Title: John, I'm a Wizard
Series: n/a
Fandoms: BBC!Sherlock/Harry Potter
Pairings: Pre-slash and slash Johnlock, established Mystrade, established Drarry
Author: Z-sama (dA user the-lady-harkness) and TWTL
Beta: none

WARNINGS: see the first chapter for all the warnings.

MISC: Wow. Thanks everyone for the reviews and the alerts and the faves! It's really keeping our spirits up and our ideas flowing. Really folks, it's wonderful! Keep reviewing and we'll keep on writing! We deeply hope you enjoy this next chapter, especially with Sherlock being a prat. And the little game called Anderson! You're putting me off!

SPECIAL MISC. NOTE: Hello, Tuinne! See, I can't message you because it's not a logged in review. So, I'll do it here. Thanks so much! Yes, those two are precious and way too adorable. But I think that unless you're used to dealing with a self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath with very little in the way of social skills, they might just be a bit of a handfull! :D

LAST LITTLE NOTE: Remember... o0o denotes scene changes. the lines across the page denote time period changes. it's pretty straight forward. Also, yay for Lestrade!

John glared up at him from the ground, rubbing at his face. But Lestrade had had enough. "You have no bloody idea how stupid you sound right now! Yeah, he's a bloody wizard! Yeah, he could have done some weird magic stuff to solve all his cases! But he didn't! He couldn't, and even if he could he wouldn't!"

"I-"

"No, you be quiet and you listen to me," he snapped as John pulled himself back up on the bench. "I spent three years listening to you trying to convince the world that man!" He pointed up to Sherlock's bedroom window. "Isn't a fake! And now after learning one little dark secret you're ready to turn on him like the rest of them! You, John, should feel ashamed! You could at least try to wrap that brain of yours around all this. He hates being here, he hates having anything to do with these kind of people, and you're sitting out here sulking like a child making sure he doesn't snap and blow someone up!"

After a few moments of silence from both men, Lestrade noticed the cup of tea, though on its side, was still full. "Well, would you look at that... enchanted teacups. Wonder if Mycroft can get me some of those."

"I remember that set of china. They were father's favorite."

"Uncle Crofty!" Hudson exclaimed, and before Greg could stop him he'd jumped out of bed and threw his arms around his other uncle's legs. Then he looked up at him. "Uncle Greggy's telling us a story about daddy and father!"

"Oh is he now? I thought he was telling you a story about how he tried to talk some sense into your daddy because he was being a prat."

Harried snickered. "He called daddy a prat."

"Oy! Don't you start now, little lady," Greg said, getting up to retrieve his nephew and put him back to bed. "Language like that and you won't get to hear what happened to your father while I was with your daddy."

Their ashen eyes grew wide as saucers as they looked from Uncle Greg to Uncle Mycroft.

"No."

"Come on, Crofty... I need to go get something to eat, and they can't sleep without a story."

He looked at the children with narrowed eyes, contemplating whether or not to conceed to his partner's request. "Hrm..."

"Please please please please!" the twins intoned like a mantra. "We'll be real quiet! Promise!"

At last, he gave in when Greg gave him a pleading look. "Fine. They're worse than the nymph."

Harriet giggled. "That's what daddy calls father," Hudson said loudly.

"I'm sure he does," Mycroft said, throwing a glare at Greg before sitting down in a chair. "I assume Greg was sharing the story of your parents' first visit to the Manor."

They nodded in unison.

"Good. Now, settle back and listen because I'm not going to repeat myself. And I will not tollerate interruptions."

Again, they nodded and settled back in their beds, waiting as patiently as two 5 year olds could.

Mycroft drew in a breath, then began to tell his part of the story. "After learning from your grandmother that Sherlock had locked himself in his bedroom, I decided to handle things myself..."

Mycroft left his family in the parlour, deciding it would be best to take care of Sherlock's behavior now before it escalated. Having heard the end of his younger brother's tantrum he could be pretty sure what it had been about. One of the few subjects Sherlock refused to acknowledge... Moreso now that he lived with John.

When he came to the door of his brother's room, he didn't bother with the handle. The last time he'd done that... it had been a disaster. He'd been a carrot cake for a week. Not that he could complain much, he did, in fact adore cake. But he couldn't stand to be near carrot cake again for many years.

So, he opted for talking through the door. "Sherlock," he said, thinking it best to address him by his prefered name rather than the one he'd been born with. "Sherlock, you've upset mummy."

"You upset mummy!"

"That doesn't make any sense. I could not have upset mummy because I only just arrived while you were shouting with him and Lily in front of John."

"Apparently I don't have to make sense. Apparently, I'm still a child!"

"Open the door, Sherlock." Mycroft received no response. "Open the door, or I will open it for you."

After a few moments, Mycroft heard the satisfying sound of locks disengaging. The door opened into a dark purple room. Books and papers scattered across the floor, piled on chairs, and a sofa covered in clothes and parchment.

It was the very same as the day Sherlock had left home after the Ministry Incident that had him running for the muggle world. Well, nearly the same. The bed was made, which Mycroft assumed was John's doing. And there were a suitcase in front of the wardrobe and a military bag stuffed under one side of the large, four poster bed.

"There. The door is open. Now kindly leave."

Sherlock was standing at the window, looking out over the gardens where he'd gone out to collect soil samples and conduct muggle science experiments as a child. He watched as John walked down the path to the pond, then stepped off it to look around.

Mycroft watched his brother, reading him as easily as Sherlock could read everyone else. It wasn't hard to do... No. To say that would be to lie. He could read Sherlock almost as easily. It had become increasingly difficult to do in the last four years.

"When you told them about John, you did not provide the correct data."

"I provided the correct data. Just simply not all of it," Mycroft replied, stepping further into the room. Sherlock was obviously tense. He looked uncomfortable in his white shirt. He was impatient, tempermental, and...

"I see..." Mycroft said at last.

Sherlock scoffed, finally turning away from the window when he caught sight of Lestrade joining John on the bench. "What exactly is it that you see, brother mine?"

Mycroft looked away, turning and leisurely moving to the dusty bookcase and examining some of the titles with little interest. "You're acting like John."

"In what way-"

"Honestly Sherlock. Are we going to play this game? You know exactly what I mean. I suppose now you know how it feels for poor John when people see the two of you running around together."

"This. Is. Nothing. Like. That," Sherlock snapped through gritted teeth.

Mycroft laughed. "It's exactly like that. Although, rather than throw a tantrum you could use this turn of events to your advantage."

"I just want to get this holiday over with. This entire place repulses me. It's too quiet. It's too... normal. I need cases, puzzles, riddles, anything. Sitting in the country in a house full of echoes is not my idea of a pleasant few weeks."

"You're not listening to me, Sherlock."

"I am. I am also merely trying to change the subject."

Mycroft put his hands behind his back, wrapping his fingers around the opposing wrist. He sighed and shook his head. "Listen to me. You left because father was attempting to pair you off with some wealthy tart."

"And the muggles were far more interresting and challenging to understand."

"Quite."

Sherlock tilted his head just a little and raised a brow, then stood in a similar pose to his older brother. "You're proposing that I actually lead everyone to believe John and I are-"

"They already believe you are. All you must do is maintain the fiction long enough for father to get this silly marriage idea out of his head. You are not a pawn for political gain."

Sherlock gave him a small, very small smile. "Coming from a former Slytherin, that is tantamount to blasphemy. Brother mine, I had no idea you cared."

"Quite," Mycroft replied as Sherlock turned back to the window. "Besides, you cannot help it if how the world seems to perceive you should, in fact, be absolutely true."

Sherlock nearly growled at him in reply. "Careful, brother. There is a line, and you are about to cross it." Then, he did actually growl as he watched DI Lestrade slap John Watson in the garden. "Mycroft... if you value your lover's life, you may want to go outside now."

"Why?"

"I'm afraid John may just hit him before I get the chance to turn him into a naked mole rat."

Mycroft sighed and shook his head and turned to go. The last thing he heard from Sherlock was a transfiguration charm being thrown out the bedroom window.

"By the time I reached the garden John had picked him up and was about to throw him into the pond. Needless to say your Uncle Greggy was very upset about being turned into a naked mole rat."

The twins snickered sleepily as he finished up the story. He was not one for overly sentimental gestures, so he patted each child on the head gently before turning out the lamp and leaving the room.

He met Greg in the hall, the muggle wearing a large smile. "You're good with kids," he said. "They really like you."

"Yes," Mycroft replied. "Because we spoil them rotten and then hand them back to their parents to deal with."

Greg shrugged, offering him a bite of his ice cream, but Mycroft declined. So, he offered again, adding, "It's birthday cake flavor."

Mycroft gave him an exasperated sigh. "You're trying to ruin my diet."

"Yeah... but it's not that bad," Greg chuckled. "C'mon, you've still got a load of paperwork to finish and I've got a stack of cold cases two feet high to sort out."

"Ooo..." Mycfort said, stealing another bite of ice cream before taking the bowl away completely. "I love if when you talk beaurocrat."

o0o

The twins were taken home the following day, and discovered John and Sherlock a little worse for wear. Greg offered to take them for another night, but John wouldn't have it. After reassuring his children that he and Sherlock were, in fact, not going to die from the giant boo-boos he fixed them lunch while Sherlock, being Sherlock, complained about how bored he was now that the case was closed.

John had tossed him a bottle of water and a couple paracetemol then quickly shut the bedroom door before the man could start shouting at him. The twins, quite used to this post-case behavior, merely shrugged, ate their lunch, and scribbled in crayon on pastel colored sheets of paper.

When asked what they'd done at their uncles' home during the few days their daddies were working, Harriet and Hudson excitedly told him of the games they had played.

Their favorite had been Anderson, you're putting me off! When asked, Hudson told John all about how Uncle Greggy had pretended he was a victim by smearing raspberry jam on his shirt and flopping on the floor while they pretended to be detectives.

"So where does the Anderson thing come in again?" John asked, quite amused.

"Well," Harriet began. "Sometimes we take turns being Anderson-"

"Don't let your father hear you say that."

Hudson nodded. "And sometimes we pick a stuffed animal. And that's Anderson. And then one of us pretends to be father and turn up our coat all cool." He mimed Sherlock's patented collar flip. "And then we shout out Anderson! You're an idiot!"

"Oh oh! Then sometimes I like to say Anderson you're putting me off!" Harriet exclaimed happily. The children went into a giggle fit.

An angry growl could be heard from their parents' bedroom. Sherlock, of course, shouted "What the hell is Anderson doing here!"

This caused the twins to giggle harder and John to sigh before shouting back, "He's not here! Shut up and go back to sleep!"

The remainder of lunch passed in relative quiet. With Harriet or Hudson telling John about their visit with their uncles. And John nodding and listening attentively. As he was clearing away their dishes, two little voices piped up behind him. "Daddy," they said. "We want another story."

"It's not bed time yet loves."

As one they grinned. Then, when John turned back to them he saw the most adorable pair of matching pouty faces he'd ever seen. Of course, he was biased... They were his own children after all. "We know," Harriet said, then Hudson continued. "But we wanna make sure we get one later."

"Yeah. Because if we don't ask now."

"We won't get one."

John gave in, because that's what John does. He nodded. "Alright. Another story tonight. But one of these days, I'm going to read you a real book again."

With that settled, Harry and Hudson fled the table and went back to their coloring.

o0o

That night, before they were ever put to bed, Hudson and Harriet decided to attack. After brushing their teeth and putting on their pjs, they pounced John and Sherlock on the sofa, each taking a parent and refusing to release him until they gave in to the children's demands.

Hudson. "Story!"

"It's not time for bed yet," John said.

"Story!" Harriet.

"Where did your uncles leave off?" Sherlock asked, managing to ease his sore arm out of Harriet's grasp. She immediately latched onto his side, causing him to wince just a little.

John puffed out his cheeks just a bit. "Sherlock, now, really?"

"But daddy!" Thing One said.

"You promised!" chimed in Thing Two.

Sherlock let his arm rest around his daughter, who snuggled up close with a big Holmes grin. "Look at these faces."

"I've been looking at them all day while you've been laying up in bed moaning about your back," John huffed, trying to pry Hudson's vice-like fingers off his arm. When he managed to do that, the boy attatched himself to John's side, clinging for dear life.

"If you don't tell us a story, I'll deduce you!" Hudson cried, a slight tremmor in his voice as if he was about to begin a tantrum.

Harriet nodded aginst her father. "He'll do it! He'll deduce you!"

"I'm sure he will," Sherlock chuckled. "Come John, what difference does it make? They can pay just as much attention on the sofa as they can in their beds."

"That's not the point. We have a routine-"

"John..."

Once again John admitted defeat. But certainly later he'd make Sherlock pay for taking sides with their twins. "Alright... Where-"

"Uncle Greggy said he slapped you silly in the garden, and then father turned him into a nekkie rat," Harriet said.

Sherlock looked down at her and pulled a face. One he often expressed when correcting what should have been an obvious error. "No. I turned him into a naked mole rat. There is no such thing as a nekkie rat."

She nodded.

"Alright then... I suppose we should start there then. Well, after your Uncle Greg turned into a naked mole rat, I was so surprised that I didn't know what to do. One moment he's standing there shouting at me, and then the next... he's this... thing!"

"I bet Uncle Crofty was really mad."

John stroked the boy's hair. "Oh, he was. He was very mad. Especially because I almost dropped Uncle Greg into the pond."

Sherlock made a throaty chuckle, trying his best to keep it to himself and barely managing to mask it as a slight cough. "Well, yes. He did seem quite distraught. Especially when he discovered he couldn't change him back."

"It upset your mother as well. He really likes Greg."

"Everyone likes Greg."

Hudson poked John in the ribs. "Get back to the story," he whined.

And so, that's what his daddy did. "Well, Mycroft managed to rescue Greg the naked mole rat from being dropped in the pond. I picked up my teacup and examined it closely before giving up on it and following them inside. We were met by your auntie Lily..."

Green eyes were wide in surprise when she saw what had happened to Lestrade. "Oh dear..." she said. "Mycroft, you-"

"I didn't do this. It was Severus." His words were clipped, and his little sister backed up. "When I get my hands on that tempermental, spoiled little nymph-"

"Hey!" John snapped. "He had it coming!"

"Why? For trying to talk some sense into your small, predictable muggle-"

"ENOUGH!"

Three adults froze where they stood in the hall as the voice echoed off the walls. Lily instinctively grabbed John's hand while Mycroft cradled the frightened naked mole rat in his arms protectively. The footsteps on the marble floor were quick, but measured. Lily tried to give John a reassuring look when Harry came striding into view. "Scorpius, the study." His voice was even but held behind it the same sense of wild anger that occasionally hid behind Sherlock's otherwise cold tone. "Lily, please take our guest out for a while. I believe you still have a bit of shopping to do before Christmas."

"Yes mummy," she said, eyes lowered as she hurried away, pulling John behind her. John wanted to protest, but Lily hushed him and just kept walking. Quickly leaving the hall.

The last thing John heard before she pulled him into the parlour was Harry shouting at Mycroft about manners, guests, and something John didn't quite understand but was sure it didn't sound all that good.

A/N - Well? Next chapter you can look forward to more John, as he's gone out shopping with Lily. Sherlock and Mycroft (and poor naked mole rat Lestrade) get a stern talking to from mummy Harry, and then something else happens. But John's going to be a little more understanding of this entire weird situation when Lily's done with him... And will Sherlock ever get that second bed he threw a tantrum over, or is he just out of luck on that one?