It didn't take very long for the graduates to get themselves settled into their flat and a routine; and after a few weeks, they were settled into their jobs, too. Sherlock started out immediately in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, shadowing the head Obliviator for a few days, before being given a cubicle and a name-tag. "It's not funny, John." He had sneered at John when he came home that day with his name pinned carefully to his shirt.
"Oh come on, you in a suit and a name-tag is pretty funny." Sherlock took the metal off and threw it at John.
"I hate my job."
"Sherlock, you've only been on it for a week. How can you know if you hate it or not?"
"I'm in a cubicle, John. And I'm not allowed to conduct experiments, and thanks to yesterday, speak to anyone, really."
"What happened yesterday?" John sat down on the couch with two mugs of tea, patting the spot next to him and the eighteen year-old threw himself heavily onto the cushions.
Taking one of the mugs and a large swallow, he sighed aggressively. "I made a few deductions about the Minister to piss my brother off, and no one was very pleased."
John looked as if his eyes would run away from his head. "Sherlock! You can't do that to the Minister of Magic. He can take your wand away, you know that right?"
Sherlock pulled the yew with unicorn's hair wand from his pocket and rolled it in his long fingers. "They wouldn't. Mycroft practically IS the Ministry, so they wouldn't do anything without him initiating it."
"Still, knock it off. You're the only real income right now and we can't lose that." John was only working part-time at the mini-mart down the street while he did his Healer studies at St. Mungo's. "After I become 'Doctor Watson', you can piss off the whole Wizarding World for all I care." The two laughed and went back to drinking their tea.
Years passed that way; John studying and finally working full time as a Healer, Sherlock erasing the memory of Muggles and wizarding folk, before they came home, collapsed side-by-side on the sofa, and drank their tea and told stories about their day. They were fast years, filled with peace and quiet and tea and friendship. The laundry did itself, the cooking and cleaning did as well. Both the boys were benefitting greatly from living in a 'wizarding flat'. Sherlock spent some days pacing, a book levitating in front of his face, while John tried to solve the Rubix cube that floated above his head as he lay on the couch. On rainy evenings when the Muggle power went out, Sherlock would conjure small orbs of soft light to float around and through the rooms of the flat, always making one for himself and John, to hover above their heads as they browsed newspapers, books, or magazines on the couch. It was on one of these rainy nights, that Sherlock had a sudden revelation. "It's your birthday, John." He said suddenly, lowering his book, and swatting the orb above his head and sent it to float amongst it's brothers and sisters near the ceiling.
John looked up from the crossword puzzle he was doing and said nonchalantly, "Yeah. What about it?"
"I almost forgot. We should go to dinner."
"Sherlock, it's pouring rain outside. And we don't have to do anything, it's just a birthday. Another day except now I'm older than yesterday." He smiled and went back to his puzzle.
"My treat. You're only 35 once, you know." He smiled.
John considered for a moment. "Fine. How can I say no to free food?" He swatted his own orb away and found his coat. "Where were you thinking?" The lights of 221B slowly flickered back on. "Hey look, the power's back!"
Sherlock pulled open a curtain. "The rain's letting up. It's just a light fall now. We can walk to Angelo's. It's just right up the street."
John shrugged. "Why not?"
They set out into the rain, walking side-by-side in silence. The lights of Baker Street hazed through the water, and the whole stretch of concrete was quiet, as if the street was taking slow, relaxed breaths. It was peaceful. "It's beautiful what calm a storm can bring."
John just nodded and ducked inside the cafe, grabbing their usual spot by the window. "Evening, boys." Angelo said, setting their normal drinks onto the table. "Same as always? Or are you feeling adventurous." His smile extended to his eyes as he pulled out his order pad.
"Just the same." John replied, Sherlock nodding in agreement. The restaurant was warm and the two wizards relaxed into the booth, watching the rain patter onto the sidewalk. "Thank you for remembering my birthday."
Sherlock shook his head dismisively. "What else are friends for?"
"Not setting your jumpers on fire?" John laughed as Sherlock narrowed his eyes.
"I apologized, John, but it was for an experiment." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "And, since you never asked, it was a successful one and all the kids loved it the next day."
"And what did Headmaster McGonagall say about it?" John raised an expectant eyebrow.
"Irrelevant." Sherlock's drink was suddenly very interesting to him, but he couldn't help cracking a smile when John began to laugh. He'd taken up a teaching job at Hogwarts two years ago and was constantly trying out new potions, experiments, and ingredient containment options on John and John's property. The professor was just lucky that the healer was patient and used to it; normal people would've left by that point.
The old friends laughed and ate and drank until they were sleepy from a day's work and full stomaches. So the coats came back on, Sherlock's bright blue scarf (a Christmas gift from John) went back on, and back out in the rain they went. The storm was picking up again when they reached home, and after shaking water off in the hallway and draining their shoes on the porch, they padded back to the living room on socked feet.
John fell right onto the couch when he reached the living room, only moving once to pull his wand from his pocket so it wasn't poking him anymore. Sherlock threw the curtains open wide and watched the storm for a little while before pulling his violin out and pulling a small tune from the strings. John rolled over and propped his head up on a pillow and watched his friend move, smiling to himself when he saw the black tail moving rhythmically behind him. Sherlock truly liked being an animagus. John would come home in the winter sometimes and find a large jungle cat splayed out on the floor in front of the fire, snoring quietly. John would always laugh and reach down to scratch behind his ear, causing the sleeping professor to roll his head into the touch, before waking up, standing up, and straightening his suit.
Now, John saw that the normally midnight tail was starting to become peppered with white. "You're getting old." John muttered, half asleep.
"You should talk." Sherlock said, putting the instrument back down and sitting in the armchair across from John. "You're older than me."
"By a year."
"So we're both getting old."
John shrugged in a non-committal way. He turned his head and looked at the storm that was raging again and knocked out the power once more in the flat. "The calm before a storm is also pretty phenomenal."
Sherlock looked out at the lightning criss-crossing it's way across the London sky. "It can be. And when it rains, it pours."
And pour it does, for Sherlock came home a few weeks later, upset and pacing the living room.
"What happened?" John asked when he came home from the hospital.
"A new Defense teacher started today. I don't like him, he looks at me in an unnerving way and he just seems off to me. I don't appreciate the way he stares at me."
"Maybe he has a crush on you." John laughed at his own goofy joke. "What's his name?"
"Professor James Moriarty."
