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John glanced up and down the hall, it was a little while after curfew but being caught out of bed wasn't his problem. Being caught out of bed, stealing books from the library with Sherlock was. Looking back on it later, he would realize this stuff happened a lot to him. It didn't matter how he got there, how he started off so average only to end up hands attached as strong as glue to a Ravenclaw's as they ran down the corridors, robes trailing behind. A numerable amount of things could have lead up to this, but only one really stuck out. Sherlock Holmes. Everything the dark-haired boy ever said, did or didn't do. The situation was a bit off since the beginning. Not many people became friends with someone who put you in danger constantly, or always crowded in your space, or even- actually, no one became friends with Sherlock. No one except John. They both loved the thrill of whatever they had between the two of them. Adrenaline junkies and thrill seekers, the both of them.
Reaching the end of the hall, John yanked on the other boys' arm as he turned to the right, pulling them both into the prefect bathroom door. Quickly, he managed to get it open and threw the door shut as quietly as he could. Leaning over, hands on their knees, they both panted from running so far without stopping. One of the caretakers, Mr. Flicker, had spotted them almost as soon as they tried to sneak out. Now that they were out of the field of vision of authority, they had to find out how to get back. It took them a bit to calm down, considering they just ran from the dungeons and up an innumerable amount of stairs. When the heavy breathing finally stopped, John slid against the door onto the floor. "Never doing that again, Sherlock. Not ever."
"Liar," was the only response as Sherlock slumped down next to him, "you always come running when I call." They both let out a shaky laugh, and Sherlock glanced out the door. "We might be good."
"Might? Not good enough," John pointed out, "but we can't stay in here all night. People'll question it. Last time we weren't there when they woke they assumed we were in the Forbidden forest. Probably didn't help that you still had twigs in your hair." Sherlock only gave an amused snort, before pushing John's head away from the door. "Come on, it's now or never."
"I didn't say anything, John, but if you insist," Sherlock laughed, snatching John's hand and slipping out of the door, tugging the Gryffindor along. Turning left around the nearest corner, Sherlock lowered his voice slightly from earlier and added, "you can stay in the Ravenclaw tower for the night."
"But Sherlo-"
"This isn't the first time you've done so, John, no excuses. It's closer than your room." Peering out around another corner, they took off towards the Ravenclaw housing, John following blindly, his body working on auto-pilot. He wasn't sure what was happening until he heard Sherlock grumble the word, "tomorrow."
John had heard the riddle before, he had answered it plenty of times before when visiting. Sherlock had showed him easy ways to figure out most of the riddles, just in case he wasn't there to provide them himself. They tried to climb the stairs as quietly as they could but ended up the two of them just half-stomping.
When they reached Sherlock's room, the Ravenclaw held a finger up to his mouth, motioning for him to stay quiet. After trying their hardest to silently make their way to Sherlock's four-post bed, they finally made it, but not before John almost tripped and landed all over another kid's trunk. John didn't remember the boy's name, just that him and his siblings were nicknamed after numbers. Eleven or something like that.
Opening the curtains around the bed, Sherlock shoo'ed John in and climbed after, closing it back once they were both in. "Sorry about Redbeard," Sherlock whispered, his gaze following the owl sitting at the edge of the bed, "he's still not used to you coming around so much. Are you okay sleeping in that?"
"I've been coming around longer than he has!" John pointed out, then quieting his voice and adding, "it's fine, was just going to take my robe and tie off."
"Give them to me, I'll put them on the table next to me."
Wouldn't want my clothes on your floor, people might get the wrong idea," John laughed, shedding the extra layers and folding them neatly. He put his shoes on the floor under the bed, and his socks too. After getting fixuated for bed, the two of them laid back, though they both knew only one would sleep. "Night, Sherlock."
"Goodnight, John."
It was a good few hours of sleep, even Sherlock managed to catch some Z's, though it was more than a little awkward when they woke up (John had his arm wrapped around Sherlock). Thankfully the bed curtain was closed. The real trouble didn't start until they were getting dressed. They were planning on getting up early so John could go back and change, but ended up sleeping until the alarm went off.
"Why the bloody hell is the Gryffindor keeper in here?" Mike sneered, his eyes raking over John. John knew better than to say anything to Michael, his twin Luke was captain of John's quidditch team. "Go back to your house, you're not welcomed here."
John looked to Sherlock and shrugged, "see you at breakfast in a few, okay?"
"Wait, let me change robes and I'll walk with you. There's no harm in staying another few minutes," he pointed out, waving his hand around as he dug through his trunk for his coat. There wouldn't be a need for robes today, it was the weekend and one of the last matches of the season before the tournament. Throwing on the coat and loosely hanging a scarf around his neck, he slipped a pair of gloves in his pocket and grabbed his seeker uniform. "Alright."
They stopped at John's room, collecting his gear and uniform. They walked towards the arena, leaving their stuff in the locker room. "Are you going to let me win again, Sherlock? I think you should."
"Let you win? Again? I've never! The snitch just simply flew too far away."
"Liar, you know exactly what you were doing. Are you sure you only want to play one year, though?"
"Mum insisted I play at least one year, otherwise I had my permission to go to Hogsmeade revoked," Sherlock groaned, sliding into a seat at the Gryffindor table with John following soon after. "Speaking of Hogsmeade, are you going next week?"
"We always go Sherlock, why would this be different?"
"I wasn't sure if you were going to do anything for Molly's birthday or not."
"She's going out of town, her aunt's getting married."
Sherlock made a face, "married." He cleared his throat and focused his attention back on John. "Can we go to Honeydukes then?"
"Sure, Shrieking Shack, too?"
"Obviously, John." Their hands bumped as they both reached for toast, Sherlock backing off for John to grab some first. They each grabbed two, eating them quickly. John kept glancing at Sherlock out of the corner of his eye, but swiftly returning them back to his food. "Out with it," Sherlock demanded, huffing like he was talking to a child.
"Speaking of birthdays-"
"John. We're not talking about this."
"Please! I do what you want on your birthday! In which I usually almost die on, also." Sherlock only rolled his eyes, snorting with annoyed amusement before turning back to his light breakfast, "Sherlock, come on! Just this one party. For me?"
"No, it's not even for a month!"
"I'll convince the guys to prank those Slytherins from the other day."
"I think you hit them hard enough, it's not necessary/"
"I'll buy you a new cauldron, Sherly."
"A new cauldron, we talk to Myrtle and you stop calling me Sherly."
"Deal, now hurry up! I want to get on the field before everyone else."
The game started off slow, everyone still groggy from the morning, and the approaching crisp weather of spring biting at bare faces. It was only February but it was getting progressively warmer, one year on his birthday it was warm enough to swim! Tightening his padding, John sent Sherlock a smug grin as he walked out onto the arena. It was probably going to be the second to last game the two of them were going to play together, and John was determined to win.
It was starting to progress, John had deflected three bludgers and Sherlock seemed to be mapping out where the snitch should be. Ravenclaw was slightly ahead, 20 - 16, though they were both gaining points greatly. It wasn't until midgame that something really interesting happened, though. One of the Ravenclaw beaters hit a good one, aimed straight for the goal. John stopped it with this side at the last minute, and as he was momentarily distracted a hard one hit him in the same place, causing him to fall. Sherlock instantly stopped searching the sky, diving down to catch John. He wrapped his arms around John, turning just right so the Gryffindor wouldn't hit the ground directly. The fall for Sherlock was short, the extra weight unbalancing him a good seven feet above the ground, ending up with him only breaking a wrist (which was caught between the dirt and the bodies of two thirteen year old boys) and a slight concussion.
Sherlock had momentarily lost any sense of direction, unable to do anything but breathe and blink slowly. John had scooped him up in his arms, and carried him away. He refused to let anybody get close to them, except a few of the teachers. When a second year Slytherin kid (Jim something) had asked if Sherlock was okay, John snapped for him to keep his distance. When Sherlock was in the infirmary, he had stayed at his bedside the entire time. The only time he didn't want to be there was when Sherlock would be in a great deal of pain, the skele-gro burning underneath his skin. Knowing how little the boy would remember afterwards, John would pepper little kisses to Sherlock's forehead, cheeks and hands.
The Ravenclaw boy didn't remember much of the experience, just what the nurses and teachers said. He could feel the dull sensation of the potion finishing up as he sat up. John had fallen asleep, he had pulled a chair up next to the bed, and his head was now resting on his folded arms which were splayed across the bed. Shaking him gently, Sherlock woke his friend. "I'm free soon, John.. You're more than welcome to stay or go rest back in your room. I'll be there shortly."
"Sherlock, I said you could go back to classes and such, you need to be watched over while you sleep, just in case.. The remnants of your concussion are still there you know," another nurse Ms. Noble, scolded, her red hair peaking out from underneath her headband. John frowned a bit, and looked between Sherlock and the nurse, mouth opened like he wanted to say something. "Out with it, Watson."
"Ms. Noble, I could watch Sherlock. No offense but I doubt he'll listen to others as well as he does with me," John put in, understanding how much Sherlock wanted to leave. He had been there for a week already.
"Fine, I'll let Professor Harvelle know about this. It's only going to be for three or four days at the most," and with that she dissmissed them, leaving John to help Sherlock out of the bed.
"I'm starving!" John complained as they walked towards the great hall, "think there'll be any good food left? Lunch is only over in a good five minutes."
"You really want to eat at a time like this?" Sherlock asked, looking disgusted at the idea. "I've been cramped up in there for who knows how long, and you want food!"
"Six days"
"What about six days, John?"
"We were in there for six days," he pointed out casually, turning the corner and rushing towards the door to the great hall. He threw it open and widened his arms, "I'm here, food!" He slid down the bench across from Greg, eyeing the food with a needy glare. When Sherlock cocked an eyebrow, John feverishly pat the bench to his right, "sit."
Rolling his eyes, Sherlock agreed, and scanned the table for something small. Hospital food was nasty, he had refused to eat when it had been offered, but John always slipped a muggle candybar under his pillow when he could. Snatching up a sandwich, Sherlock took a quick and small bite. He would look up and see Greg looking at him with a pitying look. "Don't."
"I didn't say anything, Sherlock!" Greg complained, frowning at him.
"You were thinking. It's distracting." Sherlock had only eaten half, and shoved the plate forward. "I'm done," and with that he was walking out the door, leaving John to watch him leave with a sad look.
"What the bloody hell was that, John?" Greg asked, raising an eyebrow. "I was only looking at him." John shrugged and they both sighed. They both stood up and got up to leave. "We're leaving for Hogsmeade in a few, are you sure you're not coming with?"
"Positive. Can you do me a favor, though? I need you to buy some Fizzing whizzbees for me? Buy as much as you can with three galleons, okay?" John handed him three gold coins, and smiled. "No questions," he added and Greg nodded, shoving the coins in his pocket. John clapped him on the back and they parted ways. "Thanks mate!" he called out again, turning around to think of which way Sherlock would have gone. Their rooms were out, he stormed out in a fluster so obviously didn't want to be found easily. There were too many kids still around for him to be able to hang around for him to stay indoors, they would most likely talk to him out of pity. Outside, obviously, but where? Most likely the Forbidden forest.
Turns out he was wrong. Sherlock was sitting under a tree in the courtyard. His hands were steepled under his chin but John could tell when he was faking, his left pinky finger twitched periodically. Slunking down next to him, John let his gaze linger on the boy's pale eyes, trying to catch his attention. Nothing seemed to be working, Sherlock was determined to keep the act up.
John wouldn't stop trying, though. He tugged on Sherlock's hair, clapped near his ear and even flicked his face. It went on like this for awhile, John doing obnoxious things while Sherlock did absolutely nothing. He barely even flinched. At some point John climbed the tree, and hung upside down. "Sherlock, pay attention to me!" he groaned, swinging back and forth. "Pay attention or I'll sit on you." Still no response. "That's it." John climbed down and sat on Sherlock, forcing him to lower his legs to the ground. They were facing each other, John smiling big.
Sherlock let his hands fall slack, "sorry, did you say something?" John huffed and crossed his arms. "Stop being so dramatic, John."
"You're the drama queen." Sherlock rolled his eyes and pushed John off him, and standing up. He turned to walk away but John grabbed his wrist, "Sherlock, come on. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, John. I've been thinking and Lestrade was annoying me. As simple as that."
"Thinking about what?" Sherlock didn't answer, just yanked his wrist and kept walking. His coat billowed around him as he sharply turned a corner. "Drama queen." John muttered then added much more loudly, "Sherlock wait up!" He ran after the Ravenclaw, and gripped his wrist again, pulling him back. "Tell me what hell is wrong before I turn all of your cauldrons into flowers."
Sherlock stood there for awhile, just staring blankly at John. "You almost got hurt, and I stopped playing just so you wouldn't. I-" he sighed heavily, "it's weird. I play to win and I dropped everything to catch you and ended up hurting myself in the process. What was the point of that? When I walked out that older girl Sally Donovan on the Hufflepuff team was there. She was telling me, quite rudely, how disgustingly cute our friendship is and she was saying how you refused to let anyone come near me since no one else tried to help and-" he breathed in heavily, "I've never had friends, or feelings and I don't like these feelings a bit."
John looked at him blankly, taking in all of this information before saying anything. Then he laughed. He laughed really hard and hugged Sherlock, "you're an idiot." They pulled apart, Sherlock looking a bit more than shocked. "Sherlock, I care about you a lot, okay?"
"Okay."
The two of them standing their grinning dumbly at one another. Sherlock in general never had a good sense of personal space, unlike John. Neither at this moment seemed to know of it, though. If either took a step they would crash right into the other. Sherlock blinked slowly, "John?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you react the way you did when I broke-" there was many things he could say, his wrist, John's fall, but he stook with not finishing the sentences and looking down. "You could have kept playing. That's what usually happens."
John looked down, and cleared his throat. "You're my friend, Sherlock. You mean more to me than my house."
Sherlock nodded and pressed his forehead to John's, "can you carry me back to your room?"
"Hell no! Do it yourself!"