"Where is he?" he demanded as they ran down the hall.

 "Near Transfiguration!" John said. For an older man, Dumbledore could run when he had to, nearly keeping up with a panicked John; it was a feat sometimes Greg couldn't accomplish. When they reached the corridor Sherlock was still in a ball on the floor, writhing and screaming with the pain of keeping his anger in. It was shocking how much a couple of snide remarks could do to him.

"Minerva stay back!" Dumbledore demanded, pushing McGonagall away and approaching the ball of robes that was Sherlock Holmes. McGonagall pulled John into a doorway, both of them watching nervously as Dumbledore got closer. The torch was now laying on the floor, the flames long since out and the iron pegs now impaled into the stone floor. How something like that managed to happen was beyond John.

"Sherlock I want you to listen to me now." Dumbledore said.

"John...!" Sherlock gasped, the only word that could come out of his mouth.

"Mr. Watson is safe for now, but I need to you focus on my voice. You can't let yourself lose control, you need to contain it, contain it long enough to at least get to the forbidden forest." Dumbledore assured. So Sherlock was supposed to go down there when he had instances like this?

"I can't, get John out!" Sherlock growled in a harsh whisper.

"Mr. Watson refuses to leave." Dumbledore pointed out. He hadn't clarified that with John, but it was true all the same.

"I can't do it!" Sherlock hissed. Dumbledore sighed, but now the entire corridor was shaking, he was losing control. The headmaster stepped away and started putting enchantments around Sherlock, making a sort of bluish circle around him, a force field of some kind.

"What's he doing?" John asked McGonagall.

"He's about to lose it." she whispered back. Dumbledore calmly continued the spell, as if this happened every day. John hated his calm, he should be nervous, scared of what Sherlock could do, but instead he was just flicking his wand with boredom. Now the blue enchantment was too thick to see through, but John heard a scream that sounded very much like Sherlock coming from it, making the entire thing flicker and the floor crack. The screaming continued and the crack was getting wider, the force field was starting to look a little bit weakened even though Dumbledore continued with the spell.

"Is he okay?" John asked in a nervous squeak, but McGonagall just shook her head.

"I can't be sure." She sighed. After about three minutes the screaming stopped, the force field puffed along happily and the crack, not wide enough to fit a thin person and long enough to stretch close to the hem of Dumbledore's cloak stopped growing.

"It's over." John muttered. "SHERLOCK!" he screamed, hoping he was still alive in the cocoon of destructive energy. He heard what sounded like a whimper from inside, and Dumbledore flicked his wand, vanishing the force field ever so slightly to see through it. Sherlock was lying inside, breathing heavily, his hair a mess and his robes all cut up, but he was alive. His skin was ghostly pale, abnormal even for him, and his forehead was shining with sweat. John ran up to the bubble, not caring what both professors thought, making eye contact with him through the blue surface.

"John, are you okay?" Sherlock asked in a defeated voice.

"I'm fine, are you?" John demanded.

"Step away Mr. Watson, when I release the shield I'm unsure what will happen." Dumbledore decided, making John go back to the doorway in which McGonagall was still cowering. Dumbledore flicked his wand, but the only thing that came out of the bubble was some steam and a foul odor. Sherlock was gasping for breath now, sitting right in the middle of the cracked floor. This time when John ran up he was able to kneel beside Sherlock and make sure he was okay, taking his hand once again and trying to ignore the fact that he was still shaking.

"You're okay?" Sherlock asked again.

"I'm fine." John assured.

"That's good." Sherlock muttered, his voice sounding far off.

"You did fine Sherlock, you're fine, it's okay." John said, now speaking in almost gibberish in his relief, not caring that two of the most important professors were looking on the scene.

"You're okay." Sherlock said again, not a question so much as clarifying to himself that John was okay.

"Yes, I am."

"John, I'm..." his head rolled to the floor, only the whites of his eyes showing.

 John jumped back in shock, now completely terrified that he was dead.

"What happened?!" he demanded.

"He's unconscious, not to worry, this is normal for especially big melt downs such as these." Dumbledore explained tucking his wand neatly into his robes. John made sure Sherlock was comfortable on the stone floor, putting his bag of books under his head and pushing the curly bangs off of his forehead.

"But he'll be okay, right?" John asked hopefully.

"I have to be honest in saying I don't know, that was an exceptionally big break down, I've never seen one to that extent before." Dumbledore admitted.

"Watson, what happened to cause it?" asked McGonagall, still not brave enough to leave the doorway.

"Moriarty and Moran of course, elbowing him and taunting him, somehow setting this off I guess." John muttered, looking down into Sherlock's pale, peaceful face. He looked relatively normal now, except for discoloration he could almost just be sleeping. There was no way that someone so innocent could cause all this destruction simply by getting a little worked up.

"So they do know." Dumbledore sighed.

"Watson, get back to your common room, it's past curfew, Mr. Holmes will be perfectly fine I assure you." McGonagall decided. John sighed, knowing that he would be forced to leave.

"Can't I stay with him?" he asked, getting to his feet nevertheless.

"No Mr. Watson, he needs to sleep tonight, and so do you, you have classes in the morning." Dumbledore pointed out. John sighed, not brave enough to ever argue with the headmaster.

"Good night then." John shrugged, leaving his bag with Sherlock as an excuse to come back to check on him. He walked to the Gryffindor common room, trying his best to avoid all the wreckage. The crack in the floor stretched all the way to the end of the hall, but he guessed that with a simple spell it could be fixed. When he got to the portrait hole it was about eleven o'clock but he was wide awake, stepping inside the nearly deserted common room. Greg was in one of the armchairs, nodding off on the side, when he was jerked awake by John's arrival.

"Where in the world have you been!" he demanded. John sighed.

"There was a fight, Sherlock's out cold." John shrugged.

"Ah, told you mate, the four of you in one room would never go down well." Greg pointed out.

"I'm fine, if you must know." John grumbled, sinking into an armchair and scowling at the fire. He couldn't get the image of poor Sherlock, writhing on the cold stone floor all alone, screaming as he blew an entire hallway to bits. John couldn't image that pain, the worry every day that Sherlock had to face. Was that power always radiating off of him or was it only when he was angry? Was he holding that back every second? John felt so bad for him.

"I'm beat; I'll see you in the morning." Greg decided, standing shakily up and wandering to the dorms.

"Night." John muttered, but he had no intentions of going to bed. His stomach was practically gone with worry about Sherlock, no one would be watching over him at this hour, Dumbledore and McGonagall should be long gone by now, it wouldn't be too much of a risk to sneak down there and make sure he was okay right? And he did have his bag, so if he was caught that would be his excuse. John looked around the dim common room, not seeing a single person sitting in one of the chairs, so he got to his feet, taking one last look around before slipping once again out into the hallway. There were no people around, and there shouldn't be, but he sneaked down the stairs to the second floor, where the hospital wing was. The halls were free of all the trouble catchers, Filtch, Mrs. Norris, and Peeves were all nowhere to be seen, giving him a clear route to his nighttime destination. When he got to the hospital wing he had to push open the oak doors slightly, just enough for him to silently slip through the crack, seeing the moonlight reflecting off of the only occupied bed. Sherlock was still out, his skin still pale but looking a little bit better. John walked up to him, looking around to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn't stalking about for trespassers. His bag was sitting on the floor near the bedside table, empty of cards and flowers of course.

"Hey Sherlock." He muttered, taking his cold hand in both of his, hoping that maybe it would warm him up artificially. He didn't answer, thank god, but somehow that made it easier to talk. He sighed, looking on his best/boyfriend with sadness. The poor boy, facing all of this, being the death of his own brother, who had been doing exactly what John had been trying to do. If the staff hadn't arrived John would surely be dead, which he didn't know how to react to. The normal person would be terrified now, never to go near Sherlock again, but John only wanted to be closer to him, to help him along and to make sure he didn't think he was alone in this world, facing it's evils with no support.

"Thought I'd see you here." said an old voice from the other corner. John whipped around, seeing Dumbledore sitting silently in a wooden chair, tucked secretively in a corner.

"Professor! I'm sorry, I came for my bag, sorry." John muttered.

"We both know that's not true Mr. Watson; there is nothing wrong with being worried about your friend." Dumbledore assured. John breathed easier now, knowing that he wouldn't be given yet another detention because of protecting Sherlock.

"He'll be okay right?" he asked, a question from earlier that evening, but he needed to be sure that Sherlock was indeed going to wake up.

"Yes, I believe so; there is nothing physically wrong with him." Dumbledore assured.

"But this is wizardry, that never means anything." John defended.

"Ah, once again logic proves me wrong, but yes, I guess there still could be something wrong with him that we are unaware of."

"What makes him do that, what's inside him?" John asked.

"Once again I cannot answer that, we are still unaware. But it seems to be triggered by anger or strong emotions." Dumbledore admitted.

"Is it something he can grow out of?" John asked hopefully.

"I'm afraid it will only get worse." Dumbledore said sadly. John sighed, looking down once again at the unconscious Sherlock. "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?" Dumbledore asked. John nodded, the words he never wanted to hear ever were about to be spoken. "For both of your safety, you need to let him go." Dumbledore suggested. John took heavy breaths, still holding Sherlock's hand tightly in his with no intentions of letting go.

"I can't." He muttered, which was true.

"If you stay with him you will be in danger, serious danger, and I'm afraid I can't let you be in that much of a risk." Dumbledore admitted.

"He'll be alone sir, completely alone." John muttered.

"He will have Mycroft to look after him."

"He hates Mycroft."

"No he doesn't, not really. He may get a little bit pushy, but they have a relationship like I have never seen before." Dumbledore pointed out.

"He needs me, I need him, this isn't fair." John muttered.

"But alas it is necessary." Dumbledore sighed.

"There has to be some other way, any way you can stop this. Teach me that shield spell, I could use that, I could get him to the dark forest whenever he needs help, I could be the best thing that ever happened to him." John debated.

"You already are John; I can tell by the way he acts around you. The only thing going through his mind when he was losing control was if you were safe, not whether he was safe, or the castle, usually he's screaming bloody murder for me to stop it somehow, but he only wanted to make sure you still lived. I believe you have made more of an impact on his life than you already know."

"Then why are you making me leave him, he doesn't deserve losing the only thing in the world that actually makes his life worth living!" John debated.

"I'm sorry Mr. Watson, I truly am, I know how it feels to have to leave a dear friend." Dumbledore admitted.

"Grindiwald?" John asked, not knowing why he would ever want to bring up Dumbledore's shaky past. But the Head master just nodded sadly, remembering his childhood friend that now lived in Azkaban for his crimes against the wizarding world.

"The difference is Mr. Watson, that Sherlock doesn't want to harm anyone and yet he does, stretching havoc to everyone who dares get close to him." Dumbledore pointed out.

"I'm sorry, but I won't leave him."

"I'm afraid I have to insist. Not only are you in danger of him, but Professor Umbridge will be after any trace of you and your friend's relationships."

"No, Greg and Mycroft, they're just friends." John lied, trying not to look Dumbledore directly in the eyes.

"Mr. Watson I may be old, but I am not blind." He sighed.

"Does Umbridge know about Sherlock?" John asked hopefully.

"No, she does not. Cornelius will have the school shut down if he knew Sherlock was still allowed in its walls." Dumbledore sighed. John sighed with relief, but it only meant more secrets to keep from the High Inquisitor. "Now you should go off to bed, grab your bag, say good bye to Sherlock, you are still allowed to be with him but I want no romantic attachments or any extremely close friendships." Dumbledore decided. John wanted to scream, cry, or start throwing spells at the useless old man sitting in the corner, telling John what he can and cannot do. But he just nodded, silently taking his bag and giving Sherlock's hand one final squeeze before leaving the room without a goodbye to the Head Master.