// Hey look, the obligatory Harry Potter AU that all JohnLock books have for some reason!
I saw this photo^^ and I wanted to do something for it lol.
If anyone can tell me the artist of the art, please let me know, because I'd love to credit them. :)
Genre: Another Angst with Fluff ending because yeah, also hurt/comfort
Ship: JohnLock bby
TW/CW: Mentions of blood, Description of a beaten body
Hope you enjoy! //

"Alright, well done Miss Ogletree, that was excellent! Now, Mr Watson, I believe it is your turn, so step up, if you please."

John swallowed, but hesitantly did as he was told. It felt like his scuffed-up shoes were filled with lead as he dragged his feet forward.

He had always somewhat dreaded the lesson that they'd learn about Boggarts; it never really sounded like a very fun lesson. Now that he was here in person, it felt even worse. When he thought about it, he wondered if the teacher realised that he was forcing students to expose their biggest, and therefore probably most private, fears to the rest of the class. Wasn't that a bit too... personal? There are some things that John would rather not share with his fellow students, and his greatest fear was definitely one of them.

As he walked up to the looming closet ahead of him, he turned his head and saw his best friend and sort-of crush, Sherlock Holmes. He was standing at the front of the small crowd, staring at John with what other people would say is a blank expression, but John could see a supportive smile ghosting his lips. He took a deep breath as he now faced the deceptively beautiful, if not austere, black closet.
He could feel a knot of tension in his stomach as he waited for the Boggart to jump out at him, the hand holding his wand twitching ever so slightly.

Without any warning, the door to the closet violently flew open and the thing fell out, landing directly at John's feet, causing a loud thump to echo through the now silent classroom.

John immediately felt sick.

He hadn't really thought about what his biggest fear actually was; there were almost too many contenders. He had always been a relatively fearful child, jumping at the shadows on his wall at night and such. And he knew that it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience, of course, but somehow he hadn't quite thought it would be this bad.

Lay before him, bloodied and bruised, was the limp corpse of Sherlock.
John felt a small gasp escape his throat as he stared in arrant horror at the scene. he could sense his chest beginning to close up as he looked at the heart-wrenching sight at his feet. Tears welled in his eyes and he lowered his wand hand.
The classroom seemed to spin as he tried to look away, but it was like his body was forcing him to see it. He could only stare at the body; everything else had faded away and he was stuck with the corpse of his best friend at his feet.
Faintly, as though it was coming from a different room altogether, he heard the quiet rumbling of concerned muttering as it swept throughout the room. He briefly wondered why they were concerned, until he felt the stream of tears as they dripped down his chin and onto his hand. He attempted to move his hand to wipe them away, but he still felt frozen, like he had gone into shock.

"John." He felt a hand on his shoulder but didn't turn around. He was still looking aghast at the horrific sight before him. He knew it was Sherlock, he could tell by his soothing voice, yet he remained still.
"John, look at me." After a moment of blinking furiously, John managed to tear his watery eyes away from the Sherlock on the floor to meet the real Sherlock's, who was looking at him with a gentle, if not sympathetic, expression.
"You need to say the spell." John shook his head. He didn't want to look back down at his feet. He couldn't.
"Come on, John. 'Riddikulus'. It isn't real. I'm right here." Sherlock kept his hands on John's shoulders, the weight grounding him John considerably.
He took a long, shaky breath in, and slowly looked down at his feet once again.

The corpse somehow looked worse now, there was a pool of blood around his head, staining his face, matting his hair. It had splattered on his hands, which had turned deathly pale and limp. Bruises littered his face, purple and shining.
It was almost too much to take. Every fibre in John's being was screaming at him to turn around and cry into Sherlock's shoulder, but he knew that that wouldn't get rid of it.
"John, it's not real." Sherlock's low voice was in his ear, barely more than a whisper.
"I-I can't..." he hadn't realised how choked up he was until he spoke. His voice cracked and grated and, rather than making fun of him for it as he usually would, Sherlock shook his head.
"You can. I'm right here next to you. It's not real, I promise."
Trembling, John nodded. He raised his hand and cleared his throat as much as possible.
"R-Riddikulus." John rasped, jerkily waving his wand at the body.

Almost instantly, the pool of blood surrounding the body seemed to be sucked right back into it, like the Boggart was using some kind of vacuum, before suddenly springing to life.
John knew that it was supposed to be funny, but he instinctively took a step back, his eyes wide and watery. Sherlock grasped John's shoulders a bit tighter as he watched the bloody version of himself jump up, the libs dangling uselessly at its sides. It smiled at the children in the room, winked at the teacher, then flung itself back into the closet.

"John, are you-" Sherlock was cut off as John whipped around and threw himself at his friend. John's arms wrapped around him and he buried his face into Sherlock's vest, not caring about the other classmates who were probably looking at them.
Sherlock, who was a little more conscious of his peers' judgemental faces, swiftly escorted John by the shoulder out into the hallway, after a reassuring nod from the teacher.

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked softly, holding John's shoulders and rubbing gently.
"W-What do you think?" John wiped his eyes and laughed sarcastically. Sherlock shrugged.
After a minute of silence, Sherlock voiced the thought that had been bothering him since the incident started:
"So, why me? Why me and not... Harry or someone important?" John's eyes dropped to the floor.
"I-I mean, you're my best friend, why not you?"
"John."
"You're my best friend! You're the best person I know and you get me better than anyone else! I'd never wanna lose you!" He looked up to meet Sherlock's calculating gaze and groaned.
"For God's sake, Sherlock, don't you dare."
"What?"
"You're doing the- the thing! The thing where you look at me and read my mind! I told you, you're my closest friend, thats why. Okay?"
Sherlock raised his eyebrows and smirked, but said nothing.
"Twat." Sherlock scoffed.
"What?!" He said, looking at John incredulously, "i didn't say anything?"
"Oh shut up! Your face said it all. Now, are we going back to class or what?" He said, glancing at Sherlock's face, his eyes every so often flicking down to his mouth.
Sherlock noticed this,obviously, and stifled another smirk.
"Yeah, sure. Let's go." Just before John turned around to head back in, Sherlock did something. Something unexpected, but oh-so welcome.

He quickly leaned down and pressed his lips to John's cheek. It was over as quick as it began, but to John it felt like forever. He froze and his face instantly turned red. His head whipped around to Sherlock, only to see him smiling back.
It wasn't a "Haha, I got you" smile. It was genuine and that thought alone made John's heart soar.

Heart feeling as light as his head, he walked back into the classroom with Sherlock in front of him.