Potterlock - The Magical Deductions

The Match

John's hair was tousled by the wind, slicked back from the speed at which he was flying. The air was crisp, autumn's chill biting through the quidditch pitch. A light breeze favored the quaffle to the left side in short gusts.

In one hand, John held his cudgel, eyes scanning the expanse of the pitch. He allowed himself to hover a bit higher, overlooking the red and yellow uniforms below him. It was a Gryffindor/Hufflepuff game, start of the season, and John wanted to play his best.

He watched the bludgers get released from their case and shoot up into the sky. Instantly, the took off, reckless and wanton towards players on Hufflepuff who had intercepted the quaffle. The Gryffindor captain, Lochlan, blocked a throw and John's house was the one being targeted. He gripped his broom with one white-knuckled hand and his club in the other and started beating off bludger after bludger along with Sarah, who had flare and fire as she fought off the opposite bludger by the goal posts. John whacked the ball so that it soared out above the stands. The crack echoed over the cheers from the students. John twirled the club and grinned at Greg Lestrade, of whom he had made friends with. Lestrade sulked at his teams lower score, so John grinned some more.

The game went on and on, points scored, snitch almost caught. At one point, the golden thing soared right over John's head, promptly followed by two seekers bolting after it. John almost got a foot in the face twice, there.

As the day got later, the air got crisper, and John breathed harder. When it seemed like the game would never be over, and continue on forever, John whacked away a bludger to come face-to-face with the snitch. It was just there, its wings buzzing, just asking to be caught. It's golden body gleamed in the afternoon sun. It twitched in the air, and John was entranced.

His hand loosened on his broom, just a bit, gravitating to the snitch. But he but down on his cheek, backing up from the stationary snitch. If he touched it, he would get fouled and his team would lose points. Snitchnibbed. He turned, trying to focus, right when the Hufflepuff seeker, eyes wide and frightened, cried out, "Watch out!" Before barreling into him.

The two tumbled, John's broom falling from between his legs from shock. The Hufflepuff tried in vain to stay up, willing his broom to go up and support the weight if both boys, but John (who, for lack of anything better, had grabbed onto the Hufflepuff's boot) tried once more to hold up before falling completely.

He looked down at the grass on the pitch, at his broom now flat on the ground and willed himself to concentrate enough to yell, "Accio Nimbus!"

Just feet above the ground, his broom shot up to his hand. Everything halted, as he held on with two hands to his broomstick, which was hovering just high enough so that John's feet didn't touch the ground. The cheers that erupted from the stands was deafening with the chant, "Watson! Watson!" Firing up. To this chorus of his name, John heaved himself back up to his broom, finding his balance once more. He grinned at the red and gold section.

He heard the whoosh of a bludger slicing through the air and, with nothing to beat at it with, he turned and dove, letting the ball miss him just barely. He rocketed down, lifting the nose up just enough so he could sweep across the grass and grab his club, immediately swinging around and hitting a bludger a mile away from his buddy Zack, a chaser. Zack grinned at him over his shoulder, throwing the quaffle through the hoops at the same minute the whistle blew with the catch of the snitch. Elizabeth, Gryffindor's seeker, held the golden object high above her head. John whooped and cheered and circled around the pitch with his team to the shouts in the stands. The rush of adrenaline and excitement coursing through his veins was addictive.

He congratulated Hufflepuff, and accepted an apology from their seeker boy with a laugh and a shrug. "Hey, it happens." He said, clapping the fourth year on the back.

People started filing down from their seats and the Gryffindors, still on brooms, beamed at their classmates. The yellow, green, and blue all weeded its way from the red and golden group celebrating. Well, all except for one. A blue scarf stuck out like a sore thumb in the back of the group. John smiled.

"I didn't think you liked quidditch." John said to Sherlock, hovering next to his shoulder.

"I don't." He said, staring at the ground.

"So why did you come today?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Merely to see what the fuss was about. And to be perfectly honest with you, I don't understand why-"

"Oh, piss off." John said. Sherlock met his eyes.

"What?"

"You came to watch me play." He said, smirking. The rush of winning the game still gave him a a faster heartbeat and a courageous posture. He didn't know what was coming over him.

A blush rose in Sherlock's cheeks, egregiously obvious against his pale skin. "Don't be ridiculous, John, how could you-"

"Well, Sherlock, seeing as I won the game, I think I deserve something." He said, swiveling to keep himself in Sherlock sight.

To Sherlock's dismay, he found John's wind blown hair and uniform of red and gold extremely cute - what? Of course he didn't. Feelings and sentiment were stupid and he didn't have time for them. The flutter in his heart was purely... congratulatory towards John's win.

"What could I possibly give you?" Sherlock asked, trying to sound bored. A few Gryffindors turned to watch their teammate's conversation.

"I think I deserve a kiss." He said simply. His face was serious for a moment before he grinned again. It was like he couldn't keep the grin off his face.

Sherlock blanched. "Sorry?"

"Well, I just assumed since you like kissing me so much, it's the least you could do. I almost broke a leg out there today. I deserve something..."

Sarah, who had been watching a little way off, flew up next to John. "I'd be happy to give you your kiss, John." She said, fully intending to push the Ravenclaw's buttons. Sherlock's eyes widened.

"I'll kiss 'im!" Lochlan shouted. Now it seemed every Gryffindor was watching this play out. John shrugged innocently at Sherlock.

"I've got plenty of takers." He said. "I thought you'd just like-"

Sherlock (who was as tall at John's floating broom was) jumped and grabbed his shirt in his fist, pulling his uniform from its straps, and tugging his broom down with him. He pressed his lips to John's, suppressing all the thoughts in his head, which took a lot of self control. The Gryffindors immediately started hollering and clapping and laughing at the goofy grin on John's face, and the radiant blush on Sherlock's.

When they broke apart, John grinned like an idiot.

"I hate you." Sherlock said.

"Love you, too, smartass." He replied.