He stood back up, once again unintentionally rubbing it in my face that he was way taller than me. He took one of my hands in his and put his other hand on my waist, a feeling both so awkward but so brilliant. I mimicked his actions, interlocking my fingers with his but very nervously placing my hand on his waist, as if I let any weight fall on it that he'll push me away. He started to step back and forth, front and back, twirling to the music with me trailing along, doing my best to keep up. I may have been able to repeat his actions, step to the right, step back, spin, but I'd never dream of doing it just like he did, nowhere near as beautiful or as graceful. He was a true work of art, someone God plucked on Earth to make all the ugly people, such as myself, cry about themselves and why they couldn't have his beautiful green eyes or his pale, smooth skin. I was blushing probably the whole time, knowing his eyes were on me the whole time, so I was trying to focus on anything else but him. I knew it might come across as rude, but once I looked into those eyes everything else was gone, and I was likely to accidently decapitate the both of us tripping over my own feet. I had no idea what to think about this moment, it was great, of course, but if Greg was to know, what would he say? Would he laugh at me because Sherlock was a man, or would he urge me to just go for it and kiss him? I wanted someone else's opinion now; I didn't trust myself enough to make these decisions on my own.

"You're very out of step Mr. Watson." Sherlock said with amusement.

"I already told you I couldn't dance." I pointed out.

"No shame in that." Sherlock assured with a twirl, making the room blur, all of the colors blurring, everything but him. It made him look like the world was trying to point to him, saying here, this is the one! I tried to shut the world up, but obviously the only thing that disagreed was that one, nagging, annoying part in my brain.

"I see you're a bit of a professional though." I pointed out.

"Yes of course." He agreed with a small smile.

"Not a trait you find in most men."

"Well I'm not most men am I?" he objected.

"Nope." I agreed. He couldn't be more different than anyone I've ever met, in his own quirky, odd sort of way.

"You don't have to be so nervous though, I'm not here to judge you on your dancing skills." He assured, making me only smile shyly.

"If I thought you didn't care than I'd be stepping on your feet and falling over everywhere. I think it's a good thing for both of our safety that I put a little bit of effort in." I laughed. Sherlock smiled again, looking down on me with something more than amusement, he looked proud of me, as if he was some sort of proud parent watching his kid preform in the school play. Trying their hardest at something he knew means so much to them.

"So, how was school then?" he asked, stepping to the left and dragging me along. It was quite difficult to keep up, not just because he was actually able to dance but because he had such long legs, one step of his was equivalent to two of mine, so I felt like I was a dog on a leash.

"It was miserable, but please don't be the concerned parent okay? It makes everything way more weird." I sighed.

"There is so much about our relationship that's weird, so I think it's okay if I ask you about your day." Sherlock pointed out. I sighed, but caved in with his smile.

"It was awful, of course. The highlight of my day is the final bell." I decided.

"You should learn to enjoy it, you only have it for so long, and even though there isn't much to like about it the whole learning thing can take you far." He pointed out.

"How do you manage to stay here all day? Lecturing me about my future when you live alone in this castle all day."

"So many mysteries about me Mr. Watson, surely you know that." he pointed out.

"Of course, sorry I asked." I sighed.

"Don't be disappointed in me, you know more about me than anyone else on this entire Earth, and you have only scratched the surface." He pointed out. I nodded, somehow that didn't comfort me in anyway.

"And now, the piece de resistance." Sherlock said with a slight smile, putting one hand on my back and dipping me down. At first I thought he was pushing me over, making me slightly panic and flail around, but he just laughed slightly, his smile making me laugh with both nerves and relief.

"Don't have to be so worried Mr. Watson. If you ever actually have to dance with someone," he pulled me back up, "Like Mary or something, that's the way to steal their heart." His face was so close, so close that if I tried really hard I could smell the peppermint on his breath.

"So why'd you do it to me?" I pointed out. Sherlock's smile only widened at my observation skills. Was he trying to steal my heart?

"Just demonstrating." He shrugged.

"Obviously." Just demonstrating, please, this was practically a date, candle lit awkwardness, the sort of kiss on the Astronomy Tower, did he have something for me? The very thought made my heart churn, I hadn't fully accepted that I had fallen for him even though I knew I had, and the promise that maybe he had the same feelings made me reconsider all this doubt. If he went for it, did what I had wanted to but never got the guts, would I let him? My heart said yes, my head said yes, even the little voice in the back of my head was nodding and pretending not to be looking at the way his hair curled so perfectly. Sherlock just waited patiently as my head spun around, feeling like that wasn't even an expression. I must have stood there for a little bit, just standing there and staring at him with a blank look. Part of me was embarrassed, the other part kind of wanting him to take that as a hint. The needle stopped playing, the record going back to the scratching sounds that drove me insane, but neither of us really noticed. I think he was just as transfixed with me as I was him, and I had no idea if that was a good or bad thing.

"I should probably get that." he decided, stepping back and letting my hand fall back to myside, cold now that it was on its own. He walked gracefully up, pulling the needle up and plucking the record up from the player.

"It was me playing, if you were wondering." He said simply.

"You play the violin?" I asked with amazement.

"Of course, what do you expect me to do with this dull life I'm leading?" he sighed.

"Well, it was brilliant; I thought it was some musician, like Bach or something." I admitted.

"Thank you very much, it's always a complement to be confused with Bach." He said with a laugh. Jeez, is there anything this guy did and didn't perfect? I nodded, going over to one of the desk stools and sitting on it, leaning against the damp stone wall.

"Is this place underground?" I asked.

"Yes actually, potions classroom, I thought it was part of our tour, but I could be wrong." He said, sliding the record into a paper case.

"Oh right, ya, now that you mention it I remember." I agreed, looking over the classroom. It looked much different with all the desks moved, and all the Hogwarts classrooms closely resembled one another.

"It's so much more present down here without Snape breathing down your neck." Sherlock said with a little smile, looking around the classroom as if it was full of memories.

"I'm guessing he'd get along good with Mrs. Fletcher, as you had said before. They'd throw rulers at kids together."

"No, worse than rulers, he 'accidently' makes your potion explode all over you. Quite evil."

"Ouch." I agreed. "Any other devil teachers here?"

"Thankfully no, but Binns was enough to make a rock seem interesting."

"Boring?" I asked.

"Worse than boring. He talks so flatly, monotone, boring, and he was a ghost too, so he was quite miserable."

"So ghosts are real too?" I asked with amazement.

"Oh yes, of course. You're a ghost right now, well; both of us are, in a ghost world if you will." He shrugged. I touched my head, making sure my arm wouldn't go through it, which, thankfully, it didn't. I was solid.

"That's...odd." I decided.

"I thought we already discussed that." Sherlock pointed out.

"Probably did, I've got a short term memory I guess." I shrugged. Sherlock looked at me suspiciously, but nodded all the same. "Is that why you don't eat anything, because you're a ghost here?" I asked.

"Exactly." Sherlock agreed.

"So when do you eat? You have to eventually." I pointed out. Sherlock just looked at me, not answering the question and sitting back up on the desk next to the record player. I spun ever so slightly on the stool, the tips of my toes pretty much the only things able to touch the ground. Sherlock laughed to himself about that, and I just scowled. It wasn't my fault I was so short, and there he was able to put his whole foot against the floor while sitting on a desk. Once again, the whole height difference wasn't very fair.

"Speaking of eating, are you supposed to have dinner soon?" Sherlock asked. I held out my watch for him to see, once again unable to tell the time where we were.

"Haven't the faintest, but I really don't care if I miss it." I shrugged.

"I thought your parents would think you're dead."

"They would, but I don't care. Maybe it would be better if I were dead over there anyway." I decided. Sherlock looked at me with a confused expression, trying to tell if I was joking or not.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"I just get to spend the rest of my life with you, I don't see any drawbacks." I pointed out.

"Oh don't do that, are you forgetting about your family, Greg, everyone and everything over there? Once you're here forever it's just that, forever, so even if you start to think I'm the most rubbish person on the face of the Earth you're stuck with me for eternity." Sherlock defended. I groaned, he was right of course. As much as I'd love to stay there forever, we weren't quite there yet.

"You may not see it now Mr. Watson, but this world is a lot better than you might see it as, and it's not until you take it from yourself that you notice that." he pointed out.

"I wish you could come with me, to my world. When can we meet in actual real life?" I asked hopefully. Sherlock smiled sadly.

"That's very difficult; I live very far from you. And what's the point, I'm here now, we don't exactly want anyone else knowing of my existence so it's better like this."

"What do you do, live under a rock or something? Some people must know you're in this world."

"You, Mr. Watson, are the only one. And that makes you very special." He pointed out. I smiled thankfully.

"Well, I guess you're probably way more special to me than you want to be." I decided.

"Oh rubbish, you're my everything, so why should I not be yours?" he objected. I smiled weakly.

"Oh, so you're mine?" I said with a chuckle, expecting him so start defending himself that it was a bad choice of words and no, of course not, he's not mine, we'll never be more than friends....

"Yes." Sherlock decided, wiping the smile off of my face. He looked directly at me, our eyes meeting again. He was, mine? Meaning...?

"Oh." I stuttered under my breath.

"Of course I'm yours, I trust you with my life." Sherlock pointed out.

"Okay then, I guess." I muttered. Awkward much. If he was trying to refer to what I thought he referring to then this entire visit/ date dance thing, made a disturbing amount of sense.

"You seem like that bothers you, is there a double meaning I'm missing?" he asked.

"Ya, probably." I agreed, something of relief hitting me.

"As in?"

"I'm not going to say it! Just leave it, let's talk about this beautiful weather we're having!" I decided, craning my neck to see out the window.

"It's raining." Sherlock pointed out. Now that I look closer I saw that he was right, raindrops were splashing against the window panes.

"Course it is." I muttered. Well that's good news isn't it? It was raining in my real life so if it was raining here that must mean Hogwarts wasn't all that far. Sherlock sighed, leaning back on his elbows and watching me watch him. The buttons on his purple shirt looked like they were working overtime, the fabric obviously stretching to the max. I felt guilty for noticing that though, I should not be looking at the buttons on some guy's shirt, and I should definitely not wish they'd just give up.

"So, I think you should really go make sure you're not too late for dinner." Sherlock decided.

"But I want to stay here." I pointed out.

"You can come back straight away, I won't even make you go to bed on time, but you need to eat." Sherlock debated. I groaned, not wanting to bother with that, but nodded, thinking that was a fair trade off.

"See you later Mr. Watson, I'll miss you." He added with what looked to me like a wink, and then the light started to glow again.

"Wait, now? Five more..." my sentence was cut off when I appeared in my bedroom, scowling. Thanks for the warning, jerk. But, as Sherlock had predicted, it was very close to dinner time. Apparently dancing with him was very time consuming. I wished there were two different types of time, like maybe every minute here was a whole hour there. Then I could spend two days or something over there and be back in time for diner here. That would be brilliant. And that wink, what did that mean? He'll miss me, was he flirting? If he was I had no idea what I'd do to that, I mean sure I've thought he liked me before, the astronomy tower and this whole dancing thing, but this was the first wink I've gotten. And friends can kiss each other on the cheek too, I mean, I'd never dream of that with Greg, I'm pretty sure he'll cut off my face if I ever did, but I think some girls must do that some times. Sherlock did seem the type to be into other guys, he was definitely on the feminine side, but I guess that's what makes him special. I was good at basketball, he was good at dancing, I could beat Greg in a bike race and he could play violin, it was just tradeoffs I guess. But right now, sitting in my bed, I wished he was here again. It had only been a couple of seconds since I've seen him and my heart already ached to hear his voice and see his eyes and hair and this really seemed to me like a problem. Wonder if I actually found real life Hogwarts? I knew he wouldn't be there anymore but maybe they can tell me where he went so I can show up and surprise him or something.

"John, Harry, dinner!" Mom's voice called. Thank god I was here; Sherlock was right in the end. Hated when that happens. I crawled out of the bed and unlocked the door, walking out to the dining room where she had some type of lasagna in a streaming glass dish. I sighed, sitting down at the table and glaring at the slightly bubbling cheeses. Lasagna wasn't my favorite food in the world, but the garlic bread beside it was enough to pay up for it. Harry plopped into the chair beside me, seeming very moody as usual. I guess she spent the whole day packing her things for college. She left sometime next week, and Mom seemed to be a little bit stressed about the whole thing. We ate in silence, there seemed to be a negative feel in the air, probably radiating off of Harry. Dad wasn't even bothering with waiting for after dinner; there was a beer on the table next to his plate and probably two or three down by his feet for when he was finished with that one. The whole dinner was very rough, but that wasn't the reason I was trying to eat as fast as I could. I was practically choking myself to try to get this whole thing over, on hyper speed dishwashing mode, just so I could get back to that glowing light and Sherlock. I missed him so badly it felt like part of my soul was missing, which, unfortunately, was possible given the way we actually met. He told me that he wouldn't make me leave at nine; I really hoped that he'd be true to his word, but he was Sherlock, it seemed that he was my second mother. But never the less, the dishes were done in a matter of minutes, and I was back to telling my family goodnight early, running back to my room in an attempt to see him again. I closed and locked the door, this sort of feeling in me that I couldn't explain, it was like a mix between being way too happy and energetic at the same time, what I'd probably think of as high, but what did I know about drugs? I slipped under my covers and sat with the book on my lap, curled into a little ball.

I'm coming. I wrote quickly.