I lost him somehow. I don't know how. He was Right. There. walking right next to me. Where could he have wandered off to? I can still faintly hear his heels against the stone floor. But I can't tell from what direction...

"Sherlock?" I call quietly, just to be sure he's not lurking behind me or something. He doesn't answer. God, I hope I'm not lost again. I hate getting lost in this place. The paintings get talkative and condescending when I get lost. Well, they're always condescending. It's just worse when I'm lost. But they shut up when Sherlock's around. I think they might be scared of him.

Luckily, I think I recognize this hall. Only vaguely, but it isn't completely new to me and that's a start. There aren't any windows. Only torches and floating lanterns for light. The air is kind of wet and cold. The kind of cold that crawls up your bones. A kind of reptilian, gross cold. I start to walk the way that feels the most familiar.

"Come with me." Intones a voice like swamp water. I turn, reaching back for my gun, and find Snape scowling distastefully at me. I sigh, relieved not to find something actually dangerous lurking behind me, and let the hand gripping my gun fall to my side. He whirls away, his cloak flying out behind him in a mockery of Sherlock's dramatic flourish and walks down a dark corridor. I catch myself begin to follow him, assess the stupidity of following one of Sherlock's enemies to a destination unknown, shrug, and follow him any ways. He doesn't speak as we walk down the hall and I've been taken hostage enough times to not ask where he's taking me. It isn't very long at all until we reach his office.

"You were bluffing." What is he talking about?

"Bluffing?" He holds up a bullet. The one I gave him last time we met.

"This is what I'll kill you with when the time comes."

"Oh. No. I wasn't. I don't bluff." I say, flashing him my 'I invaded afghanistan' smile. "Why? Looking for a demonstration?"

"You must've been. There's no possible way one could kill with this... pebble. Especially not some muggle." Some muggle? This muggle survived a friendship with Sherlock Holmes with his sanity intact, you oily bastard. My smile tightens into a dangerous grin. "I've examined every possibility. It just isn't... possible"

The bullet has served my purpose perfectly. To confuse the hell out of him. "Is that the only reason you brought me here?" Messing with wizards can be so fun. "Because I've got my hands full with babysitting Sherlock and such."

"Have a seat."

"Alright. But if Sherlock ends up destroying the astronomy tower in my absence, the blame is on you." I concede, pulling up a terribly uncomfortable chair.

"I believe you've been under the dangerous false impression that Mr. Holmes has a soul." It's Donovan all over again. Yes, it's true. Sometimes he seems dangerous. Most of the time he looks heartless. I of all people would know.

"I've been reliably informed that I don't have one." He said with a cold smile as he participated in a flirtatious stand off with a bomb and a psychopath.

I had never been more terrified. I could hardly tell which was more frightening. Moriarty for his insanity, Sherlock for his aura of casual danger or myself for being so prepared to die with them.

"What is it with you people and assuming you know him? You haven't even been living in the same world for... what 20 years? I've been his roomate for the past 5. Good day." I begin to stand again, with every intention of leaving the room without another word and NOT punching Snape in the face.

"And for how long were you kept in the dark about his abilities?" He thinks he has a point. But he doesn't. Not really. Sherlock never says anything about anything unless he feels it's relevant. (Which usually means when someone's got a gun to their head or it's one in the morning and the skull isn't being helpful.) I probably wouldn't know about Mycroft if he hadn't kidnapped me. Anyways, I'm pretty sure Sherlock just forgot he was a wizard after awhile.

I gave him a look, but continued my way to the door.

"You're more of a mindless fool than I imagined you'd be." Not gonna punch him in the face. Sherlock's already got us in trouble with that broom stint. I'm not going to get us thrown out by punching the bastard in the face. "Or do you have some death wish. You can't honestly believe he has a soul."

Freak.

Psychopath.

One of these days...

A demonstration on the use of bullets is definitely called for. "It's no suprise to me that you don't." I sigh, pulling myself out of my chair. "Look, I've heard this speech way too many times and it's always the same. Sherlock's a psycho, Sherlock's a freak, Sherlock's gonna kill someone. So excuse me if I skip to the part where you piss off and I go on my way."

Snape looks down his gargantuan nose at me, unamused and. "No doubt you think you're being honorable by standing by him."

I just have to laugh at that. "No." This guy is unbelievable. "I think I'm being decent. Maybe you should give it a try." I leave the way I came and, after a quick scan through the hall, put two rounds into the floor. I'm still not sure where I am and Sherlock's bound to come running towards the sound of a gunshot.

"John? I thought I lost track of you. Come along now, we've got business by the gryffindor tower." A vaguely familiar voice chirps behind me. I turn and fin-oh right. Of course. Woman. I can't believe I almost forgot.

"I was kidnapped again." I said, conversationally. It's become a bit of a monthly routine. Like dentist appointments.

"Snape?"

"Yeah. Said you don't have a soul." Sherlock's eyebrows jerked momentarily upwards.

"...Did he?" He drawled slowly, eyeing me curiously from the corner of his eye.

"Yep. I thought I've heard it all. Psychopath, sociopath, freak, fake, addict..." Sherlock sighed in bored dismissal. "It's a little worrying, because whatever they say about you, I must be twice as bad."

"Hm?"

"Well, I've killed for you haven't I?" He restrains a girlish giggle, smiling prettily. Sherlock can't change back to his male self soon enough. He can't be pretty as well as graceful, smart and manipulative, it just isn't right.

"Twice." He points out, still smiling lightly.

"And that dog."

"And thank god I got to the scene first after Mrs. Hudson was taken hostage. Lord knows what you would've done to him." It couldn't be any worse than what Sherlock had done.

"I think that american would've prefered a quick shot to the head over being thrown out of a window and dragged upstairs over four times." Mrs. Hudson still hasn't gotten the bloodstains out. Thank god she's got a secret horde of throw rugs to cover up such things.

We approach a small horde of students, all whispering and glancing at us apprehensively. That looks like a group of kids doing something illegal. Sherlock flashes a smirk at me before pulling on a stern face which isn't at all less intimidating than it was before Sherlock gained eyelashes.

"Weasleys!" He roars like a lioness, stalking through the mass of retreating students to the two red-heads at the center. "You have both been informed that the products you have been peddling are illegal. For the sake of law and order in this school, I am obligated to confiscate these items." He announced loudly, more to the air around us than the two students obviously responsible for the crowd. Meaning it's all for show. Meaning he's gained pint-sized criminal contacts.

"Professor Holmes!" One of them crowed cheerily. "Everyone's favourite defense against the dark arts teacher!" The other followed smoothly after the first with his most slippery smile. "What're you in the market for today m'lady?"

"First, do not call me lady, my current shape is temporary and purely an accident. Second, your implications that I might be interested in any of your illicit wares have earned you a detention effective immediately, come along boys." He announces, whirling down a hallway without another word. He is out to buy something...

"Better hurry. There's no chance of catching up once he gains momentum." He's like a rhino that way.