A/N Hey My Lovelies!!! Here is a lovely little PotterLock/TeenLock story for you!!!saw something on Tumblr and was inspired lol....Hope you like it!!! Enjoy<3
It wasn't that Sherlock didn't understand Quidditch, he simply hated it. With every fibre of his being. Too many people, all crowding together and screaming, watching a bunch of children playing a sport that was known and celebrated for the number of deaths and injuries associated with it.
That's why he avoided the Quidditch field, more than willing to take the long way around the school to get to class, if it meant he could avoid the chaos on the field.
That was his life, and he was content with it.
Until the school had to be rebuilt after Voldemort's little temper tantrum.
Now, he had no choice but to walk past the field if he wanted to get to class.
He was crossing said field, once again cursing Harry Potter and his friends, they were the cause of this after all, when he heard the players start shouting at him. He turned, a sarcastic comment about the intelligence of Quidditch players on his tongue, but the words died on his lips.
A stray Bludger was hurdling towards him, too fast for him to escape it's path. He stumbled desperately backwards, trying to adjust his grip on his book's fast enough to block the iron ball, but could see it was too late.
The Bludger was less than a foot away from his chest when a paddle came out of nowhere, swatting the Bludger away while pushing Sherlock to safety at the same time. The blow to his chest left him breathless and sprawled on the ground, his mind fuzzy with adrenaline and fear.
He pushed himself to his elbows, wincing as a dull ache started to form in his chest.
"Hey, you alright Mate? Mikey! Call for a nurse!" A voice startled him, coming from his left side and slightly above him. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his brain as the outline of a person filled his vision.
The boy that hovered over him looked concerned, his brow knitted in a frown and his mouth pulled into a tight line.
He was gorgeous, and Sherlock felt his cheeks and ears start to burn.
"-know how that happened. I've never seen a Bludger do that before. Are you okay? I didn't mean to hit you that hard-"
"James." The boy, who had been in the middle of explaining what happened, looked at him with a mix of curiosity and relief. Sherlock nodded to the opposite side of the field, where, sure enough, James Moriarty and his little crew were standing, pointing at Sherlock and snickering. "James Moriarty. He hates me and has made it his life mission to hurt me." The boy looked horrified and reached for his wand, but Sherlock stopped him with a hand on his elbow. "Please don't."
"But- He could have killed you!"
"Just leave it. It's better if you don't provoke him." The boy reluctantly sheathed his wand just as the school nurse came bustling onto the field, shooing him away and pressing Sherlock back onto the grass. "I'm fine-"
"Enough of that Mr. Holmes. You got hit by a Bludger, you need medical attention."
"It wasn't a Bludger, it was-" Sherlock hesitated as he realized he didn't know the boy's name. "-his paddle." He finished weakly, cheeks tinting crimson.
"Whose paddle? Mr. Watson's? Well then, you definitely need to get checked."
"I really don't-"
"Just go with her. She's right, you need to get looked at." The boy, Mr. Watson, as Mrs. Hudson had called him, said, looking concerned. Sherlock found himself unable to deny the boy.
