John didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t leave Sherlock alone like this, who knows what he might do in his anger, but then again he didn’t want to sound nosey, which would only push Sherlock away. He decided he had to comfort him, there was no other choice at the moment, he couldn’t leave Sherlock to his misery, he needed someone with him, and besides, Mycroft must be counting on him to do this. John sprinted off to the castle, not sure where he was going, but knowing that it had to excluded. There was nothing to go off of, no footprints or anything, but John had to take guesses. Somewhere secluded, easily accessed, only one place John could think of, a bathroom on one of the higher floors. Half of them had been shut down, no one ever went in them anymore, half of the hallways up there were never used anyway, just full of dusty old classrooms. John ran as fast as he could, sprinting up the steps to the sixth floor, one of the mostly unoccupied ones. He tried to listen, being as silent as he could, checking numerous bathrooms that obviously hadn’t been touched in years. They all still worked fine, but it wasn’t worth all of the work to keep them clean and stocked. One of the last bathrooms of that floor, one John always overlooked, and he would’ve this time too, if there wasn’t a trickle of water flooding out from under the wooden door. Sherlock must have been in there then. John opened the door, feeling more water splash over his shoes. He gasped, seeing the bathroom completely in ruins, like the forest, but much worse. The sinks were cracked and in shards on the floor, pipes now leading to nowhere sprayed water everywhere, the stalls were now only piles of broken wood in the corner, even some tiles from the walls were missing. In the center of it all was Sherlock, trying desperately to clean the makeup off of his face with an ancient looking paper towel. He was sitting on the floor, his robes wet and ripped, looking so helpless and destroyed John only wanted to give him a hug. At first he debated even telling Sherlock that he was here, in case he suddenly went rouge or something, cursing and yelling at John to leave him alone. Instead, John set his broom on one of the only dry patches of floor he could find and walked over to Sherlock, who had gone limp now. The only reason John knew he was alive was that his chest was rising and falling rapidly, as if he was fighting back tears. But judging by the streaks in the blush, he had lost that battle. John felt pipes spraying him as he kneeled down in front of Sherlock, who was staring at the ground, unable to look John in the eyes. Without a word, John took the paper towel and gently raised Sherlock’s chin, meeting his eyes for the first time. His eyes looked broken, past broken, destroyed, utterly destroyed. He was far past gone now, a hollow shell of a man that didn’t see any purpose of living anymore. John, trying to be as gentle as possible, raised the paper towel to Sherlock’s lips and rubbed away the lipstick, which was having more trouble coming off than John would’ve liked. He then moved to the blush, washing what he could away, and then the eye shadow. Sherlock’s face was only inches away from John’s, now rubbed clean and glowing red. His face had returned to pale, no more makeup, just the Sherlock John knew. And then a tear streamed down his face, staring John right in the eyes. Another tear appeared, and another, until Sherlock was silently crying, sitting on the floor of a destroyed bathroom. There was nothing John could say to make a difference; he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. John wanted to hug him, make him feel better, to know that he wanted him to be happy and that he didn’t deserve this type of torment. But he didn’t want to make this more awkward than he had to, Sherlock seemed the type to run away from any comfort than to actually accept it. Never the less, he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, holding his broken body to his, letting his tears spill onto his already soaking robes. He could feel Sherlock shaking with silent sobs, all of his emotions coming out, everything he’s held in, escaping at the touch of someone that cared. They staid like that for a while, a long while actually, John didn’t keep track of time but it went by a lot faster than he would’ve guessed. He didn’t know what to say, there wasn’t anything to say, the expressions of care were enough. Eventually though, John didn’t know how much time had passed, Sherlock started to stir, detangling himself from John’s arms and leaning back. The personal space was still limited, John stared into Sherlock’s eyes and Sherlock stared into John’s, and for a moment John thought he felt something more than care in his heart, something that he never would’ve guessed to spark in his heart for Sherlock Holmes no less. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but John shook his head slightly.
“It’s okay.” He assured. Sherlock exhaled deeply, as if the breath was the words he had wanted to say left him anyway. John got to his feet and held out a hand to help Sherlock up, who took it cautiously, as if John would drop into the puddles that now flooded the entire bathroom. Sherlock got to his feet shakily, looking around the bathroom as if he was ashamed of what he had done, which had to be his doing. John did his best to repair the pipes and clear the water off of the floor, deciding he’d come back to get the rest of the things, but right now the main thing he had to fix was Sherlock. He was waiting for John near the entrance, leaning on the wall, watching John work. He still looked horrible, like he’d never be properly happy again. When John had done the best he could, he waved his wand at Sherlock, and his robes instantly dried. He did the same to himself, feeling a lot better now that the water was gone, removing what felt like a hundred pounds. They walked silently down to the common rooms together, John didn’t know what to say and Sherlock hadn’t said a word since this morning, so John wasn’t expecting him to start describing his day. His broom, thankfully dry, was in his hand, twirling it back and forth nervously. When they got to the Ravenclaw common room, which John only found because he was following Sherlock, they stopped.
“Thank you John.” Sherlock muttered.
“Any time, don’t let those Slytherins get to your head, you’re one of the best people I’ve ever met.” John assured with a warm smile. Sherlock returned it, but his smile was fake, he was forcing himself to look happy, which hurt John even more. Then he turned to the eagle door knocker, answering it’s question and entering the common room. John sighed, watching the door, wondering if Sherlock would come back out or not. But when a group of giggling fourth year girls came, John decided he should leave, he didn’t want to make it look like he was stalking anyone. He walked alone down the steps and to the Gryffindor portrait hole, telling the Fat Lady the password and entering. There were a lot of people around, including Greg, sitting in an armchair and watching the portrait hole expectantly. When John came in, Greg looked very relieved.
“Where on Earth have you been?” Greg asked.
“Why, what time is it?”
“Almost two thirty, you missed lunch, I was just about to go looking for you!” Greg exclaimed.
“Sorry, I lost track of time.” John shrugged, setting his broom down on the floor and sinking into an armchair, staring into the fire.
“What happened?” Greg asked.
“Some Slytherins were bullying Sherlock, I had to step in and defend him, but he didn’t take it to lightly.” John sighed.
“Is he okay?”
“I hope so, no injuries but I’ve never seen him so, broken.” John shrugged.
“He’ll get over it eventually I guess. Did he cry?” Greg asked. John sort of thought that wasn’t his business, but he nodded.
“Oh, and please don’t tell Mycroft, Sherlock wouldn’t like it if his brother was pestering him about it.” John asked. Greg nodded, and John felt a little bit better about telling him. “How’d it go anyway?” John added.
“Great! We walked down by the lake, we talked about all sorts of cool stuff, and then we kissed again.” Greg said with happiness.
“Did you kiss him or…” John asked, leaving the rest of the question for Greg to figure out himself.
“Ya, I did, it was amazing.” Greg said with a sigh, sounding like a love sick teenage girl. John smiled, he was happy for him, he really was. But he couldn’t concentrate much, his mind was somewhere else, with Sherlock, who was buried under the covers of his bed, the curtains drawn, more tears streaming down his face. John couldn’t decide what was wrong with him, in the bathroom; there was a flare in his heart when he looked into Sherlock’s eyes. He didn’t know what it was, but it filled him with warmth and happiness, and a strange desire to stay there with Sherlock all day, to keep him wrapped in his arms and out of harm’s way. John sighed, the entrance of Sherlock into his life had mixed him all up, brought conflicts to him that he’d never faced before, and feelings that John just didn’t want right now.
“You must be starving.” Greg guessed. John shook his head, he wasn’t very hungry, but he was sure hunger would get to him eventually.
“I’ll make it.” John shrugged.
“Will Sherlock be at dinner?” Greg added.
“I doubt it, I wouldn’t think he would be anywhere near people all day.” John guessed.
“He must really be depressed.” Greg decided.
“Ya, he is, I don’t  know what I’m supposed to do though, but I know I should be doing something for him.” John sighed.
“Well bring him dinner if he’s not there, even though he hates people he has to be hungry.” Greg guessed. John nodded, that seemed like the right thing to do, but he’d never be able to get into the common room without help. He guessed he’d just cross that bridge when he came to it.

                When dinner came, as they guessed, Sherlock was absent, but the Slytherins were cracking up at their table, making more kissy faces at John. John didn’t care though, he was starving, and eating anything he could reach, completely ignoring the bullies at the other side of the Great Hall. Greg watched him in amazement as he started on his third full plate of food, which didn’t stand a chance. When John was finished he couldn’t eat another bite, but he gathered a bunch of chicken, potatoes, carrots, and bread in his bag and left for the Ravenclaw common room. Greg said his farewells at the staircases, and he went left and John kept going up until he found where they had been before. John approached the door, unsure if there was a password or not.
“Which came first, the phoenix or the egg?” the eagle door knocker asked. John thought about it, but there really wasn’t a correct answer.
“Uh, I don’t know, the egg? No, the phoenix, because of evolution or what not, but then again that would be the egg?” John was stumped. “I’m just here to bring food to a friend.” He added, hoping there would be an exception.
“No answer, no entry.” The door knocker said.
“But I gave you an answer!” John debated.
“It wasn’t correct.” The eagle pointed out. John groaned, now what was he supposed to do?
“Do you need to go in?” said a sweet voice behind him. John turned around to see Mary Morstan standing behind him, her blond hair rippling down her shoulders like waves of beauty. He tried to find his voice, desperately, he needed to answer her question, not just look like an idiot.
“Ya, um, I’ve got a friend up there who, um, missed dinner, I came to bring him food.” He answered very quickly. She gave him a confused look, but he showed her the food from inside her bag.
“Okay! Who’s your friend anyway?” she asked, approaching the door knocker. John moved out of the way to give her more space.
“Sherlock Holmes.” He said simply.
“Aw, he’s Mycroft’s little brother right? I heard he really didn’t have friends, it’s good that you’re looking out for him.” Mary said with a smile. John’s heart glowed, so much that he was worried Mary might be able to see, but she was too busy with the door knocker.
“Which came first, the phoenix or the egg?” the door knocker asked.
“Life goes in a circle, there is no start or end.” Mary said simply.
“Well stated.” The door knocker said, and with that there was a click of locks and the door swung open. The common room looked like the Gryffindor one in the front, a fire, some armchairs, and tables all around, except the leather was blue and white, the Ravenclaw colors. But in the back there was a big open window, looking over the grounds, and in front a spiraling staircase leading up to the dorms.
“He’s in sixth year right?” Mary asked.
“Ya.” John agreed.
“Okay, that would be the second to last one on your left.” She said with a smile.
“Thank you.” John said, and with that he made his way to the staircase. He could feel eyes watching him, sort of hoping they were Mary’s, but there was an entire house in this room. When he found the right door, he knocked quietly, wondering if Sherlock was awake or not.
“GO AWAY MYCROFT!” screamed Sherlock’s voice, and there was a loud bang on the door, as if he had thrown something. John cracked the door open and stuck his head in cautiously, and a blast of blue light made him pull away with a jump.
“I SAID GO AWAY!” Sherlock repeated.
“It’s not Mycroft, it’s John!” John called in, hoping that would make him calm down. There was a period of silence, obviously Sherlock processing what he had said.
“Come in.” he decided. John opened the door cautiously, noticing a black burn mark in the wall where his head had been previously. It was smoking slightly, which he decided would’ve hurt if it hadn’t ducked away.
“Sorry about that.” Sherlock said quickly. The room was just the same as the Gryffindor dorms, except the beds were blue and black instead of maroon and gold. All of the beds were empty except one, which had the curtains drawn around it, but Sherlock was poking his head through the gap.
“I ah, brought you food, thought you’d be hungry.” John said, approaching cautiously, as if Sherlock would attack him again.
“Thank god, I’m starving.” Sherlock agreed, tugging the curtains back to give space for John to sit down with him. John dug around in his bag and handed Sherlock the food, which he took gratefully. John sat next to him on the bed, watching him unfold the chicken from the napkin and attack it. John looked around, suddenly interested in anything but Sherlock. The dorms were messy, as they always were, but Sherlock’s side of the room was spotless. He had the last bed in the row, and all of his trunks and bags were stored neatly and out of sight. His bed side table had a neat stack of books, a particularly tall stack actually, and some quills and ink lying beside. It didn’t take long for Sherlock to finish his food, having eaten it faster than John had, but then he remembered Sherlock had skipped breakfast also.
“How are you?” John asked awkwardly, thinking that was a pretty self-explanatory question.
“Better, I guess.” Sherlock shrugged. “Mycroft keeps coming in here, trying to talk to me, I’ve just about had it with him, as you can see from the door.”
“Sorry about coming without notice but…”
“Don’t be sorry, you’ve done more for me than Mycroft ever has.” Sherlock pointed out.
“I doubt that.” John decided.
“Even though he’s known me longer, I’ve never been quite happy to see him.” Sherlock pointed out. John thought about that, does that mean Sherlock was happy to see him?
“Well, don’t let those Slytherins get to you okay? Their just liars and jerks, and I don’t believe them.” John assured. Sherlock sighed.
“They’re not liars John.” He said quietly.
“What do you mean?” John asked nervously.
“I have done things, bad things, when I can’t control my anger, I don’t know, things happen, more than I can control, I didn’t do anything to that bathroom except walk in it, the forest that was one thing, I watched it fall. Sometimes people get hurt.” Sherlock said so quietly that John had trouble hearing him.
“It’s okay Sherlock, I’m sure you didn’t mean it.” John assured.
“You don’t understand John, there used to be three of us!” Sherlock said, now louder. John stared at him, not quite sure he knew what he meant. “I had two brothers, one older than Mycroft, and one day the Slytherins really got to me, and he tried to comfort me, and… I didn’t mean to, but, now he’s gone.” Sherlock said, his voice dropping more and more. He started to shake, like he was going to cry again. John stared at him, he didn’t know what to do, he was now completely hopeless. What do you say after that, learning that Sherlock had killed his own brother? John’s heart broke for Sherlock, the pain that he must have gone through, the torment he still faced, it made John want to strangle each and every Slytherin that ever laid a hand on Sherlock that ever said one mean thing to him, they needed to pay.
“Sherlock, you didn’t mean it, it’s not your fault.” John assured, but he knew if he was in Sherlock’s position he’d be blaming himself too.
“If it wasn’t for me, he’d be here, if it wasn’t for me there wouldn’t be so much destruction, the world would be better off if I was never born!” Sherlock said loudly, making John jump.
“Sherlock that’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard, if it wasn’t for you, Greg would’ve never met Mycroft.” John pointed out.
“Oh good, some people are happy because of me, Mycroft doesn’t deserve him anyway.” Sherlock hissed.
“Come on Sherlock, when you grow up you’ll change the world! You’ll be some ministry worker or an auror, or a professor, even head master; you’re the smartest person I know!” John pointed out.
“Mycroft’s smarter.” Sherlock muttered.
“Sherlock Holmes you listen to me right now! You are a genius, a great person, you can play the violin, you’re plenty attractive, you can finish work that I couldn’t do in two hours in twenty minutes, you’re an amazing person and if you tell yourself otherwise you’re lying to yourself.” John exclaimed, trying to drill it into Sherlock’s skull to see himself like John did. Sherlock looked at John with thanks, the ghost of a smile on his face, looking at John as if he were the best thing in the entire world. He seemed to be fighting with himself internally, as if he was debating something with himself.
“Thank you John.” He said with a sigh.
“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true.” John assured. “And thank you, for trusting me enough to tell me, I won’t tell another soul.” Sherlock nodded gratefully, as if he had been nervous about John’s trustworthiness.  
“I’m glad I have you John, god knows where I’d be now.” Sherlock muttered.
“I will look after you, I promise, you don’t have to worry about those Slytherins anymore.” John assured.
“I’ll always have to worry about them, there’s no stopping them, they are just horrible people, and they hate me, they know what I did, and they think I’m some kind of monster.” Sherlock shrugged.
“But you’re not, I wish there was something I could do to prove it to you, but you’re not.” John assured. He looked at Sherlock, who looked at him back with his broken green eyes, beautiful like a dried rose. Sherlock’s entire complexion was beautiful, he was unlike anyone John had ever seen, and he knew any girl would be very lucky to have him. But Sherlock wasn’t the type to go dating, he made that clear last night.  But Sherlock would never look at himself like that, he looks in the mirror and sees a monster staring back at him, and in his head he thinks he has no reason to live, that the world would be better off without him, and John had never heard something so ridiculous. Their faces were at least a foot away, and their shoulders were almost touching, almost.
“Thank you for coming John.” Sherlock decided.
“Anytime. Will I see you tomorrow?” John asked.
“Maybe.” Sherlock shrugged. John nodded, looked at him once more, but Sherlock was back to looking at the floor, waiting for him to leave. John got up and walked back through the common room. He noticed Mary sitting with some of her friends, and when she looked over he gave her a friendly wave goodbye. She smiled and waved back, which made John’s heart melt as he walked through the door. The walk to the portrait hole was boring, there were barley any people in the halls other than him and a few ghosts, but he knew it was well before curfew. The conversation he had with Sherlock was very emotional, how one person can go through all that, he had no idea. Just the idea of being responsible for a family member’s death made John’s heart ache, even Harry, he’d be guilty for the rest of his life. But Sherlock had what, special powers? And when he was mad he has the destructive force of a small tornado? This boy was a mystery. When he got to the common room he was happy to see that Greg was alone, no Mycroft in sight.
“How is he?” Greg asked.
“Talking, so I guess that’s better.” John decided.
“What was he saying?”
“Nothing really.” John shrugged, yet another big lie.
“I feel bad for the kid, he really is good, he’s just very, odd.” Greg decided. He had no idea. John sat in an armchair, trying to calm his heart down from Mary’s dazzling smile, directed at him. But there seemed to be something else rooted into his heart, or someone else. He couldn’t help but cherish the eye contact he made with Sherlock, and every time they touched that shiver sent down his spine was very obvious. Did he have feelings for Sherlock? Or did he just feel bad for him? No, his heart belonged to Mary, he couldn’t have a crush on Sherlock, they had just met! And besides, John was pretty sire he wasn’t gay, although Greg had proven that it doesn’t really matter, as long as you like each other. John only felt bad for Sherlock, the poor boy has definitely had the worst life John had ever heard, and John was just happy to be the one person to actually bring out the happiness in him. John was never very good with people, but obviously he could make friends.
“You okay?” Greg asked, smacking John back into reality.
“What, oh, ya, fine, just thinking.” John said quickly, which wasn’t a lie.
“Well, since you’re thinking, do you know number three on the Charms homework?” Greg asked. After John helped Greg with his homework (he hadn’t gotten one or two also, he was planning on skipping them), John went up to the dorms, getting dressed for bed and collapsing under the covers. Homework and feelings really take a lot out of you. Still, John had all of Sunday to enjoy, even though his Saturday had been pretty hectic.