Well, I'm stuck home with a runny nose so I may as well be productive and do some writing.

SHOUT OUT TO GUEST:

Hey, nameless guest. I hope you know who you are. You gave me a really great long review a few chapters ago that I've been meaning to respond to. Thank you very much for the review, you asked some really interesting questions that got me thinking. No, I won't be putting a boggart in there. Or at least I don't plan to. If I do, it won't be during a class because magical creatures isn't really Sherlock's thing. I might have one pop up in a closet or something if things get stale but don't get your hopes up.

But now I'm curious what Sherlock's greatest fear is... I wonder...

Now. There's no kissing in this chapter. But there's quite a bit of hand holding and

"John. John, wake up." Sherlock's voice rumbles against my back, his damnably long violinist fingers prodding at my stomach. I sleepily swat away the long fingers with my elbow. It can't possibly be morning. Too tired. I try to roll away from him, but there's a heavy, bony arm holding me back. "John." The poking continues.

God, it's too early for this. Or maybe too late. I don't think it's even midnight yet. All I know is I want to sleep.

"Whaaa" I groan at him, weakly elbowing him in the stomach. Slowly, sleep leaves me. And I know it won't be coming back. Dammit Sherlock. "Ok. I'm awake. What do you want?" I ask, trying push away his deceptively thin arm off of me. He held his grip like a boa constricter,

We've been having to share a bed for all the four weeks we've been here. Usually it's not so bad. He doesn't sleep in the bed very often and when he does, he stays at his side of the bed and sleeps like a rock. Sometimes, he snores. But it's not loud or disruptive. It's almost like a purr. A big purr.

Oh god. He's a snorer. I never ever ever wanted to know that.

Anyways, my point is that sleeping next to Sherlock hasn't been that bad. Until today- or rather, tonight- or to be specific, just a few hours ago when we were getting to bed, when he got the idea into his head that if he left me unattended I'd run off to Baker street without him. He thought he had to stay awake and stand guard over me. I would've rolled my eyes and let him have his way if this wasn't his fifth day in a row without sleep. He may not need as much rest as the average mortal, but five days is his absolute limit. After that he gets rather... trying. To assure him that I would not climb out the window in the night and it was not necessary to sacrifice his sleep and my mental health, I hesitantly suggested that he sleep with his arm over me, so he'd know if I got up.

Unfortunately, he took this to mean he was allowed to use me as a giant teddy bear.

"There's something I want to show you." He whispers directly into my ear. I cringe at the smell of his morning breath. Yet another thing I never wanted to know about. His grip lets up a little and I shuffle a few inches away, bringing the lovely, thick, warm blanket with me.

"Can't it wait till morning?" He leaps out of bed, ripping the blanket off me as he goes.

"No. Get up." I glare at him with sleepy eyes and wrangle the stretch of wool out of his grip, defiantly pulling it over my ears. In retaliation, he hauls it off the bed completely, bringing me with it. I fight tooth and claw, but he pries it out of my tired hands and throws it out an open window.

"Was that really necessary?" I groan, trying in vain to use myself as a blanket.

"Yes, now get up and put on your worst and warmest jumper." Oh nononono not outside. I'll never get back to sleep. And I like sleep. "Hurry up!" He hisses at me as he throws his coat over his pyjamas. I sigh and haul myself up from the floor.

"Could you at least tell me what we're doing?" I ask as I pull my oatmeal jumper from the wardrobe at the end of the room which could very well hold narnia.

"We're going flying. Oh, you're gonna love this." He grins sharkily, grabbing a dusty old broom from a corner of the room. He throws it onto the ground and it hovers just a few feet above it, then stands looking at me expectantly. I glance up at him in confusion. What could he possibly want me to do with a floating broomstick? No... "Well. What are you waiting for?"

"This isn't going to work." I sigh, swinging a leg over the thin, splintery wood. God, this won't be comfortable.

"Yes, it is. Grab onto the handle. Ease your weight off your feet." He instructs, standing just a little behind me. I try to find where a handle would be on a featureless length of wood. Finally I find a comfortable spot above a smooth knot.

"And put it where?"

"On the broomstick, of course." Slowly, I settle onto the flimsy, floating stick, trying very hard to forget everything I've learned about physics and common sense. When I find that my feet are only resting on the ground and I haven't toppled to the floor, I gasp out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Then I nearly have a heart attack when Sherlock practically leaps on behind me, causing the broom to dip.

"Sherlock, what're you-"

"Obviously, as the only one in the room who can actually fly a broom, I'm driving." He says, putting his hands over mine and pressing against my back in the process. The ever-so-thin piece of wood lifts a few more inches off the ground and crawls forward. I feel a little queasy when I look down, finding that my toes are are dangling precariously over the floor. "Excuse me if I'm a bit rusty, I haven't been on a broom in ages. And I've never done this with a passenger."

"Wha- SherloOOOOOOOOH SHIT!" We're flying at the window before I have time to protest. It's too small! There's no way we'll make through!

"DUCK!" Sherlock shouts behind me as he leans hard against my back. I press my nose to the wood of the broom in fear of being decapitated by the low window. We clear the window just in time and launch into the sky. Sherlock eases off my back and I'm prepared to turn my head and give him a piece of my mind when the broom surges forward too fast for me to be angry. Too fast to even be scared or cold.

"SHERLOHOOOOHOHOHO!" I scream at the endless sky. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson back at baker street can hear me, but I don't care. I hear Sherlock's draconic laughter ripping through the air behind me and can't help but laugh along.

"Wha-what are you doing?" I ask, as the broom slows to a near stop. The ground becomes a little bigger beneath us. My stomach rises into my chest and I can feel Sherlock's fiendish grin pressed into my shoulder. "Sherlock. No. Sherlo-SHERLOCK! SHERLOCK YOU'LL KILL US!" I scream as he begin a nosedive at the ground.

"THAT'S RIDICULOUS!" He says just before he jerks us out of a freefall just two feet from the ground. We gently glide back up to treetop level. "But wouldn't it be a great way to go?"

"No." I say decisively as I get my breath back. "I'd rather not be known as the guy who died in a sodding broom accident."

"I think it'd be lovely. The adrenaline flooding my veins. The wind in my ears. You screaming your lungs out. Also, I'd like to think that Snape would be the one tasked with scraping my bloody arse out of the grass." He replies calmly as we build altitude. I chuckle at the thought of Snape grumpily picking at chunks of bone and flesh. God, my sense of humor has degraded since meeting Sherlock. At the moderate pace we're going at, I come to realize how uncomorftable it is to be suspended miles above the ground on a stick. I'll be pulling out splinters for ages. We're lazily drifting alongside the castle at about the third story level.

"What do you have against him, anyways? I mean, he's not the most pleasant company but..." I trail off, unsure of how I'm going to actually finish the sentence. Basically what I wanted to know is if it was only a Mycroft sort of feud or something more. Sherlock uses the word 'enemy' pretty loosely, but this Snape fellow seemed to be in the top five.

"Ugh. He's a pathetic coward." We launch back into what must be warp speed. I swear I can see the stars streaking around us. My mouth is going dry from screaming, but I can't hear it over the wind in my ears. Sherlock's weight shifts sharply behind me and suddenly the world's spinning around us. Trees and walls whirling around my head like a life-threating halo.

"SHERLOCK! YOU'REGONNAKILLUSWE'REGONNACRAAAAAASH!" I can just about feel the wall grazing my head with every sickening spin. It's gonna take my head off, I just know it. I can tell by Sherlock's laughter that he's not about to slow down no matter what I say. I've got the overpowering urge to just jump off. Then at least I'd know which way is down. But it's impossible with Sherlock practically giving me a full body hug from behind. It vaguely crosses my mind that in any other circumstance I'd be embarrassed, but we're spiraling through the air fast enough to reduce us to jam should we hit something. So, in short, I could'nt give a damn if I tried.

I never thought I'd know what a bullet feels like when it's fired from a gun. It feels Amazing.

Finally, we come right side up again so quick it leaves me dizzy. It's taking a minute for the world to stop spinning around me.

"Huh. I hadn't realized we had come this close to the forest." Sherlock's offhand comment snaps the world back into place and I find myself staring into the ominous darkness of the forbidden forest. Thankfully there still seems to be enough room to avoid it.

Except, Sherlock is making no move to change course or even slow down. Oh god no. The forest is so thick, there's no way we won't crash! "Sherlock. No. Don't."

"Hold on tight!" He warns, tightening his grip around my hands. The stars are all extinguished by the oppresive darkness of the forest. We dodge and swerve blindly through the forest. I can't tell if we're six inches from the ground or just an arm's length below the canopy. There's no way Sherlock can see. How the hell is he flying? By sound? I try to make as little noise as possible in case it might interfere with his echolocation. Also, in case we might be heard by some nasty beast that flies faster than a broomstick. This forest must be called forbidden for a reason.

"How are you navigating?" I whisper above the snapping of small twigs.

"I'm not." He whispers back as we take a dive under what must've been an eagle's nest. He's not serious. He can't be. "I put it in autopilot." I can feel his joking smile against my ear. I twist backwards in failed attempt to bite his nose off.

"Actually, while I was in school, I found a way to fly solely by my sense of spatial awareness. I'd train every day for about an hour with earmuffs and blinders. Sometimes on a broom, sometimes just through the halls. Once on a broom through the halls. There's a rule in the book dedicated specifically to the incident." He rattles this all off while smoothly manouvering through the thick forest. At one point I believe we might've been going backwards. With him speaking so calmly in the utter blackness it's almost like riding in a car on a bumpy road. Despite the sharp twigs and thick branches whizzing past our heads, nothing actually feels dangerous. It feels oddly safe. "They all thought I was barking mad until the quidditch tryouts. For fifteen days I was the best player slytherin had ever seen. I was the only wizard ever known to fly standing up, use their broom as a bat, hop onto someone else's broom while they're on it, and catch a snitch with their feet. And that was all in one game."

"Oh you were a seeker?" I've been reading up on wizard sports in my spare time. It's fascinating, actually. Especially wizard chess. I'd love to play but I wouldn't dare ask Sherlock after our experience with Cluedo and Scrabble. And don't even get me started on Monopoly. He tried breaking out of jail and called Lestrade when I told him he couldn't do that. Lestrade told me that Sherlock is perfectly capable of breaking out of any jail, prison or high-tech glass cell you see in movies and to stop letting him play board games.

"No. A beater. They banned me after that. Turns out that's illegal. I wasn't allowed near a broom for years afterwards for reckless behaviour and self endangerment."

"God knows why." I chuckle as we swerve around what sounds like a very surprised owl.

"Exactly my thoughts on the matter." He says, pointedly ignoring my sarcasm. "Honestly, do you feel like I'm flying recklessly right now? We haven't hit so much as a spiderweb. My flying is as safe as an ambulance."

"_. Also, I don't think a flying ambulance would be very safe at all." I feel him snigger against my back. One by one, the stars wink back to life ahead of us. Then they flare up all at once as we pass the edge of the forest. But... I can't see a ground... there's just stars and more stars. They blur and shift above me. god, my eyes must be- wait no. Tha-that's... water? What is it doing above us?

"Whoops, my bad." We swing around, making me realize that we had been flying over a lake. "Now, I'm going to try something. Just keep your hands on the broom." Slowly, he eases his hands off of mine. We come to a dead stop over the lake. I held a breath, in case we... I don't know... drop out of the sky.

"...Sherlock? Is something supposed to be happening?" I ask as he leans away from me.

"Hmm...Try going forward."

"How?"

"Just... think it really loudly." I do. Nothing's happening.

"Well, that's disappointing." He sighs, leaning back into me and taking control of the broom. "I would've loved to teach a muggle to fly."

The flight back to our room is uneventful and straight forward. By the time we get there, we're both exhausted and breathless and cold. I could've sworn it was never this cold on our flight through the chilly october air. But then again, I did have a Sherlock wrapped tightly around me during the entire trip.

"Where are the-... oh" Sherlock threw our thick, lovely, warm blanket out the window. Right. Of course. I'm too tired and cold to really be angry at him. Instead, I just sigh in exasperation as Sherlock huddles close to me and tosses one of his larger robes over us. "I hate you."

"Mmm." Sherlock agrees. "So. Not going anywhere?"

"Nnn." I agree. It was a ridiculous thought.