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: Phil the Sherlotter

WARNINGS: See first chapter for all the warnings.

MISC: So are you guys ready for the last chapter? (Don't worry! There's an epilogue, too!)... Also, this fic is up on tumblr with BONUS CONTENT. God help us all... .com

LAST LITTLE NOTE: Remember... o0o denotes scene changes. the lines across the page denote time period changes. it's pretty straight forward.


"Denims, John. Dark blue denims," Sherlock mumbled sleepily. He'd been dozing since John had taken over the storytelling.

The twins giggled in stereo. "I thought you'd gone to sleep," John said.

"How can I sleep when this infernal beast is using my kidneys for football practice," Sherlock bemoaned. "Just when I begin to drift peacefully into a restful sleep, and right before I manage to enter into a REM cycle, he starts again."

"Maybe he likes the sound of your voice," Hudson suggested. "Gran says that you did that all the time, too. And he had to talk for hours to keep you from kicking about. Try reading a book to him. Gran says he always used to read Treasure Island to you to settle you down again."

"It's true, Sherlock. All the baby books say you should talk to your child because the sound of the mo- I mean, parent's voice is comforting and soothing. Doesn't even matter what you say, really. Just that you talk a bit."

Sherlock made a sort of grunting noise as he reached for a book on the nightstand. Clearly the conversation was over. The twin terrors were quickly back on John, badgering him for more.

"Well, I saw an awful lot of what went on those three years we were apart. I even saw, though he hadn't meant for me to see it, his confrontation on the roof just before..." He wiped his eye quickly on his sleeve. "That one. That was when I knew, because I could feel a little of what he did then. And let me tell you, it was absolutely terrifying to find out exactly how much he cared for me."

Sherlock snorted. "As if it hadn't been obvious."

"Because remembering to clear some space in the fridge for my jam is the height of sentimentality."

"Not my fault if you failed to notice my preferential treatment," he said from behind his book.

Harriet tucked the corner of the pillow she hugged beneath her chin. "So after you saw in the pensieve, what happened?"

"It was a hell of a shock. Especially when Mycroft pulled me out of it..."


John fell back onto the love seat with a grunt. Blue eyes wide and hands shaking.

"Scorpius, the blue one please."

Mycroft tapped the end of his wand against the top of the phial, dropping the memories back into it. Then he retrieved the blue bottle from amongst the few on the table beside the pensieve.

Harry pulled the cork and poured a small portion of the contents into a glass of pumpkin juice. "Here. Drink this. For your nerves."

"I," John said, licking his lips anxiously. "I think I'd rather have a brandy."

"Scorpius."

"Right away mother."

Soon a small tumbler was placed in John's hand. Within moments it had been emptied. A comforting hand had been placed on John's back and was moving slowly in gentle circles. "You just try and relax John. Take slow, deep breaths. That's it. Now... Tell me what possessed you to do something so stupid. And yes, do tell me the part my children have played in this little drama because I know you're a smart man. And you certainly wouldn't have shoved your head in that thing had you known the effects it has on muggles."

And so John did, once he had calmed enough to do so. He told Harry about the bracelet, and then his part in Christmas Eve. He apologized profusely, blaming himself for Mary's attack and, by extension, the deaths of innocent party guests. Though, Harry knew it had little to do with John, he let the muggle go on and gave him another tumbler of brandy. A quick glare at his eldest was all that had been needed to get the man to clear the room.

Once he had calmed again, John explained about his conversations with Lily. Then what led to the act of stupidity - a muggle using a pensieve.

"Ah," Harry said, leaning back and watching the younger man in profile. "If my son told you to drive off a bridge, would you do it?"

"Honestly?"

Harry nodded with a hum.

"I'd complain about it while wondering if we'd blow up when we hit the bottom."

"So that's a yes then."

"Yeah."

They were quiet. Harry trying to figure out how best to proceed. John just trying to reconcile the things he'd seen with his own feelings.

After a few minutes that to John felt stretched into an eternity, Harry spoke. His words were calm, but with a small spark of hope. "You know his feelings. You know how deeply he cares for you. All that remains to be answered is do you care for my son in return?"

John leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands up so that he may stare at them. Stare as if they held the answer in some mysterious code among the callouses and prints. His mind trying to pick out this latest experience from his own chaotic pool of emotion.

"What if I said no?" he asked.

"It would not change his opinions of you, nor his regard for you. The only change would be that now, you would know of it, and know that he has difficulty giving voice to these things."

"He's very single minded. Obsessive. He wouldn't be likely to move on."

Harry shook his head. "No. He wouldn't. But that's something the two of you need to work out on your own."

John scoffed, then muttered, "Tell that to Mycroft."

Harry smiled then placed a gentle hand on John's forearm. The gesture caused him to turn his head and look the old wizard in the face. "I assure you, the meddling of my other children in these personal matters will end very quickly."

He cut his emerald gaze to the phial of memories and let his hand fall away. "But... I would like you to consider the fact that you have gone to a lot of trouble, and put yourself through quite a bit of peril just to understand my son."

"Mr. Potter, Harry," John said. "This holiday, we really hadn't planned for anything to-"

"I wasn't talking about your visit in my home, as eventful as it's become. He said 'dangerous' and yet here you are, still. To spite the rocky road to get here."

He stood, vanishing the pumpkin juice with the calming draught without even taking out his wand. "Vitus!" he called. When the pop of the house elf's arrival sounded it gave John a bit of start. "Take these back to my personal stores. But leave this one." He indicated the memory phial that had caused so much trouble.

"Yes Master Harry. Right away sir."

As the elf set to his task, Harry looked back down at John. "When you're ready, take that back where it belongs. Remain in here as long as you feel necessary. Summon Vitus if you feel a bit peckish."

John nodded, turning his attention back to his hands as if they held the answers his mind so desperately sought... Anything to contradict what he had already known to be the truth in his heart. Even as long ago as the Fall. As soon after it as when he had sat in Ella's office, and she had implored him to say the things he had never been able to say before. What he hadn't the courage to say until it was too late. Until...

But no. He was alive. Had been all along. And waiting for him. And now John was given the opportunity he thought stolen from him by Moriarty on that rooftop.

Jumping to his feet he snatched the phial off the table before him. John didn't need to remember where their shared room was to know where to find Sherlock. He just needed to hang onto this burning desire to tell the man exactly what he thought of him while he still had the courage to do so.

o0o

Sherlock had packed their belongings in the time he waited for John. Though he did not pack their Christmas gifts. Those he purposely left arranged on his old writing desk beside the window. Where it could be clearly seen from the door. Some fool's hope in him wished that, after the uncomfortable emotional battle that was due, they may yet still sit and have some semblance of normalcy in all of this.

The bulk of their luggage sat beside the door, out of the way of tramping feet. His own suitcase had, of course, carried a few extra items that he'd seen amongst his rubbish that he had forgotten he'd even owned. The most important of which had been his favorite cauldron. While cooking up his magic suppressants in his home chemistry set (and occasionally slipping a bit past Molly at Barts when he needed high intensity radiation to do a bit of modern cookery) he did still prefer the old fashioned cauldron method. It was, by far, the most effective and potent of the lot.

He had been musing over this, determined to ignore the pleasant hum just beneath his skin, when the door opened and a stocky, blond man stormed inside, slamming the door behind him.

Sherlock only had a few short seconds to realize John was shouting at him.

"And I'll tell you another thing!" John continued without even noticing Sherlock hadn't heard the first bit. But he barreled onwards. "You're a selfish, irresponsible, reckless, thoughtless, arrogant man-child and so help me I'd be a miserable drunk living with his sister if not for you. God I don't know why and I must be losing my bloody mind but Sherlock I love you and if you don't like it you can just sod off!"

Awkward was not even the correct word, but it was the closest, to describe the silence that had crashed around them. Sherlock stared at him from across the room. Taking in the heaving chest, the red face and the fierce determination in those eyes. Well, determination and absolute terror. Which was understandable, if Sherlock remembered the numerous monographs he'd read on the subject of love and emotional attachment.

"You've rehearsed this," he finally said, for lack of anything better to come to mind. And he just stood, blinking at him.

"Every other day for six months. And probably would have kept on if Mary hadn't started spiking my drinks with her love juice."

Sherlock pulled a face. "Potion," he corrected. "Love juice just sounds disgusting."

"Yeah... Well..." John said, now looking everywhere but at Sherlock. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "There it is. I love you."

"Obviously we will need to shift the paradigm of our current relations in order to accommodate the change from a platonic to an intimate relationship. We must also set clear boundaries regarding how this will affect the Work, as I will not have you distracting me at crime scenes more than you already have."

"And crime scenes don't count as dates, and neither do car chases, investigations, and the morgue. Nothing case related."

Sherlock frowned, looking at him quizzically when the tenseness, when the absolute terror of rejection faded from John's body language. From his expression. And the look he received was softer, kinder.

John's voice showed exasperation. "What now Sherlock?"

"You have not requested verbal confirmation of the reciprocation of the emotional response appropriate for this situation."

"From all the data I've been hit with since we got here, I can safely say that even my slower brain could deduce it."

The corners of Sherlock's mouth quirked up, just a little, into a smile John hadn't even known he'd missed for all this time. "Slower, yes. But you occasionally have your moments."

"Stop while you're ahead Sherlock. Before I change my mind and ask Harry to erase the last week and a half from both our heads."

"I'd like to see him try."

Easily they fell back into their usual banter as John crossed the room at last, commenting on the fact that Sherlock had actually cleaned - and why oh why couldn't he do that at home.

This was not going to be easy. They both knew that. And as John tentatively sat on the end of the bed, Sherlock thrusting packages at him, he knew he'd done the right thing. He could easily picture himself, well, both of them really, together for the rest of their lives. Unfortunately that vision of their future didn't include growing old and gray. After all Sherlock was, well, in his eighties. And the lifestyle they led, the dangers they willingly put themselves through-

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" John asked, looking away from him and down at the package in his hand, the paper half ripped away to reveal a box with two rather pricey phones in the picture on it.

"You're going to grow old. And so am I. And according to my godmother there's going to eventually be short and smart children. And something about hedgehogs in there as well. Not quite clear on that," Sherlock said in a dismissive tone as he waved his hand a bit, continuing on in a completely different vein as if his previous statement didn't even matter. Which of course in Sherlock's mind it was probably filtered away as unimportant and useless data. "Now about your gift. There are two phones because they were on sale. I needed to upgrade and your phone is desperately obsolete. I did not, however, transfer your number to it because you were still using it. It would have been useless to do so since I propose we buy a plan for the both of us. Thus eliminating the need for separate bills. Now, your next gift-"

"And we're not going to talk about the fact you were already buying us matching phones and considering a family plan?"

"We will. Just... not here. I would be more manageable, you will find, in our rooms at Baker Street."

John shook his head and set the phones aside just before another package was thrust into his lap. It was soft and squishy.

"It's a hideous jumper," Sherlock said before John had the chance to open it. "It's from Hermione and Ron. Apparently Ms. Granger-Weasley has taken it upon herself to continue the tradition of Weasley jumpers."

"You know this?..."

"I received two this year. Both are rather resilient to fire and acid."

With a small shake of his head John set this too aside. Gift after gift was handed to him, and Sherlock watched expectantly as he unwrapped them. The bed behind and to either side of him filled up quickly with an assortment of things from people he didn't even know. Some muggle, some not. A set of well used books on the subject of magical diseases had been given to him by Lily. He noticed only one in the lot on the table was actually for Sherlock. Untouched and bearing just a bit of a singe mark at the corner. And he recognized the paper before the slap-dash wrapping job.

"Sherlock," he said, setting a plush hedgehog aside (he was really going to have to ask Mrs. Longbottom about her obsession with those one of these days) and stood. Wading his way through the mountain of colourful scraps of paper and ribbon, he made his way to the writing desk.

Gracelessly he picked up the present and took it back to Sherlock. "You forgot one."

"No I didn't. I was saving it for-"

"Just open it, will you." He held it out, and blatantly ignored the fingers brushing his own as it was taken. Not that he didn't welcome the contact - but Sherlock's parents' house was not the place to start things like that. "I thought, maybe," he started as Sherlock meticulously unwrapped the gift. Long fingers ghosted over the fine, expensive dragonhide cover. The intricate, barely noticeable skull design embossed in a rich, dark blue that reminded him of his favorite housecoat. The design sitting just below the swirling silver initials SH.

"I thought you could use it. You know, for case notes. So you don't leave piles of paper scattered everywhere."

"This was custom made," Sherlock said, holding it up so that he may look down the spine. "Very fine work - Flourish and Blott's... No." He ran his finger between a few of the pages without fully opening the volume just yet. "No. The paper quality is much higher than the best they have in stock." He opened the cover, inspecting the inner seams closely before flipping through the blank pages. "Auto editing woven into the magic used to create it... That's new. You picked this on your own or were you persuaded by the shopkeeper to make this purchase?"

John shrugged. "Saw it in the window. All I had done were the front bits."

He smiled, closing the book and laying it on a nearby chair. John was quite pleased when he saw Sherlock's hand linger just a little too long on the journal before finally slipping away as if reluctant to let it go. "Must have been rather expensive. Well beyond your budget, even with the exchange rates between pounds and galleons fluctuating as they have recently."

"I could always take it back. Pop 'round to the shops and get you a student's composition book and a couple of biros."

"You will not!"

"Then don't complain."

"You'll have to pick up extra shifts."

"Worth it after that look on your face."


"The next day we packed up the rest, had a nice and peaceful breakfast while Mycroft and Lily sat under some very complicated silencing charms, and then returned home. At the end of June we were married, and by Christmas, well, we were picking out toys and furniture while waiting for our first little hedgehogs."

"And Mrs. Hudson was the new proud owner of mummy's prize winning roses," Sherlock added.

"Yes. There was that," John said with a mischievous smirk.

The twins, meanwhile, traded looks in silent communication. Holding conference until finally... "No," Harriet said.

"No?"

"No," Hudson repeated.

"Well, that's the whole story. There's nothing else for it," John said.

"What happened when you came home?" they demanded together.

"Oh no," he replied. "No. That... That's not fit for anyone's ears. You're too young, and you'll always be too young, and Sherlock a little help here?"

"What your dad means to say," Sherlock said, laying his open book on his chest. "Is that between our return home and the day we married we had started dating. He took me to places I later complained about. I took him to places he told me were not acceptable locales and activities for a date and I was just trying to fool him into thinking I wasn't on a case. Regardless, later when I had proposed marriage, he accepted, as I had known he would. After some months we then decided to start filling our home with children who are far too clever and charismatic for their own good. And who also insist on stories that last far too long rather than allowing their parents to read books to them like normal children."

Hudson barked out a laugh. "But normal is so boring!"

John bit his lip, sharing a look with his husband before saying. "Yeah. Yeah it really is, isn't it?"

"I wouldn't know," Sherlock replied as he picked his book back up. "I've yet to encounter anything even remotely so."

Soon after John herded the pair to their beds. As he tucked in his daughter, she smiled up at him. "So, daddy. Tell us about the time you and father found out we were going to be born."

"Maybe another time, sweetheart," he said, leaning in to kiss her goodnight.

She turned to her side, wrapping her arms around the hedgehog plus Mrs. Longbottom had given John that rather strange first Christmas with Sherlock's family.

He never did get around to asking why all those wizards and witches had been fascinated with the small, spiny creatures. But, he supposed, he really didn't need to anymore.


A/N - And that, folks. Is the end... BUT DO NOT PANIC! There is an epilogue on the way! We are also working on getting this into PDF format for download, and that will include 2 bonus drabbles - one of which is a John and Harry conversation about parenting. WOO!