Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 10

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Chapter Ten

J'Accuse!

   “What?” Sherlock said.

  “Oh, don't pretend you don't know, murderer!” Moriarty announced, barely hiding his smug smile. “Carl Powers, Chaser for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, was killed mid-game. Someone shot a spell at him from afar. Knocked him off his broom, and...” Moriarty whistled, progressively lowering his pitch, to illustrate. “Gravity did the rest.”

  “And, Jim, who were they playing?” Moran chimed in. ("Huh," Sherlock thought. "Manchester accent.")

 “Oh, that's right, Sebastian.” Moriarty said in mock revelation. “Ravenclaw. And guess who we find here, coming downstairs? Ravenclaw House's own Sherlock Holmes.”

  Moran tugged the restrained John a little. “We saw his friend Johnny-boy here just happen to walk back to the game before Powers died. And we all know Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff next game. Obviously they're accomplices!”

  “Wait, Sherlock can't have done it!” Molly called from the crowd. She ran out to the front.

  “Oi! Shut it, lovebird! Your boyfriend's a murderer, deal with it!” Moran said sternly.

 “I'm not her boyfriend...” Sherlock said. Molly turned to the crowd, slightly hurt.

  (“Not good?” Sherlock mouthed to John. “You could've handled that better, yes...” John mouthed in reply.) 

  Molly continued in spite of Moran. “Sherlock's a terrible shot with a wand! Brilliant, no doubt about it, but a lousy shot!” She turned to Sherlock. “No offense...”

  Sherlock blinked and shook his head. “Oh, none taken...” he said, fine with having someone defend him.

  “It would make more sense if John, who's probably the best shot here, had cast the spell." Moran scowled, his pride seeming to be hurt. Molly continued, "If he and Sherlock were responsible. But, honestly; there's no realistic way, magical or otherwise, for him to do that and make it to the Quidditch field before Carl died!”

  “Besides, he wouldn't conspire against Hufflepuff. Holmes's nice to us. He pays attention to us!” Another Hufflepuff interjected. “Well, as nice as Holmes could be anyway.” A random student added.

  “Plus, he doesn't care much for sports...” John said. Moran pushed John's head down. “Quiet, you! Quit trying to make you and your accomplice look innocent.” Moran snapped. Moriarty scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please, you people don't know how genius works...”

  Dumbledore cut through the mob. “Needless to say, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson, this is a serious accusation of Moriarty and Morstan...”

  “Moran!” Moran shouted.

 Dumbledore was unfazed. “I'm afraid we'll have to send you away to go on trial at the Ministry.”

  Sherlock and John exchanged a look. Moriarty sighed and snapped his fingers. Moran released John on Moriarty's command. “Everyone, back to your dormitories.” Dumbledore said, his head still facing the boys as he began to usher Moriarty, Moran, and the mob out. “Boys, you should pack.” he added, turning his head and leaving.

  Sherlock ran up to Molly, who was just about to exit. “Erm... Thank you, Molly.”

  Molly blushed. “It was nothing.” She pulled her tie out from under her uniform's sweater. “House of Loyalty, remember?”

  “Right...” Sherlock said. “Um... Sorry about that... outburst.”

  Molly looked at her shoes. “It's alright.” There was an awkward silence. “Well, good luck!” She said quickly. And she hurried to catch up with the others.

  John smirked. “What?” Sherlock asked, noticing his friend. John laughed and shook his head.

  “Nothing.”

  Sherlock got a serious look on his face. “John, I know Moriarty is behind the murder.”

 John turned serious. “Of course. He's usually behind everything. “ he stated.

  “But,” Sherlock said, “we can't do anything about it, or work out how, until we get the stupid trial out of the way.” 

 "Right, one thing at a time..."

  The consulting detective groaned, annoyed. “Now I have to meet this world's Mycroft...”

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 9

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Chapter Nine

The Reflection In The Mirror

 

    During the search, Sherlock had long since turned back into himself, and had half-dressed back into his uniform. Sure enough, The Chest was not there. He did, however, find a peculiar mirror. He'd sat in front of it for a good hour, staring at it.

  It was not an ordinary mirror, of course. He didn't see the reflection of a half-dressed preteen boy, his legs folded on the ground. His hands together as if in prayer, and looking as if he was deep in thought. In fact, the reflection didn't even match his current state at all.

  Instead, the mirror showed him and John, their proper ages, sitting in what could only be their flat. Lestrade would walk in, saying something inaudible to the reflection Sherlock. The mirror Sherlock would bolt up, and shout something inaudible as well. Then the three men run out. The same scene had played on an endless loop for as long as the young consulting detective had been sitting there.

  “Stare too long and you'll go mad, Mr. Holmes.” A voice said. Sherlock turned away from the mirror and saw none other than Snape.

  “What is this?” Sherlock asked.

  “It's The Mirror of Erised. It shows someone's deepest desire.” The professor said, looking at the mirror.

  Sherlock looked at the professor a little closer. “Of course. Why didn't I see it before? That makes sense.” He could see a sadness on Snape as he looked at the mirror. A longing. “Obviously someone he lost... and loved.”

  “Tell me, Holmes, what do you see?”

  Sherlock blinked. “My friend and I. We're home with another... friend. And I'm not bored.”

 

  “And by home, I'm sure you don't mean yours and Mycroft's estate?”

  “No sir.”

  “Well, Mr. Holmes, I can tell you what you're no doubt looking for is not here.”

  Sherlock sighed. “I know.” He got up. “By the way, sir. What was her name?” He asked. Snape was silent for a moment.

  “Lily.”

  Sherlock nodded and headed for the door.

  “And Mr. Holmes, don't ever impersonate me again.”

  “Yes, sir...” Sherlock answered, and exited the room.

 ***

 

  As he descended the stairs, adjusting his clothes in the process, a mob of students and faculty ran up to meet him. Moriarty and Moran led the throng, Moran dragging John alongside him. “There he is!” Moriarty shouted. “There's the one who killed Carl Powers!”

 

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 8

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Chapter Eight

Alone In The Halls

  Sherlock could hear the sound of cheering from the Quidditch field. He and John, however, were currently huddled together under his Invisibility Cloak, searching every corridor they could for signs of The Chest. “Let's see, we've checked most of the rooms, the abandoned girl's lavatories, Dumbledore's office, McGonagall's office, and Snape's office. It's either The Forbidden Forest or The Third Floor Corridor.” Sherlock stated. John sighed. “There's always something in the Third Floor Corridor...”

  When the duo reached the ever-shifting stairs, they were treated to the sight of this world's version of Anderson and Sally Donavan snogging on the steps. “How're we going to get them out of the way?” John asked as they stepped out of the stairway. Sherlock grinned and pulled out a vial. “Is that..? You've been brewing Polyjuice Potion? So that's what I smelled.” John said.

  Sherlock nodded and pulled out a lock of black hair. “Who's hair?” John inquired. “Professor Snape's, supposedly.” Sherlock said, nonchalant as he stepped out of the cloak.

  “How on Earth did you get that?”

  Sherlock shrugged. “One of my clients used to fancy him. She hadn't thrown it out yet, luckily, so I asked for it in return for finding her boyfriend. Turned out he was hiding as a House Elf.”

  “I...I don't even want to know...”

  “Pity, I solved it by sitting on five pillows and consuming an ounce of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. And with a large magic sponge.”

  Sherlock pulled out a black cloak and threw it over his shoulders. He then proceeded to strip off the rest of his clothes, handing them to John, and put on a bigger pair of trousers. Then he put the hairs in the potion, took a large swig, and hunched in a corner until he transformed.

  Pulling his cloak to him tightly, Sherlock stood up. He was the spiting image of the Potions professor. The false teacher turned to John. “So, Mr. Watson...” he said in his best Snape impression. “What do you think?”

  John nodded. “It's brilliant, Sherlock. Uncanny.”

Sherlock-Snape smirked. “Of course it is.”

  Sherlock-Snape walked back to the stairway. “Mr. Anderson. Ms. Donavan. Surely you have better things to do...” The two split up, the color draining from their faces. “Professor!” They said, unified, terrified, and utterly mortified. “We were just...”

  “On your way to the Quidditch game, I presume.” Sherlock-Snape offered.

  “Oh, definitely, sir!” Anderson said quickly.

  “We just got side-tracked...” Donavan added, running out of the stairway.

  Anderson followed, but paused to ask: “You're...you won't tell my girlfriend, right?”

  “Why would that be of any concern to me?” Sherlock-Snape said, serious.

  “Right...” Anderson said, relieved, and continued to sprint after Donavan.

  “Mediocre dunces.” Sherlock said under his breath. He called John as soon as they were out of earshot. John pulled off the Invisibility Cloak. Sherlock glanced over at him. “Disappointed air.” he noted. “John,” Sherlock asked, "did you want to go to the Quidditch match?”

  John looked down. “Well, it's not everyday you get a chance to to watch a real life Quidditch match. I mean, a real, honest-to-God one, not a pretend one.”

 Sherlock sighed. “Well, we've been searching all morning and the game's just barely started. Hand me my clothes and the Cloak. You go to the game and try and slip in with the idiot...I mean “Anderson”... oh, you know I meant “idiot”.”

  John smiled. “Thanks, Sherlock.”

  Sherlock smiled back and nodded. “Well, go on.” John laughed a little and ran out of the stairs and towards the field, punching the air.

  Sherlock shook his head. “I might as well let John get to watch, in case we get home.” he thought. “Now he won't regret missing it.” And with that, he picked up his clothes. Putting the Invisibility Cloak back on, he trudged up the stairs. Next stop: The Third-Floor Corridor, and maybe the way home.

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Loveable Freak Presents: Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A fanfic): Chapter 7

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 Chapter Seven
A Means At Last 

  John was worried about Sherlock. Last time he saw him, he'd been so obsessive about going home. In fact, he had spent most of this month in Ravenclaw Commons Area, never coming out to see John. It felt like he only ever saw him in class, now. “Either he's onto something,” he thought, "or I should be seriously worried.”

   It was breakfast one morning when a Ravenclaw with sticky-uppy dark-brown hair and eyes, and tortoise-shell glasses came over to the Gryffindor table.

   “Hey, you're John Watson, right?” the boy asked in an Estuary accent. John nodded. “Wonderful! I'm Christopher David Smith.”

  “Do I need to use your full name?”

  “No, just “David Smith” is good...” David said.

  John took a sip of pumpkin juice. “so, what brings you here?”

  “Well,” David said, looking up at the ceiling, scratching the back of his head. “Sherlock wanted me to give you this urgent letter...” David handed John an envelope sealed with blue wax, a crest with an owl and otter imprinted in it (“His family has a crest here?” John thought). John opened the letter, and went pale. The message was written in what was unmistakably blood. Sherlock's blood.

 It read, the letters thinning with each word:

   Dear John,

   Come to Ravenclaw Tower as soon as possible. It's highly important. David Smith knows which dormitory is mine. Hurry!

                      -SH

  PS I'm sorry I've ignored you.

John was already on his feet and rushing towards Ravenclaw Tower. He stopped and turned around. He realizing David Smith was still standing around, his hands in his pockets.

  “Well, come on!” John said. “My best friend's just sent me a bloody note...”

  “Language, Mr, Watson.” Snape said as he breezed by.

  “I meant literally bloody, and I need you, David, to get me into his dorm!”

  David winced. “Oh. Yeah...” He caught up with John. “Allons-y!” David called, smiling as the two ran off.

                                                                     ***

  David snapped his fingers, opening the foul-smelling dormitory. “How'd you do that?” John asked. “Charmed it.” David said, nonchalant. “I'm very clever.” John sighed. “Yes, hence Ravenclaw...” he said sarcastically. The boys drew out their wands, ready to face the force plaguing Sherlock...

   ...that wasn't there.

  “Sherlock?” John called. “Sherlock?” David parroted. They examined the room. John had that sensation one gets down the neck when being watched. Suddenly, he tripped on seemingly nothing. David laughed, when suddenly he was hit by a foam ball out of nowhere. “What? What? WHAT?” David protested, looking for the ball's source as John laughed.

 Another ball hit John. “Ow!” The pair was assaulted by mysterious balls. John had a hunch as to who was behind this. “Sherlock...” he said disapprovingly.

“Oh, come on now, John. We really have to work on your ducking. Perhaps a codeword...” Sherlock's voice said. The corner of the room began to ripple like a curtain in the breeze, and Sherlock emerged out of nowhere.

“Oh, you made your own Invisibility Cloak. Oh, you are a clever one. Never doubted that...” David praised. He kneeled down. “And you made your cat invisible, too. You bright little thing!” he continued, petting the open air, causing it to purr.

John frowned. “You charmed Gladstone?” Sherlock folded his cloak.

“Of course. I had to test the spell for the cloak on something. Honestly, John...” he said matter-of-factly. He pointed his wand at David's feet and undid the spell, rendering the feline visible again.

John was furious. “You! I thought you were in trouble! What with your note written in blood...”

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose, remembering the note. “Oh, the note. I was just out of ink, and I had a slight nosebleed. I think it's the air here.” He sniffed. “But then I found one of the long, thin, black quills one of my clients bought me.”

“Clients!?” John said, incredulous.

“Yes, I've been solving petty cases around the school.” Sherlock said. He pulled John in closer. “By the way, next time I get too arrogent in my abilities, just say “Forbidden Forest”, and I'll try and reign it in." He added in a lower voice so David wouldn't hear.

 John was dumbfounded. “Why?”

Sherlock sighed. “Look, it involved some Fourth Years, a baby centaur, Hagrid's Hut, a yellow cloak, and a happy ending. Let's leave it at that. Anyway, the upperclassmen do me favors in return. I don't need the money. Especially since I'm apparently well off in this world.”

  John blinked. “Wait, what's that on the outside of your hand? Sherlock, you've been using a Blood Quill! It uses your blood and scars your hand!”

  Sherlock inspected his left hand, noticing the scarred message. “Ah, so it does...”

  “It's bad!”

  “It's handy, that's what it is.”

  “What if you write some novel or something and run out of blood?”

  “Blood is boring.”

  David got up and looked at his shoes rather awkwardly. “Well, I'd better go.” He said, running out.

 John stepped back from Sherlock. “Did you just call me here to pelt me with balls, give me a phrase to say, and let me in on the latest of your questionable habits?” Sherlock looked offended. He reached for a worn-out book that had been on his bed and handed it to John.

 “No, I wanted to tell you I may have found our way out... David's given me this book on strange and secret magical relics.” John looked at the book's cover. It's title was, indeed, Strange and Secret Magical Relics: The Complete Encyclopaedia. Sherlock flipped to a page bookmarked by a soiled, red, silk ribbon bound in the book. The page had a faded sketch of a strange, ornate chest on it. “The so-called “Chest of Reality". It should, theoretically, get us out of here.” Sherlock explained.

  “Really? A chest?” John said, skeptically.

  “What were you expecting, John? A flame green torch?”

  John took a good look at the picture. “What, do we step into it, and it takes us home? How Narnia...” John quipped. Sherlock gave John a baffled look. John was flabbergasted. “You never read The Chronicles of Narnia, either? Not even as a kid?”

  “I had a busy childhood!” Sherlock replied.  Sherlock shook his head. “...And yes. Basically, we sit in it, then close it on ourselves. Simplicity in itself.”

  John raised an eyebrow. “How will we fit?"

  David called from behind the door: “Maybe it's bigger on the inside!”

  “David, are you eavesdropping?” John called. “Sorry...” David said. Sherlock waited to continue, at least until David was gone for sure.

  “The only problem is I don't know the exact whereabouts of the chest. Now, my Hufflepuff Network...”

  “Hufflepuff Network?”

  “Yes, no one notices a Hufflepuff. Honestly, John. They're a perfect substitute for my homeless network back home. Anyway, they heard it may be hidden here in Hogwarts. But the book says “Az”... something. There's an ink stain over the rest.

  “John, I need your help.”

  “Delightful.”

  “Don't mind breaking some rules?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Or running the chance of expulsion?”

  “Not if it's for a good reason...”

  “Well, the reason's very good...”

  “Then I'm your man.”

  Sherlock smiled. “I know I can always rely on you.”

  John clapped his hands together. “So, where do we start?”

  “Ah! Right, I have some leads. Now that I know the cloak works, and my backup plan is in order, we can start tomorrow. But, answer me this, John...” Sherlock said, grabbing his companion's shoulders.

  “Do you mind missing the Quidditch game?”

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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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                                    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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                                        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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