My name is Wolfgang Holmes
Sherlock Holmes the only consulting detective in the world was bored. He was currently 25 years old and very annoyed. He had big problems, one of the minor: he didn't have enough money to pay the rent and needed a flat mat with whom he'd be able to pay it... one of the bigger: HE WAS BORED! There seemed to be less and less cases by the day and it seemed even criminals and masterminds wanted to rest in the summer.
He was in the lab where he was examining the differences of frozen blood and fresh blood. Both of course human. He had dreamt for all his life to have an actual laboratory and there he had it. One with the best possible technology available but... He had to share it with another person...
As he worked his thoughts wandered to Hogwarts and to his friends. He wondered how they were doing... but the memories were to painful and he shut them out of his mind. He didn't look up as one of his lab partners, Mike Stamford came in closely followed by an army doctor. Sherlock didn't show the surprise. He had gotten so good at the deduction thing, one glance at the man and he already knew he was an army doctor. Mentally Sherlock shook his head and looked up from the microscope.
"Mind if I borrow your phone?" He asked Stamford. The man looked at him awkwardly.
"Whats wrong with the landline?"
"I prefer text."
"Uh, oh, you can use mine." Sherlock sharply turned to look at the army doctor who had pulled out his phone and was holding it out for Sherlock to take it who took it with a muttered thank you.
"Old friend of mine, John Watson." Said Stamford.
"Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock asked as wrote a quick text to Lestrade about the case.
"Sorry?"
"Which one was it Afghanistan or Iraq?" Said Sherlock turning to him.
"Afghanistan, sorry how did you know-" He wasn't able to finish his sentence as Molly came in with his cup of coffee. Sherlock noticed her lipstick was off all of a sudden.
"Ah, Molly the coffee, thank you." Sherlock said interrupting the army doctor. "What happened to the lipstick?" Sherlock asked with a raised eyebrow. It was obvious she fancied him.
"It wasn't working for me."
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement, your mouth is too... small one." Sherlock said knowing he was being rude. But that was him wasn't it? And he had a reputation to uphold. Sherlock returned back to his microscope.
"How do you feel about the violin?" Sherlock said with a raised eyebrow to John while he looked around confused.
"Sorry, what?"
"I play the violin when I'm thinking, sometimes I don't talk for days on end, would that bother you?" Sherlock caught the confused expression and elaborated. "Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." Sherlock said giving him a tight smile.
"Y-You told him about me?" He asked Stamford. Sherlocks lab partner shook his head.
"Not a word."
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" Asked the army doctor once more turning to Sherlock.
"I did." Sherlock tried to keep the smugness out of his voice. "I told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate and here he is, after lunch with an old friend." Sherlock was saying this while he put the cloak on. "Clearly home from military service." He put his scarf on as well. "from Afghanistan. Not that difficult."
"How did you know about Afghanistan." The small man said suspiciously. Sherlock picked his phone up.
"I've got my eye on a nice place in central London. Together we'll be able to afford it. Be there tomorrow evening seven o'clock. Sorry got to dash I left my riding crop in the mortuary." Said Sherlock walking to the door.
"Is that it?" Said the army doctor.
"Is that what?"
"We only just met and we're going to go look at a flat." Sherlock turned to Mike with a raised eyebrow. The guy was suspicious.
"Problem?"
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name." He stated. Sherlock looked at him with his calculating gaze.
"I know you are an army doctor and you were invalided in Afghanistan. I know you have a brother who is worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic or because he recently walked out on his wife and I know your therapist thinks your hip wound is psychosomatic, quite right I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?" Sherlock walked to the door knowing the army doctor was amazed. "The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker street." Sherlock winked to his lab partner. "Afternoon." And he walked straight out of the lab.
...
FIVE YEARS LATER
Sherlock woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing and cry of "I'm coming, I'm coming!" Sherlock cursed her. Couldn't she be a little quieter? He looked at his watch and frowned, he had specifically written on his website to people not to come earlier than one o'clock. It was eleven.
He swung his legs out of bed and stumbled to the sitting room after putting his morning robe on. John was already there, sitting in his armchair reading the newspaper and having a cup of coffee. Sherlock slumped into his own armchair and looked glumly into the already burning fire.
"Grumpy are we?" Asked John as he looked up with a smirk flirting on his face. Sherlock grunted. John grinned. "Since when don't you want to wake up to get a case." Sherlock looked at his 'look'. As if asking by the glance only if John was somehow demented.
"Those are not clients." Sherlock muttered.
"How do you know?" Sherlock rolled his eyes and outside their flat four pairs of feet were walking up them.
"Well, it's rather obvious don't you think? While you were here reading your newspaper and ignoring everything else I was getting out of bed and listening intently. Four people introduced themselves to out housekeeper.
"I am not your housekeeper." Came the sharp voice of Mrs. Hudson. The two residents of 221B Baker street turned to see who the arrivals were. Mrs. Hudson swept past the detective and doctor and went into the kitchen crying a 'oh, god' to no one in particular.
Behind her came a tall black haired man with kind hazel eyes and glasses. He looked about and grinned.
"Nice place Lupus." He moved out of the way and behind him came two other men. One with dark silky hair and red robes, the other dark haired as well and eyes full of knowledge and had a tiered look to them. And lastly behind them came a medium sized red-head with piercing emerald eyes and holding a bundle in her arms.
John stared at the peculiar clothes they wore (to him) while Sherlock stared at their faces moving from James, to Sirius, to Remus and lastly to Lily.
"How come I wasn't invited to the wedding?" Was the first thing he said without even letting his mind consider the dumb question he had just asked.
His friends burst out laughing and Johns head slowly turned to 'Lupus'.
"With all the riches you have you chose this?" Asked Sirius chuckling as he casually conjured up an armchair much to Johns surprise, who jerked back in his own armchair and let the newspaper and cup of coffee fall. Resulting in him spilling the coffee all over his laundered shirt making him yelp. Everyone turned to him and he grimaced both in pain and embarrassment.
"Sorry." He squeaked out. Remus grinned pulled his wand out and muttered a cleaning spell. Instantly Johns shirt cleared. John yelped in surprise and Remus slowly turned to Sherlock.
"I take it you haven't told him of magic of magic?" said the were-wolf. Sherlock shrugged.
"I never saw the need to." Lily frowned at Sherlocks answer.
"You always have to be like that don't you? You always have to be so dismissive." Sherlocks eyes swept to her and he swiftly stood up glancing at the bundle in her arms: A baby boy. With raven black hair and emerald green eyes. He briefly glanced at her, their eyes met and she nodded stiffly. This was his son.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?" Cried John staring at his clean shirt then glaring up at the wizards. He suddenly broke off as he looked at the four marauders standing (Sirius having stood up), they looked like something that belonged together. Remus grinned.
"Please sit down Mr..." John frowned as he sat down.
"John Watson."
"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Watson, I am Remus Lupin, that is Sirius Black, and James Potter lastly, Lily Evans." He said this as he sat down gesturing at everyone as he said their names.
"Call me John." John said looking suspiciously at everyone, including Sherlock as he took deep breaths to steady himself. Remus gestured angrily at everyone to sit down and so they did.
"John have you ever heard of magic?" John stared at him as if not understanding a word. Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Oh, don't make it so complicated, to put it plainly, we are wizards. Remus, James, Lily, Sherlock and me. Well, Lily is a witch."
"W-What?" Said John. Sherlock stood up.
"You know what? I might as well go to have a nap now. These conversations about magical history are always dull. Don't forget the part about Voldermort. Good morning."
...
It was only a couple of weeks later when Sherlock held his wand once more.
He had been relaxing in his armchair as he often did with nothing to do when the fire suddenly blazed green and a head appeared in the middle. James Potters head.
"Good evening J-"
"No time for pleasantries Sherlock, come quick, Volder-" The head disappeared. Sherlock's eyes widened and he ran to his room.
Slowly he walked to the painting knowing he was going to be late. He threw the painting aside and stared at the safe. He pressed his finger on the safe and it clicked open. Taking a deep breath he opened it and looked down at his wizarding belongings. He spotted his wand in the corner of the box and slowly picked it up.
Seconds later he was hurling through emerald fire bearly registering the power that was radiating from him and the wand.
He appeared in a dark street. Sherlock could hear the singing coming from some church. It was halloween and some children here and there were grinning at each other, coming to different doors to ask for candy and so on. But Sherlock ignored them. He swept past then suddenly he heard an explosion. Loud enough to make one go deaf for a few seconds. Sherlock continued running ignoring the now frightened children who were holding their ears, crying and running to their homes to go to their mothers and seek comfort.
Sherlock finally stopped at a half-rubble, half-house and looked up only to see a black cloud - Voldermorts soul- fly of into the darkness. Without even stopping to think Sherlock ran into what was left of the house. He stopped in front of a body. James' body. Sherlock felt a stray tear slither down his cheek as he fell down to the floor in a kneeling position holding James' hand. He suddenly heard wailing and rose from his kneeling position looking up at the ceiling with wonder.
Seconds later he was in the destroyed nursery. On the floor there were several runes drawn. Sherlock frowned and his eyes ran around the room searching for the wailing sound. He winced as he saw Lily's body spread eagled on the floor, eyes staring into nowhere.
He finally spotted him, his son.
The one year old was sitting on the floor sucking his thumb every once in a while wailing loudly. Sherlock winced as he saw the scar on his fore head. Slowly his picked his son up and cuddled him. That's when he noticed the letter. An envelope lay on the floor right next to Lilys hand.
Dear Sherlock,
If you are reading this, James and I are dead, Voldermort is somewhere and our son is alive. I have made an ancient love ritual, that shall keep him alive until he learns to shield himself. I am writing this as Voldermort is walking up the stairs so I do not have much time. I just wanted to tell you how much I love you. I have something to confess.
James never was my mate, you were, all along. And I never realized it. James has been kind and polite to me but my heart still belongs to you. Please keep our son safe. I... um... forged the documents. He is not Harry Potter. I knew how much you hated that name. So name him as you want, but most important of all: Teach him to think.
Love Lily Evans.
Sherlock stared at the letter with such sadness he had not yet experienced. He was barely aware of the continuous tears that slid down his face and onto the parchment and made the ink slowly smudge. Sherlock suddenly heard to loud cracks and he cursed. He looked out through the broken window only to see two figures walking his way.
One was a tall wizard with a long white beard and the other was a big, very big, man, more accurately - half-giant. Sherlock cursed. He couldn't apparate here. Slowly, using a concealing charm and a lowering charm he lowered himself onto the garden from the half there and half not there nursery.
Dumbledore heard him.
"Expeliarmus!" He saw the wand flick before he heard the disarming charm.
He stepped aside and the beam of blue light sped past.
"I am not a death-eater, Dumbledore. I repeat I am not a death-eater!" The greatest wizard in history hesitated and lowered his wand slightly. Sherlock took that opportunity and flicked his wand, copying what Dumbledore had done to him earlier.
"Expelliarmus." He muttered to himself. Dumbledore was taken by surprise and the wand flew from his hand and into Sherlocks who caught it skilfully and instantly dissaparated.
...
"For Gods sake Sherlock! Leave it as Harry!" Said Mrs. Hudson in an angry whisper. Sherlock shook his head, determined. To his right he felt John tug his sleeve. Sherlock tore his gaze away from the sleeping baby boy on the couch and to John who was glaring at him.
"You are not going to name him something like Amadeus." He whispered. Sherlocks eyes brightened as he got an idea. "Oh, no, I've just given you an idea haven't I?" Sherlock grinned at John who frowned softly. Sherlock did not grin often.
"You are certainly not a genius, John, in fact you are an idiot. But... you certainly can bring the genius out in other people." John opened his mouth to say something but Sherlock forestalled him. "I shall call him Wolfgang Holmes, after Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart." John snorted and Mrs. Hudson frowned. Sherlock eyed them both.
"Would you rather I call him Ludwig? After Ludwig van Beethoven?" That settled the argument. Then Sherlock pulled his wand out and seeing the looks from John and Mrs. Hudson he explained. "I want to change him to his proper appearance. Lily, she put a glamour charm on him meaning this is not his true appearance." He did the spell.
...
The very next day Sherlock had gone to do the papers. It was not long after. Only three days in fact when Mycroft appeared in 221B Baker street.
Sherlock had just come back to his flat after consulting Lestrade on a case and was hanging his coat on the coat hanger when he turned around without warning.
"It is a surprise to see you here Mycroft." Mycroft snorted.
"Since when has anything been a surprise to you." At that moment John came out of the bathroom in his bath robe. He blushed as he saw the two well dressed brothers.
"I had no idea..." He started, still blushing then ran up the stairs, off into his room. Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"I bet he's embarrassed because he sings in the shower." Mycroft smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.
"Yes, in fact very good." Sherlock frowned and sat across from his brother in his own armchair and grabbed his violin from Mycroft who had just picked it up and glared at his brother.
"Why are you here?" Mycroft frowned.
"Can I not just visit my baby brother?" Sherlock frowned.
"No. You are here for my son." Mycroft smiled.
"Yes, you are quick. I am here for him. I believe you... incapable to take care of a child." Sherlock rose his eyebrows.
"Do you think I am that irresponsible."
"Yes. As a matter of fact, yes. You are not able to take care of a child." Sherlock sneered at his brother.
"And you are here to volunteer?" His brother frowned.
"No of course not. I just don't trust you. Anyway, what would I want with a small boy?" Muttered Mycroft. "What is his name anyway." Sherlock shrugged.
"Wolfgang." Mycroft nodded approvingly.
"Very well chosen. The Holmes family has a reputation to uphold of strange names." Sherlock rose an eyebrow.
"Now that you are done here you might as well go." Mycroft frowned.
"I want to see him first." Sherlock sighed and was about to call Mrs. Hudson but at the very moment he opened his mouth to cry down to her there were two loud cracks followed closley behind each other.
Suddenly the other two Marauders were standing in the middle of the sitting room.
"Have you heard-" Started Sirius.
"'Bout the Pronglets?" Continued Remus. Sherlock bowed his head.
"Yes, I came there shortly after it happened." Remus sighed deeply.
"Where do you store your whiskey?" Sherlock frowned.
"I don't drink whiskey."
"What do you drink?" asked Remus. Sherlock shrugged and half-glanced at Mycroft.
"I don't drink." Remus sank into an armchair with a hand on his head barely seeing Mycroft. Sirius sat on the sofa and conjured up an ice pack for Remus who held it on his forehead. Sherlock slowly pulled two letters out of his suit.
"Here." He passed them to his friends who looked down at the familiar precise handwriting they had so often seen in their younger years when they had copied his work and smiles flirted across their faces. Sirius was the first to answer.
"What is this?" Sherlock looked at him with an expressionless face.
"An invitation to a funeral." At that very moment Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door carrying the bundle in which Wolfgang lay. Sherlock cursed at his bad luck.
"Oi! Who's that?"
...
After everything had been explained. The whole affair Sherlock had had with Lily Evans he ushered them all out of the house and closed his eyes as he picked up the wand he had stolen from Dumbledore, he rolled it in his hands and suddenly they snapped open. He ran to the safe where he held his wizarding belongings and flicked through the pages in one of the books.
It was the Elder Wand.
Ok, that was a more or less short chapter. When Wolfgang goes to Hogwarts he's going to be in a house. So yeah, I'm letting you vote...
Thanks for all the reviews in the last story...
SNHPF- SupernaturalHPfreak...