Hi all, first of all, so sorry for keeping you waiting. But as these are the last compasses of the fic, I wanted to make them perfect - but honestly, season 4 is a complete and utter mess. There is only one chapter left (chapter + epilogue, that I might just combine). Thank you for your patience, and I'll see you on the other side.

Now, enjoy! And let me know your thoughts in the comments.

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

The Final Problem - Conflict

"Sirius has been to Sherrinford?"

Lady Smallwood nodded. "Once, as far as I know. Not long after he joined, at Mycroft's request."

"Something related to magic, I reckon."

The older woman let out a very uncharacteristic scoff. "There was a time when decisions about Sherrinford had to go through a committee. One of the first things Mycroft changed as soon as he could. We get regular updates but that's about it. Mycroft makes sure of that." Smallwood pursed her lips before leaning towards her. "Did Sirius tell you anything?" Hermione held her gaze, but remained silent. "Not even about Eurus?"

"No," retorted Hermione. Not having access to that kind of information, she could only imagine the consequences of revealing Ultra classified secrets. And although the animagus had steered her in the right direction, neither name had left his lips when he suggested looking into Rudolf Holmes' file. "Sirius never told me anything about Sherrinford or Eurus Holmes. But I hardly think that's a priority at the moment."

Lady Smallwood reclined back into her seat and seemed to meditate her options. She was absentmindedly tapping on the table with one earring; the rhythm becoming more ominous each passing second. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from talking. They were wasting precious time fussing over stupid bureaucracy, but she needed Alicia on board if she wanted to get them back. Suddenly, the noise stopped.

"The cleaning procedure Rudolf put in place was clear, and it should have begun hours ago." As she was saying it, Alicia had taken the phone and started dialling a long string of numbers. It took a few moments for Hermione to react, thinking the other woman was about to give the signal to burn Sherrinford to the ground. "But my duty is not with Rudolf or MI6, it's with England. And the best way of protecting England will always be whatever protects Mycroft Holmes. Padfoot, your presence is urgently required at the Bunker. Report immediately."

Red light bathed the small cell. On the screen, Moriarty was clicking his tongue mimicking a clock's ticking, the volume loud enough to get into Sherlock's brain and not letting him think. In front of him, the Governor had a gun in his shaking hands. He frantically pointed to Sherlock, then towards somewhere between John and Mycroft, and back to Sherlock.

"Mr Holmes. Are you married? Do you have someone you care about? What would you give to protect them?" The Governor asked. Sherlock did not answer. In a split of a second, he moved the gun and put the barrel under his jaw. "Remember me."

All three of them rushed towards the Governor, but he pulled the trigger before they had even taken a step. A resounding exclamation coming from no one, in particular, was drowned by the bang echoing around the room, followed by the bullet shell clicking on the floor. Sherlock's eyes were fixed on the rivulets of blood trickling down the glass. To his left, John was breathing heavily, clenching and unclenching both hands while Mycroft had braced one hand against the concrete wall.

But there was no time for thinking was kind of tortures were awaiting them. Eurus was talking again.

Outside the office, a pair of feet rustled about and dimmed as they moved away. "I thought apparition wasn't possible inside here."

"We set up an apparition point when the MI7 was created. It is largely unused unless there is an emergency. Some of us are still hesitant of allowing magic into the secret service."

Her included. The security lock beeped, and the door opened, revealing a dishevelled Sirius escorted by a guard.

"Ah Sirius, so glad you could join us. Despite how very busy you were." Said Lady Smallwood condescendingly. He dragged his hand across his lips, trying to get rid of the faint red colour on them, looking out of place with his dark jeans, a band tee and tousled hair. His wand was visible in the inner pocket of his leather jacket, and a small dark purple spot seemed to be forming on the left side of his neck. Could the situation be any more surrealistic?

"Well, your wish is my command, dear Alicia," Sirius smirked and sat on the free chair. "What's so important you've let me use your special spot?"

The woman ignored his jab and dismissed the guard. "Sherrinford has been compromised."

Sirius smile died on his lips. "What? When? How do you know?"

"Earlier today, Mr Holmes, his brother and Dr Watson arrived at Sherrinford for undisclosed business. We have lost contact with the prison since, and we have reasons to believe they might be in grave peril."

"But…," stammered Sirius. "That's just speculation, right?"

"Why would I disclose such sensitive information before someone who can't know about it, call you with such haste I recommend apparition and fail to activate the security protocol if I were to go by mere speculation?"

"Sirius, haven't you seen the news?" Hermione put her hand on top of Sirius arm. "Baker Street blew up, and who knows why they went to Sherrinford hours ago a-"

"What Hermione is trying to say so very slowly is that unless we are mistaken, we are no longer in control of Sherrinford, and Mycroft, Sherlock and Dr Watson might be the first of a long list of casualties." Interrupted Lady Smallwood. "I was in favour of launching the cleaning protocols, but Agent Black was adamant in going to rescue them, and well, so am I. As it stands, you are the only one who can provide the memories of Sherrinford so she can apparate there."

Sirius stood up and took his wand out. "We don't need a pensive. I'll go."

"I cannot let you do that. I am already taking enough risks as it is. You are a high-ranking official, and Hermione is an operative. Situations like the present one are why we have operatives for." Sirius was about to protest when Smallwood cut him again. "This is final, Sirius. Either Hermione goes, or I launch the cleaning protocol this same instant."

"You wouldn't leave Mycroft there. You want him safe, here and alive."

"Whatever I want has never interfered with my job, Sirius. As much as I think we need to bring Mycroft alive for everyone's sake, I cannot forget the rest of my obligations. So, your choice."

Sirius glanced at Hermione, who had kept quiet for the whole exchange. "I need someone to bring my pensive for me. My godson, Auror Harry Potter, is the only one who knows where it is."

"Very well." Lady Smallwood stood up and planted her hand on the desk. "Tell him an official car will be waiting for him at your address in five minutes. And let me be clear, I don't care what he is doing, the importance of it or who ordered it, this takes priority."

Sirius nodded and took his wand out. Making a flourish with it, from the tip emerged an enormous dog. Hermione almost missed the slight flinch Smallwood did when she saw the patronus, but turned her back to it while Sirius relied on the message. As soon as he finished, the dog floated towards the door dissolving into a mist and disappearing.

"Well, if you excuse me, I have to order the issue of a temporary pass for Harry Potter and a car to pick him up."

Lady Smallwood left, leaving Hermione and Sirius alone. He had left his seat and was now taking off his jacket.

"So, busy?"

"About as busy as Smallwood wants to get with Mycroft."

Hermione turned to the door through which Smallwood had left and then back to Sirius. "Really?"

"You can be as much of a stiff-lipped as you want, but you can't lie to a dog. Amazing noses."

Sirius' mischievous smile triggered Hermione's laugh, and then they were crackling at the absurdity of them discussing Mycrfot's sex life. The giggles died soon after, and Hermione sighed, hiding her face in her hands. She felt Siruss rubbing soothing circles on her shoulders.

"This is a mess, Sirius."

"Yes." She heard him drawing a sigh of his own. "I'm sorry I could not be more straightforward with you when you asked."

"I understand."

"It's not like I had an unbreakable vow. I should have told you everything I knew, I should've known Mycroft was starting to lose control over the situation as soon as Moriaty's face appeared on tv. Maybe this would have never happened." The hand on her back disappeared, and she lifted her head. "To be honest, I should've reported him when he brought Moriarty to Sherrinford."

"It seems an unnecessary risk. Why did Mycroft do it?"

"Who knows why Mycroft does anything. Eurus wanted a gift, Mycroft gave it to her. Maybe he had a reason, maybe not. He certainly did not tell me. To this day, I still don't know why he took me with him."

"Do you think he was anticipating this?" Hermione asked. "That he knew that eventually, all his shitty decisions regarding Eurus would blow up in his face and that you might need to step in?"

"Well, if that was the reason, he'll be happy to know he was right."

With the Garrideb brothers plummeting to the ocean still in his retinas, Sherlock entered the next room gun first, followed by John and Mycroft. The room had a similar disposition to the previous one: bare walls and overhead fluorescent lights, a screen where Eurus' image was being broadcasted, and another door which was closed at the moment. In the centre of the space, there was a small coffin, holstered as it would be in service. The lid was propped against one of the legs of the trestles. The girl on the plane took priority over any other deduction of the space, but Sherlock saw how John approached the coffin with trembling hands. The line disconnected, and they were brought back by Eurus' voice.

"Problem, someone is about to die. So many words unsaid."

"Yes, yes, yes. And I presume this would be their coffin."

"Whose coffin, Sherlock? Please, start your deductions. I will apply some context in a moment."

Sherlock looked at John's frightened eyes. The coffin was clearly intended for an infant.

"It's too small for Rosie, John." Sherlock touched the silky white lining on the inside, the crevices of the richly engraved vertices. "This is for a newborn. The inside is of the best material, and the coffin itself is mahogany. The golden details and the engraving put this on probably the most expensive range."

"Yes, very good, Sherlock. We could take a look at the lid." Mycroft bent to reach for the lid. He turned it around in his hands. Instead of a name, there was just a sentence written on a golden plaque. "I love you. This is all about you, Sherlock. Who loves you?"

"The little person for whom that coffin is intended too is safe at the moment." Chimed Eurus. "But they might not be for long."

Sherlock was about to point out it was too small for someone that loved him and that he definitely did not know any baby that could fit into such a place when the screen changed to show a recording from that same morning according to the timestamp at the bottom. At first, it was a static image of a freshly mowed grass. The camera started moving - drone, clearly- and the immaculate lawn started to show footpaths and mud until the first tombstone came into sight. It was a graveyard. Suddenly, it stopped and focused on the pure marble rectangular tomb of Mary Elizabeth Watson. John took a sharp inhale of breath. After a few seconds, on the right corner of the video, a familiar brunette curly mane appeared and walked until she was next to the stone. Hermione left the flowers she was carrying on the patch of earth.

"I'm sorry I haven't come earlier, I… I came during the funeral, but your husband and I are not on speaking terms, so I figured, better not to come." Hermione's words could be heard perfectly, but only half of her face could be seen. "I feel silly, really. You always said dead people are dead, and talking to them is useless. But I have a piece of news that I need to tell someone, if only to take them out of my chest. It's not like you are gonna tell anyone." Her voice broke. She cleared her throat and sat in front of the polished marble. She reached for the name, and her fingertips caressed the bas-relief. Hermione left a watery laugh and straightened up, cleaning her eyes. "I am so mad! I've had my fill crying for you. I thought I had no more tears to cry, but apparently, now even a squashed caterpillar on the sidewalk makes me weep. Hormones are driving me insane, I don't remember you crying this much at the beginning."

For the first time, John probably reached the same conclusion as Sherlock, judging by his gasp. Mycroft kept quiet, but his shoulders slouch a fraction, making him look less composed as he usually did. On the video, Hermione had stood up, and her hand went reflexively to her stomach.

"I cannot do this. I just can't right now. I don't know how to be a mother! You seemed to be made for it, but I can't. Just imagine that poor kid, me as their mum, and Sherlock Holmes, who has barely recovered from drugging himself to death as their dad. Not that he cared, mind you, he was very clear."

Sherlock tried very hard not to wince under Hermione's rant. Mainly because he sanctioned every word she was saying. Now everything made sense.

"You know what you are, Hermione."

"No, I don't. Say it."

"I can't, Hermione."

"Say it!"

"I'm so bloody lost! I've tried to tell Sirius but being his annoying optimistic self, he would say to me everything will sort itself out. Sherlock is as reliable as a broken clock, your husband is an arsehole, and I don't need Mycroft's 'I told you so' face. And you had to fucking die on me, so I can't ask you for the only opinion that would have meant something to me." Hermione was crying now, her hiccups filling the room. "I am alone, am I not? Then so be it. It's my choice not to bring a child into this mess."

The feed went black. Sherlock's hand was still grasping the side of the coffin. Around him, his sister was talking, he could hear his brother and John's voices trying to reach him, but they were muffled as if he was wearing a pair of thick earphones. The only coherent words were Hermione's, played on a loop. He remembered Hermione's face, disappointed and hurt and angry when he had been unable to say what they both knew was true. She had called him a coward, and she was right. She had needed a better man, a braver man, than the broken Sherlock who had barely survived his last stupidity. He let his hands wander on the inside of the coffin that was supposed to metaphorically hold their unborn child, the one who would not have to suffer him as a father. He dropped the gun down beside the coffin and reverently puts the lid on, caressing the three simple words that had never escaped his lips, but that sounded as true now as they had felt when he had refused to say them. His eyes lowered as he breathes out what is almost a quiet sob.

"Sherlock?"

All of a sudden, he tunes back into the world. Eurus is talking, and her voice was gasoline to the fire storming inside him, a fury bubbling from his stomach and spreading through him.

"No. No." His face starts contorts in rage, and his fist smashes against the coffin with all his strength, shattering it. He drew back his hand and then slammed both fists down onto the lid, again and again, disintegrating the box into pieces while he cried out in grief and frustration. Eventually, he let out a long anguished scream and weakly let himself down the wall, broken.

Harry Potter had been to a lot of muggle official buildings while working with Sirius. He had been to the old, Victorian houses with ornate decorations, cracking floors and windows that did nothing for thermic isolation but fit in the whole aesthetic. He had been to the new, modern buildings, all glass and shiny surfaces with computers and screens everywhere.

The Vauxhall building was different from any other, an enormous piece of architecture with pyramid-like structures and rounded towers. He vaguely remembered a school trip to London to visit the Tate Britain, and how his overexcited teacher had sprouted random facts about every single building on sight. About this one, he only said it was 'ugly', and Harry had agreed at the time. He now found it unsettling, especially knowing what it held.

The magic quenching spells fell on him as he put a foot inside the underground passage, knocking the air out of his lungs. One of the guards patted him firmly on the back, directing him to start walking. Clenching his jaw trying to stop nausea, he brought the bag with Sirius' portable pensive inside to his chest. The stairs and corridors were never-ending, and getting narrower and darker. Harry hated small spaces, and the fact he was being followed by two men double his size was doing nothing to stop the claustrophobia-triggered panic attack he was starting to feel. Dizzy and breathless, he finally was told to stop in front of a door. The man next to swiped a card in a tiny black box, and the door opened, and before he could see anything or anyone the magic swirling around the room hit him. It felt like being shocked with a live wire and being drunk at the same time, and one of the guards had to hold him by the shoulders to stop him from falling while the other pried the bag from his hands.

"Take it easy, pup." Sirius came to support him by his left side and someone else, much smaller and with smoother hands came to his right. Between the two of them they managed to sit him down. His mind getting less foggy. Then he saw the other person was Hermione, who was smiling at him. A severe-looking woman was ogling at the bag on the table, and the guards were nowhere to be seen. "Magic quenching can be very draining when you are not used to it. You'll be fine in a minute." Sirius opened the bag. The portable pensive could have been thought to be a regular eating bowl, but for the watery substance inside of it. Sirius touched his temple with his wand and when he separated it, from the tip hung a silver thread. He let it flow towards the surface of the pensive, while an image started to form. Not wanting to waste a minute, Hermione took a deep breath and lowered her head into the memory.

Hermione landed next to the floor to ceiling windows overlooking the cliff, next to a much younger Mycroft. His face had many fewer wrinkles, but it was serious and concentrated. Sitting at the table was Sirius, with his arms crossed in front of him, his expression very similar to Mycroft's. She heard movement outside, and through the glass walls, Hermione saw a man being escorted, wearing sunglasses and a perfectly fitted suit.

Moriarty. Hermione had never seen him in person. She had dealt with the aftermath of some of his plots, as well as some of his minions, both magical and muggle alike. No matter how smart the Holmes brothers were, Moriarty was more devious, more cunning, more intelligent and vastly more immoral. Luckily, Jim, like Sherlock, worked based on what appealed to them and their level of boredom. A man with half his wit but double the ambition had almost brought magic England to heel. Hermione could only fathom what kind of destruction Moriarty would have been capable of if his mind had been set to it.

She knew he was not real. She was ninety per cent sure he was dead and buried, and that Eurus had engineered all of this somehow. But the man holding the baby Jesus from the nativity scene on the table had an unhinged aura about him, and her hand tightened around her wand. Mycroft sat in the chair behind the desk and directed a quick glance towards Sirius.

"Won't you sit down?" Asked Mycroft, tilting his head towards the chair on the other side of the table. Jim toyed with the figurine.

"I wrote my own version of the nativity when I was a child. 'The Hungry Donkey.' It was a bit gory but, if you're gonna put a baby in a manger, you're asking for trouble." Moriarty dropped the figure on the table and looked at Sirius. "I know him, but I don't know you. And there aren't many people I don't know."

"You know what this place is, of course?" Interrupted Mycroft.

"You smell like magic. Show me your wand, and I'll show you mine."

"I have asked you a question."

"Of course, I know!" Moriarty fiddled with some of the animals on the table as he spoke. Hermione saw how he arranged the donkey and the cow so they were practically on top of the baby Jesus. "Is that why this wizard is here? Am I under arrest again?"

"You remain a person of interest, but until you commit a verifiable crime, you are – I regret – at liberty."

"Then, why am I here?"

"You're a Christmas present." Mycroft, you fool.

Jim flashed a lascivious smile at Mycroft and walked towards him. "How'd you want me?"

"There is, in this facility, a prisoner whose intellectual abilities are of occasional use to the British government."

"What, for, like, really difficult sums, long division, that sort of thing?"

"She predicted the exact dates of the last three terrorist attacks on the British mainland after an hour on Twitter. That sort of thing. In return, however, she requires treats. Last year it was a violin. This year she has requested five minutes' unsupervised conversation ... with you."

Hermione glanced around her, memorising the details of the place. As soon as she was sure she could apparate safely, she left the memory.

"I know how the place is."

"I'll go with you." Said Harry. Hermione turned to him, surprised. "Sirius has explained to me what's happening while you were in the memory. And I know you better than to try to convince you not to go, even though it's ridiculously dangerous, so I'm going with you."

"I can't let you do that, Harry…"

"Auror Potter, you are not cleared for this mission." Stated Lady Smallwood.

"If there's a small chance there is some magic involved, I can help. I'm used to this kind of missions, I'll only be back up." He looked back to Hermione. "Let me do this, please."

Hermione looked at Smallwood, who nodded. Sirius sighed but walked to the door.

"I'll walk you to the armoury."

"Soldiers?"

"Soldiers."

Sirius had left them alone to go for the last weapons. Hermione, already with her Kevlar on, was standing in front of Harry, adjusting his, with a deep frown.

"Hey," said Harry. "We'll get them."

Hermione hummed in response while she unstrapped the fabric around his ribcage. She pulled from it, and when she was happy with the pressure, she tied it again. When she had finished, Harry took her hand between his. Hermione looked up, and Harry smiled at her.

"This isn't our first suicide mission, remember? It'll be fine." Hermione nodded quickly. There was a fear in her eyes Harry had not seen in years. Fear of losing someone. He'd seen it uncountable times back when they were teenagers. And he had also seen what laid underneath, tightly guarded because how many times she had let it roam free and how many times she had been hurt because of it.

"You love him, right?" Hermione did not have to answer for Harry to know he was right. Even after all this time, he was still able to read her as an open book. From outside, Sirius called them. Everything was ready.

"Well…," said Mycroft as he straightens his tie, lowering his hands after. "I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me. I don't imagine it's much of a target but …"

Sherlock's face was contorted in anguish, but it would not by Mycroft if he did not make him smile ironically in the worst time possible. John walked to his side.

"I won't allow this, Sherlock."

"This is my fault, Dr Watson. Moriarty was her Christmas treat: five minutes' conversation with Jim Moriarty five years ago."

"What did they discuss?"

"Five minutes' conversation …" Sherlock lowered the gun a little, almost knowing what his brother was going to say. "... unsupervised."

Mycroft looked down in shame. John's shocked expressions did not mirror Sherlock's, whose gaze is fixed on his brother, his expression grim. His jaw tensed under the pressure of clenched teeth, and with a final sigh, he raised the gun again.

"Goodbye, brother mine. No flowers, my request." Mycroft put his hands behind his back. Sherlock shifted his finger more firmly onto the trigger. On the screen behind him, Eurus spoke breathlessly, but Mycroft had not finished. "Sherlock… Tell them, tell her I am sorry, for everything."

"Remember. In and out. I trust your judgement, Agent Black, Auror Potter." Said Lady Smallwood.

"Good luck. We'll be waiting for you." Sirius hugged each of them and then stepped back. On top of the apparition point, Harry took Hermione's hand and with a crack, they were gone.