"Why does Professor Umbridge want to see me?" John asked nervously, looking around in hope to see that either Greg or Mycroft had followed. Should he run? That would be pathetic, like a big flashing sign that said, I'm Guilty! But what? He wasn't Sherlock, couldn't talk his way out of tight spots, refuse to tell something no matter what the costs, he simply couldn't, John felt like crying even when he stubbed his toe!
"Good luck Mister." Filch said with an evil smile, holding the door open as if a polite gesture, but John knew he was enjoying setting kids up to suffer.
"How could I not?" John muttered, walking into the office with a frown to the warty man holding the doors. The door shut immediately and once again John was under the impression a unicorn had thrown up in the room, the pink walls, carpet, and curtains made him want to shield his eyes. Umbridge was sitting at her desk, mixing around a cup of pink looking tea and looking at him expectantly. Sherlock was sitting in a chair in front of the desk, looking panic stricken at the sight of John's arrival.
"May I have your wand?" she asks in a horrible childlike purr. John looked at Sherlock nervously, but he seemed to terrified to speak. John slowly handed her his wand, which she took with a gracious smile and tucked it into her drawer, where he saw Sherlock's wand sitting as well.
  "John, have a seat please." She said in her kid like voice, but now it was more of a command than a friendly gesture. Sherlock started shaking his head, scared stiff apparently, but Umbridge cleared her throat sharply, and John sank into a hard backed wooden chair, complete with lacy cushions and a pink bow tied to it. It was the ugliest chair John had ever seen, but that's not what worried him the most, what worried him was the fact that, just like Sherlock, he found that he couldn't move. His hands were pulled to the arm rests as if magnetic, his legs glued to the floor and his back held to the chair like ropes were tied around him.
"What is this? What are you doing?!" John demanded, pulling ferociously at nothing, probably looking like a big idiot. Umbridge didn't answer; she just pursed her lips with slight annoyance and set the tea cup in the saucer with a small little tinkle of china. Sherlock looked terrified, the color drained from his already pale face, beads of sweat visible on his brow.
"Now, Mr. Holmes, since you are obviously not responsive to your own pain I've decided to get the next best thing." Umbridge said, sounding like a murderous little girl from a horror movie as she stood up, flattening out her pink dress as she rose.
"Wait, pain? Sherlock what's she talking about?" John demanded.
"Shush." Umbridge demanded, making John's mouth shut immediately. Did she mean that Sherlock was tortured here, like John had suspected? But this meant she didn't know about John's involvement, he was only here as a sort of bait. Umbridge took out her wand, moving out to in front of the desk and flicking it warningly.
"Don't you dare." John hissed at Sherlock, who was looking physically torn apart.
"Mr. Watson we don't need you talking please." Umbridge snapped. "Now I want you to tell me who helped you stir up this little rebellion?"
"No one, it was me, I told you that!" Sherlock said, sounding hopeless and broken. Was he just coming out of his own torture?
"I don't want to drag your little friend into this, whether he was involved I can't say for sure, but he'll be useful. If you don't tell me he will pay the price." Umbridge decided. John glared at Sherlock, the kind of death glare you give someone when you try to make sure they know to absolutely not do whatever someone was telling them.
"I told you already, I'll alone, please believe me. He may be the most horrid person in the world, but he doesn't deserve this." Sherlock decided. Oh, the most horrid person huh? Obviously he hadn't met Moriarty.
"Remind me again why you two are fighting?" Umbridge asked, seeming more like a question to humor her than anything.
"I cheated off of his homework and may or may not have told him." John said quickly, before Sherlock could say anything.
"Certainly not in my class?" Umbridge asked.
"In Defense Against the Dark Arts you shouldn't even have written homework." John grumbled, but what followed was the most intense pain he had ever felt, more than the broomstick fall and whatever else injury he had suffered combined. His bones were on fire, his blood a scorching river of magma, his very soul was breaking open... and it was over, and yet he was still screaming, feeling as though blood would soon be rushing out of his nose and eyes.
"I told you I'm working alone, please believe me, we're all in danger here!" Sherlock pointed out, now looking more desperate than ever. John was taking heaving breaths, trying not to scream more, feeling so weak and helpless he could cry for himself. But he was nothing compared to Sherlock, who was obviously close to tears. What a nice pre-date experience.
"For some reason I don't believe you are working alone, Mr. Watson seems like he could've had a play in it." Umbridge decided.
"He can barely do his own homework!" Sherlock debated, but after that there was more pain, so excruciating John would've fallen out of his chair if it wasn't for the enchantments holding him in. He screamed, so loud that he was sure it could be heard from the Great Hall, tears of struggle and pain now flowing freely down his cheeks.
"He's not involved; I swear to it please, he's not involved!" Sherlock screamed, trying to get the professor's attention over the flowing red light gushing from her wand.
"I don't believe you Mr. Holmes." She decided, not stopping. John was feeling this pain as something completely different than pain, something he lounged for now. This was a whole new extent to the word, a new category itself. This wasn't pain, or torture, or even death, this was something worthy of the darkest depths of hell or the Underworld or whatever really was at the end of the line, because right now even a torturous afterlife could beat this real one ten times over. Sherlock was struggling even more than John was, whose head had lolled onto his shoulder as he lost all fight in himself. Nothing was worth it now, he would live with this constant pain for the rest of his life, his brain couldn't process the fact that it could just end with a flick of the wand casting it.
"Fine, okay fine! It wasn't him, it was Moriarty!" Sherlock cried, looking so convincingly betrayed that John almost believed it. The spell ended and John collapsed on himself, but since there was nowhere to go his muscles just gave out.
"Jim Moriarty? You two are bitter enemies." Umbridge pointed out.
"The enemy of my enemy is my friend, our hate for you brought us together, it was the only way we could go back to our usual quarreling in peace. John was just a cover up really; I only hung out with him because who would suspect someone so innocent and clueless to befriend a psychopath like me?" Sherlock asked. John hope this was a story, just a cover up, certainly he wasn't being serious?
"You're not just a psychopath Mr. Holmes. I read the story, I found the files, you're so much worse, you're a murderer. When I'm done with this petty rebellion you kids cooked up I'm contacting Azkaban, I want a nice little cell reserved just for you." She decided with a sweet smile. That seemed to do it, Sherlock lost it, and when that happened nothing good can follow. He screwed his eyes up again, not able to curl into a ball either.
"You need to get out of here, now!" he demanded, directed more at John than Umbridge.
"Oh why, so you can go run to your headmaster? You speak one word of this to anyone and John will suffer a tragic fall off the astronomy tower." Umbridge decided, really letting out her own murderous rage. The red light came again, too quick for John to process it, but he only felt the pain once more. This wasn't worth it, why couldn't Sherlock just tell her, why couldn't she know the truth? The worst that would happen was that they could be expelled, at the moment their very lives were at stake. It was over a soon as it started, but the sweet, fake, smile was gone, Umbridge didn't look happy at all.
"You are a monster." Sherlock hissed.
"No Mr. Holmes, I'm not the monster. I didn't kill my own brother did I?" she asked in a sweet voice for a topic so horrid. Sherlock once again seemed to lose control, now they could hear the tea cups rattling in their saucers, the pictures shaking on the walls... Umbridge looked around the room with confusion, but for some reason she didn't look worried, as if she was expecting Sherlock to only be able to cause real destruction with his wand.
"Stop that, stop it right now." She demanded. Sherlock didn't say anything; he was focusing so hard on not blowing this room sky high.
"I said stop it!" Umbridge shrieked, blasting the light at John for a short moment, but that only made things worse. The window started to crack, the decorative plates falling from their hooks and shattering on the stone floor.
"Can't you see that he can't?!" John screamed, trying desperately to escape whatever was cursing this chair. The windows cracked now, cold air rushing through as glass rained down over all of Umbridge's fancy pillows on the pink couch. This was all happening faster than it had before, but obviously they couldn't summon Dumbledore because he would find out about this torture session, Umbridge would lose her entire lifestyle, probably even freedom.
"Sherlock you need to control it, come on, this is important now, it matters now!" John yelled. Sherlock let out a cry of frustration, he obviously wasn't strong enough, he was going to break, soon. Umbridge saw that this was now a good time to run for her life, grabbing a couple of her torture quills and starting to run towards the door. But she was too late, the rock cracked above the doorway, coming tumbling down and smashing against her skull with a disturbing crack. The High Inquisitor fell to the floor, John couldn't watch as her exposed brain now leaked blood, pooling over their shoes. He didn't have time to feel anything about her death, not happy, relieved, or sad, but now the door was blocked by ruble and a pink covered body, and the cracks on the ceiling were getting larger by the minute. If it cracked they'd surely all be dead, following the same fate as Umbridge evidently, but as soon as she fell the curse fell with her, John could finally find the strength to fall into the floor. His arms and legs simply wouldn't work, the curse had consumed his very soul, but soon his head was picked up off the red streaked floor, Sherlock staring down at him with tears in his eyes. There was a large crack and groan, small chunks of rock and dust raining down on them from the failing ceiling.
"John I'm so sorry, this is all my fault." He decided, pulling John's limp body into a sitting position, leaning against the chair.
"We need... out..." John mumbled, his tongue seemingly swollen up, flailing an arm to the rocks and debris that used to be the door.
"There's no way out John, there's a five story drop out the window, there's no way out." Sherlock said, cupping John's face with his soft hands, staring into his eyes with the damaged green ones. John was starting to see the situation now, there was no way out, Sherlock was right. Maybe the explosion inside him had worn away when the threat was reduced, because now he wasn't worried about being close to John.
"This is all my fault, she's right, I'm a monster." He decided, tears streaming down his face rapidly.
"No Sherlock..." John debated, lolling his head back and forth as if a bobble head.
"I can do something good, I can save you, this is because of me..." Sherlock decided, looking up at the ceiling. John strained his eyes to look, seeing that the stone was only held fast by one single strip of rock, clinging to the wall desperately but not going to hold for much longer. John vaulted himself forward, clinging to the only version of reality that could still save him, Sherlock, the beautiful Sherlock, the crying, broken, tortured boy that was prepared to die for him. John's weak fingers grasped fistfuls of Sherlock's robes, burying his head in his shoulder.
"You can't leave me." John muttered, his words slurred but definitely understandable.
"I'll always be with you, even if not in life." Sherlock assured. There was another crack and the small chunk was crumbling, they didn't have time now, it was now or never.
"Just get yourself out!" John said loudly. Sherlock just picked John's head up off of his shoulder, looking deep into his eyes, brushing his thumb over the features in John's face, running his longer fingers through his hair. A single tear slid down his sharp cheekbones, following the paths already cut out from previous drops.
"You are so beautiful John." He decided with a small, weak smile. He knew that he was going to die, he was prepared, but John wasn't, he couldn't die, he couldn't leave John alone, not again, not ever. There was a large crack and the rock was tilting, starting to fall, Sherlock used the last of his might to push John to the floor, holding him fast and shieling the Gryffindor from the falling rock with his own body. John tried to fight, push him down, but he couldn't see of move at the moment, completely held down. 
"I love you." Sherlock muttered with a cracking voice, and then the rock fell, surrounding the two and crushing them into blackness.