"John!"

The boy in question barely had time to turn around before Sherlock's gangly figure collided with his own. They both went sprawling on the ground, much to the amusement of their classmates. Sherlock didn't even bother to pick himself up off his friend as he waved a letter under his nose.

"We have a case!"

John smiled and gently pushed on Sherlock's shoulders. "Let me up."

He complied, eagerly scrambling to his feet and shoving the letter at John again. "Read it, read it!"

"I'm reading it, Sherlock, calm down." He unfolded the parchment, revealing a letter in a heavy-handed, messy scrawl. It sort of reminded him of Sherlock, in a way.

To Sherlock Holmes and John Watson-

As I'm sure you are aware, you are known all over…well…everywhere, for your brilliant crime-solving skills. I realize that you are easily bored, Sherlock, but I think this will be of interest to you.

I am being stalked by a person who has no identity, but I can't tell what they want. I can't perform any handwriting analysis, quill analysis, parchment analysis- nothing. Trust me, I'm rather clever, and I cannot for the life of me figure out where this person came from or what their intent is. I have three letters that are in cipher so far, all carefully written in neutral print and plain black ink, and I'd be very glad if you could investigate them for me. Each one has included orange seeds. The first had five, the second four- I'm sure you get the idea. I fear something unfortunate will happen if I don't sort this out before the fifth letter arrives. Please meet me in the Room of Requirement at 6 tonight. I assume you know where it is, but if not, it's across the corridor from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the seventh floor. Just focus on feeling the need for privacy and go inside. I'll be waiting with the letters and any other evidence that might be remotely relevant. Thanks if you're considering. If not, screw you and I guess I'll figure it out on my own.

Yours,

Rhianne

John looked up at Sherlock amusedly. "Well, it does sound intriguing. Got any ideas about who it could be?"

"So far? Nine." Sherlock grinned, looking high with excitement. Or drugs; sometimes it was hard to tell.

John shook his head and handed him back the letter. "And what are your deductions about our client?"

"She's a Ravenclaw, sixth or seventh year- actually is quite clever, not just bragging. Dabbles in writing in her free time, Muggle-born, confident in herself but slightly wary of others. Bullied, probably, but too independent to let it affect her now. She really did try to sort it out, this is her last resort. Also, she has anxiety issues."

"How on Earth could you know all that from a letter?"

"Ravenclaw because of her self-confidence in her mental capacity- no other House really has quite the same attitude about it. Sixth or seventh year because she can describe the Room of Requirement so well- used it six or seven times, but is too clever to use it often. So she's been at the school for a while. Clever people often have horrid handwriting because they're trying to rush through and get all their thoughts out on paper before they disappear. I know the feeling, and it's supported by her being in Ravenclaw. Muggle-born is a hunch, but only because she thought to evaluate the handwriting. Most wizards would just use a spell, but that's not the first thing that occurred to her. Confident, obviously, her description of her own cleverness and her bit at the end with the 'I guess I'll figure it out myself.' Wary because of the lovely little 'screw you' and the approach about my boredom getting in my way-she doesn't think I'll take the case because she doesn't trust anyone but herself. Why is she wary? Bullied, of course. But she wasn't afraid of us ridiculing her for asking for help, so she's no longer affected by it. If she's really as clever and mistrustful of other people as I think she is, she tried to figure it out but was finally forced to do this, regardless of her doubts. So, last resort. And anxiety issues because there's a spot-just there, see it?- that smells of St. John's Wart. Tea, a powerful herbal remedy for her anxiety, not to mention her slight paranoia about this whole event," Sherlock rattled off, leaving himself slightly breathless at the end.

"That's-that's incredible," John breathed in amazement.

"Please, John. I do this all the time."

"Never gets any less brilliant, though," John remarked, folding the letter and putting it carefully in his bag.

Sherlock used his momentary distraction to smile to himself at the praise before reverting to his emotionless default face.

"The letter was addressed to both of us. She obviously doesn't underestimate your value in solving cases. Are you coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Excellent," Sherlock grinned, giving John a brief, uncharacteristic half-hug around his shoulders before sweeping off, his robes flaring dramatically behind him.

A short girl with her hair tied into a ponytail smiled and walked up to John. "He really likes you, you know."

John looked down in surprise. "I dunno Molly. I'm not even sure he's capable of really liking anyone."

"I think you would be surprised. He's not a sociopath, not really."

"I know that. I just think he doesn't want to like anyone."

"You're a lucky man, John Watson. I wouldn't give this up if I were you," she said softly, touching his arm and smiling before walking away in a flash of yellow and black.

John looked after her, dazedly touching his arm where she touched him and then his shoulder where Sherlock had hugged him.

This was definitely worth some thought, but after class.

He sighed and walked into Transfiguration, still lost in thought despite his resolution to wait until after class. Professor Magles entered carrying a large box of what were apparently various articles of clothing, rapping his desk as she walked past. John snapped to attention.

"Decided to give you a little break from human transfiguration. Today we're going to be turning various items of clothing into other items of clothing. You're seventh years- I'm sure you can do something creative with it."

The class was a blur, John hanging on the edge of his seat in anticipation of dinner. He vaguely registered someone giving him a compliment about the trainers he managed to transfigure into a deerstalker hat, but he really wasn't listening.

The bell couldn't have rung soon enough.

He leapt out of his chair as soon as it went off, scooping up his bag and tucking his wand in his pocket. He was the first one out of the classroom, expertly dodging the masses that filled the hallway as everyone made their way to dinner.

Suddenly, someone caught his arm on the way past. John looked back impatiently, ready to brush them off, but was affronted with the sly face of a Slytherin boy.

"Hello, John."

"Erm. Hi. I really have somewhere to be, so…" He made a not-so-subtle attempt to escape.

"I'm Jim. I just thought you should know, before you go running back to your little Sherlock…" He glanced around conspiratorially and then grinned at John, lowering his voice to a singsong whisper. "I wouldn't get too tangled up in this game if I were you."

John looked him up and down suspiciously before wrenching his arm out of Jim's grasp. "Look, I don't know what you're trying to pull, but I really don't think that what Sherlock and I do is any of your business. I have to get to dinner."

He turned on his heel and walked off, keeping his gait steady and his back straight so Jim couldn't see how perturbed he really was.

"Don't be stupid, John. It's hardly fitting for Sherlock's little toy to be so dim," he heard behind him, still in that singsong voice that put his teeth on edge. It was what he imagined a psychopath would sound like.

/

"Sherlock."

"Yes, John, sit down, I was just about to ask you-"

"Sherlock, there's someone who knows about the Rhianne case."

Silver eyes snapped up to meet his blue ones, no longer focused on the skull sitting atop the table. "I exercised utmost caution."

"I don't…" John swallowed and sat down. "I don't think this has anything to do with your cautiousness. I think he would have found out if you kept this case in bloody Fort Knox."

"Who?"

"Jim. Slytherin, I think he's our year."

Sherlock's lip curled in distaste. "Jim Moriarty. I know him. Definite psychopath, dangerously clever. Almost as clever as I am."

"Yeah, well, he warned me not to 'get tangled up in this game.' We need to be careful."

Sherlock pressed his palms together, prayer-like, and settled them under his chin. "Yes, I know. Thank you for alerting me. We will watch our step with caution on this case."

"Good."

John glanced at the food, suddenly famished, and helped himself to pasta. Sherlock was still lost in thought; John knew from experience that a thinking Sherlock is a Sherlock that's unwise to interrupt. He put a helping of food on his plate anyway, in case the Slytherin actually paid enough attention to eat it. He wasn't hopeful.

/

Sherlock met John in front of the portrait hole to Gryffindor common room, tapping his foot impatiently.

He placed an disillusionment charm on both of them and off they went, making their way to the seventh floor. Sherlock stood in front of the hidden entrance to the Room of Requirement and closed his eyes, concentrating fiercely on the need for privacy. It took less than five seconds for the door to appear and for Sherlock and John to slip inside, Sherlock whispering a 'finite incantatem' to make them visible once again.

The room was cozy, with a flickering fireplace at one end and a few armchairs alongside it. A thick rug and several (quite tasteful) paintings were the only decorations. A girl stood up from one of the armchairs, walking over and offering them a handshake.

"Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Thanks for coming, really, I appreciate it."

Sherlock's eyes flicked over her, taking it in. Short brown hair, glasses that made her slightly round face look more mature. Used to be on the chubby side but lost the weight a while ago. Open, friendly features; he was inexplicably reminded of John. Her voice was a little deep but feminine all the same. Her hazel eyes studied Sherlock in the same way as he was studying her. He felt strangely exposed.

John took her up on the handshake. "We're glad to help. Do you have the letters?"

"Yes. Come sit down."

She led them over to the armchairs and they both sat down. Sherlock was still watching her with mild interest.

"Here are the letters, and the seeds. I also did my best not to damage the seals on the letters. A quill I found that matched the one used to write these, and the ink. Both can be bought in any Wizarding shop."

Sherlock hungrily took the evidence, each one in its own sealed bag to preserve it. He had to admit, he was impressed. Not only did she know how to handle the evidence, but she got right to the point. Definitely qualities he could admire.

He vaguely registered John talking as he pawed through the collected objects.

"So when did the first letter arrive?"

"September 29."

"And the second?"

"November 3. The third was today."

"So each are four days apart. Doesn't leave us much time."

"No, it doesn't. You can see why I need your help."

"Of course."

"What's your fee?"

Sherlock looked up, grinning. "No fee. I should be paying you, this is brilliant."

Rhianne raised an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Yes, oh this is perfect. I could kiss you!"

She looked amused. "Save it for John."

Sherlock didn't even respond, just rubbed his hands together in delight. John went faintly scarlet but quickly recovered.

"Let's see…this is a rather simple cipher, the key is right under our noses, I'm sure of it. Seeds? No, too obvious. Not enough letters. Orange? Maybe. Hand me a piece of parchment and a quill, John."

John sighed and handed him the required items. Sherlock scribbled on the paper, eyes alight. Finally he looked at the letter. "Let's see…"

John glanced over at his paper.

ORANGE

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

ORANGEBCDFHIJKLMPQSTUVWXYZ

"R…F…J…no, that's not right."

Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose. Rhianne and John peered at the cipher he had written on his page.

"Well, the key probably changes every time," John said after a while. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he gasped. "Oh, John! You're brilliant!"

FIVEORANGESEEDS

ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ

FIVEORANGSDBCHJKLMPQTUWXYZ

"T…O...R…H…I…A…N… yes, oh, John, I love you!"

John went rather red and cleared his throat, but Sherlock was wrapped up in deciphering the message.

To Rhianne-

I'm sure you are aware of several incidents of magic that you have used outside of school, which were ignored under…questionable circumstances. If you want this to stay under wraps, I would do the following.

You will provide for me information on all movements and habits of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. Please do be clever about it, I absolutely loathe ordinary people.

Love from M.

Sherlock looked at Rhianne sharply. "Incidents?"

"I had trouble controlling myself when I was younger," she said with a rueful smile.

"I see. Well. It certainly looks as though whoever is threatening you is well-connected."

"Apparently. Can you help?"

"Of course. May I borrow these?"

"Yeah, help yourself."

Sherlock smiled and rubbed his hands together, rising and taking the letters with him.

"This is exactly the thing. Threats? Letters? An anonymous stalker? Brilliant."

John stood as well, giving Rhianne a kind smile. "We'll solve it." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "And seriously, thanks, he's more than a few handfuls when he's bored."

She gave him a wry smile. "Glad I could be of service."

John grinned and softly clapped her on the shoulder before following Sherlock out.

/

"Augh!"

"What is it, Sherlock?" John asked resignedly, looking up from his Healing notes.

"I can't figure it out!"

"What?"

"The Rhianne case! It's driving me up the wall!"

Sherlock threw the letter he was holding, which fluttered to the ground. He glared at it with the petulance of a five-year-old who's been denied something important.

Like sweets.

Or a nice murder.

John sighed. "Maybe you need to approach it differently. Find a new perspective."

"From whom?"

"I don't know. We're in a library. Ask the librarian for help, maybe you can find a book."

Sherlock crossed his arms, his knees drawn up to his chin and his lips turned down in a scowl. "That's cheating."

"It's not. Not even you can know everything."

A pale face burrowed deeper into the green and silver scarf that sat around his throat. Finally he unfolded himself from his position on the chair, slinking sullenly to the librarian's desk. He had a terse, irritated conversation with her before stalking off to find a book. He came back with a staggering pile.

"Doing a little light reading, then?"

"John. Not helping," Sherlock growled, flipping open a book rather violently and turning the pages with surprising ferocity.

"Whoa, Sherlock. That book didn't make the case difficult."

"I know!"

"Sh. Library, remember?"

Sherlock just glared at him before returning to his forceful information hunt, stopping every so often to scan a page. The frustration slowly drained out of his features, replaced with slightly milder irritation. Finally he shut the book, having gone through six or seven volumes already, and reverted to his normal thinking pose, his eyes closed and his fingers pressed to his lips. John knew better than to interrupt him, so he continued writing his essay on the pros and cons of using Muggle medical concepts while dealing with Wizarding ailments.

No less than two hours later, Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "John."

"Hold on, I have two sentences left."

Surprisingly, Sherlock obeyed and waited till John had set down his quill before launching right into his ramblings. "We need to go on a date."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Well, you need to go on a date and I need to follow you."

"Can I ask why?"

"Certainly."

"Okay, why?"

"Because we need to give the impression that Rhianne is doing as her stalker says, gathering information about us. We'll feed her some things to tell them and she will relay them. I need time, I need data."

"Okay."

"Hopefully it won't be too terrible. For you, that is, given your obvious lack of luck with steady relationships."

"Hey!"

"Well, I'm just saying. You can reel in just about anyone, but keeping hold of them is far more difficult for you."

"Great."

"Yes. Thankfully, this is just a ruse, so you won't have to suffer her long."

"I like her. Maybe we'll even date for real if it goes well."

Sherlock froze for a split second and then appeared to shake himself. "Yes, well. We'll see."

John shrugged and rolled up his essay, capping his ink and putting his materials back in his bag.

"When should I ask her to go on this supposed date?"

"Next Hogsmeade weekend. It's in a week."

"Okay, I'll go ask her then."

"Yes. Good. Fine. I'll return these books."

"Thanks."

"I just don't want to be hovering over your shoulder, it would look suspicious," Sherlock sniffed, lifting his chin.

"Fair enough. See you at dinner, then."

"Yes. Off you go."

John chuckled and shook his head, walking out of the library with his bag in hand. He got halfway down the corridor before realizing he had no conceivable idea of where Rhianne would be. He mentally cursed his lack of foreword planning and resignedly headed up to Ravenclaw tower, figuring he'd work his way down the castle and hope for a stroke of luck. He was mere feet away from the door with the huge eagle knocker when a rolled-up scroll knocked him on the back of the head.

Sherlock's hasty scribble greeted him as he opened it.

She's on the Quidditch pitch. Ravenclaw's having practice today.

John felt a tickle of recognition at that. Come to think of it, he had seen her during games before. She was the Seeker, if he recalled correctly. He had been too busy trying to wrest control of the Quaffle away from her team to really pay any attention to her. He smiled and tucked the parchment into his bag, turning and walking back towards the Great Hall.

She was, indeed, on the Quidditch pitch, hurtling through the air with her teammates. John headed over to the stands and took a seat, watching for a bit. Ravenclaw was formidable, definitely a force to be reckoned with. One of their Beaters was the captain, and she was intense with her training technique. No surprise that they had been in the Championship for ten years running; it must have been habit for the players to be worked this hard.

Of course, the Gryffindor Captain sitting in the stands during a practice session didn't escape the attention of the Ravenclaw team. Their Captain blew her whistle and they all touched down to Earth in a blur of blue and bronze.

"Watson. What are you doing here, I have the pitch booked," Sarah shouted, walking up to him and tucking her bat under her arm. Her whistle hung around her neck, glinting in the late afternoon light.

"I know, I was just waiting for one of your players. No harm meant," he replied easily, a friendly smile spreading across his face.

"Which one?"

"It might be just me, but I think that's none of your business."

Sarah sighed and shook her head, blowing her whistle. "Back in the air, guys." She looked back at John. "Ten minutes, then you're free to do whatever the bloody hell you want."

And with that she took off, yelling orders at her team. She had an attitude that John could admire; she respected her team and gave them positive feedback while still working them to their limits. He filed away a mental note to include it in his own team's training.

Ten minutes later, as promised, the team landed again. Rhianne headed right over to him, calling to one of her friends over her shoulder that she'd be right there.

"Hey John. Got anything?"

"Unfortunately, no. This is more of a social call, I guess."

"Oh?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to Hogsmeade next weekend."

Rhianne's face broke into a wide smile. "Of course, that would be great. Meet me at the base of the marble staircase on Saturday?"

"It's a date. See you then." John nodded and smiled at her. She grinned back and ran back to her friends, waving at John as she went. He waved back and watched her retreating back, waiting until she was out of sight.

Contrary to popular (Sherlock's) belief, most of his pursuits didn't end so well. He had even gotten knocked upside the head with a rubber chicken once after he asked a girl out from his neighborhood.

He grinned at the memory as he walked back up to the castle; he had been twelve then, and it was a good thing he'd gotten so much better at…social things since then. If he hadn't, Sherlock might have strangled him for being so incompetent.

There it is! I feel so proud of myself for getting this done so quickly. This fic is oddly motivating… And I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself. I love ciphers. And Quidditch. Mostly ciphers. (Edit: fixed the cipher. Sorry that it didn't show up before.) Please review and tell me how I did, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback!

~kandyblood