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utopia-in-atlantis-blog · 12 years ago

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Potterlock RP! Seventh Year - Johnlock

Stranger: (Oh, dear. Do you happen to have a prompt?)

You: (Well, I can always write one!)

Stranger: (Ah, that would be lovely. xx)

You: (Hm, Sherlock or John? House preference? Year?)

Stranger: (Erm, I don't mind which character I play. I usually have Sherlock in Slytherin and John in Gryffindor, but it's up to you which House you want to put them in! And 7th year?)

You: (It's fine, I'll put them in those house (I usually have John in Gryffindor, too.))

You: (All right, hang on, trying to find a nice idea.)

Stranger: (That's fine. Take your time!)

You: John was going to be cross with him again, Sherlock thought with a sigh, as he ran through the corridors of the Castle. It wasn't much the fact that he cared but the fact that his Gryffindor friend was usually grumpy when he was cross with him, and he found that extremely tedious. The past few days had been rather tiring, to say the least. The Seventh Year had spent three entire nights looking wandering in the Forbidden Forest and hadn't got any sleep since then. Of course, when John had asked him to come to the Quidditch field to give him some 'tricks' for the oncoming Match between Slytherins and Gryffindors, Sherlock hadn't taken lack of sleep into account. As a consequence, he had fallen asleep while reading a book in the Library, which meant that he was late. Extremely /late/. His friend was most likely still waiting for him outside, wearing his Quidditch uniform and would be pissed off.

Punctuality had never been his thing, anyway.

When he made it to the Field, Sherlock caught sight of his short friend and walked more quickly, pressing his lips together in a slight nervous gesture (but he was never nervous, of course!).

Stranger: The smaller boy just sat, hovering in the air on his broom, wondering why on earth he had even bothered to ask Sherlock for some help. He hadn't even known where the seventh-year had /been/ for the past three days, and he'd sent him an owl, asking him to come. He wondered /why/ he'd thought he would come anyway. After being gone for days, he was wondering whether the other was even alive or not. So he sat, swinging his feet, and looking up at the stars before catching sight of movement in the corner of his eye. He leaned forward slightly and flew down to Sherlock, crossing his arms as he hovered in mid-air. "You're an idiot," he said sharply, shaking his head. "You realise that dinner's over with? Where were you?"

You: Obviously he had been right about John's potential anger with him. "Library," the taller boy said with his low voice, staring at his friend with his pale grey eyes. "You shouldn't cross your arms across your chest in mid-hair. Even though your Quidditch skills are rather high, you could still fall by accident." The cold air outside made him shiver slightly and made him realise that he hadn't even bothered to bring his scarf when he'd rushed outside the Library. "I lost track of time, I didn't realise it was so late." Sherlock didn't really look sorry, but he genuinely didn't want John to sulk all week about this incident. He was never good with social 'stuffs', as the sandy-haired boy kept saying, and assiduity was certainly one of the last thing he worried about. "Had a good time?"

Stranger: "I guess so," John shrugged, grabbing the broom with one hand as the wind played with him, making him lose his balance slightly. "I beat my time, on the mile around the pitch. And Dimmo was out here for a while," he said, talking about the Gryffindor Dimmock, who was aspiring to become an Auror. John called him Dimmo, because nobody ever called him by his first name, and they were on pretty good terms. "He threw some Quaffles at me, and I practised for a bit. Not as fun. I'm exhausted now anyway." He looked at Sherlock and shrugged again. "You look cold. Did you eat dinner yet?"

You: "My presence wouldn't have added any more fun," Sherlock reasoned, shrugging a shoulder as he tightened his dress robe around himself. The boy thought about apologizing, but it was so unlike him that he couldn't bring himself to find a good reason to do so. Instead, he just acted like the good Holmes he was: he reasoned with cold logic and probably unnerved John even more. "Wasn't Lestrade supposed to come as well?" Gregory Lestrade was one of Sherlock and John' acquaintance. Well, John called him his friend, Sherlock didn't call him anything, but if there was one word he should chose for this boy, it would be 'Brave and patient'.

Stranger: "Yes, but he was with his...person? I don't know. He's dating /someone/, but I've no idea who. He's doing a pretty good job of keeping it a secret." He touched down to the ground and began to walk, waiting for Sherlock to follow before continuing along. "Come on, you idiot," he grumbled, shaking his head fondly, still a little bit cross with the other. "I'm pretty sure that the Great Hall is still open. Let's go get food." Sherlock often made him angry, which was no surprise. And John put up with it, the way he always did. Because he cared for Sherlock, he really did. And wasn't sure why he did at all.

You: Dating someone.. Interesting. Well, he didn't care, but it was quite rare to see Lestrade date someone. Unlike John, he wasn't that kind of guy who pretty much dated every girl in the school. Lestrade was always very quiet and secret about his 'romantic life', which was like Sherlock appreciated him, maybe. "Ah, John," He called the boy, not moving from his place when the other started to walk and head towards the Great Hall. "I wrote down Slytherin's weaknesses and tactics for the oncoming Match on this." He said, handing him a long parchment paper written with his handwriting. That paper was actually the main reason why he had gone to the library in the first place. Better than explaining the tactics, writing them down was always more efficient, though he had still planned to arrive on time back them.

Stranger: With a sigh, John stamped his broom on the ground as he turned. "Sherlock, come /on/. It's bloody cold out, and I'm not standing out here discussing Slytherin tactics with you. Get inside the castle, sit your pretty little arse down at the table, and eat something before I throttle you," he said sharply. "I am also hungry, because I was waiting for my best friend to get to the bloody pitch." He walked back to him, quickly, grabbing him by the wrist and tugging him along. "We can talk inside, once my fingers get feeling back into them."

You: Sherlock clenched his jaw immediately when he saw John's reaction. With a sharp move, he freed himself from the boy's grip stared at him coldly, fighting the urge to truly snap at him. He despised Quidditch, and all kind of sports, let it be Muggle or not. He had tried to make some effort, and collecting all the data about Slytherin's team had been extremely tedious. The only reason why the Slytherin had made an effort was because of John, and because he knew John cared about Quidditch. Hence, he needed to be interested in this to 'please him'. "I'm not hungry," He said coldly, turning over without even glancing at his friend before walking awat from him.

You: away*

Stranger: He gritted his teeth and clenched his hands into fists. "Sherlock!" he shouted, letting his broom fall (and then hover) above the ground. "You need to eat! Don't be a child! You haven't eaten in over three days, you've got to be starving." His tone softened slightly, shaking his head and holding his hands out imploringly. "Sherlock, just...come on. I haven't seen you in four days, I want to spend time with you. Can't you just...come with me? I just want to eat something and then talk when I'm warm. We don't even have to talk about Quidditch, I promise. Just... Please?"

You: Sherlock only stopped walking to mutter this: "My body is able to feel the physiological need to eat food without your assistance, John. Good night." Then, he turned over and started walking again. This was rather stupid, and he was quite aware of that himself, but three days spent in the Forest hadn't been extremely pleasant, especially those three days. Dealing with John's temper and stupidity was the very last thing he wanted to do and worry about. "Find Mary, she will be absolutely 'over-the-moon' to see you," he shouted from afar, clenching his jaw even more tightly at the mention of John's girlfriend.

Stranger: "You mean the girlfriend who..." John started to shout back, and then swore and decided to give it up as a bad job. "Whatever!" he shouted at the other, storming away into the castle, grumbling as he slid into a bench at the table and began filling a plate with food. He didn't need Sherlock to be happy. He didn't need Sherlock at all. And /clearly/, the other didn't need /him/.

You: Sherlock felt impossibly lonely - which was new. He wasn't used to it at all, since loneliness had been his only companion for a long, long time. Oddly enough, his mind had been illogical and irrational all day long. When he was on his own, he only sought for John's presence, and when he was with the short boy, he sought loneliness. The Slytherin boy decided to stay outside and sat by the Lake, deducing every single thing he knew about the creatures under-water. The stories told about them were mostly fascinating, but some sounds coming from the Forest kept distracting him and made him feel uncomfortable. He felt as though the events that had occurred three days earlier would happen again. Odd.

Stranger: "Oi, Watson!" came the shout from behind the sandy-haired boy, and he looked up from his potatoes and steak in surprise to see Dimmock walking up to him with a smile on his face.

"Oh, hey Dimmo," he smiled, trying to make his voice as bright as he could. "How're you, then?"

"I'm fine, but where's Holmes? You know, that Slytherin bloke that you're always following round? He's over by the lake, apparently. He's gonna freeze half to death."

John's expression went from worried to careless in an instant. "Well, I'm sure he'll be fine. He doesn't need me, I guess. He's probably fine."

You: Sherlock was indeed 'half freezing to death', but he had passed the point of caring. Besides, his body didn't really feel the cold biting through his nerves anymore. He hadn't moved a single inch since he'd sat by the lake and kept watching with an unfocused gaze at the movements of water in the said lake. His mind was focused on deleting things, every little things that troubled him, made him weak. Of course, what made him really weak was John, and though he had considered once or twice deleting every single information about the boy, Sherlock could never bring himself to do it. He /cared/ and /caring/ was affecting him day after day. Anyway, he could still try to delete other things, other unwanted useless variables. In fact, he was so focused on it that he didn't even realised that his body was shuddering.

Stranger: (ahhh hang on a sec)

You: (It's okay! :)))

Stranger: (Sorry, I was just trying to make dinner!)

You: (It's fine, don't worry! :P)

Stranger: "I'll talk to you in a bit, Dimmo. Sherlock hasn't come in yet; I've gotta go see if he's alright." John stood from the Gryffindor table and watched the food from his plate disappear as he left. God, Sherlock was such an idiot sometimes. He /knew/ he was going to freeze out there if he stayed out for too long, especially with the poor circulation in his too-long limbs. It had already begun to snow, and John could see his breath as he trudged through the snowflakes and bitter cold to the lake, just to see a cold-looking figure huddled up at the shore. "Sherlock," he said softly, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Are you alright? You've been out here for hours. It's /freezing/."

You: Sherlock heard and recognized John's footsteps immediately but didn't show any sign or even looked over his shoulder to look at the man. He only bothered to look up when the boy put his hand on his shoulder and started talking. "Perfectly fine," He replied with a steady voice, which was incredibly surprising seeing how frozen he was. When he lowered his gaze to look at his hand, Sherlock noted that his hands were almost blue from the cold and looked around to see the snow falling around. Hours. John had said hours. It felt like minutes, but at the same time, the feeling of loneliness had only grown inside him, which meant that he had spent a long time on his own.

Stranger: "Sherlock, come on. You need to get warm. I know you're not fine. Look at you..." He took Sherlock's hand and wrapped it between both of his, pulling him up and shaking his head. "I don't want you to freeze any more than I want you to get hurt. So let's go, please?" He gave Sherlock that look that he hated so much, the one that he swore that John was being childish with. "I can make you tea."

Stranger: (Sorry for the late reply...)

You: (You don't need to apologize, dear! I'm rather patient, and I can tell you that it's worth waiting. ;))

You: (Really, I mean, I'm so glad that I've found someone who actually sends replies that are longer than a sentence and a dialogue.)

Stranger: (Hurrah for real replies!)

You: Listening to John without even protesting, Sherlock let him pull him up and stared at him blankly, mentally slapping his face for looking so obvious at this moment. "I am, you know." He replied with a low tone, and a frown started to appear on his face. "Fine. I needed to... think." His mind seemed slow, as slow as the way he spoke, which was very strange. Almost soothing, but frustrating nonetheless. His body shivered even more violently and slowly, he realised that he was freezing and couldn't move his hands. The idiot.

Stranger: "Let's go," John said, shaking his head. "You great idiot, I don't want you to freeze." He kept a tight hold on Sherlock's hand as he led him into the school, leading him up the stairs and to the portrait, not letting go of his hand the entire time. "Flobberworm," he told the portrait firmly, and he led him through. There were a few Gryffindors who nodded their hellos to Sherlock, who knew him from being around John so much, and John waved to them as he led Sherlock up the stairs to his dormitory. "Here," he sighed, throwing a blanket at the other. "Let me find you some chocolate..."

You: Again, Sherlock didn't even comment the idiot part or snapped back, but just followed. There was something wrong, something... that almost scared him. Part of the shaking in his hand wasn't just due to the cold air... It was also his body betraying him. When they came inside the Common Room, the Slytherin didn't bother nodding back at John's housemates and opened his mouth to say something, but he soon realised that he couldn't. It was only when they arrive din the dormitory and when John threw a blanket at him that he managed to stammer something. Something in his tone looked broken, betrayed his fear. I'm afraid John. "J-John."

Stranger: John looked up from where he was rummaging in his trunk, a look of alarm in his face. "Sherlock?" he asked, surprise on his face. "Are you okay? You look..." He wasn't sure how to phrase it nicely, so he just sat down next to the taller boy and wrapped an arm around him gently, trying to warm him up. "You look horrid, actually." He wasn't sure what had happened out by the Lake, and it worried him that Sherlock was acting this way, so different from the way he normally acted.

You: Thoughts were rushing through his head, but at the same time, they seemed frozen, incoherent, frightening. "I can't think," He said simply, his eyes looking up to meet John's. His body tensed up slightly despite Sherlock when John wrapped an arm around him and there was nothing, absolutely nothing he could do to regain absolute control about everything. Oh, he should have deleted it all, he should have just given up and move on, but no, he had to try to understand and be stubborn all the time.

Stranger: "Hey, hey," John said gently, standing up and looking at Sherlock, putting his hands on his shoulders and leaning in to peer at him carefully. "It's okay. I've got you, alright? Just calm down." He leaned over, stroked a hand through Sherlock's hair, the way he always used to do with Harry when she was crying. "You're gonna be okay, Sherlock. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

You: The first reply that came to him was 'Everything', but it sounded so stupid and unrealistic that Sherlock didn't say it. "I spent three days in the Forbidden Forest," He eventually mumbled as he tried to focus on John's movements, the way his eyes blinked, widened when he was under stress or concentrated on an important task. I need to think, the Slytherin thought desperately, clinging onto the most obvious details to escape from the trap that his own mind had laid for him.

Stranger: John's expression turned from concerned to shocked. "That's where you were? You were in the Forbidden Forest?" He shook his head, sitting next to Sherlock and leaning against the bedpost so he could pull the taller boy to his chest and continue stroking his hair. He told himself he was just trying to warm him up, to calm him down, but all of this, all of it was for his own selfish desires. "Why? Couldn't you get out? What were you /doing/ out there?"

You: "I forgot," Sherlock said with a confused tone, forcing his body to relax in order to let John stroke his hair and pull him to his chest. It was good though. He managed to force his body to do that, which meant he had regained control somehow. Little, but it was /good/. "At first I forgot. It was wrong. There was something missing. Don't you see, John? Missing! Wrong memories, I had to remember the good one, delete the wrong. Delete. It's just so easy. I can delete anything, anyone, absolutely anything but this I cannot. And I can't delete you." No focus, he thought angrily, shaking his head to stop. "I wouldn't spend three days in the Forest without any purpose. Idiots, they thought I could forget but I didn't. It didn't make sense, my mind still doesn't make sense. Idiots," He repeated over and over again, until he grabbed John's shirt and buried his face in his chest, taking sharp but long breaths to calm down. "I'm afraid...3

You: "

Stranger: The sandy-haired boy looked at Sherlock with wide eyes, listening to him babble about deleting and forgetting and /him/, and he watched the expressions flit across his face (his beautifully expressive face) as he talked, and he kept on running his fingers through those gorgeous curls. And when Sherlock turned to bury his face in his chest, the sharp point of his noise just over John's heart, the smaller boy made a small noise as he felt something just under his ribcage shatter. Because he had never, never in his life, seen Sherlock like this. "Okay, Sherlock," he said softly, rocking him slightly now. "It's okay. There's no need to be afraid. I've got you. I've got you right here..."

You: Memory Charm. How could someone use a Memory Charm on /him/. They had to know that his mind would never rest as long as the memory gaps would still be there. Because of this Charm, he felt like his head was going to burst, that his thoughts would only make sense once he'd figured it all out ; but the power of this kind of Magic was always incredibly difficult to fight without real magic. His own magic couldn't help him with that. "It's a trap," He said softly, his grip on John's shirt tightening even more even though he realised that he no longer felt the need to stay away from his friend. Loneliness. They had done that to him too, he thought angrily, but tried to calm his inner fight down.

Stranger: (hang on another few minutes? just doing research...)

You: (Okay!)

Stranger: He had never felt quite so helpless in his entire life. "Okay, Sherlock. I know it hurts now, but..." He felt Sherlock's fingers tighten their death grip on his shirt and he could feel that crack in his sternum shift, and he tightened his arms around him. "I don't know what to say. I don't know how to fix this, Sherlock. I want to help, but I don't know what to do. I just don't... I /hate/ seeing you like this." He rubbed his thumb in small circles on the small of Sherlock's back, his other playing with the soft baby hairs at the nape of his neck. "You're alright for now. I'll keep you safe, okay? Nobody will hurt you when you're with me."

You: "Memory Charm, John!" Sherlock finally shouted, pulling back almost violently to stare at his friend with a frightening look. "Oh, not just Memory Charm. Just... False Memories. Me, false memories!" He almost laughed bitterly at that, and looked like a manic. "I can't get them back. Just let me get them back, John!" No matter how much he tried to select the events and guess which ones were true or wrong, he just couldn't do it. That's why he had considered deleting the whole thing. The doubt, the maddening feeling of being tricked, wrong, but that wouldn't be like him. /Think, think, think/ "I need to remember!"

Stranger: "Do, do you want to ask me about the memories, then?" John asked softly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "If you ask me what's real and what's not, I can tell you, if you want me to. You don't have to, of course, but I'd really like to help." He looked exhausted, he knew. Exhausted and worried and frightened, feeling almost sick with worry for the dark-haired boy who was staring at him with a maniac look in his eye. "Ask me anything. I'll answer with the truth. You can trust me." He shifted once Sherlock was out of his arms (and tried to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness that used to be the warmth of Sherlock in the circle of his arms) to settle himself so he was comfortable against the pillows. "Go on, then. I can help."

You: Asking about the memories. Oh, clever John, brilliant John, trustful John. /Focus!/ "Three days ago, we met in the Common Room... Your Common Room. You mentioned your dull girlfriend and then we..." A slight frowned appeared on his face but he went on. "Argued." Had they? Of course they had, it made sense... But no, John never said the word. Not the word. "I left, angry, I went to the Forbidden Forest to take a walk..." No sense. Doesn't make sense, why would he walk in the Forest without a purpose? He /needed/ a purpose! "I came back to the Castle, then went back to the Forest. I--" Again, he made eye contact with John and already knew that this was mostly a false memory. "This can't happen to me. Not my mind. Not /me/. I need my memories!"

Stranger: John reached out and took Sherlock's wrist in his hand, tracing patterns on the softest part of it. "The first part is true. We did fight about Mary. You were upset that I was spending too much time with her." He looked at Sherlock, pleadingly. "I need you to focus on me, alright? Focus. You never came back to the castle."

You: Well, that part did look true after all, Sherlock reasoned, somehow bitter and arrogant for a tiny second. "I wouldn't go to the Forest if I were angry. See? That doesn't make sense, John. Think, we need to think. How can I think with an altered mind?" With a sharp movement, he went to grab his hair and pulled at it roughly, letting out muffled cries as he felt impossibly frustrated and still a bit mad, somehow. "My mind would never let a Charm like this one stay. It's just consuming itself, trying to fill the gaps, the things that don't make sense. I'm becoming mad," he added, staring at his hands. "See? Body's betraying me. I'm still shaking violently even though you warmed me up. I'm just /weak/. How can you handle that daily?"

Stranger: John was quiet as he calmly took Sherlock's hands to prevent him from tugging at his hair like that again. "I don't know how I handle that," he told Sherlock honestly, making him fold his hands in his lap. "I understand that it's difficult, Sherlock. Keep asking me questions, and I'll help with your memory. You were gone for three days. If you say you were in the Forbidden Forest, then you need to think about anything weird about memories from the Forbidden Forest." He looked at Sherlock with wide eyes, unsure of what to do in a situation like this. "Just... Breathe, alright. Breathe with me, just calm down."

You: But he was calm, he was very, very calm and rational, Sherlock reasoned, and then realised that he wasn't calm at all and closed his eyes to breathe more slowly. "I don't remember anything weird about the Forest... Just wandering. I wouldn't /wander/," he snapped, gritting his teeth angrily and since he couldn't pull at his hair again, he decided to glare at his friend. "Just me wandering with nice little creatures around," /Wrong, wrong, WRONG! It was just wrong and stupid!/ The Slytherin noticed how helpless John looked while he was staring at him with wide eyes. He didn't know what to do either. /Brilliant./ "You didn't go looking for me while I was gone," Sherlock suddenly blurted out, his pale and intense gaze looking up at his friend.

Stranger: "I tried!" John shot back, frustrated. "I tried to go and look for you, but the professors said that your mum or someone came to get you for a few days. That's why I was so happy when you replied to my owl, because Sherlock, I was worried sick. Dimmo was wondering whether I was going to be okay." He trembled slightly as he wet his bottom lip and shook his head. "Keep talking. You'll work it out eventually. Talk out loud. Let me help."

You: "You didn't try e-" Sherlock cut himself immediately and then widened his eyes. "What did you just say?" He asked, putting his hands on the mattress and got closer out of the blue, his face only a few inches from John. He hadn't left the Castle... It was impossible, he had woken there, and didn't remember anything about his mother or someone getting him for a holiday. And an owl. "John, you are brilliant!" The man shouted, rested both of his hands on the man's shoulders and squeezed them tightly. "Details! I knew I was supposed to see you on the Field, look, I wrote down the tactics all day long. But I don't remember anything about an owl, and my mind was confused. Besides, I don't remember anyone getting me out of the Castle. We have something."

Stranger: (Hang on again! SOrry....)

Stranger: John's expression was distinctly confused as Sherlock squeezed him, as he shouted happily into his face. And Merlin, was his face so close. If he tilted his chin at a specific angle, he could kiss him, kiss him senseless. But he trembled instead, nodding his head. "That's brilliant, Sherlock. Do you want the letter I recieved back, so you can see if it's a handwriting that you recognise?"

You: Sherlock's breath caught in his throat when he noticed something different, something that made him forget about the rest for a tiny second. Less that a second, even, but still. John's look was odd... No, it was different, confused, which was understandable, but the confusion wasn't right. His eyes were looking down, and though it was something he usually did and that let Sherlock wondering for several hours about that strange behaviour, there was something even stranger about this. John was thinking, no-debating about something. With a deep frown, the boy ignored what his friend had told him and blurted out: "You want to kiss me."

Stranger: "What?!" John nearly shrieked, scrambling away from the other boy and tumbling backward off of the bed, his heart thudding in his chest and his whole body humming humming humming with the proximity of Sherlock. "NO! No, I... I don't..." He stared up at Sherlock from the floor and shook as he watched him. "No, I don't want to..." He knew his stammering wan't helping his case, or his flushed face, or how he was sure that his pulse could be seen jumping out of his jugular. "I can't," he finished softly, avoiding his eyes now, looking down at his lap.

You: If the circumstances had been different, Sherlock would have probably respond with something sarcastic or obvious, but now was not the time for such things. Sitting on the floor next to his friend, the Slytherin peered out at him and debated whether he had the right to take his hand to try to soothe him. After all, that was what friends did and John was his friend for sure. His only true friend. More than his friend, he was his John, his stupid Gryffindor John. "I wasn't judging you," Sherlock explained, pressing his lips together in a thin line before continuing. "I was merely stating. I... didn't want to scare you."

Stranger: "No, Sherlock, Sherlock," John breathed, standing up and slipping his hands so one was at the small of Sherlock's back and the other curled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He tried for a smile, and leaned closer, brushing his nose against Sherlock's. "I want to, Sherlock," he said softly, stroking down his neck. "God, I want to so badly." He brushed their noses together again, breathing in the smell of circle and the sweet taste of his breath, and leaned closer --

The door burst open and John scrambled away again, looking flushed and confused as Dimmock walked in, looking surprised and embarrassed. "Oh, John. I didn't know you'd... I can... Um..." He shifted from foot to foot, finding both equally uncomfortable. "I see you found Sherlock...?"

You: Sherlock stayed perfectly still as he gauged John's movements carefully. He noted that his own pulse increased when his friend leaned closer and still looked very much confused and surprised about his 'discovery' but he still didn't pull away from the boy. It felt peaceful... The closeness, and different. Good different, though. His mind was busy, working, collecting data and finally able to deduce things about his friends. But for once, his deductions didn't seem so interesting. It was all about the way John breathed through his parted lips, how his pupils were dilated and--

Of course, Sherlock didn't feel uncomfortable in the slightest when Dimmock walked in. He merely turned his cold gaze on the other boy and said out loud: "Obviously. I am neither a Ghost or a hallucination of yours, Dimmock."

Stranger: "Yeah, Dimmo, I found him. Can you just...?"

"Of course!" Dimmock said frantically, nodding, and ducked out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him. John curled up where he was seated, and buried his face in his hands. "Oh god, I'm so sorry, Sherlock. I don't know what I was thinking, I didn't..." He shook his head and chewed on his lip. "How about that letter?"

You: (ha, enter button)

You: Dimmock really was an awkward boy at times. Not entirely stupid... But not bright either, especially with situations that left John embarrassed. "You seemed to have lost interest in the letter earlier, so I didn't ask," Sherlock explained lamely, and didn't admit that for a moment (but not that long, right?... No, it wasn't like him.) he had been also very busy with... something else. "You said I'd be able to recognize who wrote it, but if I am not wrong, you would be able to recognize my handwriting easily, which means that I was the one who wrote it. Am I wrong?" He could think, he could finally think and this was somehow thanks to John and his unusual behaviour. Clearing his throat, Sherlock tentatively ran his hand in John's short hair and repeated the movement gently, his eyes carefully looking at the way his fingers brushed on his scalp.

Stranger: Oh. /Oh/. That was quite lovely, actually. Sherlock's long fingers in his hair made him close his eyes and hum something in the back of his throat. "Yes, it was your handwriting," he sighed quietly, and he refrained from straining up into Sherlock's touch like a bloody cat. "Of course it was yours, I would always recognise your handwriting..." He breathed out shakily, trying not to reveal just how much he loved this. "Anything else you want to know?" he asked, relaxing against Sherlock's touch.

You: He wanted to know about everything, but John didn't have the answer. How can you remove false memories? What happened to me in the Forbidden Forest? Did I really go to that Forest or was I taken somewhere else? Also, Sherlock wanted to understand how his presence could affect John so much. It didn't seem to bother him that much before... In fact, it was quite the opposite, especially when his girlfriend was close around. "Who did you say had come to get me for a few days? Come on, John, I know you can remember the name..." He almost urged him, grabbing his shoulders again, though this time he was gentler and looked into his friend's eyes again.

Stranger: "They told me it was your Mum," John said, slightly grumpy that Sherlock had stopped stroking his hair. "I don't know, Sherlock. I don't /know/!" He wanted to know exactly why Sherlock was looking at him like that, like he was his only hope, so /bloody/ close to him. "You were gone for three days, Sherlock, I was too worried to care!" He closed his eyes and scrubbed at his face, exhausted and weary and dying for sleep. "I don't know. Your mum, I just thought that they were telling me the truth..."

You: Sherlock gave him a sharp nod, and released him, noticing how John's body language changed when he stopped stroking his hair. Interesting. He tried to think about a way to recover his memories, his minds considering every single option he had. While he did that, he lifted his left hand up again and proceeded to stroke the boy's hair again. After all, the Gryffindor had done the same thing when he had had his own break down about the memory-gap. He could reciprocate. "I think they might have done something to me that would explain why they'd need me to forget about it." His fingers slowly moved on to brush John's temple and then his eyebrows, and then went back to his hair, repeatedly.

Stranger: John was very nearly purring. "Do you think they hurt you?" he asked quietly, his eyes closing again and his body going lax against Sherlock's. "They might have hurt you, and that's why they'd want you to forget it..." He smiled slightly, faint with Sherlock's fingers on his skin, and he couldn't help but arch his neck up to brush his nose against Sherlock's palm. "I can't think of anything else." He curled against Sherlock now, feeling the exhaustion staring to seep in. He could feel his muscles relaxing, his body becoming more warm.

You: Sherlock's attention quickly turned from John's words to the way he was snuggling closer to him and almost /melting/ under his touch, though he did not quite understand how one could /melt/ if they did not turned into liquid. Well. Physics. Though the fact that someone might have hurt him slowly sank in. It was a possibility indeed. Curses like the Cruciatus Curse left no traces if it hadn't been overused to the point of damaging the mind. Though his mind was slightly deranged, it was because it was too logical, too sharp and clever (yes) to be tricked by a poor False Memory Charm. It would always need an explanation. "Shall I leave you alone to allow you to sleep or stay?" He asked at some point, since he realised that John was falling asleep.

Stranger: "Please stay," John nearly pleaded, his words slurring slightly as unconsciousness tugged at him, bring him deeper into the current. He broke above the surface for only an instant to lift his hand and let his thumb fall into the hollow of Sherlock's neck, making a small noise as he fell asleep. His dreams were filled with Sherlock and Sherlock screaming, and the only indicators he gave of his nightmares were a furrowed brow and a frown on his face. "Mmph," he told Sherlock as he slept, his fingers slipping down his chest and twisting in his dress shirt. "No, S'hlock..."

You: Shifting to get more comfortable, Sherlock locked his eyes on John's face and watched him sleep, not even daring to move after that. The weather outside was terrible, and the Park was most likely completely covered with snow, and though he should have cared because it meant that (his) John wouldn't be able to attend to his next Quidditch practices, the raven-haired boy's mind was completely focused on something else. First of all, John was having a nightmare. Not only the frown on his face but also the rapid moves of his eyes behind his eyelids made that pretty obvious. Then, of course, he realised that it would be impossible for him to know the truth about his memories without someone with great skills to reverse the spell. It was almost like a no-way hand. No one would believe him. The Slytherin Freak who claimed to know everything. Ha.

When he heard John calling his name, Sherlock displayed true concern on his face and repeated the movement he'd made before the other had fallen asleep. He stroked his hair, face, even dared to press a kiss on his hair (which was a miracle in itself) to calm his friend down.

Stranger: (Ah, I have to go for the night since it's immensely late. Do you mind giving me your email so we can continue this? If you don't have one that's fine as well...)

You: (It's fine. I guess I should go as well (well, I tried to stay as long as possible. I've just loved this... :3 [email protected])

Stranger: (It's truly been fantastic! I can't wait to see where the RP is going to go. I'll e-mail you in the morning with my reply when I wake up. Is that alright?)

You: (Perfect! I might be a bit long to reply, you know... I think I won't exactly get up early (It's 4 am I_I))

Stranger: (Oh goodness! Sweetheart, get to bed! Thank you so much for a lovely RP, and I'll talk to you soon! /tucks you in and kisses your forehead)

You: (Lots of hugs! :3 and Thank /you/. Your John was amazing! And Good Lord, Dimmock made me laugh. See you tomorrow morning, then! :D)

Stranger: (OF course! Night/morning!)

#sherlock #johnlock #potterlock #johnlock rp #potterlock rp #Dimmock is a cockblock #John watson #sherlock holmes #Harry potter

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