Author's Note/Disclaimer: Rest of the story will be in Harry's POV like in the books. Don't own HP or SH. Many thanks to those who followed/favorited.


Sherlock Holmes

Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione. There was a slight stiffness in the way she said "Morning," which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully.

"You weren't at the feast last night, so do you know about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher yet?" he asked, nodded towards the teachers' table. "Professor Holmes."

Harry turned his head and scanned the table, his eyes settling on the unfamiliar face of the new professor. He looked clearly uncomfortable and was picking at his food. His dark curls were unbothered by a hat, and his gaze would focus on another teacher or out towards the students as if he were studying them.

He turned his head back as Neville was saying, "Mail's due any minute..."


It was before Herbology that Harry saw Professor Holmes for the second time. He was accompanied by Professor Sprout, whose arms were full of bandages. Her voice traveled over towards the class.

"Why don't you ask Professor Snape? He's more likely to have what you need," she was saying. "This wouldn't happen to be another incident like the one where your office nearly exploded before the Great Feast, would it?"

"That was an experiment," Professor Holmes replied a bit stiffly, "that I'll be sure not to repeat."

"Care to explain why there were eyeballs in -"

"I said it was an experiment! ...Whether a cauldron would be the same as the microwave, that is."

"A what now?"

"Never mind, I see you have a class to get to - I'll see if Professor Snape has them."

"Try not to rile him up again."

"It was just an observation!"

"Most people wouldn't say it out loud."

"He asked - oh nevermind, I better go." He strode away in a similar fashion as Snape, muttering something about "stubborn old man" and "good coat".

Ron was staring after him - most of the class was, having overheard the conversation. "Eyeballs?" he half whimpered.


By the time the Defense Against the Dark Arts class came around, Harry's curiosity about the new professor had heightened after hearing about the highly observant man through rumors that rippled through the hallways. When he entered the classroom, like the other second years, he scurried quickly to his seat. Professor Holmes hadn't entered the classroom, though on the chair behind his desk there was a coat, a jacket, and a blue scarf draped over the back of the chair.

Then, the doors opened almost ominously, and Professor Holmes walked in, reminding Harry oddly of Snape.

"This class," he announced, "is to prepare you against the dangers of magical origin. This includes dangerous creatures and spells that could deal you harm. In order for you to completely understand the basics of how to defend yourself, I will need your full and undivided concentration. This means no talking, no trouble-making, or time-wasting, or any other ways children get themselves into these days. These I certainly won't tolerate and will not hesitate to punish you for it. Another thing is no stupid questions. My patience has already been tested this morning. Now, for your first class, you will open your book to the first chapter and read it thoroughly. No talking above a whisper, no asking meaningless questions unless it is an emergency, I'll be in my mind palace."

After this abrupt announcement, he spun on his heel and sat down in his chair, proceeding to stare at the wall in a strange concentration. The rest of the class seemed slightly baffled, but wisely didn't ask any questions and began was much fumbling for the books and flipping of pages. Harry peered over at Professor Holmes, whose hands were in front of him and twitching as if flipping the pages of a book as well.

"Mind palace?" muttered Ron next to him, clearly just as puzzled as Harry.


"You will be polishing the silver in the trophy room with Mr. Filch," said Professor McGonagall."And no magic, Weasley - elbow grease.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Holmes in his office. Apparently when he heard a student got detention he asked for such assistance at once with no details. Eight o'clock sharp,both of you."

Harry had the strangest sense of doom upon hearing this, and both he and Ron slouched into the Great Hall. Eight o'clock seemed to loom closer and quicker as the afternoon melted away, and Harry's imagination started boiling with more dreadful thoughts of what the DADA professor wanted him to do. He kept recalling the conversation with Professor Sprout, and felt he wasn't quite ready to become a test subject for an experiment.

Staring up at the door to Holme's office, Harry subdued his imagination, gritted his teeth and knocked.

Silence, save for the hooting of an owl. After a few moments of awkward shuffling in front of the door, Harry heard a lazy, "Come in, Harry Potter."

Feeling even more nervous about this detention, he pushed open the door, and found himself blinking at the incredibly messy state of Holme's office. Boxes, books, and papers littered the floor, the stacks more concentrated near the walls. His desk was covered in Muggle lab equipment with his robes quite carelessly thrown over the end, nearly slipping off. A skull sat nonchalantly on the desk as well, its dark eyeholes staring blatantly at Harry. There was a short, disgruntled-looking tawny owl perched above Holme's head. The professor himself was stretched out on a couch in Muggle attire, his wand in hand, levitating an object and Transfiguring it in the air.

Harry blinked a few more times before he entered, carefully picking his way through the mess. The owl hooted again, seemingly staring down at Holmes as if ready to chide him.

"Um, sir...?"

"Yes?" Holmes murmured, clearly transfixed on whatever he was doing.

"I have... a detention with you, sir-"

"Oh, yes, first, can you pass me my phone?"

"Sir?"

"'Sir' sounds too much like Mycroft - if not in class, call me Sherlock. My phone. A device used to transfer information over a long distance, much like your system of owls. In my jacket."

Harry blinked at him, trying to digest the oddly simple request when the owl hooted sharply at Sherlock, lifted its wings, and flew past Harry towards one of the two chairs next to the messy desk, using its talons to lift the black clothing. Harry moved over, still trying not to step on any of the papers, and uncertainly looked in the jacket's pocket, finding the mobile in the front pocket. He walked back to Sherlock, who had lowered the object to the floor with magic, and gave it to his waiting hand. Still on his back, Sherlock shifted it up so that he could text.

"Sir - um, I mean, yeah, why do you have a mobile phone?" Harry asked, still confused.

"To transfer information over a long distance without moving," Sherlock replied slowly. "Next stupid question?"

Harry gaped at him for a few moments before managing to say, "You don't use your owl?"

"I greatly doubt John would let me treat him as post delivery." The owl seemed to hoot in agreement.

Harry nearly asked "John?" which would've surely given him a "I'm an idiot" label.

"Also, I have to text a Muggle - an owl would just attract attention. The morons at Scotland Yard are still asking for help despite the fact I'm clearly away teaching. I wonder if the castle has Wi-Fi..."

"Scotland Yard? Help?"

"Yes, I should probably explain, I've been living as a Muggle for the past decade as a consulting detective, but I'm now here for the year as a favor to Dumbledore." Sherlock sighed as he sent the text and sat up. "I had to recall all the spells and information that I hadn't deleted yet, for God's sake. Something better happen this year, or I will be stuck teaching nose-pickers for the entire year. Boring!" He turned towards Harry. "You're the Boy-Who-Lived, aren't you? Lived with Muggles - who clearly mistreat you, but you have no other relatives to go to, so you're stuck with them. You had sherperd's pie at dinner, as the crumbs on your robes suggest. The girl who sat across from you fancies you, but you don't share her feelings. You have a clever friend who's forcing you to read the History of Hogwarts, but you are clearly not interested."

Sherlock was cut off by the sharp hooting of the owl. "So I made a student cry, that was one time! - Not counting the ghost. I'm bored!"

The owl hooted. Harry felt slightly frightened. "Huh? But- how did you know?"

Sherlock huffed. "I didn't know, I saw. But, now's the time for your detention. I need assistance with an experiment. No, it's not dangerous."

He walked over to his desk and gestured for Harry to come. "This shouldn't take too long. Are you familiar with boomslang?"


The detention was surprisingly not as bad as Harry thought. Sherlock was rather blunt and quick to point out Harry's slowness and had the tendency to say his deductions about the second-year. As the hour passed, Harry found his amazement and discomfort slide away as he worked with the man. It was rather like Potions, only with Muggle equipment rather than the cauldron.

Harry was wondering what Sherlock was experimenting when he heard something - something quite apart from the spitting of the dying candles and Sherlock's baritone voice directing him. It was a voice of breath-taking, ice-cold venom.

"Come...come to me...Let me rip you...let me tear you...let me kill you..."

Harry gave a huge jump and nearly knocked a beaker over. "What?" he said loudly.

"I said to pass me the beaker with the green liquid," Sherlock said, holding his pipette vertically.

"No," said Harry frantically, "That voice!"

"What voice?" said Sherlock sharply.

"That - that voice that said - didn't you hear it?"

Sherlock gave him a look that answered him. He cast a glance at the clock and simply said, "That should be all. Thank you Harry." And with a nod, Harry was dismissed. Harry stumbled over to the door, a bit too dazed to watch out for the papers he was unwittingly stepping on, straining to hear the voice again. When he looked over his shoulder, Sherlock was nodding to the owl.

Outside the office as Harry was walking down the hallway, Harry didn't hear the voice again. Instead, he heard a fizzing sound, then a sharp crack! from Sherlock's office followed by Sherlock's voice. "Oh, shut up, John."