There's a long cracky conversation that doesn't have much to do with the story, but I couldn't bring myself to take it out.
Also, this chapter was going to be longer, but making it longer would take too long. So I cut it more or less in half.
I'm gasping as I try to keep up with my long-legged partner in crime solving on the train platform. Not due to actual physical fatigue (I've gotten very used to chasing my gazelle of a flatemate through crowded streets and high traffic, over rooftops and under rat infested bridges, thank you very much.) But because my brain is using up all of the oxygen in my body trying to come to terms with the fact that I just ran through a wall and came through the other side uninjured.
And of course Sherlock never told me that I had to run through the wall. He just strutted through it and expected me to figure out for myself if the enchantment or whatever would work for me. For all I knew, the enchantment only works for wizards. Or it requires some incantation. Or it had a time limit. But being the good little soldier that I am, I shut my eyes and sprinted at the wall, shoulder first.
There's still a part of me that's expecting to open my eyes and find myself on the ground with a concussion, trying to find the answer to the question 'what the bloody hell were you thinking, running at stone walls like that?'. I shake it off as I step onto the train.
"John, hurry up." He gestures to me as I struggle to manuver with all of my luggage. I know for a fact that Sherlock packed at least twice as much as me, yet he carries his bag as if it weighs no more than a purse. When he told me that 'flatmates should know the worst about eachother' he should've mentioned that he's bloody Mary Poppins. Honestly, it would it have been too hard just to tell me? Maybe bring it up over breakfast the day after I moved in 'hey, by the way. I'm a part of a faction of the human race that broke off a few centuries ago and developed their own secret society right under our noses.' Is that really too much to ask?
"This one's empty." My train of thought comes to abrupt stop when Sherlock came to a halt in front of a compartment door. He peeks inside before swinging open the door and floating in like a ghost. I followed after, heaving my gargantuan suitcase up onto the racks. Thankfully, the compartment is empty, so I stretch out halfway across the seats, still gasping just a little.
"Exhausted already? I thought you were in better shape than that." This is one of the many times that I've wanted to tear that deep, velvety voice out of his throat and set it on fire. I took a deep breath.
"I just walked. Through. A wall." I say slowly and dangerously. So maybe he might get the point that if he says another word in that condescening 'thou art mortal' tone of voice, I will throw him. "This morning, we went shopping for magical teaching aides. Then, you had me fitted for wizard's robes-which look ridiculous, by the way. And just a minute ago, I walked through a wall."
He opens his mouth, but before he was able to give me a reason to punch one of those luminescent eyes out of his head, the door opens again. Three kids come into the compartment, and whatever Sherlock is about to say turns into an annoyed groan.
"Oh, sorry. All the others are full." A boy with glasses smiles sheepishly as they load their luggage on the racks and take their seats. I smiled politely scoot over to make more room.
"I can't believe you didn't get in worse trouble. You should be more careful..." They whisper amongst themselves, probably about some prank. They were actually an adorable little group, glasses, redhead and the girl. Watching them talk reminded me of my old school days. Making trouble, cheating on tests, pretending to pay attention during class... god, my teachers hated me.
Sherlock has bundled himself into an displeased sulk by the window. No doubt realizing he'll have to deal with children for the rest of the year.
"Who're they?" Redhead jerks his head in our direction. Girl elbows him in the ribs and tells him off for being rude. Redhead mutters an apology under his breath at girl's command. If they don't end up a couple by the end of the year, Sherlock is a decent human being.
"Please excuse my friend's manners. But are you two new professors?" I really wasn't sure how to answer that. But before I could even try, Sherlock unfurled instantly from sulky Holmes to Holmes, the god of knowledge.
"My name is Sherlock Holmes, I'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the year." He's using the voice he usually uses on Molly. I call it the 'your heart belongs to me' voice. He's pairing it with the 'you're lucky to be in my presence' demeanor. The poor girl didn't have a chance. Hell, I think redhead is drooling a bit. "And the is John Watson. My cat." Cat? I am not a-... I quickly looked down at my hands, just in case he spelled me when I wasn't looking.
"I'm NOT your cat."
"Don't be silly, of course you are."
"No, I'm not- What are you-How-Why are we even arguing about this"
"Well, they wouldn't allow you as a muggle studies professor, so the only other way you'd be allowed in would be if you were my toad, cat, owl or husband. And since you weren't there to decide. I decided for you."
"Oh, so you'd rather have me as a cat than a husband?"
"Well, I figured as 'not gay' as you are, you'd do better as a cat."
"I would make a wonderful husband. You would be lucky to have me as a husband. You know what, nevermind. You don't deserve me as a husband."
"So, you'll agree to be my cat?"
"Yes, but don't expect me to act like one." There was a long moment of silence as I remembered that there were other people in the room. They all stared at us with confused awe and I stared back with confused surprise. Then I turned back to Sherlock who was turning back to me. I could tell that he was just remembering other people existed too. Soon we were both laughing so hard we were tearing up.
"Tha- that was... the most ridiculous conversation we've ever had." I managed to eek out as I regained composure. The trio of students just exchanged worried and confused glances amongst themselves. Sherlock nodded, straightening his clothing.
"I'm not sure it beats the one we had after the taxi driv..." He trails off as the temperature of the room fell. The chill sinks through my bones, strangling my heart. Despite the bracing cold, I was surrounded by the desert again. Bullets flying like an infestation, bombs falling like rain and so much blood. A black cloud fazed through the train window, it's hands encroaching further into my mind. Skeletal, with chunks of meat still rotting off of them. But it drifted past me, reaching for glasses beside me. I jumped up and tried to fend it off, although so much pain is shooting through my shoulder I can't move my arm. I can feel the blood running down it. The bullet still buried in the muscle. But what am I if not a soldier?
The heavy cloud is shoved back. There's a burst of light and another and it's gone. I think I hear someone shouting. Yes, there was someone shouting above the screaming of all the dying soldiers.
Don't touch... Don't you dare touch him. Expecto Patronum! Expecto. Patronum!