sortinghat_logs | Iran or Iraq...?

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Iran or Iraq...?

Who: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson and Greg Lestrade.
Tone: Friendly...?
Rating: PG-13
When: 28th October
Where: Empty Classroom
What: In an attempt to get John out of his shell and to satisfy Sherlock's questions, Greg's decided to ~~play Mike Stamford and~~ introduce the two boys to each other.

[In retrospect, this plan of his was starting to look like a really, really bad idea. The concept was simple enough; Sherlock needed someone to explain the ways of the Muggle world to him, and John's better at words than he is. It'd be killing two birds in one stone, maybe even three if this got John to open up further to other people. And really, he did have the best intentions for the both of them. There shouldn't be any problems.

Except there were a million and one problems already.

Sherlock wasn't exactly the most...sensitive of people. And John's slight apprehension against pure-blood wizards might complicate matters when Sherlock starts throwing out the politically incorrect lingo. It probably didn't help that Sherlock was as stubborn as they come about sticking to what he knew so long as it couldn't be explained properly why exactly it was wrong, and Greg's not the best at doing that. Still, there was brilliance. A heaping good amount of it that Greg really admired. And maybe if John could explain things to him then things could change for the better.

Sherlock Holmes was a great man. Hopefully someday, he could be a good one. And who better to correct him and, perhaps in a way, guide him, than John, the boy who had helped Greg find a way to stand on his own two feet when he first started his journey into the wizarding world?

There were ulterior motives to be had too, though. Maybe he wanted Sherlock to meet John, not for the Ravenclaw's own benefit, but also for Greg's own curiosity. What had happened that night two years ago that changed John that much still remained a tight secret, and the longer it was around the deeper the chasm between the John and Greg grew. It would be a lie if he wasn't doing this for some of his own personal gain; he wanted to know what happened, so that he could know how to fix it and get John back.

With one hand on the handle, he looked back to John and offered a slight grin to reassure him.]

He's a bit of a strange one, but not too bad a bloke as pure-blood wizards go. He's just...sheltered, so some of the words he uses it's not because he's got anything on us. Don't take it to heart.

[That said, he pushed the door open.]

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[Sherlock had made himself comfortable on one of the desks, sitting on the table rather than the chair as he scribbled with his quill in a moleskein. His robes were thrown over the back of an empty chair leaving his thin frame unmasked, a jumble of hard angles from his cheekbones to his toes with hardly enough flesh to cover them. His school uniform was excellently tailored. He wore no tie but the Ravenclaw markings were still evident in the blue and bronze edging of his vest. If one possessed the ability to discern breeding in a man’s bearing then they could tell without a second glance that Sherlock was money and prestige. To the less observant the scarecrow stiffness was still in many ways intimidating.

Upon hearing the arrival of his expected company, Sherlock sat his moleskein down and turned a pale, hard stare towards the two figures. The one he knew: Gregory Lestrade. The other he raked his eyes over quickly--limp, sleepless, muggleborn, victim--before turning back to his things to collect them.]

I was right, you know.

[John had nodded at Greg's semi-warning as they entered the room. Although he'd had more than enough casual - and not so casual - Pureblood ignorance to last one lifetime, he was willing to be charitable since Greg was so insistent he meet this person. He hadn't behaved like a very good friend to Greg for a long while now, and he had to admit that the guilt of it sometimes gnawed at him deep down.

A small, sharp jab of self-consciousness hit the moment John saw the person waiting for them. He felt shabby in contrast to the tall, posh Ravenclaw. John's family was firmly on the lower end of middle-class even by Muggle standards; the only reason he had new robes for school at all was because he had no magical family members to provide hand-me-downs. As a result, he always had the cheapest robes available, and often ill-fitting ones at that. It was also quite obvious that the length of his sleeves and where the robe fell at his feet had been inexpertly hemmed to account for his less-than-imposing 5'5" frame. Such things rarely bothered him normally, as there were much bigger problems in the grand scheme of things, but for a moment he couldn't help feeling wildly outclassed.

John blinked in surprise at the unexpected statement, as it was far from a typical greeting. Unsure if it was he or Greg who was being spoken to, he decided to hazard a response anyway.

Er, right about what?

Your limp. The hand two I imagine. Understandable none the less.

[He smirked his practiced smile, the one he pulled on for pretending to care.]

You'll do, I suppose. I can't simply watch Lestrade practice Quiddich all day, after all.

[Well, that was off to a brilliant start. Greg had to suppress the urge to roll his eyebrows, choosing instead to clear his throat and introduce the two, but not without a low mutter of his own first.]

As if I wanted you to bloody watch me anyway.

Anyway, Sherlock, this is John Watson, he's a friend of mine. John, this is Sherlock Holmes. He's the Ravenclaw I told you about that's looking to learn more about Muggles.

[With his mouth clenched into something resembling a smile, John leaned closer to Greg and whispered through his teeth.]

You didn't tell me he was the stalker.

I'm sorry? I don't remember ever -

[Then it hits him.]

Oh my God, you're the bloke who was hoping girls would readily volunteer for you to stalk them.

And hold on, I'll do?

Well, you're a war victim which far exceeds my interest in the area of muggle studies but at least now you'll be able to report that my actions are honorable and necessary.

[John's hand, which had been quaking a fair bit for most of the day, went completely still as it tightly clenched the grip of his cane.]

How- [His voice broke slightly and he cleared his throat to cover it up.] How do you know about that?

Well, despite how ill-fitting your clothes are, it is still obvious that until recently you were perfectly healthy. Your posture and general build demonstrates muscles that were built with equal attention to the left and right--not more or less on either from the limitations of a bad limb. You don't want to talk about it, you were clear on that in our first conversation, so obviously the circumstances of the wound were far from your simple injury and the tired lines under your eyes suggests it was in fact a traumatic event--you haven't been sleeping well in quite some time. A traumatic wounding of a muggleborn within the past two years which has caused a psychosomatic limp and trust issues against purebloods? Death Eaters.

You were likely intended to die; you're not important enough to serve as a warning to others. The fact that you're alive means it was a rather vicious attack indeed. Not a simple Killer Curse. No, they tortured you. I wonder what made you so hated to be singled out from the crowd? Beat someone's child in Quiddich? Something personal again Hufflepuffs? Maybe it was just the look of you. You look soft... but your eyes are cold fire.

[He was standing perhaps closer than most would find comfortable, his gaze unwavering.]

[Maybe part of John was registering that this unbelievably sharp boy was standing strangely close, but he was too wrapped up in awe at the accuracy of what he was hearing. Everything John had kept close to his chest for over a year, festering, laid out by someone who was essentially an absolute stranger. He held the gaze.]

You can tell that... all of that, every bit of it, from just looking at me? You're... you're not even using legilimency.

Why would I care to use legilimency when everything I need I can look at you to see? People can guard themselves against legilimency. They can't guard themselves from me.

[Or any Holmes for that matter but that hardly mattered in current context.]

The Cruciatus Curse doesn’t cause physical damage. You’re well aware there’s nothing wrong with you. Oh, you might have strained a muscle in writhing but nothing that an icepack wouldn’t cure. Not that it makes it go away. Which makes you angry. That’s the fire. Anger. You’re livid.

[John's too shocked and impressed to think about how somebody should react to such a flagrant challenge to the walls they've built up around over the past year and beyond. So he just blurts the first thing that comes to his mind:]

That is absolutely bloody amazing.

[Sherlock blinks at him then turns his head slightly to hide a smile.]

Certainly not what the Ravenclaw's say.

Well, that's Ravenclaws for you. Probably aren't too keen on being read like a book when they're supposed to be the bookworms themselves.

What do they say?

[Oh, Sherlock likes this one.]

Piss off. Not an elegant bunch at four in the morning at any rate.

[Sherlock took a step back, producing his moleskein again.]

I suppose you two have things you need to be doing? Don't mind me; I'll hang back enough so as to not be too obvious.

Well, if we're talking about things that go on at four in the morning, I'll go ahead and grant them some frustration.

[John wasn't quite ready to simply be observed - partially because he knew the odds of Greg tearing into him for not talking about the Death Eater attack were pretty high.]

There is one thing I don't agree with, though. When you were describing me.

Oh?

[Sherlock's left brow arched.]

And what's that?

When you were trying to figure out why I was attacked. Yeah, I played Quidditch, but I was just the Seeker and just one who was decent on a good day. Not like I was in a position to give anyone a bruise. And you and I both know the only thing anyone has against Hufflepuffs are a bunch of dumb jokes.

I'm nothing remarkable. With some people, it's all about if they can do something - not if they should. Killing and torturing Muggleborns just happens to be a popular brand of 'something'.

[Sherlock nodded slightly]

You’re an interesting specimen, John Watson. You sound like a defeatist but your eyes say you’re a soldier.

[His blank expression morphed with a small smirk.]

I’m looking forward to observing you.

Alright, hold on, back up. I agreed to be observed... and be called a "specimen" of all things... when, exactly?

[Sherlock looks over at Greg... hrm.]

Gregory is allowing me to follow him as part of my documentation of observations on muggle behavior and interaction. He brought you as counterpart since you're muggleborn as well.

It's all perfectly scientitic. I won't share my notes with anyone so you can do and talk about whatever you like. Best to just pretent I'm not here, really.

[John shot Greg an expression that seemed to say something like "And how did you get roped into that?" before turning his attention back to Sherlock.]

Or, y'know, we could actually keep talking regularly instead of you watching me in silence like I'm some exotic bird and you're David Attenborough. Because you're a pretty interesting person and I actually enjoy talking to you, even if you are a bit... some word that may not exist in English yet.

We could do that.

[Sherlock may or may not have just snapped the tip off his quill. He stares at it rather like it might have done it on its own and tosses it over his shoulder since it’s no use to him anymore.]

That’s not very scientific. And it doesn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. I observe muggleborn behaviors as they interact with cultural wizards all the time. That doesn’t tell me how muggles act with each other. Though I am assuming you know full well I have no idea what a David Attenborough is. Interesting you put it into speech anyway. Is this how you tell your own in conversation? Drop cultural hints?

[John saw the weird bit with the quill, but - aside from raising an eyebrow at it - doesn't comment on it.]

First off: like I told you before, watching two Muggleborns talk really isn't the same as watching two Muggles talk. For instance, they wouldn't know anything about Quidditch and that's maybe 75% of everything Greg says.

And two: maybe, maybe not. I guess the only way you'll find out is if you talk to me like I'm an actual person.

Anthropology is a science, right? Think of it as fieldwork with the natives.

Anthropology is a muggle science. I prefer chemistry, to be perfectly honest. Studies in humanity are… a new concern.

[He flips through his notebook. It’s full of writing and dates. It’s obvious he’s been doing this for a while now. The front of the book says Vol. 12.]

… if I speak with you, you’ll explain your references?

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