It took a while determining if the siblings were Muggle or wizards. When they understood that they were Muggles, they were sent to a government hospital. And as expected Mycroft came to visit. It is like the man has a built-in radar. And he wanted to know everything.
Levin took over, "An alarm was raised when someone intruded Mr Percy Weasley's office. He or she did not take anything but left a note in Mr Weasley's locker. On the note was this address," he passes the note to Mycroft, "Then we went to the abandoned factory. Ms Granger and I found a corpse of an animal that was not local fauna. The corpse is at the Department of Magical Creatures. However, Mr Potter, Mr Weasley and my uncle, Ivan Dobrev, found a portkey. My uncle found it first. But it was not activated until Mr Potter touched it," he also shows the small broken bucket, "Mr Potter went along to a small house in a nondescript field where he found these children—the brother and the sister."
"They don't remember anything," Harry continued, "Well, at least the brother doesn't remember anything. I found them both unconscious at the house. Only the brother, Daniel, has regained consciousness. His sister, Katie, has not. Her vitals are okay, but no one knows why she is not waking up."
"Hmm," Mycroft says, rubbing his lips.
"Umm?" Hermione ventures, "You don't think it is his doing, do you?" And by "his" everybody knew she is talking about London's biggest psychopath.
"We can't be sure now can we? But Ms Granger what are you doing here?"
"Excuse me?"
"John just became a father. No one told you?"
"No." Hermione frowns. Of course "no one" told her. She can also tell by Mycroft's face that he is wondering why as well. "Do you know where they are? I'd like to congratulate the new parents."
"I can do one better. Why don't you take my car?"
"Thank you."
Okay, novelty cupcakes and flowers, check. Hermione hauls her gifts up along the foyer of the hospital and up the elevator. She finds the room and gets surprised. Also her heart melts a little.
Sherlock has a little pink bundle in his arms and he is looking at the baby in his arms with the most tender expression on his face. She is, oddly, transfixed. And an image of little curly haired brunette babies flashes in her brain.
Before she can freak out over the way her brain is working right now, John notices her presence and smiles, "Hermione! I did tell Sherlock to call you!"
"Yeah. Congratulations!" she gives her gifts to John. She goes over by Mary's side and says, "Mary? I am Hermione. I live at 221C?"
"Yes," Mary grabs her hand, "John told me about you. It is so nice too finally meet you."
"I am very pleased to meet you as well. And congratulations! What is she named?"
"Simone Elizabeth Watson."
"Nice." She walks across to Sherlock, who still has Simone in his arms, she says, "I am guessing Sherlock is the godfather?"
"Obviously!" Mary laughs, "I heard you have two kids?"
"Yes," Hermione looks down at the little human being with a puffy pink face. She touches one tiny fist and she flashbacks to the time when she gave birth. Her children were this tiny too. Time flies.
"So you had to do this twice?"
"Yes," she laughs and Mary joins in.
"More importantly the husband had to do this twice!" John interjects, "You nearly broke my fingers and blew out my eardrums!"
They all start laughing, even Sherlock who was concentrating real hard on carrying a child in his hand. He passes her on to John, who sits down beside Mary and they both coo at their new family member. Hermione and Sherlock smile at them.
Sherlock whispers, "I did not call you."
Hermione whispers back, "Outside now." She turns around and walks out of the room. Sherlock follows.
When they leave the room, Mary says, "Did you see how Sherlock was looking at Hermione when she was standing beside him?"
"Of course I did," John says, with a smirk.
"Does he, like, you know, like her? But that would be sort of impossible. She is really beautiful."
"Hmm. I wouldn't know."
Mary looks at her husband and wonders about the odd look on his face.
When outside, Hermione angrily says, "Really nice of you, not to call me."
"I forgot," Sherlock says, not looking at her and with his hands crossed behind his back.
"Mycroft told me."
He looks at her now, "Mycroft?"
"Yes," she crosses her arms across her chest, "Ministry business. Are you ready to be civil again?"
When he takes too long to answer her, she huffs and leaves. He can be so annoying at times.
He looks at her, speeding out, her hair flying. She turns around a corner and disappears from his view. He simultaneously feels angry, worried and frustrated. Oh okay, he had enough. He decides to follow her, not forgetting to leave a message for John.
He turns the corner, which is empty. She apparated. Great. He needed to say some things and he will tell them to her. Just then his phone rings. He groans at the caller id. He picks it up anyway, "What?"
Mycroft's smooth, bureaucratic voice answers, "I send Ms Granger over at the hospital. It was odd that you didn't tell her. I thought you were close?"
Sherlock gnashes his teeth, trying to control his rage, "None of your business." He disconnects, hoping he could break his phone on his older brother's head instead.
He jams his hands in his pocket and walks out of the hospital. He hails down a taxi next.
Hermione feels mad, sad and lost. Why did Sherlock make her feel like this? She wants to vent. She kicks at her coffee table and then winces from pain. Okay, that was a bad idea. And this jeans are too tight. Why did she put them on? She throws her jacket on the sofa and wrenches out the jeans, cursing at the wind and Ginny Potter, she made her buy these anyway. She hates it. She throws it on the sofa as well. Then in her top and underwear, stalks to her bedroom and flops down on her bed, spread-eagled.
She is so tired of everything. This new mystery, Jim Moriarty, Draco Malfoy and most importantly, Sherlock bloody Holmes. And here she thought her life was back to normal, with kids, a job and an ex-husband. But then again, no, Hermione Granger cannot catch a break. No matter how hard she tries. She is thirty five for heaven's sake!
She sighs. Sherlock isn't despicable all the time. She sits up and walks over to her dresser. His gift is in her jewellery box, wrapped in cloth. She unwraps the barrette and trails her fingers over the carvings. It is so beautiful. A smile breaks out anyway and she whispers, "I don't hate you at all, do I?"
And why would she hate him? She had never met anyone like him ever in her life. People would tell her that she was "practically" a genius, never one. But he was. Still, he was someone she could interact with without her ego coming in between, wherein she had to prove she was better than them. He was already better than her, and his egomaniac ways would sometimes float to the surface but he still treated her on his level. And it felt nice whenever he said nice things to her.
Then again, she wasn't seeking approval from him. He just fascinated her so much. He was more than a genius. She saw that, experienced it first-hand. And that made her fall too deep. There was something awesome about being liked (or tolerated) by someone who hates everybody.
She shakes her head, the barrette clutched in her grip. She tries not to, but an uneasy fear creeps in anyway. What if, he never really lets her in? Can she live with that? No one ever had made her feel this way—exhilarated and annoyed, angry and worried, liking and despising in the same breath.
Then all the little things that happened between them reminds her that if she has learnt anything in the last few months, is this, Sherlock Holmes is unpredictable, so very unpredictable. Another sigh escapes her lips.
Then her doorbell rings. Her heart skips a beat. No way.
She opens the door, her hand shaking on the bolt. Apparently she was right. It is Sherlock. Good thing she didn't forget to drape her dress robe on.
Sherlock walks in. He spots the discarded items of clothing on the sofa. He turns around to face her. He gulps. Here goes then, he says, "I am sorry. For not calling you and for what I did this morning. I should not have said all that. It is your life."
She nods her head. She crosses her arms, the barrette still in her hand. She says, "It is okay. I am sorry for getting angry. For the record, I don't really mean that."
"I know." That makes her blush a little. "I just got jealous, you could say."
"I know that," she drops her head, "Why though, can I ask?"
Oh no. He gulps again. She bites her lips. He is really not going to answer now, is he? And what kind of redundant question was that? Her eyes dart all around the room for a plausible distraction, when she gets an idea. "Sherlock? Never mind. I got another question though. Maybe you can answer that."
She sees him getting relaxed again. The deer-in-headlights expression wiped from his face. He nods at her to continue. She uncrosses her arms and shows him the barrette. She asks, "What are these flowers? I couldn't make it out."
The colour rises from his neck up. He says, "It is a strawberry flower."
"Oh?"
Then before he can reign in his tongue, it slips, "Your hair smells like strawberries."
An impromptu grin breaks on her face. He does like her. From the look on his face, she can tell he was looking to never divulge that information. She has never seen him blush. Fascinating.
And he can tell by the grin and twinkle in her brown eyes that she had figured out his intentions. So he does the smartest thing. He escapes.
She is still grinning when he hastily retreats, blushing and mumbling. She decides to follow him. No way is he going to leave like that.
He races up the stairs and into his bedroom. He knows she would follow him, inevitably. So he sits down
She walks into 221B and isn't surprised to see an empty living room. Bedroom then. She finds him sitting on his bed, his gaze unfocused. Her footsteps break his reverie and he looks up at her. She walks over and sits down on the bed, facing him. She softly asks, "So, Sherlock Holmes, are you saying you find me interesting?" He nods.
"And you do, in fact, like me?"
A/N. There is smut next chapter. Ehehehe... :3 Fair warning because I am not great at writing 'it'. LOL.
