Author's Notes: Crossover of sorts between BBC's Sherlock and Harry Potter.
"Here we are," Sherlock announced abruptly.
John looked sceptical. "It's a brick wall. A dead end."
"Sometimes I wonder if you're even trying to have intelligent thoughts. Since we arrived in the pub sixteen people departed through the door leading out here and four different people returned through it. There are footprints in the dirt which are partly concealed underneath the wall and there's a particularly worn down brick two from the left. Given how long secret passages have existed, it's ridiculous you're so easily fooled."
Sherlock brandished some kind of strange stick.
"Where'd you get that?"
"Obviously, as with everything, I'm an accomplished pickpocket," Sherlock said, tapping the brick he'd earlier indicated with the wooden tip.
Unbelievably, the solid wall collapsed in on itself, revealing a street filled with even more impossible things.
Apparently, John thought incredulously, magic was real. He wondered...
No. Not even that could explain Sherlock.