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Potterlock: Gryffindor's Suck

Sherlock Holmes was beyond glad to have finally been sorted. Mycroft had told him that the process was daunting; that the older students would jab the first years with their wands and put them through all sorts of vigorous tests to determine which house they belonged in, as well as being viewed as an outcast if there really was no house that would accept them. However, when Mycroft had been telling Sherlock all of this, it was without the knowledge that Sherlock had read Hogwarts: A History several times before. So, his jaunting and jibing ran hollow in Sherlock's far too knowledgeable ears.

That didn't mean that Sherlock wasn't at least a little frightened, though. He'd heard for a very long time about how excellent it was to be a Slytherin, especially seeing as Mycroft was in that house. He didn't want to go where Mycroft was. Not that he didn't like the house. Some of his absolute idols while growing up had all come from Slytherin, and he appreciated the vast majority of their values. But because Mycroft was there, Sherlock longed not to be.

His mother had been a Ravenclaw, and his dad a Hufflepuff. As far as he was aware, there weren't any family members of his that were in Gryffindor, and there probably wouldn't be for a long time seeing as he'd just been sorted into Ravenclaw like his mother.

He'd heard bad things about the Gryffindor house. That they were reckless, arrogant, and had a brutal reputation for getting into trouble. They were generally seen as the most cockiest of all the houses, choosing the use brawl over brain in many situations. So when it came down to it, Sherlock was somewhat glad when he found himself being marched towards Ravenclaw tower as opposed to the Gryffindor common room.

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, following the throng of first years as they trundled along after the prefect who was showing them where to go. As a result, he soon found himself slightly lost and surrounded by lots of tired looking Gryffindor first year students, and one boy who was standing in front of him.

"Are you lost?" The boy asked, and Sherlock responded blandly with a shrug. He hadn't a clue where he was, but he wasn't about to admit that to a Gryffindor. Ravenclaws were supposed to be clever. He'd be ridiculed forever if a couple of Gryffindors thought him stupid.

The boy talking to him looked up at him thoughtfully through large blue eyes, trying to work him out. He smiled, attempting to be nice but Sherlock immediately dispelled it with a frown. The boy looked as though he'd been crying.

"Sorry," the timid boy said quickly, as the surrounding students scarpered off after their own prefect. "You're probably worried that I'll bully you about getting lost or something. I won't though, promise."

He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and alarm bells quickly started going off in Sherlock's head. He didn't know how to deal with crying people. The last person he'd seen cry was himself when he was five years old and had stubbed his toe on a rock in the garden. How was he supposed to handle a watery eyed 11 year old?
"Why would you bully me?" Sherlock queried, trying to distract him from crying. "People get lost. It happens," he explained, although he was trying to reassure himself rather than the person standing opposite him. The boy sniffed.

"Because that's what Gryffindors do," he explained. "On the train, a group of Hufflepuffs were telling me that they were all bullied by Gryffindor students for being thick, then another said that Gryffindors only get through everything by being brash and cocky. I've never bullied anyone in my life, and I don't want to start now."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. He was short, with dirty blonde hair that lay flat on his head. Now that Sherlock looked more closely, it was clear to see that the boy's eyes were red rimmed.

"You're the first member of your family at Hogwarts, aren't you?" He asked it as a question, but it was meant as a statement. The boy nodded. "So you don't know much about the houses, am I right?" Sherlock continued, and the boy sniffed and nodded again. "Well, I can tell you that that's really brave of you."

The boy's expression quickly turned to that of confusion, and he frowned slightly.

"What's that got to do with anything?" He quizzed.

"Being brave is one of the finer points of the Gryffindor house," Sherlock supplied, and the boy perked up.

"Is it?"

"Mmhm," Sherlock replied with a nod. "And you asked me if I'm lost, presumably to try and help me find my way to wherever I need to go, I'd say that's at least a small element of chivalry. Also a Gryffindor house trait."

At Sherlock's words, the boy began smiling.

"John Watson," he said, sticking out his hand. Sherlock nodded and shook it awkwardly.

"Sherlock Holmes," he responded. "Ravenclaw," he added as an afterthought. John smiled wider, having been cheered up considerably by Sherlock.

"So, do you need help finding out where you need to go?" He asked, peering behind Sherlock's shoulder in an attempt to see if there were any other Ravenclaw students around, which there weren't.

"Yup," Sherlock admitted. "I was distracted by the paintings and ended up wandering off," he explained, watching a portrait of a sleeping witch with a ball of snot hanging from her hooked nose. John nodded.

"I think I saw some Ravenclaws going this way," he said, pointing down a large corridor. Sherlock thanked him, and together they made their way towards Ravenclaw tower.