impatiently waiting for him.

"Sarah turned you down?" were the first words out of the Ravenclaw's mouth; seeing John reminded him why he had to be here in the first place.

"No," said John, with equally as much attitude. "She's saving us seats, because you were taking so long."

"You didn't have to wait for me."

"I was making sure you actually showed up. If you weren't here in three more minutes I was going to find you."

"Searching the whole castle? That mission would've turned abortive pretty quickly, I should think."

John snorted. "Please. I know all your usual hideouts."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" Sherlock cast him a sly grin and proffered his arm. "Shall we?"

"Sherlock I am not your date."

"You'd like to think so, wouldn't you?" he repeated in a mischievous tone, and the punch John landed on the rest of his arm he expected would hurt him the rest of the evening. At the least, maybe it would give him an excuse to leave early.

Luckily, it seemed that the first event of the night was, in fact, dinner. Sherlock followed John over to one of the circular tables draped in a white cloth along the perimeter of the room (there was a large open space for dancing, part of which was occupied by a string orchestra), only to find one open seat next to Sarah.

He looked down at the girl, disenchanted. "Rude of you."

She cast him a playful sneer before John cut in, saying, "Sherlock, the champions and their dates sit up at the head table with the staff and ministry representatives."

Sherlock sighed. This night didn't seem to be looking too promising in the way of not sucking. "Okay, come on then," he said to John, unable to resist.

Make that two bruises that would last him quite a while.

One positive thing that could be said about the whole affair was that the food was pretty decent. However, much to his chagrin, Sherlock found himself seated between Collins and Moriarty, and he kept trying to catch John's eye so that he could shoot him dirty looks.

He had been most shocked, however, to see that Collins was the only one of them that had a date-he had, in fact, brought Molly Hooper. Sherlock had raised his eyebrows, but Molly only gave him a bashful smile. He supposed it was possible that Moriarty and Adler were each other's dates, but they both seemed to be acting pretty independently of one another. He spent a few minutes studying their interactions, and from their mannerisms was quickly able to deduce that they were not involved with each other. Actually, Irene did seem to act a bit nervously around him, but it seemed more out of fear than anything.

Sherlock wasn't sure why the matter interested him so much-he supposed it was simply his inherent dislike of the boy that made him refuse to believe he was capable of human emotion.

Once everyone had finished eating, the dancing began, and people converged onto the dance floor (students and teachers alike). Whether or not the champions were expected to dance, Sherlock was not sure. But it seemed that if they were, the staff had given up on them, and no one said a word to the three champions who sat there looking rather grumpy.

After about ten minutes, Adler and Moriarty went off, leaving Sherlock alone at the table. He decided to relocate, not at all wanting to be the center of attention. After innocently standing around in the crowd for a while, he decided to abandon any attempts at looking social and exited the hall. It was only nine o'clock, but Sherlock simply couldn't put up with any more of that nonsense.

He considered going back to his dormitory, but the Ravenclaw wasn't tired and had done enough studying for the day. After standing there awkwardly for a few moments, he concluded that some fresh air would do him well, and would help to clear all of the useless fuzz from his mind. He would dust off the cobwebs that had gathered in the last two hours, so to speak.

Now that dark had gathered and the sun had gone to sleep, it was quite cold outside and Sherlock found himself wishing that he was wearing more than his dressrobes. As he approached the black lake, he saw a figure silhouetted against the starlight.

The grass turned to rocks beneath his feet as he approached the water's edge hesitantly, the music from the great hall following him through the bitter air. Something told Sherlock this was not Moriarty; his senses weren't on edge like they usually were when that dark boy was around.

As he approached, the person turned to face him. With the starlight behind them, he still couldn't see their face. Only when he got to a few feet away from them did he recognize Irene Adler.

"Well," he said, folding his hands behind his back formally. "You left early."

"You're one to talk."

Sherlock shrugged, and simply looked at the reflections of the stars upon the lake. The pair stood there in silence for awhile, the music swirling around them.

"Are you scared?" Irene asked after some time, her voice faltering.

"Of the tournament?"

"Yes."

"…I suppose. I'm nervous. I'm not sure about afraid, though. Are you?"

"Yes," she admitted without any hesitation, which surprised Sherlock. He looked over at her, but her eyes were pointedly fixed on the ground.

"Are you afraid of him?" he dared not speak the boy's name, but figured that she would know to whom he was referring.

"I'm afraid of both of them," she said, her voice catching on "both". Before Sherlock could ask what on earth she meant, she turned around on the heel of her foot and walked back up towards the glowing castle, leaving him alone by the water's edge.

The boy stood there, his thoughts a jumble in his head. He wasn't really aware of how much time was passing, but at some point he felt a hand on his arm. "Sherlock?"

Jerked out of his thoughts, he looked to his right to see John standing beside him, looking confused and concerned. "John."

"What are you doing out here? It's almost midnight."

"Is it? I was just…thinking. What happened to Sarah?"

"She went off with some Hufflepuff boy."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Whatever. She was being annoying anyways. Convinced I was gay. Thanks for that."

Sherlock simply nodded, still not completely there. "Are you okay?" the Gryffindor asked him, beginning to get seriously worried.

"Fine. I'm just distracted, I suppose." The music was still playing, but Sherlock figured it would be ending soon. Perhaps it was the last song. Perhaps this was his only chance. He held out a hand to John. "Dance?"

John laughed despite himself, and gave in. "If rumors start going around, I'm blaming you."

Sherlock smiled. "Blame away."

The dance seemed to last for eternity, and for no time at all at once. John was an awful dancer, but Sherlock was good enough to balance it out. A number of times, they tripped over each other, and fell to the ground laughing.

But neither of them found that they wanted to stop. It was just the two of them, waltzing across the rocks, and then the grass, while the stars winked down at the two boys; Sherlock was so overwhelmed with happiness that he thought he might collapse in on himself.