What We're Born to Do: A SuperWholock AU

Chapter Eight: Sherlock

(Will put a quote later, wanted to get this up!)

Besides the incident on the train, Sherlock had nearly forgotten how much he truly hated people his age. Not completely, but very nearly.

After his first day back at Hogwarts, however, he remembered. Oh, how he remembered. Obnoxious laughter everywhere he turned, daft comments, incorrect answers spoken with confidence, he hated it all. They hated him too, so it worked out. Sherlock avoided people and people avoided him. Simple as that.

However, sometimes it was unavoidable. He couldn’t sit with John, one of the few people he could tolerate, at meals, so he would sit sullenly between his older brother and a third year named Molly. She was the closest to a friend he had besides John; she helped him when John wasn’t around and knew him well enough to know he wasn’t one for small talk. Once John had been sent to the hospital wing for a week from Quidditch injuries and, with Molly, Sherlock had been able to uncover a ring of magical school aid smugglers around exam time. And he had to admit, she wasn’t bad company.

“Sherlock, you have to eat something,” Mycroft scolded at lunch, gesturing towards his plate. Sherlock scoffed.

“So we should switch our dietary habits then? God knows you could afford to eat a little less,” he scoffed. His brother rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything more.

Sherlock knew his brother worried about him, but he really wished he didn’t. He was fifteen, he didn’t need to be looked after. And frankly, it was embarrassing. Of course he wouldn’t admit that, but it really was.

He was in the middle of mentally correcting his Potions textbook when Molly interrupted. “My parents let me examine a body with them at the hospital who died of malnutrition. You might want to at least have a handful of chips or a bit of chicken,” she told him. Molly was a Muggle-born, and her parents were a doctor and a pathologist. She wanted to follow the same path.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “Solely because of the fact you gave me actual reasons rather than ‘Mother will worry.’” She smiled and took a small piece of chicken and moved it to Sherlock’s plate.

“Unlike your brother, I seem to have figured out how you work.” Raising her eyebrows, she turned and went back to talking to her friend Clara. Sherlock reopened his book and returned to what he was doing, effectively shutting out everyone else. He was good at that.

After lunch he found John out in front of the Transfiguration classroom. The shorter boy smiled and waved him over.

“How’d you manage the first real social test of the day?” he said, nearly smirking. He was referring to lunch, of course.

“Four sentences,” Sherlock told him, mocking a proud voice. John made an equally mimicking face, looking extremely shocked.

“Wow, that’s a new record! You’re turning into quite the social butterfly,” he teased as they entered the classroom, choosing the seats at the back. Right before John sat down Sherlock pulled the chair back a bit, so that his friend fell onto the floor with a loud crash. “Ow! Very mature,” he grumbled.

“For your information, I am neither social nor a lepidopteron.” As rudely as he said that, Sherlock actually enjoyed mocking John. He was the one person who wouldn’t actually seem offended, and Sherlock didn’t have to be completely mature around him.

John sighed, climbing up from the floor and into his chair. “Good to know, Kenobi.”

“What?”

“He’s a hermit from- never mind. Class is starting.” Sure enough, their teacher Professor Finch was glaring at them from the front of the room. His slicked-back grey hair looked nearly silver.