Author's Note: And I'm back with the second chapter! I'm excited about the feedback from the first. I do hope you are enjoying this! Sorry this is late. I've been traveling! Happy reading!
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Many thanks to GaeilgeRua for not only inspiring this story, but encouraging me to expand and allowing me to use her subscription to Grammarly to beta! This one is for you! Much love, xxDustNight
*NOTE* If while reading this you feel you've read it before, there is a very good chance of that. This story is the expanded version of a two-shot I wrote last year for the Holmes for the Holidays series. You can still find that piece on my profile; although it has been renamed Underneath the Christmas Lights. Please do not send me messages or leave comments telling me that this story is copied. It's not. It's mine. I just made it longer for your reading enjoyment! Thanks!
Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.
. . . .
21 December 2018
To say that London was in chaos was a bit of an understatement in Sherlock's opinion. He had been out and about on this case for a little over forty-eight hours now, and still, he had no answers to the many questions that raced through his eccentric mind. In the end, he knew that whatever this disturbance was in the city, he would probably need to enlist John's help to solve this case. There were just too many odd bits and pieces that Sherlock found himself unable to figure it all out and he hated not knowing something.
There were far more missing persons and muggings than was typical for the city, and if he hadn't known Moriarty was dead as a doornail, then he would have suspected that the devious Consulting Criminal was the one behind the chaos. However, Sherlock decided at nearly three in the morning it was time to return to 221B Baker Street and regroup. Sliding his mobile phone out of his pocket, he swiped it to life and discovered that John had been trying to get ahold of him quite frequently over the past day and a half.
What was odder was that the frequency of his phone calls and texts increased earlier this evening as if there had been some sort of attack. Without reading any of the messages because that was a tedious task, Sherlock slid the mobile back into his pocket and hurried on his way back to his flat. He did not look forward to entering the empty flat, but he would bother Mrs Hudson for some tea and possibly biscuits in the morning so as so not to be so alone.
As he passed along the streets, he tried to piece together all the details of his case. Someone was running amok in the city, capturing people and hiding them away somewhere. No unidentified bodies were washing up along the Thames or being discarded in disturbing places. They were being kept, but Sherlock knew not where or for what purpose. More people were being mugged each and every day and causing a disturbance with Scotland Yard. Lestrade had asked him to take on this case, but still, he was at a loss. Lestrade was unhappy, but Sherlock was even more so because there were dead ends at every turn and he knew not where to go next.
Sherlock made his way toward 221 B, sulking and ignoring just how cold is feet were, and the fact that he probably could use a decent meal. He had no time for such things at the moment. He needed to figure out what was going on in London so that he could solve the case and clear his mind of it all. He approached the door to his flat not even thinking of anything but getting inside and curling up on a sofa so he could have a proper trip into his Mind Palace. Maybe if he spent a few hours lost within the confines of his mind, he would be able to figure out where to go next.
He let himself inside, closing the door behind him and removed his coat to drape over his arm. He was about to head upstairs when he noticed the light was still on in Mrs Hudson's flat and that he could hear her radio from her kitchen. Backtracking slightly, he made his way to the door and gently knocked. It was odd for Mrs Hudson to be up so late and he worried that perhaps she was affected by whatever was going on in the city outside. Sherlock waited, and then her gentle footsteps made their way to the door, and it was opening to reveal her worried face.
"Oh, Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said with a sigh of relief, reaching out to pat him on the arm. "I was wondering when you would return home. So much has happened in such a short amount of time and I was afraid that you would have been hurt or something."
"I'm fine, Mrs Hudson. I was more concerned as to why you were up so late." Sherlock stepped in backwards so that he could adjust his hold on his jacket and see exactly what might be keeping Mrs Hudson up so late at night.
"Why don't you ever check your mobile?" she asked, crossing her arms and giving him a stern look. "John has been trying to get ahold of you for days, and there's a situation that could use your assistance."
Ignoring half of what Mrs Hudson said, Sherlock decided to explain the situation. "I've been out on a case. The city is in turmoil… Muggings, missing people. It's absolute hysteria out there," he explained, practically throwing his hands in the air.
Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. "It's happening right here, Sherlock," she said sternly, pointing the finger at his chest. "Right on your own street and you have not been here to help."
This made Sherlock falter, and he frowned. "What are you going on about, Mrs Hudson?" he questioned. "Why are you awake at three in the morning?"
"I have been worried sick about you and the woman John has brought upstairs. She's in dire need proper medical care, but she's unable to be moved right now." Mrs Hudson paused and made sure to emphasise her worry. "John's been trying to call you so that you could help."
"John is here? He's upstairs?" he asked, completely ignoring the fact that Mrs Hudson mentioned someone else could be up there. That's what happened when you were overly tired and possibly half starving.
"John is upstairs sleeping in his old bedroom, and I suggest you be quiet as you go upstairs," Mrs Hudson said. She shook her head, knowing Sherlock would probably not heed her warning. "I've been up for hours just worried sick over the entire situation."
Sherlock wasted no more time. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson," he said and then added, "Get some sleep. You look like hell." At her startled look, he merely turned away and hurried up the stairs, not even caring that he was making noise. The only thought in his mind was talking to John and seeing if he would be willing to skip a few days work at the clinic and help him in his quest to figure out what the hell was going on in London.
. . . .
Consciousness returned to Hermione slowly, her head aching something fierce. Vaguely, she recalled being tripped and then dragged back into the alley she'd stupidly decided to take a shortcut through. As pain flared within her chest, she also remembered being kicked multiple times, as well as her hair being pulled and her neck being choked. That explained the soreness when she swallowed. What she didn't recall was ending up on a random sofa, her wounds seemingly tended to and a warm blanket under which to lay.
Hermione had been attacked and for reasons unknown at this point, but that still didn't explain why she was here. She hoped it was just some drug addict looking for some money or belongings to score his next fix. Shifting as little as possible so as not to hurt herself, Hermione tried to discern where she was at. Squinting into the darkness, she tried to figure out her surroundings, but it was difficult. She was still in London, by the sound coming from outside. Across the room, the charred remains of a fire were visible in the grate, probably having burned out a couple hours ago.
During the attack, Hermione remembered not reaching for her wand like she usually would. There just hadn't been time. He'd used surprise to his advantage, the suddenness of the fall startling her entirely. If only she'd stuck to the main roads… Wrinkling her nose, which was sore, she recalled the stench of the man's breath as he beat her and then kicked her too. She'd tried to fight back, but it was no use. If the doctor hadn't shown up when he did, she could only imagine what would have happened.
Eyes going wide, that's when she remembered the doctor. John, she believed his name was. He'd taken down the attacker with ease, effectively breaking the injuring his leg and spraining his arm. Hermione had tried to get up, but her body wouldn't allow it. She'd been in and out of consciousness after having been strangled. John had been kind, saying she was safe and that he was a doctor who would take care of her. Right before she passed out entirely, she recalled him saying he lived nearby and asked her name. She didn't remember giving it to him before darkness overcame her mind.
Now, she was apparently in the doctor's flat, but she needed to get home. She needed to find her wand and figure out why she was attacked. Harry would worry when she didn't show up for work in the morning. In fact, he was probably already worried sick because she'd promised to text and it was hours past the time she would have arrived home. Hermione's head ached something fierce, and so did her body, but still she tried to move. Unfortunately, she never got the chance. At that moment a door was slammed shut downstairs before the sound of footsteps echoed on the staircase. Quickly, Hermione feigned sleep, still unsure about this entire situation.
Hermione turned her head away, and half covered her face with the blanket a split second before the person reached the top of the stairs. "John!" the man shouted, not bothering to be quiet in case other people were sleeping. "John! Where are you?!"
More footsteps sounded, this time coming down from the upstairs. "Shhh!" John hissed in apparent irritation. "Lower your voice, or you'll wake everyone."
"Mrs Hudson's been awake for hours, John. I saw her light on and stopped to ask her-" Still talking rather loudly, Hermione heard the man grunt as if John had smacked him on the arm or someplace else.
"Not Mrs Hudson, you dolt. Her," John explained, probably pointing to where she was 'sleeping' on the sofa.
"Who's that?" This was spoken in a mere whisper, filled with curiosity. "A client?"
"No, I rescued her from some petty criminal last night. The man was beating her in the alley across the way." John's voice was soft, full of concern. "He didn't do anything else besides that, but I think he may have taken her belongings. I couldn't find any when I brought her here to tend to her wounds."
"No identification?"
"None."
"Then who is she?"
"When I asked before she lost consciousness, she mumbled something that sounded like Harmony, but it was hard to tell." There were footsteps then as if both John and the other man crept closer to examine her a little more. Hermione tried not to cringe at the name, wishing she could just tell them who she really was, but that would force her to admit she'd been eavesdropping the entire time.
"How extensive are her injuries?" the other man asked, his footsteps moving away slightly.
"Enough that she shouldn't be transported anywhere right now. I didn't want to call an ambulance and have her lost in the system." John too walked further away. "Now, can you be quiet? She's sleeping."
The other man hummed in a way that was condescending. It was almost as if he knew something John did not and, with a start, Hermione realised he probably knew she was awake. Before she could reveal her lie, however, the man just said, "Fine. I'm going to catch a few hours sleep. Are you staying here?"
"Yeah, I'll be upstairs so I can check on her when needed." And then as an afterthought, he added, "And don't bother her. I know how you can be with new people. I'll check on her when I wake up later."
"Alight, fine. Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight."
Once both their footsteps had faded away, John's upstairs and the other man's down the hall, Hermione opened her eyes and carefully rolled onto her back to stare at the ceiling. She really needed to be leaving but moving was not the best right now. In fact, Hermione shifted in an attempt to sit up only to have pain erupt in her chest. Broken ribs were not conducive to making a quick and quiet exit. As her head gave another throb, she had to concede that with a possible concussion as well, she was going nowhere. With a heavy sigh, Hermione closed her eyes, pulled the quilt around herself, and then allowed sleep to claim her once more. She would worry about what to do next in the morning.
. . . .
For yet another hour, Sherlock paced inside his bedroom. He furiously wondered who the woman in his living room was and why she'd been attacked in the alleyway near the flat. It seemed all too coincidental that this occurred on the night he returned to 221B after having scoured the city for clues. Perhaps, he was reading more into this than there really was. There was no guarantee her attack was related to the many that were transpire all over the city.
When he knew that Mrs Hudson, John, and the woman were all fast asleep once more, Sherlock crept from his bedroom and headed to the front room. He needed to know more about this mystery woman, and that required a bit of detective work. Standing in the doorway, he watched as the woman slept soundly. Smirking, he remembered John asking him to be quiet so as not to wake the wounded woman. She'd been awake at that time, merely laying there listening to them bicker about being quiet. He was curious why she hid the fact that she was awake, but perhaps that was just fear of being in an unfamiliar place.
Stealing into the room, Sherlock headed directly for where she slept. Someone had set her jacket on the back of a chair, and so that is where he began. He picked up the coat and started examining all the pockets. Tissues and a few spare coins lined the pockets. The inside was where he went next and struck gold. In the lining of the left sleeve, Sherlock found a rather odd stick. Sliding it free, he examined the intricately carved wood. Having no idea what the object was, Sherlock replaced the jacket and backed away from the sofa.
He held it aloft in the light from the window but still had no idea what he was looking at. When the woman shifted in her sleep, Sherlock panicked and hurried across the room. He stashed the stick on the mantel until he had proper time to figure out what it was. Perhaps the woman would be able to shed some insight once she awoke in the morning. John would probably frown on his inquisition, but there was a case to solve, and Sherlock had this nagging feeling that this woman was the key. Sighing heavily, Sherlock decided he needed a few more hours of sleep. With one last look at where she still slept, Sherlock returned to his bedroom.
. . . .
A light tapping on the shoulder woke Hermione later that morning, and as she opened her eyes, she had to admit to feeling slightly better. John was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, blue eyes warm with concern. He smiled as she yawned and returned the gesture. "Morning," she mumbled before attempting to sit up. A groan left her as she remembered her possibly broken ribs.
"Whoa," John said gently, immediately reaching forward to aid her in sitting up. "Easy, now." He put one hand behind her back and then hoisted her so that her chest didn't ache as much as it would have had she tried to do this on her own. "There you go. I take it that you're not feeling any better than last night?"
"I'm conscious," she pointed out with a smirk. He laughed and then she added, "Thank you, by the way. For both helping me just now and saving my sorry arse last night in that alley. I should have been more aware of my surroundings. I knew the risk of straying from the well-lit road."
"You're welcome, and it could have happened to anyone," he replied with a shrug. "It's just lucky that I happened to be walking by when it was going on or who knows what would have happened." He visibly shuddered, and she frowned, unwilling to admit that the thought had crossed her mind as well.
"Yes, well, I owe you." She reached out and patted his knee gently which earned her another warm smile.
"I'm John, by the way. Dr John Watson," he told her then, turning to grab something on the coffee table. "I told you last night, but I wasn't sure if it registered. You were really out of it." He handed her two medicine tablets and a glass of water which she took gratefully. "And I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger, I can't really keep that sort of thing here at the flat, but I will make sure to bring you something later."
Popping the tablets into her mouth, she drank some water to wash them down and then handed the glass back to John. "Thank you. I remembered your name, but I should probably introduce myself. I'm Hermione Granger."
"Not Harmony." He laughed, shaking his head. "I wasn't sure if that's what you said last night or not. Well, either way, I'm glad to meet you, even under such circumstances. Here," he muttered, returning the glass to the table and handing her a hot mug of tea instead. "I'm sure you could use this. Sorry, I don't have anything for you to eat, but Mrs Hudson said she'd bring you up a late breakfast a little later."
Hermione took the tea and held it between both hands, relishing the warmth it radiated. "This is lovely, thanks. I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that's okay. Who is Mrs Hudson?" Hermione asked canting her head in question. There was so much she needed to know now that she was awake and had someone to answer her questions.
"She's the landlady who lives in the flat downstairs," John told her standing and brushing the wrinkles out of his trousers. "She insists she's not the housekeeper, but she pops upstairs to clean and cook now and then."
"Oh," Hermione replied, finally taking a sip of the tea. She felt it beginning to warm her from the inside out and smiled. "I don't want to be a burden. I could just leave. Have you seen my purse?"
"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can't allow you to leave just yet," John said, the tone of his voice changing from concerned stranger to strict doctor in an instant. She quirked an eyebrow at the difference, but he ignored her. "You're in no condition to travel right now, and I'd like to examine you again later. Unfortunately, I have to go to work for a few hours. I should be back by five or so if we don't get too many walk-ins. And as for your purse, it seems to have been taken by your attacker."
"Do you work at a hospital?" she inquired, taking another sip of tea and not bothering to push the subject about her leaving. She was ridiculously sore and still somewhat exhausted.
"It's more of a clinic, really. My wife, Mary, works there too." He slid a hand into his pocket and then pulled out a mobile phone. "Speaking of that, I never asked; do you have someone you need to call?"
Hermione frowned. She knew he was insinuating that maybe she had a boyfriend or a husband that would be looking for her, but he was wrong. The only person who'd be looking for her was her best friend and coworker. "I am meant to be at work today, so I should probably get in touch with Harry. He's my best friend and works with me."
"Here," John said simply, handing her his mobile. "You can give him a call with that."
Biting her lip, Hermione realised it was well after the regular start time at the Ministry. While most witches and wizards these days did carry mobiles, they were unable to receive calls with all the magic at the Ministry. Texts sometimes made it through, though. "Uh, is it okay if I text? It's just that, we're not supposed to receive calls at work, and I don't want him to get in trouble."
"That's fine. Go right ahead. I'm going to run upstairs and grab a few things before I head out."
He left her then, disappearing out the door and up the stairs to where she suspected his bedroom was located. Her face crumpled in thought as she stared at the mobile. If he was married, where was Mary and why did they live with another man? Figuring it really was none of her business, she set about trying to figure out what to tell Harry so he wouldn't panic. She was already late, something entirely out of character for her, so she could only imagine what was going through his head.
Harry, it's Hermione. I was attacked last night walking home. Luckily, there was a doctor nearby to help me out. I'm safe at the moment but 'all' of my belongings were taken. I'm staying with the doctor until I'm healed enough to travel. If you need me, you can reach me at this number.
It was the best she could do without confusing John, who she assumed would probably read the text when she gave the mobile back later. She really couldn't say Muggle London, her wand was taken, or that she couldn't floo or apparate just yet. That would really set off alarm bells for the doctor, who would probably assume she needed a mental hospital instead. Harry was just going to have to worry a while until he could give her a proper call later.
John appeared with his jacket already on, but as she held the mobile back out to him, he shook his head. "No, you go on and keep that today. I don't really need it. The only people who really call me are Mary and Sherlock."
"Okay…" She set the mobile on her lap and then bit her lip looking around. "Uh… Is it okay if I move around a little later, I might need the loo." She wanted to ask who Sherlock was but thought that might be too forward.
"That slipped my mind, but yes. Just be really careful. I wrapped your wounds as best I could, but you need to be easy. Don't push yourself too hard." Clearing his throat, he turned and pointed down the hall, "The loo's down there. The door on the left, actually. The last door is Sherlock's room. Best not to go in there."
"Sherlock?" Hermione asked, remembering the voice of the man who was speaking with John earlier that morning. Craning her neck, she ignored the aching from where her attacker had tried strangling her so she could catch a glimpse of the closed door. Sherlock was a mystery to her, one she intended to solve before she left this flat.
"My former flatmate. I used to live here before I married Mary and we had Rosie. Now, I live elsewhere but still occasionally stay the night if Sherlock and I are working a case." Clearing his throat again, John glanced at his watch and made a face. "I'm sure he'll tell you all about himself once he's awake later. I do have to go, but make yourself at home."
"Thank you, Dr Watson," Hermione said sincerely, pulling her gaze from the door to smile up at him.
"Call me John, and really, it's no problem," he told her before disappearing down the stairs.
Sitting quietly, Hermione contemplated her situation for a while as she sipped the remainder of her tea. Glancing across the room, she noticed a few shelves with books and found that she might as well get up and use the loo and grab a book to read before getting comfortable on the sofa for the day. It was bound to be long and tedious, a completely different change from the usual hustle and bustle of her regular schedule. In the meantime, she could ponder more on the elusive man who was still asleep behind the door at the end of the hall.
. . . .
Harry sat at his desk, face in his hands and an ache in his heart. Sure enough, Hermione was missing. He'd just returned to the Ministry after investigating her flat. There was no disturbance and absolutely no evidence that she'd made it home last night. Whatever had happened to his long-time friend had occurred on her way home. It was an absolute mess, Harry thought. There were so many Ministry officials missing or recovering in St. Mungo's after having been attacked. With Christmas less than a week away, this was the absolute worst case scenario.
It was starting to look more and more likely that they would be working over Christmas and possibly even until the New Year with this mess. Not only did they have to interview those injured from the attacks, but they also had to locate all the missing officials. Harry was in charge of trying to figure out who was behind the entire ordeal, along with Theo who was his second in command. Theo didn't have a family, but Harry did, and he was sure his wife and children would be horribly disappointed when he wasn't home for the holidays. His top priority was bringing everyone home safely.
There was a knock on the door then, effectively pulling Harry from his morose thoughts. He attempted a smile at the sight of his wife standing there but knew he failed miserably. Sighing heavily, Ginny shut the door and walked around until she could sit in his lap. Without saying a word, she wrapped her arms around him and snuggled into his chest. Immediately, Harry felt some of the day's tension leave his body. Ginny always knew how to comfort him when he needed it the most.
"I take it that things are not going well with the case," Ginny said sadly. Cupping her husband's cheek, she tried to give him a reassuring smile. "The Prophet office is going crazy right now. They're all working on articles about the attacks, missing officials, and what the cause could be."
Harry sighed and covered Ginny's hand with his own, holding it close. "I can only imagine. We've been fielding reporters all morning," he explained with a frown. "Kingsley has sworn us all to secrecy until we know more information."
"I may work for the paper, but that doesn't mean I agree with their antics." Ginny huffed and rolled her eyes. "Even the sports editor wants an in. He asked me to come and wheedle out a story from you. I told him a not so decent place to shove his wand."
Harry laughed and relaxed slightly. "He knows better than to try that with you."
"He should," Ginny agreed, and then a sly smirk slid onto her features. "Or he will after he tried to drink his morning detox potion."
"What did you do?" Harry asked in a tone almost near scolding. He wasn't upset with his wife, but she did enjoy her job and would be sorely disappointed if she lost it.
"Nothing, dear husband. He may just need to spend a bit more time in the loo than normal this afternoon…" Ginny trailed off, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But enough about that," she said changing the topic. "Tell me about Hermione. Have you learned anything?"
"Nothing helpful," Harry grumbled, rubbing at his face with one hand. It knocked his glasses askew, so he righted them and carried on. "We examined her flat and found no trace that she made it home, so we know she was abducted before that."
"Poor Hermione…" Ginny trailed off, biting at her lip in worry. "You don't think she's-"
"I don't even want to think about that yet, Gin," Harry interrupted. "I knew I should have walked her home last night despite her insisting she would be okay."
"You couldn't have known this would happen," Ginny said, trying to calm her husband and take some of his guilt away. "How was anyone supposed to know there would be a Dark uprising?"
"Dark uprising? Is that what they're calling it at the Prophet?" Harry inquired, his face grim but knowing that this situation was exactly that. He hadn't let on yet because he and Theo were still hammering out the details, but it appeared that all attacked or abducted were either half-blood or muggleborn.
"That's what I saw being printed on the cover for this afternoon's special edition," Ginny explained as she finally crawled out of Harry lap. Beginning to pace, she tried to verbalise her feelings. "I know this is your job, but Voldemort is long gone. We don't have to worry about him being back do we?"
"No," Harry said firmly. "This isn't him. It's just some ass hole sympathiser of his coming out of the woodwork to make all of our lives miserable."
"It's been twenty years, Harry," she murmured, terror palpable in every word. "I can't imagine what life would be like if a new Dark wizard would rise to power."
"It would be unspeakable," Harry conceded after sitting there silent for a moment. Ginny stopped pacing at his words. Standing, he moved and pulled her into an embrace. "So many of us already suffer from PTSD, I'm not sure if anyone would be willing to fight like we did back then. We have families and jobs."
"Basically this entire thing has made us all realise that we're not as safe as we thought we were," Ginny said honestly. "I'm sure the Prophet is going to have an insipid amount of fun reminding the public of the past and planting seeds of doubt that the Ministry can handle this sort of attack."
"You're probably right," Harry told her and then dropped a kiss to her forehead. "We'll manage somehow. Right now we have to find a starting point. What brought this on and why?"
Ginny was about to reply when Harry's mobile went off in his robe pocket. They both jumped at the sound, the terror of the entire situation making them uneasy. Harry hurriedly dug the mobile out of his pocket, his eyes going wide and making Ginny reach for his arm.
"Who is it?" she asked, hoping for the best but not sure if she should allow herself that hope.
"It's an unknown number but-"
"But what?" Ginny persisted, practically shaking Harry in an attempt to get him to answer.
"They say it's Hermione," Harry said, his face crumpling into a frown. He read the message a couple of times and then sighed.
"What's the problem? What did she say?" Ginny was confused by her husband's hesitation.
"What if it's not her? What if it's from whoever is behind all of this?" Harry asked, sweeping his hand wide in an indication of the chaos around them.
"I'm sure it is…" Ginny trailed off, wishing it was Hermione but knowing that with the Wizarding world accepting Muggle technology, it could very well be someone else.
"I have to be sure, but I'll need Theo's help." Harry pocketed the mobile and then swept ginny in for a quick peck on the lips. "I'm glad you stopped by. I really needed to see your face."
Ginny blushed but smiled nonetheless. "You're precious. I'll leave you to it. Be safe and come home when you can. Christmas is just days away, you know."
"I know," Harry said with a sigh. "I'll do my best to be there for you. I know you have wrapping and everything else to get finished before the holiday."
"I do, but you find Hermione and figure this out," Ginny said as she headed for the door. "Mum is at the house with the kids, and I'm going to pop out to the store in Diagon Alley. I figure it's best to get the shopping done in broad daylight."
"Definitely," Harry agreed. "I don't want you or the kids leaving the house after dark. I'll try to come home for supper tonight."
"Do what you can, but we'll be alright," Ginny told her husband with one last look over her shoulder. "I love you."
"Love you too," Hary called after his wife before beginning to gather some papers and files from his desk. He really hoped they could get this figured out so he could go home to his family.
Once he had everything he needed, Harry rushed from the office, intent upon finding Theo. Theo was brilliant at Muggle technology even though he grew up as a Pureblood. He was the best in the MLE and Auror departments when it came to Muggle tech, and his expertise would come in handy now. If anyone figured out if this text from Hermione was a fake, it would be him.
. . . .
It was well past one when Sherlock finally appeared. Hermione heard him before she saw him, his door quickly opening, followed by the shuffling of feet as he made his way into the kitchen. Resting the book she'd been engrossed in upon her lap, Hermione waited patiently for a glimpse of the man. Mrs Hudson had brought up lunch a little while ago, spending some time with Hermione before disappearing back downstairs. She seemed kind enough, a bit nosy, but definitely kind-hearted. Now, Sherlock, he was the one Hermione was most interested in getting to know at 221B.
Random sounds echoed from the kitchen as he prepared himself some tea and then, finally, there he was. Hermione's eyes went wide seeing him wrapped in nothing but a white sheet from head to toe. He made no sign of noticing her where she sat still as a statue. Sherlock shuffled his way to a well-worn leather chair by the fireplace and curled up to thoughtfully sip his tea. A grin tugged at her lips knowing she was about to disrupt him from whatever thoughts held him so captivated.
"You must be Sherlock," she said simply, enjoying the way he stopped mid-sip to turn and stare at her with curious, narrowed eyes. "John told me that this was your flat." When still Sherlock did not swallow his tea or make an effort to speak, her grin widened. "I'm Hermione," she prompted, hoping he would get the point and finally respond to her commentary.
Something must have clicked in his head because he swallowed his mouthful of tea and set aside the mug. Slowly, Sherlock unfurled himself from the chair and walked toward her, his hands gripping his sheet tightly as if to keep it from falling from his obviously naked body. He stopped once he stood just on the other side of the coffee table, his sea-coloured eyes examining her as if she were a specimen on the microscope she noticed he kept on the kitchen table. Although she was not the one wearing little to nothing, Hermione suddenly felt entirely exposed under his scrutiny.
"Do you often walk around in nothing but a sheet?" she inquired, earning herself a sniff in response. It made her smirk, but she refused to break their stare.
"Sometimes I wear a dressing gown," Sherlock informed her, promptly stepping onto the coffee table and then off of it to sit at the other end of the sofa. She gave him a disgruntled look when she was forced to move her feet, but he ignored it to gesture at her with one hand. "Do you often spend the night on stranger's couches?"
Though she knew he meant it innocently enough, it still caused her to blanch. "Uh, no… Normally, I make it home in time to sleep in my own bed." Biting back a rude retort, she tried again. "I take it you wish I weren't here, then?"
He gave her a once over again, his eyes lingering on the cut under her eye, the bruises around her neck, and the way she held her chest stiff to keep it from aching as she sat propped against the arm of the couch. "John felt you were not well enough to be taken to the hospital. I trust his judgement. You may stay as long as you may need." He stood abruptly and turned away, forgetting about his tea. Pausing halfway to his bedroom, he swiftly turned and gave her a curious glare. "Just stay out of my way. I have important work to do for my case, and I do not like to be interrupted."
As Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise, Sherlock whirled back around and then vanished into his bedroom once more. She certainly hadn't been expecting that kind of response from John's friend. Sure, he had seemed a bit stiff and inquisitive in the middle of the night, but certainly not rude. Frowning, she glanced back at the book in her lap, suddenly wondering if when Harry finally called she wouldn't ask if he could get a cab to rescue her from this place. Apparently, Sherlock didn't want her in his flat, and she honestly had no idea why.
. . . .
"It could take me about twenty-four hours, mate," Theo said with a frown. He stared at the mobile on his desk and then back up at his friend and colleague. "We're all worried about Hermione, but I don't have much extra time to fiddle around with satellites and all that. Kingsley has me scouring the Muggle internet forums for possible leads, and I'm also taking on Hermione's caseload."
Harry sighed and then lowered himself into the chair across from Theo's desk. "I'm well aware, Theo," he began, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I think that the cases Hermione and the MLE department were working on should be put on hold for the time being."
"You're going to have to get Kingsley's approval on that one," Theo pointed out, playfully spinning the mobile. When it stopped, said, "We'd have to be at Danger Level Orange for him to even consider it."
"I can't believe he hasn't raised that yet. We're sitting at yellow," Harry groused, irritated that despite the severity of the situation, the Wizarding world was still so open to danger.
"You know why," Theo said, relaxing in his chair. "If we move to Orange then we're no longer able to go out and search for the missing. Which means-"
"Which means Hermione would be stuck where she is if she's even…" Harry cut himself off, swallowing back his emotions and trying to stay positive. Hermione was alive. That text was definitely from her, he just had to prove it. Clearing his throat, he sat up a bit straighter. "Look, if I take a few of the cases, can you devote some time to figuring this out?"
Theo stared at Harry for a long moment, contemplating his answer. He knew the wizard meant well, and he was a damn good Auror, but sometimes his personal attachments could get in the way. If Theo said no, Harry would probably just go and do it anyway. Running a hand through his hair, Theo sighed and then sent Harry a smile.
"Alright," he relented. "I'll give you a few of the cases." Shuffling through the files on his desk, Theo handed Harry a handful and then sat back in his chair again. "Kingsley is going to have a hippogriff when he finds out what we're doing, you know?"
"I'll take the heat, Theo." Harry held the files aloft and gave Theo a grin. "Thanks for this, mate. Let me know when you have the results."
"You got it," Theo responded with a nod, dropping his hand to pick up the mobile.
"And Theo?" Harry added, stopping in the doorway.
"What's up?"
"Be careful out there."
The two shared a meaningful look, and then Theo nodded once more. Satisfied, Harry left the office, intent on finishing Hermione's cases and then trying to figure out who was behind the attacks. There was much to do, and he wouldn't rest until this case was solved.
. . . .
John came home before Harry called, meaning she still hadn't been able to make a plan of escape. She'd spent the afternoon sitting on the couch reading through a few books and listening for signs of movement from Sherlock's room. There were a few times she heard thumps or shuffling, but other than that, she'd been left entirely alone. The silence was starting to grate on her nerves, so she was thankful for the company once more.
"Hey," John called out as he dumped a few bags of groceries on the table in the kitchen after shoving Sherlock's mess aside. "I grabbed a few things to make dinner. How are you feeling?" He shrugged out of his jacket as he walked into the living room, his face pink from the cold but still holding a smile.
"I'm feeling okay. Still really sore, but I can breathe a little easier since this morning," she informed him, setting aside the book she'd been reading. She would have been feeling a lot better if she had access to her wand, but after checking the sleeve of her jacket, she was disappointed to find that her attacker really had taken everything she had on her. Frowning, she looked at her lap. "Actually, I'm hoping my friend calls soon and can come and get me."
"What?" John asked, sitting down on the sofa. "Why? Did something happen?"
"I feel like I'm putting you out… I know you don't typically live here and I'm not sure I'm really welcome…" She glanced briefly at Sherlock's closed door and then back at John, who frowned.
John twisted around to stare at Sherlock's door too before glancing back at her. "Did Sherlock say something to you?" He sounded concerned, and a bit annoyed if she was honest.
"Well, he told me to stay out of his way," she admitted, picking at the quilt. "It's not like I'm really in the way stuck here on the sofa. It's okay, though, Harry will come and get me if I ask."
"Absolutely not," John replied, jumping to his feet and already marching toward the back bedroom. "You're welcome here for as long as you need to heal. You're not going anywhere until those ribs of yours have healed enough to walk up and down stairs. Just give me a minute. I'll be right back, and then I'll make you some dinner."
Hermione didn't have time to say anything in reply before he was pounding on Sherlock's door. She tried to peek and see what was happening as the door cracked open, but John forced his way inside and slammed it shut. Hermione blinked in surprise as the shouting started, mostly John, but she could hear Sherlock's baritone interjecting now and then. This went on for nearly ten minutes, all while Hermione sat idly on the couch, feeling more embarrassed than before. She didn't want to cause a rift between the two friends, especially since she could easily have Harry come and heal her enough to take her home.
She couldn't admit that to John and Sherlock, though, not without violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Instead, she sat there awkwardly until John came back out, slamming the door again. He briskly made his way back into the living room, pausing to smile down at her on the couch. Clapping both his hands together, he smiled. "Right, then," he began, "I'm going to make dinner, and then we'll check your bandages and give you some real pain medicine."
"Okay," was all she could manage in response before he was turning and heading back to the kitchen. The entire exchange had taken less than five minutes, but it left Hermione feeling more confused and uncomfortable than before. She really didn't want to impose but what was she to do?
There was no more noise from Sherlock's room that evening, but when she woke sometime in the middle of the night to use the loo, she found the bedroom door wide open. Looking back and forth briefly to make sure she was alone, she snuck a peek into the room to see it empty as well. Where was Sherlock and why was he so against having her in the flat? Whatever the reason, Hermione was confident that it wouldn't matter for much longer anyway. Surely, Harry would get back to her in the morning and then she could be free of this place. After that, Sherlock could go back to having the flat to himself.
. . .