Author's Note: I honestly don't know why I thought I would be able to stick to a regular update schedule for once… Honestly, things always pop up. As it is, I have to attend a funeral out of town tomorrow and won't be back until Sunday. Hopefully, I can get the next chapter finished edited and up for you on Monday at the latest. I swear this was never my intent! Anyway, I hope you're still enjoying everything. Thanks for sticking around!

Feel free to follow me on twitter, tumblr, or locate my author group and/or page on Facebook. I go by xxDustNight88 everywhere! Updates to my works can always be found there!

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.

. . . .

26 December 2018

Christmas seemingly flew by, and with it, Hermione's hopes of being saved by Harry. In fact, she hadn't heard from him again after the message yesterday morning. He had been so brief, telling her that matters had yet to be resolved at the Ministry and that she was safest laying low. With the New Year literally around the corner, Hermione was starting to think that things may be worse than initially assumed. She just wished Harry could tell her more about what was happening. She hated being in the dark. At least, now, she didn't feel as much a burden as before.

Ever since the night Sherlock helped her get out of the bath and then offered her his bed, he'd been much more accommodating to her presence in 221B. With John busy with work, Mary, and Rosie, he hardly had the time to keep popping in multiple times a day to check on her recovery, but he did his best. Sherlock, on the other hand, was there more often than not, and suddenly eager to make sure she was on the mend. Hermione wondered if he were hoping she would leave soon or if he had ulterior motives. Then again, they'd both managed to give the other a Christmas present...

Despite Sherlock spending more time in the flat when he wasn't out working cases, Hermione still found herself feeling lonely. When Mrs Hudson couldn't come upstairs for one reason or another and Sherlock was out on a case, she found herself wanting for company. Her ribs were healing quickly now that she was able to rest for over a week without pushing herself. This made moving about the flat a lot easier too. It allowed her to do more in the flat, and not just knitting now that Christmas was over. As she perused the bookshelves against the back wall, Hermione thought about what it might be like to get some fresh air.

Biting her lip, she dropped her hand from the spines of the books to glance out the window. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to the people walking the pavement and the cars driving by. What she wouldn't do to be out there with them… Laughing at her silliness, she turned away from both the window and the books and gasped. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, somehow having come in without alerting her to his presence.

"You should be resting," he said by way of greeting, eyes roving over her form as if searching for a decline in her progress of healing.

"You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that," Hermione pointed out, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the pull in her chest from her broken ribs. She also ignored the flutter in her stomach at seeing Sherlock.

"Why are you not resting?" He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. Walking to the mantle, he picked up the mail and began to rifle through it. Hermione noticed a few bills and a couple letters but nothing that stuck out as out of the ordinary.

"I was bored of lying around in bed, and there's no reason to knit anymore," Hermione explained easily. She shrugged as he briefly glanced her way, the mail momentarily forgotten. "Besides, I've read all the books in your bedroom and needed new material."

Setting the mail back on the mantle, Sherlock picked up the knife he kept there and stabbed it through the envelopes. "I had at least twenty odd books in that room. You have read them all?" Sherlock was standing in front of her now, staring down into her brown eyes as if searching for something.

"I did. I'm a fast reader, and learner. Actually, as much as I hate it, I'm known as the brightest wi-woman of my age." She chuckled, absolutely hating that endearment, and also at the fact she'd almost slipped up and revealed she was a witch. That would certainly make things more difficult, wouldn't it? Luckily, Sherlock either didn't notice, or he chose to ignore her mistake.

"Hmm." His eyes flickered over her and then he stepped around her, heading toward the door. Donning his coat and scarf, he said, "Rest. Take the medicine John left for you. I'll be back this evening." And then he was gone, sweeping from the room and hurrying down the stairs.

Confused, Hermione went to the window and watched as Sherlock exited the building. He looked both ways before hailing a cab which quickly stopped and allowed him to slide inside. As the cab drove away, Hermione was left feeling alone and utterly lost. Why was he always doing this? All this time and still she felt like she knew little to nothing about the consulting detective. Granted, she wasn't entirely truthful with him either, but still, she managed to reveal snippets of herself to him. Where was he going and why?

Yawning despite the earliness of the day, Hermione decided to heed his words and made her way to the back bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she looked around the room. It was still lit by the Christmas lights Mrs Hudson had hung above the bed, but it appeared much more organised than that first time she'd glanced inside. Had Sherlock tidied up the room without her realising? Why would he do that? It's not like she minded the clutter of discarded books, teacups, and clothing all that much. In truth, her room at home often ended up looking quite similar from time to time.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione took medicine prescribed to her by Dr Watson. Figuring she had nothing better to do, she curled up on the bed, pulling the cover overtop her body. Unsure as to why a feeling of dread came over her as she thought about how long she'd been staying here. She needed to get out Baker Street and back to the Ministry and her world. The longer she remained, the more of a risk she became. She didn't need Sherlock or John figuring out she was a witch. As sleep took her, Hermione wondered what was happening in her world that required her to stay away.

. . . .

"I need to know what you discovered about that body," Sherlock practically demanded of Molly as he burst into her laboratory. The doors banged off the wall, but he paid them no mind as he only was worried about the case right now.

Startled, Molly dropped the files she was holding and whirled around to face her friend. "Sherlock!" she gasped, clutching at her chest as her heart raced from fear. "You can't just go sneaking up on people like that. You'll give someone a heart attack."

"You're in perfect health, Molly. A slight scare will do nothing but make your adrenaline rush,"

Sherlock said absently as he stooped to pick up the fallen files. Standing he handed them to her and frowned. "And oddly enough, you are the second person to say such a thing to me today."

"Really?" Molly inquired with raised eyebrows as she accepted the folders. Frowning, she found herself curious as to why Sherlock picked them up in the first place. He often didn't realise the rude things he did. Something had changed. Setting her work on the lab table, she turned her attention to her friend and asked, "Who was the other?"

"Hermione," he answered without emotion. "What did you discover?"

Molly wondered what Sherlock had done but decided against asking. Instead, she said, "Hermione? I liked her a lot. She seems like a really nice person. It's a shame that she was attacked like that. I hope she'll get to go home soon."

Rolling his eyes at Molly's obvious distraction, Sherlock said, "The body, Molly. What do you know? I have a case to solve."

"Alright, fine," Molly snapped playfully as she reached out to flip open one of the folders. "It was really odd, actually. While there was bruising on the neck that would ultimately indicate affixation as the cause of death, Creevey was dead before the strangling."

"What do you believe the cause to be?" Sherlock asked, accepting the folder when Molly handed it over. He scanned her notes briefly but wanted to hear what she had to say in addition to the logistics of the situation.

"Magic?" Molly teased but grew serious when he shot her a glare. "Honestly, I have no idea. I've never seen this before. It appears he just died out of the blue, but there was nothing wrong with his heart or any of his other internal organs. Whatever happened to him is a mystery to me."

"I was afraid you were going to say something of that nature," Sherlock muttered, closing the folder and tossing it back onto the lab table. What he didn't say was that he was now at a dead end with no possible way to move forward with the case. How do you solve a murder when the death was caused by an unknown force? It was madness. He'd only have to wait for the murderer to strike again and hopefully make a mistake.

"I wish I had more information for you, Sherlock," Molly said, smiling sadly. She hated when she couldn't help the detective out. "The victim's family is hoping to collect the body tomorrow. Maybe you can stop by and talk with them?"

"No," Sherlock stated simply. "I don't believe it will do any good with the case. This is an extraordinary circumstance."

They were both silent for a while, each mulling over the case and the mysterious death. Deciding there could be no harm in it, Molly cleared her throat and pulled Sherlock's attention back to her. "Did you like the scarf Hermione made for you?"

Narrowing his eyes toward Molly, Sherlock touched at the scarf he was wearing. It was soft and kept his neck warm from the wind as he'd walked the streets of London this morning. "It is a lovely gift."

"You thanked her, right?" Molly inquired, remembering a time when he'd made fun of her for giving him a Christmas present. It still stung slightly, but she was fine now. Sherlock would only ever be a dear friend to her, and that was perfectly alright.

Nodding, Sherlock dropped his hand and backed away, preparing to leave. "Yes. I must go now. Thank you for the information."

"You're welcome," Molly said sadly. "I just wish I could have given you more to go with. If I find anything else out, I'll be sure to let you know. And tell Hermione I said hello, please."

"I will. Perhaps you can come and visit with her again before she returns home," Sherlock said as he exited the lab. The door shut behind him and Molly was left alone once more.

Once upon a time, Molly may have been jealous of the way Sherlock's eyes lit up as he talked about Hermione. Now, though, she was merely glad her friend had found someone he could potentially find love with. He may not know it yet, but it was abundantly clear to her, as well as Mrs Hudson, John, and Mary. There was something special brewing between Sherlock and Hermione and they couldn't wait to see what became of it.

. . . .

"Mrs Hudson? Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione was sitting in what was known as John's chair while the landlady dusted the small flat. It was a chilly day, so Hermione was settled by the fireplace to keep warm. Mrs Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to her with a smile. Perching on the edge of Sherlock's chair, she gave Hermione her full attention.

"Of course, dear," Mrs Hudson replied, settling back in the chair. She had a feeling Hermione was going to inquire about Sherlock, and she was not going to be disappointed.

"Okay, it's just… It's about Sherlock." Hermione paused uncertain if it was okay to talk to Mrs Hudson about such things. After all, she was his landlady not his mother or his keeper. That was probably more John and Mary's job than anything, but they seemed awfully busy lately with the work and Rosie.

"Oh," Mrs Hudson said quietly, glancing at her hands in her lap before lifting her gaze back to Hermione. She was trying to hide her smile at being correct in her assumptions. She hoped she did a fair job. "What is it that you care to know about him?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Sherlock has anyone he cares for, really." She blushed, looking away and feeling entirely silly about even asking at all. Swallowing thickly, Hermione made to push up from the chair, but Mrs Hudson reached out and patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a thing. It's not my business. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been gone long ago."

"You're fine. Honestly." Mrs Hudson began, laughing lightly. "You are not the first one to wonder such a thing. But no, Sherlock is married to his work, or so he says anyway."

This was news to Hermione. During her time spent in 221 B, she hadn't seen Sherlock at work. He always went out when he was busy with his case. Granted, when he was there, he did spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing only Merlin knew what on his laptop. Occasionally, she did find that he ventured into the kitchen to fiddle around with his microscope, but he never really lingered for long.

"I really am sorry. I guess I just still feel like such a burden on all of you despite having been told I'm not. It's silly." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and tried to give Mrs Hudson a smile. She felt like it was off, so she stopped. "Do you think Sherlock really doesn't mind me being here, or that he's just putting on a show for my benefit since I told John how he treated me that first day?"

Mrs Hudson stood up and resumed her dusting, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk. "In my experience with Sherlock, he doesn't do things unless he wants to. He's very stubborn that way, sort of like my ex-husband." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mrs Hudson paused again and threw Hermione a glance over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hermione, I think that your presence here has been quite beneficial to Sherlock."

"Really?" Hermione questioned, seriously struggling to see how she could have benefited Sherlock in any way when he made it so that they were never in the same room together for longer than a few moments. If anything, she felt like she was getting on his nerves with the way he talked to her.

"You might not see it now, but I think before you take your leave of us, you'll find that Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart under all that…" Here Mrs Hudson made a snooty face and gestured around herself which caused Hermione to laugh.

Her giggling made her chest ache, so she cut it off fairly quickly, but she appreciated Mrs Hudson's sense of humour all the same. "Thank you for answering my question. I know it's not really my place to ask such things of you."

"You're welcome, dear. It's really not a problem," she replied, passing by the chair and laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all want to see you well again. It has been lovely getting to know you. I think that, perhaps, you should take this evening and try and get Sherlock to open up about himself, as well."

"How can I do that" Hermione questioned, staring up into Mrs Hudson's kind face. "He hardly ever wants to talk to me about anything other than if I'm healing the way I should."

"You're a clever girl," Mrs Hudson noted. "I think that, between you and me, you'll be able to come up with something." Tapping the side of her nose, Mrs Hudson gave her a wink and then disappeared back downstairs to her own flat, leaving Hermione alone to contemplate what precisely the landlady meant.

. . . .

"I'm starving," Theo whined, laying his head down on the table and closing his eyes. "If I don't eat something soon, I'm going to die."

"Stop being so dramatic," Harry muttered, tugging the folder out from underneath Theo's forehead. His partner grumbled but said nothing else for a moment. We'll order lunch here in a minute, but I want to re-examine these maps first. I feel like we're missing something important."

Lifting his head, Theo pouted. "Do you know when the Creevey's are picking up Dennis's body?"

Cringing, Harry set aside the files. "I think tomorrow, but I'd have to double check."

"I'm just curious to see if the Muggles were able to figure out that something other than affixation killed him," Theo explained. "I really don't feel like sending in the Obliviation team."

"I'm fairly certain we'll be alright as long as we catch the killer."

"When we get him, what are we going to explain to Scotland Yard? They're going to want someone to put to trial and lock up in their prison." Theo ran a hand through his dark hair and sighed. "That's going to be a mess and a half."

"We'll figure something out. Hell, Kingsley might already have a plan in place," Harry said, returning to his files. "Whoever is behind this knew what they were doing when they made the attacks in Muggle London. If it had happened in Diagon Alley or even Hogsmeade, we'd have a much easier time hiding this from the Muggles. By the way, how many more interviews do you have?"

"Three or four, I think," Theo said, pulling a notepad from inside his robes. "Malfoy, Zabini, which is ridiculous by the way, Flint, and Goyle." He finished reading and put the notepad away.

"I'm sorry you have to interview your husband and best friend," Harry apologised. "I know Blaise has nothing to do with this and Draco turned a new leaf, but we were given our orders. It was no walk in the park interviewing Ron."

Laughing, Theo pushed aside his irritation for the moment. "Yeah? I still wish you would have let me do that one. I would have loved to see his face when I walked in the door."

"It's probably for the best that you didn't do that then," Harry intoned, finally sitting back. Sighing heavily, he ignored a stress headache that was forming behind his eyes. "Let's go eat. I'm getting nowhere with this right now. Maybe after lunch and a headache potion, I'll be able to make some leeway with all this." He gestured at the mess of maps, case files, and interviews transcriptions on his desk.

"You're no fun, but yes; let's go and eat!" Theo jumped up from the chair and led the way from the office to the lifts. "What if we don't find anything out from these last interviews?"

"Then we start interrogating those who don't work at the Ministry," Harry said with a frown. "We start with those who are associated or have criminal backgrounds. It's horrible but what choice do we have?"

"I suppose we don't have much choice at all." Theo let Harry get on the lift first and then pressed the button to go to the Atrium. "The Prophet is already dragging our names through dragon dung. I can't imagine what they're going to say if we have to start interviewing seemingly innocent people."

"It's going to be fine, Nott," Harry said softly. "At least, we have to keep telling ourselves that."

"Maybe if we have something substantial to go on I could believe you," Theo said solemnly as the lift doors opened.

"Me too, mate. Me too."

. . . .

Hermione spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out a way she could get the elusive Sherlock to speak to her for longer than a few minutes at a time. By midafternoon, she decided it was useless and retreated to the bedroom for yet another nap. When she awoke sometime after dusk, there was still no news from Harry, but Sherlock had returned. He was standing in the front room, shuffling through papers and muttering under his breath. A case, Hermione realised. He was working on a case.

Not wanting to disturb him while he worked, she wandered into the kitchen and found the drawer where she knew John stored the take-out menus. This was how she would get him to open up to her. She'd order dinner for the two of them and then when he was finished working, they could sit down and eat together. Surely, he wouldn't have anything to say against that?

Selecting the Chinese restaurant from down the street, Hermione snuck back into the bedroom and made the call. She was surprised to find that the worker recognised John's phone number and added the total to their ongoing tab. She thanked him and then went back into the living room to wait for their dinner to arrive. In the meantime, she enjoyed watching Sherlock work; he was so focused she didn't even think he registered her presence. It was utterly fascinating to see him speak to himself as if he were talking to someone else in the room. Actually, he reminded her a bit of herself when she fell deep into a case.

Hermione was so enraptured by his process that she never even heard the knock on the door. Sherlock must have, though, his head popping up and a deep frown forming on his lips as he glanced toward the stairs. When the knock didn't sound again, he returned to his work. Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to go downstairs as of yet, but still, she pushed to her feet and started toward the door.

Mrs Hudson came through the door before she could exit, rapping her knuckles on it as she went. "Hoo hoo!" she called, earning a disgruntled sigh from Sherlock. He didn't further acknowledge her presence. "Sherlock, the carrier is here with your dinner."

"I didn't order food," he replied curtly, waving her away in favour of flipping angrily through the pages of a book.

"No," Hermione spoke up from by the door. "That was me."

"You?" Sherlock slammed the book shut and rounded on her. "Why would you do that?"

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson said with a bit of a warning to her voice. "The poor girl was probably hungry, and you could use a break. You've been on this case for over a week now."

"I don't eat when I'm working. You know that. It slows down the process." Sherlock crossed his arm as if he were a petulant teenager.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, having to avoid Mrs Hudson's gaze lest she fall entirely into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I should have asked first. I just ordered off the take-out menu what items were starred."

"You see," Mrs Hudson declared, walking forward and swatting him lightly on the arm. He gave her a stern glance, but she ignored it. "She even made sure to order your favourites. Now go downstairs and tip the delivery man."

Narrowing his eyes at the landlady, Sherlock huffed and then disappeared downstairs. His footsteps were loud on the stairs, obviously meant to convey his annoyance. Mrs Hudson merely laughed and followed behind. As she left, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed, 'Thank you.' Honestly, if it weren't for that woman, Hermione would be lost as to how to deal with Sherlock's slight temper. She had much to learn.

When Sherlock returned, he set the bag of food on the coffee table and allowed Hermione to sort through the contents. They didn't speak as containers and chopsticks were divided out. In fact, Hermione was sure they wouldn't talk at all unless she did something. So, wandering over to where Sherlock had resumed working, she pushed away her nervousness and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Hermione said hesitantly, digging into her carton with her chopsticks. "What sort of case are you working on?" She was nervous to talk with Sherlock but determined to learn who he really was.

Chewing thoughtfully, Sherlock turned slowly to regard Hermione. Clearly, she was not going to go away. Gesturing toward the wall behind the desk where he'd hung a plethora of photos and a map, he figured he might as well test her skill. "Have a look. What do you see?"

Setting down her take-out box, Hermione peered at what Sherlock had displayed. There were scribbled notes on the photographs, as well as red yarn pinned to connect certain parts of the map. It was odd to see someone else display their work, especially since this is precisely what she did on a daily basis working at the MLE. One spot, in particular, drew her attention, so she pointed to it. "You're not just working any case… You're trying to solve mine."

Sure enough, there was a star next to the spot on the map where she'd been attacked over a week ago. When she met Sherlock's gaze, he merely nodded, also setting aside his half-eaten dinner. "I found it odd when you had no one to come and retrieve you."

"You did want me to leave." Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It matters not." As if that simple sentence settled the matter. Nodding back at his display, he asked, "What do you think? Have you any ideas what might be going on?"

"You want my help?" He nodded, and she frowned. "Why?"

"Because there is something about you that I can't see. Something that I am missing." He ran a hand through his curls and stepped awfully close to her. "I can see everything else, the fact that you're alone by choice, that you work in a similar area as I do, that you sleep with one arm outstretched as if searching for someone to hold… But I can't see what's hiding under the surface. I need you to show me."

Mouth popping open, Hermione wanted to be angry that Sherlock had somehow figured out these things, or that he possibly watched her as she slept. However, she only felt more intrigued. If he was a mystery to her, she was even more of a mystery to him. She couldn't tell him about being a witch, not yet at least, but she could help him try and solve the pattern of this case.

"Okay," she said with determination. Placing both hands on her hips, she nodded. "Let's have a look at this thing," Sherlock smirked at her gumption, clearly glad to see her feeling better. She tried not to blush as his gaze examined her; instead, focusing on the map in front of them. Finding another star on the map, she asked, "What's this one for?"

"That was where the body was found on Christmas Eve," Sherlock explained, popping another bite of chicken into his mouth. "I felt it was a strange circumstance and so I put a star."

"Do you think it's related to my attack?" she questioned, stepping back and staring up into his mysteriously coloured eyes.

"I'm not sure yet, but I feel as if all of this is connected somehow," he said, gesturing at the map with his chopsticks. "You appear the same night a string of attacks plague London and then a Christmas Eve murder. Seems bizarre, don't you think?"

It did, in fact, seem bizarre to Hermione. So much so that she had to take a moment to process it all. What if he was right? What if the murder was related to her attack, as well as the others. Maybe this entire thing was the reason Harry wanted her to stay away. Frowning slightly, Hermione felt that may be somewhat ridiculous and let it go for now. She'd been mugged, that's all. Sure the attacker had tried to stranger her, but he hadn't tried to kill her. If John hadn't shown up…

"It's strange," she said at last. "I'll give you that. Do you mind if I look through your notes? Maybe I can be of some help put some of the pieces together. I love working on cases."

Sherlock's eyes lit up at that, and he willingly handed over some folders. John enjoyed helping him solve cases but only as a way to keep his nightmares at bay. Never before had Sherlock found someone so willing to jump into the fray. It was refreshing and overly attractive. It made his heart race and something in his chest tighten with both excitement and hope. Suddenly, he was seeing Hermione in a new light and not just because she'd stepped toward the Christmas tree.

Half amazed, Sherlock, settled down in his chair to watch as she read through his files. He hadn't given her the one with the murder information. That he would save for later. Much later. He wanted her opinion on the other attacks first, specifically her own. If she were connected to the attacks, she would probably recognise the victim's name immediately. He wasn't ready for that reveal yet. Besides, maybe by opening up to one another by way of this case, she would reveal what that wooden stick was used for.

"Can I write on these?" Hermione asked, pointing to the files.

"Sure," he replied, pulling a pen from the desk and handing it over to her. "Don't leave anything out."

"I won't," she replied, pausing long enough to give him a large grin before diving in again. She worked for a few minutes before saying, "Thank you for letting me help. I feel almost normal doing this."

"It's my pleasure," he said sincerely. "It's been a long time since I had someone so willing to join me for a case."

Hermione just smiled as she worked. She had a purpose again, and this was much better than knitting some gifts. She'd loved doing that, of course, but there was something about being in the mix of solving a case that made her feel alive. Doing this, she was adequately helpful for the first time since she arrived at Baker Street. Glancing up, she found Sherlock watching her intently. It sent a thrill of anticipation down her spine, but she knew not why. Returning to the files, she took a deep breath and began to talk it out with him, thankful when he joined her. It was as if they were meant to do this all along. Now, if only she had her wand, she could go out and examine the crime scenes properly.

Sherlock and Hermione spent the rest of the night bonding over the case until she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then, did Sherlock force her to rest. It was well after eleven by the time he put an end to their work. With one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders, he guided her down the dimly lit hallway. As he tucked her into the bed, Hermione enjoyed the way his large hand lingered on her shoulder and the way his deep voice bid her goodnight. But it wasn't until sleep was nearly claiming her, that it occurred to her that the places on the map coincided with locations of Magical homes or structures.