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Sherlock doesn’t take slights against his abilities very well - actually, he tends to be a bit of a child about it, not to mention vicious towards anyone who slights him. Just listening to one conversation between Sherlock and Anderson would illustrate that pretty well. Since coming to the Wizarding world, John has learned that those abilities extend to Seeking, and when Sirius implies - alright, Sirius doesn’t really imply anything, he makes what he’s saying very clear - that Sherlock isn’t as good as Harry… well, it winds them up here, on the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch, Sherlock and Harry both with brooms in hand, and Lily holding a tiny golden ball that really doesn’t seem to want to stay still.
“Alright, boys,” she says. “First one to catch it wins. Play nice.” The last comment is clearly meant for Sherlock who probably would knock someone off their broom if it meant winning. He does hate to lose a terrible lot. The fact that he was willing to let Moriarty win just to get John back safely said a whole lot about what he feels for John. Well, and the Patronus thing. That made it pretty obvious, too.
Sherlock makes an impatient noise, and Harry just grins. Since Voldemort died, Harry seems to be a lot more cheerful than he was before. Probably knowing you’re not actually destined to murder someone does that for a person. Also, no one’s dying around him anymore so he doesn’t have to feel like a martyr about that. John would certainly feel better.
“Yes, yes, good sportsmanship, may the best man win,” Sherlock says, “Let’s begin, already.”
Lily gives him an exasperated look - Lily is actually a lot more tolerant of Sherlock’s… well Sherlock-ness than most people are, aside from from John, maybe, who’s willing to admit he’d put up with a terrible lot to be allowed to stay at Sherlock’s side. That probably says something about his general mental state, but John tries not to think about that too much.
The point being - John lost it a bit there - that John is pretty sure Sherlock and Lily have some sort of history, but he can’t even guess what it might involve. He’s not Sherlock, which is actually a pretty big relief.
“Alright,” Lily says, and then opens her hands - the little winged ball goes shooting off; John can’t even see where it’s gone, can’t track movements that quick. “Go!”
Harry and Sherlock both shoot in the air immediately, paced evenly. Harry supposedly has about the best broom you can get, but that doesn’t seem to be deterring Sherlock at all. Even John can see he’s the better technical flier, which really isn’t surprising at all. Sherlock is precise and capable, and John really wouldn’t expect anything less from him.
They both seem to lose track of the Snitch simultaneously and come to a screeching halt in midair, then begin to circle, seeming to pay as much attention to each other as they do to spotting the Snitch.
“Harry’s good,” John says to Lily because it seems like the thing to say.
“Yes,” Lily says, looking very proud. “He’s a natural.” She turns to John, though, admitting, “I hope Regulus wins, though.”
John blinks, surprised. “Why’s that?” John says.
“Well,” Lily says, looking back up at Sherlock and Harry turning circles in the air. “You know how Regulus is when he loses.”
“All too well,” John admits, but he’s smiling. Sherlock is difficult, yes, but John wouldn’t want him any other way. Which definitely says something about the state of his mental health. Perhaps he’s got a bit of Stockholm Syndrome.
Lily smiles back. “We’re probably all safer if he wins,” she says.
“Sirius, certainly,” John admits. Perhaps even Harry, although John is mostly sure Sherlock wouldn’t hex him just for winning. Mostly. He is a pretty poor sport.
Suddenly Harry seems to laser in on the Snitch and goes shooting off again. Even from a hundred feet below, John can see that Sherlock curses - perhaps John just knows him too well and can intuit it; it’s probably that - and goes streaking after him. Harry’s got a decent lead but Sherlock’s precise flying is gaining him ground. Or, er, air. Suddenly, John catches a flash of gold, and now he can see the Snitch too, and how close Harry is to catching it.
Which is, of course, the point at which Sherlock tries to knock Harry off his broom.
Lily shouts, “Regulus Arcturus Black!” and she's done something to make her voice loud enough to be heard back at the castle - also, that is a really absurd middle name; not that Regulus is much better, or even Sherlock - and it seems to throw Sherlock off enough that he loses the lead, letting Harry right himself and shoot ahead, again. Not a moment later he snatches something out of the air, and holds up one gloved fist, smiling wide.
He’s caught the Snitch. Well, there goes Sherlock’s good mood for the day.
Harry flies toward the ground and John and Lily. Sherlock follows, looking poor tempered, in his wake. He’s scowling, which seems to happen a lot after Sirius presses him into doing something. Also, when he loses.
“Good job, mate,” Harry says, bracingly, and Sherlock gives him a sour look.
“I’d have won if it weren’t for Lily,” he says.
“I told you to play nice,” Lily says.
“And I didn’t listen,” Sherlock says, still sulking, “How terribly shocking.”
Lily gives him a really impressive stern look, and Sherlock seems to falter for a moment - John really would like to know what’s gone on between them before that Lily can do that to Sherlock, throw him off his game at all. Even John can’t always manage that.
Sherlock gathers himself together, again.
“It was an unfair match, anyways,” Sherlock says. “He’s younger, and I have not been able to fly for a number of years.”
“He’s not that much younger,” John points out, and Sherlock gives him a look that says pretty plainly shut up, now, John or you will regret it. Naturally, John ignores it because there’s something wrong with his sense of self-preservation. “And it’s not as if Harry was playing a lot of Quidditch during the war.”
Sherlock is glaring at him. John just smiles back. Then Sirius apparates beside them from out of the stands, as if he can sense the exact wrong moment to rile Sherlock, and has come to take advantage of it.
“Getting a bit slow there, Regulus,” he says, then smirks in that don’t forget I’m a Black way he has, sometimes. “Not that you could have kept up, anyways.”
“I will turn you into a toad,” Sherlock says, glaring. “Don’t think I won’t.” Then, all at once, he smiles and says, “In fact, it would be a great improvement,” which makes John a bit nervous, and he isn’t even the one irritating Sherlock. Not at the moment, anyways.
“Nah,” Sirius says, “You were never all that good at Transfiguration,” which is pretty much the stupidest thing he could say, so, honestly, it’s not a surprise when Sherlock draws his wand, apparently getting the drop on Sirius - Sirius should maybe gloat a little less, and he’d be able to draw his wand faster - and then… well, then Sirius is a frog.
“I think that’s close enough,” Sherlock says. Then he walks off, calling cheerfully over his shoulder, “Have fun turning him back!”
They all stare down at Sirius. He croaks. He looks about as plaintive as a frog can.
“You know,” Lily says, finally. “Regulus is a bit right. He’s a lot less trouble this way.” Sirius croaks, apparently in alarm, which at least means he’s a frog with sensibilities.
John actually cannot believe he just thought that sentence. The Wizarding world has done truly bizarre things to him.
Then again, it could just be Sherlock.