Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 6

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                                      Chapter Six
                                  Adjusting Breaks

  Classes at Hogwarts were bizarre, to say the least. Especially when it came to Sherlock. After that first day, the misplaced genius proved to be exceptional at Potions. Transfiguration and Charms: he turned out to be average (at least, when he followed the lessons). Herbology was rather hit-and-miss, and, of course, Astronomy was less than stellar.

  He had long came to terms with the fact that he wasn't drugged. This world was, apparently, real. Which made it all the more necessary to find his way out of there. He spent almost all his free time looking for ways to get him and John home.

  “You're going to exhaust yourself, you know...” John whispered to him one day in the library.

  “Please,” Sherlock said. “I can still go a few days without sleep...” Sherlock replied, not looking up from his book on Portkeys. John rolled his eyes, thinking of a way to get Sherlock to go to bed.

  Molly dropped a few books beside the already high pile, the noise startling the sleep-deprived Sherlock. “That's all the books I could find on magical travel...”

  “Thanks.” Sherlock said, re-focusing primarily on his research.

“You're welcome. Hey, Sherlock. Would you... I don't know... want to go to the Quidditch game with me?” She asked.

  “No, not particularly. Bye.” Sherlock said, shooing her off.

  “Oh, alright then...” Molly said, walking away glumly. John shook his head at Sherlock's behavior and let out an annoyed sigh.

  “Not good?” Sherlock said, nose still in the book.

 “No, not good.” John said, ready to rip the book out of Sherlock's hands. Just then, Sherlock slammed shut the tome he was reading with a discontent sigh.

  He grabbed another before John could stop him and flipped through it. “Apperating!” Sherlock exclaimed, waving the pages in John's face. “We can apperate out of...”

 “Hogwarts can't just be apperated or disapperated out of. Besides, we'd have to be seventeen to do that...” John said, pulling the book out of Sherlock's grasp. Sherlock groaned in disgust, swept the books off the desk, and buried his head in his hands. “I HATE IT HERE!” He shouted, and slammed his head on the desk.

  After a chorus of shushes responded to young Sherlock's actions, John nudged him. “Sherlock, you need a break.” He whispered. Sherlock mumbled something muffled by the table.

  “What?”

  “Alright!” Sherlock half-whispered, half-hissed, turning his head to John. He stumbled out his chair, having sat there for hours, and made his way to Ravenclaw Tower.

***

  Sherlock laid sprawled out on his bed in his dormitory. Taking a break was boring and counter-productive. Gladstone sat on the opposite bed, staring at his owner inquisitively. “What?” Sherlock spat at the cat. “I'm bored! I want to go home, but I can't find out how to do it! And John insists I “take a break”, and “get some sleep”!”

 Gladstone mewed to Sherlock.

  “Well, I don't have to listen to him...”

  Gladstone meowed again.

“Shut up. It's not like that...”

  Gladstone hissed.

  “You know what? I don't need to be arguing with a stupid cat! I need to get back to my research!”

  “Arguing with a cat? I suppose all geniuses have their quirks.” A voice ("From Greater Manchester, no doubt." Sherlock noted.) said. “Or, it could just be the sleep deprivation...”

 Sherlock looked over and saw a fellow First Year Ravenclaw. He had shaved brunet hair and blue eyes. He bore a striking resemblance to Sebastian Moran. "Twin brothers, perhaps?" Sherlock thought. “Hi. My name is Christopher David Smith.” he said, sticking out his hand. "Not brothers. Close cousins, maybe..." Sherlock thought, raising an eyebrow as he further inspected the boy.

  “Can I just call you Christopher?” Sherlock said as he shook his fellow Ravenclaw's hand, noticing his bizarre, “doubled” pulse.

 “No, just “Christopher David Smith.” ” he said.

 "He's an odd one." Sherlock mentally noted. Christopher tilted his head, inquisitively and industriously scanning Sherlock over. "Curious, too." Sherlock added.

  “I know you!” Christopher suddenly exclaimed, with a note of delight. “You scoundrel!” He said with a laugh. “I've heard of you before! Sherlock Holmes: the meddler!” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “The busybody!” Sherlock opened his mouth to interject something. “The Scotland Yard ace-in-the-hole!”

  Sherlock couldn't help but smile at the last one. “well, your complements are certainly entertaining.”

 Christopher laughed. “Oh, this is fantastic!” He plopped down beside Sherlock as he sat up on the bed. “But you're not supposed to be here. 'S not your world.”

  Sherlock looked at Christopher dubiously. “How would you know?”

 Christopher pondered this. “Been a lot of places.” (He's hiding something. Sherlock thought.) “What're you doing here? Why haven’t you gone back?” Christopher asked.

  “I'm trying to.” Sherlock answered, starting to grow annoyed with his visitor. “Well,” Christopher said, “you know what'll help?”

  “What?” Sherlock asked.

 Christopher grabbed Sherlock and dragged him to the Commons Room. “Experimenting! Finding your own way out! Do what you need to do!”

  Sherlock scoffed. “That's what I've been trying! But how would I get the necessary materials to...?”

 Christopher laughed. “Deep down, this world isn't too different than yours, so do what comes naturally!” he dragged a Fourth Year over to the young detective. “There you go, Grant! The one I told you about!”

  Grant looked over at Sherlock. “Hello, I'm Grant Munro. Can you help? My girlfriend's keeping secrets from me!” Sherlock looked from the distressed Grant to the smiling Christopher, and understood. Sherlock smirked and turned to Grant.

 “Tell me all about it.”

  “Fantastic! I'll leave you to it. And here...” Christopher handed Sherlock a book. “A little help in the research department. And, for John's sake, just get some sleep tonight!” he said, and ran off.

***

  After solving the case of “The Yellow Cloak”, as John would no doubt have called it, Sherlock realized sleep might actually do him a bit of good. He flopped onto his bed, Gladstone creeping up beside him. The cat brushed up against him and curled up beside him. Sherlock looked down at Gladstone, petting him as he fell asleep. “'Experiment', he says?” Sherlock thought. Then he drifted to sleep.

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 5

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<-- Last Chapter Here


                                    Chapter Five
                 Education, Deduction, and Discussion


  The next day, Sherlock and John sat under a tree, discussing the various things at Hogwarts. Sherlock had already deducted quite a bit of things about the teachers that turned out to be fairly accurate. This helped boost his confidence (though he'd never admit having confidence issues to John).

  “...And that's why Professor Quirrell has Schizophrenia. Am I correct?” Sherlock concluded.

  John snickered. “Something like that...”

  Sherlock fidgeted around. He tried to make his Ravenclaw scarf and robes a suitable substitute for his Belstaff trench-coat and his scarf back home. But, sadly, it just didn't feel the same. He missed having a trench-coat to throw over his shoulders.

  He missed home.

  “Well, I couldn't sleep at all last night. How about you, Sherlock?” John asked, trying to take Sherlock's mind off his homesickness.

 Sherlock shook his head. “I don't have time for sleep. I need to think of a way get us out of here. Sleep isn't going to help at all...”

  “No, it only helps brain function. Nothing useful.” The young doctor replied sarcastically.

  “What? Do they have prophetic dreams here in Fantastic Magical Wizard Fantasy World?”

  John smirked. “Sherlock Holmes, are you actually accepting the possibility this isn't all just a strange drug trip?”

 Sherlock answered, straight-faced, “Depends on how long I can operate in denial...”

 John could not help but laugh at how seriously Sherlock delivered his answer. Finding his friend's laughter infectious, Sherlock joined in.

  Suddenly, John cursed. “We've got to get to Potions in five minutes!” The duo grabbed their books and wands, scrambled away from the tree, and hurried to their class.

***

  Once they got into class, Sherlock threw himself down into the first open seat he saw. John took the seat beside him on his right, albeit less dramatically then his friend. Sherlock looked to his left and saw that he had inadvertently sat beside Molly, who was diligently scribbling something down on a piece of parchment. Curious, the young consulting detective leaned over to get a better look. Turned out she was drawing someone very familiar.

  “You've drawn me far more handsome than I really am...”

  “SHERLOCK!” Molly exclaimed, flustered. She scrambled to hide her picture, her face bright red. “H-how long have you been there?” She asked, desperately trying to change the subject.

 “Not long.” Sherlock replied. “By the way, you need to work on your shading. Makes me look too... ominous...”

  “You are rather ominous at times...” John chimed in.

  “Shut up, John.”

  Just then, Professor Snape burst into the room. “Put up your wands. There will be no spells in my class...” Molly and John obliged, stowing their wands in their robes. Sherlock, however, had decided to store his wand behind his ear, as if it were a pencil. Snape noticed this. “Mr. Holmes. That does not appear to be a... wise place to store your wand.” Sherlock huffed and stored his wand in his robe.

  Snape walked over to Sherlock. “You're the new Minister's brother. Am I correct?”

 Sherlock shrugged, while at the same time analyzing his teacher a little closer. “That's what everyone says I am.” He answered.

  The class stifled their laughter as best they could. “Amusing.” Snape said, dully. Sherlock noted how his professor seemed to be analyzing him as well.

  “Tell me, Mr. Holmes, for how long does one brew Polyjuice Potion?”

  “I don't know, sir.” Sherlock stated bluntly, busy with his deductions “Does not care much for physical appearance.” He noted to himself.

  “I do.” John piped up, raising his hand.

 Snape looked over to him. “Ah, Mr. Watson. I remember when your sister was in my classes. She was... an eager one and enjoyed this class...”

  “I'll bet she did. Plenty to drink...” John mumbled.

  “What?”

  “It takes a month. At least, I think.” John said, louder.

  “You think?”

  John cleared his throat. “Know. I know, sir.”

  Snape nodded. “Well, it's a miracle.” the teacher replied. “A Gryffindor has proven to be more knowledgeable than a Ravenclaw. Ten points to Gryffindor.”

  “Perhaps that House isn't as bright they want us to believe.” Moriarty stated smugly from across the room. Moran and a couple of their fellow Slytherins snickered. “Perhaps not, Mr. Moriarty.” Snape replied.

  Sherlock glared at Moriarty. As soon as he left this... whatever-it-was, he was going to kill the real Moriarty.

  “Well,” he mused to himself. “All the more reason to leave as soon as possible.”

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 4

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<--Previous Chapter Here

                                        Chapter Four
                                         Sorting Out

   Sherlock watched as many young people were called and sorted into their Houses.

  “Irene Adler.”

  “Slytherin.” He thought. Sherlock had made a sort of game out of predicting the results. “SLYTHERIN!” The Hat announced. Sherlock smiled. “I'm four for four.”

                                                                   ***

 After several names were called, Professor McGonagall announced his name. “Sherlock Holmes!” Sherlock took a deep breath and sat on the stool, then had the hat placed upon his head.

 “Hmm... Not a Gryffindor?” The Hat said. “Don't fancy yourself a hero? Shame. Ah, but not a Slytherin either? Well, you have so much resourcefulness! Intelligence! You don't care much for the rules! You have the seeds of greatness, Mr. Holmes! Oh, well. That leaves you with Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. And we wouldn't want to waste that intelligence, now would we, Mr. Holmes? RAVENCLAW!”

  The Hat was removed from his head and Sherlock made his way to the Ravenclaw's table as his classmates applauded. Sherlock saw Molly smiling, and John beaming with pride. Sherlock sat down and put up with the other Ravenclaws' pats on the back as he watched the proceedings.

***

  “Molly Hooper.”

  Sherlock sat up a little, and craned over a seventh-year to see her. He was curious where she would get sorted. He ignored the other children's teasing of “Ooh! Holmes has a crush!” and, “Sherlock in love!” To better hear The Hat.

  “HUFFLEPUFF!”

  Sherlock slumped down. He'd rather hoped Molly would turn out to be a Ravenclaw. So he'd at least have someone familiar to talk to at the table. Molly waved from the Hufflepuff table. Sherlock awkwardly waved back.

  “Peter Jones.”

   “Gryffindor.” Sherlock thought, though he was growing bored of the game. “GRYFFINDOR!” The Hat announced. Sherlock was only half-listening now. “Well, I should be forming a plan, anyway.”

***

  After what felt like hours, John was finally called up. Sherlock sat up again to see John, prompting more teasing. “Gryffindor!” The Hat triumphantly proclaimed. “Called it.” Sherlock said to himself. He smiled at John, who gave Sherlock an awkward thumbs up.

  Headmaster Dumbledore stood up at his podium. “Welcome, to another year at Hogwarts. I hope that everyone here will find what they are looking for. And even if they don't, that they will find what they need...”

  The upperclassmen around Sherlock mumbled about what they were “looking for”, and how they “needed” to eat. Sherlock simply took a sip out of his goblet, nothing more. He scowled. He didn't need to eat, he needed to get home. That's what he was looking for.

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 3

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<--Previous Chapter Here

 

 Chapter Three  
Said The Spider       

   “I can't believe it!” John said, positively buzzing with joy as they changed into the standard Hogwarts uniforms. “We're in the world of Harry Potter!”

 Sherlock shook his head as he straightened his tie. (“I hate these things,” he thought.) “It's impossible.”

 John chuckled, still high on happiness. “It's mag...”

 “Don't say it...” Sherlock said.

 “Well, how do you explain us suddenly becoming eleven years old?” John asked.

 Sherlock shook his head. “I... can't. And admittedly, it somewhat scares me. Perhaps it's all just hallucinogenic drugs?”

  John sighed as he put on his robe, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you have to tell yourself.” Sherlock was about to offer a rebuttal when, with a screech, the train stopped.

 

 ***

  As the boys took the boat ride alongside their fellow First Years to Hogwarts, Sherlock was formulating a plan. “We'll find our way back home soon. The drugs can only last so long...” John looked up at the sky. “You're still clinging to that theory, I see.” he replied.

 Sherlock looked up at the sky, too, curious as to what had his dear friend's attention. He could see winged horses flying carriages to the school. “Just how I pictured them...” John whispered to himself.

 “What?”

  “The threstals.” John explained. “You can only see them when you've seen death and accepted the concept.”

  Sherlock nodded. “Ah. And you can see them because of Afghanistan.” John nodded, sighing a little.

  “And I assume that at least the cabbie allows you to see them.” Sherlock shrugged and turned to John, realizing that he might be an even more useful companion than usual.

  “Is there anything else I should know, John, in the event this whole thing isn't the result of drugs?” The young sociopath inquired.

 John grinned, pleased that Sherlock was taking an interest. “Well, for now, should probably know the four Houses. The two major Houses are Gryffindor and Slytherin, as they're the ones that get the most attention. Gryffindor is the house where a lot of heroes come from...”

 “So it is not the house for me.” Sherlock quipped.

 John continued, “And it's the house of bravery...”

 “So you will most likely end up there...” Sherlock said.

 John was almost taken aback by the compliment. “Well, thank you...” he said.

 “Anytime.” Sherlock replied, assuming his thinking position.

 “Slytherin's the House for people with ambition and cunning. They have the reputation of being the source of villainous wizards.”

 “But I take it they're not all bad?”

 “No, some good people have come from there, I guess...” John continued, “Then, we have the Ravenclaws. Their focus is intelligence. I'd be surprised if you didn't get sorted there.”

 “Mm-hm, and the last one?”

 “Oh, that's Hufflepuff. They're about loyalty. They're pretty much ignored, though...”

 Sherlock nodded. “that's another option if I'm not a Ravenclaw. Best to be under the radar.”

***

 In the halls of Hogwarts, Sherlock started to feel rather jealous of John. John knew quite a bit about the wizarding world, and it was rather useful. For example, John was able to deduce that they had been transported back in time as well (about early 1990, at the most). All because certain professors were alive and had certain jobs. That, along with some of the students there (or not there) as well.

 It killed Sherlock a little not knowing these things. Sure, there were a few phrases Sherlock caught from some Scotland Yard officers who rather vocal Harry Potter fans. The ones that came to mind were: “Secctumsempra”, “mudblood”, “Expecto Patronum”, “Muggle”, and “Azkaban”. But Sherlock was sure none of these phrases would ever be of use. Would he have to rely on John for everything?

 While in his thoughts amongst the crowd of First Years, Sherlock suddenly heard an all-too-familiar voice. “Well, hello handsome!”

 Sherlock let out an annoyed huff and massaged his temples. “Please don't tell me he's here, too.” He turned around, and sure enough, there was an eleven-year-old Jim Moriarty, looking right at him.

 Moriarty clapped his hands together. “So, it's true. Sherlock Holmes has come to Hogwarts.” He stuck out his hand. “The name is Jim Moriarty.”

 Sherlock just looked at his hand, unimpressed. “I know who you are...”

 Jim smirked and put his hand away. He cocked an eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Holmes, have you been spying on me? Must say I'm flattered...”

 Moriarty clapped his hand on a boy standing beside him. Sherlock took notice of the boy. He was a young lad with scruffy, ill-kept brown hair and pale blue eyes. Moriarty noticed this. “This is Sebastian Moran. He never leaves my side.” Moriarty finally noticed John. “You could stand to leave that one's side, though.” John scowled. He could never forgive The Consulting Criminal for strapping him to explosives and nearly killing him and Sherlock. Even if this might not be the "real" one.

  Moriarty went up to Sherlock, throwing his arm around his shoulder. “You don't want to get involved with one of those Watsons...” He continued. Moriarty then whispered to Sherlock's ear (hiding his mouth from John with his hand), “Comes from a filthy family of mudbloods, that one.” Moriarty nodded and returned to an audible volume. “Of, course, you'd probably know that. Minister's brother and all...”

 Sherlock pulled out of Moriarty's grip. “Moriarty,” he said, wrapping an arm around John. “This is my friend, John Watson, who is occasionally good enough to stand by my side. If you're trying to get on my good side, it's better to leave him alone. And not to even bother trying.”

 Moriarty growled. “Wait until my brother hears about this.” And he stormed off with Moran. Sherlock smiled at John.

 “Well, now you can't say I'll never defend you.”

 John nodded. “Let go of me.”

 Sherlock quickly let released John. “Right...”

 “He said I was a mudblood, didn't he?” John asked.

 Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Is that bad?”

 John shook his head. “Not being one, “mudblood” is just a derogatory way to say I'm either muggle-born or half-muggle. And that this Moriarty is racist pure-blood wizard.”

 Sherlock nodded. “Ah.”

 And with that, they walked into The Great Hall.

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 2

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                                                        Chapter Two
                                        The Express

   Sitting across from Sherlock was a prepubescent-looking boy. His hair was a sort of blond and was probably otherwise neatly cut. That is, save the good chunk of it currently sticking up in the back from sleeping. He was wearing a jumper, and sounded like...

  “John! What happened to you?”

  Little John's eyes widened. “Me? What happened to you, Sherlock?” Sherlock raised his eyebrows, then darted to the window to try and get a better look at himself through the window's faint reflection.

  Much like John, he was notably shorter and smaller, His dark curls were now messier. He looked, for lack of a better word, like an eleven year old boy again. “What's going on?” Sherlock exclaimed. “This makes no sense!”

  John started giggling. “What's so funny?” Sherlock asked.

 “Nothing...” John said, trying to pull it together. “Just... your low voice sounds hilarious coming out of a kid.” Indeed, Sherlock still had his old voice like John did. Sherlock laughed, too.

 “So, John, any idea where we're going or how we got here?”

 John shook his head. “No, but something about the train feels strangely familiar...”

  Sherlock started to re-take his seat when he realized that some black, furry thing was on it. Sure enough, there was a cat curled up in Sherlock's spot. It had two notable features: its bold blue eyes and dark gray front paws. With a bored look, it hopped down and rubbed up against Sherlock's leg.

  “I think he likes you...” John stated.

  Sherlock looked at the cat with little interest. “Fantastic...” he said, deadpan.

 John stood up and picked up the cat, scratching behind its ear. “Mittens seems like a god cat. Is there any possibility you'll keep him?”

  “I think it depen- wait. “Mittens”? Why do you assume his name's Mittens?” Sherlock asked.

  John shrugged. “Dunno. He just looks like he would be named “Mittens”, on account of his paws.” John took it upon himself to illustrate this point, by waving one of the cat's paws.

  Sherlock groaned. “No, that's too frightfully obvious. Now, “Gladstone”, Gladstone is a good name.”

  After a long, intense, and heated debate over names (including such arguments as: traditions, cliches, ownership and name privileges, which name would hypothetically get him beat up by the other cats if cats were anthropomorphic, and the strength of the name “Gladstone”), they reached a settlement. Since it seemed to technically be Sherlock's cat, he was to be christened “Gladstone”.

  “Well, now that that pointless little distraction's settled, let's move on to something less trivial. Such as where we are...” Sherlock said. Just then, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock looked out the door's window. There appeared to be an eleven-year-old girl with uncanny resemblance to...

  “Molly? She's here, changed, too?” John asked.

   “Apparently.” Sherlock said, opening the door. “Hi, Molly.” he greeted, trying to be as sociable as possible for him.

  Molly blinked. “Y-you know my name?”

  Sherlock raised an eyebrow. She was genuinely surprised he'd known her name. Strange. “Of course,” Sherlock said, trying to mask his puzzlement. “I've known who you are for quite some time...”

  Molly tilted her head. “How...?” Just then, realization swept over her face. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “Of course! You're Sherlock Holmes! The new Minister of Magic's little brother! Oh, you must have access to all sorts of information like that!”

  “Minister of what!?” Sherlock said, staring at her as if he'd seen maggots in top hats crawl out her nose. John was just as surprised. “I'm sorry, what?”

  Molly turned to John, finally acknowledging him. “Oh, I'm sorry. Who are you?”

  John sighed. “John. John Watson.”

  “Well, nice to meet you two. Your voices sound really weird. They don't match your bodies...” Molly said.

 Sherlock thought of a quick way to dismiss it. “A bit of early puberty.” John looked at Sherlock, his face simply saying: “Really? That's what we're going with?”

  Molly nodded, accepting the far-fetched excuse. Her eyes turned to Gladstone. “Oh, my... Is this your cat? He's adorable!” She shrieked, scooping up and hugging the feline.

 “Yes, his name's Gladstone.” Sherlock answered.

  Molly petted Gladstone, making him purr. “Really? He looks more like a “Mittens”...” John smirked and looked over at Sherlock, smug.

 “Shut up, John.” Sherlock replied.

 Molly handed them back the pet. “Oh, I almost forgot. The girls in the compartment across from you wanted me to tell you to get in your robes...”

  “Robes?” Sherlock asked, noticing Molly's school uniform and the black robe draped across her arm.

  “We're arriving soon. See you later, Sherlock!” She turned to John. “Oh, and John.” John offered a wave in response. “I hope we get sorted into the same House! Bye!” She said, waving and closing the door

  “Houses?” Sherlock thought aloud.

  John's eyes widened. “Could it be..?” He opened the upper window, climbed up, and looked ahead outside. He gasped. Sherlock quickly followed suit. The duo saw a very old castle upon the water, growing closer and closer with each turn of the train wheels.

  “Holy...! We're going to Hogwarts!” John exclaimed with thinly-masked glee. Sherlock turned to his friend. “Hogwarts!?” He said with disbelief.

   What on earth was going on?
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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 1

  Well, it's been a long time, but here it is! At long last, my fanfic! Hope this works out.

  I should probably say some stuff like: "I don't own/didn't create/write the BBC Sherlock or Harry Potter", but come on! It's pretty obvious that I'm a little female to be Moffat or Gatiss. And I'm a little American to be JK Rowling. I don't think I really need it. I'm just some blogger, people! I don't write the show or books, I just fangirl about them.

(PS don't expect too many/any more author's notes. I'm going to try and avoid those as best I can. Please comment if you have any criticisms, compliments, or questions (if my comment bar works, it's messed up before...)

  Here it goes! A fic months in the making...

---

Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality

 A Fanfic By Loveable Freak

Chapter One
The Children's Book

  Sherlock laid sprawled out on his sofa. He hadn't bothered changing out of his pyjamas. It was a sad time right now; truly depressing, even. The consulting detective buried his face within the well-worn cushions.

  “I am bored!” He groaned, his voice muffled by the sofa. “Bored. Bored. Bored!” None of his usual activities appealed to him at the moment. There had been no murders this past week. And that was sickening. Deeply sickening. He felt much like a sweet-toothed child who didn't have candy. He sighed and shouted, “SO! BORED!” and went limp.

  Luckily, John had lived with Sherlock long enough by now to be able to detect the early signs of Sherlockian Boredom. Earlier, he rushed out of the flat as fast as possible to get his flatmate something to do. Preferably, before a certain self-proclaimed sociopath decided to occupy his time by writing out a well-planned (and plausible) strategy for taking over all of Western Civilization using only a paperclip. Then sending said plan to Mycroft just to get a rise out of him.

   Again.

  Yes, if there was one thing the world didn't need, it was a bored Sherlock Holmes.

 As John entered the flat with a paper bag, Sherlock bolted up. “John! Please tell me someone's experienced a grizzly murder!”

  John shook his head. “No, but I got you some stuff to do. Thought it'd help.” Sherlock flopped back on the couch and pouted. John reached into his bag and pulled out a DVD. “Here, it's some mystery movie. The guy at the shop said it was good...” John said, tossing it to his friend.

 Sherlock glanced at the cover, then promptly threw it across the room, nearly knocking over his skull. “The old man has a split personality. He kills and cannibalizes everyone. Then he dies when he realizes what his alter has done.”

 John stared at him. “You got all that from a cover? Wow, you never cease to amaze...”

 “No.” Sherlock said, matter-of-factly. “Anderson never shut up about it when it came out. THAT was an annoying case.

 John shook his head and reached back into the bag. “Alright, how about a board game?”

 “I'm bored enough, John...” Sherlock sat up. "No."

 

 John set the unknown game on the table, amongst the usual mess. Finally, John tossed a book from the bag onto Sherlock's lap.

 Sherlock examined the novel. It had a bespectacled boy and a train upon the cover. He read it's title aloud. “Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone?”

 John nodded and smiled. “Yeah, it's a good...”

 “It's a children's book.” Sherlock stated.

 “But a good one!” John replied.

  Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I take you've read them, then?”

  “And I take it you haven't...”

  John looked to the ground and sighed. “Look,” he said, refocusing on his friend. “That's all I got. So either read the stupid book or or sit around and mope all day.”

 Sherlock perked up, having gotten a "better" idea. “Or, I could plot out...”

 “I hid all the pens, Sherlock.” John said, having planned ahead.

 Sherlock angrily mouthed something John couldn't make out. “Fine!” He said aloud, temporarily defeated. He curled up on the sofa, opened the book, and began to read. John sat down in one of the living room chairs, and decided to blog about this little “adventure”. Plus, he could keep an eye on Sherlock, in case he went pen hunting (unbeknownst to John, Sherlock had deducted fifteen possible locations for the pens already).


  As he read, Sherlock found himself slowly dozing off, the overpowering mixture of reading, calm, boredom, and the monotonous sound of typing being hypnagogic. He slipped halfway off the sofa and fell asleep.
 

 ***

                      

  He was surprised to suddenly wake up in the compartment of a moving train. He was sitting upright in a chair, not the position he had been in at home. And he was garbed in one of his suits, a far cry from his pyjamas. Sherlock stood up and glanced out the window, and saw what appeared to be, of all things, Scotland. “What?” He said to himself. Had Moriarty decided to kidnap him? Or was it just Mycroft being ominous again, kidnapping him to ask for his help? Either way, this was all admittedly quite unsettling, to say the least. “Where am I? Besides possibly Scotland... And where's John?” He thought.

  “John? JOHN!?” he shouted, feeling panicked. He opened the door of the compartment. He scanned for guards, finding none in view. “Funny,” he thought, “if I've been kidnapped, they certainly aren't afraid I'll run. Not that there's anywhere to run on a moving train...” He prepared to bellow out his companion's name, hoping he hadn't been killed, when he heard a yawn.

  A familiar voice replied, “What's with all the shouting? I'm right here...”

  Sherlock looked at the seat opposite his, and uttered, “Oh, no. That's impossible!”

 

Next Chapter -->



Not Going To Put It Off Anymore

  Long ago (like, in March or April or something), I said I was going to write a Sherlock/Harry Potter "crossover" fanfic and post it here on my blog. Weeelll, I've sort of procrastinated on it. Like, a lot. But no more!

  You see, I've been busy and haven't been posting. And, well, I've kind of been distract-Ohmahgosh, I'm having a Doctor Who marathon! Wheeeeeee!!!!!

...
...

  Anyway, since I haven't been posting much, I want Skepkitty to be able review my fic (or MST it if it turns out to be bad enough, whatever, either's awesome) on The Half World, and I really have nothing else to do (CURSE YOU BBC AMERICA! AND YOUR BEING ON CABLE AIRING NEW DOCTOR WHO! I DON'T GET THAT TV NO MORE!!!! *insert hashtag phrase here*) I'm putting it up today and for the next... err... 15 days (16 chapters. Brace yourselves...)

  So, that's what's going to happen. I'm going to also put up a page to direct people to the fic for easy access.

  ...Yeah, this post is just to cut down on an author's note. It's mostly pointless.

  Expect the first chapter in a few minutes. This will either be my best work yet, or and epic fail. Oh well. Just get ready! :D