Chapter Four

Aftermath

The boys woke up in the hospital wing later that day. Sherlock blinked a few times, as what had happened returned to him. He hadn't managed to keep up his shield and part of the roof caved in on them.

He turned to John who was just waking up. "You okay?" Sherlock asked him quietly.

The other boy turned his head to face him and gave a short nod, before his eyes drifted around the rest of the room. To the rest of the empty beds. "…Carl?" he asked worriedly.

"I don't know, I only just woke up…" he bit on his lip.

Which was right when the matron came bustling in. "Ah boys, you are awake," she gave a relieved smile. "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"The roof fell on us, of course it hurts," Sherlock said under his breath, and he pushed himself up into a sitting position, doing his best to ignore the sore feeling scattered around his body.

"What happened to Carl?" John asked again, apprehensive, unsure if he really wanted to hear the answer to the question.

The matron turned towards John. "He's… at Mungos at the moment," she said with a troubled expression. "It was muggle chemicals, so it is possible they'll be able to save him with magic, but even then there is a chance he won't come through. He is covered in burns, and could possibly have a brain injury from the roof falling on him. Mungos is keeping both me and the headmistress informed. Don't lose hope yet Mr Watson," she said kindly.

The boy nodded, and bit down on his lip pulling his arms into his chest. Sherlock was silent. The matron examined both of the boys, and gave them a few potions to drink, which they did with wrinkled noses, before she left the hospital wing, saying she would return quickly.

"This is our fault Sherlock," John said once the door had shut behind her. Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "Well it is! You heard him. And you know him. He is always playing with us, pulling and tugging, and trying to find what will make us lose it. And he attacked Carl because of it."

"He's been attacking people since we got here John," Sherlock pointed out.

John scowled at him. Unwarranted in Sherlock's opinion, what he had said was true. Richard Brooke had been attacking people in the school since their first year, he had never blown one up, or nearly killed them however. "Do you care at all?" John asked him.

"Am I meant to?"

"Yes," he spat out.

"Will caring help them? Help me find out who is behind this all?"

"Caring will make it seem as if you care!" John was up out of the bed at this point, furiously standing there glaring at Sherlock, who had pushed the blankets off him and was sitting cross legged. "As if this isn't just a game to you! That the fact that people are getting hurt because both of you want to have some fun, actually bothers you sometimes."

Sherlock stared calmly back at him. "You know me John," he said, his voice was quiet but clear. "When have I ever cared?"

John knew that Sherlock was watching him pace, but he couldn't sit down. He was jumpy, and worried and angry. Worried about Carl, there was a nervous, twist in his stomach when he thought about him, hoping that he would make it through. That magic could save him. Angry at Sherlock, he wasn't even sure if it was anger at him. Maybe he was disappointed. Maybe he was angry at himself, for forgetting that Sherlock did not care. That it really was just an interesting puzzle for Sherlock to solve.

He gave an irritated sigh, but turned towards the door as it opened. "Mr Watson!" The matron scolded before she was even half way through the door. "Get back into that bed." John made a face but obliged, especially as the headmistress was behind her. "I'll be in my office if you need me Minerva," she said.

"Thank you Poppy," she conjured a chair, and sat down in the middle but in front of the two beds where Sherlock and John sat. "If you could go over what happened, that would be useful," she said.

The two boys glanced at each other, and Sherlock started to talk.

"You didn't mention you were still corresponding with this Brooke," she said after he had finished, eyeing him sternly.

"It was the first time this year he had left a note," Sherlock replied. "I didn't quite have the time to come tell you, before it all happened."

"Why didn't you get Professor Hudson when you entered the transfiguration classroom?"

Sherlock shrugged at her. He half felt as if he was in an interrogation. "I did not think of it at the time, we were focused on just finding out where Carl went. It didn't occur to me at that point to find a teacher."

She sighed and eyed the both of them. "You are lucky you only came out of that with minor injuries, the both of you could have blown up with him."

"Is he going to be alright Professor?" John asked, even though it hadn't been that long since he had asked Madam Pomfrey the same question.

Her gaze softened as she turned to John. "We do not know at this stage John," she said, and it didn't go unnoticed by Sherlock the use of his first name. "He is still unconscious, the healers are doing what they can, but we won't know until he wakes up. I'm sorry," she said gently.

He gave a short nod, and pulled his knees up to his chest. "Will you tell me once you know?"

She nodded at him. "Of course," her eyes flickered to Sherlock noting that he had not asked any questions about Carl, or even anything else. "Try to rest the both of you," she said, getting to her feet.

"Professor?"

"Yes Mr Holmes?"

"He's not going to stop now you know. He probably won't ever. Not until the actual Richard Brooke, whoever he is, is found."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Yes I know Mr Holmes, is there any reason you've chosen to mention it?"

"Just don't go chasing the wrong person, thinking that the wrong person is behind this all."

She raised an eyebrow suspiciously at him. "And who do you think I think is behind it? That isn't actually."

Sherlock tilted his head to the side. "You don't need me to answer that, you already know. Suspicious looks and pointed questions aren't lost on me Professor. I am not Richard Brooke."

"I did not think you were Mr Holmes."

"Didn't you?"

"Sherlock-"

"It's fine John."

"I didn't say anything."

The Slytherin glanced over at him. "You didn't have to, you were about to apologise, there is no need. You are upset, it's fine."

"I'm just worried about him," he mumbled quietly. "He only got pulled into this because of us."

"It isn't your fault John."

"Ye-"

Sherlock shook his head firmly. "No, it is not your fault. It is Brooke, it is me, but it is not you."

"It's not your fault Sherlock," John protested, looking over at his friend, and wondering if the other really meant that, or he was just saying it. Trying to make himself appear more …normal.

"Isn't it?" he tilted his head to the side. "This has always been about Brooke and me, everyone else just… gets pulled in with us. I wish I knew who he was," he gave a hiss of frustration. "Brooke, Brooke, who is he?" he growled.

The boys had done their best to try and be discharged before night fell, but the matron wouldn't be budged. The common room beds were much nicer than the hospital wing, but it was nice to be in the same room.

"Sherlock?" John asked sleepily into the darkness.

"Yeah?" came the reply, Sherlock didn't even sound tired.

"When do you think he'll stop?" He didn't need to ask who 'he' was, he already knew.

He was silent for a couple of seconds. "I don't know," he admitted, glad that it was dark so he couldn't see the look of mock surprise on John's face, that he just knew John would be giving him. "He must have had some plan, might still have one, but," he sighed. "I don't know."

"I'm worried," John admitted.

"So am I John."

Both boys lay there wondering whether Sherlock meant that or not.

The chemistry replies amused me. Also for the one that asked, I'm not really sure which alkali metal I used, or rather Brooke used, because I wanted an explosion but I didn't want to blow Carl to pieces. I just mentioned caesium because it was the first one that came into my head that was further down the group. Review please.