Chapter 4: The Midnight Duel

The Midnight Duel

John watched the rivalry grow between Harry and Draco Malfoy. Sherlock found the whole thing highly amusing and Malfoy ridiculous. John had to agree with him on that but couldn't help but feel that Malfoy's harmless teasing might turn in to something more sinister. One morning, they all got a notice, saying that Gryffindor would have a flying lesson with the Slytherins on Thursday afternoon.

'That's just what I needed; to make a fool out of myself in front of Malfoy. He already knows how to fly,' moaned Harry.

'He's all talk. I bet you anything that he doesn't know the handle from the tail,' said Ron confidently.

Quidditch, as it happened, was a source of great debate among the wizarding community. As in football, there were many different teams and nearly everyone supported one or the other. Ron had already had a heated argument with Dean Thomas, who they shared their dormitory with, about football. Ron couldn't see the point of a sport with only one ball and where no one was allowed to fly. Dean, however, disagreed and pointedly carried on putting up a poster of the West Ham football team, that Harry later caught Ron prodding, trying to make the players move. John privately agreed with Dean, as he himself followed football and even had an Arsenal FC scarf stashed in his trunk.

They made their way down to breakfast on Thursday morning, accompanied by a terrified Neville, who had never been allowed on a broom due to his chronic clumsiness, and Hermione, who was muttering flying tips nervously under her breath. Flying was not something you could learn from books, although she had tried incredibly hard to do so. Exasperatedly, they parked themselves at the Gryffindor table and helped themselves to toast and cereal, while trying to ignore the constant stream of unnerving facts and figures coming from Hermione. John glanced over at the Ravenclaw table, where Sherlock was taking a sip from his goblet and Castiel was looking around nervously. Sherlock finished his drink and stood up. He smoothed out the wrinkles in his robes and, much to John's surprise, strode over and sat next to John. All the students, except the Gryffindors, fell silent and turned to stare at him cross the room. John gaped, open mouthed, at him. This didn't seem to faze him at all and he grabbed a slice of toast, spreading a large amount of marmalade on it. Eventually everyone turned back to their breakfasts and gossiped with each other.

'Sherlock, what are you doing?' John said.

'Eating toast.'

John raised his eyebrows.

'The conversation is becoming so unbearably dull, especially with Mycroft sticking his beak in. It's much more interesting over here, where I can hear everything,' he explained.

Meanwhile, Castiel was getting many suspicious looks from his fellow Ravenclaws, so he abandoned his half-eaten banana and scuttled over to sit on Sherlock's other side. Most of the Gryffindors during all of this had not batted an eyelid at being joined by two Ravenclaw first-years, and one boy, sitting near the Weasley twins, had even looked up and grinned welcomingly before going back to his pie. Hermione didn't seem to have noticed them and was still lecturing those closest to her on wind speeds and directional changes on certain brands of broom. Fortunately she was interrupted by the morning post. The flurry of owls swopped in and Sherlock felt Castiel flinch violently beside him. Sherlock was hoping that, for Castiel's sake, that there were no explosive letters today, as he knew how much he was looking forward to their flying lesson that morning, although he knew that the chances of that were slim. The Ravenclaws had their flying lesson with the Hufflepuffs after breakfast. Castiel watched anxiously as an owl flapped in their direction. It turned out to be a package for Neville, which it dropped in his lap. He opened the letter attached to it excitedly.

'It's from Gran!' he exclaimed. He ripped open the package and pulled out a small glass ball filled with pearly white smoke. 'Oh wow! A Remembrall! Gran knows I always forget things. You squeeze it really hard and it turns red if-' his face fell as the smoke bloomed crimson, '-you've forgotten something.'

While Neville tried desperately to remember what he had forgotten, Castiel watched the last of the owls disappearing from the room. When the last one had gone he perked up considerably and even had a small bowl of porridge. Sherlock threw a suspicious glare at Lucy, who pretended not to notice. What was she up to? He stared in to the distance until he felt a gentle nudge.

'Come on, Sherlock. It's time to go,' Castiel smiled hopefully, causing Sherlock to stare in surprise. He'd never seen him smile before and it looked oddly unfamiliar on his usually solemn features. They all got up and walked to the Entrance Hall. Sherlock could already feel the dread bubbling up inside him. He had always hated flying. They stopped before the front door and said goodbye to the others.

'Have fun,' John grinned. 'Hope you have those five sickles, Sherlock.'

'Yeah, try not to crash into anything,' said Ron.

'Or anyone,' Harry added. Castiel's smile widened a little; Sherlock grunted distractedly. The Gryffindors headed off towards Transfiguration and Sherlock and Castiel pushed through the front door. Walking several steps behind the rest of the Ravenclaws, Sherlock observed Castiel curiously.

'Aren't you afraid?' he asked.

'Of what?'

'That something bad will happen.'

Castiel stopped and looked Sherlock dead in the face.

'Bad things happen all the time, Sherlock, it's best not to dwell on them.'

He walked off, leaving Sherlock slightly annoyed that he had raised more questions, so he stormed past the other Ravenclaws, regretting it as he was the first to arrive by the neat rows of broomsticks. He looked at the nearest one to him in disgust and waited for the rest of the class. The Ravenclaws rounded the corner, having been finally joined by the Hufflepuffs, and crowded by the brooms. Madam Hooch, a woman with spiky grey hair and hawk-like yellow eyes, marched up to them.

'Everyone stand by a broom, come on!'

Sherlock stood by the one closest to him and glared at it. It was an extremely old make, judging by the thickness of the handle and the state of the tail twigs. That made it unreliable. Fantastic.

'Put your right hand over the broom and say "UP!"'

The class shouted 'U!' Castiel's broom zoomed, a little reluctantly, in to his hand after the first try, while Sherlock's broom remained resolutely still.

'It can sense your fear,' Castiel said.

'I'm not afraid,' said Sherlock indignantly, grabbing his broom from next to his foot, where it had rolled grudgingly.

'Mount your brooms everyone! Now, when I blow my whistle, I want you to kick off from the ground, hard. Keep your broom steady, rise a few feet and then touch back down by leaning forward slightly. On my count- three…two…one.'

The whistle sounded and they all kicked off. Castiel soared upwards; relishing the free feeling that being in the air gave him. Sherlock hovered a few inches above the ground before touching back down again. He had never been comfortable on a broom and he swore he could feel this one trying to throw him off. The whistle sounded again.

'Everyone back down again,' Madam Hooch called. Everyone landed differently. Some landed heavily with a thud, others fell off their brooms altogether and a few, like Castiel, landed lightly and gracefully.

'Very good,' Madam Hooch smiled. 'A few of you could do with being a little more confident. Miss Bones, do try not to fall off your next time, same with you Miss Hooper. This time I want you to do the same thing, but once you're at an appropriate height, you will attempt a left turn by gently steering the handle with your right hand. Once again, on my whistle. Three…two…one.'

She blew her whistle again and they took off, somewhat more confidently this time. Sherlock again hovered just off the ground, he did attempt a left turn but stopped half way through, adamant that the broom was listing far too far to the right. He gripped his broom and watched the rest of the class slowly trying left turns, and Castiel zooming in excited little circles. Madam Hooch was distracted as Padma Patil somehow got stuck in mid-air, but something else caught Sherlock's eye. There was a window open on the fifth floor. He squinted at it. There was a wand poking out of it, and it was aiming straight at… Castiel! Madam Hooch was still preoccupied by Padma, he had to do something himself, but no spells came to mind. There was only one thing for it; he would have to pull Castiel out of the way and safely back down to the ground. He was still holding his broom in his hand and his heart quickened. Get on with it, Sherlock, no one else will do it for you. He pursed his lips determinedly and mounted his broom. He took a moment to take a deep breath and shot off as fast as the ancient broom would take him towards Castiel.

'Move!' he shouted at the broom, it wasn't taking him nearly fast enough. He got close enough to see Castiel spot the wand pointing at him and freeze in where he was. Sherlock reached out to pull him out of the way but just as his fingers brushed his robes and incredibly strong force knocked them both from their brooms. Sherlock felt weightless as they were pushed back but then gravity caught up and they both tumbled through the air. Sherlock's breath left his lungs and he watched helplessly as the ground came up to meet him. Castiel tried to grab at him but ended up hitting him hard in the face. He somersaulted and hit the ground, landing on his feet, sending shockwaves through his body and crippling his ankles. Falling back, he landed awkwardly on his arm and heard that crack too. Before he could register the pain from these injuries, Castiel's arm dug into him as he landed with a thump beside him. Before he passed out he heard several people scream.

When Sherlock woke, the first thing he became aware of was that he was lying down. His whole body felt numb. He was in a bed, he realised, and it was so comfortable he could just drift off again, but wait. Why was he here? And where exactly was here? He opened his eyes and looked at a plain white ceiling, registering the smell of potions and the quietness. The hospital wing seemed the most likely place he could be. He heard voices.

'I know you know who did this, Castiel,' a voice said sternly, 'and now one of your friends has gotten hurt. If you just tell someone then it'll all stop.'

'You know it'll only get worse, Gabriel,' Castiel's solemn voice replied.

'But if you just-'

'I can't.'

Suddenly pain flooded from Sherlock's ankles, his arm and his bruised eye, and he couldn't help a loud groan escaping his lips. Madam Pomfrey bustled over to them.

'Mr Edlund, it's time to go. I'll send your brother down as soon as I've fixed his rib,' she said.

'Thank you for taking care of them,' said Gabriel courteously before leaving the ward. Sherlock's ankles shot pain up his legs and he let out a high pitched wail that, if you were to ask him, he would deny he ever made.

'It's all right, Holmes, this will make the pain go away,' said Madam Pomfrey, pouring a potion into his mouth.

'Why can't you just fix them?' he moaned. 'I heard you can mend bones in seconds.'

Madam Pomfrey's stern expression softened at the look of intense pain on the young boy's face.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock, but your bones aren't just broken, they're crushed, so it's going to take some time to fix them. I'm going to fix Castiel's rib first so that I can give you all of my attention,' she explained. She moved away and Sherlock felt his pain ease a little. Castiel was sitting awkwardly on the bed next to him, holding his side.

'Ok, Castiel, this will only take a moment- I need you to lie flat on your back so I can get to that rib,' she instructed.

Castiel slowly lowered himself on to his back, hissing through his teeth as he jostled his broken rib. Another wave of pain hit Sherlock, even past the numbing effects of the potion, causing his vision to flicker and he whimpered piteously.

The moment Madam Pomfrey had finished healing Castiel, the door burst open.

'Where is he?' a familiar voice demanded.

'Mr Holmes, I really must insist that you leave. These boys have had quite a day already,' Madam Pomfrey frowned. Mycroft ignored her and strode right over to Castiel.

'Tell me, right now, who did this, and don't say it was an accident because your whole class saw you both blasted off your brooms,' he commanded.

'I don't know-'

'Don't lie to me.'

Castiel looked extremely upset.

'I can't-'

'It's no longer something you can keep to yourself because now it involves my little brother. Frankly I don't care if you're frightened-'

'Mycroft- aah!'

Sherlock had jumped up indignantly, momentarily forgetting about his ankles and falling to the floor. Mycroft hoisted himself back on to his bed.

'You see?' Mycroft shot at Castiel, whose chin wobbled.

'Mycroft…not…his fault,' Sherlock choked.

'Holmes, if you don't leave now, I will send for Professor Flitwick,' Madam Pomfrey fumed. Mycroft threw one last contemptuous look at Castiel before sweeping angrily out of the door. 'Wait there, Sherlock, I'll be back in a moment, I just need to get a potion.'

'I'm not exactly going anywhere, am I?' Sherlock grumbled.

'I am sorry that you got hurt,' Castiel sniffed. 'And I know you're afraid of flying, you didn't have to do that for me.'

'I didn't do it for you, I was getting fed up of going to class alone because you were in the hospital wing. And I am not afraid of flying,' he said, a little more harshly than he had intended but not enough to apologise. 'What time is it?'

'I don't know. I think it's almost dinner time. I'm grateful for what you did, although I'm still in the hospital wing,' he joked feebly.

'It could be worse. You could be me,' Sherlock snorted, nursing his injured arm. 'But could you get John for me? He lost our bet and owes me money,' he said, lips twitching.

'Really? What was the bet?'

'That I wouldn't fly properly.'

'Of course. I'll be as quick as I can.'

Before he left, Madam Pomfrey forced him to stay still as she bandaged a head wound that Sherlock had failed to notice before.

'Be careful, Castiel. Such accidents can still leave a person quite shaky,' she warned before he disappeared round the door.

'Brace yourself, Sherlock; this isn't going to be pretty. I'll start with the ankle that's not so damaged.'

Madam Pomfrey rolled up her sleeves, pulled on a pair of gloves and straightened out his legs carefully.

Castiel ran as fast as he could on his wobbly legs, Madam Pomfrey hadn't been wrong about that, to try and catch the Gryffindors at dinner. He reached them just as Malfoy was walking away, glaring haughtily as he went.

'What is a wizard's duel?' Harry asked Ron.

'A wizard's duel is where you- blimey! What happened to you?' Ron exclaimed, spotting the quivering Castiel, bandages and all. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. The shock of falling five floors had finally caught up with him and he fell to his knees. Fred and George jumped up and pulled up his small frame by his arms.

'Should you really be out of the hospital wing, mate?' asked Fred. Castiel tried desperately to find his feet, but was unsuccessful.

'I just came to…John,' he said breathlessly.

'What's wrong?' John said.

'Sherlock…'

'What about Sherlock? Is he hurt?' John questioned sharply, it appeared that the gossip had not reached his ears yet.

'I think we'd better get him back up to the hospital wing,' said George. Castiel's head was spinning by now, so he barely noticed when one of the twins lifted him off his feet and carried him back up to the hospital wing.

Sherlock was dipping in and out of consciousness when the door banged open. So far Madam Pomfrey had only fixed his left leg and the whole experience had been painful and exhausting. First of all she had rubbed a potion into his ankle. It stung and its effects were to relax the muscles around the injured area so that it was easier to access, although it hadn't helped with the pain at all. One thing that Sherlock hadn't realised, was that healing involved a lot of prodding with a wand and by the end of it, though he'd never admit it, tears were squeezing their way out of his eyes. He looked groggily around as Fred (or George) placed Castiel carefully on his bed.

'I did warn him, silly boy,' said Madam Pomfrey, tucking him in. He sleepily cuddled his coat that Gabriel must have brought up for him.

'Thanks for bringing him up, boys. You can go now,' she dismissed.

'What happened?' John asked Madam Pomfrey.

'They were in a broom crash. Fell from the fifth floor. Awful business, flying. I've had that Neville Longbottom in here today as well. Broken his wrists, though I suppose you knew that already. It is rare to see a crash this bad though. I'll be back in a moment.'

She bustled off again. John waited until she was gone and looked at Sherlock. He sat down on the end of the bed, moving Sherlock's leg a little, causing a muffled shriek to issue from behind Sherlock's teeth. John jumped up again and instead sat on a rickety chair next to the bed.

'You owe me five sickles,' Sherlock mumbled.

'You flew then?' John laughed.

'Right, a broom crash. Now tell me what really happened.'

'Whatever do you mean, John?' Sherlock said innocently.

'You've been moaning about how much you hate brooms all week. I highly doubt you suddenly changed your mind, and even if you did, you certainly wouldn't have gone all the way up to the fifth floor. So what actually happened?'

'We were attacked, well, Castiel was attacked.'

John gasped.

'By who?'

'I don't know, although I suspect Castiel probably does. I think it's the same person that's been sending him those letters.'

'So, Lucy then?'

'Possibly.'

'What exactly happened then?'

Sherlock explained, in detail, what happened. When he got to when he was falling, he stopped, thinking that John wouldn't appreciate hearing exactly how he hit the ground. John whistled incredulously.

'Wow. So two crushed ankles, a broken arm and a black eye.'

He looked both shocked and impressed. 'I suppose it could've been worse. Only you could seriously hurt yourself doing something you'd already refused to do.'

Just then Madam Pomfrey returned with another flask of the muscle relaxing potion.

'You should go back to your dormitory, Mr Watson, this isn't going to be pretty. Sherlock, this is the worse leg so bite down on this.'

She stuffed a rubber bit in his mouth. John looked fearful but stayed where he was.

'Mr Watson, if you're going to stay, make yourself useful and hold down his other leg.'

He hesitated and then firmly held Sherlock's healed leg. Madam Pomfrey pulled on her gloves again, gently pushed up the leg of Sherlock's robes and poured some sparkling blue potion into her hand, spreading it evenly over her fingertips. She sat down on a stool, rubbing her hands together.

'Ok, Sherlock, here we go.'

She picked up his leg by the ankle, he inhaled sharply. She began rubbing the swollen, bruised joint and small whimpers escaped past the rubber in Sherlock's mouth. Rubbing slightly harder to get to the whole joint, Sherlock started to lose control of his limbs. John held tightly on to his leg at least, but couldn't stop his good arm from tearing at the sheets, his robes and hair.

'You're doing really well, Sherlock. I'm almost done,' Madam Pomfrey said soothingly. She gave his leg one last squeeze and stood up, removing the potion stained gloves with her wand.

'We'll just give that a few minutes to take effect and then we'll start the repairing.'

She went over to check on Castiel, who had woken up at all the noise.

'Can you teach me to do that?' they heard him murmur.

'Well, I could certainly do with an assistant,' she whispered back. John realised that the rubber was still in Sherlock's mouth, so he carefully removed it for him.

'You don't… have to stay,' Sherlock gasped.

'Well, who else is going to make sure you don't injure someone,' John smiled.

'All right, get ready, Sherlock.'

Madam Pomfrey sat back down on her stool and pulled up his leg again. She examined it for a moment and then jabbed it with her wand. Sherlock squealed. Madam Pomfrey, seemingly satisfied, prodded in what seemed like random places on his ankle and foot. Finally, she was done.

'Well done, Sherlock. You're over the worst of it- now let me see that arm.'

She poked it just the once and the bones slid smoothly back in to place.

'For the next few weeks, I want you to wear support bandages on your ankles. You will be able to walk but take these crutches anyway-' she placed them beside his bed. '-so that if they start to ache, you can take the weight off them. If you put too much strain on them, the fractures could come apart again.'

She tightly bound his ankles and patted his shoulder.

'I'm going to keep you both overnight, so you'd best get a good night's sleep. Mr Watson, you should go back to Gryffindor Tower, it's after-hours.'

She went in to her office and blew out her candles.

'Don't let Percy catch you out of bed,' Sherlock chuckled, eyelids drooping.

'G'night, Sherlock,' John yawned. Sherlock had fallen asleep before he'd got out of the door.

Sherlock was dreaming. He was climbing an incredibly long ladder. It went on and on, up into the sky. He climbed until the sky went dark and then completely black, vaguely wondering how long it would take to get to the top. Then, the wind blew and rocked the ladder dangerously. Sherlock's heart jumped to his throat, he was an awfully long way up… perhaps he should climb down… no, he wanted to see what was at the top, so he kept on climbing as the wind grew stronger. Eventually it became a gale, howling and whistling, pushing and pulling the ladder at will. He couldn't move, couldn't hold on. His heart thumped and with a forceful blow, the wind finally tugged his fingers from the ladder. He was falling through the air… falling… falling… He jerked up in bed, getting an unappreciative throb from the bruise around his eye, gasping for breath. It took a moment for him to realise it had just been a dream. He slowed his breathing and wiggled his ankles. They ached and felt stiff. It was around midnight and Castiel was still asleep, presumably, so was Madam Pomfrey. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he realised that he'd been changed into pajamas while he was asleep and he decided to go for a walk, in an attempt to ease some of the stiffness in his legs. He lost track of where he was going and he just kept walking, but eventually found himself staring at the portrait of the Fat Lady, which he knew to be concealing the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, only the Fat Lady wasn't there. She'd probably gone on a night time-visit. He was about to go back to the hospital wing when the portrait swung open. Harry, Ron and John clambered out, closely followed by Hermione Granger, hissing,

'Don't you care about Gryffindor? I don't want to see them win the House Cup-'

'Sherlock!' John cut her off. 'What are you doing out here?'

'I went for a walk. What are you doing out here?'

'They're going to duel Draco Malfoy,' Hermione sniffed, 'and I, for one, am not going to-'

She had turned to go back inside but found the Fat Lady's portrait empty.

'What am I supposed to do now?' she shrieked.

'That's your problem,' said Ron, 'come on, we're going to be late.'

Sherlock smiled. After today, this was something he'd like to see.

'I'm coming with you,' said Hermione.

'You are not!'

'I'm not just going to sit here and wait for Filch to catch me-'

'Shut up! I hear something!' Harry whispered. There was a strange sort of snuffling. Sherlock squinted through the darkness.

'Neville?' he breathed. He wondered how he'd missed the boy asleep on the floor. Ron jabbed him in the side with his foot and he snorted loudly.

'Ron? Oh thank goodness you found me!' he grinned in relief and climbed to his feet. 'Oh, Sherlock. I saw you in the hospital wing earlier, you looked pretty mashed up. Are you all right?'

'Yes, I'm fine,' he replied, shuffling his feet.

'Why are you out here?' John asked Neville.

'I came back from the hospital wing but I couldn't remember the password. I waited for someone to come, but no one did,' he said sadly.

'The password's "pig snout" but it won't do you any good now, the Fat Lady's gone for a stroll. Listen, we have to go. See you, Neville,' said Ron.

'No, you can't leave me! What if Filch comes? Or someone else? The Bloody Baron's already been past twice!'

Ron glared at Hermione as if it were somehow her fault and John tapped his foot impatiently.

'If either of you get us caught, I'll learn exactly how to do the Curse of the Bogies and use it on you.'

Sherlock, having already learned that curse, thought this would be highly amusing.

Harry and Ron lead the way, followed by Neville and Hermione. John fell back to walk beside Sherlock.

'Where are we going?' Sherlock asked him quietly.

'The trophy room. Are you sure you don't want to go back to bed?' he asked concernedly.

'I'll be fine, John, I want to see what happens for myself.'

They sneaked around, padding along lightly, expecting to find Filch or Mrs Norris around every corner. Sherlock was beginning to regret not grabbing at least his cloak before he left, seeing as he only had some flimsy pajamas to cover his skinny body. The cold did nothing for his newly healed ankles and he could feel them becoming stiffer by the minute. They finally reached the trophy room but Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet.

'Bet he's chickened out,' Ron muttered, staring around at all the sparkling trophies. Sherlock bent down to examine a particularly large shield for special services. A noise in the next room made them all jump and raise their wands, except Sherlock, whose wand was still in his robes.

'Sniff, my sweet, they might be hiding.'

It was Filch talking to Mrs Norris. Harry looked around, horrified, and beckoned madly for the others to follow him. They fled as quickly and silently as they could, away from the sound of Filch's voice. Creeping down a long gallery full of suits of armour, they could hear Filch getting closer. Neville panicked and tried to run but tripped over the hem of his robes, pulling down a suit of armour as he fell. If Filch hadn't known they were there, he certainly did now.

'RUN!' Harry shouted, pelting down the corridor. They raced down one corridor after another, not knowing where they were going or whether Filch was still following them. Soon, they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves running (hobbling in Sherlock's case) along the Charms corridor.

'I think we've lost him,' Harry panted, wiping his forehead.

'I- told- you,' Hermione gasped, clutching a stich in her side.

'We need to get back to Gryffindor Tower,' Ron wheezed, 'quickly as possible.'

Sherlock shifted his weight on to his left foot. His right ankle was now throbbing painfully and he could feel it freezing in place.

'We should go,' said John when they had all caught their breath. This was easier said than done, however, as thye had barely made it a few steps before Peeves the Poltergeist shot out of a classroom in front of them.

'Ooh ickle firsties! What are the ickle firsties doing out of bed?' he cackled.

'Please, be quite, Peeves. We'll get chucked out-'

He sucked in a huge breath and bellowed,

'STUDENTS OUT OF BED! STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR!'

They ducked around him and ran off. Sherlock's ankles gave an enormous crack and he had to stop. John grabbed his arm and tried to pull him along.

'John, I can't,' he gasped.

'You have to,' John grunted, tugging on his arm, but to no avail. Out of desperation on hearing Filch's shuffling footsteps; John pushed Sherlock into a classroom with its door slightly ajar and hid them both in a cupboard at the far end of the room. It was roomier in the cupboard than they had expected, so Sherlock carefully lowered himself to the floor and rubbed his ankles while John peeped through the crack in the door. He held his breath as Filch peered suspiciously in the room, but shuffled past. John sighed in relief, waited until he was sure Filch was gone, and was about to creep out of the cupboard when he heard whispered voices enter the room.

'I don't know what you're talking about, Gabriel,' a voice giggled. Sherlock pricked up his ears.

'You know exactly what I'm talking about, Lucy, and I'm warning you, if you do anything like this again-'

'You'll do what? We both know you can't beat me, little bro.'

'You could have killed that boy today!' Gabriel hissed.

'It wasn't me,' she said, almost sincerely.

'Don't bother, I know it was you, it's been you this whole time!'

'Prove it.'

There was a pause and then Lucy laughed lightly.

'Good night, Gabriel.'

She left the room and Gabriel sat heavily on a desk. John was going to wait until he left but one look at Sherlock's face told him that he would not be able to stand, let alone walk all the way back to the hospital wing, so he pushed the door open and Gabriel looked up in surprise.

'What are you doing down here?' he asked. 'Did you hear-'

'Everything, yes. I won't say anything, but could you please help me get Sherlock up to the hospital wing?' John pleaded. Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

'I won't ask any questions if you don't,' he said.

'Sounds fair,' said John. Gabriel dragged Sherlock out of the cupboard and lifted him into his arms. Sherlock looked extremely disgruntled but didn't complain; he knew it was the only way he was getting back to bed.

'How is Castiel,' Gabriel asked Sherlock as he carried him up a flight of stairs.

'He seems fine, just in shock,' Sherlock grumbled.

By the time they hauled open the doors to the hospital wing; all three of them were exhausted. Sherlock fell (not that he could have done anything else) on to his bed, curled up under the covers and fell asleep.

'Thank you,' John whispered to Gabriel.

'You're welcome. Would you like me to escort you back to your dormitory?'

'No thanks, I think I'll stay and explain to Madam Pomfrey in the morning. You know, make up some excuse,' he smiled.

'All right, well, good night… I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name.'

'It's John.'

'Good night, John.'

He glanced fondly at the sleeping Castiel before slipping quietly away. John sighed tiredly. It had been quite a day. He drew his chair closer to the bed, sat down and fell asleep leaning on the soft bedding.

Thanks to Luckyreader2000, mightyBookworm, SethMaxwell06, Silverdragonstar and hogwartsmockingjaysilvertoun ge for the lovely reviews :) you guys make my day.