A/N So I am fairly new to the Harry Potter universe (as in I literally just finished watching all the movies less than a month before writing this) So I am sorry if it kinda sucks. I had a few ideas for this one and this is the first one I managed to write. Let me know what you guys think. If you are interested in seeing me try another one or finish this one let me know. My other idea involves them as students. Enjoy <3

John was bored. He tried to busy himself with tidying the hospital, organizing the potions and books of spells, but there was only so much he could do. He let out a huff of air and settled into his chair. He readied his quill over the page of his journal, planning to start writing, but the words never came. He had been asked by the headmaster to write his daily thoughts, a way to ensure that he was doing alright. He hated that he had to be monitored, but the Ministry of Magic was determined to make sure he didn't have another meltdown.

John threw his quill down, running his hands through his hair and growling in frustration. It was his first year here at Hogwarts, and the first year the school was open after the death of Voldemort. He could hear the students milling about in the halls, remembering back to his days studying here in these halls. He got lost in the memories for a while, trying to recall the names of his friends.

"Doctor Watson?" John was shocked out of his thoughts by a deep voice coming from the doorway. He looked up and saw a young man standing there, propped up against the door frame. He was wincing in pain and gripping his wrist. John saw blood and immediately jumped into action. He hurried over to the man and slipped his arm around his waist, pulling him to the nearest bed and pushing him down. He investigated the damage done to the pale wrist.

"What happened?"

"Nothing that is any concern of yours." John couldn't contain the irritated eye roll he shot at the man.

"I have to know what caused the damage so I know what kinds of potions I can and can't use. If I use the wrong potion or spell I can make the damage worse." He was fighting to separate the sleeve of the man's white shirt from the skin surrounding the wound without causing more damage. It looked like an acid burn, but he couldn't be sure. The young man scowled, blushing slightly.

"I was trying to make a potion that had the same affect of a Draught of Peace, but could also be used as a Draught of Living Death. I guess they don't mix all that well." John watched the young man's face and smirked when he saw something familiar building in those pale eyes. This was a troubled man in his infirmary, something that John was all too familiar with.

"If you need something that will calm your mind while you sleep, you should have come see me sooner." He winked and stood, walking over to his cabinet and looking through his stash of potions. "It would have saved you a lot to pain." He had no idea why his tone had changed to something almost flirtatious, but he went with it, hoping the strange man wouldn't be offended. He heard a deep chuckle coming from the man and allowed himself to giggle along with him. He grabbed the supplies he needed, including his wand, and headed back over to his patient.

He sat down beside him and started mixing the ingredients, sneaking glances at the strange man next to him.

"You fought in the muggle war." It wasn't a question; the man was certain about his statement.

"How did you know that?" The man shrugged, blushing again.

"I must have heard it from one of the other teachers."

"Not possible, the only person in the school that knows of my time in the war is Stamford, and he doesn't talk about it."

"You must have mentioned it-"

"I know I didn't. I don't talk about it. How did you know I fought in the muggle war?" The blush that was darkening the man's cheeks had moved down his neck, and he was looking every where but John's face. The doctor continued watching him as he prepared the salve.

"Your leg." John looked at the man, confusion filling him as he moved to apply the medicine to the burned and bleeding skin.

"This will cool the skin and stop the acidic reaction from hurting you more." John's voice was soft, as it usually became when he was working. He felt the eyes of his patient watching him attentively as he smoothed the salve over the burns.

"Do you not want to know how your leg told me you were in the muggle war?"

"Of course, but you seem hesitant to tell me so I will wait until you are ready." The young man went quiet for a time, tensing his jaw and fist against the pain. "You know, you could tell me your name. That seems like a reasonable place to start."

"Sherlock."

"That's an interesting name."

"Yeah? Well if you like that you should hear my phone number." The pair went silent for a moment, both seeming to freeze in place. John shook himself out of his thoughts and continued his work, blushing slightly. "I teach the potions class." Sherlock finally broke the silence.

"You don't look old enough to be a teacher here."

"I'm not as young as I look." Sherlock sounded almost offended at his words and John laughed, reaching for a cloth to dry off the wrist.

"Well then, how old are you?"

"It's rude to ask a woman her age."

"Well unless you are a woman then you have no reason to be offended." The pair chuckled, each enjoying the other's company. Sherlock held impossibly still while John finished cleaning the wound. It was one long gash surrounded by chemical burns. He reached for his wand and reviewed his knowledge of spells. He chose the ones he wanted and gently grabbed Sherlock's thin wrist and readied himself. "I am going to heal you now. It may hurt a bit, as I have to-"

"Force the tissues to reconnect and heal then repair any permeant damage that may have been done to the muscles and bone." Sherlock finished, talking faster than John had ever heard anyone talk before.

"Exactly, so your brainy and cute. Lucky me." He winked and smirked at the flush that spread to the pale man's cheeks again. "Vulnera sanentur." He braced Sherlock's wrist as he tried to pull away as the skin knit back together. He whimpered in pain and squirmed against the mattress, trying to fight against John's grip. The process took a minute to finish, and when the skin stopped moving John immediately cast the mending charm to heal the burns. He continued holding on to the writhing form beside him as the skin finished healing. Once Sherlock stilled, John softened his hold, but didn't fully release the man's hand.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, placing his wand on the nearest table before resting the back of his hand against Sherlock's cheek, ensuring there was no fever setting in. Sherlock hummed and leaned into the touch, opening his eyes and staring back at John. He smirked softly and tightened his fingers around the doctor's.

"Better now, thank you Doctor Watson." John felt a little breathless when Sherlock spoke, the deep baritone sending chills along his spine.

"John."

"Sorry?"

"Call me John." Sherlock smirked and pushed himself into a sitting position. John gasped softly as he suddenly found himself very close to the younger man. He could feel Sherlock's warm breath against his cheek. It suddenly became very warm in the room.

"Well then John, it was your leg."

"M-my leg?"

"Yes John, your leg. That's how I knew you fought in the muggle war. You walk around the school with a cane, yet you left it propped against the desk when I came in, that tells me your limp is at least partly psychosomatic. I have never met a wizard that has any psychosomatic symptoms, there are spells that can deal with that. That means that you obtained the injury during a muggle situation that left you with psychiatrists and muggles that know of your ailments. You are also trained in muggle medicinal practices as evidenced by your knowledge of chemical burns and the inner workings of the body. You also mentioned that the only person here who knows about your history is Stamford. I happen to know that he studied at Bart's Hospital and you don't seem like the type of man that tells his history with muggles to just anyone, so that tells me you must have attended college together. Bart's is an army hospital, so that means you were a doctor in the army." John was speechless, how could this stunning man know so much about him? He watched as Sherlock started to pull away, a slightly worried look on his face.

"I apologize John, I shouldn't have done that. I have overstepped my bounds. If there is nothing else, I will-"

"That was amazing." John found his voice, unable to contain the awe that tainted his tone. Sherlock froze, looking back to John with an expression that broke John's heart. He looked like this was the first time anyone had ever said anything nice about him.

"Y-you really think so?"

"That was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. You are brilliant!" Sherlock flushed again, looking uncertain on how to receive this type of praise.

"T-that's not what people normally say." His deep voice sounded timid and uncertain, pulling a soft chuckle from John.

"What do they normally say?"

"Piss off, or something to that affect." John felt his heart break for the younger man, and reached for Sherlock's cheek, running his fingers along the sharp cheekbones and studying his pale eyes. John had never felt this way for another human being before, so entranced, unable to stop watching him.

"Well, I think you are brilliant." John whispered, smiling softly at the pale man before him. Sherlock returned the smile, brushing along John's jawline with cold fingers. Despite the chilly fingers, John felt fire at the contact. Neither man could stop themselves, and if John was being honest, neither really wanted to, from leaning in and pressing their lips together. It was a gentle, shy kiss, but it held the promise of much more.

As the moments passed, the kiss became more confident and John felt Sherlock press closer to him. He ran his free hand along one of Sherlock's long legs, feeling him moan softly at the contact. When they parted for air, John took stock of the young man before him. His lips were red and kiss-swollen, and his cheeks were flushed darkly. His pupils were blown wide and he was breathing hard. John couldn't get enough of him.

"I-I should- should get back t-to class. I'm supposed to be teaching in twenty minutes." Sherlock whispered, nuzzling his nose against John's cheek, his breath making its way along his jaw and neck. John leaned back and pressed a series of barely-there kisses to Sherlock's lips, using the tip of his tongue to gently lick at the soft, cupid's bow lips, teasing him.

"Well then, it has been a pleasure." He whispered against Sherlock's lips, feeling a pang of hurt in his gut. He didn't want this strange man to leave.

"Perhaps I should injure myself some more if it always ends like this."

"You don't have to hurt yourself to see me Sherlock. You did say that I would like your phone number." They kissed again, hesitant to pull away. Too soon however, Sherlock had to leave and John gave him his phone number, hoping to hear from this strange man again. They kissed once more before he left, leaving John a little weak in the knees.

John was sitting at his desk, scribbling furiously in his journal. He had something to write about, finally. He jumped slightly as he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, expecting a text from Stamford, asking him if he wanted to go to the pub tonight after school.

This class is boring – SH

Entertain me – SH

John grinned as he realized who was texting him.

You're teaching the class, it can't be all that boring – JW

You are biased – SH

What makes you say that? – JW

We just spent the last ten minutes snogging in your infirmary – SH

Fair point – JW

Have you had the misfortune of meeting Ms. Granger? – SH

Not yet, but I have heard Stamford talk about her. She as smart as they say? – JW

More so, I would say I was impressed if she weren't always asking questions – SH

I thought it was a good thing when students asked questions? – JW

Not when I am trying to think – SH

What are you thinking about? – JW

You – SH

John smirked, feeling a flush creeping along his cheeks.

You are proving to be a rather efficient distraction Dr. Watson – SH

I'm flattered – JW

You should be, it takes a special person to distract me – SH

John grinned, slightly uncertain if that was a good thing or not.

I would like to take you out for dinner tonight. There is a lovely Italian place in town. Are you available? – SH

I believe I am – JW

Good, I will meet you in the courtyard at seven – SH

It's a date - JW