John and Sherlock had been friends since they met. At least, that's how John saw it. Sherlock was a little more reluctant ("I don't have friends" was one of his favorite phrases) but John knew that deep down, Sherlock cared about him.

He practically jumped onboard the Hogwarts Express as soon as he arrived at Platform 9 ¾, unable to wait to see Sherlock again. His Slytherin friend, was, as usual, one of the first students on the train. John quickly found him and settled into a seat.

"Hello John," Sherlock murmured, not taking his eyes off the book in front of him.

"Hey Sherlock. What're you reading?"

"A Muggle book about evolution. It's quite fascinating."

"Excellent. Enjoy your summer?"

"No, Mycroft was there," Sherlock sneered, curling his lip in distaste and bringing up his head to give John a once-over. "No girlfriend this summer? Good job, John, I admire your restraint. New dog. Your sister hasn't broken up with her girlfriend yet, unfortunately. Never liked that Clara, she's always getting in the way of my cases. You've been playing rugby- isn't that a little mundane for you? And all your homework is done. So, overall, you had a pleasant, productive summer and managed to get a rather dark tan as well. Swimming perhaps?"

"Yeah, the neighborhood pool needed people for the swim team. You're completely brilliant, honestly."

Sherlock offered him a small smile (more like a twitch of his lips, really) and turned his attention back to his book. "And you never cease to amaze me with your utter predictability."

John just smiled good-naturedly and sat back as the train rolled out of the station. They spent the next two or three hours in companionable silence, as they usually did, only speaking to obtain inordinate amounts of food from the trolley. Sherlock nibbled his way through a half dozen chocolate frogs, and John devoured a few cauldron cakes with the voraciousness that only a seventeen-year-old boy can have.

"You didn't go outside at all this summer, did you Sherlock?" John asked (or stated, really, since he already knew the answer) as they neared the now-familiar cottage that acted as a landmark for Hogwarts students. In the dying light of the sunset, the rough cobblestones cast soft shadows on the walls of the ancient little house. John smiled at it, knowing Hogwarts was only an hour away.

"Outside? Outside is boring, I had far too many experiments going to bother with going outside," Sherlock scoffed, setting aside his book and lazily propping his feet up on John's knee. "That Muggle chemistry set you got me was incredibly useful, by the way."

"You're welcome. I had a grand time explaining to my mum about the charmed jumpers. She wasn't amused, especially about the screaming one."

Sherlock chuckled softly. "That one's my favorite."

"It would be, wouldn't it?"

"Mm."

John contemplated Sherlock for a bit, raking his eyes over the soft black curls, the piercing silver eyes, the cheekbones that should have been illegal, the Cupid's bow lips, and the long, slender fingers that were steepled in thought against them. John lazily realized how attractive Sherlock was, but he mentally shrugged it away. Friends were allowed to think other friends were pretty.

"John."

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

John snapped his attention to Sherlock, detecting an odd tone in his voice that would be imperceptible to anyone else. "Of course."

"Why haven't you been dating anyone recently? It used to be girls right and left, and now…you haven't even taken an interest in anyone since January seventeenth of last school year."

"How do you know I didn't take an interest in anyone over the summer, even if I didn't end up dating them?"

"Because you would have dated them. No one just turns you down, you're far too good-looking and social for anyone to do that," Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes as though John's the biggest idiot he'd ever met. "Honestly, you do have a brain, don't you?"

"Shush, you know that I do. Otherwise you wouldn't be able to stand me." John had to hide a smile. Even when Sherlock was giving compliments, he couldn't help but throw in an insult.

"Correct. Answer my question."

"Dunno. When the right person comes along, I'll know, I guess. I think I realized that I was sort of wasting my time with all those girls who meant nothing to me."

"You said 'the right person.' Not 'the right girl,'" Sherlock observed sharply, tilting his head to study John curiously.

"I suppose I did," John said thoughtfully. "I guess I'm not averse to a relationship with a bloke. I've just never tried it, I guess."

"Interesting." Sherlock sounded like he was gathering data, as per usual. John could practically see him filing away the information.

"Why do you care, anyway?"

"I don't."

John smirked, hearing the unspoken words behind Sherlock's response. "I thought you didn't have friends."

"I don't. Just one," Sherlock muttered, crossing his arms and staring out the window. John grinned and gently tapped Sherlock's foot.

"Let me up, I have to change."

"Changing is boring."

"I'm boring. Up."

Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically and put his feet down on the seat next to John. The shorter boy got up and unlocked his trunk, taking out his folded clothes and setting them on the seat as he stripped off his shirt and pulled on the Hogwarts vest. Sherlock watched him, feeling his cheeks get a little warm. He quickly jerked his head to the side and looked out the window, willing the blush away from his face. John sat back down.

"Hey, am I going to have to give you all my notes at the last second for the NEWTs like I did for the OWLs?"

"Yes."

"Shouldn't you add a room or something in your mind palace for schoolwork?"

"Don't be dull, John. I have far more important things on my mind than grades." Sherlock finally looked John in the eye, exasperated.

"Of course you do. You have to change into your robes sometime, you know," He said amiably.

"I suppose." Sherlock didn't make any move to get up.

"Now, Sherlock."

"Very well. If only to quiet your incessant whining."

"Gee, thanks."

"Yes."

Sherlock rose, his dark curls brushing the luggage rack above their heads. He pulled down his trunk and rummaged through it, finally extracting his wrinkled Hogwarts robes and throwing them on the seat next to him.

"Honestly, do you fold anything?"

"No. That's Mrs. Hudson's job."

John grinned and pitched his voice higher in a creepily accurate impression of the old woman. "She's not your housekeeper, dear."

Sherlock awarded John with a genuine laugh, his deep voice rumbling through the compartment. "Turn around."

"We're all men here, Sherlock."

"I said turn around." Sherlock still sounded amused, but John could tell he was serious.

"Fine, I'm not looking." John turned his head towards the window, holding a hand over his eyes.

Sherlock glanced over to make sure that John really wasn't looking and changed as quickly as he could, straightening his tie and sitting back down.

"There."

John took his hands away, looking at Sherlock amusedly. "What was that?"

"That was privacy," The pale boy answered haughtily. "Perhaps you're unaware."

John rolled his eyes and dug through his bag again, searching for his maroon and gold tie. "If anything, you're the one who's unaware of privacy. I'm not even sure you know what personal space is."

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course I know what personal space is. I invade yours, don't I?"

John laughed. "Too often."

The compartment door slid open and they both looked up, Sherlock taking his feet down from their position on John's knee.

"Anderson, Donovan," John said civilly, nodding at them.

"Hey, Freak. Having a nice time invading some personal space?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Honestly, do you have anything better to do than eavesdrop on conversations between friends?"

Donovan gave a short, nasty laugh. "Yeah, like you have friends."

John smiled pleasantly. "Well, I am sitting right here."

Donovan shook her head. "Please. We all know you just want to get into his pants."

Sherlock actually laughed. "Oh, that was mature. Besides, we all know John's not gay."

Anderson rolled his eyes. "Sure."

"Don't talk out loud, Anderson. You lower the IQ of the entire train."

Anderson spluttered angrily, slamming the compartment door shut and walking off with Donovan in a huff. John burst out laughing.

"'We all know John's not gay?' Seriously?"

Sherlock smirked and examined a chocolate frog card. "Yes, seriously."

"You're mad," John laughed, shaking his head.

"So I've been told." Sherlock stood up and offered John a hand. "We're nearly there."

"I know, Sherlock. The train's slowing down."

"Yes, of course it is, John, don't be daft."

John sighed and took Sherlock's hand, pulling himself to his feet. "Thanks."

Sherlock said nothing, just tugged on John's hand as he impatiently lead him into the throngs of people in the corridor. The shorter of the two sighed and let Sherlock drag him along until they found themselves directly in front of a door. The train lurched to a stop, the soft glow of the lanterns on the platform seeping through the glass of the window.

"You're a beanpole, how on Earth do you manage to make everyone move aside for you?"

Sherlock smirked down at him. "It's a natural talent of mine."

John rolled his eyes as he was yanked about once again, this time onto the platform as the doors finally opened. He sighed with contentment as he breathed the familiar Scottish air, feeling at home after the long, stressful summer with his utter mess of a family. Before he even registered what was happening, Sherlock had shoved him into one of the carriages. The thestrals pawed at the ground and went tearing off, jolting their passengers every way imaginable. John was not sorry to climb out when the maniac vehicle pulled up at the base of Hogwarts' (frankly quite impressive) staircase. He and Sherlock practically sprinted inside, grateful for the warmth the castle had to offer.

"Must I sit at the Slytherin table? They're all boorish fools with no brains and too much ambition."

"I know, you complain my ear off about them every chance you get. Just for tonight, I promise."

"Please, John? It's our last year," Sherlock asked, giving John his best convincing look. John looked up at him for a moment, his resolve crumbling.

"Oh, what the hell. But you're answering all of the questions we get from the firsties, got it?"

"Yes." Sherlock said triumphantly, sweeping over to Gryffindor table. He hadn't exactly endeared himself to the maroon-and-gold clad students, but if their Quidditch captain was okay with the lanky Slytherin, so were they. Stanley Hopkins and their mutual acquaintance, Billy, slid aside on the bench to make room for the two of them. Hopkins greeted Sherlock eagerly; he had long been attempting to develop the deductive skills the taller boy possessed, but was frankly not smart enough to even come close. As Sherlock had put it, 'he has the logic capacity of a walnut, John. A butterfly could solve a case faster than him.'

Sherlock sighed and slid over on the bench, making room for John between himself and the annoyingly persistent ginger. Billy gave him a smile, which he didn't bother to return. He turned around and watched the Sorting, his bored mask betraying no emotion. John knew he just wanted it to end so they could talk freely. When the last kid (Zimmerman, David) was sorted into Hufflepuff, Sherlock sighed in relief. He tapped his foot through McGonagall's announcements.

"Oh thank god, I thought that would never end."

"It's the Sorting, Sherlock. It happens every year."

"Yes, and every year it's increasingly more dull."

"Shut up and eat something, you prat."

"Fine," Sherlock sulked, plucking a roll from the basket and gnawing on it half-heartedly. John loaded his own plate with food and started talking to the Gryffindors around him. Sherlock let his mind wander as the soft, warm lilt of conversation and the sensation of John at his side enveloped him. He had lied to John on the train; his summer had been terrible, but not because of Mycroft. Well, partly because of Mycroft. But mostly because he couldn't see John. Letters just weren't the same as actually being near him. Sherlock sighed and scooted closer to his friend. Already he could feel the boredom melting away.

He turned his head to study John. It wasn't like he wasn't aware that he was attracted to the younger boy. In fact, he was very much aware; he had been for a year or so now, but he didn't say anything. He valued John's friendship far too much. As long as he had the camaraderie that they shared at the present, though, it was enough. John must have been aware of his staring, because he turned around with an amused smirk.

"You alright there, Sherlock? We've been here half an hour and already you're thinking too hard."

The table around them erupted in good-natured giggles and John grinned. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Please, John. You know I can't just wave a magic wand and make my mind stop." His gray eyes twinkled in amusement at the irony of his own joke.

John laughed his deep, warm laugh that made the whole room brighter. "It's funny because you're only half-joking."

Sherlock smiled and returned to his roll, picking at the crust. Billy nudged him slightly, a knowing smile on his face. "You're head over heels, mate."

"No."

"Don't argue, I know you are."

Sherlock snorted dismissively. "I am not head over heels, as you put it. Romance is far down on my list of priorities."

"Please. You're totally in love."

"I am not."

"Whatever, Holmes."

Sherlock didn't even dignify that with a response, instead opting to turn up his nose at Billy and focus on John instead. Okay, so maybe he liked him. A little. But he was certainly not head over heels. What did Billy know, anyway? Nothing, that's what.

Great, now his mood was completely ruined. He huffed exasperatedly and reached for a Peppermint Humbug. Sentiment. Pff. Like he would be in love. That was for normal people like John.

He was roused from his brooding by John. "Eat this."

Sherlock eyed the tart on his plate suspiciously. "Why?"

"Because you need food, Sherlock. I know you're body's just a vessel, but your mind does actually need something to carry it around," John coaxed him gently.

"Fine. But only because I'm feeling nice."

"Well, thank you for gracing us with your superb capacity for kindness."

"You're most welcome, John."

He smiled at the good-natured, long-suffering sigh John gave him and ate a bite of the tart. He had to admit, eating wasn't as much of a hardship as he made it out to be.

Really, his complaints were just to annoy John.

Hopkins leaned over the table, looking down the row at Sherlock past John. "So, Sherlock-"

"No."

John poked him sharply in the ribs with a look that said, I know he's annoying, but throw him some scraps and try to be civil, will you? Sherlock rolled his eyes (it was a good thing he didn't have to wear contacts, because if he did they'd be long lost by now) and turned back to Stanley.

"Yes, sorry, what?" The impatience in his voice was barely concealed; it was apparently enough for John, however, given the distinct lack of rib-poking.

"Have you had any cases over the summer? I helped my dad with one, he's an Auror. He said I did great," he boasted, puffing out his chest. It was all Sherlock could do to bite down on the stinging comment he had been forming.

"I had a few," he answered shortly. "What was yours?"

"Well, there was this Muggle bloke who they thought had been murdered by a wizard, but it turns out it was poison. I saw the yellowish tinge on his lips and knew right away what happened."

Sherlock leaned down slightly to breathe in John's ear. "It wasn't poison. His father was just humoring him."

John had to fight his down his chuckle. Hopkins looked at Sherlock eagerly for approval. Sherlock nodded and turned back to his tart. I threw him some scraps and didn't correct him, the complete idiot. I probably deserve a medal, he thought rather pompously to himself. John caught his expression and looked amused, but didn't say anything.

Finally, they were dismissed and everyone went to their common rooms. John gasped and fished a pin out of his pocket.

"Cor, I forgot, I'm Head Boy."

"You forgot that you were Head Boy, John? Doesn't that say something about whether or not you really deserve-"

John cut him off by impatiently waving a hand in his face as he pinned the badge on.

"Sorry, Sherlock. Gotta run. See you in the morning, yeah?"

"Yes. Goodbye."

Sherlock sighed and leaned against the stone wall of the corridor as John went to guide the first years, a friendly smile on his face.

He didn't know how much longer he could take this.

This is a late birthday present for whovenclaw-holmes. I expect it'll be about 3-5 chapters long when it's finished. Thanks for reading, and I really do love reviews! (Seriously guys, I want to know how I did here. Please.)

~kandyblood