Harry tucked his wand away, pulse chattering anxiously. This was what all witches and wizards dreaded vigorously: circumstances under which they had no choice but to perform magic in the presence of Muggles. Though he wanted very much to either flee the scene or obliviate both men's memories, Harry remained calm, affecting what he hoped was a sympathetic, non-threatening expression.
"Erm," he said eloquently. "Fire's out."
The pale, tall man gazed at Harry with a frightening onslaught of reactions. Suspicion, wonderment, keenness, skepticism, and acute curiosity flashed across his angular features. He was assessing. Calculating. Evaluating. Comprehending.
He placed his fingertips together in a gesture that reminded Harry painfully of Dumbledore. And then he spoke. "You've just put these flames out with nothing but a wooden stick. I'll take the case."
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione, frowning. "What case?"
"Murder! Crime! I'm the world's only consulting detective; I assume your arrival is related to one or more of these occurrences."
"Actually," said Harry, "we heard someone yelling about setting the flat on fire, and thought we could help." He thought it best not to mention the smoky cobalt explosions.
"We were managing perfectly well on our own," snapped the man, blinking water from his eyes.
"No, we weren't," countered the shorter of the two men. He'd come striding in from the sitting room, visibly grateful. "Thank you," he said to Harry, smiling. "This flat would have burnt to a crisp had you not come along and saved our collective arse."
Harry smiled wanly and took the man's outstretched hand.
"I'm John Watson," he explained, "and this is my flatmate and colleague, Sherlock Holmes."
"Harry Potter," said Harry, finding it a great relief that his name elicited no further reaction than if it had been Alec Thompson. "And these are my friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Sorry about the wet," he apologized to Sherlock Holmes, thinking of casting a drying charm and hastily dismissing the idea.
Sherlock ignored Harry's expression of regret, and fixed him with a steely gaze. "Are you pagan? Wiccan? Do you identify with customs, traditions or beliefs from either?"
Ron snorted; Hermione silenced him with a well-placed jab of the elbow.
"No," said Harry. "Er, not exactly…"
"It's nothing to do with religion, and I think it's rather narrow of you to assume that," snapped Hermione.
"Do you feel you may be at all possessed? Or possibly affected by narcotics, chemical imbalance, or the extra-terrestrial?" Sherlock gave them an appraising stare.
"Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock!" John flashed the consulting detective a stern look. "What's relevant is that they saved our home from ruin!"
"I'm merely assessing the possible explanations, John."
"Well, stop being an idiot."
"Then do explain," murmured Sherlock, eyeing Harry, "how you manipulated what looks to be a wand to essentially spew water at an intended target?"
"Because I'm a—"
Crack!
Kreacher appeared in the center of the living room, ears waggling wildly. His appearance elicited a frightened yelp from John, and a "Fascinating!" from Sherlock.
"What the bloody hell is he doing here?" asked Ron, looking around at the decrepit house elf with alarm.
"Kreacher, what is it?" asked Harry.
"There's a situation, sir."
"A situation?"
"The Ministry of Magic, sir. They're trying to discover your whereabouts."
"Why? What's the matter?"
"Oh no…" said Hermione, suddenly horrified.
"What?"
"I wonder if…" She dropped to her knees and spoke to Kreacher. "Did they say anything about river trolls, Kreacher?"
Kreacher nodded grimly, ears flapping.
"Blimey," moaned Ron. "D'you think they drank the firewhisky?"
"Probably," Harry said bleakly, dread settling in his stomach. "We really should have thought this through."
Hermione twisted her fingers together in a fit of anxiety. "The effects of firewhisky on non-humans are currently unknown, so this situation may be worse than anyone imagined. And it's our fault!"
"I told you we shouldn't buy it," Ron muttered solemnly to Harry.
"Yet I seem to remember you eagerly forking out the galleons."
"Oh, bugger off."
"Excuse me," said John, "but could someone please tell me what just landed in the middle of our flat?"
In the meantime, Sherlock was encircling Kreacher the way a vulture would fresh meat; his nostrils flared in feverish interest. Kreacher responded with a foul look and a rude hand gesture—then seized a book (The Secret Life of Bacteria) and slapped himself about.
"This is Kreacher," Harry explained to John. "He's a house elf."
"Ah," said John, as though that had properly cleared the confusion (it hadn't).
"Remarkable," rumbled Sherlock, peering into one of Kreacher's great hairy ears with a magnifying glass.
"He apparated," Hermione added to John. "Meaning that he can instantly appear at a desired location."
"Ingenious," murmured Sherlock. "John, fetch me my lighter fluid."
"No, Sherlock, absolutely not. No experiments, not now when there's a thing in our flat that can talk!"
"Harry Potter, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger must go to the Ministry of Magic," said Kreacher, fixing them with his bloodshot eyes. "They must face their consequences."
He turned his head slowly towards Sherlock and John. "Have the sirs got their wands with them?"
"No, you don't—"
Kreacher nodded and interrupted John by taking John's hand in his own, while reaching for Sherlock's. This was the last Harry saw of them before Kreacher twisted and the threesome disappeared with a pop.
A/N: xD If you've Favorited this story, do me a favor and review it. Please? I'm new to crossovers. :)
Thank you,
Spark Writer
...One of my early drafts:
Sherlock: "You manipulated what looks to be a wand to essentially spew water at an intended target!"
Harry: "Yes, and would you like me to do it again?" :)