Sherlock stood, all crisp lines and elegance, in the Astronomy Tower as he waited for Moriarty to arrive. It had been more than ten minutes (punctuality is a virtue, he thought to himself) and there was still no sign. Sherlock exhaled slowly, not quite a sigh, and looked out the window at the night sky. It was cloudy, a few stray wisps blocking the weak moonlight.
"Sherlock, what a pleasure," said a voice behind him, the all-too-familiar Irish twinge making the hairs on the back of Sherlock's neck stand up.
He didn't turn, calmly surveying the moon. "Evening, Jim. How's the smuggling business going?"
"Well, quite well, thank you for asking. But we both know it's a bit beyond smuggling now."
"Yes, I assumed as much. A consulting criminal?"
"Seemed only fair. Can't let you get all the glory, can I?"
"No, I suppose not." Sherlock turned, fixing Moriarty with cold, calculating eyes.
"Exactly." The shorter boy sidled up to Sherlock, peering at the moon. "Nice night, hm?"
"Yes, my thoughts exactly. Excellent for meeting in the highest tower in the castle."
"More dramatic. But you know all about that."
Sherlock didn't dignify that with a response, watching the clouds scuttle across the sky impassively. Moriarty sighed loudly and looked down at his feet.
"You were so interesting, Sherlock. So interesting."
"'Were' being the key word there, I suppose?"
"You got boring."
"Strangely, I'm finding myself not taking offense to that," the taller boy said honestly. He'd rather than be boring than under Moriarty's scrutiny, certainly.
Apparently the universe could read his mind, because Jim chose that precise moment to turn and stare at Sherlock with a tiny smirk playing on his lips.
"Why? Because you think I'll stop playing with you and your little dog?"
"No. Because I think you'll never find a more interesting opponent anyway," Sherlock said neutrally, his eyes flicking over Moriarty. Wand in his right pocket, but otherwise unarmed.
He took that the wrong way.
"Like what you see, Sherly?" he asked smoothly, his voice dropping into a seductive murmur.
Sherlock felt goosebumps rise on his skin, and it wasn't from attraction. Jim began circling him, movements fluid but oddly crooked. Sherlock was strongly reminded of a spider, and forced himself to stay still under the other Slytherin's stripping gaze.
"Hardly. Robes don't exactly flatter you, Jim," came the curt, mocking reply.
"Want me to take them off, then? Oh wait-" There was that horrible curl of lips that made Sherlock's stomach twist. "You're a virgin, aren't you? Isn't that precious."
"Statistically speaking, most males do not have sex until after the age of seventeen."
"Statistically speaking…" Moriarty lowered his voice to that awful little murmur again, reaching over to straighten the lapels of Sherlock's robes. "You're not most males."
Sherlock watched him as one might watch a cobra, his pale eyes seeming even lighter in the silvery light. "No, but neither are you."
Moriarty barked out a laugh, short and humorless. "Well played."
"Thank you."
His robes were suddenly being yanked forward, bringing him to the other boy's eye level.
"Enough. This is a warning, got it? Stay out of my way, both of you, or the little Ravenclaw dies."
"I'm sure. But neither of us wants me to actually stay out of it, so what exactly is the point of this little meeting?"
Moriarty just shook his head, chuckling lowly, and looked down. He snapped his head back up, a gleam of something Sherlock couldn't identify in his eyes and a grin on his face.
"I will burn you, Sherlock Holmes."
"I'd love to see you try."
Moriarty screwed up his face, looking and sounding weirdly choked up. "I'll burn the heart out of you."
Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. His expression remained a mask. "I've been reliably informed that I don't have one."
"Oh, but we both know that's not quite true." Jim shook his head, smirking.
Verdigris eyes met black ones, the tension in the room spiking as each one held the other's gaze. Jim looked away first, back at the moon, but it didn't feel like surrender. It felt like control. Moriarty had this situation and he knew it, turning around to give Sherlock a gloating look.
"We're just the same. Except I'm not boring." A sigh from the smaller silhouette against the window. "Not at all like your John. He's so ordinary, don't you think?"
Sherlock stayed silent, closing his eyes, unable to come up with any response that wouldn't lay his whole emotional palette bare for Moriarty to paint his own portrait with.
"You and I, Sherlock. We could be so great together. Nothing could stop us. We could have both worlds under our thumbs. Muggles and wizards, all bowing down to the two greatest intellects of all time." Short, slender fingers return to Sherlock's collar, adjusting it, caressing it.
Sherlock caught Moriarty's wrist as he opened his eyes, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide from the prolonged absence of light.
A heartbeat raced under his thin fingertips as Moriarty's eyes dilated as well, though his for far different reasons. A sharp tug to his robes and their lips connected, a small wrist still pinched between violinist's fingers.
Sherlock closed his eyes and tried not to be very much disgusted as a tongue swiped over his lips. He pulled away, both of them panting a bit. Sherlock released Jim's arm and bent to whisper softly next to his ear.
"Caring is not an advantage, Jim."
And with that he turned, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and walked off. Moriarty said nothing, made no move to go after him, but Sherlock could feel his empty black gaze burning holes in his back.
As soon as he was out of sight he started running. Feet pushing against the ground beneath them, his breath searing his lungs as he ran, faster and faster. Sherlock's vision blurred and his nose streamed. He wiped away the tears and kept going, letting his legs carry him where they would.
He skidded to a halt in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady. Wheezing, he bent over to catch his breath and wiped his face in a hurry.
"Doxy… Sorry. Doxy fingers," Sherlock panted, wiping his wild curls out of his eyes. The Fat Lady yawned and swung open.
"Yes, if you say so dear."
Sherlock stumbled through the portrait hole, into the blissfully empty Gryffindor common room. The few students remaining barely glanced up. One of them, a gangly ginger (one of the Weasleys, he thought absently) sighed and got up from his game of wizard chess. His friend looked disgruntled but didn't make a move to stop him. He called up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.
"Watson, your boyfriend's here!"
"Not my boyfriend!" came the muffled reply before John came down the stairs, looking slightly annoyed.
"Sherlock, what's…" His face crumpled into an expression of confusion and concern. "Sherlock, what's wrong? What happened?"
Sherlock took a deep breath and opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off with a jerk of his head. "Not here. Come on then."
The Slytherin, feeling very out of place, stumbled up the stairs with John and collapsed on his bed when they reached John's room. The Gryffindors that shared a room with John looked over curiously, some of them blinking sleep from their eyes, but John waved them off. He pulled the curtains around the bed.
"Muffliato. Okay, tell me what happened."
Sherlock brought his trembling hands to his face and took another deep breath. "Moriarty…I was stupid, so stupid, I should have realized before, I'm sorry, so sorry, we met in the Astronomy Tower, we were talking and he threatened me and you and Rhianne and I tricked him and then we kissed and then I ran here and I'm sorry John, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" he babbled, still shaking like a leaf. John frowned and considered him for a brief moment before gathering Sherlock into his arms.
"Sh, you're okay now. Hey, no, look at me."
Sherlock raised his head, looking at John with suddenly clear eyes. John wiped the tears from his friend's face and smiled.
"Look, see? It's okay."
"Yes I know. Don't be an idiot," Sherlock replied, seeming to have just snapped back to his normal self. John laughed and hugged his bony shoulders again. Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable, but allowed himself to be held. John released him after a few seconds and grinned.
"I've drawn my curtains around the bed and cast a silencing charm. People will talk."
Sherlock managed a small smirk, exhaustion hitting him like a freight train. "They do little else."
John smiled and pushed his shoulders so he was lying down.
"Not tired."
"Yes you are, you stubborn git."
"Sleep is so mundane, John," Sherlock muttered as his eyelids drooped and let his mind fall into oblivion.
"Goodnight, Sherlock," the Gryffindor said into the silence, rolling onto his side and listening to the steady breathing of his sleeping friend as he drifted off.
Alright, y'all, I'm sorry it took me this long to update. I'm not very happy with this chapter, but I hope it's okay so far. The OOC Sherlock is just my take on how he would be when he was younger, so I'm sorry if it's weird... :/ Won't be posting the last chapter for a couple weeks. Please review! Feedback is super valuable.
~kandyblood