Turn Back Time (Potterlock)

Why you came

I woke up, and glanced at my clock. It was midnight. What had woken me up?

"Hetty!"

Ah. "What, Sherlock?" I moaned.

"Hetty! You know how John stayed in my room for a while to check that I was ok?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes?" I asked, before I told him to sit down. He did so. I didn't tell him that he had sat on my feet, and he seemed far too preoccupied to notice.

"Well, he, er, waited until he thought I was asleep before he left. I had, um,"

"Spit it out." I interupted.

"I had asked him to carry on talking so I knew he was there- that's the problem with everyone wearing socks, not shoes, because I can't hear their footfall- but when he thought I was asleep- of course, I wasn't- he started talking. Not just the rambling type of talking he had done before, but actual talking. He told me things, things he wouldn't have said if he knew that I was awake."

"Like what?" I asked, sitting up.
Sherlock suddenly shivered. "You must be freezing." I said, realising that he was only in boxers and a t-shirt.

"I am, rather." Sherlock muttered.

"here." I passed him a blanket. He curled up under it, and carried on talking.

"He talked about his family. He talked about his sister, Harry. I- I think she must be gay. He then went on to say that while he was positive that he wasn't, he did love a boy. He said that to start with he thought it was just because he thought of this boy as a brother, but... but then he wasn't so sure. He then asked me what I would do, before remembering that I was 'asleep'. He then said that while I was asleep, he might as well tell me who it was..." Sherlock drifted off.

"Yes?" I asked.

"For some reason he chickened out. He muttered something about 'but you don't have feelings' and the next thing I know, he's moving my hair out of my face, and kissing me! It took me a while to process what had happened, and when I was positive that he was asleep next door, I came here."

"And this is... he is..."

"The person who I was talking about when I let slip that I loved someone. Someone being him."

"Oh, Sherlock!" I said, grinning. I hugged him. "Sorry. Don't like hugs."

"No, no. It's... fine... I... I'm just so happy..."

I thought I heard footsteps outside my room, heading back to the room next to Sherlock's.

"Sherlock, go to bed, ok? I'm happy for you, but won't John notice that you're tired tomorrow? He isn't an idiot, you know."

"Yeah. You're right. Night then." Sherlock stood up.

"Morning." I replied. "And keep the blanket."

Sherlock made his way out, his long fingers lightly touching the wooden rail, the other hand clutching the blanket around his shoulders.

After I had heard his door close, and was positive that he was asleep, or at least in his mind palace, I creeped out of my room, and into John's.

"John?" I asked.

I was answered by a very unconvincing snore.

"John, I know you're awake. You forget, unlike Sherlock, I can see, and unlucky for you your room is flooded in moonlight. You know, no one sleeps sitting up in bed."

"Sherlock isn't the only one who can pretend to be asleep." John said quietly. "I heard everything he said to you. He thinks I'm chicken. He could have told me what he felt, rather than just pretending to be asleep. He's the chicken."

"How can you say that?" I asked. "He's more scared than you could possibly imagine. He let emotions get to him. If it hadn't been for love, love for his brother, he wouldn't be damaged. Broken."

"Broken? He's coping fine." John said stubbornly.

"Fine? How could he be fine with being blind? He was going to be a detective. Now he can't. It wasn't just his eyes that were damaged. It was his future, his career, his enjoyment, his heart. Not the actual heart, but his metaphorical heart. He ran in to save his brother, from someone who they shouldn't have needed saving from. And he kept the secret." I laughed dryly. "Why am I even telling you this? Because I trust you. I trust you not to break my cousin, I trust you like I never trusted my father. And for good reason." I spat out the last words, filled with hate.

"Where is your father?" John asked, so innocent. Unbroken.

"Azkaban." I growled.

"Why? Who put him there?" John asked, shocked. He obviously thought that that man, that monster, was there under untrue charges.

I turned, and left, but not before answering his question. "I did."