Relativity 2: Getting to Know You
by Dimity Blue
John closed the door quietly behind him and headed up the stairs to 221B. As he'd expected, Sherlock was sulking on the sofa. It looked like Greg had ignored all the texts Sherlock had sent him. Sherlock had been bombarding John with texts all day and, since several of those texts had involved complaints about Greg, there was no way Greg would have been spared Sherlock's demands for entertainment.
"Bored?" John asked, as he made for the kitchen.
He got a frustrated sound from Sherlock in response.
John picked up the kettle. "Nothing from Lestrade?"
Sherlock flipped himself over on the sofa and presented John with his back; John sometimes felt he was living with a cat.
Clicking the switch on the kettle, John grinned to himself and, keeping his tone casual, said, "Maybe you could send him an owl."
There was silence for a few seconds, then Sherlock asked, "Why would I send him an owl?"
"Did I say owl? I meant text." Instead of the usual explosion about the texts that had been sent and the dull crimes Lestrade had offered in return, there was more silence. John checked the mugs were clean and began making tea. A glance over his shoulder told him that Sherlock had moved from the sofa to his armchair, which just happened to give him an excellent view of the kitchen. John forced himself to keep his face straight. He didn't think Sherlock was bored now, and it made a change for John to know something he didn't, though how long John would be able to keep ahead of Sherlock, he didn't know. "Tea?" He looked at Sherlock, then quickly turned his back to hide his grin at the narrow-eyed stare Sherlock was giving him.
Once the tea was made, he carried it in and deposited a mug in front of Sherlock, then sat down opposite him. "Any idea what you want for dinner?"
Sherlock's eyes narrowed even further, then he relaxed and sat back in his chair. "You met Molly Weasley."
John couldn't stop his grin from appearing. "How on earth did you know that?"
"You have a red hair on your shoulder. There's only one member of my family with hair that colour who has a habit of hugging people on first acquaintance."
"You should be grateful to her; she stopped Mycroft from coming up to see you."
It was almost gratifying how Sherlock's eyes narrowed again, then he raised his hands into a steepled position and stared at John over them.
John fought the urge to giggle as he raised his mug to his mouth. "Ask me and I'll tell you," he said, then took a sip of almost too hot tea.
"It's no fun that way." Sherlock stared some more, then sighed. "Of course. She suggested we go to dinner and told Mycroft to send her an owl."
John raised his mug in a half-salute. "Why an owl?"
"Why not?"
"People don't normally send owls with messages."
"I don't see why not - they're intelligent enough to know where to go."
Giving that one up as being unlikely to get him more information, John asked, "What's a Muggle?"
Sherlock's gaze focused on his with a laser-like intensity, then he said, "Proof that Molly needs to be more discreet." The newspaper was opened, he raised it between them, and it seemed the conversation was over.
~~~
Mycroft was not surprised when Sherlock contacted him; he was, however, a little surprised Sherlock rang him as text usually sufficed for Sherlock to vent his spleen.
As Sherlock verbally exploded on the other end of the line, Mycroft moved the phone away from his ear and waited for an opportunity to speak. Finally, Sherlock wound down to a, "Do something about it!"
"What would you like me to do?" Mycroft was frequently grateful that he was not in charge of the Wizarding world; Sherlock and the ordinary world kept him busy enough. He was also exceptionally grateful, not that he'd admit it, that Sherlock had not inherited any of their relatives' talents. Sherlock with the ability to do magic would have been impossible to deal with. "You have an inflated idea of my abilities, brother, if you think I'm capable of stopping Molly Weasley from issuing dinner invitations."
"I might have guessed you'd be thinking of your stomach. John can't go to dinner with them!"
Mycroft sighed. After thinking it over, he'd come to the conclusion it would be better to introduce John to the Weasleys. Once word got around that Molly had met John, it was likely various other of their relatives would turn up to look him over. An evening with the Weasleys could be considered breaking John in gently. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but John is more than old enough to accept or decline dinner invitations - even ones involving the Weasleys." As Sherlock burst forth again, Mycroft talked over him. "It was inevitable that John would meet some of our...more unusual relatives, Sherlock. Be grateful it's the Weasleys and not great-uncle Theophilius."
There was silence for a long moment, then Sherlock said, sounding far more reasonable, "Great-uncle Theophilius isn't allowed to give dinner parties."
It was fortunate for them all that he wasn't. Theophilius Holmes's short-lived but memorable attempt at becoming a professional chef had ended abruptly when he managed to poison seventeen members of the British Armed Forces, three bishops, two missionaries, and a minor member of the Royal family. After that, he'd confined his attentions to critiquing the cooking since he was no longer allowed near any kitchens.
"In any case," Mycroft said, "I think it would be best if we explained to John about the Weasleys and their friends." To say nothing of their abilities.
The line went dead and Mycroft sighed. Well, maybe it would be better for him to explain things to John.
~~~
John's first hint that there was something up was when Sherlock turned up at his surgery bearing lunch. Every attempt at conversation over breakfast had been firmly ignored, so why Sherlock was being friendly now was a mystery.
"Are you ill?" John asked as Sherlock handed him a bag containing a large tupperware container and a tartan patterned thermos flask.
"Why would I be ill?" Sherlock sat down in the patient's chair and gazed at John.
"You brought me lunch." John popped open the tupperware container and found sandwiches, a small salad and some fruit. "Mrs. Hudson made this, didn't she?"
"Of course."
John sighed as he opened the thermos flask and looked at the hot tea inside. For all her declarations of not being their housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson acted like one at times. "Why did Mrs. Hudson make me lunch?"
"Because I asked her to." Sherlock frowned. "Is there something wrong with it?"
"No, nothing, just..." John gazed at the neatly arranged salad. "Why did you ask Mrs. Hudson to make me lunch?"
"You always eat lunch."
"Yes, but I usually buy my own lunch as opposed to having my roommate turn up with one from our landlady."
Sherlock's gaze narrowed as if he was trying to work out what faux pas he'd committed now. "Should I have bought it instead?"
"Why would you bring me lunch at all?" John persisted. "You never bring me lunch."
"Since I have brought you lunch, it's obvious that 'never' is inaccurate."
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
Sherlock's eyebrows rose. "I have no idea what you're talking about. You only get half an hour for lunch, so you'd better hurry up and eat it." With that, he got up and was gone with a swirl of his coat.
John stared at his sandwiches, then shrugged. If Sherlock wanted to drug him, there were far easier ways, and even Sherlock would find it difficult to remove an unconscious doctor from a doctor's surgery. Giving it up as another mystery, John set to and ate his lunch.
He was even more mystified when Sherlock arrived at the surgery just before John finished work, apparently with the sole intention of escorting John home. Since pointing out that Sherlock never came to escort John home would undoubtedly lead to another debate on semantics, John kept quiet and followed Sherlock out of the door, hoping that something would turn up to enlighten him.
The something turned up in the form of a sleek, chauffeur-driven car, complete with Anthea in the back. As Sherlock glared at the car, John said, "Mycroft wants to tell me about Molly Weasley, doesn't he?" The glare was turned on him and John grinned. "I'd love to hear about Molly Weasley and the owls she sends."
"John -"
"Let's go." John headed towards the car, fully aware of Sherlock - for once - following him.
"It's unwise. John. John!"
John came to a halt as Sherlock hauled on his arm. "Sherlock -"
"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to get into a stranger's car?"
"What?" John blinked. "It's not a stranger's car; it's Mycroft's car."
"I'm sure the principle would apply even more. You don't want to get into Mycroft's car."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't!"
As one of the receptionists passed them, giving them an odd look as she went, John managed a smile, then turned back to continue arguing with Sherlock.
"We need to go home - we have a case."
John folded his arms and looked at Sherlock. After a long pause, John said, "No, we don't."
"Yes, we do." There was another pause, then Sherlock added, "We have a client coming to visit."
"It'll have to wait until after I've seen Mycroft then." Unfolding his arms, John got into the car, then found himself forced into the middle as Sherlock followed him in. "Sherlock!"
All he got in return was a long look, then Sherlock put on his seatbelt.
By the time the car stopped, John was feeling rather cramped. The driver got out and opened Sherlock's door, then they all waited as Sherlock didn't move. It wasn't until Anthea got out and let John out that way that Sherlock seemed to find the impetus to move. John glanced up at the rather posh-looking building and moved quickly up the path before Sherlock could stop him.
"This is a mistake," Sherlock practically growled as Mycroft opened the door and smiled at them.
John ignored him. "Evening, Mycroft."
"Good evening, John, and Sherlock too - what a surprise."
John ignored the sounds Sherlock was making and made his way into Mycroft's sitting room. To his surprise, a tall red-headed man was waiting for him.
"John, this is Molly's husband, Arthur. Arthur, this is John Watson, Sherlock's flatmate."
Arthur didn't even wait for Mycroft to finish before John found his hand caught between both of Arthur's, being enthusiastically shaken. "John! Molly told us she'd met you - we're so pleased. And Sherlock." There was a pause as Arthur let go of John's hand and seemed to think better of trying to shake Sherlock's. "How are you?"
Sherlock flounced past and sat down with a thud.
"The same as ever, I see. So, John, Mycroft thought we should explain a few things before you come to dinner."
"Oh, that was kind of him. Like owls, I should think."
"Owls! Yes! Very sensible creatures. Much better than the 'Postal System'." Arthur used air-quotes for that.
Mycroft cleared his throat. "Arthur and his family prefer owls to the Royal Mail."
"Yes, though you do have the Queen on every stamp. But she doesn't wave or anything." Arthur seemed oddly disappointed by that.
"Uh, no." John had to agree the Queen didn't wave on stamps. He was fairly sure she wasn't supposed to.
"Oh well. Maybe one day." Arthur took a seat at Mycroft's urging.
John thought about sitting next to Sherlock, then thought better of it and took an armchair, only for Sherlock to follow him over and perch on the arm.
Everyone looked at Sherlock who stuck his chin in the air and seemed to be trying to stare Arthur down.
"Well." Arthur smiled at John. "I'm a wizard."
Sherlock cleared his throat loudly. "He's joking."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, he is."
"I'm a wizard, my wife's a witch, and we can all do magic." Arthur seemed very sincere.
"He's lying."
John looked up at Sherlock, then back at Arthur, who pulled a stick out of his pocket and pointed it at them.
"Wingardium leviosa."
Sherlock gave an undignified squawk and toppled off the arm of the armchair just as John realised the ground had disappeared from under his feet. Or rather, he realised, as he peered over the side of the chair, he and the chair were floating.
"Put him down. Right now."
Arthur didn't seem fazed at all, though John thought he'd never seen Sherlock look so white. As soon as the chair was down, Sherlock grabbed John's arm and yanked him up onto his feet. "We're leaving. Mycroft, get out of the way."
"Sherlock, this needs to be done."
John ignored them, instead staring at the chair, then Arthur. "It floated. Up in the air."
Arthur nodded. "It's good, isn't it? Would you like another go?"
Pulling his arm free, John sat down again. Then giggled as his feet left the floor.
"John!" The chair landed and Sherlock dragged John to his feet again.
"You're a wizard."
"John, listen to me, they are dangerous!"
"Sherlock, nothing's going to happen -"
Sherlock swung around, cutting Arthur off. "Tell that to your -"
"Sherlock!"
John had never seen Mycroft look so angry. Arthur held up a hand to Mycroft, and said, quietly, "My son. Fred." Despite the pain in his voice, he held Sherlock's gaze steadily. "He died during the Second Wizarding War and he knew - we all knew - the risks he was facing. We're not at war now, Sherlock."
There was silence, then Sherlock said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Arthur, that was uncalled for."
"Thank you." Arthur turned his attention back to John. "The Second Wizarding War ended in '98. It really doesn't seem that long ago."
John bet it didn't. John would have bet there were times when it felt like it happened yesterday.
"Now. When can we expect you for dinner?"
~~~
It wasn't until they were back in 221B that Sherlock referred back to it. "They wouldn't let us help." As John raised his eyebrows, Sherlock added, "The war. Even Mycroft. Even Mummy, though it was her family."
"They probably felt it was too dangerous for you." John could only imagine the carnage caused by a war involving magic.
"If they'd lost, we would all have lost. Mummy..." Sherlock shrugged off his coat and left the sentence unfinished.
John let the subject go. "So what kind of food do they eat?"
"Oh, perfectly ordinary food. I'm surprised Mycroft didn't talk about it - he does love food." The sharp tone was back in Sherlock's voice.
John let that go as well. "Will we go in Mycroft's car or get a cab?" He looked up at the silence that answered him. "Sherlock?"
"Not a cab, but..." Sherlock shrugged. "They have their own ways of travelling."
"Like apparate?" Molly's comment was starting to make sense.
Sherlock gave him a sharp look. "It's astounding how unknown the Wizarding World is with Molly on the loose."
John grinned. "Or flu powder."
"It won't be apparating or flu powder or anything else Molly mentioned. Mycroft will make sure it's reasonably civilised."
~~~
In the end, to John's complete disappointment, it was a car. A perfectly ordinary dark green Ford with bits of rust on the wheel arches. It didn't stop Sherlock from giving it a suspicious look before he got in though.
As John followed him into the surprisingly spacious back seat, he realised just what seemed off about it. "It's like the TARDIS!" he exclaimed. As Arthur, Mycroft, and Sherlock all gave him identical puzzled looks, John marvelled at the Holmeses' ability to be completely unaware of pop culture. "Um...Doctor Who?"
Arthur looked intrigued but Mycroft replied with a flat, "Yes," that gave no hint as to whether he recognised the name or not. "Arthur, you do have permission for this, don't you?" he followed on, leading John to suspect he didn't know of Doctor Who at all.
"Oh yes!" Arthur smiled. "The Minister gave me permission himself! It seems there's a 'Rolls Royce'," he took his hands off the steering wheel for the air quotes, "he's having modified and he's rather keen on finding out how well they run."
John looked around the car again. Given that the motoring industry had over one hundred years of history, finding out how well cars run seemed a bit redundant to him.
Sherlock gave him another one of those glances. "Look at the road."
John obliged, then his jaw dropped as he realised there was no road. "We're flying!"
He got another look from Sherlock plus a matching one from Mycroft, but Arthur gave him a wide smile. "It's brilliant, isn't it? I modified it myself."
"You modified the car to make it fly?"
Arthur nodded, still looking pleased. "I'm hoping the Ministry will allow them permanently. They could be very convenient for large families. Of course, there are arguments that it'll lead to a drop in flu powder or broomstick sales, but I can't see it myself."
John blinked. "You actually fly on broomsticks then?"
"Oh, yes, but it's a bit difficult to carry more than one passenger."
John imagined it would be.
"Just sit back and enjoy the ride. It won't actually take that long; this car is much faster than..." Arthur trailed off for a moment as Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him, then concluded with, "Other cars that could have been modified."
Mycroft's eyebrow rose even more. "Aren't you afraid we'll be seen?"
Arthur gave him a wise, all-knowing look that John liked to think irritated Mycroft to his core. "That's one of the modifications - an Invisispell!" He patted the dashboard fondly. "Of course, it plays havoc with the mileage you get per gallon, but we're hoping to fix that."
True to Arthur's word, it was a little more than an hour later that John realised the car was coming in to land. Tall trees that had seemed so tiny only minutes before now towered over them and the bumpy country lane they were driving down. The car swung round a corner and jerked to a halt in front of a lopsided building that seemed to be defying the laws of gravity. As John got out, he tilted his head, automatically trying to find a straight line in what could only be an architect's nightmare.
"Mycroft, Sherlock, and John!" Molly seemed just as happy to see them as she had the other day, and John was surprised to see Sherlock submit to a hug without more than a slight grimace. If Molly noticed, she ignored it, instead hugging John and tugging him through the darkening twilight to a well-lit doorway. "We're so glad you could come!"
"It's our pleasure, Molly." Mycroft sounded as polite as ever.
Inside the warm and cosy kitchen, things were as impossible as they were outside and John blinked at the sight of a pan being scrubbed by a brush in the sink. That was nothing, however, to the wall of framed photos of various people, all of whom were waving at him. John realised he must have made some kind of noise as Sherlock's hand was suddenly under his elbow and he was muttering that it was perfectly normal in their world and, "For God's sake, John, pull yourself together!"
Molly appeared at his other side and gave John time for a breather by introducing all the waving, nodding, and smiling people to him. He soon realised it was easy to tell the 'married ins' from blood relatives as Weasleys only seemed to have one hair colour and that was red.
"Ron, my youngest son." Molly pointed to a photo of a lone young man who appeared to be staggering under the weight of the large gold cup he was holding. She beamed proudly and polished the edge of the photo frame. "He won the International Wizard Chess Championship three years running. It's never been done before. It made the papers!"
"Ron's always been good at chess," Arthur said from the kitchen table. "It came in very handy during his first year at Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts?" John sat down at the table next to Sherlock.
"A boarding school for wizards," Mycroft said. His smile faded a little as Molly placed a plate piled high with food in front of him.
Sherlock's smile, on the other hand, widened. "Eat up, Mycroft."
For a moment, John thought it'd be a case of duelling butter knives, then Molly placed similarly large plates in front of him and Sherlock.
"Likewise, brother." Mycroft turned to Molly. "This looks delicious. Thank you, Molly."
John blinked at his plate. The Weasleys were full of more surprises than magic, he decided. He never would have thought anyone would have the sheer nerve to invite Mycroft Holmes to dinner and then serve him with bangers and mash. And yet, here was Mycroft in one of his bespoke three piece suits facing a plateful of sausages, mash, and peas, all covered in a thick gravy. And Mycroft wasn't saying a word in protest.
It wasn't just good manners keeping him silent, John decided. The food didn't just look delicious, it smelled delicious too. John hadn't thought he was particularly hungry but his stomach had decided it was ravenous. He managed to wait until Molly was seated and had picked up her fork, then he practically dived in head first.
John remembered his manners after a few mouthfuls and managed to stop eating long enough to comment, "This is amazing." It really was. Maybe the food was enhanced by magic but really didn't care. Even Sherlock was digging in with enthusiasm.
Molly looked pleased. "I do enjoy cooking."
"My Molly's always been the best cook, even when we were at Hogwarts together," Arthur said. "I snapped her up before anyone else could." He took a long drink of the wine Mycroft had brought with them. "This is nice, Mycroft."
If Mycroft was pained at his undoubtedly expensive wine being used to wash down a meal of bangers, mash, and peas, he didn't show it. "I'm so glad."
"It's a versatile little vintage," Sherlock said. As everyone looked at him, he seemed to realise he'd scraped his plate clean and put down his knife and fork. After a few seconds and a pointed look from John, he added, "That was lovely. Thank you, Molly."
If Molly noticed the awkwardness, she ignored it completely. "You're welcome, Sherlock." She jumped up and started gathering the plates, waving to John to sit down when he stood to help.
Arthur took John's plate and headed for the sink. "I've heard Muggles have 'dishwashers' now." He turned back from the sink to use air-quotes. "Machines that wash dishes for you. It's amazing what Muggles think of!"
John gazed at the sink where the plates were, apparently, washing themselves, and echoed, "Amazing..."
"And 'washing machines'. Machines for washing clothes," Arthur added at Molly's puzzled look.
"Yes, we've had them for about fifty years now," Mycroft said, "if not longer."
"We had a pair in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office recently. One was stealing people's socks - only single socks, mind you - and sending them to the other. The owner of the other had a whole basketful of socks he'd never seen before."
"The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office?" John had to know.
"It's where I work." Arthur's face lit up with enthusiasm. "We deal with all kinds of Muggle items that have been bewitched. It's fascinating!"
"What kind of items?"
"Oh, anything! Our most popular items lately are 'mobile phones'. Either disappearing ones, or ever-changing password ones, or ones that'll play a different ringtone so you don't think it's yours."
John had a strong suspicion he'd come across a few of those. Given the annoyed look Mycroft was giving his breast pocket, it seemed he had too.
"Time for pudding," Molly declared.
A brief look of dismay appeared on Mycroft's face.
Molly opened an oven door, releasing a delightful smell of cooked pastry. "I hope you're still hungry."
As she placed a large treacle tart on the table, John's mouth watered. No wonder Arthur had married her as soon as he could.
By the time they'd finished the tart and thick clotted cream, John felt thoroughly stuffed. He'd never eaten so much in his life, and he didn't regret a mouthful. He was also sure he couldn't move an inch and suspected Sherlock and Mycroft were feeling the same way.
Arthur and Molly, on the other hand, seemed completely unaffected.
As Mycroft put his spoon down and sighed maybe from relief at having finished or sadness it was all gone - John couldn't tell - Arthur looked pleased. He poured Mycroft another glass of wine and declared again, "Best cook in Hogwarts!"
Molly blushed.
~~~
By the time they got home, John was feeling a little less over-fed and he headed into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. Sherlock followed him as far as the doorway and watched as John looked around the kitchen.
"Mundane and boring, isn't it?"
John shook his head and rubbed a finger over the scorch marks from one of Sherlock's more spectacular experiments. "Boring is not a word I'd use for this place. Molly and Arthur's place is different though, I'll say that."
"We won't be able to get rid of them now, you know. The dinner was an olive branch. We'll be considered part of the family again." He smiled, a look of wicked glee on his face. "Mycroft will find his in-tray full of scrolls by morning."
"Scrolls?" From the wizarding world, John realised, but why Mycroft would be inundated, he didn't get.
"Oh, yes. The PM finds it all a massive headache. Once he knows Mycroft has experience in dealing with that lot, he'll wash his hands of them and hand them over to Mycroft." Sherlock's smile widened. "That should keep him busy for a while."
He disappeared into the sitting room and John raised his voice to ask, "And how many of those cases will he drop in your lap?"
Sherlock reappeared though his smile remained absent. "Don't even suggest it. Not even as a joke."
John grinned. He wouldn't mind seeing more of the wizarding world.
"I mean it, John. I'll rate them all a One and refuse to go."
"I won't say a word," John promised. He finished making the tea and carried two mugs of it into the sitting room.
"And if any red-headed strangers try to talk to you, run away because they'll probably be Weasleys."
John put the cups down. "Red-headed strangers, got it."
"And anyone wearing a cloak."
"A cloak?"
Sherlock looked positively disdainful. "They wear cloaks. The finer points of fashion have passed them by."
"Right. Cloaks. Got it." John sat down. He had a suspicion Sherlock wasn't finished.
"And anyone who's wearing weird clothing. Mycroft caught two wizards on our property who were pretending to be out for a walk."
"Maybe they were out for a walk."
"Hardly. They were wearing cricket gear and carrying bats."
John considered that, then shook his head. "You know, Sherlock, I survived Afghanistan. I'm sure I'll be fine, no matter what weird clothing people are wearing."
Sherlock sat down and picked up his tea. "This is the wizarding world, John. Afghanistan has nothing on it."
The end
14th October 2016
~~~
Note: Arthur went to work for the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects when Voldemort reappeared. In my head, Arthur returned to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office once the war was over.