A/N: Alright! So! I hadn't planned on adding on to this fic, it was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I got so many positive reviews and follows on it that I thought I would continue. So, from time to time, expect a random one-shot from different times in our favorite consulting detective and army doctor's time in Hogwarts.

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or any of it's products/main ideas - that's all the writers Moffat and Gattis (evil as they are).

Please review and enjoy!

John stood in the doorway, mouth open in silent horror, watching his longtime friend shoot spells at his trunk. His trunk, John's one and only trunk. Sure, it was nowhere as expensive or well cared for as Sherlock's own, but it definitely did not need to have a yellow smiley face crudely painted on the side to be used as some kind of homemade target.

"Sherlock!" The yell was finally pulled from his lips as he realized the other sixteen-year-old was not going to stop regardless of whether John was standing in the doorway of their shared compartment or not.

The brunette did not respond.

"Sherlock!" This time, John marched into the train compartment, punctuating his shout with a quick toss of the candies he had just purchased onto the seat to his right. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Bored," came Sherlock's mumbled response, only pausing in his spell firing for a moment to glance tiredly at John, as if his predicament was obvious.

"Bored? We've only been on the train an hour!"

"Yes! And that has been an entire hour wasted! I could have been researching, or analyzing data, or deducing someone." And with that the sixth year perked up, quickly pocketing his wand and standing. "That's it John! I'll go and deduce some of the first years! They are always such fun!" And with that the brilliant boy was gone.

"No! Sherlock! Please don't scare the first years!" John called after him, leaning out of the compartment door. He knew it was hopeless. Once Sherlock had his mind set, there was no changing it back. So, instead, the blonde closed the door and moved over to where his trunk had been unceremoniously dropped to the floor and inspected the damage.

It wasn't as bad as last time; none of his clothes had been damaged. He muttered a few 'repairo'-s and stared unhappily at the faded markings that couldn't be fixed with magic. At least not John's magic, Sherlock could probably fix it without even blinking –talented arse that he was – but Sherlock was not known for his kind deeds, especially those done without a reward.

Sometimes John wondered how he hadn't ended up in Slytherin.

But there was that whole super-genius-who-can-tell-your-entire-life-story-in-a-glance thing he had going.

With a sigh, John heaved his somewhat repaired trunk back to where it belonged and sat heavily on the seat, pulling open one of the chocolate frogs he had purchased. As he scowled down at the small picture of Albus Dumbledore (seriously, was there anyone else on those cards?) the compartment door was pushed open with a loud slam. The Hufflepuff looked up, shocked, to see Sherlock being shoved into his seat by seventh year, Gregory Lestrade.

"He was tormenting the first years again," the older boy commented tiredly, "He makes my job as head boy so much more difficult, if you could," he sighed pinching the bridge of his nose, "If you could just keep him under control that would be excellent."

John gave his consent, and with a grateful nod, Lestrade was on his way.

The blonde turned back into the compartment after shutting the door and sighed heavily as he spotted Sherlock pouting on his side of the small room.

Oh, how wonderful.

"Graham can be such a pain." The brunette muttered quietly.

"It's Greg, and he's just doing his job." John sighed as he collapsed back into his seat. This was going to be a long train ride. And it was only half-way done.

"Where do you think Anderson's compartment is?" Sherlock asked out loud, though he was staring at the empty space far to the left of John's head, making it clear that he didn't want an answer. To further prove the point, the Ravenclaw stood suddenly and left the compartment.

"Sherlock! No!" John moaned, forcing himself out of his seat and following his much taller friend out of their compartment and down the train. The lanky boy barely paused outside each door, checking their occupants and searching for another Ravenclaw that he despised so much.

John had never known why Sherlock and Anderson hated each other so much, but their feud had begun before the blonde had even met the pair. Come to think of it, John barely even knew the sixteen-year-old; he had become friends with Sherlock, and was therefore obligated to ignore his other classmate. All he really knew about the bloke was that he was his friend's favorite intellectual punching bag.

"Sherlock," John whined, "We haven't even reached school yet, can't it wait?"

"Of course not, don't be silly, John. I have nothing better to do, so why put off the inevitable?" The brunette responded matter-of-factly. "Aha!" He had, apparently, reached the right compartment; as he slid open the door with a triumphant gleam in his eye. John groaned and rubbed a hand down his face.

A horrifying screech echoed out of the small room and down the train corridor as a livid Sally Donovan marched out of the compartment and straight towards her much taller classmate.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES, HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU NOT TO GO POKING ABOUT IN OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS?" She hollered at him, wand clenched so tightly in hand that her knuckles were turning white. Sherlock remained completely stoic – a move that only served to piss Donovan off even more.

"Sally, Sally, just because you had to settle for Phillip over here after your muggle crush dumped you over the summer does not mean that you can take your aggressions out on those around you," He smirked. Oh, not the smirk, he was going to get clobbered, for sure. Sally played beater on the Gryffindor quidditch team, one of the only successful female beaters in Hogwarts history.

Sherlock was screwed.

Though he didn't show it, he just stood there, totally calm, smirk chiseled seemingly permanently into his pale face. John covered his eyes as Sally drew her arm back, aiming for a punch.


Thank Merlin for head of schools. Lestrade walked confidently down the corridor, followed by a small witch who had her short brown hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Straight on from one problem to the next.

That was Molly Hooper. One of the smallest, most bothersome, and most annoyingly brilliant fourth years John had ever met. She was absolutely obsessed with Sherlock. After having met him three years ago during the first meal of the year she had followed him almost everywhere, constantly asking him questions and praising him for his deductions.

John didn't like her. That was his job.

And it didn't much help that he was battling his own feelings for the brunette while watching her paw all over him. He was surprised she hadn't slipped him a love potion yet.

"Donovan! Back to your compartment!" Greg snapped, knocking John out of his reverie and back in to the present.

"But! Lestrade! He started it! It's his fault!" Sally protested, stomping her foot childishly.

"I don't care who started it, I'm ending it. Back to your compartment, now!" With a glare at Sherlock and a huff of breath the sixth year witch stormed back into her compartment and slammed the door shut with a resounding snap.

"Sorry Greg, I'll get him back," John said hurriedly hoping to get his friend out of there before Molly could attack.

"I don't much care what you do with him, as long as he's not terrorizing someone he can do what he bloody well pleases." Lestrade grumbled and began to turn before stopping suddenly and swiveling back around with wide eyes, "Actually, no, forget I said that. Just please don't kill or harm any other passengers. Physically or mentally." He then nodded, satisfied, and left to return to his own compartment.

"Hiya, Sherlock!" Molly cooed as she stalked closer to the pair. Sherlock's eyes widened in partial shock, as if he had completely ignored her presence – which was quite likely.

"Well, Molly, it was nice talking to you but I'm quite busy and have several things that need to be done in my compartment," And with that he turned before he could see the fourth year's face drop and headed back towards the back of the train. "Come, John!"

The blonde flashed a quick smile at Molly before quickly following after Sherlock. Thank Merlin the train ride was almost over.

When he returned to the compartment he found the youngest Holmes sitting and carefully trying to hold a cauldron between his knees and pour flobberworm mucus into it; only managing to put a thick coat on John's candies as the train made a sharp turn.


A/N: I hope you liked it! I sure had a lot of fun writing it!

I just wanted to tell you all that I'm open to requests and love writing them. My best work is one-shots and I do almost all pairings in almost any fandom you can think of (Merlin, DW, Supernatural, Avengers, Harry Potter, etc.)