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This is perhaps the strangest hallucination I have ever experienced. Tactile is not generally a component nor do I tend to believe I've lived two different childhoods. Can't be H.O.U.N.D. and I haven't used. Lucid dreaming, perhaps? Most likely though in that case I have rather lost control. Very odd indeed, but then I do seem to harbor the belief that this book will populate itself with responses and that I'm at a school for learning magic. It hardly does to only call one thing odd when so much is absolutely ridiculous. But I believe it. That shouldn't be possible.

I'll have to consider carefully how to move forward from here. I'm not sure how but it could be Moriarty. Makes as much sense as anything.

[ooc - replies with not_a_hero. 4th wall breaking is A-Okay]

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[Sherlock smirks but it's not exactly in good humor.]

It's how we met. You were looking for someone to share a flat with after you returned home from war. I knew a place we could afford together. You decided to live with me after only knowing me for less than a day and then killed a man for me.

Looking forward to following in that trend?

[John sits up a little straighter, his expression a bit more serious. His personality may be out-of-synch with the age and experiences of his current body, but for a moment, he looks the part.]

You're really insistent the two memories you have of being two types of Sherlock are pretty close to identical, when you get down to it. That even if there are some changes, you're basically the same person.

Then that means that even if I don't have his memories, I'm an awful lot like the John whose body I'm in. I know I wouldn't kill someone unless I had a reason so good that I wouldn't regret it for a second, so he must've had one when he killed someone for you.

And if he's stuck around and lived with you for a year even with all the body parts, then there must be some good in it.

[Sherlock's smile ripens into something real.]

There you are. I suppose there is a bit of the soldier in you too. You wouldn't be much use without it. Caring and concern will only get you killed, especially considering I've gotten you kidnapped, oh... two or three times, not including Mycroft's many summons, generally under threat of execution. You can't sass bullets away or talk several pounds of semtex explosives into not going off. Then there's the girlfriend who was almost murdered as well.

You'd have to be crazy, really. Most people think John is in some way to put up with it all. Are you crazy, John, or do you think magic is going to save you? I think it's probably the same thing.

Do you want to know more about the insanity of the war hero or have I quelled most of your curiosity on the subject of John Hamish Watson?

I suppose you could call me thoroughly quelled. If he's mad for putting up with all that from you, then I suppose that makes me mad as well. It's different types of ridiculous things to put up with. He's got explosives and kidnappings and attempted girlfriend-murderings, and I've pretty much been promised that my Sherlock's got plans to investigate the nearby forest filled to bursting with all kinds of horrible things that can rip a person apart.

Did she come out of whatever situation that was alright, though? The girlfriend, I mean.

[Very loyal, very fast. The fact that John isn't the least bit phased is... sort of wonderful. But, of course, he has to be worried about Sarah e_e]

She was fine. Didn't even break up with you. That's Three Continents Watson for you.

[Sherlock sits back, remembering the promise to investigate the forest.]

...The forest is only off limits to students, correct? Any adult who wanted to venture forth would technically be allowed.

Oh, no. No, no, no. I know that look and I know exactly what you're thinking. Even if we don't look it and part of your brain doesn't think it, we still count as students. ... probably.

But even if we don't, I've already told you going in the Forbidden Forest is a terrible idea.

Why is it a terrible idea? I'm more than equipped to handle the situation.

More equipped? While we're... like this, we can't use magic. How is that 'more equipped'?

You don't think I could handle a unicorn with or without magic?

I just think that as headstones go, "Here lies Sherlock Holmes: it took three people to unscrew his corpse from the unicorn" is a pretty embarrassing one to have.

Not that any of my protests matter. You've already worked out a time to sneak out, haven't you?

With you along we might not even encounter one. Plenty of other things to be seen, however. I won't be staying here so sneaking out won't be an issue. Think you can manage that part on your own?

Right, I'll just be your walking, talking unicorn repellant, shall I?

Considering we've wound up outside the school when we really shouldn't have before, I can probably manage. Probably should have checked if Hufflepuff will even let me back in as I am now, though. But where are you going to stay? Hogsmeade?

Hogsmeade should be ideal. I've more than enough cash reserves. Far better than sharing a room with strangers the likes of Tony Stark. I can see to your accommodations as well if necessary.

[John sighs and runs a hand down his face. Though his hands are hardly lily-soft normally, he's still surprised by the number of calluses.]

What time were you planning on pressing your luck with every nasty magical creature in Britain? If I just go along to Hogsmeade with you, it cuts the risk of me showing up too late.

[He's pleased but tries not to look it.]

Nightfall, obviously. One can hardly stalk creatures in the day. We'll need a torch of some manner. Do you have your gun?

My gun?!

Ah - no, can't say that I've seen a gun. I think this body only came with these clothes. Thank God for that, at least, but a beat-up old jacket, jumper, and jeans aren't nearly as useful as a gun.

Well, that will make things a bit more interesting, I suspect. Unless I can locate a gun before now and then. I'm sure it will all pan out, though. If not, then I'll certainly know this isn't some sort of shared hallucination.

Yeah, good luck finding a gun here. You've seen there's no electricity or any devices like that, right? If you've got a mobile on you, it won't be working either. Don't know if guns are included, but most Muggle technology just doesn't operate here.

You still think this is a hallucination? I swear, if I die because you think all this isn't real, I'm going to haunt you mercilessly. I'm talking multiple rattling chains, furious Poltergeist activity, and... not moaning, moaning's too subdued. Screamed profanitites, there we go.

I'll be sure to offer you some tea.

Guns are hardly technologically advanced. We've been using pistols in Britain for centuries. In your defense, my dual younger self has no memories of any guns in the family estate but I find it hard to believe those of the lesser financial classes would rely only on wands. Do hunters go out in the woods armed with wands? Do you pluck deer from the brush with a killing curse? Considering how taboo it is, I highly doubt it. So there must be something used to murder mundane things and a gun is the most likely.

I don't know, I think the idea of just using wands makes sense. Maybe not using the killing curse, but there's spells that can slice like knives and other types of projectile spells. I mean, it makes sense. As a species, we've had wood a hell of a lot longer than we've had molded metal and gunpowder.

Not that it matters, since we won't be able to use either on your little forest adventure. Speaking of which, is there anything in particular you want to find there?

For a mudblood you're very adamant about wizarding ways. I don't supposed it matters, though. We'll go it without.

I'd like to find signs of Death Eaters, though. I seem to recall some concern over dark magic being used in the school or at least having enough spread to effect it. Would make for a good hiding location.

[John visibly bristles at the use of the slur. It's been so long since he's heard Sherlock use the word, and it's jarring to hear it again. Disappointing and, yes, hurtful too.]

You do not get to use that word again just because you've got two memories mixed up in your head. I don't care what the other bit thinks of the situation, but I know part of you knows damn well what that word reminds me of. You haven't used it in a long time, and I'm not about to just let you start up with it again.

Understand?

[Sherlock arches his left brow. Well, that certainly did illicit an interesting response.]

It's only a word. It carries as much weight as you let it and nothing more. If you want to work in a wizard hospital, get used to slurs. The people who need you are often the ones who strike verbally. Passive aggressive response to helplessness, especially if at the mercy of someone they oppose but cannot deny--like the skills of a muggle-born healer for a pure-blood elitist. I'm intimately familiar with the type but no cry of freak or psychopath is going to make me behave in such a way as to lose my privileges in performing my work. You'd be better off learning to accept the word as merely an indicator of the stupidity of others.

Or, in my case, of a complete lack of concern towards the politically correct. You knew what I meant and knew I meant nothing by it. Stop choosing to be a defensive irritant.

[Nope, not gonna work, Sherlock. Sorry. John keeps his eyes pinned on Sherlock's. He's not backing down.]

I know I'll be called slurs from idiots if I get the job I want. If I've got a pureblood patient and they're a big enough moron to call the person trying to keep them alive a mudblood, or worse, then whatever. It doesn't matter. Once they're not my patient anymore, I'll never have to see or think about their ignorant arse again.

But you're my friend. And you're not an idiot, even if you're a stubborn prat most of the time. You know I was called that slur over and over when I was attacked, and though it just gets me angry when I hear some random idiot say it, you matter. You might not mean it the same way they did, but that sure as hell doesn't mean I have to just put up with hearing it from you.

Like you said, you don't care if others call you 'freak' or 'psychopath'. Would you feel the same way if it were me casually throwing those around at you?

[Sherlock half pouts. He hates it when John is right. Especially a seventeen year old John.]

Fair point. Fine. Apologies.

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