A/N: Inspired by the brilliant piece 'Nights In Diagon Alley' by xxDustNight88, my beautiful beta!

(Insert disclaimer regarding Harry Potter and Sherlock etc...won't bore you, fans know what belongs to their fandom and if I was making £ from this, I wouldn't be here ;) ) If you haven't read the fic that inspired me yet, well, go read it. Stop reading this, and go read it. Now. Come back when you're done. Read it? Ok, well then you now know what belongs to xxDustNight88 and the rest is what I came up with in response... that's what I love about fanfiction; that it's in constant flux and dialogue with other authors.


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Turning the corner, he spotted the tell-tale sign of the visitor, inwardly groaning. As he reached the front door, he found his left hand reaching up to unstraighten the knocker as his right dove into his pocket to fetch his keys. Before he could, however, the door suddenly flung open, the small woman crying out exasperated.

"John! That blasted man is upstairs again," she complained, stepping to one side as John moved into the hallway.

.

"You know, I have a 'phone, Mycroft. You could just call me. Or send a text. I also have email," he stated, pointing to the laptop that sat open on the table.

"Why would I do that, when I do enjoy our little chats so much?" Mycroft drawled.

John stood staring at Mycroft, waiting for him to announce the reason for his visit.

"Where is he?" he asked, his nonchalant tone attempting to mask his fraternal concern.

"No idea," John answered.

"Come, come, now." Mycroft smiled "We both know that he is not on a case, and has few friends, and yet, there is a pattern to his nocturnal sojourns. So I will ask again, where is Sherlock?"

Unmoved by the statement, John continued to stare at him. "And we both know that you have us under constant surveillance so if anyone is to know where Sherlock is, that would be you."

John watched the elder Holmes as the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying his taut smile. "He appears to have gone off the grid." His words were carefully chosen, spoken slowly.

Frowning, John broke eye contact with Mycroft his eyes darting in confusion as he processed the statement. "Off the grid?"

"What do you know about 'Diagon Alley'?" Mycroft asked, sitting himself into his brother's chair. The frown creasing John's forehead deepened. "Never heard of it. I told…"

"Sherlock the same, yes," Mycroft finished, his smile increasing.

"Of course you have never heard of it, because to our kind, it does not exist."

"What do you mean?" John asked, settling into his own chair across from his best friend's brother.

"The British aristocracy has always been aware of the existence of magical beings, living separately to our own kind. Muggles they call us. How quaint," Mycroft explained in his nonchalant manner.

John laughed. "Magical beings?" He scoffed, watching as Mycroft took what appeared to be a newspaper from inside his jacket. Silently, he handed John the paper, watching him carefully as he unfolded it, staring at the front page. It was unlike any paper John had seen before, entitled 'The Daily Prophet.'

John shook his head as he examined the headline printed on the page. "No, I read about this in 'The Telegraph'. The Millennium Bridge had structural issues that were triggered…"

"By the unusual weather, yes. I am aware. I was the one who gave the editor the explanation they were to print," Mycroft cut him off again, much to his chagrin. "You must surely be aware of our relationship with 'The Telegraph.'" He smiled, referring to the cover provided to Foreign Office and MI6 agents by the newspaper. It was one of the government's less well-kept secrets. If Mycroft told 'The Telegraph' to print something, 'The Telegraph' would print it, no questions asked.

"So what does this have to do with Sherlock?" John asked, perplexed, as he turned the page of the newspaper, jumping as the picture inside moved.

Mycroft laughed as John's gaze snapped up to meet his. "Intriguing little thing isn't it?"

John crushed the pages together, handing it back to Mycroft. "Well?"

"Ah, yes, my little brother seems to not understand he is a Muggle," Mycroft stated, cryptically as he reached into his jacket to retrieve another document. "This document has been in our possession since it was confiscated from a gentleman on a rather interesting motorbike in 1980," he explained, handing the document over for John to inspect.

Carefully, John took the document, reading the words aloud as they appeared across the top of the page, "Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers, are proud to present: THE MARAUDER'S MAP, Diagon Alley Edition." He looked up at Mycroft who sat opposite him eerily reminiscent of his brother. "What's this?"

"Open it," Mycroft replied, gesturing to the document.

With trembling hands, John opened the document, startling slightly at the ink markings of footprints, names in scrolls above them, as they moved across the document. His eyes darted over the document, reading the names.

"It's a map," he whispered, looking up at Mycroft who simply nodded. "Looks to be of a shopping precinct."

"Indeed, but alas you see but you do not observe."

John rolled his eyes at the familiar statement before returning his gaze to the map, scanning the document before they fell on one particular section. There, on the map were two sets of footprints, scrolls above them reading their names: Sherlock Holmes and Hermione Granger.