Lex Parsimoniae 1/?
Part One
"I think he's nice," said Molly.
John swung his book bag onto his shoulder; frowned in confusion as he adjusted the strap. "What? Who?"
"Sherlock Holmes," replied the girl. "I like him."
Oh, thought John. Him.
The bloke who had managed to antagonize the entire school during the Start of Term Feast a few weeks before. Who had just finished explaining to their Muggle Studies professor and to the class at large why exactly the provided text and its statements on muggle law enforcement were complete rubbish.
Of course Molly Hooper, John's smart and well-meaning but sometimes oblivious best friend, liked Sherlock Holmes.
John didn't know what to say to that. He made a 'hmm' sound in lieu of a reply.
She continued as they headed for the door. "I mean, he's really smart. Maybe even genius smart. I don't think he means to...come off the way he does."
She was silent for a moment before starting again. "I think he's misunderstood."
Except for the still red-faced and fuming professor, they were the last to leave the classroom. They emerged into the hallway in time to witness Anderson, a seventh year Ravenclaw, swerve sharply. He swerved right into Sherlock, bumped the pale teenager hard in the shoulder. The small stack of books the tall Gryffindor was holding went flying and Anderson barked a harsh laugh before disappearing around a corner.
Molly made a soft sound of distress and hurried over to Sherlock. Reluctantly, John followed.
"What a prat," declared the girl when they reached their housemate. She bent to pick up the almost comically huge Astronomy tome that had landed face down on the floor; made an attempt to dust it off a bit before handing it over to Sherlock.
John grabbed the more normal sized book next to Molly's left shoe, held it out so the other boy could take it.
Slowly, after adjusting his awkward hold on the retrieved Astronomy text, Sherlock pulled it from his grasp.
"Oh," he said and his bright eyes shifted from Molly to John and back again. "It's you two."
He moved to stuff both books into his bag.
Molly beamed. "Yes. I'm Molly and this is-"
"I know who you are," cut in Sherlock. "Molly Hooper and John Watson. Seventh years, Gryffindor House, not particularly liked or disliked by your classmates, can almost always be found with each other..."
In an instant he reached for John's hand, pulled it up to eye level for a moment before dropping it again. "But not due to a romantic attachment. Friends, close friends. You act almost like siblings so your families are probably close, too. You knew each other long before starting at Hogwarts."
He pursed his lips and reached out again, almost touched Molly's hair (which was up in a neat ponytail) before pulling his hand back. He looked the girl in the eye. "You're looking for romance but aren't having much luck so far."
Molly's wide smile and the faint blush that had arisen on her skin when Sherlock had reached for her hair faded a little at that.
Sherlock didn't seem to notice, hardly even paused. "John, left handed, slightly undersized for your age, you're what the average person would consider a smart boy and are doing well in your classes. But you're restless for some reason. Bored?" His eyebrows raised, as if in interest. "Maybe you-
Molly jumped in. "He has been restless," she said. "He hurt his shoulder playing Quidditch last year. It was the last game of the season and he got knocked off of his broom by this awful Slytherin." She shrugged and shook her head. "He used to love Quidditch and all, but he hasn't even been able to fly much since the accident. So...restless."
The tall teenager, his face unreadable, stared at the girl for a beat before nodding. He zipped up his bag.
"Wow," started John before the other Gryffindor could turn and walk away. "That was..."
"What?" asked Sherlock, a little sharply.
"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
Sherlock didn't move for a moment. Then, "Huh. That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?" asked John.
"Piss off."
John couldn't hold back an amused laugh; Sherlock eyed him up and down again, as if seeing him for the first time. (Which was obviously not the case, considering what he had been able to deduce about the former Quidditch player only moments before.)
Molly was, suddenly, practically vibrating in place beside them. "Right. Well. We're heading to the library to get some homework done before dinner."
John waited expectantly for his friend to speak again, to invite Sherlock along with them.
She didn't.
Maybe she doesn't just think he's nice. Maybe she likes him a lot, he thought. So much that just being around him is making her nervous...
That made sense. Considering her reaction when she had first spotted the teenager during the Start of Term Feast, her nervous bouncing now, the way she had blushed moments before and the fact that this was their first proper conversation with their new housemate.
Without so much as a wave or a grunt or a belated thank you for their help, Sherlock turned away. He disappeared around the same corner Anderson had a few minutes earlier.
Next to him, Molly exhaled deeply.
"To the library, then?" asked John.
They started down the corridor.
-----
The common room was quiet. It was hours after dinner, nearly time for bed. A few second year Gryffindors were playing a game of Wizard's Chess in one corner and both Molly and John were sprawled on the squashy couch near the large fireplace.
Molly appeared to be absorbed in an article in the Daily Prophet (something about Harry Potter, the amazing former Boy Wizard who had defeated Voldemort, denying the recent rumors that he was now aiming for a political career). John was half-heartedly perusing the encyclopedia of magical ailments that Madam Pomfrey had insisted he read when he had helped a sniffling first year with a hurt ankle to the infirmary earlier that week and had expressed an interest in healing.
Yawning, he closed the huge book with a snap and lifted his arms over his head in a stretch. He waited until Molly moved to turn the page to speak. "So you like Sherlock Holmes?" It was almost more of a statement than a question.
The girl looked up from the newspaper. "What?" She paused for a moment, expression blank, as her mind caught up with John's words. "Oh. Yes. Like I said, I think he's nice. Just-"
"Misunderstood," cut in John. "Right."
"Why?" asked Molly. "You don't like him?"
"It's not that." John shrugged and scooted so he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his book in his lap. "I don't really know him well enough to say I dislike him. He's certainly...blunt. And smart. What he did yesterday, figuring out all of those things about us with just a close look? That was wicked."
His friend smiled a soft, slightly crooked smile. "Yeah," she said in what John thought sounded like a dreamy voice. "That was...something. Wasn't it?"
John nodded and stared into the unlit fireplace. Molly stared at him for a moment before neatly folding the Prophet up and placing it on the sofa arm (where she had liberated it from earlier that night).
"It's late. I better get to bed if I don't want to oversleep and be late for my first class tomorrow morning." She stood; hesitated when John didn't budge "Aren't you going to bed, too? Professor Longbottom is fair but if we-"
"Yeah," he said. "In a minute. G'night, Mol."
"Yeah. Goodnight, then." And with that the girl drifted up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.
Planning to put away the text on his lap, John reached for his book bag (thrown carelessly on the floor next to the sofa). He opened it; saw a few stray bits of unfamiliar paper among his scrolls and notebooks and texts and pulled them out. It was the mail his eagle owl, Ares, had delivered to him that morning. In his hurry to swallow down some breakfast and get to class on time he had forgotten all about it.
Quickly, he looked through it. Two of the three pieces of mail were simple flyers. One was for the candy shop in Hogsmeade and the other -- more unofficial looking --promised useful advice and help with relationships, homework and more to Hogwarts students. Some sort of advice column or tutoring gig, then.
The candy shop advertisement had a few coupons so John folded the flyers and stuffed them back into his bag.
The last piece of mail was in an envelope. A small, blank envelope. John opened it up, pulled out the folded bit of paper inside. The short letter, written in black ink, read:
Meet me in the entrance hall at 10. -SH
"I think he's nice," said Molly.
John swung his book bag onto his shoulder; frowned in confusion as he adjusted the strap. "What? Who?"
"Sherlock Holmes," replied the girl. "I like him."
Oh, thought John. Him.
The bloke who had managed to antagonize the entire school during the Start of Term Feast a few weeks before. Who had just finished explaining to their Muggle Studies professor and to the class at large why exactly the provided text and its statements on muggle law enforcement were complete rubbish.
Of course Molly Hooper, John's smart and well-meaning but sometimes oblivious best friend, liked Sherlock Holmes.
John didn't know what to say to that. He made a 'hmm' sound in lieu of a reply.
She continued as they headed for the door. "I mean, he's really smart. Maybe even genius smart. I don't think he means to...come off the way he does."
She was silent for a moment before starting again. "I think he's misunderstood."
Except for the still red-faced and fuming professor, they were the last to leave the classroom. They emerged into the hallway in time to witness Anderson, a seventh year Ravenclaw, swerve sharply. He swerved right into Sherlock, bumped the pale teenager hard in the shoulder. The small stack of books the tall Gryffindor was holding went flying and Anderson barked a harsh laugh before disappearing around a corner.
Molly made a soft sound of distress and hurried over to Sherlock. Reluctantly, John followed.
"What a prat," declared the girl when they reached their housemate. She bent to pick up the almost comically huge Astronomy tome that had landed face down on the floor; made an attempt to dust it off a bit before handing it over to Sherlock.
John grabbed the more normal sized book next to Molly's left shoe, held it out so the other boy could take it.
Slowly, after adjusting his awkward hold on the retrieved Astronomy text, Sherlock pulled it from his grasp.
"Oh," he said and his bright eyes shifted from Molly to John and back again. "It's you two."
He moved to stuff both books into his bag.
Molly beamed. "Yes. I'm Molly and this is-"
"I know who you are," cut in Sherlock. "Molly Hooper and John Watson. Seventh years, Gryffindor House, not particularly liked or disliked by your classmates, can almost always be found with each other..."
In an instant he reached for John's hand, pulled it up to eye level for a moment before dropping it again. "But not due to a romantic attachment. Friends, close friends. You act almost like siblings so your families are probably close, too. You knew each other long before starting at Hogwarts."
He pursed his lips and reached out again, almost touched Molly's hair (which was up in a neat ponytail) before pulling his hand back. He looked the girl in the eye. "You're looking for romance but aren't having much luck so far."
Molly's wide smile and the faint blush that had arisen on her skin when Sherlock had reached for her hair faded a little at that.
Sherlock didn't seem to notice, hardly even paused. "John, left handed, slightly undersized for your age, you're what the average person would consider a smart boy and are doing well in your classes. But you're restless for some reason. Bored?" His eyebrows raised, as if in interest. "Maybe you-
Molly jumped in. "He has been restless," she said. "He hurt his shoulder playing Quidditch last year. It was the last game of the season and he got knocked off of his broom by this awful Slytherin." She shrugged and shook her head. "He used to love Quidditch and all, but he hasn't even been able to fly much since the accident. So...restless."
The tall teenager, his face unreadable, stared at the girl for a beat before nodding. He zipped up his bag.
"Wow," started John before the other Gryffindor could turn and walk away. "That was..."
"What?" asked Sherlock, a little sharply.
"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."
Sherlock didn't move for a moment. Then, "Huh. That's not what people normally say."
"What do people normally say?" asked John.
"Piss off."
John couldn't hold back an amused laugh; Sherlock eyed him up and down again, as if seeing him for the first time. (Which was obviously not the case, considering what he had been able to deduce about the former Quidditch player only moments before.)
Molly was, suddenly, practically vibrating in place beside them. "Right. Well. We're heading to the library to get some homework done before dinner."
John waited expectantly for his friend to speak again, to invite Sherlock along with them.
She didn't.
Maybe she doesn't just think he's nice. Maybe she likes him a lot, he thought. So much that just being around him is making her nervous...
That made sense. Considering her reaction when she had first spotted the teenager during the Start of Term Feast, her nervous bouncing now, the way she had blushed moments before and the fact that this was their first proper conversation with their new housemate.
Without so much as a wave or a grunt or a belated thank you for their help, Sherlock turned away. He disappeared around the same corner Anderson had a few minutes earlier.
Next to him, Molly exhaled deeply.
"To the library, then?" asked John.
They started down the corridor.
-----
The common room was quiet. It was hours after dinner, nearly time for bed. A few second year Gryffindors were playing a game of Wizard's Chess in one corner and both Molly and John were sprawled on the squashy couch near the large fireplace.
Molly appeared to be absorbed in an article in the Daily Prophet (something about Harry Potter, the amazing former Boy Wizard who had defeated Voldemort, denying the recent rumors that he was now aiming for a political career). John was half-heartedly perusing the encyclopedia of magical ailments that Madam Pomfrey had insisted he read when he had helped a sniffling first year with a hurt ankle to the infirmary earlier that week and had expressed an interest in healing.
Yawning, he closed the huge book with a snap and lifted his arms over his head in a stretch. He waited until Molly moved to turn the page to speak. "So you like Sherlock Holmes?" It was almost more of a statement than a question.
The girl looked up from the newspaper. "What?" She paused for a moment, expression blank, as her mind caught up with John's words. "Oh. Yes. Like I said, I think he's nice. Just-"
"Misunderstood," cut in John. "Right."
"Why?" asked Molly. "You don't like him?"
"It's not that." John shrugged and scooted so he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his book in his lap. "I don't really know him well enough to say I dislike him. He's certainly...blunt. And smart. What he did yesterday, figuring out all of those things about us with just a close look? That was wicked."
His friend smiled a soft, slightly crooked smile. "Yeah," she said in what John thought sounded like a dreamy voice. "That was...something. Wasn't it?"
John nodded and stared into the unlit fireplace. Molly stared at him for a moment before neatly folding the Prophet up and placing it on the sofa arm (where she had liberated it from earlier that night).
"It's late. I better get to bed if I don't want to oversleep and be late for my first class tomorrow morning." She stood; hesitated when John didn't budge "Aren't you going to bed, too? Professor Longbottom is fair but if we-"
"Yeah," he said. "In a minute. G'night, Mol."
"Yeah. Goodnight, then." And with that the girl drifted up the stairs to the girl's dormitories.
Planning to put away the text on his lap, John reached for his book bag (thrown carelessly on the floor next to the sofa). He opened it; saw a few stray bits of unfamiliar paper among his scrolls and notebooks and texts and pulled them out. It was the mail his eagle owl, Ares, had delivered to him that morning. In his hurry to swallow down some breakfast and get to class on time he had forgotten all about it.
Quickly, he looked through it. Two of the three pieces of mail were simple flyers. One was for the candy shop in Hogsmeade and the other -- more unofficial looking --promised useful advice and help with relationships, homework and more to Hogwarts students. Some sort of advice column or tutoring gig, then.
The candy shop advertisement had a few coupons so John folded the flyers and stuffed them back into his bag.
The last piece of mail was in an envelope. A small, blank envelope. John opened it up, pulled out the folded bit of paper inside. The short letter, written in black ink, read:
Meet me in the entrance hall at 10. -SH