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John always thought that Sherlock spoke exactly what was on his mind - he doesn’t appear to have much restraint after all with the way he steam rolls over other people and routinely insults everything from their intelligence on down. As it turns out, he practices more restraint than John knew. Which is… sort of hilarious actually.
“It will likely wear off in a matter of hours,” Snape says, watching Sirius and Sherlock eyeball each other from across the room, quite obviously trying not to say anything damning. They haven’t been doing well so far. “A pity. They’re far more entertaining this way.”
John actually agrees with him, which is new and a little unsettling. He’s still not sure he believes that Snape wasn’t the one to slip them the Verisaterum in the first place. He looks far too happy about this turn of events - and Snape isn’t really one for bouts of happiness, so even if he didn’t hate Sirius, that would be pretty suspect. Also, this batch seems to have instilled in them a pressing need to share instead of just answer questions truthfully, and if anyone could alter the potion like that, Snape could.
“When you ran away, you left behind a set of robes,” Sherlock says. “They weren’t even a decent pair, but I hid them from mother. I even wore them, at times, when I missed you.” Immediately, he looks as if he’d like to take the words back - which John really can’t blame him for, that’s pretty embarrassing - and also like he’s going to eviscerate whoever slipped him the potion in the first place.
“That’s pretty nancy of you,” Sirius says, and then, unable to help himself, “but I wasn’t really any better. I snatched your stuffed dragon before I left. I kept it under my bed at James’ place.” He gets an exceptionally pained look on his face in the wake of that. If John were a better person, he’d separate them for their own good - even if Snape says he needs to observe them both for their own safety, which John thinks might be a lie to keep them together and entertaining. - but apparently, he’s not a better person. At least he can admit that. Acknowledging the problem is the first step and all that.
“I suspected as much. I don’t mind, though.” Sherlock says, “Fourteen was far too old to be sleeping with a stuffed dragon, anyways. I only did because I was scared of the house when it was dark. I was always afraid Mother would curse something new, and I would touch it by accident.”
“You were always sort of a baby,” Sirius says. “Which is why I respect you even more now. You’re not scared of anything. And you’re a lot bloody smarter than I am,” which is definitely not like anything Sirius says, usually. He sort of looks like he wants to hex Sherlock to make up for it.
John should really be enjoying this less. But Sherlock and Sirius spend so much time trying to embarrass each other and near anyone around them that this is… well a bit of comeuppance.
He does feel sorry for them that Snape’s here to see it thought - he looks like he’s having the time of his life. Well, as much as John thinks he’s capable of looking like that, anyways. He’s always a bit dour and all that.
“Dumbledore isn’t entirely wrong,” Sherlock said. “Had I been sorted later, I likely would have been a Gryffindor.” The admission seems to pain him greatly, but he doesn’t stop there. “I didn’t really hate you for being a Gryffindor. I should have, but I didn’t. I envied you for being able to leave. You always distracted Mother, at least.”
“She was always a mad bloody bitch,” Sirius says, then he admits, “I tried slipping her Amortentia once, just to see what would happen. She just got a really disturbing fixation on Kreacher.” He shudders; Sherlock, on the other hand, does not looks particularly shocked.
“I wish that I could say that comes as a surprise,” Sherlock says. “But she always had an unhealthy preoccupation with those elf heads. Of course, we’ve been marrying into our own family for generations. We were bound to come out disturbed, at some point. It’s no wonder we all die young.”
“Don’t remind me,” Sirius says. “You did a pretty good job trying to kill yourself when you were 19. You’re really bloody lucky.”
“Luck had nothing to do with you watching me,” Sherlock says. “I was… not unhappy to learn you had been. You never seemed to care for me, overmuch.”
“Yeah, well, you’re the most frustrating bastard in the world,” Sirius says. Which is not really untrue. “But that doesn’t stop you from being my brother.”
“I’m touched,” Sherlock says, and this time there’s no doubt of whether he means it or not.”Things would have been far easier had we been unable to care for each other.” John has a bit of a guilty pang then because that’s the closest he’s ever heard Sherlock come to out and out saying he cares about someone - particularly Sirius - and somehow that ends John’s amusement with the whole thing.
“Er,” John says, “Maybe we should - “ but no one, least of all… well no, everyone’s ignoring him pretty much equally.
“You’re telling me,” Sirius said. “I wanted to bloody shake the Slytherin out of you.”
“Not actually possible,” Sherlock says. “Although you were not the only one.”
“Lily always put up put up with you alright,” Sirius said. “And there’s John.”
“John would often like to shake me,” Sherlock said. “But that does not stop us loving one another.” Even as he’s saying it, Sherlock looks wide-eyed. He slaps a hand over his mouth, once he’s said it - which would be funny in another circumstance but is really just terrible, now - and then actually flees the room.
“Oh, bloody hell,” John says and runs after him.