Was My Assumption Running Too Fast?
Disclaimer: Anything recognisable belongs to the appropriate creator(s). The plot line is my own.
Song: Did I Lose You?–Olly Murs ft. Giorgia
Sherlock stood stock still, his jaw lax with awe. Hermione waited a few steps ahead of him, failing miserably at keeping the smirk from her face. Given the weeks they had spent together, she was almost certain he had never looked this stupid.
"The bricks. They… Th-they moved," the words stumbled from Sherlock's mouth.
She couldn't help the quiet laugh at his childish delight, certain she must have looked the same when she turned 11. She shook her head in mild exasperation before stepping forward to capture his hand in hers and tug him into Diagon Alley.
"You're very astute Holmes," Hermione quipped. "You'll make an excellent detective one day, I'm sure."
Her humour at his expense quickly brought a fake scowl to the tall man's face and he proceeded to growl at her whilst poking her ribs – which he had learnt the other day to be extremely ticklish – with his free hand.
Giggling lightly, Hermione squirmed out of reach and held her own spare hand up in surrender. "Ok-ok, truce. I'll stop mocking you if you stop tickling me, deal?"
Sherlock tilted his head upwards, pretending to think deeply on the situation. "Deal," he grinned before pulling her to fall in step with him. "So where to first then, Granger?"
Walking down the street, ignoring the stares of the people who gaped at a stranger with the most famous witch of the age, Sherlock's concentration was split between taking in the sights before him and listening to Hermione's explanation of each shop they passed and which ones they would explore later. He was also acutely aware of how closely she had pressed herself to his side.
During their first few steps, he thought she had been forced into him by the surrounding crowd. But then he noticed that the majority of people were giving them a wide berth whilst openly staring at them. Children tugged on their parents sleeves and pointed at the woman next to him. Men and women gawked unabashedly at her. He looked down at Hermione to see her eyes scanning the crowd with a mixture of apprehension and irritation, and he felt her fingers tighten around his own. He kept the sympathy from his face, but felt it all the same. His fame might be minimal in comparison to Hermione's but he was aware of the stares he garnered from Lestrade's unit and John's friends when he solved a case or discovered the secrets of strangers in seconds.
In an effort to distract her from the discomfort she was in, Sherlock pulled their interlocked hands up and rested her hand in the crook of his elbow. She twisted her head to him, surprise at the movement made obvious in her features. Sherlock smirked at her before lowering his head so his lips rested on the shell of her. To all the onlookers, it appeared a very intimate moment between the pair.
"Let's give them something to talk about, shall we?"
The whisper sent a shiver down Hermione's spine and a smile to her eyes. Her mouth turned up in amusement as she nodded her agreement. Her eyes darted to the crowd before they glinted with mischief. This time round it was she who took Sherlock by surprise, as she leaned up to place a lingering peck on his cheek and winked at him as they listened to the collective gasp of their audience. Sherlock laughed for all to hear as Hermione directed their steps to the opposite end of the alley.
*…Of Ravens and Writing Desks…*
"Mr. Ollivander?"
The wizened wizard turned on his rickety ladder to the woman who had entered his shop with the tinkling of the bell and a stranger at her side. He smiled congenially and wobbled his way back to the ground before walking to her and gripping her hands in his own. "Miss. Granger, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Garrick?"
"As many times as I have to tell you to call me Hermione," said witch laughed gently under her breath as she leaned in to kiss his cheek. She pulled back and turned to gesture behind her. "Mr. Ollivander, I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine. This is Sherlock Holmes."
The sharp grey orbs of the wandmaker flicked over to the figure by the door. He watched the tall man step forward, a slight nervousness to the air around him. Ollivander smiled gently and lifted his hand towards the young man. "Hello Mr. Holmes, how do you do?"
"How do you do?" Sherlock replied, surprised at the strength of the elderly man's handshake. He pulled back and straightened. "Hermione's told me about you and your business. I must say, your job is the one I find most fascinating from the wizarding world."
Ollivander's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Well thank you, you're very kind to say so. Though, I must say, I do not recognise you. Did you buy your wand from Gregorovitch?"
Sherlock's eyes flicked to Hermione before settling back on the man. "Well, that's the reason we're here Mr. Ollivander. I don't have a wand."
Shock was marred by complete confusion on the face of the shopkeeper. He looked between the witch to whom he owed his life and the newcomer. After several moments, his tongue found its use again. "Miss. Granger, I believe an explanation is in order, if you'd be so kind?"
"Oh, of course Mr. Ollivander, my apologies," Hermione acquiesced with a soft smile. "Mr. Holmes here is a dear friend of my Muggle uncle. He used to send me letters about his highly intelligent roommate who worked with the police to solve crimes. I was intrigued by these stories and I looked through the Department files to see if his family was in there and it turns out they were. He's the only one in his family to have the gene in over 200 years, but it was recessive. His magic manifested in his mind rather than physically."
Hermione paused here to give the wandmaker time to absorb her story. The man in question nodded as remembrance enter his eyes. "Ah yes, I recall the letters you sent me on the subject of intellectually manifested magic in Muggleborns. Quite fascinating really."
"Yes, in fact, I've been looking into the link between the recessive gene and the time at which the Squib joins the family tree. Now that I'm thinking about it again, if I-"
"AHEM," Sherlock coughed violently, cutting off Hermione's excited rant with a pointed look. The young woman had the decency to blush apologetically.
"I went off topic didn't I?" a sheepish grin curled Hermione's lips.
Glancing at each other, Sherlock and Ollivander started to chuckle at Hermione's expense, shaking their heads at her childish joy in her research. Hermione scowled slightly at their amusement and leaned over to elbow Sherlock in the ribs. The action only caused his sniggering to deepen.
"Well, yes," Hermione cleared her throat along with her embarrassment. "Back to the subject at hand. I have been teaching Sherlock magic since we met. He's grasped wandless magic exceptionally well due to his magic maturing with him. However, he struggles with the maintenance of more complex spells so I believed it to be the right for him to get a wand. And who better to ask than the best wandmaker in England?"
"Miss. Granger, there is no requirement to flatter me in helping you and your friend here. I owe you a great deal more than a wand," Ollivander smiled with a sad fondness and patted her upper arm. He sighed softly and turned to the stacks behind him. "Let's see what we've got hiding back here, hmm?"
*…Of Ravens and Writing Desks…*
After nearly blowing the roof off of Ollivander's shop, Hermione and Sherlock departed the elderly man's company, having paid for Sherlock's first wand after a series of arguments about paying a debt – which Hermione made sure the shopkeeper lost. The detective studied the piece of wood closely whilst Hermione steered him though the crowds. She soon huffed in irritation at being forced to drag him around other pedestrians, and stabbed him in the ribs with her nails.
"What was that for?!" yelped the consulting detective.
"Could you please stop examining your wand until we're out of the street?" Hermione replied crossly. "You're slowing us down and making it extremely bloody difficult to walk through the crowd."
"Oh. Sorry."
With his wand safely stowed in the inside pocket of his coat, the pair moved with ease down the busy street. Sherlock hurried to keep up with the witch marching to a pre-determined location as he took in the shop windows they flitted past. Before long, they had shoved their way through the flood of shoppers to come to a standstill outside an old, green shopfront. Sherlock looked up at the sign above the door.
"Flourish & Blott's," his gaze drifted to look in the dusty windows. "You brought me to a book shop?"
A contented smile split Hermione's face in two. "Well where do you think all those books about magic came from? Thin air?" With that, she stepped over the threshold.
Sherlock was quick to follow suit – not wanting to be left alone in a magical alley with magical strangers. He was greeted by the comforting musk of ageing books. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent and the quietness that came with it. He understood immediately why the place appealed to Hermione – away from the hassle of the crowded street, they could immerse themselves in the tranquillity of the shop, the only sound coming from the shuffled footsteps and turning of dry pages. He followed the witch's bushy head through the stacks, further from the muted noises outside the door and passed the sounds of other customers. The shelves became dustier and the lights became dimmer before Hermione slowed her pace, her hand running along the shelves as she took in book titles, pausing at the odd one or two before moving further into the shop.
"Looking for something in particular?" Sherlock asked after a considerable silence.
"Yes, but that doesn't stop me from browsing for more," Hermione looked back to smile at him.
"And here I thought you were bringing me to the empty stacks to have your way with me," he laughed at his own joke.
Hermione's eyes sharpened with something other than mirth at the suggestion, "Looks like you figured out my master plan" – she turned fully, going along with his joke as cover – "whatever shall happen next," and stepped right up to Sherlock, daring him to take the next step.
The consulting detective gulped audibly before he threw caution to the wind. His eyes darkened with the same desire that stained the witch's own and his hands came up of their own accord, one slipping beneath her coat to hold her waist, the other whispering its way up her arm to rest in the curve of her neck. Light pressure from both hands pulled her towards him, their chests brushing lightly, heat and electricity dancing between them. He prolonged the moment, watching Hermione's delicate tongue dart out to lick her lips in anticipation. He lowered his head at the sight, ready to capture her mouth with his. He let his eyes close, as had Hermione. He felt her warm breath flutter across his cheeks, he was so close…
"Ahem!"
Sherlock's eyes snapped open, his lips barely ghosting over Hermione's when the croaky, scandalised interruption sounded from behind. He slowly turned his head to see an aged woman glaring pointedly at them for blocking the aisle with such an appalling public display.
Feeling more than slightly awkward and irritated at the situation, Sherlock stepped back from his flatmate and into the shelves to allow the older woman to shuffle past. The woman took the offered path, tutting under her breath and shooting disapproving looks at the all-too famous war heroine to his right.
His annoyance left with the old lady but the awkwardness stayed behind with them. He rubbed the back of his neck as he looked for the right words but before he had the chance, Hermione had straightened her coat and pointed to the front of the shop. "We should get going I think, before that woman comes back and berates us. I had my book reserved so it should be at the till."
Sherlock nodded, happy to ignore the situation for now and revisit it in the privacy of the flat. He gestured for Hermione to take the lead. "After you then."
*…Of Ravens and Writing Desks…*
"So where do you want to go to next?" Having watched Hermione pay for then Shrink her book into her pocket, the pair stepped out of the shop and into the busy alley before Sherlock asked the question. The clearer air and brighter environment pushed away the haze of lust swiftly followed by sheer awkwardness that they had both felt in the shop.
Hermione surveyed both ends of the street before turning back to face him. "Well it's a little after noon so we could go get something to eat at Florean Fortescue's while I explain the many benefits of buying an owl for the flat."
"Granger, I told you before, I am not having some dirty flying thing bringing dead mice into my fla-"
"Hermione?"
Sherlock's sentence was cut short by the questioning voice of an unknown male out of his line of sight. He watched the witch in question as her brown eyes widened in recognition and a genuine smile split her face in two, like sunlight breaking through the clouds. She spun on the spot and ran the short distance into the arms of a raven haired, bespectacled man. Disgruntled by her abandonment of him and happiness at the sight of the not entirely unattractive man, Sherlock followed her slowly, struggling to keep the petulance from his face. As he reached them, he heard the laughter in her voice at something the man said. Not knowing what to do without an introduction, Sherlock stood awkwardly to one side as he listened to their conversation.
"How have you been? How's work? How's Ginny?" Hermione fired off at the green-eyed man before her.
The stranger laughed at her eagerness. "I'm good, Ginny's good – she's around here somewhere, I think I left her in Madam Malkin's – and work's good, Hermione. But how about you? I never see you at the Ministry anymore. And what's this I hear about you living in Muggle London?"
"Yeah, well," a sheepish grin formed on the witch's face. "I sort of took an unannounced sabbatical. I was tired of the office and everything so I decided to get away, use the time for a personal project of mine…"
So was that all he was to her? Sherlock couldn't stop his mind from reeling with negative thoughts at her words. Was he nothing more than a project? An experiment for her genetic theories?
"…and yes I did move to Muggle London, it's nice to be away from it all. In fact, this here is my flatmate. Sherlock, meet Harry Potter. Harry, this is Sherlock Holmes."
At the mention of his name, Sherlock stepped forward, his hand outstretched and his face schooled into a politely blank expression. The wizard opposite him shook his hand firmly with a kind grin on his face. "Pleasure to meet you Sherlock."
"And you Harry," Sherlock responded with expected etiquette. "Hermione's told me a lot about you and your years at Hogwarts together."
Harry laughed loudly. "Well I hope she told you all the good stuff as well as the bad."
Sherlock smiled tightly and remained silent. Hermione hadn't told him much of her life except the events which changed her. Despite her trials, tribulations and the way she takes her tea, Sherlock knew next to nothing about the witch with whom he lived.
Thankfully, Sherlock's silence did not last long enough between the three of them to become uneasy because at that very moment, a woman with hair that looked as if it were on fire came up to the trio and threw herself at Hermione.
"Oh Merlin's beard, Hermione! Where on earth have you been?! I've been trying to reach you but no one at the Ministry knew your new address. And you know what Mum's like, she's desperate to see, she would've sent out a search party by now if we hadn't stopped her!"
Hermione laughed as she disentangled herself from the vibrant witch. "Hello to you too Ginny. I'm fine, you can tell Molly I'm fine and there's no need for a rescue party. Ginny, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Ginny, Harry's wife."
Harry interrupted the introductions between the three other members of the group, a small, sad smile on his face and a hand on Hermione's arm. "'Mione… have you been to see Ron recently?"
Sherlock watched the witch in question flinch as though Harry had slapped her. "No," her tone was short. "I'm not ready to yet."
"Hermione," pity swam through Ginny's voice as she mirrored her partner's position on her Hermione's other side. "You need to go see him. It's been too long and you know he wants to see you too – even if he can't say it."
"Don't Ginny. Just don't," Hermione snapped at the redhead, pulling herself away from the couple. Sherlock had seen Hermione angry before. He had seen her passionately angry when discussing both magical and Muggle current affairs. He had seen her irritated when he left dirty dishes in the sink. He had even seen her lose it over a completely unrealistic relationship in some stupid drama on TV on Sunday nights. But he had never seen an anger that brought her to the edge of tears, until today. All because of "Ron".
Sensing that the situation needed to be drawn to a swift conclusion, and that Hermione needed to return to the flat for tea and a novel, Sherlock stepped forward, half shielding his flatmate from her friends.
"Well it was lovely to meet you both," Sherlock smiled politely, as if the situation hadn't taken a turn for the worse. "But unfortunately, we've finished all our errands for the day and I need Hermione to Apparate me back to Muggle London so I can get to work. I'm still learning Apparition you see and, well, murderers don't catch themselves!"
He heard Hermione choke behind him and turned to find the witch trying to not laugh and cry simultaneously. He gave her a quick grin before turning back to Harry and Ginny with his hand outstretched. They each took it in turn, confusion plastered on their faces and in the brains, preventing them from questioning his words. Dropping Ginny's hand, the detective stepped back to take Hermione's arm in his and looked to her.
"Shall we be off then?"
They vanished with a soft chuckle and a crack.
AN: Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Happy New Year etc. And apologies for the lateness. Life sucks and takes up too much time and brain power. No idea when I'll get to post the next chapter, I'm currently trying to write my dissertation and failing miserably. However, reviews make the best Christmas presents (and are absolutely free!)
