Forbidden - Chapter One

John's first day at Hogwarts was absolutely amazing... yet, somehow it didn't live up to his expectations.

It was absolutely amazing, because, God, he was finally a Hogwarts student! But, not, because... Sherlock wasn't there to share it with him.

After spending every day together, then suddenly being apart, it made John realise just how much Sherlock meant to him.

Staring up at the roof above his bed, John frowned, an ache in his heart.

Well, at least he still hard Sherlly, the owl Sherlock had given him. Since the black little owl reminded him of Sherlock so much, he had decided to name him (sort of) after the brilliant man.

Sitting up in bed, John scrubbed his hands furiously over his face. It had been four bloody long years, and he still couldn't sleep properly.

How he missed Sherlock. His closest friend. But, he felt that they were more than friends. John wanted them to be more than friends.

He hadn't really seen Sherlock, except for when he had classes with Ravenclaw, which wasn't that often.

Besides, he told himself sternly, Sherlock has other friends now. He doesn't need John...

The thought hurt more than expected.

Closing his eyes, John remembered several times he had tried to go over to Sherlock's house when they had holidays and his new 'friends' being there.

He remembered one time quite clearly.

He had scaled the tree next to Sherlock's bedroom window, present in hand and excitement fizzing in him.

Then he heard laughter, obnoxious, loud laughter. Peeking into the room, yet making sure he wasn't seen, John's stomach dropped at the sight.

Spread out in front of Sherlock's 'friends' were all the birthday cards John had ever given Sherlock. They were opening them, one by one, and laughing.

And Sherlock just sat there, smiling.

Eyes watering, John had dropped out of the tree (quite literally) and landed with a thud. He had laid their, dazed, before dropping the gift and presents, and running home.

He had glanced back just once, to see Sherlock watching from his window, a sorrowful expression on his face.

Scrubbing the tears that had dared leak out furiously, John glanced at the clock. It would be Sherlock's birthday in five minutes. It had been two years, since that day, but the wound to his heart still felt raw. He hadn't given a present to Sherlock for two years.

Now, all he wanted was for Sherlock to be back in his life. Quickly calculating time and distance, John whistled softly as he walked over to the window, opening it.

None of the other boys really liked John, they found him strange; the odd one out.

Sherlly gave a soft hoot as he flew in from the window, landing on John's outstretched arm and nibbling his ear affectionately.

Smiling softly, John gently patted the full grown owl with equal affection. "Here, I need you to deliver this. To Sherlock," John whispered quietly, glancing around and pulling out a cage and a letter, which he strapped to Sherlly's leg.

Blinking, Sherlly hooted, nibbled his finger, and took off through the open window.

Watching him go, John stayed at the window.

John desperately hoped this worked...

                                                                           *.*.*.

Lying awake in the Ravenclaw boys room, Sherlock tossed and turned in his bed.

In exactly one minute, he would be 15. Heart aching, he remembered John. His John. His first friend. His only true friend.

Sherlock groaned, sitting up, the covers moving with him. He remembered the day when he had stupidly invited Jim, Mark, Tony and Andy over to his house on his birthday. He had been so proud to be bringing home new friends, he didn't realise it would damage his and John's friendship, quite possible forever.

They had found John's birthday cards to Sherlock and laughed at John's words; words which filled Sherlock with warmth every time he read them.

Not knowing what to do, he went along with it, unable to stand up for himself without John.

Then he had heard the thump. He had gone over to the window and immediately spotted the presents under the tree. A lump of dread had formed in his throat, as he scanned desperately for John. He saw John running, then when he looked back Sherlock would never be able to forget the expression on his face. It haunted him. Horror, betrayal, hurt. Tears were running down his cheeks, the same cheeks Sherlock had kissed on John's 11th birthday.

Guilt overcame Sherlock and he glanced at the clock briefly to see it turn to 12am.

"Happy birthday to me," he murmured quietly to himself, getting up out of bed.

He missed John's presents. He put thought into each and every one, unlike the other presents Sherlock got which were carelessly chosen.

Over the years, John had given him a new chemical kit, a book on spells and (his last present he ever got) a new pair of goggles and gloves for his scientific experiments.

He was pulled out of his thoughts by something tapping sharply on the glass of the window beside his bed.

Frowning, he looked one last time and the clock (still 12am) and walked over to the window, opening it.

Mouth dropping in surprise, he saw the black owl he had given John fly in and land neatly on his bed, a rather bulky package attached to his leg. Rushing over to him, he gave him an owl treat and untied the package and note.

The letter was addressed to him in and all too familiar handwriting.

Opening the letter first, his stomach did strange flip flops.

'Dear Sherlock,

Happy Birthday.

I miss our friendship and I hope that, one day, we will be able to be friends once again.

From,

John x'

Smiling widely, Sherlock pressed the letter to his face and breathed in the faint scent of John; slightly musky, yet he smelt strangely like pineapple.

That was his John, always hoping against hope. No matter what happened, John was like a bright beacon of hope to Sherlock.

Turning to the present, Sherlock wished John was here with him.

Carefully opening the present, Sherlock's heart gave a little stutter.

It was an owl, a beautiful, sandy owl the same colour as John's hair with warm, deep blue eyes that reminded Sherlock of John.

Unlatching the cage, Sherlock reached in a hand and the owl, trusting him impeccably, hopped onto it, hooting happily and nibbling on his fingers.

The black owl was watching Sherlock with an expression that clearly said 'you don't deserve this.'

Chuckling, Sherlock felt happier than he had in years.

He was filled with an irrational desire to see John immediately.

Grabbing a piece of parchment, Sherlock hastily scribbled,

'Dear John,

I hope you can forgive me for what I have done. But please, if you want to be friends (or more) with me, meet me tonight. At the Quidditch Pitch. Please,

Yours,

Sherlock.'

Heart racing at the bold note, Sherlock tied it to Pineapple's leg and sent him off with John's owl.

Praying that this would work, and he would come, Sherlock dressed warmly, grabbing his coat and scarf and slipping out the window, making sure that it was closed (but not locked) behind him.

Sliding down the rooftops with practised ease (he had gone and peered into John's room on more than one occasion) he quickly landed in the shadows of the Quidditch Pitch.

                                                                           *.*.*.

Unable to sleep, John waited for Sherlly to return, desperately needing the company.

He was surprised to see two shapes in the distance flying towards him. His heart soared and he quickly opened the window, a little too eager.

As the owls entered the window, John scratched both of them and gave them each two treats and hurriedly got the letter off of the sandy owl and opened it in a hurry.

His heart stopped as he read then, picked up double time, a huge grin spreading across his features. Forgive him? Of bloody COURSE he was going to forgive Sherlock! The idiot, he never changed, always doubted John's absolute loyalty to Sherlock.

Grabbing his scarf and gloves, John glanced around before slipping out the window.

Running across the rooftops unsteadily, John made it to the Quidditch Pitch in less than five minutes.

Jumping to the ground, legs bending on impact, he kept to the shadows, well aware of what would happen if they got caught.

Heart racing in anticipation, John gave a low whistle, a signal he hadn't used in years.

A responding whistle came from his right, and he whipped around, grinning.

Walking in the shadows, eyes straining to see ahead, he gave a low yell of surprise when something tackled him from behind. Laughing merrily, he twisted round so that he landed on his back and stared up at Sherlock's grinning face.

Sherlock hadn't changed in appearance all that much, grey eyes still bright and intelligent, his face still the same, sharp cheekbones and curly black hair.

Smiling happily, John reached up hesitantly and pulled Sherlock down in a tight embrace.

John felt Sherlock completely relax in John's tight embrace and John felt him take in a deep breath, head resting in the crook of John's neck.

"I missed you," Sherlock mumbled softly, a note of regret in his voice.

"I know, I missed you too, Sher," John whispered soothingly, one of his hands coming up and tangling for the first time in Sherlock's soft black curls.

Sherlock made a small noise, and lifted his head, staring into John's eyes.

"John, I am so, so, very sorry! I thought they were my friends, and I couldn't, can't" he corrected himself, sadness and regret evident in his voice and eyes, "stand up for myself without you. I didn't know what to do. I am so sorry!"

Smiling slightly, John whispered softly, "it's alright, Sher, I forgive you."

Sherlock's eyes sparkled with relief and he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to John's lips.

Shocked, yet knowing he wanted this too, John closed his eyes and let out a low moan.

Experimenting how far he could go, John sat upright, arm wrapping around Sherlock's silky hair and licking Sherlock's lower lip.

Making a small noise of surprise, Sherlock eagerly opened his mouth for John, knowing John would be the only person for Sherlock, ever.

Slipping his tongue inside Sherlock's mouth, John gave another moan, tugging Sherlock impossibly closer and tilted his head to the side for a better angle.

John found he liked being in control, and smirked slightly, running the tip of his tongue along the length of Sherlock's.

Shivering in pleasure, Sherlock moaned, clutching at John.

Movements slow and steady, John gently lowered Sherlock to the ground until he was straddling him, arms on either side of Sherlock's head.

Pulling back, John took a mental picture of Sherlock. His eyes were open, and staring into John's, his pupils dilated, face flushed, his dark curls messy and his lips kiss swollen.

Smirking, John commented, "I rather like this position..."

Sherlock flushed a deep red, and ran his hands up and under John's pyjama top to the warm bare skin beneath.

"Hmm, I rather like this position too," Sherlock responded, his voice husky and low, making John shiver slightly.

Sherlock winked at him and John laughed before leaning down and swiping his lips gently across Sherlock's.

Pulling back, John rested his head against Sherlock's, content just to be with him.

They spent the rest of the night catching up on each other's news, learning everything possible at what they had missed.

                                                                           *.*.*.

When the sun began to rise, shedding soft light over Hogwarts, both were reluctant to go.

"John?" Sherlock whispered softly, staring into John's eyes with his uncertain grey ones.

"Yes, Sher?" John responded warmly.

"I don't want to go."

"I know, Sher. I know," John comforted, hugging Sherlock tightly. "But we have to go. Besides, we can meet up later, the trip to Hogsmead is coming up in two days time! We can meet there."

Sherlock still looked slightly uncertain, and John leaned down and kissed Sherlock passionately. "I'll miss you," John whispered, smiling.

"I'll miss you, too," Sherlock said with sad eyes and they stood and stretched.

With one last, tight embrace, they departed to their own rooms again, glancing back many times.