SHOUT OUT TO GIRLOKI:

Ooh that is a good question...

I didn't think Sherlock would be able to turn John into a cat. There has to be some limits to magic, otherwise things get boring.

Also, going out of his way to make it look like he's not breaking rules would be acknowledging that there are rules to be broken. He's more the type to pretend the rules don't exist when they get in his way.

A shrill screech echoed through the halls as we walked through the empty corridors. We both froze in our tracks. The portraits lining the walls all jibbered and gasped. It was impossible for me to tell where the sound was coming from, but from the look on Sherlock's face, I can tell that he at least has a guess.

"Gryffindor tower." He groans, more frustrated than anything else. "Of course, can't expect an azkaban escapee to act rationally, can you?" Sherlock mutters to himself. Azkaban escap- Has a criminal broken in to the school? Was Sherlock expecting a criminal to break in? Is that what this whole ordeal is about?

"John, you go on. I'll check it out." He runs off without another word, disappearing into the darkness before I can protest. With a frustrated sigh, I jog the rest of the way to the office.

The rest of the way, I hear the paintings all whispering about intruders and sabotage and danger. One of the ghosts flies over my head, searching for something. Even the suits of armor are a bit apprehensive. When I arrive, I half expect the room to be ransacked. Instead it was just quiet. Eerily quiet. Everything even slightly animate in this castle is panicking except in this room. I don't think I've ever been grateful that Sherlock only keeps dead things in our living spaces until now. I don't think he missed the talking portraits much when he left the wizarding world.

I sigh and pull my gun out of a desk drawer. Most days I keep it with me out of habit. Sometimes, when Sherlock's bored, I keep it with me to be sure Sherlock won't do something stupid with it. But I really didn't think I'd be needing it today. There's a chance that I won't need it after all. This could all be a gigantic overreaction. I might've misheard or misinterpreted what Sherlock had said. The scream could've just been some kid tripping over the stairs.

But just in case there is a maniac wizard serial killer on the loose, I might as well have it handy.

Just as I finish reloading and checking my old gun, there's a scratching on the door. That's... odd. Most people would knock. There's a pause, then it happens again, more frantic than before. It's coming from low on the door. And it doesn't sound like human nails. It sounds unmistakably like a dog. But it's just as likely that it could be some magical beast.

Warily, I set down the gun and crack open the door. In the darkness of the hallway, a large mass of black fur stares up at me. It... I think it's a dog. I open it wider and the dog scrambles inside, tracking mud all over the floor.

Is this the intruder? I admit, in dim light it would make a frightful sight. A giant black dog, all covered in mud and dirt. Even though right now, as it wags it's tail so hard it's entire body is shaking, it's very clear that the great beast is harmless.

It woofs at me quietly. I crouch down to check if it might have a collar, but it dodges my hand when I reached for it's neck. It looks up at me, curiously. First cocking his head one way, then the other.

"What is it, boy... girl?" The dog whimpers at me, and lays his head down on his paws.

"Orororowww." He complains at me.

"I know this must be a shock, but I don't speak do-..." and suddenly the stench hits me. I don't know how I didn't smell it before. Dear god, what did that dog roll in. I jump up to my feet and run to the window to let some air in.

"I was sure Sherly would be the one to greet me." I nearly tumble out of the window at the sudden voice. Who could've possibly gotten in? I turn to find a shaggy, muddy man standing where the shaggy, muddy dog once was. "He was the one to invite me after all."

"Wha-what are you do-" Stupid question. I know what he's doing here because I let him in. "Who are you?" I reach for my gun. Thankfully no witch or wizard knows what a gun is, so the dirty dog/man doesn't make a move to prevent it.

"Sherlock didn't tell you about me?" He looks suspicious, but he doesn't seem to be a threat. Even if he might've broken out of azkaban. He fiddles with a pen on the desk, quickly becoming fascinated by it's clicking. "Well, I'm not too surprised. He didn't tell me about you, either. Are you his..." Oh god. It hasn't even been five minutes and he's already assuming I'm with Sherlock

"Flatmate." I say through gritted teeth. "Back in the muggle world. Just. Flatmates."

"Ah... right. Must be hell." He says with a mocking smirk. He looks like he's just got out of hell.

"There are always dead body parts laying around and... random fires." Mrs. Hudson will never forgive completely him for The Great Toast Ordeal which nearly took out the kitchen. "And he's always on dragging me to his murder scenes... but it's not quite hell."

The dogman chuckles, picking up the skull and grinning back at it. He's definitely at least a bit mad.

"So-uh... who are you?"

Before the man can answer, Sherlock bursts through the door.

"You idiot! I give you the perfect window to sneak in without calling attention to yourself and what do you do? You go out of your way to announce your presence!" He shouts quietly, making it so that the decreased volume of the shout does nothing to detract from the intimidation factor. He's slightly out of breath, as if he'd been running the entire way. The dogman and probable prison escapee/serial killer makes a visible effort to stand his ground.

"He was right there, Sherlock. I could smell him. I couldn't just-"

"You were going to kill the only surviving witness and your only hope of walking free and in the meantime throw the entire school into a panic, incriminating me in the process. You could've landed the both of us in Azkaban and yourself on the end of a rope." I flinch as Sherlock stomps past him and sweeps a pile of papers off his desk. Is he actually throwing a tantrum? "And why? Blind rage. Honestly, I don't know what the hype is about this 'human emotion' bullshit." He says as he throws a small object out the window, breaking the glass. Rather hypocritical of him.

"Of course I can't expect you of all people to understand." The dogman rolls his eyes. Something inside me has got a finger on a trigger. A prison escapee, probable serial killer and yet another Donovan. Sherlock better explain what the hell is going on here soon.

"Sherlock!" I grab his collar as he begins to push over the sofa. "What. Is going on?"

"They know that a dog broke in. We need some evidence that he also broke out." Sherlock explains as the sofa topples over. Creating a break in. I see. Still only an answer to one question. "Sirius, turn back and run around." He directs. I watch as the man growls and shrinks down instantaneously.

"No. I mean, why did you invite a renowned serial killer into a school? And what is he? A... werewolf?" I whisper as we watch the dog spread his footprints across the wood floors. Sherlock scoffs at me.

"Animagus, John. Shapeshifter. Grab that blanket." He replies, glazing over my first question. "Sirius. Stop and walk to the windo- no, the broken one you moron!" Sirius flattens his ears and growls at Sherlock as he pads over the broken glass. He lays out the blanket I hand him in a path from the window to the open bedroom door. "Now go and hide under the bed."

"We should cover up the human footprints." I suggest. If everyone's assuming he's a dog, we shouldn't give them any reason to think otherwise.

"Yes, shift those papers around a bit."

"Sherlock, you still haven't answered my question. What's he doing here?" I ask again as he run back out through the halls to announce Sirius's escape.

"Client."