"You do know that love potions are illegal?" John asked after he took in the purple fumes lingering above the crowded workbench.

His crazy best friend occupied himself with the ingredients and couldn't be bothered to answer the obvious question. As far as John knew, he had catalogued everything there was to learn about potions into that big brain of his by their fourth year at Hogwarts. And they were in their seventh now.

The shorter boy had gotten used to being summoned just to fetch quills or parchment out of - or within! - reach of that irresistible egomaniac, but he still wondered what was going on this time.

"It's for an experiment," Sherlock cut him off before he even started to open his mouth again.

It was usual for Sherlock to test his hypotheses on some of the dunderheads of their generation - Anderson, for example. What did it say about John's state of mind that he didn't really flinch at the idea anymore?

He briefly pictured a dazed student following another one around, but as the antidote was brewing in the very next cauldron, he didn't worry about the moral consequences too much.

Like many times before, he settled on watching the genius troublemaker instead, who was cutting and stirring at the bench. The sight was mesmerizing: long fingers acting with precious care, robe billowing around lean form with every movement.

John was forced out of his reverie when Sherlock cast a glance at him and slowly, deliberately, lifted a hand to his own head. He plucked a piece of hair and dropped it into the cauldron.

John's interest in the project skyrocketed. He felt anger starting to build in his chest at the image of someone - someone else! - pining over his dark-haired companion. He kept picturing unpleasant scenes in his head. A disturbing amount of them ended with him drawing his wand either at the artificially infatuated victim or at the silver-eyed menace of his life.

Meanwhile Sherlock had finished and decanted the potion into a vial. He put it onto the table and several seconds later pushed it toward John.

John was thrown off-track.

"What? For me?" He tried to think. "Why? I don't need a love potion to..." He stumbled upon a halt.

By the time he'd fully realized what he'd said, Sherlock was striding over to his side of the table, with a smile a thousand times more radiant than the cheesy glitter of the brew.

/

'Result of experiment: spectacular,' Sherlock's mind registered, while his transport was busy minimizing the ever-so-superfluous distance between him and his new boyfriend.

A/N:

Betaed by fantastic The Lady of Purpletown, whose unbelievable helpfulness made my week. I've learned so much from her!