He didn't see him in the Ravenclaw table, so he went outside the doors to find his friend sitting on the banister of the staircase, as if he was just relaxing there after a long hike down.
"You look comfortable." John observed. Sherlock smiled, jumping off the railing with grace. John would probably fall if he tried to do that, but he was a lot more graceful than a lot of the girls.
"Just waiting." Sherlock shrugged.
"Did you eat dinner?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock said simply.
"I'm serious Sherlock, that's really bad, you could die from not eating." John pointed out.
"I've lived like this all my life, stop complaining." Sherlock said, sounding bored, as if he'd heard this speech before.
"Just tell me it's not for your weight, not some extreme diet."
"It's not an extreme diet." Sherlock said simply. John looked at him suspiciously, but decided this was a topic for another time. He noticed that Sherlock wasn't wearing robes; he was wearing the purple shirt and black slacks as he had when John woke up in the hospital, plus a black jacket, and not a curl was out of place in his hair. John hoped that he hadn't prepared all fancy just for his sake, because really John didn't have very high expectations.
"Where's the room then?" John asked.
"Upstairs." Sherlock said obviously.
"Really?" John asked with sarcastic wonder. Sherlock just glared at him, staring up the stairs without waiting for John to catch up. When he finally had, Sherlock was already on the first landing.
"Which floor?" John asked.
"Sixth, near that now destroyed bathroom." Sherlock said.
"Did anyone even find that place?"
"I doubt it, there's a reason it's abandoned, and I doubt it's over population." Sherlock guessed. John really didn't think this was the time for sarcastic remarks, but he followed Sherlock all the way up the steps. John was catching his breath, the climb taking a lot out of him, but to his surprise Sherlock seemed unfazed.
"Just over here." Sherlock said, walking to one of the dusty doors. He tapped the lock with his wand, which clicked, allowing him to swing the door open easily. John wondered why anyone bother locking their doors anymore, students would just use the spell and open them right back up again, it was kind of pointless. The classroom was old and very dusty, even the floor had dust covering it. There were old desks and chairs stacked up near the opposite wall, but near the door there was an old looking record player. Unlike everything else though, this record player was clean and free of dust, as if someone had just moved it in.
"Is that yours?" John asked curiously.
"Yes, in fact, it's been passed down through my family for centuries; I thought it would work for this certain occasion." Sherlock said simply.
"Did you bring your violin?" John asked. Sherlock laughed.
"That is a horror for another time." He decided.
"I doubt horror is the right word for it." John decided. Sherlock just smiled, letting John enter the room and closing the door behind him. The windows were covered with dust, making the fading sunlight enter murky, and it made the room much more dark than it should be. Sherlock had lit some lamps though, strategically placing them around the room, and it felt like it was a dim room with a fire going in the corner. John stood near the corner, awkwardly awaiting orders. He set his bag down on the ground near the door so he didn't forget it, which would be a very easy task for him. Sherlock was putting the needle down on the music, and suddenly violin was playing, soft, sweet, and disturbingly romantic.
"I picked one that I thought would most likely be played at the dance." Sherlock explained, seeing the slightly scared look on John's face. John nodded, but still stayed in one place. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, the lamps flickered the light on his pale face, making him look slightly ghostly.
"Well don't be shy, you were the one that suggested this." Sherlock pointed out. John nodded, walking out to join him in the middle of the dusty floor. The record played soft and slow, making John immediately feel a lot more awkward than probably necessary.
"Well, not to crush your determination, but it would be a little bit disappointing if you came to the dance floor with Mary and you stood three feet apart." Sherlock pointed out with a small smile. John nodded, wondering why his legs must be as stubborn as turning to lead as he shuffled closer to Sherlock now they weren't even a foot away, and even though John was a head shorter than Sherlock he stretched his neck so he looked Sherlock in the eyes. It would be much better than just staring at his chin for the whole time.
"Okay, take my hand here." Sherlock instructed, holding his right hand out to the side. John did as he was told, immediately worrying that his hand was all sweaty for some reason. Sherlock's hand though, was extremely soft, which John found odd. His arm numbed for some reason, as if Sherlock's touch had made him extremely nervous. He felt Sherlock's hand get placed on his waist, which he couldn't be prepared for even though he knew it was coming. A shock went up his spine, but he had to copy to motion, very, very, awkwardly putting his hand as lightly as he could, as high as he could, on Sherlock's waist, which was more around his stomach area. Sherlock didn't seem to react, but he wouldn't look John in the eyes for some reason. John suspected this was just as awkward for him as it was for John, if not more.
"Okay, now just step to the side, left and then right." Sherlock instructed. Sherlock stepped out with his right foot, trailing with his left, pulling John along with him, who stumbled over his own feet and had to jump back to avoid falling into Sherlock.
"That was a great first try." Sherlock said, his voice very sarcastic.
"Sorry, sorry, just getting a hang of all of this, that's all." John explained. Sherlock stepped to the other side, and John followed, this time managing to copy his steps and not trip over himself.
"That was much better." Sherlock complemented.
"I'd hope so." John agreed. Sherlock smiled down on him, once again his eyes shone with admiration. It sort of made John want to get the appropriate space between them, but then again that wasn't an option unless he wanted to look like an idiot in front of Mary.
"Okay, to the left." Sherlock instructed. John obeyed, and they glided to the left of the room together. "Right." Sherlock said, moving the pair to the right.
"And now backwards, just move with me, small steps." Sherlock advised, moving backwards in a very graceful fashion, leaving John to stumble around to catch up.
"Let's not waddle." Sherlock advised. John muttered an apology, but Sherlock just laughed.
"Forward, so that means you move backwards this time." He said. John took slow steps backwards, scuffling on the dust floor and hoping he wouldn't trip.
"Well, I guess it could be worse." Sherlock shrugged. John took that as an insult. They worked on that for a little while until John could step forwards and backwards with a dancing partner with his eyes closed. Sherlock kept looking above his head, as if looking John in the eyes would somehow prevent him from dancing or something. John hated only looking at his chin, but he'd have to settle with it. As far as chins go, Sherlock's was still as flawless as the rest of him, without a spot of any pimples or discoloring, pale and smooth. John took a moment to realize he was examining Sherlock's chin, which was by far the weirdest thing he's caught himself thinking about. They worked on spinning, which was even worse for John, he had no coordination, he kept stepping on both his and Sherlock's feet, which wasn't much fun. Sherlock kept doing every single step perfectly, which John found far to do unless he's had years of experience.
"Have you ever danced with anyone before?" John asked suddenly, surprising himself. Sherlock looked down at him this time, looking his in the eyes.
"Never had anyone to dance with." He said honestly.
"Then how are you so good at it?" John asked.
"A little practice goes a long way."
"I bet I'm rubbish to dance with though." John guessed.
"It's a lot better than by myself." Sherlock admitted. John frowned slightly, hating to hear about what a lonely life Sherlock's had before.
"Well, one day you'll find someone to have your first dance with." John decided.
"But I'm dancing with you." Sherlock pointed out.
"I don't count." John shrugged. He wasn't prepared for the look on Sherlock's face when he said that, the look of sadness that he's never seen before. It wasn't personal sadness, it was sadness for someone else.
"John you count, you've always counted and you always will." Sherlock said, his voice completely definite, as if he was amazed to hear John actually say that. John suddenly realized that they'd stopped dancing, they were just standing in the middle of the room, staring intensely at each other.
"I didn't mean it like that; I just meant this doesn't count as a dance, dancing means with someone you like, like romantically." John explained. Sherlock sighed, as if there was so much he wanted to say but couldn't.
"I would count you anyway." Sherlock decided. John didn't know how to respond to that, so he just smiled at Sherlock, who was looking dead serious.
"Should we continue?" John asked after a moment of awkwardness, at least for him.
"Yes, I suppose we should." Sherlock agreed. They worked on spins until John was way too dizzy to do anything else, the room was spinning under his feet, Sherlock's face had a wave like effect to it, and John could feel himself stumbling around. Sherlock laughed, which looked a little bit odd with the spinning, but no less amazing.
"Good for now I guess, I hope this will work, I don't want to look like a total idiot in front of Mary." John decided with a small laughed.
"You won't look like an idiot; every girl in the ballroom will want to dance with you." Sherlock assured.
"Only because you taught me." John pointed out. Sherlock suddenly stepped back, letting go of John's waist and twirling him around, like the princes and princesses in movies. John laughed, the world spinning once again, and suddenly he was wrapped up in Sherlock's arm, the side of his head pressed against his chest, which was going up and down with Sherlock's deep breaths. He was smiling, and John felt a hand on his back as Sherlock dipped him down, making John slightly panic, but was thankful that he was a lot stronger than he looked.
"And there," Sherlock said, lifting John back onto his feet, "Is the one that will get Mary to never want to let you leave." The two parted their hands at their sides. The record had long since stopped playing, and now instead of dusty sunlight there was moonlight filtering in through the windows. The floor was now very clean, the dust had been pushed to the sides as their footfalls had lifted it away. The lamp light was fading, and the room was a lot darker than it had been before. Sherlock's brow was sparkling with sweat, and John was actually quite pleased with the exercise dancing brought, it actually felt like a workout. The moonlight reflected off of Sherlock's eyes, making them glow beautifully, his pale skin making him stand out in the darkness.
"Are you taking anyone then?" John asked.
"No, of course not." Sherlock said easily.
"Why not?"
"No one wants to dance with the school psychopath." Sherlock said with a laugh that hurt John's heart.
"You're not a psychopath, and I'm sure a ton of girls would go with you." John assured.
"What makes you think that, they all know me."
"Sherlock you've got to be kidding me right now, I'm positive if you went up to someone and asked them they'd say yes." John said.
"I doubt that." Sherlock said sadly, as if there was actually someone he wanted to ask. John still had a small suspicion that Sherlock had a crush on Mary, ever since John had told him that they were going together, he had been a lot more sad, and every time John brought up the ball and the dates he would look away. If it was true it made things a lot more awkward, so he didn't really want to ask. John wanted to tell Sherlock that he was an amazing person, that he was a lot more beautiful than plenty of girls, in a completely friend way of course. But John knew he'd just look at the floor and mumble that he didn't want John to lie for his sake. John found it so annoying that he couldn't accept the truth that he saw himself as a psychopath reject, it wasn't fair at all. John looked into his eyes, seeing stars sparkling in them, seeing the sun, natural beauty. His heart beat had increased by a lot, from all the dancing apparently.
"So, I guess we should head back, who knows what time it is." Sherlock decided.
"If Umbridge catches us again it's your fault this time!" John said with a bit of sarcasm, grabbing his bag from the corner, watching Sherlock take a small bag out of his pocket. John wondered what was in it, but then Sherlock stretched the bag opening to wide that it stretched over the record player, somehow fitting the entire thing in the tiny, pocket sized bag.
"Magic is so useful sometimes." Sherlock said with a smile.
"Obviously." John agreed. Sherlock opened the door, checking if the coast was clear, and slipping out silently.
"There's no one around, obviously we got carried away with time." Sherlock guessed. John followed him into the empty hallway, shutting the door behind him. The halls were darker at night, no light coming from the windows, and it looked much different when no one was wandering around and without noise seeping through the classroom doors. Thankfully John didn't see Filtch or Mrs. Norris creeping around, so they crept down the stairs, Sherlock in the lead. John followed, trying to keep his footsteps as silent as he could, in case there was anyone around listening. They made it to the fourth floor when Sherlock dropped to his knees, beckoning for John to do the same. John hid behind the banister on the stairs, straining his ears to listen to whoever was there.
"Somewhere around here my sweet." Filtch's horrible voice was evident from the floor below them, talking obviously to Mrs. Norris, his cat that was unsettlingly human. Sherlock looked at John in panic, Filtch was climbing the stairs now, their only hope was to make a run for it. John got up first, sprinting up the stairs, three at a time. They couldn't be caught again, especially now that Umbridge had a lot more power. To his surprise Sherlock was beating him, even though he had gotten a head start, Sherlock was a lot taller than he was.
"There they are!" Filtch's triumphant call came from somewhere below them, and John put on speed. They reached the floor, who knows which one, and took off down the corridor, John trying his best to catch up to Sherlock. His heart was pounding in his chest with fear; he could almost feel the pain of his scars on the back of his hand, reminding him of the consequences. Suddenly Sherlock stopped, tapping a doorknob and pulling John by the neck of his robes into what seemed to be a broom cupboard. Sherlock pulled the door closed behind him, ducking his head down since the ceiling was a lot lower than normal. John felt Sherlock cover his mouth with his hand, as if John would actually think about talking at a moment like this. Sherlock's head was bent over to about John's level, all John could do was stare into his eyes and hope that Filtch wouldn't think about a broom cupboard. Sherlock's cold hand was so soft against his lips, giving his heart a gigantic energy rush, pounding against his chest as if it were trying to escape. After a while of silence and actually getting a feel for his surroundings John also noted that he felt what had to be Sherlock's knuckles against his chest, the Ravenclaw still had hold of the neck of his robes. This caused an uncomfortable shiver to go down his spine, knowing how much the two were violating personal space rules.
"-couldn't have gone far, nowhere to hide up here." Filtch muttered almost to himself, but they could hear his voice from down the hall. Sherlock's eyes widened and he seemed to be holding his breath, both of them not daring to move a muscle. "There's no point hiding, I will find you!" Filtch called, as if that would convince them to jump out and give themselves up. John could almost hear Sherlock's terrified heart beat now. He heard footsteps outside the door, pausing.
"Maybe they got in here." He decided. John pressed himself closer to Sherlock, as if he would somehow turn them both invisible or something. Filch tried the door handle, but thankfully Sherlock had enough sense to lock it after they scrambled in. But that didn't seem to stop him, John heard the clanging of keys on a key ring, which was an odd sound for a wizard, why didn't he just use magic? Sherlock's faced paled even more, he looked terrified, which wasn't something that John thought he'd see. Sherlock seemed like one of those fearless people, but for some reason the idea of being caught by Filtch seemed to terrify him. The light from the keyhole suddenly went out and the sound of the lock clicking echoed through their minds, this was it. The handle turned...
"What was that?" Filtch asked suddenly. John held his breath, hoping and praying that he would decide that whatever was down the hall was more interesting than searching in the closet. The handle was released and they heard footsteps leaving, obviously he had decided to leave this investigation for whatever sound he had heard. John, who had been staring at the door for the last minute, turned his gaze to Sherlock, who was still looking at the door, obviously he didn't think that the situation was done yet since he didn't remove his hand from John's mouth. John was a little disappointed that he didn't trust him enough to not talk, because he wasn't that stupid. Sherlock turned his startling blue eyes on John, his eyes wide and his cupid bow lips slightly parted, as if wanting to say something but knowing enough not to make any noise. John exhaled, realizing that he had been holding his breath since Filtch had stopped to investigate. He suddenly realized that Sherlock smelled, amazing. Now that the immediate danger was gone he was able to take in his senses, and Sherlock smelled like hydrangeas and lilacs and fresh mowed grass, John's favorite scent, it meant spring. It was bazar to think that Sherlock could smell like that, because John would consider it his absolute best memory. Sherlock closed his eyes for some reason; John's best guess was that he was listening intensely, for any step, any breath that could belong to anyone behind the wooden door. Slowly Sherlock removed his hand from John's mouth, letting his hand slide down his lips and chin before settling back down by his side. John stared at him, trying to catch a breath, but unable to keep himself from losing it, and it had nothing to do with Filch.
"I know you're up here!" Filtch called, and Sherlock stopped moving. "I'll search all night, but I'll find you!" John was shocked that he wasn't waking up any of the students or even the portraits, who got very grumpy if anyone woke them up after curfew. Sherlock mouthed something to John, who tilted his head to show that he had no idea what he was saying.
"I'll sit right here, you have to come out soon enough!" Filch decided. Sherlock held his finger to his lips, but raised his wand and muttered something very quietly, pointing at the door. All of the sudden it seemed like there was no door there. John stepped back, feeling his foot come down on Sherlock's, but neither of them made a noise. Filch was sitting right outside the door on the other side of the hall, one loud noise they would easily give themselves away. What did this mean, could they not leave the closet, would someone be as kind as to create a diversion? But who would possibly know they needed help? The door returned to normal and Sherlock tapped it a couple more times with the wand, putting some type of enchantment on it, but John didn't know which one.
"Sound proof now." Sherlock said in a low voice. John nodded, but didn't dare to say anything, just in case there was something wrong with the enchantment. He really didn't have anything doubt in Sherlock, but he did have a very good fear of Flitch. He examined the room, it was very tight and the walls were cluttered with rubbish, buckets, brooms, and cleaning supplies. John supposed if they had to sleep there it would be reasonably possible, but absolutely positively 100% awkward. Sherlock looked at him again, as if asking him what he wanted to do.
"Well we can't go out there can we?" John muttered.
"No, if we open the door he'll see us immediately." Sherlock said simply.
"So..."
"Home sweet home apparently." Sherlock shrugged.
"Is it okay to move?" John asked.
"As long as you don't drop a lot and make too many vibrations." Sherlock decided.
"I'm beat, I need to sleep." John insisted.
"Well, get comfortable." Sherlock sighed. John looked at him funny, trying to tell him without saying it, but his hand was still on the neck of his robes, brushing up against his chest and creating a very awkward environment. Sherlock didn't seem to notice the situation. John sighed, trying to pick the right words.
"Ah, your hand?" John pointed out. Sherlock immediately glowed bright red, seeing the situation and taking his hand back to his side.
"So..sorry." Sherlock mumbled quickly. John walked over to the back of the small cupboard, moving a lot of the bottles and mops away and clearing a space big enough for two, if Sherlock did sleep, or if he was nocturnal, John had no reason to doubt either. He lay down on the hard floor, missing his comfy bed in the Gryffindor common room immensely. He could only wonder what Greg was thinking when he didn't come back, he just hoped he wasn't too worried. John tried to cradle his head in his arms and close his eyes, but there wasn't anything he could do to get comfortable. The floor was cold, and even though his robes were fairly thick the clod draft from the downward floors seeped through and chilled his bones. He curled into a tight ball, letting his head rest on the stone floor, straining his neck to reach all the way. John forced his eyes to shut, he couldn't sleep in these horrible conditions.
"Here." Sherlock's voice sounded a bit nervous, as if he was doing something he didn't normally do. John looked up to see Sherlock offering his black jacket to him. "Pillow, I guess." Sherlock shrugged. John smiled weakly, taking the jacket.
"Thank you." He said, and he really meant it. Sherlock didn't reply, he just sat down on a box of cleaning something or other and leaned his head back on the stone wall.
"Aren't you going to sleep?" John asked. Sherlock sighed.
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" he asked.
"Well you could always sleep on the floor, just the other way so your head is down here." John said, kicking the floor next to his feet.
"I'll be fine." Sherlock assured. John crumpled up the jacket and put his head on it, immediately thankful Sherlock had given it to him, it helped a lot, but it also smelled a lot like the spring scent Sherlock somehow obtained. It wasn't a very manly smell, so unless Sherlock had taken to perfume John was completely stumped about how he smelled so good. He didn't want to ask, which would immediately make everything weird, or at least weirder than it was now. John found it very difficult to fall asleep, but when he looked up at Sherlock his eyes were closed. It seemed to be a lot easier for him to fall asleep in such drastic conditions. John tried his best to fall asleep, and eventually, with all of his stubbornness, he managed.
A/N: I've got a new story up, a Hunger Games Johnlock fanfic so check it out if you want :)