If Sherlock went to Hogwarts (Fanfiction)

John Watson

Sherlock materialised from one place to another, the solid brick wall behind him momentarily was the consistency of warm air as he escaped from the pollution filled air of London to instead choke on heavy purple smoke which surrounded him along with an ocean of people: mums and dads waving off their loved ones, calling words of encouragement that at this point Sherlock was surely missing.
The people here were strange, different. Sherlock had packed  his cloaks in his luggage, now regretting it as he stood out in his muggle clothing, apart from everyone else.
He shrugged off this thought and pushed his trolley hard, making the wall of people let him pass, just as the brick one did. He did not have a watch but knew he only had seconds to get on the train. It was huge like a scarlet dragon, slowly breathing out purple breath. A girl, around the age of nineteen, helped him heave his trolley on the train. She was dressed in a deep black, only trickles of blond hair escaped from her hood, hiding her face from view as she held herself as if a puppet had been cut from its strings. His muttered words of thanks were muffled by the sudden cry of a whistle blowing and the Hogwarts express began to leave the station. His luggage away with it.
He panicked yet something inside of him had the instinct to run and hard. Shoving through the heard of people to the train where he grabbed hold of a cold bar and as the train's speed increased he feared his clammy hands would slip.
As the air started whipping at his clothes and making his hair go in his eyes he blindly got inside and staggered into a compartment door,dragging his found luggage behind him.
It was empty except that of a small boy: He was hunched over a book, its paper and his hair both glowed gold as the sun shined from the compartment window, showing not now the station but compact hedgerow.
The boy looked up at the windswept Sherlock who was so thankful that he didn't fall off the train didn't mind that it wasn't an empty compartment.
Wanting a window seat however, Sherlock sat opposite the small boy. Sherlock looked him up and down: Same age, close relationship with his mother- had an older sister...
"Your sister helped me put my trunk on the train."
The boy looked up briefly from reading to give an 'oh' sound directed at Sherlock which announced his annoyingly lacked interest. And after a long pause the blond boy added "So?"
"No, I'm just saying thanks. With a medium case of depression and an obsessive drinking habit it must be hard to focus on other's needs."
The boy's face stared at Sherlock in utter bewildered his moss coloured eyes wide, unblinkingly at Sherlock's cool expression. "You know Harriet?"
"No."
"But then..." His light eyebrows crinkled somewhat in confusion..."How did you know?"
"The name's Sherlock Holmes." And when he held out his hand and the boy did not take it, he added. "I knew because I'm clever like that. I see things people miss." Sherlock sighed, even magical people were as slow as muggles.
"John. Er... Watson." He replied, smiling slightly yet still obviously confused as he shook Sherlock's outstretched hand.
"Nice to meet you." Sherlock said dismissively, turning to the window.
"look," John said, leaning in slightly, "what you just did- what did you see? How did you know about Harriet?"
"She's a drunk. I knew that by her trembling hands and the smell of alcohol not on her but on her black clothing. Black a colour of depression not chosen to express herself but to lie low, hide into the shadows. Take one look at her posture and you'd know she's clinically depressed. As to why? Probably because she's scared to come out." (? Just go with the logic)
"She's gay?"
"The name 'Harry' carved on her wand which I once thought was the name of her boyfriend as it is followed by three kisses. But since talking to you I know it is a male like shortening of her own name, by her girlfriend as it was too risky to put their name on there."
"A friend could have carved it on- or herself."
"No. Three kisses means relationship and it wasn't done by her because she is not left handed. It was carved by a left handed person by the angle it is done by. Furthermore it was done without her permission: She has tried to get it off with little success, meaning she is hiding something. " Another pause as Sherlock gazed out the window, his eyes reflecting the scene that sped past.
"That was amazing."John said, sliding his fingers along his short blond bristles which were in an army style haircut.
"Sorry, what did you say?", Sherlock inquired, flickering his concentration back to John.
"Oh, don't worry," John muttered, staring out the window and setting down his book," just said that was amazing, the thing you did I mean."
Despite himself, Sherlock smiled. He was beginning to like John Watson. "So... John. Have you always known you were a wizard?" More afraid he was the only one who didn't than actually caring.
"Yeah I guess, I showed magic pretty young but my dad apparently wasn't one so there was always that possibility." Sherlock nodded, not saying anything about the fact that John had never met his father. This thought made his insides clench, regretting not saying goodbye to his own.
"What about you?"
It took a second or two for Sherlock to realise what John was talking about. "Oh um no. No. Mother thought I wasn't so thought it best to grow up as a muggle. She thought I was a Squib."
"Wow," John looked away from the window."Must be hard."
Sherlock eyes widened at the empathy he was not used to. Only ever Redbeard understood him and he wouldn't see Redbeard untill the end of term. A pang of pain was felt but instantly dismissed. "I don't know anything about Hogwarts."
"Are you a first year too?"
"Yes."
"You look older."
" Yes but as you can see my  robes are new."
" Yes but you're upper class, calling your mum 'mother' and can afford new robes every year."
Sherlock smiled to himself. Finally a companion.
*
Light chat, something Sherlock thought he would never take part in, sprang between the unlikely pair yet now time had past so that not only did the window display stars beginning to wink out from the fading sunset sky, painted a deep lilac but they both sat on benches now strewn with the smell and sight of sweet wrappers, loose Bertie Botts every-flavour beans and chocolate frog cards, the two of them with their school robes on, feeling considerably more tired the slowing grinding of the train acted as close to a lullaby to their ears.
"So...," John said as he fanned out his chocolate frog cards and began sorting them into what school houses,"what house do you think you'll be in?"
Sherlock stared blankly at the rather disgruntled-looking wizard glaring up at him from his own pile of cards, the occupant scratching his unfortunate shaped nose as Sherlock's mind went back to the day he his father went to visit Diagon alley.
"Er... Ravenclaw I suppose."
"Oh, yeah. Right". But there was something in John's tone that made Sherlock look up.
"What's wrong?"
"Should've guessed. You're really smart."After a moments awkward pause John looked up to see Sherlock still watching him, quizzically. "Well, I think I'd like to be a Gryffindor myself that's all."
Sherlock frowned,"So? What's so bad about Ravenclaw?" He was beginning to panic yet half of him felt angry: his whole family was in Ravenclaw and despite being detached from them he nonetheless felt defensive.
"Nothing's wrong with it." John mumbled, looking as though it was he, Sherlock who was slow on the uptake.
"Then what are you talking about?!" Sherlock's voice raised slightly, making John's small chestnut coloured owl's amber eyes look accusingly at Sherlock.
"No it's just we can't hang out that much if you go in a different house, we wont have the same classes or anything." John said calmly but he ceased sorting his cards, fixing them with a hard stare.
"That's it is it?" Sherlock retorted as though John's words had been a waste of his time. "Why do people get so attached to others. Its utterly pointless." He was more trying to defend himself of never getting attached.
"I'm not attached!" John said loudly, a shocked expression on his face," you make it sound like - so what if I wanted to hang out with you? Th-that's not weird!" Sherlock made a snorting noise to fake that of someone preventing themselves from laughing."You know what- you're the weird one!"
"Oh really?" Sherlock said, only feeling half as amused as he sounded. The train came to a standstill as they arrived at the station, sway in slightly.
"You know what Spock good luck finding friends in Ravenclaw!" John roared, standing up and grabbing his things, his free hand clenched. Then, just as he turned to leave he said," that's if you don't get in to Slytherin of course."
Sherlock stood alone in the compartment, feeling stupid. He had acted like he did not care in the slightest about John because he was brought up knowing to be detached from all things and here he was, now slowly making his way off the train, the icy breeze clawing at his school robes and burrowing into his lungs, feeling like he had done something wrong. Had he?
"Firs' years this way! Over 'ere firs' years!" Sherlock looked up, as that seemed to be where the voice was coming from, his eyes only saw inky blue sky before his eyes fell upon a large dark figure standing a few feet away from him, he had the outline of a broad man, the width of at least three average men the the height of two.
Sherlock approached yet hung back, waiting for the other first years to climb cautiously into rafts fit for four. A little way off john was already making conversation with three other boys in a boat, his back facing Sherlock who joined a boat with a freckled boy who was shaking so much he was making the boat shiver through the dark water, making ripples. Looking down solemnly Sherlock saw, as did the boy, things bigger than any fish move underneath the surface of the lake.
The boy yelped and jumped to join Sherlock's side of the boat, "No!" But before Sherlock could stop it the boat, now heavily unbalanced, capsized. Icy water made Sherlock's body convulse with cold. Even if he could swim, which he could not, he was unable to as the freckled boy clung onto him still, dragging them both under so that Sherlock was soon unable to breath. He kicked as hard as he could in black water, panic -stricken but it was no good, the boy, (with the statistics saying that he probably could swim) was so scared he wasn't even attempting. Just when Sherlock began to feel around blindly in the blackness for the raft he felt something beneath him grab him by the navel, but instead of the sea creature pulling him down it lifted him so that his face broke the surface of the water and, relieved, he choked up water and instead inhaled great gulps of air.
He looked around, the boat must have bobbed out of their reach, the boy's face could no longer be seen due to the lantern being blown out yet Sherlock was aware of him alive, breathing hard a foot or so away from him now, no longer clutching him.
His stomach gave a slight tug and he began to be dragged sideways. Unable to see anything he had to resort to his other senses: the sound of rushing wind and water made him know that they were both being dragged by two separate creatures at a tremendous speed. Sherlock wondered in a fleeting moment how the stars were now shining so brightly above him but as he looked up he saw Hogwarts castle: huge with turrets and spires glowing against the darkness, like a beacon of hope, warm light issuing out if the many windows.
By the time they'd  slowed and came to the shore Sherlock's body had turned to ice. He wondered how his breath could still make fog from the air as heat drained from him. He was dumped and as he fell he spun round and saw a fish tail, the size of his whole body slide underneath the water.
A hand the size of a dust bin lid grabbed Sherlock by the shoulder and lifted him with ease, turning him back around to
 face the castle which light revealed the sight of a giant of a man, who's black beard hid most of his face where two beetle black eyes looked down at both Sherlock and the boy who had now resided to whimpering loudly beside him. The man was poor, by the state of his clothes and was either Gardener of Game keeper judging by the roughness and groves on his hands.
"Come quick yer two. Yer've jus' missed 'em".
They went through a creaky wooden door in a flurry and scurried  along the warm passageway that followed, heat washing over Sherlock like a hot bath. He could hear the hubbub of students ahead meaning they were close to there peers and, sure enough, he saw them entering through large oak double doors. Sherlock sped up, joining the crowd only just, willingly not waiting up for the boy that tipped their boat over.
The room he now found himself in was magnificent, four long house tables were full of students, eyes watching them. Turning away from the onlookers Sherlock looked up to the ceiling high above where it was enchanted to look like the night sky, faint wisps of cloud blurring the stars.
Singing started to erupt from somewhere near the front of the cue and Sherlock stood on tip-toe, clutching his arms for warmth as he saw a rather shabby looking hat rip close the base, imitating a mouth as it bellowed, (don't judge me. I'm not a bloody poet.)

"I do not, unlike you
Belong to one of four
Not in the den of Hufflepuff
Nor in the pride of Gryffindor

I have never been settled
A limbo i am in
Not in the flock of Ravenclaw
Nor in the team of Sytherin.

Every year I sing 'be kind'
But you will never learn
Be fair to all the other houses
And they'd be fair in turn

Yet if you will never know
That friendship is a treasure
At least in your own house belong
For I don't have the pleasure"

It went silence broke between the older years as the witch leading Sherlock and the rest of the first years coughed decisively as she extended a scroll of parchment before her. "I shall call out your names in turn and you will come up to the stool and place the sorting hat upon your head." She said in her brisk Scottish accent. At her words Sherlock craned his neck to glimpse at a shabby old wizard hat agian and saw that it was placed on top of a four legged stool.
"Arrington Toby" And the heavily freckled boy pushed past Sherlock untill he was out of sight, amongst the crowd. When he finally was on the stool, hat placed upon his head and a heavy mole skin coat at least twenty sizes too large hung on him, a rip parted in the hat and shouted " Hufflepuff!"' Others did the same, some more frightened then others, different houses were called and applause broke out each time.
"Holmes- Sherlock" Unlike the silence followed by  previous names faint murmurings followed his as they looked between Sherlock and their Professor who's eyebrow raised as Sherlock made his way through the crowd. With all eyes on him he felt very aware all of a sudden of his appearance, he had after all, fallen into the Black Lake. His once curly hair was now straight and plastered to his forehead, his cloak (which was soaking) was making a trail of water behind him as he walked, his clothes so heavy It made the journey between the end of the line of First years and the stool much longer than it was.
He turned his back away from the smirking Mycroft, head of Ravenclaw house, and instead to four tables of onlookers. As the sorting hat was placed on Sherlock's head his eyes met John's who gave Sherlock a weak smile and a thumbs up. Did he forgive him?
Another Holmes. Would you like to join your brother, your mother and your father's house?
Sherlock did not say anything to the voice that was  swimming around his head.
Yet if I sorted those due to there ancestors I would not be of much use. I am the sorting hat and it is you I am sorting. Not Mycroft. Not your mother or father... Not John.
Sherlock took an intake of breath. He wasn't going to choose what house he went into, after all the sorting hat's job was to make sure he was to join the house he was best suited for yet he hadn't ever known a possible friend...
"Gryffindor!" An eruption of applause and cheering from one of the tables  broke out once more yet Sherlock was not looking, he had spun around so fast the sorting hat had toppled sideways and he now was gazing at the blank face of his brother. Sherlock knew that look: It was the look that Mycroft gave when trying to conceal a sudden wave of emotion. Shaking, Sherlock slipped off the stool and made his way to the Gryffindor table where strangers waved, smiled and even clapped him on the back.
He did not wish to talk to anyone, he looked at a burn mark on the wooden table so that he did not have to meet the pair of eyes that he could feel burning into the back of his head as 'Hooper, Molly' joined Sherlock. The wait was insufferable. Why, Sherlock thought miserably, does your surname have to begin with a 'W'?
He was now strumming his fingers, agitated.By what he had seen of John Gryffindor would suit him nicely yet if he did not get in well... Well Sherlock would have preferred it he had got into Ravenclaw. At least it savoured him from family disappointment.
"Watson, John." Sherlock's head went up so quickly he got cramp."Gryffindor!"
Relief ran through Sherlock just as his blood did, a smile breaking momentarily through his blank mask.
Soon after food blossomed between the two of them which gave Sherlock an excuse not to talk to John; Sherlock still did not know weather John had forgiven him yet.
"Er... Sherlock?"Said John, awkwardly.
"Yes?"He said, looking up rather hopeful.
John stretched his arm out and pulled something slowly out of Sherlock's hair. A slimy strip of seaweed dangled in the air between them as they both roared with laughter, John nearly falling off his seat.

A/N: I've moved house and don't have WIFI and i haven't watched... Rewatched Merlin for two months so I'm cracking up a little. That's why updating is hard and it may not be that good quality- sorry about the sorting song (dw I am also scarred for life ;)