Methods Beyond Magic

If I Die, Tell John We're Just Friends

    Maybe he had been a bit too aggressive with the kick, because he went flying a good ten feet in the air, screaming all the way, and then accidently leaned forward to try to sloth hug the broom, making it shoot forward. That made him scream even louder.
"BLOODY HELL I'M GOING TO DIE!" Sherlock screamed as his broom went flying straight for the bleachers.
"SHERLOCK, JUST BE NORMAL, LEAN BACK, DON'T PANIC!" John called from somewhere. Shockingly, panicking seemed to be the only natural response, and that was definitely what he did. Thankfully though, as Sherlock was closing his eyes and thinking about his last will and testament, Victor appeared and grabbed the handle of Sherlock's broomstick, making it even out and eventually come to a complete stop. So now Sherlock was hovering thirty or so feet in the air, the quidditch field looking so far away.
"Professor, calm down, it's alright, just take a breath." Victor insisted. Sherlock was finding it very hard to find his breath, his legs were slipping from the broom, dangling in midair, he was gripping the handle so tightly that his knuckles were turning white; his lungs seemed to have deflated. John appeared next to him, looking as calm as Victor, but maybe not as confident.
"That was good, I guess." He shrugged.
"That was terrifying, and I still don't know how to land this thing." Sherlock admitted in a small voice, breathing in and out as many times as his shrunken lungs could handle.
"It's alright, it's fine, let's descend a couple of feet, just get your bearings, and we'll work on accelerating a little bit." Victor offered. Sherlock nodded, trying to calm himself down, loosening his grip ever so slightly and sitting up a bit straighter.
"I can do this." Sherlock muttered.
"Course you can." John agreed.
"Alright, so to get down, just lean forward and down, like you're trying to lie on your stomach, just very slowly, controlled." Victor suggested. Sherlock sighed, taking quick breaths and trying not to look down on the ground.
"Won't I slip off?" he asked.
"Keep your grip, you'll be fine." Victor assured.
"We're just going down a couple of feet, it's not like you have to land or anything." John agreed, starting his own decent. Sherlock took a deep breath, likely the last one he'll ever take, and leaned ever so slightly forward, so that the broom inched forward, and down, so that he started to drop. Sherlock was very tempted to wrap his arms around the broom, just to make sure he wasn't going to slide off, but he knew that by doing that he would only go down quicker, and that was definitely not what he wanted to do right now. At the moment, he was descending at maybe .03 miles per hour, just slowly scooting his way down. Victor stayed with him the whole time calmly telling Sherlock what to do, little tips and stuff, and John waited sort of sourly near the ground, as if he should be the one helping Sherlock. Nevertheless, Sherlock was too terrified to even think about which one of them was being the better friend, to be honest the only thing he was thinking about was which one was going to have to pry his mangled body from the grass after he fell.
"Alright, just sit up straight now." Victor decided as the ground got nearer. Thankfully Sherlock felt a little bit safer. Even though he could most certainly break every bone in his body after a fall from this height, death wasn't very probable if he avoided landing on his back or head.
"There we go, that wasn't that bad, was it?" John asked.
"Yes." Sherlock muttered in a terrified voice, barely feeling his limbs at all. It seemed all too possible that he was going to lose all feeling in his legs and just slip off, plunging to his death.
"You're doing great Sherlock, don't get discouraged yet." Victor insisted.
"I'm a bit....horrified." Sherlock admitted. Victor just laughed, but John looked very grumpy indeed.
"You'll be alright." Victor assured. They worked on acceleration for the remainder of the lesson, which didn't end up being very long at all. Sherlock was able to go a little bit fast, maybe the speed of a jogger, but once the ground got too blurry for him to make out any distinguishing marks; he'd stop all together and hover in midair, too afraid to go any faster for fear that he'd lose control again and go flying. When finally it was time for the decent, Sherlock had to go to the far end of the field and make a very slow, gradual decline down the grass, ending up somewhere near the half line, breathing heavy and just collapsing on the solid ground, so happy to be back on earth, where humans were meant to be. Sherlock sighed, taking in the smell of the grass, the soft touch, the still air, and smiled a little bit to himself. Well, he had sort of conquered his fear.
"Hey, you did awesome!" John decided, running up to Sherlock before Victor could saunter over.
"That was absolutely terrifying." Sherlock admitted.
"Ya, but you did it. For someone terrified of heights, that was impressive." John decided.
"It's like you facing a velociraptor." Sherlock decided.
"Well, I think a velociraptor would kill anyone, whether or not they're afraid of it or not." John muttered.
"Anyone can fall to their death." Sherlock pointed out.
"True, I guess." John agreed.
"Had enough with gravity I see?" Victor asked, coming into Sherlock's limited line of vision with a smile on his face.
"No, I was just deprived of the ground. Never realized how lovely grass could be." Sherlock admitted.
"I'm tempted to step on your stomach." John insisted. Sherlock covered his stomach with his arms defensively, but John just laughed.
"I'm not actually going to." John assured with a large smile.
"Is that what muggles find humorous?" Victor asked, crossing his arms.
"I'm not a muggle." John said, his jaw set, ready for a fight.
"Well, judging on your way around the world, you seem to spend a great deal of time with them." Victor muttered.
"I'm a half blood; I know my fair share of both worlds, thank you very much." John snapped. Victor just raised his eyebrows, as if he knew things that he wasn't going to tell right now.
"There's nothing wrong with half-bloods." Sherlock defended.
"What are you then?" Victor asked.
"Half blood." John said automatically, before Sherlock could even open his mouth to respond. "And I can only guess, by your dislike of muggle culture, that you're a pureblood." John guessed. Victor pursed his lips, but then smiled.
"Is it really that obvious?" he asked. John seemed to be biting his lip in an attempt not to start cursing Victor right there, maybe throwing in a good hex or two while he was at it.
"Now, now, let's not fight." Sherlock decided, sitting up. As soon as his line of vision changed, both men on either side of him moved to where he could see them, Victor was ruffling his hair, and John was straightening out his robes.
"How about I take you on the back of my broom, go a few laps?" Victor offered.
"I've had enough of flying." Sherlock muttered.
"Come on, it'll be fun, and I won't let you fall." Victor assured. Sherlock looked over at John, who was now poking at a clump of grass with his toes, pretending to not hear the conversation.
"Alright then." Sherlock agreed, feeling bad for leaving John on the ground, but then again, maybe riding with someone else was the way to go. So he stumbled to his feet, Victor went over and got his slick black broom, sitting on the front and leaving plenty of room for Sherlock to sit behind him.
"You better hold on." Victor suggested. Sherlock very awkwardly put his hands on Victor's shoulders, not very keen to make too much contact with a student.
"Not very fast, okay?" Sherlock muttered nervously, looking at John for support. Unfortunately though, John seemed to be very interested in kicking the ground, and the clump of grass was now starting to uproot over his shoe.
"We'll go your speed." Victor assured.
"Be safe!" John called. Sherlock was almost positive that John was only referring to one of them when he called that. Victor kicked off from the ground, and of course, he seemed to leave the whole personal space thing down there with John. Sherlock didn't care if he was a student or the bloody headmaster, he wrapped his arms around Victor's chest and clung on for dear life, gripping the poor boy with all the strength he had as Victor banked some of the curves, going almost completely horizontal.
"Don't kill me!" Sherlock screamed. He was, of course, yelling over the wind, but then again his mouth was right up against Victor's ear, so maybe that was a bit inconsiderate. The field was a blur, the stadium, the goal posts, it was all just blurred colors and lines, Sherlock felt like a bird, if, of course, that bird was terrified and about to throw up.
"I'll be fine, it's alright." Victor assured, taking a long, deep breath, as if savoring the moment. He sped up just a little bit, shooting towards the opposite goalposts, Sherlock screaming for dear life. The little figure that was John was running up and down the length of the field, as if prepared to catch Sherlock should he fall.
"Let's go down." Sherlock suggested, his words mixed with his breath, his throat feeling as though it was going to close.
"Well, if you insist." Victor decided. He tipped the handle all the way towards the ground; going into such a steep decent that Sherlock was basically falling onto the poor kid. Fear paralyzed him, and as soon as they were remotely close to the ground, Sherlock rolled off, landing in a heap on the grass and huddling into a little ball. Almost immediately John came running up, looking flushed and out of breath.
"Sherlock, you alright?" he asked automatically, pulling Sherlock shakily to his feet.
"Let's never, ever do that again." Sherlock decided with a groan. Victor just laughed, clapping Sherlock on the shoulder as if he had achieved some great accomplishment.
"You did fine Sherlock, you didn't throw up, or fall off, I consider that an accomplishment." Victor assured.
"Yes, well, I feel dizzy, and sick, and emotionally attached to the solid ground." Sherlock decided, patting the grass lightly with his foot as if trying to show affection. John raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything. Sherlock could only guess that he was thinking that now he had to compete with the ground as well as Victor for Sherlock's attention.
"Well, you looked good; I suppose, maybe a bit, sloth like." John decided.
"You think I looked good huh? Like the whole wind swept look?" Sherlock asked with a laugh, pulling his fingers through his knotted hair so that all his curls sprang back to life. Victor sort of chewed on his lip a little bit, gazing at Sherlock quite peculiarly. That could be because he was gazing at his inner beauty, or just because Sherlock was standing in front of the sun and the poor boy had to squint so as not to burn his eyes out of their sockets. Preferably and probably the latter.
"So, up to the castle then? Maybe some lunch, I'm starving." Sherlock offered when no one seemed to be talking. John was glaring at Victor and Victor was looking at Sherlock, and Sherlock was kind of looking at them at the same time, not wanting to make either jealous with the amount of eye contact they received.
"Lunch sounds great." John agreed, and Victor nodded slightly, seeming to come back to life and grabbing his broom from where it lay on the ground.
"Brilliant." He agreed. So they took up their brooms and trekked back to the castle, their feet muddy and their spirits high. Sherlock was feeling on top of the world, even though the flying lesson hadn't helped at all, he was still proud that he was able to face his fears and get on a broomstick. When they got in the castle, the students were all mingling inside and out, walking around with food in their arms and mud on their shoes, smashing the earth into the stone floors of the entrance hall.
"Oh, god." John muttered, scowling heavily at the dirty floor.
"Oh come on John, you should get an off day as well." Sherlock insisted.
"Ya, but I can't just leave it like this, I can't afford to get fired." John pointed out.
"What a tragedy that would be." Victor muttered under his breath. Sherlock was sure that John had heard him, but the caretaker made no sighs to show that he had.
"Well, I'll get my stuff, I'll meet you guys in the Great Hall." John decided.
"We'll probably wander, not with such a nice day outside." Sherlock pointed out. John's face fell even more. "But, we'll be around, it won't be hard to miss us, come out and join when you're done." Sherlock insisted.
"Nah, it'll take too long, I won't burden you guys with waiting." John sighed.
"Well, I guess we'll see you later." Victor decided. John scowled, but nodded.
"See you." He muttered glumly, and slouched off up the stairs to go get his mop.
"Poor guy." Sherlock muttered.
"Why doesn't he just use magic?" Victor asked curiously.
"He seems to like the muggle way of cleaning, claims that it's more rewarding, and it cleans better." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh, I sincerely doubt that." Victor decided.
"What are you suggesting?" Sherlock asked as they walked into the Great Hall.
"Oh, I don't know what I'm suggesting yet, but I think with some prying, I will." Victor decided.
"You're going to spy on him?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"No, of course not, but I'm eager to find out more about that caretaker. He seems like he's got a secret." Victor decided with a bit of excitement in his voice. 
"Don't we all have secrets?" Sherlock asked.
"Oh yes." Victor agreed, looking at Sherlock with an almost hungry look in his eye. "Some more obvious than others." Sherlock nodded apprehensively, walking over and collecting some food to go outside with.
"It's nice to be able to eat outside, even if we've been living off sandwiches for the past week." Sherlock decided as they walked back into the Entrance Hall. He heard the familiar clunking off that stupid bucket, the wheel spinning widely, but it seemed to stop when Sherlock thought they could be within view, as if John was avoiding them on purpose. He felt bad for John, honestly. The poor guy worked hard, but he probably thought was lower than everyone just because he was the caretaker. And now he probably thinks Sherlock had picked Victor over himself, even though Sherlock liked the company of both quite equally. They both had different qualities that Sherlock liked, Victor was sort of a rule following, smart, average prep school boy, and John was a rebellious jokester that just wanted to have fun. Sherlock couldn't commit to either of those personalities for himself, Sherlock loved following rules, but of course, the stupid ones were made to be broken. Like, Sherlock would check out his library books and turn them in on time, but he was most certainly not going to avoid bringing them into the Great Hall for fear that pumpkin juice would spill all over them. Honestly, there was magic for stupid things like that.