MCC #2: Reflection Unveils Ocean Eyes (Chapter 6)

Redbeard

"G."

John's feet molded to the top step of a ladder. In what his tiny hand could supply was a thick stack of novels, and the color left the pads of his heels as they were imprinted with the striped pattern on the stool. Stories written by his most beloved authors lined the upper section of his bedroom on polished wooden shelves, and he plucked a select bunch from they're desired spots. These he was going to take with him during his second year at Hogwarts, as so it was he had to rearrange so the overall appearance of his home didn't bother him.

The books he stashed in alphabetical order by the writer's last name, and he muttered the letter he was on as the order passed on leisurely. Talking aloud kept him productive, even if an easy and reasonable substitution could have been to listen to music.

John got to the letter combination of 'Gr' before noticing that one of the best books he owned was missing. His heart sank a little when he recalled that the pages must had burned the night of the tree house fire, and he was saddened and concluded that he'd have to purchase a second copy. Watson sighed and returned to arranging the novels, leaving a wide enough space in honor of The Fault In Our Stars, a classic he would one day remember to bring a new copy home in the old one's blank place.

As he grabbed a new cloth to wipe the dust off the covers, a glint caught his attention as the hidden object reflected sunlight from the open window behind him onto his chest. He slid his fingers between the book before the empty hole and the next selection to pull out his birthday present from Sherlock.

The mirror sent an image of his own shocking blue iris back at him, positioned just so accurately and by great chance that it showed himself. As it stood up the blond tilted it so the pendant rotated 90 degrees counterclockwise…

But Sherlock wasn't there on the other side.

Instead, all John saw was the tiles on the ceiling of a hospital ward, a distant light shining in the top right corner as the angle that he stared into was slightly off‒center. The fuzzy edge of a bed sheet was also in the frame, so clearly Sherlock had his magical object with him, only it was lying on the mattress and the Gryffindor's call was being unanswered to.

"Three days," John whispered, a break in his sentence from the uneasiness the lonely feeling gave him. "I guess I just never realized it was that long, and I just got lucky to be able to leave and recover so quickly." He was speaking to something he knew couldn't respond back, especially since Holmes wasn't able to see him to witness John's ramble.

"I mean, I don't know Sherlock." No he was descending from the stepstool to take a few minutes rest, literally saying things out loud like his head had exploded and his thoughts were dumping to fill the gaps in his bedroom chamber. "I just don't know. Why did I save you? Obviously because you're my —" he gulped, "best friend, but there's another reason. Perhaps it was out of bravery, or maybe pure loyalty?" He exhaled deeply and sagged his shoulders. John flopped on his bed and let his back gently slam into the wall. "I should have been a hatstall," he mumbled. "I really don't know where I belong anymore."

A knock on the door made his muscles flinch but his bones didn't bend. He hummed in a low tone to allow the family member to enter, and to his despondency Harriet swiftly came in to check on him.

From beyond his bent knees he followed his sister's shadow with his eyes on the carpet as she walked in, her hand still fixed on the door handle. "Hey buddy," she said. He looked up from across the room at the mention of his brand new nickname she'd elected to call him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Sorry. Was I being too loud or distracting?"

"Um, I was just going to say that I wasn't bothering me much. I just heard you speaking and knew no one else was with you."

"I don't know why I do it," John honestly commented. "It comforts me for some strange reason," he implied inferring directly to his ranting out loud for others to hear. The sounds of birds chirped outside the window on his right, and some puffy clouds in the sky were a pale orange color from the blinding sun.

A creature zooming in the direction of their house suddenly caught his eye, and he jumped up to squint in the distance above the neighborhood houses where Sherlock lived. Pushing the panel up and catching a glimpse of the shutters on the outside of his room, he nearly threw himself out the window in order to get a pristine glance at what was flying towards him.

He double checked the date on his watch. Surely this is nothing of importance, he hoped. I've done nothing wrong! His Hogwarts letter had already arrived, so who was attempting to contact him?

The owl dove gracefully to swipe through the air and land perched upright on the windowsill as John scooted out of the way. The pet hopped inside with a hoot, and Harry back stepped in the doorway, still uncomfortable with a wild animal used for wizard postal service to be in the same area as her.

Watson had studied the same curly handwriting millions of times as his only female Hufflepuff friend wrote essays and did homework with him, and he ripped open the envelope eagerly to find an evenly spaced message from Molly Hooper inside.

Hey John!

I hope you're having a wonderful summer so far. (I borrowed the owl from a friend in case you were wondering. Her name is Janine and she's going to be a first year at Hogwarts this year.) Anyways, I've had quite an adventure this past month. My parents took me on a trip to Italy, which I highly enjoyed.

Lestrade hasn't kept in touch with me at all. I'm not sure about you, but I think he keeps forgetting. Would you care to meet me in Diagon Alley with Sherlock during the last full week in August? We could buy our new school supplies and then head to Hogwarts straight from there?

Again, I hope both of you are doing well! I can't wait to see you all again!

-Molly Hooper

P.S. Encased is something for you and Sherlock.

At the mention of a gift, John went back to the owl's leg and found a square package. Peeling back the paper and promising to show his best friend later, Watson revealed a box of Italian chocolates, some of the finest in the country.

He opened a desk drawer and dug around for an extra piece of paper, and he ended up ripping out a couple pages from an old, unused journal. Placing them leisurely on top of the table, he turned on the spot and continued to clean his bookshelves. As he almost slipped on his way up the small set of stairs, his sister extended out an arm to make sure he didn't accidentally tumble backwards.

"Careful," she told him, releasing some pressure from the hand that was pushing against his spine. "Don't fall."

"I'm okay, Harry."

"You sure you don't want any help?" She was officious and kept bugging to eventually get a final answer.

"No, I'm good. I'll just put on some music so I don't start...making weird noises again."

"Oh. Well if you need anything, I'll be upstairs."

"Okay. Thanks."

And she left him with a swift wave of her arm. The door clicked as he was shut into the cramped area, and he gathered up the last pile of books he'd been dusting to carry on with his work.

John nearly had a heart attack when he briefly checked the mirror in his pendant, because there was now half of Sherlock's face in the rectangular frame. If a snapshot could have captured the picture, it would have looked like a character poster from a movie. His cheekbone reached to the middle of the surface area, and a little more than three quarters of his nose was visible. But the background next to his chin was moving and fading in and out of focus, which only meant one thing.

He was moving. And not only that, but outside too, because there were green leaves swaying on trees and a ocean blue sky through the gaps in his brunette curls; the same blue sky that was on the other side of John's window. He even recognized the scenery as the corner of the edge of the street he lived on.

A vibration noise came from the dresser below his knees and he looked down to see that his cell phone had lit up. Descending with agility, he hopped off the final step and his ankle cracked as he reached to collect the mobile device.

A text from none other than Sherlock Holmes was practically flashing on the screen before his pupils, screaming joy that passed into his smiling gasp, through his body and into his heart.

I'm coming home. -SH

Immediately John dropped the heavy stack of novels he was holding, but gently enough so they weren't damaged, and bolted out the front door of his home. As he skipped excitedly, he nearly crashed into Harriet, who looked startled and shouted to her brother as he darted around the car in their driveway.

"Where are you going?"

John peered over his shoulder and twisted his upper body to yell back. His hands were held aloft by his sides as he spoke, and he was so jumpy he didn't sound like himself as he replied.

"Sherlock's back!"

His sister understood at once, and she chuckled as he went off to greet his best buddy. While he sprinted down the road, Harry cupped the palms of her hands around her lips and cheered on her younger sibling. "Run John, run!"

His plaid shorts became a blur of three colors as he traveled so fast, molding into a grayscale like in art class. The collar of his purple shirt blew in the wind, and as he turned a curve to end up on the final straight piece of his road, he halted in such a dazed and emotionally thrilled state to catch the first glimpse of his best friend in five days.

In the distance, walking slightly hunched over with no wires needed for medical purposes or badly evident injuries, was Sherlock.

John threw up his elbow into the sky with enthusiasm and waved with all the energy he had, just to let the Ravenclaw know how much he was missed. Even from a fourth of a mile away, John saw him gesture in return and laugh.

As he heaved in a new mound of fresh air, John sped up his walking pace into a jog, feeling the seasonal heat beat down on him as tiny sweat droplets dotted the edge of his hair around his ears. Then he forced his legs to move with excessive speed, the flip in the front of his blond locks flying upwards in the breeze.

As he was slowing down to make sure he didn't knock his schoolmate over, he heard the older boy say something comforting as he opened his arms for a proper greeting.

"Ah, there's my fantastic lion!"

John fell into the eagle's arms from the loss of breath, but he was so relieved that the taller wizard had been released from the hospital recovered so quickly. "You have no idea how alone I was these past couple days," he muttered into the brunette's shoulder bone, tracing the yellow line in the center of the street with his field of vision.

"Well," Holmes said, pulling back to stare correctly at the cuteness of his little buddy, "I'm back now."

John smiled and linked arms with the older kid, guiding him to his house for a little time together.

"Now what was the point in coming down here?" Sherlock questioned, raising an eyebrow. "You just have to wall back again."

There's was nothing too bad about that. John grinned. "It'll be worth it. It's always worth it when you're here."

Sherlock smirked and kind of snickered. "You're too fond of me, John."

"Nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Nope. As long as it's you."

"Where are we going? We walked right past the front door," the blond protested.

"We're not going to your house. We're going to mine." John looked like he was being sassed and opened his mouth in an alarmed but agreeable expression.

"Oh, I see how it is then," he joked. "I had a treat for you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Molly sent me a letter with a box of chocolates from Italy with it. Lucky girl."

"I see." There was a silence before Sherlock asked a general question. "How is she?"

"Sounds great for the most part. She's met a new friend who is also a wizard."

"Name?"

"Janine."

"Decent," he offered his opinion.

"Yeah, if I'd say so myself. Not very common." John followed as a companion while they strolled across the vast meadow, blowing memories all around like comparing them to the silver dandelions growing between the blades of grass.

When they approached the back door of the house, Holmes pivoted on his heel and indicated to his Gryffindor partner. "I want to show you something." The door on the backside of the house was rarely used, and John had certainly never seen Sherlock enter in or out of it before.

"What does that mean?"

"It's something very special to me that I think you should see before..." He paused to swallow a large clump of gunk in the back of his throat. "Before it's too late."

"Okay..."

As he exhaled, Sherlock turned the brass handle to slip the door wider inch by inch, as if he was afraid something would pop out at him if he opened it regularly. Inside the room was almost completely black except for a dim light overhead, and when the sunlight crept in and cut through the shadows, John could see the shape of an animal through the gap between Sherlock's arm and ribs in a secluded corner.

The dog lifted its sorrow head as Holmes delicately stepped into what looked like a shed. And from their conversation earlier that month, John realized who the Irish Settler was. But Sherlock said the name before he could prove his assumption to be true.

"Hello Redbeard." The Ravenclaw slowly offered his fingers out for the pet to sniff, but he was too far away. Redbeard reached his nose up into nothing but thin air, trying to do his best to touch his owner. Bending his knees as he got closer, Sherlock knelt down on the dusty floor and pressed his fingernails right up against the animal's nose, absorbing the wet liquid that lined the dog's nostrils.

When Redbeard was friendly enough to allow his owner to pet him, the brunette stroked his back and tummy, giving the dog extreme love as he became almost spoiled by the wizard. Sherlock spun on his feet in his crouched position to beckon John over who looked frightened but touched at the same time, still standing and leaning with little weight on the door frame.

"Come here," he explained, flexing his hand to tell the Gryffindor to move closer. "Say hi. He won't mind. He's very friendly."

Watson wasn't exactly sure why he was hesitant to advance, especially since he had a dog at home himself. "He doesn't bite," Sherlock promised, "he's actually really shy around newcomers."

With baby strides, the blond glued his eyes on the puppy, walking without haste over to where Holmes was settled. "Wait, hang on," the eagle suddenly said, ordering for the lion to stop. "Let's see what you can do little boy." He got up and went to stand with John before tapping his palms on his thighs.

"Come here boy. You can do it Redbeard. Come to me." And with a tremendous amount of the only strength the animal had, the Irish Settler was able to hoist itself onto its stubby legs and gallop over to his owner, letting out a small bark from his mouth.

"Good boy!" The wizard dove down to collect his puppy in his arms, squeezing Redbeard in a heartwarming hug.

"What's wrong with him?" John asked, noticing the dog was very shaky on his legs and simply struggled to walk.

Sherlock had trouble spitting out the reason and his voice shook when he explained the answer. "He's been really sick. We're trying to treat him, but it's not looking so good."

"Well, maybe me and my mom could help?" the blond suggested. "She is a professional doctor after all. She could at least give you some hint as to what's wrong with him."

"You can if you want to," the curly-haired boy assumed, rubbing the dog's face and an ear as it was a delight to Redbeard, "but I doubt it would do much good."

John stood in silence for a while before Sherlock looked back up and wondered why the Gryffindor wasn't acting. "Why aren't you saying hello?"

"Right!" Slowly and with caution as not to scare the pet, Watson sat on the creaking floorboards and extended out his hand for the dog to sniff. It did so and let the newcomer rub under his chin, and as John gave the dog some comfort, just the tiniest of things to make its life a little happier, he smiled and play along as Sherlock remained by his side.

Such a sweet puppy, the younger wizard thought, feeling the stickiness of the red-haired animal's tongue skim over his cheek. He laughed and giggled and spoke for the first time to what could have been a new friend of his.

"Hello Redbeard."

On the Wednesday during the week of August 24th, Sherlock and John both spent the day packing their trunks for Hogwarts of the supplies they had. They made sure to take a few spare changes of clothes for the coming days they'd spend in Diagon Alley, Sherlock packing some buttoned–down shirts with nice pants and John polo tops with short sleeves and longer pairs of shorts.

John insisted to have Skype open on his mum's laptop so he could video chat with Sherlock as they packed their luggage. He wanted to make sure the Ravenclaw didn't leave anything behind or not take enough clothing, so they went through a list of things together and checked off items as they were neatly stashed into their trunks.

Watson was in charge of announcing the list through the computer screen. Part way through their conversations, Sherlock had to mess with his electronic device because he didn't know how to work it properly, being from a Pureblood wizard family and all. Phones, yes he could use for emergency purposes, even if he fooled around with it all the time, but anything else tricked him.

"How do I get rid of this…large blue space at the bottom?"

"You're very descriptive, Sherlock." John rolled his eyes and stopped storing old Potions tools to stare into the video. "Can you give me a little more than that?"

"There's a white box at the bottom. I must have pushed a button because now it wants me to send a message to you."

"Okay. There should be a button on the video screen that looks like a tiny speech bubble. If it's orange, press it." The lion ordered for the eagle to do so, but the brunette just came back with an argument.

"But if it's lit up, wouldn't I not want to touch it? I'll mess up the program or something."

"No you won't, Sherlock! It's not going to spread a virus or anything. Trust me; we've had that happen before. Just push it." The older boy sighed and fiddled with the laptop mouse. There was a click, and by the look of relief on his face he'd done it.

"Okay. I got it fixed."

"See? Now don't fidget with it anymore," John warned him. "That's just what we need is you getting worked up over a stupid device with wires and switches inside." Sherlock really had to bite back a pissed off expression at his friend's comment.

"Fine. What's next on the list?"

"Socks."

"Socks," the younger Holmes brother mumbled, somehow disapproved. "Really necessary, John."

The blond fired back a point that was important with such an adult voice. "No socks equal bad blisters. Suffer if you want to."

"No. Wearing dress shoes without socks are just dorky."

John bursted out laughing. "Since when did you become a fashion expert?"

"I'm not going to go around looking like a fool," he said during the video chat as a wave of static cut through their internet connection.

"Suit yourself?"

"How much more do we have to do?" the brunette complained.

"Do you fancy walking around Hogwarts without any underwear on?"

"No!"

"Then shut up and do as you're told. Pack." Holmes grunted from being told what to do by someone who was younger than himself.

John was gifted with a long farewell from his parents and sibling Thursday morning around eleven before he departed for Sherlock's house. He'd been told that apparently they weren't traveling by Muggle transportation, but he made no arguments with the Holmes family.

He lugged his trunk across the field and attempted to skip up to the front door of their home, knocking politely to wish to ask permission to enter.

The barrier swung open to reveal Mrs. Holmes, and John bowed his upper chest a little in the presence of the witch, who was neatly dressed in dark blue sparkly robes.

"Hello Mrs. Holmes! Nice to see you today!" he squeaked.

"John! It's always a delight to have you over. Do come in." She stood aside to let him hop up into the front entrance, pulling his trunk and Athiel in her cage behind him.

"Hey John!" Sherlock greeted swiftly, standing in the vast living room while turning up the coat collar of his black jean jacket. Mycroft scowled right behind him in the usual preppy tuxedo, and Mr. Holmes adjusted the strap of his red robes around his neck.

"Alright. You can just set your things down right in here," Sherlock's mum told him, and the lone Watson piled his baggage and scooted his belongings out of the way into an empty corner.

"Everyone ready to go?" Mr. Holmes spoke out loud now, his deep voice echoing off the walls as he stepped up to the front of the small bundle of people. "Good. Sherlock, why don't you inform John how this is done correctly? He's got handle it the right way."

So, there's a procedure? What am I even doing?

He suddenly felt his skin being tickled as Sherlock whispered a short set of instructions into his ear, and he had to clarify a few things multiple times to make sure he didn't screw up.

"Mikey? Why don't you go first."

"Mycroft is the name you gave me. Why don't you use it," he groaned with attitude, and his mother scolded him afterwards for the remark.

"Behave Mike," she demanded, smacking him on his buttocks as he passed by.

As odd as it was, there was said to be a method to traveling in the wizarding world by fireplaces. Mycroft lowered his neck to bend down and fit in the stone box. Then, his father held out a matching rusty, stone cup filled with powder, which the oldest brother took a small pinch of in his hands.

Mrs. Holmes nodded as if to remind him of something, and just before Mycroft released the substance in his palm he shouted, "Diagon Alley!"

A bright green flame had erupted from the floor of the fireplace, covering the oldest brother like a wave of fury. Mycroft didn't so much as flinch, and John was alarmed and thought he'd burned to death before remembering it was a clever form of magic to transport people.

"Sherlock, come. You're next." The next descendant of the Holmes parents eagerly stepped up. His head was about a foot from the roof made of stone, and when he was prepared to leave winked at John and yelled at the top of his lungs. "Diagon Alley!"

He too vanished in a massive clump of fire, and as the flames shortened the father motioned for the Gryffindor to go next. John always considered Mrs. and Mr. Holmes his second parents, just because they were so willing to tend to his needs as they treated him like a son.

"Alright." Mrs. Holmes reached under as John took a bit of the floo powder, giving him last minute instructions. "Remember; speak as clearly as you can." He nodded shyly and straightened up with a scared emotion pasted on his face, but he nevertheless was able to say the destination with boldness in his tone.

"Diagon Alley!"

It really just felt like a rush of cold wind as he vanished from the Holmes' living room and passed through a black darkness, but then his feet slid out from under him and he arrived in a clumsier style than he'd anticipated.

He forgot to consider the landing.

He coughed and brushed bits of gravel from his black shirt, blinking as he tried to bring his new location into focus. A side room in The Leaky Cauldron was where he ended up.

"Epic wipeout," the voice of a fellow schoolmate chuckled, but it certainly wasn't Sherlock. John tried to pick out who the strong boasting belonged to.

"Up you get." Now that's definitely Sherlock. An arm helped him to stand, but he swayed as he got slightly dizzy and light–headed. "Ha, side effects are getting to you," Holmes justified, slapping him across the shoulder blades.

"Well don't you look dandy!" John tilted his head to the right to find none other than a Gryffindor roommate of his own. And of course, he was beaming to add to his own fondness of himself. "If it isn't John 'handsome' Watson."

"I hear you Lestrade. I hear you."

Miss Molly Hooper was sitting outside the ice cream parlor when they first spotted her, and she and Greg had been shopping for new books the previous day for fun. She welcomed them each with a charming, "Hello!" as she munched happily on a medium sized sundae. Her ginger ponytail swayed when she moved her head, and she'd patched up her shiningly beautiful face with a base layer of foundation makeup to look spiffy.

All four of them sat at the circular table discussing their summer holidays, of which Molly was awarded with the best and Sherlock and John the most productive. Lestrade literally did nothing but laze around in the sun or go swimming, so at least it was a decent Muggle–related June, July, and August.

"So how were the chocolates that I sent you?" Hooper asked John. "I had ones that were different from yours, so I wouldn't know."

"Oh, they were delicious!" Watson exclaimed back, grateful that Molly had been so kind to send them in the first place.

"Glad to hear!"

"So," Greg inputted, starting up a conversation since he could actually do such a thing, "where to as an opening to our shopping spree?"

"We might actually just chill out here today before we get started tomorrow," Sherlock stated, leaning back in the restaurant chair as if it was a lounging couch. "My parents are off figuring out their own business, so John and I are free to do whatever till September 1st."

September 1st. The early rouse on Monday morning came in a flash and John felt himself being shaken awake by his best friend. "Come on John. We've got to be out of here in fifteen minutes!"

"Are you kidding me?" the blond flipped out, a hint of grogginess still in his throat. He had a bed head, his sandy locks sticking out in all directions. "You couldn't have gotten me up earlier?"

Evidently he was dressed and out the door in ten minutes, grabbing a bagel and a blueberry muffin as a meal for breakfast. He'd done his best to flatten his hair with a comb, but it still stuck up in the back significantly. He didn't even have time to secure his transparent white shirt by threading the buttons through the holes, so it flew in the air behind him as the green tank top under covered his stomach. His khaki shorts molded to his legs to allow him to run, and he didn't halt until he huffed in the back of the van they were riding in on the way to King's Cross station.

When they arrived, bags and trunks were shuffled around hurriedly, and once everyone had the corresponding luggage they were off and dodging people in the building. The kids had a race with their carts except Mycroft, who refused to humiliate himself in a public facility. When citizens became close they slowed down to move around them, but as soon as an open area was exposed the four friends bolted once more.

"Ten minutes!" Lestrade yelled for each of them to comprehend, and Sherlock glanced up to check which platform they were on. 6, close to their ending place.

Sherlock scooted to a halt first at the invisible and imaginary finish line thanks to his long legs, and he surprised to turn around and find Molly stopping second. John took third and Greg came last, simply because he stopped trying altogether about halfway through.

But he was the first to run through the barrier between platforms nine and ten, speeding joyfully and hollering, "Geronimo!" which he got several stares from strangers for.

John decided to join in on the ridiculous humor. "For the Shire!" he awkwardly shouted, yelping out a random battle cry that was irrelevant to them beginning their second year at Hogwarts.

And what was the weirdest was that Molly followed as well. "I am the Mockingjay!"

"And I suppose I have to say something too," Sherlock assumed to himself, just as the adults pulled up behind him. But they had no time to ask what was going on before he sprinted towards the brick wall as well.

"The game is on!"

As usual, or at least it was normal for him, he passed right through the wall between platforms nine and ten, feeling not a single pang of pain as he was transferred to a hidden section of King's Cross. Tuning into the sounds of the noisy crowd, he grinned before spinning around to find the sign hanging above his head full of curls. Platform 9 ¾, Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry.

I'm finally going back. A spark lit in his chest as he became spastic inside. I'm going…home.

"Oi, dreamy." Greg had disturbed his moment of peace and motioned that they had to move on and grab a compartment before they were all taken.

Sherlock, John, Molly, and Lestrade went directly to the back of the steaming, scarlet engine to drop off their pets, except for Tasha, Molly's cat that planned to ride with them. The owls were a distraction last time, and so they were placed in the caboose with the rest of the hooting animals.

They pushed past blobs of wizards and students with their heavy trunks to get to a door entrance onto the train. As John was leading the way, the other three of his schoolmates crashed into one another when he stopped abruptly to stare down the long platform.

"What John?" Sherlock asked, somehow forcing himself to stand next to his trusty lion. "What's wrong?" he said, spotting the look etched on the kid's face.

When he didn't speak, Sherlock checked in the direction where the Gryffindor had his eyes locked on, and the Ravenclaw knew on instinct what was wrong.

Their Slytherin enemy, standing with Irene Adler mysteriously absent, was farther up the train station. But he was talking, having a casual interaction with a new human being they'd never seen before. A tall boy with a slightly less stocky build than John and sleek, dark brown hair that flipped over his skull from an off–center part, so dark it almost looked like tree bark.

"It's Moriarty," John said sullenly, pointing to the second year serpent who was dressed in a brand new black suit. Hair perfectly slicked back, he caught their eyes and smirked rudely as the shortest boy of the four friends finished his sentence unwillingly. "He's gone and got himself a bloody sidekick."