Hello everyone! Welcome to my sequel to A Study in Magic (if you haven't read it I suggest you do that first, it's only got nine chapters.) I just thought I'd come in here and put a few notes down before we begin. First of all: This one takes place five years after graduation from Hogwarts (you'll understand the exact starting point in a moment, it's rather obvious). As with any crossover fic I need you guys to patiently accept what I've added to the original HP storyline. I changed it a little, please don't be upset. I adore JK Rowling and the BBC Sherlock franchises and I hope to do both of them justice here, not to caricaturize either one. Also, THIS FIC IS A SLASH. I'm sorry. I know a lot of you guys reviewed on the last fic that you don't like the Johnlock slash pairing, and out of respect for you and for their friendship I kept it platonic, but this one is a slash. I hope you can like it anyway, it's not overly fluffy, in fact I find it endearing (but what the hell do I know? I ship them hard).

Still here? Haven't been put off? Good! Welcome! I hope you enjoy! I adore comments, favorites, watches, and reviews so please let me know what you think of this.

-xo

A Hopeless Place

Chapter 1

John Watson couldn't sleep. It was ridiculous, really; he was beyond exhausted. A fourteen hour shift at St. Mungo's and then he had to come home and put up with Sherlock's whining and Penny's suddenly adamant need for her father's attention. And then of course there was the holiday; he and Sherlock had gotten into a row about it when John came home with the muggle sweets to pass out. He had won, of course, because it was Penny's first Halloween and despite the fact that he found it stupid Sherlock would do anything for the baby girl.

"She isn't going to remember it, John. What's the point?" he had crossed his arms hard over his chest while the baby cooed at his feet, her brown curls bobbing as she slammed her little doll against the ground, emerald eyes shining brightly.

"Yes, Sherlock, that's what the pictures are for. You insisted upon this family and now you're going to have to start acting like a family man." He tossed his husband the deerstalker hat, which Sherlock scoffed at.

John smiled at the thought, hoping to get the pictures printed after his shift tomorrow. Sherlock holding the little girl in his arms while wearing the ridiculous cap. It was very amusing. He turned onto his side, facing the sleeping man. His face was a mask of gentleness, all frustrations and deep thoughts erased when he slept. He hand just decided to close his eyes for the night when a brightness filled the room. John sat bolt straight, his wand pulled out from under the pillow. Hovering at the foot of the bed was a silver phoenix. Dumbledore's patronus.

"There has been an emergency. The order is coming to your flat. I'll be along soon." The wise wizard's voice echoed throughout the room, and John kicked Sherlock hard under the covers. He groaned and turned around, incoherent.

"What's going on, Dumbledore?" John whispered, his eyes flitting to the bassinet in the corner of the room. He elbowed Sherlock again, who didn't sit up until the little girl started wailing.

"All will be explained." Dumbledore said once more, the phoenix fading out into darkness.

"Whathappened?" Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his eyes and reluctantly climbing out of bed, going to the child.

"Order's coming here. Some sort of emergency." He eyed Sherlock before sighing and following his lead, getting out of bed. He went to the closet and pulled out a cable-knit sweater for himself and a t-shirt for Sherlock, pulling on dark jeans over his boxer shorts. He looked to Sherlock, who had the baby nestled in his long arms, shushing her gently. It was certainly a sight to see, his usually cold husband looking at this little girl with so much affection, and she wasn't even theirs.

That night six months ago was still ingrained in John's memory, as it had been the day their lives had changed forever. He had been sitting in his office at St. Mungo's, between patients, exhausted, when the snow leopard patronus appeared before him. "John, I need you to do something for me." Sherlock's voice had said. John looked at it wearily and with a mix of concern; Sherlock had been with the Order that day investigating a muggle couple who had been murdered. "The James family, they have a baby girl. She's a witch."

"A baby? How old?"

"Three to four months by the look of her. That isn't important. Mycroft is bringing her to the hospital, she has some injuries from the spell backfire, and I need you to make sure she'll be alright." Sherlock actually sounded worried about this little girl, and John sighed, nodding.

"If she is so young how can you tell she's magic?" John asked tiredly.

"It's obvious. I need to go. Get back to me when you've seen her." And with that the patronus disappeared and John was paged to a room where Mycroft had sat, a baby girl with wide green eyes and brown curls in his arms. She seemed calm and oddly aware for such a young child, and the little scrapes along her cheek and arms had been easy enough to heal. Other than that, she was healthy, but John couldn't find any sort of indication that she was a witch. He supposed it was one of those intuitive things that only Sherlock could pick up on.

The little girl was placed into the orphanage associated with St. Mungo's, which was sadly fuller than ever since the rise of He-who-must-not-be-named. It had been a week since she was there when Sherlock had asked John if they could just adopt her; he had some sort of connection to the child that neither of them could understand. But John was weak when it came to Sherlock, especially when he showed the softness in his heart that was so rarely seen, and within a few weeks the little girl, Penelope, was an official member of their family.

John crossed the room, fully dressed, and held out his arms for their daughter. "You need to get dressed, they're coming." Sherlock placed her in his arms and crossed the room to his clothes when several loud cracks were heard on the street below their flat. Penny wailed louder than ever; the sound of apparation traumatized her, and John figured it must be ingrained in her subconscious to fear the sound, as it was likely one of the last she heard before her parents were killed.

Sherlock scowled, looping a belt around his waist. "Why do they have to always come here? They've all got homes, and we've got a baby who is barely beginning to sleep through the night. Ridiculous."

"A lot of us have children, Sherlock." John said tiredly, grabbing his wand from the bed and going down the stairs to let the others in.

John opened the door and greeted them quietly as they entered, each looking tired and more than a little miffed; Mycroft, Remus Lupin, Greg and Molly Lestrade, Sally, the Longbottoms (whose one-year-old son was wide awake and looking confused in his mother's arms), Aberforth Dumbledore, and Arthur Weasley. They all trudged up the stairs into the sitting room, looking around expectedly for Dumbledore.

"Where the bloody hell is he?" Lestrade said, annoyed. "Waking us up in the middle of the night and he isn't even here?" The others nodded in agitated assent.

John shrugged and went about making tea for them all when Sherlock came down the stairs, not saying a word of welcome to any of them. "Where are the Potters? And Sirius and Hagrid?" he asked. The others looked to Remus, who shrugged at them, not knowing where his closest friends were.

Crack!

Another loud wail from Penny, and the others chuckled as Sherlock jumped up and snatched her from John. He was so protective of her. Dumbledore strode into the room, looking worse for wear.

"What happened, Albus?" Arthur said, looking nervous.

"Lilly and James are dead." He said in a quiet, resonate voice. Several of them gasped, looking wide-eyed to eachother. Sherlock's eyes slid to Lupin, who was clutching the back of the chair in front of him, looking as though he might faint.

"How? What…I mean…" Molly's eyes were filled with tears, and beside her Alice Longbottom had her face buried in her husband's chest.

"Voldemort himself did it. Came into their house…he was there for the boy, but they got in the way…" He greeted everyone's wide eyes with his sad blue ones. John crossed the room to stand beside his husband, hand protectively on Penny's soft curls.

"So…Harry is dead too?" Lupin managed to choke. He didn't cry, but his body was shaking hard.

"No. The boy survived. We don't know how, but the spell rebounded off of him and hit Voldemort instead. He's gone." Dumbledore's tone suggested that he didn't believe the last part entirely, but that he had no better explanation for them. Sherlock's mind was racing but he didn't say anything, quietly bouncing Penny in his arms until she was calm and yawning.

"How did he…I mean, why?" said Aberforth, eying his brother suspiciously. It was clear he thought Dumbledore was hiding something.

"Sirius Black…" Mycroft whispered. The others turned to him with faces in various stages of shock.

"What?" Lupin hissed, crossing to get in the man's face. "Don't you dare blame this on Sirius."

"The call came in just before Dumbledore's. He killed Peter Pettigrew. He's the one that told…told him about them, sold them out, gave them away. He's on his way to Azkaban right now…" he greeted Remus's crazed eyes with cold gray ones, unaffected by his rage. "Your friend betrayed us all."

"You're LYING!" Remus screamed, and Penny and Neville both yelled out in fear, Penny's crying staring up yet again. "Can you get your child under control please?" He turned and snapped at Sherlock, and both John and Mycroft made a move to lunge at him.

"Enough!" Dumbledore yelled. "I also heard what Mycroft did. It's true. He's on his way to the prison. Pettigrew is dead, Remus." He looked sadly at the man, whose face crumpled.

"It isn't true! It can't be! Sirius was—is James' best friend. MY best friend! He'd never in a million years…" he was beginning to hyperventilate, and John ran to him, helping him to take a seat on the ground, putting his head between his knees as he sobbed.

"What's going to happen the child, then?" Sally said quietly, turning to Dumbledore.

"I'll take him." Lupin said suddenly, snapping his head up. Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

"Hagrid and I have already taken him to his aunt and uncle. He will live with them, away from the magical world. It will be better for him that way." Everyone's eyes cast downward, silent for a long while. It wasn't a secret how horrible Lilly's family was, especially the sister, but no one could argue Dumbledore's logic. Harry Potter, only a year old, responsible for taking down the Dark Lord. In the morning the news will spread; the entire magical world will know his name. He'll be famous without ever knowing it.

John looked to Sherlock and Penny, swallowing hard. He knew that Voldemort was gone, at least for the present moment, but a heavy lump formed in his throat. He was afraid, for his family, for the entire order. So many lives had been taken that day, so many hearts broken. Penny could have easily been one of them, those months ago. Another life snuffed out, another name in the paper. But she lived, and thanks to Sherlock she was safe in their home, surrounded by amazing witches and wizards whose sole purpose in life is to protect others. He knew, now that the Potters were dead, that purpose would escalate into something much more vibrant, that this group of so many different types of people would become stronger out of this, more banded together, more determined to not let any more people die in this war.

After Dumbledore reminded them all to stay vigilant and on the lookout for Voldemort's followers, who may still be doing his bidding, he wished them all goodnight, and one by one they silently left the flat. Sherlock held Penny's head close to his chest as they apparated away, each crack making her jump in fright.

John sighed, "We need to do something about that…she can't keep freaking out every time someone apparates." He kissed the little girl's head and went to sit in his armchair, head in his hands. "James and Lilly… I would have never thought…and Sirius…it can't be true, can it?" he looked up desperately to Sherlock. Sherlock, who always had an answer, would surely have a theory. But the man shrugged, laying his sallow cheek against Penny's head, gray eyes staring into the distance.

"That could have been her…" he finally whispered, looking to John. "She could have been killed just as easily as they were. Murdered in cold blood, just for being alive. These…people…they're easy for me to understand; murderers, serial killers, psychopaths, you know I can read them like a book…but this all feels so personal. Ever since I saw her, John, I…I can't just senselessly solve cases anymore. I feel them, I mourn for losses. That little boy, Harry. He's all alone now. What if that were us, what if we were killed…What would happen to her?"

John stood and put a hand against Sherlock's face, staring into his eyes. "Don't…Don't talk like that, Sherlock. You can't." his voice cracked, and Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's, little Penny falling asleep between them as he placed a light kiss on his lips.

"Go get some sleep, John." He whispered, and with that they went back up to bed, all three of them sleeping soundly together until the sunrise.

Welp! What do you think? Please leave me feedback in the reviews, they inspire me to write faster! ;)

-xo