Whoa boy, I am rustay! It has been many moons since I've written anything and this bebe is my attempt to get back in the groove. Hope it makes sense, that's all I can ask. Now enjoy some Potter!lock Sherlolly, my darlings!
He never should have let her out of his sight. Pissed off at him or not, he should have been with her, he should have been able to stop this.
Sherlock burst onto the balcony just as Molly collapsed to the stone floor.
"What did you do to her?" Sherlock shoved the Arithmancy Professor aside and knelt over his unconscious friend. He cupped her cold cheek and leaned down, his ear to her mouth. Small puffs of air. She was alive.
"I don't know," the idiot lied. "I thought it was butterbeer!" Sherlock snapped his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.
“No, no you knew exactly what you were giving her. And it wasn't a simple butterbeer. What. Was. It?” He bit out through clenched teeth.
A guilty flush darkened the idiot's face and his gaze skittered away.
“You can tell me and walk away with just a couple broken bones.” Sherlock's voice fell to a dangerous rumble. “Or Ministry officials will meet you in St Mungo's, several limbs permanently cursed off.”
The idiot swallowed and paled. “I just wanted her to like me!” Spit flew from his mouth. “She's such an uptight whore. I-I tried to cop a feel and she just turned into the ice queen!”
“So you decided to use an illegal potion to coerce her?” By now, Sherlock was barely containing his rage. His fingers gripped his wand tightly and he was mentally reviewing all the legal (and somewhat gray area illegal) curses he could use on this scum. “Who brewed it?”
The idiot gulped. “I didn't get a name. But the note said the effects would wear off in an hour. She wasn't supposed to pass out!” Sweat dripped off his slimy face. “It was just supposed to loosen her up!”
Realising he wasn't going to get any useful information from the idiot, Sherlock whipped out his wand and thought a quick hex, sending the idiot flying into the wall. He dropped to the stone floor like a sack of potatoes, unconscious, and ropes appeared, tying his legs and arms tight in a body bind.
He turned back to Molly. The empty glass lay shattered by her side, the evidence slowly dripping onto the floor. He swiped his finger through the murky liquid and brought it up to his nose.
Bitter fruits and a heady sensual wave assaulted his senses. A lust potion.
He scowled. There was another ingredient. Something lying underneath the basic potion… a binding agent. He sniffed again.
Behind him, John burst onto the balcony, Mary on his heels, their wands at the ready. They stumbled to a stop at the sight before them. Tom ‘the Idiot’ crumpled unconscious and bound with ropes as Sherlock knelt over an unconscious and pale Molly.
“Oh, Merlin!” Mary rushed to her friend’s side, nearly landing in the pool of cursed butterbeer and glass. “What’s wrong with her?”
John clenched his wand in a white-knuckled grip. “She’s not… is she?”
“No,” Sherlock snapped. “Not yet. But her heartbeat is slowing down as we speak, so shut up and let me think!”
He closed his eyes tightly and ran through his Mind Palace to the basement, where he stored his potions and ingredients. Ransacking the shelves, he desperately searched for his notes on potions affecting the heart.
What is the antidote to lust?!
He flipped through book after book, finally coming to the page he needed.
Potions that affect the heart are difficult to counteract. While their symptoms may be temporary, they can also be dangerous. Amortentia is an example of a revelatory potion; it does not create feelings, rather it reveals them to the person imbibing.
Sherlock scowled and skipped down a few paragraphs. Ah, there it is.
Lust potions are the most dangerous potions in regards to the heart. They were banned by the Ministry of Magic in 1502. Without proper preparation, a lust potion can be deadly. Certain ingredients can exaggerate the side effects of a lust potion, one such consequence being drugged to the point of unconsciousness as the heart continues to slow until it stops altogether.
Sherlock skimmed over the rest, looking for notes to counteract it. His eyes fell on the last sentence and his heart fell into his stomach.
There is no known antidote.
He flipped to the next page, but found nothing.
Dropping the book, he immediately withdrew from his Mind Palace to find John checking Molly’s pulse as Mary muttered to herself, running through her own repertoire of spells.
With no time to waste, Sherlock slipped his arms under her back and legs, shifting her into his embrace. Her slight form shuddered at the contact and, to his surprise, she murmured his name. He glanced down, but she faded back into unconsciousness.
Madam Pomfrey bustled about, casting multiple spells, a frown on her face. Sherlock stood over Molly's supine form, his arms crossed. He wasn't moving until she was cured.
“A strong lust potion, I deduce” Sherlock offered.
Madam Pomfrey flicked her gaze over to the Potions Master. “Obviously, Mr Holmes. But these symptoms are far too severe for any simple potion. Something else was added, a binding agent I cannot determine. I can't try to bring her out of it without knowing what has her in a hold. It might just push her deeper.”
She chewed on her thumbnail for a moment. “I need to send for the Headmaster. He might be able to assist.”
She spun away and he heard the sharp click of her shoes on the floor, followed by the slam of the Hospital Wing door.
A cold feeling swept over Sherlock. What if Molly never woke up?
He looked down at his friend. Her pale face was waxen and blank, no sign of her ready smile or concentrating frown. Sitting on the bed beside her, he hesitantly reached for her hand. He flinched at how cold her fingers were and immediately grasped it tightly in both of his and rubbed gently to generate some warmth.
“I'm sorry I didn't curse that idiot's legs off,” Sherlock muttered darkly. “But mostly I'm sorry I didn't get there in time. Though you're probably wondering why I was there at all, after everything.”
He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze to their hands. “I was cruel. You offered me your heart, your trust, and in return I cast them aside. Out of fear, perhaps, that I am not what you believe me to be. And when you find out exactly who I am, you’ll leave.”
“Stupid, really. To think, I thought I had been most logical about it, but I failed to see that what I feared would happen already did, at my own hands. I pushed you away.”
With his free hand, he reached out and gently brushed her hair from her face. “Forgive me, please.”
Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her lips.
The shocking chill that met him immediately faded away and he pulled back in surprise. A wave of color washed over Molly, her pale cheeks blooming with rosy redness, the hand he held becoming soft and warm, and best of all, the flutter of her eyelashes as she slowly opened her eyes.
Relieved at seeing those brown eyes alight with life, he kissed her again, her surprise only momentarily keeping her from kissing him back in kind. One hand slipping behind her, he lifted her up to sit halfway across his lap, happily snogging her while she wound her arms around his neck.
Distantly, he heard the doors open and footsteps as a group of people hurried inside, but he didn’t care.
Breaking the kiss for just a moment, he held her close, breathing deeply as he nuzzled her neck. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she replied, her voice thick with emotion.
Addressing the intruders, Sherlock suddenly barked, “Molly is fine. Now leave, we require privacy.”
Amidst the relieved grumbling and calls of “about time”, Madame Pomfrey warned them they had 5 minutes and under no circumstances was there to be any hanky panky in her Hospital Wing.
“People will talk,” Molly laughed breathlessly, her hands gripping the front of his robes, as the doors shut behind their friends.
Leaning back down to brush his lips against hers, he said, “Let them.”
