Sorry this took so long. And it really isn't much. But it was necessary and by god, I finally finished it.
The next chapter will be much more interesting, I swear. Then the chase really begins.
Also, whatdya think about that trailer? JUST THE TWO OF US AGAINST THE REST OF THE WORLD!
"What has he done this time?"
"He said... He said that... -Of course it isn't true bu-... could you just tell me when he'll be back?" She sputtered, her anger dissolving into exasperated frustration.
"Should be just a few minutes." Knowing his sense of dramatic timing, he's probably just around the corner. "Do you... want to come in and wait? It'd be more comfortable than just leaning against the wall."
"Sure. Yes. Thank you." She shuffles in, red-faced and fidgety, and takes a seat on the sofa. We sit in silence for what feels like ages. Although, I can practically hear her head buzzing with nerves as her eyes dart around the room and the pads of her finger tap incessantly on the arm of the sofa.
"Why are you here?" She asks so suddenly she seems to have surprised herself. "Oh I-uh didn't mean to be rude, I just... You're obviously a muggle. And this is a wizarding school."
"Sherlock just said 'Pack your things we're leaving tomorrow' and here we are." I decide to go with the shorter version which involves less punching.
"...I don't understand." Well, that makes two of us. 'I don't understand' could very well be the title of my autobiography. My coat of arms would be a gun and scalpel crossed over a background of blue with the words 'I don't understand' scrawled elegantly on one of those scrolls underneath. "A man just walks up to your door saying you're going someplace and you just go? No questions asked?"
"Oh, there were plenty of questions. He didn't really answer half of them. But there were definitely questions asked." I sigh tensely at the memory of his half answers that only make sense now that I'm here. "And he didn't just walk up to my door, considering his door is also my door. I mean the door is part of the flat that we both share. It'd be pretty ridiculous of him to walk outside just to knock on his own door."
"Oh?... OH." She eyes shot open and her face turned a definitive shade of pink as a realization dawned on her. Almost certainly THE realization that everyone comes to when I say 'we live together' and is, was and always will be wrong. "
I didn't realize you two are-"
"No. You didn't. Because we're not. Neither of us are. Everyone assumes we are, but we are just live together. He drags me around to his crime scenes and leaves rotting... food in the fridge and I occasionally have to force him to eat and keep him from getting himself killed and such and that's it." As I finish, Sherlock glides into the room with a large tray of food balanced artfully on his left hand.
"Still on about that, John? You do realize that it doesn't matter what you say. It's only obvious that people to assume that two attractive men who live together are together. Besides, they're all idiots, so who cares either way?" He set the tray onto a more or less stable stack of books on the coffee table and took a seat on the sofa. Sherlock, being Sherlock, doesn't really under stand the merits of being accepted for what you are. I mean, sure, it's reassuring to know that if I was gay, which I'm not, people would be more that happy to accept that. But then everyone's disbelief that I am actually straight just wears at my nerves. Sherlock's complete ignorance frustrates me almost as much as being constantly mistaken for gay.
"Two attractive men?" I asked, slightly surprised that he'd describe me as attractive. Unless, there's another tenant of 221 baker street that I'm unaware of. He could easily be talking about the skull. Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me.
"John, in all seriousness, if you don't find me objectively attractive then I must suggest you get your eyes checked." He says, an expression of worry crossing his face as if he's actually worried that my eyesight might be failing. "Are you hungry, Granger? I'd hate to be the cause of you missing a meal. And you know how the elves have a tendency to give out more food than one could possibly eat."
"Uh, no. I'm here to talk to you about-"
"What I said to Weasley. Yes, I was expecting you to come around. But I admit, I didn't expect you to be here so soon." He says as he calmly nibbles a corner of a sandwich and amusedly watches Granger sputter. I take a fragrant muffin from the pile and dig in, eagerly.
"Yeah well- uh... I just wanted to say, you're wrong. Very wrong. Y-you don't even know what your talking about."
Sherlock turns to me. "John, in all the years that you've known me, how many times have ever been wrong?" I thought on it as I reached for another muffin.
"Well... First there was my sister... Then when you said Moriarty was gay. Baskerville- I think that counts as two. And then on the rooftop when you told me you were a fake. Which brings the total up to five." I'm sure there were smaller incidents in between, but those probably involved social conduct and I'm a little tired of calling him out on that. He doesn't actually care about those anyway.
"Wrong. Moriarty was gay, I was only wrong once in Baskerville and I only said I was a fake to save your life. Which brings the count down to two." He combats my initial count, shooting a pointed look at Granger. I could hardly be blamed for getting Moriarty wrong. He's so psychotic, you can't tell if anything about him is actually real.
"So what's the likeliness I'm wrong no-" I cut him off before he can finish, Wait, no. I'm not done yet! You were wrong twice in Baskerville. You were wrong about the sugar and you said there was a hound. That makes three. Saving my life or not, you were still wrong. More wrong than you've ever been before. That brings it up to four. And you were just now wrong about me being wrong. Making five."
"Uh-... I'm not sure this really mat-" Hermione chirped from what might as well have been the other side of the planet. "But there actually was a hound! Two! Sure, the hound was smaller than we expected and the other H.O.U.N.D. was a chemical which made us think that the hound was The Hound. but it counts!" Sherlock rolls over her as if she doesn't exist. Sure, there was a hound which was thought was The Hound because of the H.O.U.N.D, but before we knew that, he was convinced that it was The Hound. Which makes him wrong.
Then I decide that working with so many 'hounds' is just too much work, even to prove Sherlock wrong. "Fine. You were only wrong four times." I concede, putting an end to the argument.
"Good. Well. My point was, even John admits that I've only been wrong a handful of times in the years that he's lived with me. What are the chances that I was wrong yesterday?" He said, turning his focus back to Granger.
"Wait wait, I'm not sure I understand what's going on here."
"Ahh, it has been awhile since I've last heard that. It is indeed refreshing to be reminded of your blinding ignorance every once and awhile." He drawled with his customary condescension, picking the skin off a grape. "Our young friend here is in denial."
"I'm not denying anything!... There's nothing for me to deny!... Because you're wrong!" She declared, adding more proof of how much she wasn't denying whatever she was denying to deny. Either way it didn't help me understand anything.
"Ok. The most I have a grasp of is that Sherlock said something terrible."
"Yeah, he told Ron in class tha-"
"Please, you're bound to tell it inaccurately. You heard it secondhand, while I'm the one who actually sai-" "Just get on with it!" I groaned around a mouthful of a really wonderful ham sandwich.
"When Weasley's doubt of me became apparent annoying I told him that 'I know you're not suspicious of me because I might be like that idiot Lockhart. You're suspicious because you're afraid that a certain bushy haired, bucktoothed, bookish girl you fancy might be too distacted by me to notice you pointedly pretending you're not enamoured.' to prove him wrong. Also, I thought it might put an end to the romantic drama stinking up the place when ever they entered the room." He explained calmly, while Granger looked like she was trying to choose between sinking into the floor and turning Sherlock into a toad. I managed to shoot a sympathetic smile at her and a exasperated glare at Sherlock simultaneously.
Right then, I gave up. I got from my chair, picked up a sandwich and another two muffins, and retreated to the bedroom. If Sherlock wants to butt his nose into schoolyard drama, then fine. But I sure as hell am not going to get involved with a 'who has a crush on who' scandal.