AN: This is NOT a part of The Doctor, The Desert, and Death, BUT it almost was. I was writing Chapter 30 and this came out, even though I didn't want to go this direction with John's return to the Wizarding World (Powerful!Goblin Allies are kind of a cliche...which I know my story has plenty of, but I just couldn't do ANOTHER), and I'm not entirely thrilled with the writing here...feels a bit lazy to me. Still, I kind of like it. So, I was tickled enough by it to want to share, but not to include it in the main story. Consider it a glimpse into what might have been.
I hope you enjoy! (Let me know what you think)
Warmly,
-M
Sherlock had tried to warn John as he noticed the armed guard being called to escort them to an account manager's office that something wasn't right. He'd observed no one else receiving said treatment. But, when he turned to share his misgivings with his friend, he observed the resigned but determined set of John's jaw; the firm and steady gait with which he walked; the military precision and measured pace of his step; the sure and forward focus of his gaze. John already knew something was wrong with this interaction. He was already prepared for whatever came next.
Faced with such evident confidence, Sherlock found it difficult to remain concerned as they continued their walk, escorted as they were, through a labyrinth of halls. Eventually they reached an imposing solid oak door on strong, brass hinges. One of their escort lifted the heavy knocker adorning the door – and looking strangely out of place to Sherlock – at goblin-height and knocked firmly three times.
After a moment the door swung open, weight groaning on the hinges. It was an intimidation tactic, of course, Sherlock noted. There would be no cause for a door such as this to sound on its hinges at all, unless the maker wanted it to. Clearly, it was designed to create unease in lesser-minded individuals.
Sherlock scoffed at the theatricality of it all, then spared a quick glance at John to reassure himself of his companion's continued resolve. He needn't have worried. The doctor was as steadfast as ever.
…..
As they stepped inside, it became very clear very quickly that this was not a standard account manager's office. The room was cavernous, and well appointed. The walls nearly dripped with fine adornments, and the floor – though bare – was no less decorated with carefully cut and laid marble and granite of varying hues depicting one the great goblin victory of the wizard-goblin war of 1042. Additional guards were posted within the doors, and spaced evenly throughout the room lining the walls under brightly burning golden sconces.
Here, John's outward resolve faltered – just for a moment – enough for Sherlock to notice. He'd known this was extraordinary treatment to open an account, but had been content to follow along at John's example until the doctor showed need for help. Sherlock lifted his chin imperiously, as though unaffected by the surrounding splendor, prepared to take action if John proved unable. It would be a true test of his skills of observation, mimicry, and manipulation. He suppressed the urge to twitch his fingers as the rush of the thought shot through his system just as they reached the oversized and ornately carved desk at the far end of the room.
A keen-eyed, sharp-toothed goblin in fine robes of velvet lined with silver fabric and embellished with gold brocade sat at the desk on a throne complete with stairs leading to the seat, which was covered in plush cushions and decorated with glittering gold and gemstones.
Sherlock couldn't help but thinking he'd finally found proof that a being more ostentatious about its wealth than his brother existed. He dismissed the amused smirk that threatened to break his cool façade at the thought of sharing that observation with John.
"Master Goblin," John's voice was confident, but deferential. He bent his knees as he bowed low, brow parallel to the floor, back of the neck exposed in supplication. Sherlock balked internally at seeing the flexible but ultimately uncompromising John Watson in such a position.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Sherlock continued to stand, tall and haughty, at John's side. John cleared his throat and glared at Sherlock, attempting to communicate his insistence that Sherlock adopt his posture as well.
With a put upon sigh and much show, Sherlock acquiesced, lowering himself slowly and gracefully into a similar pose.
John cleared his throat again and spoke strange and guttural words in a foreign language Sherlock had never heard before.
The 'Master Goblin,' as John had named him responded in kind, his tone indicating some amount of surprise at being addressed in his native tongue.
From the corner of his eye, Sherlock noted John's ears and neck coloring. It was a common response for John – but had it been triggered by anger or embarrassment, Sherlock wondered.
"I apologize," John replied. "My Gobbledegook is limited to formal greetings, I must continue our conversation in English."
"I have never expected much of wizards Doctor Watson, even less from thieves." The goblin had begun with a sneer and ended with a sharp-looking smile. "You may rise."
Sherlock rose gracefully as John awkwardly pushed off of the floor to regain his proper footing. His face was trying admirably not to show distress, but Sherlock recognized the tells: tension indicated by involuntary twitching – minor – of the facial muscles around the temples, jaw clenched in such a way his ears had migrated a fraction of a centimeter up towards his hairline, visible flexing of the sternocleidomastoid muscle in his neck, breathing shallow and quick, elevated heart rate – pulse visible through the carotid artery under his tightly drawn skin. John's autonomic nervous system responses were activated and ready to fight or take flight, though either seemed bad ideas in their current situation.
"It has been many years since I last heard an unfamiliar wizard speak my tongue," he continued, "No matter how meager the attempt."
"No disrespect was meant," John replied, his voice rough with adrenaline.
"And none was taken," The goblin laughed; harsh, but genuine.
Trust John to disarm even goblin elite with his polite and friendly nature. Sherlock could have rolled his eyes.
John chuckled in a self-effacing tone. "That's very generous of you, I'm sure I've done nothing to deserve such easy forgiveness."
"You have certainly done enough." The goblin emphasized the last word strangely.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean by that." John replied, falling into a position of parade rest.
The goblin smiled knowingly, baring all of his short, sharply pointed teeth. "You've been in hiding for some time, and you have changed greatly, but goblins have long memories, and our magic is different than that of wizards," he explained. "We remember our debtors and our debts, Mr. Potter, even should they change their faces."
Sherlock couldn't help but raise an impressed eyebrow. John recoiled visibly, sucking in a breath, involuntarily.
"You may have been a thief," the goblin continued, "But your break-in freed us from an unacceptable and unnecessary battle against the wizard known as Voldemort. Before your disappearance, your accounts were on good terms once more."
"I appreciate that," John said, tightly. "But I left that life behind. I am no longer Harry Potter, I'm John Watson now. I'm not interested in his old accounts, I'm here to start my own."
Now the goblin raised an eyebrow. "It's quite a sum to give up, Dr. Watson."
Sherlock regarded John with an assessing eye. He'd never noticed any signs that John had come from or had access to wealth at any point of his various lives. Inherited, then. Or inaccessible. Or both.
"It should have been passed on according to my will after I died," John pointed out.
"But you're still alive," the goblin replied. "As I said, our magic works differently than yours. We cannot release an account from a living customer."
John sighed heavily. "Then leave it where it is. It'll be accruing interest for some time to come."
The goblin grinned again. "Dr. Watson," he extended a hand to shake in the human fashion, "It is rare a wizard lives up to his legacy. I will remember our meeting."
John shook his hand and spoke something in that strange language. The goblin's smile lost some of its sharpness or gained some fondness.
"Brighthook," the goblin responded.
"Brighthook," John replied, "May your profits increase."
Brighthook nodded in return. "I will send you back to one of my account managers now, Dr. Watson. Word of your return will not spread from Gringotts, but beware; you still have enemies throughout the wizarding world." With no further explanation his long fingers gestured to the guards and Sherlock and John were ushered quickly back out the doors and through the long caverns, back to a smaller – much more typical – account manager's office to go about their business.