I've decided to do a little twist with this Potterlock and add another universe to it. So this story is a Sherlolly Potterlock Dæmon AU. I'm expecting about four or five chapters of this. Let's see how I manage.
"In elemental form, phosphorus is nasty stuff, even today its artillery and mortar shells are used in warfare with horrific results. But in the form of phosphates phosphorus is vital, and was for most of human history the limiting factor in the growth of food crops." (The Elements: A Visual Exploration of Every Known Atom in the Universe, Theodore Gray, 2007)
"Besides, the world isn't split into good people and Death Eaters. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are." (Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, J. K. Rowling, 1999)
"How did it go?" Molly asked, kneeling next to a corpse, scrunching her nose because of the vile smell it was emitting.
"Not good." Sherlock, who was crouched next to the pathologist, produced two napkins from his pocket and handed one to Molly, so that they could cover their faces.
"So you told him how you did it? How you survived the fall?"
He frowned. "Yes. Now thinking back I should probably have lied..."
Molly, holding the napkin in front of her mouth and nose with one hand, checked the body, sliding her fingers gently over his head to check for any injuries apart from the slit throat. "Time of death about eight in the morning, I'd say. Cause of death is bloodloss from the cut. No signs of a struggle - the attacker must have approached from the back. Had something very awfully smelling for lunch yesterday. Gosh it's making my head ache! Anything else you see, Pol?" The question was directed at her dæmon who was sitting on her shoulder, observing the body as well.
"No. I think there really isn't much to see here for us. But if you used your wand, like I've been telling you to, then we wouldn't have to feel this bloody stench," the large bumblebee answered and, feigning offence, he flew away to keep the feline, who was lying down with closed eyes next to Sherlock, company. The black jaguar opened one of her eyes when Apollon landed on her head and yawned widely, emitting a low growl from her throat.
Molly removed the napkin from her face and smiled at them. Turning back to Sherlock she said seriously: "I don't think lying would have done any good. Considering who he is most likely going to marry... I think you made her life a little easier by telling him that you're a wizard."
"Why so?"
"She's Mary Morstan."
"Oh. I forgot to ask the name."
"Well now you know. So if John plans on marrying a former Death Eater..."
He interfered. "A Death Eater who was in fact a spy to the Order, mustn't forget that part."
"Exactly. Then I think you were smoothing the road for her a bit." She punctuated her statement with a grin.
Sherlock huffed. "It didn't really help that he doesn't believe me."
Molly pouted for a bit. "Did you show him?"
"No. You know I don't use my wand when it isn't absolutely necessary."
"Neither do I. But I think a little demonstration wouldn't go in vain," she said, rising up from the ground, brushing the dust from her knees. She wanted to get away from the smell as fast as she could.
Sherlock pulled himself up as well and his dæmon rose to her paws next to him. "Perhaps you're right."
Lestrade made his way towards them, his German shepherd dog in tow. "You two finished?"
Molly was nervously fidgeting, like she was caught doing something she was not supposed to do, but Sherlock kept his cool and reported Molly's findings to Lestrade along with his deductions.
"...So I suggest you go find the secretary and ask her side of the story. Keep in mind she's very good with a knife."
Lestrade nodded and strode back to his car where a group of police officers were standing and gave his orders.
Sherlock looked back at Molly. "Shall we?"
"Oh yes! Yes of course. Let's go!"
They walked back on the main street and Sherlock was about to hail a cab when he was stopped by a peculiar looking man with a hen as his companion. Sherlock groaned and turned to him while Molly surveyed the situation curiously, Apollon back on his usual spot on her shoulder.
"Mr Holmes I need your help. It's my wife... She's been—"
The detective angrily stared at him. "I don't care. Call the aurors. I don't do wizard cases."
"Please, Mr Holmes. Just this once," the man, dressed in a flannel shirt, wellies and a pair of pink tracksuit bottoms, pleaded.
"No." Sherlock's voice was as firm as a rock.
Then his dæmon spoke with her quiet soothing voice. "Sherlock."
He stared at her with an exasperated expression. The dæmon looked back with his bright green eyes and there seemed to be a mental conversation between them. After a minute of glaring at each other Sherlock finally gave up.
"Fine. I'll take it. What's the problem?"
The strange man sighed out in relief. "Thank you Mr Holmes! How will I ever repa—"
"What's the problem?" Sherlock interrupted him, rolling his eyes.
"It's my wife. She's been killed in our home. But I can't call the aurors because it will look like I did it! We had a fight in public yesterday and well... It was about our son. He joined the new cult. We tried to stop him but he wouldn't listen. Then he got aggressive and attacked us so we let him go," the man told, waving his hands around, his chicken running around him in circles, earning many curious looks from the pedestrians walking by. "But Eleanor tried to contact him again. I'm afraid that our son killed her and it all looks like it's my fault!"
Sherlock frowned in confusion. "The new cult?"
Not believing his ears the man looked at the detective. "Haven't you heard of it, Mr Holmes? There is some man who claims to be the new You-Know-Who and he is collecting followers. New Death Eaters!"
His eyes rounded in surprise and Molly gasped. Sherlock's panther growled.
"How did we miss that?" Molly asked, voice high from shock. "How could we possibly have missed that?"
Sherlock put his head between his hands. "I don't know, Molly. It must have been kept from us. There's no other way."
The wizard looked back and forth between Sherlock and Molly. "Will you come now? Please!"
Sherlock nodded. He looked at Molly and sighed. "We have to apparate. Do you...?"
She shook her head sadly.
"Well then, Mr...?"
"Garrot, Mr Holmes. Alphard Garrot."
"Mr Garrot, where are we headed?"
With a quiet pop Sherlock, with his panther curled around his legs and Molly holding his arm tightly, apparated in front of a small cottage in what seemed to be a small and quiet wizard village, which hadn't seen any excitement for at least a hundred years. Slow old witches were walking their cats, loudly talking to each other (or themselves), nobody younger than forty could be seen.
It was most likely a village full of prejudice and old habits and traditions that die hard. Sherlock was sure that Alphard Garrot had pulled together all his will to forget his wizard pride to dress up in muggle clothes (albeit unsuccessfully) and go to the muggle London to find Sherlock.
Garrot was already there and ushered the detective and the pathologist inside the small (but presumably bigger on the inside) house as soon as they had recovered from the journey. Neither of them had apparated for a very long time.
In the (surprisingly large) green kitchen the most distinctive thing that caught the eye was the dead woman on the floor. She was facing the ceiling of the room, eyes wide open and a look of absolute fright on her face. It hadn't been a peaceful death, for sure.
While Molly and Sherlock were observing everything from the doorway, the panther slowly made her way to the woman and sniffed the air around her.
She spoke quietly, so that only Sherlock and Molly could hear her: "I smell alcohol very faintly. Someone third has been here. If it had been used to clean something, it would be stronger, but it isn't so I guess someone was here who had drunk it. The body has been here less than five hours and the scent is starting to fade. It's not Alphard Garrot."
Sherlock nodded to her and ran his fingers through the fur between her ears to show his gratitude. "Molly?"
She shrugged. "It's Avada Kedavra." She kneeled next to the body on the floor. "Light red marks on her wrists. She must have been grabbed by the killer and thrown on the floor. And then boom. Dead." Molly smiled. "No wonder I work with muggles, this is boring."
The ignored Mr Garrot stepped into the kitchen, not looking at his wife, with the intention to say a couple of very offending remarks to her. His hen pushed her breast forward.
"Ms I-don't-even-know-what-your-name-is... My wife was a respectable pureblood woman and your kind of a dirty mudblood shouldn't even touch her, not to mention call her boring. How dare you?! How dare you to—"
Sherlock's dæmon smacked her paw right across the hen's face, hitting it against a cupboard.
Sherlock stood looming over Mr Garrot and painfully grabbed his shoulder. He then forced him to the corner of the kitchen and made him sit down on the floor. Molly's face was red with anger.
"Sit here and shut up. I'm going to call the aurors," Sherlock said and left the room, his panther in tow, who kept her eyes on the hen lying panicking on the floor until the last moment.
Molly rose and glared at Garrot. She stepped closer to him, Apollon ominously buzzing next to her. "This dirty mudblood here has finished eight years of muggle university with primary education from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm working as a pathologist in the most prestigious hospital in London. I can kill you in twenty three different nonmagical ways without getting caught by the police nor the aurors. What can you do, Mr Garrot? Wave your wand at me? I bet you don't even know what the Internet is. You're pathetic compared to muggles, you live in the Dark Ages. Now don't say another word in my proximity or I'll paint your house permanently neon pink. Understood?"
Already traumatized by the attack on his dæmon, he furiously nodded and wiped the tears that started to come into his eyes. He flinched when Sherlock returned to the kitchen.
"Give me your wand," he demanded, stretching out his hand, impatiently moving his fingers.
Garrot's hands immediately landed on his pocket in a protective manner. "Why do yo—"
Sherlock sighed. "Just give it to me."
Very reluctantly he handed his wand to the detective. Sherlock took it between his index and thumb, stepping away from the man on the floor, like he was disgusted by his presence.
Expecting the worst, Mr Garrot begged: "Please Mr Holmes. I didn't kill my wife. You have to believe me. Please."
Sherlock sneered. He lead Molly, who was still angry, away from him to speak with her quietly. "The aurors should be here any minute now." He sighed. "No matter how much I don't like that man, he didn't kill his wife. It was the son. And the aurors can prove it quite easily without my help."
Molly nodded. "What will we do about that new Death Eater thing? Why haven't we heard anything about it? None of my friends have told me a thing. And it's hardly something you leave unmentioned," she asked, huffing quietly.
"I don't know," Sherlock frowned, "and I don't like not knowing. After this thing here is settled, we'll go see Mycroft."
"At the ministry?" Molly raised her eyebrows.
"Hm. Yes. Won't be nice. I hope he has biscuits."
The woman let out a giggle. "Sorry. It's a crime scene. I shouldn't laugh," she apologized immediately, biting her lip.
Sherlock smirked. "I don't think she minds." He sent an emphasizing look to the corpse.
"I know. But he does." She nodded her head towards the crouching figure in the corner, who was begging for mercy from all the deities he could remember, thinking that he was doomed. "I rather hoped that this kind of an attitude amongst wizards had ended with that Voldemort thing but yeah... I guess it's a silly dream."
"One of the reasons why I don't take wizard cases anymore," Sherlock looked at the wand he was holding. "Their stupidity annoys me."
Their conversation was ended by loud pops outside the house when the aurors finally arrived. Sherlock made his way out to explain the situation to them, leaving Molly and Alphard Garrot alone with their dæmons again.
She smiled coldly to him. "You should be grateful," she said and walked out of the kitchen just before an intimidating tall dark auror entered the room and him and his wolf dæmon fixated their stares at him.
Outside a small blond woman, in a very eye-catching purple robe, and Sherlock were talking while her beautiful white cat calmly observed his jaguar. He gave Garrot's wand to her and she concluded, with the help of Priori Incantatem, that it was not the wand the kill curse had been cast with. She nodded to Sherlock in goodbye and gave a very toothy smile with a wink to Molly while passing her to enter the house.
Sherlock turned to her. "We can go now."
"Okay."
She stepped to him and took his arm. His dæmon curled herself carefully around Sherlock's legs, being very cautious not to accidentally touch Molly and with a pop they apparated to the Ministry of Magic with the goal to search for the truth from Mycroft Holmes.
As always. Any feedback and constructive criticism is welcomed with open arms.