Chapter 1: Letters

"John! John are you coming, love?"

His mother's voice floated down the hall but John didn't move, as if physically attached to the cold tile floor.

"John?" She stepped out of the kitchen and hurried to where he was still standing. His small body completely still, clutching a letter in his hands. "What's that, dear?"

He jumped slightly and looked up. "Oh. Sorry, Mum. Um… It's for me… But I don't quite… It's okay. It must be a joke."

"What is it?"

He handed it to her and headed dejectedly back to the kitchen.

"It's okay, Mum," he said when she placed the letter on the table. "It's just a joke some guys at school are pulling on me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's fine."

"What's this then?" Harry sauntered down the stairs and plopped herself in front of a bowl of cereal.

"Nothing, love, just some boys playing a trick on your poor brother."

Harry dropped her spoon and stared at him. "Who is?"

John sighed and clenched his hand around the thick piece of parchment. "I… I don't know. It's fine, Harry. It doesn't matter."

"It bloody does!" She snatched the letter from the table and read through it. "They've gone to a lot of trouble…"

"It's fine, just…" He took it from her, tore it into tiny pieces, and threw it out. "Can we just forget about it, please?"

Harry thought for a moment before saying, "John, do you really think they'd be bothered to go to all that trouble just to pick on you a bit. They didn't even get to see your reaction. It's the Summer holidays. I don't think they'd…"

"Harry, just leave it, alright?" He dumped his bowl of half-finished cereal in the sink and stormed upstairs.

"John? There's another letter for you!"

"Just throw it out, Mum, I don't care."

"John, dear, they're coming through the chimney!"

"What?"

"These letters, love."

"Just… ignore them."

"John, can you get the door, love?"

He huffed down the hall in the way only a pre-pubescent boy could, and pulled the door open with a frown. A tall thin man with bright yellow hair, a toothy grin, inexplicably pointy shoes, and wearing a long, navy cloak stood on their doorstep.

"Um…" John said eloquently.

"Mr. John Watson?"

"Uh, yeah."

The man suddenly bowed and then said, "Excellent. May I come in?"

"Er… Mum!"

Mrs. Watson pottered down the hall and said, "Oh my!" when she reached the doorway.

"Good morning, Mrs. Watson."

"Julie, please," she said.

"And my name is Phineas Dickens; I'm from the Department of Magical Education. I'm here to speak with you and your son about his acceptance into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It appears he has not yet received his letter."

They sat in the living room with cups of tea as Phineas Dickens gave John a new letter and proved to them that it was in fact not an unsavory trick being played on him by briefly turning their coffee table into a pig.

"So… what does this mean?" Julie asked as John fiddled with the hem of his shirt.

"Well…" said Phineas. "He's a wizard."

"How? Nobody in our family is…"

"Some people are born with the gift, Mrs. Watson. Your son is one such boy. And in fact, if you look back far enough, I'm sure you'll find magical blood somewhere in your family. There is in just about everyone's."

She shifted in her seat and John looked to the doorway where Harry stood looking particularly grumpy. "Right. Where do we purchase his school things?" was Mrs. Watson's next question.

Phineas slid a map across the table and said, "There's a small pub in central London called the Leaky Cauldron. John, take your letter, and show it to the bartender, her name's Hannah Abbott. She'll help you find your way to Diagon Alley where you can purchase your things for the school year."

"Do you use the same money as us?" John asked, not quite giving the tall man eye contact.

"We don't. When you get to Diagon Alley go straight to Gringotts Bank. Go to the first goblin on the left, he specializes in Muggle-born students. He'll exchange your money for you."

"Goblin?"

"Yes," Phineas nodded enthusiastically. "Goblins work at the bank."

"Goblins."

"Yes, son. Do you have any more questions?"

Meanwhile, in a large, comfortable, but slightly odd-looking cottage in the Yorkshire Dales, a lanky boy with dark curly hair and an unfortunate attitude problem was being forced to eat breakfast by his older brother.

"Sherlock, perhaps... I mean have you thought about... And there'd be nothing wrong with it... but maybe it's not coming."

"Shut up, Mycroft, it just hasn't come yet."

Hobbs bustled into the dining room with the mail in his hand and a grin on his face. "Alright boys, two letters from Hogwarts this morning, one for each of you.

"See?" said Sherlock with a sneer, snatching his letter from the elf and carrying it up to his bedroom. He laid back on his bed and tore the envelope open, quickly reading the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

Dear Mr Holmes,

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress

Sherlock grinned and clutched the piece of parchment tightly to his chest.

"I was worried for a moment there, Alberic," he told his dark grey barn owl, who also looked rather excited about going to Hogwarts.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft pushed the bedroom door open and leaned on the doorframe. Sherlock frowned. His brother didn't come to his room unless it was to harass him. "Is it your letter?" he asked kindly, using a tone he usually only brought out if Sherlock had hurt himself.

"Yes," said Sherlock. "Did you get prefect?"

Mycroft nodded. "I did."

"Congratulations."

"And to you, little brother." He turned to leave but Sherlock spoke.

"Mycroft... What if it doesn't... what if it doesn't put me in Slytherin?"

Mycroft frowned. "Well... Don't worry about that. It's unlikely that you won't be put in Slytherin. All of our ancestors..."

"But Mum and Dad..."

"I know," he nodded. "But everyone else on both sides of our family were in Slytherin, Sherlock. And I think ypu'd fit quite nicely in that house."

Sherlock sighed and nodded, fiddling with his hands. "I don't want to be a disappointment like Dad," he said softly.

"Dad's not a disappointment. He's just... I mean, I know our grandparents aren't... happy with him. But he had me, and I'm a Slytherin prefect," he said confidently.

Sherlock nodded and sighed, reading over his letter again.

Mycroft smiled and ruffled his brother's hair before standing and pointing at the owl sitting regally on his perch. "Alberic will be pleased to go somewhere new."

"So will I," Sherlock decided as the elder Holmes closed the door behind him.