The Beginning of an Era
Title: The Beginning of an Era
Summary: Sherlock and John meet on the train to Hogwarts.
Pairing: Sherlock/John, but only at the very end.
Length: 1,433 words
Notes: Written in less than half an hour for the prompt at the Hogwarts AU post over here. The prompt was "I'd love to see Sherlock and John meeting eachother as first years and being sorted :D
(And if Jim could be squeezed into there in some way, then it's an added bonus.... ;D)"
The train ride was a long on, and John found himself dozing with his forehead pressed against the glass, the thrill of entering Hogwarts for the first time slowly fading to sleepiness. His breath fogged the window, leaving it impossible to see out.
The door to the compartment slid open quietly and another first year boy entered silently, without knocking. Sleeping John saw and heard nothing, snoring softly against the glass.
The other boy sat in the seat across from him with an annoyed huff, hoping to wake John. When his soft sigh did nothing, he reached over and shoved the other first year.
Startled awake, John grabbed for his short cane, ready to hit an intruder, an automatic reaction to being jostled awake.
“Oh good. You’re up.” John was surprised to see another kid in the previously empty compartment, and could only stare for a moment. The eleven year old with gangly with curly black hair and a pale face, with observant eyes that seemed to be watching all of his slight movements.
Finally regaining his senses, he narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m up. You pushed me.”
The kid stared back unblinkingly. John sighed and shook his head. Standing, he reached for the overhead basket to pull down a book he’d placed there earlier. Sitting back down, he attempted to ignore the strange child across from him, who was still staring at John like he was the only interesting thing in the world.
After pretending to read for a few minutes, John couldn’t stand the staring anymore. Snapping his book shut indignantly, he said, “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind what?” the other boy replied, face still expressionless. Though only eleven, his voice was deeper than most, coming out of his mouth in a slow drawl like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Do you mind not…” John faltered, not wanting to be rude. “Never mind. Hullo, I’m John.” He extended a hand over the gap between them, meaning to shake.
The boy looked at his hand for a moment before looking up at John’s face again. John gave the boy a strange look and retracted his hand, slipping it in a pocket.
“I’m Sherlock,” the boy finally replied, looking for all the world as though he were holding back a wince.
“Nice to meet you,” John said, the odd look still on his face. “So, you’re a first year, yeah?”
Sherlock seemed awed that someone would continue talking to him after hearing his name. “Yes,” he was hesitant, nodding slightly.
John paused awkwardly, not really knowing what else so say. “So, what house do you want to be in?” he settled on finally, figuring it was a safe ‘getting to know you’ question.
“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “I don’t really think they have a place for me. I’m a bit… Different.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll find somewhere for you.” John replied, nodding.
“What would you base this on, exactly?”
“Erm. Just a hunch?” John shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Why do you think you’re different, then?”
Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh. “You’re a first year, uncomfortable being in a new place yet eager to get away from the one you were in. Your father isn’t a very good man and you’ve seen trouble in the past because of it. You’re seeing a psychologist, or rather were, and you’re ecstatic that school will get you out of the weekly visits. You think they’re dull, I can only assume. You’ve not been on a cane for long but you are used to having something beside you to protect yourself with. And,” he finished with a wave of his hand, “you want so very, very badly to be in Gryffindor.”
John stared for a long moment.
“I’ll just be going then,” Sherlock sighed, standing to leave.
“No no no,” John said hurriedly, motioning for Sherlock to take his seat again. “Why would you leave?”
“I’m a freak,” Sherlock replied, obviously so used to hearing it that he believed it himself.
“No you’re not. Blimey… That was amazing. How did you know all of that? You’re going to be in Ravenclaw, for sure!” John said this excitedly, grinning ear to ear in astonishment.
Sherlock faltered for a moment before replying. “You told me you were a first year, you’re uncomfortable because you’ve been pacing the cabin a bit before sitting down and sleeping. I can see the way the carpet has moved back and forth with your strides. Your father I deduced from your clothing. Obviously bought by a woman, no normal boy has clothing taste that good. You don’t know that of course, because you don’t have a father around to look at as a role model. I only guessed that he was the reason for some trouble because you have a cane and you shuddered ever so slightly when I mention him.” John stared in amazement. “Shall I go on?”
“Please, do.” John was enraptured, gazing at Sherlock as though he were some sort of psychic. “Only a psychologist would suggest you read a book on psychology,” Sherlock waved an absentminded hand at the book John was still holding; it was indeed a beginners book on psychology, which John had barely even remembered. “You’re a young boy going to a psychologist, of course you hate it and of course you’re glad to be rid of… Her.”
“Wait, how do you know it’s a her?” John asked, eyes wide.
“Bit of chipped nail polish on the edge of the cover from when she handed it to you. Now, the cane is obvious. You’re holding it like you don’t quite know what to do with it when you’re completely alert, but as you’re waking up you grip it like a cricket bat. A boy of your age, who’s had family problems yet still buggers on? He’ll want to prove his bravery to people who coddle him by being in Gryffindor.” Sherlock finished, still looking like he was scared John would run out of the cabin.
John did no such thing. He grinned and shook his head. “That is just… Incredible. Why do you think you’re a freak?” He was legitimately puzzled why anyone with a brain as amazing as Sherlock could be called a ‘freak’.
“Most people don’t think so. Most think it’s an invasion of privacy. People are scared both of what they don’t understand and people who understand too much.”
“That’s crazy,” John said. “You’re brilliant.”
For the first time since entering the cabin, Sherlock smiled, if only slightly. “Thank you.”
“You were right on everything, but it wasn’t my dad.”
“Oh?”
“It was one of my mums. I shuddered because my father left me when I was young, it didn’t have anything to do with me being in trouble.”
“Of course!” Sherlock crowed, clapping his hands together. “How did I not see it?”
John grinned and Sherlock half-grinned back. For the rest of the trip they spoke, getting to know each other better, Sherlock through observing and John through questioning. At one point, a boy poked his head in to say hello, introducing himself as Jim, whom Sherlock ignored until he went away (he turned out to be mad and was sent to St. Mungo's later that year). They spoke of siblings (John had an older sister, a squib, Harriet, and Sherlock had a seventh year brother, Mycroft, who had been instructed by their Mummy to keep an eye on him), classes (John was excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sherlock for potions), and favourite treats (both agreed on Chocolate Frogs as the end-all-be-all of sweets).
Once at Hogwarts, under the musty old sorting hat who spoke in their heads, John was placed in Gryffindor and Sherlock in Ravenclaw. This didn’t stop them from becoming close friends, however. They still snuck into each other’s common rooms most days (Lestrade, a Gryffindor prefect, had resigned himself to Sherlock’s presence), got into trouble with teachers for talking in class, and amused the headmaster to no end with their notoriety. Sherlock even got rid of John’s limp (it was psychosamantic, he’d guess on the train but kept to himself) in a mad run out of the Forbidden Forest after angering one of the many wild (and dangerous) creatures inside.
All in all, it was a wonderful seven years, filled with friendship, laughter, late nights, Zonko’s, butter beer, and sneaking about. The next seven years and beyond were even better, because now? Now they were filled with love, snuggling in front of the Muggle telly, hexing annoying neighbours, bugging Lestrade at the Ministry, and sleeping in.
Summary: Sherlock and John meet on the train to Hogwarts.
Pairing: Sherlock/John, but only at the very end.
Length: 1,433 words
Notes: Written in less than half an hour for the prompt at the Hogwarts AU post over here. The prompt was "I'd love to see Sherlock and John meeting eachother as first years and being sorted :D
(And if Jim could be squeezed into there in some way, then it's an added bonus.... ;D)"
The train ride was a long on, and John found himself dozing with his forehead pressed against the glass, the thrill of entering Hogwarts for the first time slowly fading to sleepiness. His breath fogged the window, leaving it impossible to see out.
The door to the compartment slid open quietly and another first year boy entered silently, without knocking. Sleeping John saw and heard nothing, snoring softly against the glass.
The other boy sat in the seat across from him with an annoyed huff, hoping to wake John. When his soft sigh did nothing, he reached over and shoved the other first year.
Startled awake, John grabbed for his short cane, ready to hit an intruder, an automatic reaction to being jostled awake.
“Oh good. You’re up.” John was surprised to see another kid in the previously empty compartment, and could only stare for a moment. The eleven year old with gangly with curly black hair and a pale face, with observant eyes that seemed to be watching all of his slight movements.
Finally regaining his senses, he narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, I’m up. You pushed me.”
The kid stared back unblinkingly. John sighed and shook his head. Standing, he reached for the overhead basket to pull down a book he’d placed there earlier. Sitting back down, he attempted to ignore the strange child across from him, who was still staring at John like he was the only interesting thing in the world.
After pretending to read for a few minutes, John couldn’t stand the staring anymore. Snapping his book shut indignantly, he said, “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind what?” the other boy replied, face still expressionless. Though only eleven, his voice was deeper than most, coming out of his mouth in a slow drawl like he was choosing his words carefully.
“Do you mind not…” John faltered, not wanting to be rude. “Never mind. Hullo, I’m John.” He extended a hand over the gap between them, meaning to shake.
The boy looked at his hand for a moment before looking up at John’s face again. John gave the boy a strange look and retracted his hand, slipping it in a pocket.
“I’m Sherlock,” the boy finally replied, looking for all the world as though he were holding back a wince.
“Nice to meet you,” John said, the odd look still on his face. “So, you’re a first year, yeah?”
Sherlock seemed awed that someone would continue talking to him after hearing his name. “Yes,” he was hesitant, nodding slightly.
John paused awkwardly, not really knowing what else so say. “So, what house do you want to be in?” he settled on finally, figuring it was a safe ‘getting to know you’ question.
“I don’t know,” Sherlock admitted. “I don’t really think they have a place for me. I’m a bit… Different.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll find somewhere for you.” John replied, nodding.
“What would you base this on, exactly?”
“Erm. Just a hunch?” John shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “Why do you think you’re different, then?”
Sherlock gave a long-suffering sigh. “You’re a first year, uncomfortable being in a new place yet eager to get away from the one you were in. Your father isn’t a very good man and you’ve seen trouble in the past because of it. You’re seeing a psychologist, or rather were, and you’re ecstatic that school will get you out of the weekly visits. You think they’re dull, I can only assume. You’ve not been on a cane for long but you are used to having something beside you to protect yourself with. And,” he finished with a wave of his hand, “you want so very, very badly to be in Gryffindor.”
John stared for a long moment.
“I’ll just be going then,” Sherlock sighed, standing to leave.
“No no no,” John said hurriedly, motioning for Sherlock to take his seat again. “Why would you leave?”
“I’m a freak,” Sherlock replied, obviously so used to hearing it that he believed it himself.
“No you’re not. Blimey… That was amazing. How did you know all of that? You’re going to be in Ravenclaw, for sure!” John said this excitedly, grinning ear to ear in astonishment.
Sherlock faltered for a moment before replying. “You told me you were a first year, you’re uncomfortable because you’ve been pacing the cabin a bit before sitting down and sleeping. I can see the way the carpet has moved back and forth with your strides. Your father I deduced from your clothing. Obviously bought by a woman, no normal boy has clothing taste that good. You don’t know that of course, because you don’t have a father around to look at as a role model. I only guessed that he was the reason for some trouble because you have a cane and you shuddered ever so slightly when I mention him.” John stared in amazement. “Shall I go on?”
“Please, do.” John was enraptured, gazing at Sherlock as though he were some sort of psychic. “Only a psychologist would suggest you read a book on psychology,” Sherlock waved an absentminded hand at the book John was still holding; it was indeed a beginners book on psychology, which John had barely even remembered. “You’re a young boy going to a psychologist, of course you hate it and of course you’re glad to be rid of… Her.”
“Wait, how do you know it’s a her?” John asked, eyes wide.
“Bit of chipped nail polish on the edge of the cover from when she handed it to you. Now, the cane is obvious. You’re holding it like you don’t quite know what to do with it when you’re completely alert, but as you’re waking up you grip it like a cricket bat. A boy of your age, who’s had family problems yet still buggers on? He’ll want to prove his bravery to people who coddle him by being in Gryffindor.” Sherlock finished, still looking like he was scared John would run out of the cabin.
John did no such thing. He grinned and shook his head. “That is just… Incredible. Why do you think you’re a freak?” He was legitimately puzzled why anyone with a brain as amazing as Sherlock could be called a ‘freak’.
“Most people don’t think so. Most think it’s an invasion of privacy. People are scared both of what they don’t understand and people who understand too much.”
“That’s crazy,” John said. “You’re brilliant.”
For the first time since entering the cabin, Sherlock smiled, if only slightly. “Thank you.”
“You were right on everything, but it wasn’t my dad.”
“Oh?”
“It was one of my mums. I shuddered because my father left me when I was young, it didn’t have anything to do with me being in trouble.”
“Of course!” Sherlock crowed, clapping his hands together. “How did I not see it?”
John grinned and Sherlock half-grinned back. For the rest of the trip they spoke, getting to know each other better, Sherlock through observing and John through questioning. At one point, a boy poked his head in to say hello, introducing himself as Jim, whom Sherlock ignored until he went away (he turned out to be mad and was sent to St. Mungo's later that year). They spoke of siblings (John had an older sister, a squib, Harriet, and Sherlock had a seventh year brother, Mycroft, who had been instructed by their Mummy to keep an eye on him), classes (John was excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Sherlock for potions), and favourite treats (both agreed on Chocolate Frogs as the end-all-be-all of sweets).
Once at Hogwarts, under the musty old sorting hat who spoke in their heads, John was placed in Gryffindor and Sherlock in Ravenclaw. This didn’t stop them from becoming close friends, however. They still snuck into each other’s common rooms most days (Lestrade, a Gryffindor prefect, had resigned himself to Sherlock’s presence), got into trouble with teachers for talking in class, and amused the headmaster to no end with their notoriety. Sherlock even got rid of John’s limp (it was psychosamantic, he’d guess on the train but kept to himself) in a mad run out of the Forbidden Forest after angering one of the many wild (and dangerous) creatures inside.
All in all, it was a wonderful seven years, filled with friendship, laughter, late nights, Zonko’s, butter beer, and sneaking about. The next seven years and beyond were even better, because now? Now they were filled with love, snuggling in front of the Muggle telly, hexing annoying neighbours, bugging Lestrade at the Ministry, and sleeping in.