Shout out to Laverock: Really? SPAG errors? Oh pooh. If you're talking about the change in tenses in chapters 1 and 3 it's because I was still deciding on how to write the thing and had yet to correct them. Which I've already worked on. Otherwise, I'll start reading these over more thoroughly before posting. Thank you, though. If there's any other specific glaring errors, don't be afraid to point them out.

A/N

Whoops! I lied. I spent all of the time it would've taken to write this chapter to instead fix the grammar errors on this story, work on 'sullied isn't broken', start up another silly crossover, and sew a corset. But this one's reeeally cute. So I hope that makes up for the unnecessary delay.

There's a subtle hitchhiker's reference in there. Lets see if you can find it.

After Sherlock Holmes came back from the dead, I promised myself that I would never again be surprised by anything Sherlock did. Of course, I broke that promise dozens of times. Like when he got engaged to that waitress just to solve a case. Or when he had framed Anderson for his own murder last april fools. Or when he told me he's a wizard. Or when he actually apologizes for something. But now I don't get surprised as easily and I have a different reaction to being surprised than I did before he threw himself over a building. Before, I'd just freeze, maybe gasp or shout depending on what the surprise was. Now, I have the knee-jerk reflex of punching him in the face. I knocked him out cold when he showed up at my door four months after The Fall. I dislodged a tooth when he revealed that he's a wizard, then gave him a black eye when he put it back with magic. I give him a nasty bruise everytime he apologizes for something. (Which probably isn't the best way to react, but his apologies usually mean he's trying to manipulate me into something.) Needless to say, over the last year, he's become quite the expert at applying concealer. I also get the dirtiest looks when I take Sherlock to the hospital with a broken nose and he tells the nurses that I hit him because he apologized for forgetting my birthday.

But none of that has much of anything to do with my current position. Because I'm not surprised. No, I'm more... I'm not sure what I am actually. I think I might be more confused than anything. Anyways, what I think I mean is... I've lost my grip on reality, and am seriously considering losing my mind.

Sherlock doesn't have any classes to teach today, so he's been experimenting. Except instead of his harmless little chemistry concoctions, he's been working with more magical substances. Now, I wouldn't have minded in slightest what he did to entertain himself, if only he had kept his potions to himself. But he demanded that I be his tester. I tried to dissuade him, but he refused to take 'no' for an answer. So I thought it would be best for the both of us if I took a stroll around the castle.

Which brings me to my current issue. I'm hopelessly lost and arguing with paintings. That in itself is pretty manageable, as I had come to terms with talking paintings just a few hours after encountering one. But what's really infuriating is that all of the paintings, who I'm convinced are perfectly capable of helping me, are ignoring me. It's quite obvious, since most of them are talking to themselves about how they don't hear or see someone of my exact description. So I've been shouting at them, one by one, as I wandered through halls and it is so annoying

Wait, I think I can hear someone crying nearby. I know it's not a painting. There's a distinct difference between the sound of real humans and paintings. The paintings sound more... painted. I'm not going to pretend I know what I meant by that. I try walking towards it, but the halls echo so much, it's a little hard to tell where it's coming from. Eventually, I turn a corner to find a young boy crying against a window. He's a little chubby, with big ears. The kind of kid you know is always being picked on. I think I recognize him from Sherlock's class... Something unfortunate... Neville! I crouch down next to him.

"A-are you alright?" Stupid question, I know. But it was the first thing to come to my mind. It's the polite thing to say. The kid pulls himself together.

"Yeah... I-I was... going to transfiguration, but I-I think I took the wrong staircas- or the staircase went the wrong way- or somehow or another I got lost." He sniffles a little more to himself. There goes my hope for asking directions. Ah well, if I'm going to be hopelessly lost, I might as well not be alone. "It's so easy to get lost and... I'm so clumsy..."

I straighten up and reach out a hand to the boy. "Well, it turns out I'm lost too. So, I can't offer you much help, but I can offer you a bit of company." Neville takes my hand and pulls himself up, smiling sheepishly.

"Thank you." He smiled sheepishly. Mild embarrassment seems to be a permanent state for the kid.

"I don't understand how anyone can find their way around here. What with all of the magic making things complicated." I always considered myself as a man with an impeccable sense of direction. If I make it somewhere once, I can make it back the same way a month later dead drunk. But this place, with it's floating candles and paintings that move frame to frame, twists my mind into knots. As confusing as this place is, it really is amazing. "I'd never believe any of this a week ago..."

"W-what? No..." His eyes shoot wide open in surprise. "You're a... muggle?" He whispers, as if he's afraid someone would hear. I wasn't completely sure what that meant, but I think I may have heard it before. I took a guess.

"That's a... a non-magical person, right?" He gasps, which confirms my guess. I supposed these wizard people don't hang around normal people very often. Maybe revealing that I wasn't one of them was a bad idea.

"Oh wow... I-I don't mean to gawk. But you just look so... normal." I chuckle at his reaction. It's almost exactly my reaction when I first saw all of the students.

"Well, so do you." We turned down a random hallway. The paintings were a little quieter down here.

"What are you doing here? I-I don't mean to be rude, but... muggles don't just stumble into hogwarts."

"I have no idea, actually. Sherlock just dragged me along like he always does. He never actually explains his plans until we're in mortal danger." And he always has some sort of ulterior motive for everything he does. Especially this. He definitely has a plan for bringing me here. All I can do is hope that he just needs me to fetch his pens.

"And... you two are friends?" My first reaction is to say 'of course, he's the best friend I've ever had'. But after a long moment of thinking about mine and Sherlock's relationship, I decide I am, in fact, insane. How else could I explain a friendship with a man who puts me in physical danger, manipulates me into doing his bidding, and outright sabotages my other relationships?

"...He's the best friend I've ever had."

"He's really scary." He mutters, shrinking into a small ball just at the thought.

"Yep. He's a the biggest jerk I've ever known." But living without the bastard is still hell. Despite all the atrocities I've had to deal while living with him, the worst thing he's ever done is jump off a building. "What about your friends?"

We go on chatting idly about friends or the lack of such as we try to find our way in the hopeless maze of corridors. Then we pass a familiar suit of armor and the conversation changes to a much needed informal lesson on how magic works after he told me that the suit of armor probably walked there. Then it shifts to an informal lesson on how electricity works which leads on to movies and t.v. shows and me trying to explain the plot of doctor who.

"Wait but... how do eleven people share two hearts? It doesn't even divide evenly."

"He's not eleven people all at the same time. He's one person tha-" I pause, tilting my head to get a better listen. I think I might've heard a violin. But I can't be sure. "Do you hear something?"

"You mean the violin music?" Neville asks, as if it's been playing the entire time. He notices my questioning look and smiles sheepishly. "Big ears, better hearing."

We rush towards mine and Sherlock's room, guided by the music which is definitely Sherlock. Finally I throw open the door. I felt like I had been lost in a wilderness for days, although it was probably just half an hour. I seriously could've kissed Sherlock...'s violin. But instead I had Sherlock write the poor lost boy a note excusing his tardiness and had him point Neville in the right direction to his next class.

"I'm sure you haven't missed too much. Good luck!" I wave him off and shut the door.

"Looks like you've made yourself a new friend." I turn to find Sherlock looming over me, a mocking smirk on his lips.

"He's a nice boy with an unfortumate sense of direction... and name." The lanky bastard turns back to whatever's boiling in his pot thing with an amused snort.

"You have no idea." I think I hear him mutter. I'm not sure what he thinks I don't know of, even if he did.

An awkward stopping point, but it'll do. Well, I hope you liked it! I think it was a little longer than usual. But I don't know.