The morning is bright and sunny when I wake up on my own. I glance across the bed to find Sherlock isn't there. Which isn't a surprise. He's an early riser, when he doesn't sleep through entire days or just skip sleeping altogether. I dress in a pair of jeans and a jumper. Since Sherlock has already blown our cover, wearing robes isn't necessary. Oh how I've missed not tripping over my sleeves.

My head feels a little heavy with the lack of a full eight hours of sleep, but I still feel wonderful and windblown from last night. I half float into the office, prepared for any monstrosity that Sherlock might be cooking up this morning. To my delight, I find nothing. No sign of Sherlock or any of his weird expirements or his violin music. Am I still asleep? Is this a dream? A peaceful, silent, Sherlock-free morning. I've never heard of anything more wonderful. I sit down on the Sherlock-free sofa, pick up the book of wizard healing techniques I haven't been able to make progress on and read through it without any Sherlock-related interruptions.

About thirty pages through a creature that looks a bit like a hairless chihuahua comes in bearing a tray of food. I smile politely as she sets the tray onto the table. I know she's a she because of the way her tea towel is tied around her. I find it a little odd that none of these house-elf people wear proper clothes. But I guess proper is relative. I can wear three layers of heavy robes and feel naked while Sherlock can go without pants in buckingham palace and look like he owns the place.

"Master Sherlock said you'd be liking breakfast, sir." She squeaks bashfully, her giant, golden eyes glowing in the early light.

"Yes, thank you... uh..." I trail off in search of a name.

"Nimsy, sir."

"Thank you, Nimsy." I pick up a slice of bacon and chew on the end as I turn back to my book. Just as Nimsy began walking away, a thought occured to me. "Would you mind bringing up some fresh blankets when you get the time?"

"Of course, sir." She smiles bashfully as she leaves. Odd little people, they are. Sherlock told me they enjoy serving, so I shouldn't hesitate to ask for absolutely anything. But those huge eyes always make me feel so guilty.

I sigh and reach over the table for another biscuit, revelling in the sherlocklessness while I can. It's only ever this quiet when he's sulking for days on end. And then it's the terrible, heavy silence of him not talking. His silences are more obnoxious than his bored rampages.

...Ok. It's been about an hour now and still no sign of Sherlock. There are no classes today, so it's not like he's gonna be late for anything. But still-

The door burst open and, speak of the devil, he's-... uh... not him... the changes are slight, but very obvious. The subtle curves under the damp towel, the extra inch of dripping wet hair, the rounder face shape. An expertly shaped eyebrow quirks at the shocked look I must have on my face. Sherlock raises the hand not holding the towel in place to... er-his? face and peers at it curiously. Then he drops it to his side and bounces gently on the balls of his feet causing... ahem... things. To uh... jiggle?

"Woman?" He asks me after a moment of making experimental shifting movements and taking mental notes of the changes. His voice isn't much higher than it usually is, but there is a definite difference in tone. "Must be, if it were anything else you'd have regained brain function by now." He says as he walks towards the bedroom.

"I'm having enough of brain function very much, thank you!" Smooth, Dr. Three-Continents-Watson. You couldn't have put it any worse if you literally had a cat hanging off your tongue. "And why aren't you... clothes! This is a school, Sherlock, not buckingham palace."

"Do you know how uncomfortable it is to bathe while fully clothed?" He shouts through the door.

"You know that's not what I meant."

"You're lack of faith injures me, John." Sherlock pouts, taking advantage if the newly found feminine aspect of his already melodic voice. "Peeves took them. I was lucky to get away with a towel. I'm not quite so socially inept to willingly roam through the halls of a school naked. God knows I don't need anymore schoolgirl crushes. I still blame you for the current horde of insecure twelve-year-olds drooling after me."

"How could that possibly be my fault?"

"You told me to be nice. I tried being nice. As a direct result, I gained six short, pockmarked, disciples with bad fashion sense glued to my every word! I've only every needed one of those and you fit the job quite nicely."

I start on an angry retort, but it fizzles into a tired groan halfway through. "I'm not even that short." I grumble at my book, my eyes drifting halfheartedly across the page.

"Aren't you?" He questions passively as he glides across the room to the large mirror on the opposite wall. He really enjoys staring at himself, doesn't he? "Not bad. My bone structure hasn't changed too much. My eyelashes are finally long enough to be functional...God, those lips. How do they not just pop?"

I looked up to find him wearing a tasteful black dress and running his dainty fingers over his over-inflated lips. I'm not at all surprised to find that he already had women's clothing already perfectly tailored to fit him. He magically enhaced his suitcase to fit his half of his enitre walk-in closet's worth of disguises and costumes.

"How did you end up like that anyways?" He shifts to face me, his lower lip pinched between his forefinger and thumb.

"Oh, I grabbed a random bottle out of Snape's desk to piss him off. Turns out he occasionally enjoys turning himself into a woman. Probably for sexual pleasure, judging by the measures that were taken to guard it. " That is WAY too much information. That greasy haired bastard... as a woman. For- UGH.

"Sherlock. I did not want to know that." He doesn't show any sign that he's heard me.

"God knows why. They're so... soft. And lumpy. It's like turning into an old pillow with too many nerve endings." Not his area indeed. There's a knock on the door and Nimsy peeks her head in.

"Uh, M-Mistress Sherlock? Ms. Mcgonagall requested to see you in her office, miss." She squeaks nervously, jumping when Sherlock lets out a frustrated groan. He got us in trouble again, didn't he? I might as well be twelve again.

"Of course. Everything fun is illegal. We'll be right there." He sighs, disappearing back into the bedroom. "Shoes shoes shoes..." I hear him chant from the other side of the door. God, he's a man-child in a woman's body.

I swear, actual real plotty stuff will be happening next chapter. I just wanted to get the fun filler stuff that's been plaguing my mind out of the way.

I hope you enjoyed!