Disclaimer: All the characters displayed in this fic are property of their respective creators, JK Rowling (Harry Potter), Moffat and Gatiss (BBC Sherlock), and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes).

By the way, my deepest thanks to all of you that reviewed, favourited or followed the story. It really warms my heart to see how many of you seem to like what I write. I promise I will continue working on this amazing story.

Please see the Notes at the end of the Chapter.

Chapter 11: "The empty hearse, Act II"

When Hermione woke up next morning, she thought she had had the strangest dream of her life. Lying in bed, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, reaching for her phone. It was ten in the morning, and she already had five missing calls from John and three from Mary. She sighed. It had not been a dream then. Sherlock was alive and Mycroft had lied to her. Getting up, she re-dialled John. He picked up immediately, probably waiting for her call. Before she could say anything, John was already talking.

"Did you know it?"

"Ten minutes ago, I thought I had dreamt it. No, John, I didn't know it." The silence on the other side told was doubtful. John had every right to not to believe her. "I am serious, John. I am as shocked as you are and really pissed. Probably not at the same Holmes as you."

John did not answer immediately, but she did not interrupt him. Despite Sherlock's bloody nose from yesterday, John was being quite reasonable.

"Why didn't Mycroft tell you"

"Because he correctly guessed I would have told you eventually. You deserved to know." John muttered a thank you, sighing. "So, what now, John?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to come around or not?"

"We'll see."

Hermione put the phone in speaker while she threw on her dressing gown.

"Mary told me he actually interrupted you last night."

"That he did, the cock."

"Good punch, though."

John laughed and she joined him. She felt relieved now.

"How do you live with him without punching him every time he talks?"

"Good question. I hope you are a patient woman." John covered the speaker because she heard muffled noises. "Listen, I have to go, Mary just told me there is a new patient with an undescended testicle."

"Uhg, gross John."

She hanged the call and went to the door when she heard voices in the living room. Very distinctive voices. Opening the door, she saw Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, throwing each other what looked like a woollen hat, not paying attention to her. She came to them and took one of the cups of tea on the table when she noticed the massive case board that now decorated the wall.

"I've written a blog about the different fibres"

"I am sure there is a crying need for that" She pointed at the map "What is this?"

"That's Sherlock's homework." "None of your business"

Hermione turned around to the men, that had talked at the same time. Mycroft, wearing his favourite tweed suit, looked almost amused in the face of Sherlock's irritation of both being interrupted and being mocked at. She turned to kitchen simulating exasperation, but she was actually having a very difficult time concentrating in something else rather than the button of Sherlock´s shirt that strained against his chest, barely covered by the dressing gown. She sat down at the kitchen table, pouring a fresh coffee with the arguing of the siblings as background noise.

"Yes. Back to work if you don't mind. Hermione, a word."

She turned her head to Mycroft. She was half tempted to ignore him, but she gave in and followed him to the landing. He closed the door after them, although she was pretty sure Sherlock would probably be listening on the other side. She stood in front of him, her arms crossed, waiting for him to talk.

"I am sorry."

She nodded slowly. She could not control the sceptical pursing of her lips, her eyebrows shooting up incredulously.

"Nice, Mycroft. No, seriously, I feel better now."

"Keep your ironies, would you?" He moved on the spot, both hands now on the handle of his umbrella. "You are my best agent and because you are I put you where I thought you'd be best."

"You really don't see it do you?" Her voice was hard and louder than it had been before "This is not about what I had to do, Mycroft. This is about you not telling me something so critical." She threw her arms in the air, exasperation seeping through her words. "Not only that! You let that stupid club to become famous! It was me who connected the dots, but what if someone else had?"

"They did" He looked at her. "That's why I had to go to the Balkans myself."

Hermione crossed her arms again, slightly back away from him.

"Listen, the whole situation came from up high. Moriarty's network was something that had to be dealt with and Sherlock was the weapon to do it. "

"Why is he here now then?"

"The network has been dismantled and the MI6 wanted Sherlock in the Thompson's case."

"The terrorist attack?"

"Precisely. They requested him, but that doesn't mean I don't need you to keep your eyes opened. Especially now, that Sherlock is here. He has the singular ability to attract all sorts of ...interesting, people."

"Cheers. From John's nanny to your brother's nanny. I've got a promotion!"

Mycroft came closer to her and put a hand on her crossed arms. "Everything is out in the open now. Ever since this moment, you will have normal missions as you did before. You are back on the field. I am just asking for some surveillance."

She stood there, not going away from his touch but neither acknowledging it. He took a step back, sighing slightly. "We sometimes have to make hard decisions for the greater good. I hope you can forgive me."

"I have forgiven you Mycroft. But I won't forget."

"I wasn't expecting so."

She nodded to him and opened the kitchen door, immediately entering the bathroom. After a needed hot shower, she had got dressed and had decided to do some shopping. She was putting on her coat, about to step down to the stairs when Sherlock came into her path, intently looking at her.

"Yes?"

"Hum… would you like to… Solve crimes?"

She was sure she must have misheard "What?"

"I have clients. I tried Molly, but she said that it maybe was a bit not good."

"I love being the second plate."

"Third, I tried Lestrade."

"You know Greg is not at your beck and call, don't you?"

"Who?

She massaged her temples. "What do you want Sherlock? A John?"

"You are a secret agent, so I am hoping for an improved version."

For reasons she could not understand yet, she agreed. Well, she could, as the alternative was a run down to Tesco at rush hour. She sat down on John's chair, and although she saw how Sherlock momentarily frowned, she just flashed him a defiant smile. Sherlock was so used to everyone giving in to his desires that he was probably a little bit taken aback by her. Two could play this game.

By the end of the day, they had established a routine around each other. They had received all sorts of clients, and while Sherlock deduced them, she gave personal inputs that he seemed to appreciate. Their method had worked so well that for a moment, in a dingy basement with a skeleton and them throwing facts at each other, it had felt like flirting.

The last case of the day, however, was the one that spiked Sherlock's attention. Howard, the owner of the wool hat, had shown them the strange disappearance of a man inside a tube car between two adjacent stations. Sherlock's brain had kicked into working mode and had started talking, his eyes flickering back and forth in the screen. In that moment, she understood John a bit better. The boring cases, the easy stuff, was just a training. Seeing him like this was what John had got addicted to, and she might easily do so. She felt the rush someone must have felt seeing Da Vinci painting or Bach playing: almost like witness a masterpiece. His mind was a wind whirl, completely different to what she had seen in Mycroft. Where Mycroft's wit held the precision of the scalpel, his was a tornado, sweeping through everyone that came through his path.

Completely immersed in his thoughts, he had continued talking when they had left the flat, going down the stairs.

"The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes – ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James's Park." He looked at Hermione, who was tapping on her phone. "I'm going to need maps – lots of maps, older maps, all the maps. Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Sherlock, maps. I can make a few calls." She reached the landing, pocketing her phone. "By the way, about the man."

"What about him?"

"You do know him. Everyone that has lived in England for the past two years knows him. He is Augustus Moran, Peer of the realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment. "

"I don't do politics. I must have seen him somewhere else."

"You have him on your map, he is one of your rats. I don't know why, but you do."

Sherlock frowned and walked past her while muttering to himself. "Mm…Fancy some chips?"

"What?"

"I know a fantastic fish shop just off the Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?"

"No – I helped him put up some shelves."

Hermione laughed, a smile staying on her lips, mirroring his. "Is this a peace offering?"

Sherlock stood outside the complex, the wind messing with his hair, his cheeks barely visible over the collar of his coat, but with tell-tale creases of a smile. His eyes, however, had the same expression his brother had when he met her the first time. She had been evaluated, she knew that, and apparently, she had passed. "You might be...useful, in the long run."

"I'll take that as a compliment. But I should report back to your brother. He wants to send me to deal with the Magical Congress of the United States of America and I am ready to trade something so I don't have to do it. I might even offer to spy on you."

He smirked at her "I'd like to see you try."

She smiled and went past him, giving him a light squeeze in the arm above the elbow. "It was fun, Sherlock. See you at home."

That night, however, when a Sherlock smelling like a roasted chicken had arrived at Baker Street, he had ignored Hermione's questions and had locked himself in the bathroom. She must have known that whatever this morning was about was not going to last.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so."

Sherlock, sitting in his chair, glared towards the kitchen, where Hermione was preparing a tray of tea. She had what Sherlock, in less than forty-eight hours, had already deemed her 'annoying know-it-all' smile. In all fairness, Hermione thought, it was pretty entertaining seeing him closing his eyes, drumming his fingers against the leather, probably trying to drown the innocent babbling from his parents. She came to the front room, leaving the tray on the coffee table.

"Thank you, darling. I hope Sherly is not giving you too much trouble."

"Not at all, Margaret." She straightened herself and looked over at Sherlock, cocking her eyebrow, clearly stating to him that the nickname will be kept on her hard drive for later use "Sherly is being quite a gentleman."

Sherlock rose quickly to his feet, buttoning his jacket as he walked towards the sofa.

"So, did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" He stepped onto the coffee table and then onto the sofa between his parents, flicking through the papers on the wall. Hermione saw how Margaret merely leaned to the side nonchalantly, while his father exchanged with her an exasperated look. Hermione swears, Siger was the only sane one in that family.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament."

"Yes, there is a big debate tonight." Sherlock looked at his mum and then at her, a question in his expression. "Anti-terrorism bill. One of the few things that can save the Government, apparently."

The living room door opened without notice, and John appeared on the threshold. Sherlock looked round in surprise.

"John!"

"Sorry – you're busy."

Sherlock climbed down the sofa and reached down to pull Margaret to her feet while speaking to John: "No-no-no, they were just leaving."

"Oh, were we?"

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case ..."

"No, not a case, no-no-no. Go. 'Bye."

Hermione stood up and pried Margaret away from her son's grip while giving her her purse. "Sherlock!"

"Don't worry pet." She reached to give her a peck on the cheek. "We're here 'til Saturday, remember."

Sherlock stood beside Hermione, pushing all three of them onto the landing. Hermione shot him a glare and he swiftly removed his hand from her back but continued to push his parents out. He tried to close the door but something stooped him from doing so. Hermione turned to John and offered him a cup of tea, still fuming, while Sherlock continued talking after he finally managed to close the door.

"Sorry about that."

"No, it's fine. Clients?"

"His parents."

"His parents?"

"His and Mycroft's parents." John's expression was that of a person who has received a very shocking information. "I know, my thoughts exactly."

"Your parents?"

"In town for a few days. Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of "Les Mis." Tried to talk me into doing it."

"Well ...That is not what I ... I-I mean they're just ... so"

"...ordinary."

"It's a cross I have to bear." John chuckled, then slowly took a few steps across the room before turning back.

"Did they know, too? That you spent the last two years playing hide and seek."

Hermione, that had stood up in front of the map, answered him without looking away. "Of course they did, they weren't at the funeral."

"How do you know that?"

"Well," Hermione looked at Sherlock "Mycroft charges other people with things he doesn't want to do. Matinees, reports, funerals…" John temper was rising, she knew that much with just a glance at him. She then decided to change the subject. "See you've shaved it off"

"aa Yeah. Wasn't working for me.

Sherlock directed his attention to John again.

"I'm glad."

"What, you didn't like it?

"No. I prefer my doctors clean-shaven."

Hermione, uninterested flicking some of the papers over the parliament on the map "And you wonder why there are writing of you two going on at it like rabbits."

John made a face to that and slowly walked to his old chair. He sat down, grunting.

"How are you feeling?"

"Yeah, not bad. Bit ... smoked."

"What?" She turned around and looked at him, and she almost hit herself for not having seen it before. She was so preoccupied with Sherlock's parents, trying not to choke him and aborting any possible outbreak of war between them that she had not realised the cuts on his face and neck. She came to him, taking his face in her hands while assessing the wounds. "What happened to you?"

He looks at her "How is it that you don't know? Didn't Mary call you? Didn't he tell you?"

"She called me yesterday but I was with Mycroft in a debriefing and it was turned off. Then I called her and told me not to worry, that everything was fine. And here Sherlock didn't find necessary to tell me, apparently. What happened? "She addressed Sherlock" Is this why you came yesterday smelling like barbeque?"

Between John and Sherlock, they filled her in. Trying to play her part as accurate as possible, she gasped when needed while her thoughts were a turmoil. There was something in all the story that did not fit, and it was Mary. John and Sherlock might have missed that key point (maybe not Sherlock, and that was something for her to monitor), because of course for them Mary was just a nurse. But she was more concern about that fact than about anything else. Anyone that wanted to get to Sherlock would have directly called Sherlock, not bypassed him with a seemingly simple nurse. And probably this had already passed Mary's mind. John, of course, was more concerned by his own role in the whole ordeal.

"Who did that? And why did they target me? Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous."

He walked towards his wall of information. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Gave is life."

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know."

Hermione went to Sherlock "I do agree, the intel in this is unusually scarce. An underground network is very unspecific."

She was positively mortified. She had left John and Sherlock alone in Baker Street and had decided to call Mary for a coffee and a much-needed talk when Mycroft had called her. He had conveniently booked a meeting and he was "sadly unable" to accompany Margaret and Siger to a Japanese exhibition at The British Museum. She had, of course, met with them and gladly roamed the galleries she loved. But the innocent Japanese exhibition dear mommy and daddy Holmes wanted to see so much turned to be about sex and pleasure in Japanese art. And while the pictures had been nice, she really did not want to hear what the Holmes progenitors did in their free time. A very difficult task, as contrary to their children, they were being over-sharing. At least she had ammunition in case Sherlock or Mycroft started to become too much to handle.

Upon entering her living room, she saw Mary inspecting the microscope that had found its way back to the kitchen table from downstairs.

"I wouldn't touch that."

"You look like if you just had seen a ghost."

"Worse" She sat down in Sherlock's chair, resting her head in the cool leather of the back. "I've seen two adorable elderly people transform into horny teenagers before my eyes. I mean, good for them, but Jesus, I am not going to be able to forget some of the things I've heard."

"Sherlock's parents?"

Hermione nodded, and that threw Mary into a hysterical laughter. "Well, now we know who has kept all the libido in that family."

Hermione smiled, still with her eyes closed, and muttered. "Shame"

"What was that?" Mary was smirking at her, which in turn made her groan. She was not going to let it slide. "Are we attracted to brilliant, robotic Sherlock Holmes?"

And tall and handsome and violinist hands that she had already imagined playing other "instruments"

"Don't be ridiculous." She got up "What are you doing here anyway?"

"Well, as long as someone hasn't called me yet to talk about my non-engagement, apparently very busy imagining Sherlock's sex life..."The teasing in her voice matched her curled lips. "John came to see Sherlock, and they haven't come back."

"Haven't they?" She looked at the map. "That's weird. Well, that means they are chummy again."

"I guess..."

"What happened Mary?" Hermione turned to her. "Why would anyone send you a message?"

"So John told you" She sighed and cover her face with her hands, slowly sliding them until they were covering just her mouth. "I honestly don't know, and that terrifies me. And do not tell me we have Mycroft."

"I wasn't going to"

Mary stood up and hugged her, which Hermione gave back. "I am so sorry, love"

She looked the blond in the eye, a sad smile on her face.

"You are not going to tell me 'I told you so'?"

"No" Mary took her face in her hands." You are hurt. I get it. And I understand it. And even if I do not trust Mycroft, he would do anything for you, and for Sherlock. That I have no doubt about it. You are safe."

"It's not me who I am worried about, Mary."

"Do not worry. I am grown woman, and you have done more for me than anyone else in this world. Let me, us, take care of you now."

Hermione felt the tear in the brim of her eyes, and Mary hugged her again. She had rarely felt safer than when in Mary's arms. They heard footsteps in the staircase and they disentangled from each other, while Hermione wiped the tears away. Sherlock entered first and without acknowledging any of them, dropping himself on his armchair, while John kissed Mary. Hermione looked at Sherlock.

"Where have you been?"

"Aborting a terrorist attack while Sherlock was being his typical cock-self" John was hugging Mary by her waist but he was smiling, and Sherlock had turned his head and was sniffing his armchair.

"Why does my chair smell like Chanel?"

It took Hermione a whole day to convince Sherlock to have an engagement party at Baker Street, taking into account he had been the one interrupting the actual engagement in the first place.

"You owe them, Sherlock."

"Mmmm, nope" He was tuning his violin, which had been not touched ever since he 'died'.

"Sherlock" She stood in front of him, between him and the window, her small height making him look down at her. She might be small, but she was fierce and she did not give up. He better understood that. "We are going to throw a party tomorrow for John and Mary, and we are going to have champagne and we are going to invite Greg, and Molly and her fiancé."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tell you what your parents do behind closed doors in their free time."

He squinted at her, while she stood there, smiling. "You are bluffing."

"I am not. You know your parents, Sherly, you know how over-sharing they can be. Does sex alarm you, Mr Holmes?"

"Sex doesn't alarm me"

"Good" Sherlock stood in silence, apparently trying to disintegrate her with his eyes. She took a deep breath. "So apparently your father does this thing-"

"Stop"

"- your mother loves it, she swears. Siger goes down and-"

He did a creaking noise with his violin. "Fine. We'll do that party."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

They were now in the living room, having the promised glass of champagne. Hermione could hear the noise in the street because of course, Sherlock had chosen this morning to tell everyone his story. She was sipping from her drink when Sherlock had appeared in the room, his phone in his ear, unbuttoned jacket and a purple shirt that Hermione knew was going to come and visit during her lonely nights. Mary had caught her stare because she had kicked her not too discretely under the table. He came next to Hermione and took a bottle, popping the cork, and poured a glass that he offered to Hermione, only to pour one for himself. Another peace offering, she guessed. Next to her Mary was talking to Mrs Hudson about the date of the wedding.

"Are you happy now..." He stopped, doubting. "Hermione?"

"Very. As you are. You forget I have been working with Mycroft. I have a degree in Holmes studies."

He smiled and clinked his glass to her.

"You will be there, Sherlock?"

"Weddings – not really my thing." Hermione saw how he winked at Mary. How she wished he were not … whatever he was.

Molly entered the room, with her fiancé after her, holding her hand.

"Hello, everyone."

"Hi"

Mary looked at Hermione, who has her eyes on Sherlock. This was going to be interesting.

"Sherlock, this is Tom."

"It's really nice to meet you at last. Quite a feat, right, coming back from the dead."

Sherlock held out his hand to Tom, and they shook hands, Sherlock, not uttering a word.

Greg walked across the room behind them. "Champagne?"

"Yes"

Sherlock's jaw dropped open a little and he turned his eyes towards John, who grinned back at him expectantly. He then turned to Mary and Hermione who were discretely covering their mouths with their glasses. John tugged him outside the room, and both disappeared downstairs.

Tom was bewildered. "What happened? Is there something on my face? "

Greg chocked on his own champagne and Mrs Hudson patted him on the back. Definitely, life at Baker Street has just got more interesting.

Final chapter from "The Empty Hearse". Next one, "The sign of Three" will be covered in three chapters.

I hope you liked it. I tried to change as little as possible the actual interactions. You might be disappointed if you love Molly's characters that I have substituted her by Hermione. But I have the feeling that the actual series did it as a hint of romance between them, and that is not how this story will go.

All the transcripts have been extracted from the work of Ariane DeVere which did an amazing job recollecting them. The link to them is in my profile.

NOTE: Sherlock's mum was called Violet because of something I read online, but upon seen His Las Vow, I saw that her book had the initials "M. ", so I had to change the name.