The science behind Lycanthropy

and other carnal urges

A Sherlock/Harry Potter

Crossover

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Harry Potter or anything at all of value, please don't sue. I am poor.

Chapter one: The state of her knees

Sherlock was bored, and when Sherlock Holmes was bored it usually lead to trouble. The tall, dark haired boy let out an audible sigh as he fidgeted in his seat. His leg was bouncing under his table and more than a few students, and even the Professor gave him a dirty look. His fingers tapped rhythmically by his textbook, to Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Bored. His shockingly pale blue eyes scanned across the room fervently. Everyone here was dull, ordinary, and uninteresting. There was no one worth knowing.

He stopped his train of thought. There was one person. One person whom he would like to have had interaction with was one John H. Watson. First year he had wanted to introduce himself to the shorter blond boy. There was something about him, an assuredness that none of the other students seemed to share. It was obvious he had muggle parents. This world should have awed him, frightened him, but instead he took it all in with a serene sort of calm.

That was six years ago, however and Sherlock never did introduce himself. He had wound up in Slytherin and John, Gryffindor. At the time his older brother Mycroft was Head boy of Ravenclaw, and the disappointment that he wasn't sorted there as well was so blatantly evident even an eleven year old could see it.

Class was nearly over before John walked in. He was different this year. His normally kempt hair was sticking out in all directions. His eyes were dark from not sleeping, and just with a quick scan of the scene Sherlock could clearly see the way he was favouring one leg over the other with a slight limp in his step. His eyes scanned further noticing a slight tremor in his left hand, it was more then likely he had a wound of some sort on his shoulder. He had been attacked by something and recently. Between the beginning of summer holiday and before returning to Hogwarts. If Sherlock were willing to venture a guess he would say it happened barely after he had gotten home.

"Why thank you, Mr Watson, for showing up to my class at all." Professor McGonagall said dryly not turning to face him.

"S-sorry Ma'am." He stuttered slightly. Fighting hard for the words to come out. "I've been in the infirmary all morning."

"Yes, well, take a seat." Sherlock noted a slight change in her demeanor and tone. It was almost apologetic. John's normal group of friends didn't make eye contact with him and hadn't left a seat open for his eventual arrival.

That in itself was peculiar, normally they were as thick as thieves. Something was going on here. Suddenly Sherlock found himself not quite as bored as he'd been previously. His first day back was going better than expected. He noticed John take a quick scan across the room looking for an empty seat. His eyes landed on Sherlock who was still eying him like a slide under a microscope. Without a second glance he made his way over taking the available seat next to him. John nodded to him as a polite greeting. It must have been weird for him sitting so close to a Slytherin. It wouldn't be surprising if he believed in the old house rivalries. Sherlock was about to nod back in return when McGonagall signaled that it was time for class to be over.

A week or so had passed. In all Sherlock wound up having four classes with John Watson: Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark arts, and Charms who coincidentally ended up sitting next to him in everyone of those classes. Sherlock assumed it was because he always sat by himself, in the back of the class, away from everyone so he couldn't be bothered by all of their thinking. The mass amounts of stupidity gave him migraines.

"Morning." John greeted as he sat next to Sherlock for potions class. The bags under his eyes were amplified by how pale his normally tanned face was. Sherlock was momentarily taken off guard by the verbal greeting. There was a ghost of a smile on the blond boys face.

"Morning." Sherlock's calculating eyes scanned the other boy over. He had multiple scratches on his hands and arms and a thick white bandage over his neck. There weren't many student in the class yet and Professor Slughorn was reading the Daily prophet at his desk. "Rough transformation last night?" He lowered his voice so that those who were in the room couldn't hear.

"Wha-what?" John's eyes grew wide. The terror that another student was aware of his secret terrified him, "I d-don't know wh-what you're talking about. I got these scratches from care of magical creatures yesterday."

Sherlock leaned on his desk putting both his hands in front of his mouth as if in prayer, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "It's been clear from your demeanor since first day that something traumatic happened over summer holidays. You're walking with a limp, but yet when entering a room you don't automatically go for a seat to get off it, as if you've forgotten its hurting. So it must be psychosomatic, and your left hand suffers from tremors, leading me to believe that there was possible nerve damage from when you were attacked. From the way you wear your uniform I'm willing to bet you were scratched on your left shoulder, possibly even across the chest. You've been uncharacteristically quiet and have distanced yourself from your friends so it must be something you don't want them to know and are afraid that if they find out they wouldn't want anything to do with you anymore so you cut all ties before they could." He hadn't taken a breath during his analysis and was about to say more when John interrupted.

"You got all that from how I wear my clothes and how I walk?" His earlier panic dissipated and was replaced with awe.

Sherlock opened one of his eyes and peered in John's direction. "It's obvious isn't it? The first two buttons of your shirt are undone and your tie is barely around your neck. This is a drastic change, from the almost militant way you wore your uniform last year, and is surely caused by something that causes you great discomfort in your shoulder."

"That was... Amazing."

The taller boy quirked an eyebrow. This was not the usual reaction he got when dissecting someones life from a glance. "Yes I am, obviously, but that's not the normal reaction I get."

"Oh? What do people normally say?"

"... Piss off..."

John had an almost blank look on his face before his lips began to turn into a large smile. The first laugh came out as a giggle, then a chuckle and before he knew it he was out right laughing. Sherlock couldn't help but join in with the other boy. By now most of the students were in their seats, and looking at the two chuckling boys, confusion written clearly across there faces. It took them a few moments to compose themselves but soon Sherlock had his normal expressionless face back on. John, however, kept his grin.

They didn't speak again until class was over and most of the other students had filed out. "Sherlock." John spoke as if he were uncertain with what he would say next.

The curly haired boy turned to face him, waiting. "Yes?" His deep voice seemed to echo in the now empty dungeon class room.

"You won't tell anyone will you? About what I am?"

"Who would I tell? I don't talk to anybody."

John's face lit up and he extended his hand. "You can talk to me if you want." Sherlock looked at the shorter boys hand before grasping it in his own longer one in a firm handshake. "Brilliant!"

It had been a few days since John had first spoken to Sherlock. He didn't understand why it was so easy to talk to the cold, automaton-like person but it was nice. He hadn't really spoken to anyone since the incident, or rather he had no one to talk too. He didn't know what to say, and words had been failing him lately. He thought of his friends. He'd known them all for five years and knew for a fact that most of their reactions wouldn't be in his favor. He took a deep reflective breath in and exhaled it slowly as he made his way down to the Great Hall, slowly, limping as he walked.

The other day in potions class had been the first time he'd laughed in what seemed like ages. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and that some of the burden of his memories were evaporating. This must be what healing felt like. He was finally at the Great Hall, and looked mournfully at the Gryffindor table. He couldn't face them. His gaze then automatically drifted towards the Slytherin table. Sherlock sat at the very end as far away as possible from the rest of his house. He was scrunched over, furiously, writing notes of some kind not looking up.

John was amazed at how small Sherlock could make himself look. It was almost cat like the way his long, lithe body was folded over the table. The blond boy walked over to his curly haired classmate and cleared his throat, alerting him to his presence. Sherlock said nothing and kept writing, but did shoot a small glance in his direction to show he was listening. "Mind if I sit with you?" Sherlock stopped writing and looked up at him with an almost perplexed expression. "Do you?"

"No."

"Brilliant." John slid in beside him. Being near Sherlock gave him an odd calm feeling. He started filling his plate with toast and bacon. After he was attacked his appetite seemed to increase tenfold and he was always hungry. He grimaced as he chewed, he preferred his meat rare these days. He looked to Sherlock who was still hunched over, writing. "What are you working on?"

"A letter, I need some things sent from home."

John began filling his plate with eggs this time as the two boys sat in silence. He had to be on his fourth plate of food when he heard the distinct sound of a foot tapping impatiently behind him. The blond boy turned slowly looking at the pair of feet and brought his gaze to look up at the person who they belonged to. The dark skin of one Sally Donovan caught his eye as she stared daggers at him.

"So," She dragged the word out rather nastily, "You don't speak with us at all over Summer, you don't explain to us what happened to you over the holiday, and when you get back you tell us you don't want anything to do with any of us..." There was an unnerving amount of rage behind her calm facade. John looked behind her to see the rest of his friends. Sarah, Mike, Allen, Sean, Allison, and Zack were all looking at him. He could see the looks of confused dejection on their faces and he was genuinely hurt by the fact that he was the cause of it. "And yet here you are hanging out with... with this FREAK!" She thrust her finger out in Sherlock's direction.

Through out the exchange Sherlock hadn't looked up from his parchment or even acknowledged the group of people that had formed behind them. "He's not a freak!" John's usually calm exterior shattered into tiny fragments around him. Something dark was clawing at the surface trying to escape. He had slammed his hand down on the table and it formed into a tightly balled fist. "And if you think he's a freak then I'm definitely a freak..." He trailed off.

"Oh... John... you're not a..." Sarah started to say before Sally turned abruptly.

"Come on, we're leaving!"

"Yes, wouldn't want to keep Anderson waiting would you?" Sherlock's deep voice sliced through the thick tension as if it were melted butter.

The dark skinned girl spun quickly on her heel, staring daggers into the unnaturally pale boy. "What did you just say, freak?"

"I said 'yes, you wouldn't want to keep Anderson waiting'."

"Anderson? One of the Slytherin Quidditch players? What does he have to do with anything?" Mike asked, a confused look on his face.

"Take a look at the state of her knees." Sherlock sniffed the air, "And I'd recognize that ghastly cologne anywhere."

Everyone, even John turned to look at Sally's knees. He didn't get what Sherlock was on about, and by the looks of everyone else neither did they. John decided that he would take his word on it however after seeing the unbridled look of rage adorning Sally's face.

"This isn't over FREAK!" The curly haired Gryffindor stormed off leaving the rest behind.

"Well, we'll talk to you later John. Whenever you're ready." Sarah tried to smile at him, "and we're sorry for what Sally said about you Sherlock. It was wrong of her." The rest of them followed suit apologizing for their friends behavior but Sherlock was already back to his parchment, seemingly not hearing any of it.

A/N: Feedback is highly appreciated and all that jazz. Also this chapter may change as I am not entirely happy with it, but it will probably be only minor tweaks. Reviews are always welcomed, and I also don't mind criticism as long as its constructive. Hope you enjoyed.