Summary: More adventures follow Helena and Sherlock, who is solely focused on finding out the secret she's hiding.

AN: Sadly, I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. They belong to their respective authors and writers. This is written for purely entertainment and no money is being made.

This is the 2nd part of the series. If you haven't read the first, which is a one-shot, I would strongly advise you to do so before starting this one. It would make somethings clear.

It is obvious that many things have been changed according to fit my story, but many things are the same as the BBC's Sherlock. I've changed some events accordingly and I'll let you know as we move forward.

Thoughts, inner ramblings and memories are written in italics.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes – 30 yrs.

Helena Euphemia Potter – 29 yrs.

Mycroft – 40 yrs. (10 years older than Sherlock)

John – 37 yrs. (7 years older than Sherlock)

I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

February 2nd, 2010

"She didn't even care about the damp! She's even renovated it all! I have no idea how they've done it, but it has two bedrooms, a living room and they even managed to build a small backyard. Oh, you should see it! The flat looks like you see in one of those magazines nowadays. If only I had that kind of money…"

"Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock shouted, startling the woman and John shook his head.

"Please do try to behave, Sherlock. After years someone's interested in the flat. Try not to run them off!" she pleaded, earning a scowl from the said man and he jumped on his chair angrily, arms holding onto his knees. He liked the setting as it was and didn't want any idiot to move in to disrupt his life. Was that too much to ask?

The house had been filled with numerous people during the past 3 months. They had practically demolished 221C and reconstructed the whole flat. He wasn't blind and could see the 'backyard' from the window of his bedroom. From what he had gathered, a family of two, possibly three was moving in. The movers had moved in one full-sized bed and a queen-sized one, two days back. Whoever it was, loved to read because the bookshelf covered the entire back wall of the living room. A huge fireplace had been built beside a glass wall with a view of the front street.

He scoffed, already plotting ways to run off the new 'neighbours' when he heard the knock and once again, he jumped out of his chair and rushed to the window. A woman with long black hair got out of the cab, but other than that, he couldn't see much from up here. It was already freezing and because of the rain, the woman was covered from head to toe. He didn't need to turn to see that Mrs Hudson had already rushed downstairs to greet the new owner.

He closed his eyes and focused on the new voice. He wanted to figure out a way to make her leave as soon as possible, but suddenly his eyes snapped open and he sat up straight. He knew that voice and his eyes widened as he leapt to his feet and rushed downstairs, ignoring the fact that he was barefoot.

Sighing, John followed him at a much more sedate pace.

She was standing beside the staircase, in front of the chimney, introducing herself to Mrs Hudson when her eyes met his and they widened in surprise, but she schooled her features easily.

'She didn't know I live here. For some reason, it had made her tense. Whatever she's hiding, she didn't want anyone to know.' Sherlock observed.

"Helena." He nodded his head, ignoring the way two heads snapped towards him, ready to tell him not to do 'the thing'.

"Sherlock." She nodded, giving him a small smile, surprising John and Mrs Hudson, much to his delight.

"I'm sorry. How do you know each other?" John asked confused, staring between the two.

Before she could open her mouth, Sherlock replied smoothly, "We're friends."

John's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He gaped, seemingly loss at words before turning towards her and asked, "Friends?"

Sherlock looked insulted, while she looked at him like he was stupid. Instead of replying, she nodded and introduced herself, "Helena Potter."

"Uh… John Watson." John said, still feeling confounded.

Mrs Hudson jumped in and asked concerned, "Do you need a hand, my dear? I'm sure the boys would be happy to help."

Helena smiled at the woman and shook her head. "It's quite alright, Mrs Hudson. Everything has already been moved-in and my friends will be here by morning to help me unpack."

"Hermione?" Sherlock asked with disdain.

"She's not that bad! I'm sure you'll get along once you get to know her." She told him, earning a raised eyebrow, clearly implying that she was being mad.

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but she held her hand in front of her and said shortly, "No. I know what you're going to say. I don't want to hear it."

He snapped his mouth shut, but his eyes narrowed at her and she stared right back. John shared a look with Mrs Hudson, who shrugged, so he cleared his throat, gaining their attention as two pairs of eyes snapped towards him simultaneously.

Despite feeling awkward, he tried again, "I'm sorry. How did you meet again?"

"I'm sure Sherlock would be happy to fill you in. Now, if you'll excuse me." She nodded at the two before turning towards Mrs Hudson and explained with a smile, "I've had a long day. I took an off but got called in. Work. If you don't mind…"

"Oh no, of course, dear. Make yourself at home. Do you want a cuppa? I'll get you one." Mrs Hudson didn't wait for the reply and rushed towards her flat.

Helena blinked before turning towards Sherlock and John. "She seems very… nice."

"Yes… yes, she is," John replied.

There was a thick bout of silence before she nodded at the two. "Gentlemen."

With that, she opened the door to her new flat and rushed inside, closing it behind her with a bang.

Helena thumped her head on the door and groaned, "Dear Merlin, why?"

In hindsight, she must've seemed rude, but right now she could care less. They lived in the same city, so meeting him wasn't that big of a deal, but shifting into the same apartment? What were the chances!?

Seeing Sherlock after years had been a shock, but with how things had ended, it was self-explainable that he wouldn't want anything to do with her. Obviously, she hadn't been as important to him as he had been to her. Not that she blamed him. They were kids and he had a family, people who loved him, so why would he want anything to do with an orphan like her? Especially when she was 'abnormal'.

She had successfully managed to get him off her case last time, but with living in the same house? He would figure it out sooner or later. She knew he would. Especially because he was already aware of magic or at least the fact that she had it. He might've forgotten, but he was a genius and quite possibly, one of the most intelligent men in the world. How long would it take for him to remember? Not long, she'd reckon.

Why was she the only one to find herself in such situations? Now, what was she going to do? And how in the world she hadn't known that he lived here? Oh right! Because she had left everything on someone else and hadn't even known until days ago where she was shifting!

She wasn't worried about his roommate. The man seemed quite… normal. But then he was an army doctor and wouldn't look at anything that was rejected by science. No. She was concerned about Sherlock. He was already suspicious; how long would she be able to hide it from him?

She needed to talk to Kingsley.

And she would have to inform Hermione and Ron to come through the door and not through the floo as they had originally planned!

In her hurry to get away from the scrutinizing gaze, she had lied that she was tired! She hadn't had a meal since morning and was starving!

With another groan, she thumped her head on the door yet again.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded under his chin and waited for John to speak. He knew how the man's mind worked and he would give another 10 seconds before the man spoke. He didn't have to wait long as John cleared his throat and said, "So…"

'8 seconds.'

Sherlock smiled as John continued, "…a friend?"

"Yes, John. A friend." He replied, not looking at him.

John raised his eyebrows and stated, "You didn't tell me you had a lady friend."

"It wasn't significant." Sherlock shrugged, unconcerned.

John thought for a second before he asked slowly, "So, you won't mind if I ask her out?"

Now, Sherlock turned his head towards him, clearly confused, and John elaborated as if speaking to a child, "…on a date. Would you mind if I ask her out on a date?"

He frowned before looking at him as if solving a puzzle and asked, "You want to ask Helena out on a date?"

"Yes. Yes, she's really pretty. Seems smart and I haven't been with anyone for a long time now." John replied.

"Oh, John." Sherlock eyed him with something akin to pity and opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it and shrugged instead.

"So, you don't mind?" John asked again.

"No, go ahead. Enjoy the day. You have my blessings." Sherlock replied sardonically, making John huff.

"Alright, then."

February 3rd, 2010

Someone knocked on the door and Helena groaned, having a hunch who it could be. She didn't want Sherlock to be here, especially not in the presence of Hermione, who would curse him at the first chance available. There was another knock and before she could think of something, Ron opened the door.

"Hello. I live upstairs. I thought I should help… in case you need it?" She heard Sherlock's voice and looked skyward, praying for patience.

"Oh! Well…" Ron seemed unsure, so he shouted, "ELLE! It's your neighbour!"

Helena looked down at the cup of tea and sighed, readying herself to face the music. Rushing towards the door, she saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, looking around, but smiled as soon as he saw her and he waved a box in front of them.

"I thought I'd bring a welcome gift. Biscuits! The best in London!"

Helena regarded him carefully, noticing that unlike last night, he was dressed impeccably. He was wearing a light-blue shirt with black pants, topped with a Belstaff Milford coat and Italian loafers. And boy, had he turned into a looker, more elegant than his brother had been – possibly because of the sharp cheekbones or grey-eyes which stared down at the world with disdain, a long neck which had been hidden by his scarf the last time she'd met him. His curly locks seemed chaotic while he stared at her unblinkingly. His hair had darkened considerably, his eyes didn't have the same softness as before and she hadn't seen him smiling even once and dare she say, he had turned out to be quite good-looking.

Even though this man seemed nothing like the friend she had before, she could still see a glimpse of the child he'd been. She wondered if he was still single. She'd be surprised if he was. Helena blinked at her train of thoughts before shaking her head. She couldn't go forward on this road, at least not with Sherlock.

Ignoring her inner ramblings, she looked at the box in his hands. The biscuits were for pretence, she understood too well, but she thanked him, only for Ron to practically snatched the box from the man's hand. Ron didn't see Sherlock scowling, but she did and raised an eyebrow questioningly. The scowl dropped and he schooled his features before smiling at her, too sweetly and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the childlike behaviour. Reluctantly, she invited him in and he accepted eagerly.

The first thing Sherlock noticed was the room. The front side of the wall had been ripped down and the huge window gave the view of baker's street. The room was toasty warm due to the fire. In front of the fireplace was a huge sofa set, big enough for about 15 people. There were 3 mugs of something… alcoholic lying on the centre table and the place was littered with boxes. There was a tv on a stand and even would admit that even he was surprised by the number of tomes that were already in the bookshelf. They were old and well-read, clearly inherited from the family.

Somehow, her house seemed bigger and spacious than his or Mrs Hudson's and at that, he frowned.

Someone cleared their throat and he looked at the woman standing in front of him. Her hair was piled on top of her head messily and she was wearing a satin pyjama set.

As Hermione's eyes landed on him, she growled, "YOU!"

"Me," Sherlock replied indifferently.

She spun towards Helena and asked hotly, "What is he doing here?"

"He lives upstairs," Ron stated with his mouth full, making both his wife and Sherlock grimace. "You know him?"

"No." Hermione replied through gritted teeth and threw Sherlock a dirty look.

Unremarkably average, trustworthy, loyal. Youngest of the brothers, but has a younger sister. Wearing hand-me-downs, a family of 7 or 8 with meagre resources. Besotted with his wife. Would die or kill for either of the two women standing in the room. Is closer to Harriet, more than Hermione. Plays the same game as Helena, but not as athletic or muscular. Shopkeeper? Was in the same war as the two, part of the same organisation, has the same weapon in the back pocket of his jeans.

"Ah… The husband." Sherlock lowered his head and stated grievously to a confused red-head, "You have my condolences."

Ron looked around confused and asked, "What? Why?"

Hermione ignored her husband and growled, "You're not wanted here. Leave!"

"Why? I wasn't wrong. You took my advice and are clearly… happier now. You've even gained 5 pounds since the last time I saw you." Sherlock asked, truly baffled why the woman seemed to be getting angrier. He'd even bought biscuits!

"You are the rudest, pompous and most obnoxious arsehole I've ever met!" Hermione cried.

Sherlock, unaware of anything else and focused on the woman. His eyes shined brightly as he asked, "How do you do that?"

"What?" Hermione spat.

He pointed at her hair and enquired, "Your hair becomes even more chaotic every time you're livid. It becomes bushier… wilder even. How? Can I touch it?"

Ron and Helena stared wide-eyed, equally aware of Hermione's anger and neither was surprised when Hermione didn't reply, just stared at the man who was gawking at her like she was an experiment and punched him in the nose.

There was a sickening crunch and he doubled over with pain before clutching his nose.

Ron and Helena gaped, exclaiming simultaneously, "Blimey!" and "Bloody Hell!"

Sherlock pulled his hand away from his face, which was now coated with blood as it ran from his nose and over his lips and tried to blink back the dark spots that filled his vision.

"Wha' waz tha' fo'? I waz juz makn' n obzrvatn'!" Sherlock claimed in a nasal voice, glaring at Hermione.

"Alright! You two! Enough!" Helena snapped stopping the two from what was sure to be another fight. She turned towards the brown-haired girl, feeling irate. "What the hell was that for?"

Hermione kept glaring at the man, feeling satisfied and shrugged, "He deserved it."

"You need to calm down!" Helena ordered her friend, who crossed her arms across her chest and snapped, "Why is he even here?"

Helena blinked, befuddled by Hermione's unnecessary hatred for Sherlock before replying, "He's a friend and can stop anytime he wants."

"Friend?!" Hermione stated incredulously. "You don't even know him!"

"I do know him more than you think," Helena responded.

"You've met him once!" Hermione cried before retorting, "Is it like the times when you were obsessed with Malfoy? Is he another one of your charity cases? So, you're going to let him get away with anything because you pity him?"

Helena's eyes tightened, her hands clenched into fists before she whispered through gritted teeth, "Leave."

The girl threw a glare at her but thankfully didn't respond. She picked up her purse with an angry huff before storming out of the apartment, closing the door behind her with a loud bang.

Helena turned to see Ron standing in the middle of her living room, looking just as perplexed as she felt. Things hadn't been the same between the three of them ever since Sherlock, so eloquently mentioned Hermione's parents all those months ago. Hermione had tried to assure her that the man was mad and a liar and knowing that her friend was saying it to make her feel better, she had shrugged the incidence off.

She used to have a small one-story house near Hermione and Ron's house and the Burrow. She had no one and she needed someone's help to take care of Teddy. Andromeda had tried for the first year, but losing her daughter broke the headstrong woman she'd known. Helena knew she couldn't have raised Teddy without the help of Molly, but the woman had lost her son and had been grieving. So, without giving it any thought, she had turned towards her two friends. In hindsight, she should've known that the newly married couple needed their space, but she was 19 and taking care of a 2-year-old baby; obviously, she wasn't thinking clearly and neither of her friends said anything. Things had been perfectly fine until Hermione had a miscarriage 3 years ago. The fights started weeks after that. Bless Ron, her best friend never lost his patience and had always been there for his wife.

Helena had never really given it much thought that Hermione held her responsible for her parent's death, not until Sherlock had mentioned it. Ron would always support her and she knew it, but it was time to let them have their own life.

This had been Teddy's first year at Hogwarts, she'd missed him, but it had given her time to sought everything out. The first thing she'd done was let Kingsley know that now, she will only be working while her boy was at school. She still needed to work, but with her small inheritance, she had enough saved by now to give a secure life to her kid. Once it had been done, she'd started searching for a flat and now, here she was.

She blinked at Ron, who was looking at her regretfully as if it was somehow his fault and said, "I don't know what happened. I-I should talk to her. I'll be back to help once I'm done." He waved his hands towards the unopened boxes.

Helena shook her head, but before she could say a word, Sherlock took a step forward, coming to stand right beside her and spoke for the first time, "John and I will help."

Two heads snapped towards her as they suddenly remembered that they weren't alone.

Helena looked at the man; his voice was nasally and muffled by the scarf he had covered his nose with. She grimaced but smiled at Ron. "See… you don't have to worry. I have help. You go home."

Ron looked unconvinced but nodded before turning towards Sherlock. Pointing towards the T.V. and asked, "Do you know how to work a telly? I tried, but this thing isn't working. Can you fix it? It helps her in sleeping better."

Inwardly, Sherlock frowned but gave a single nod. "J'hn kn'wz h'w t' f'x 't."

Ron nodded before pointing towards his node and said sheepishly, "Sorry about that, mate. I can take you to a healer?"

Again, Sherlock frowned at the word 'healer' but waved the red-head off. "I h'd w'rse."

With a soft apology, Ron kissed Helena's cheek and was gone.

She rubbed her forehead tiredly before her gaze went to Sherlock, who was staring at her unblinkingly as if solving a puzzle, making her shift uncomfortably. By now, he had removed his scarf from his nose, which had turned red and she noticed the blood that had dribbled down his lips and onto his shirt. Shaking herself, she said to him, "Come on."

And without waiting for his reply, took his by the elbow and dragging him along.

Startled, he glared viciously at the back of her head, not that she noticed, but he didn't pull away either. She took him to her room and made him sit on the bed before taking his chin and turned his head up to check on his nose.

Sherlock almost jumped at the unexpected touch and narrowed his eyes, ready to snap but she stepped back before he could. He looked closely and observed that she didn't do it to spite him. The actions weren't deliberate. He knew for a fact that she was doing what she would've done for anyone, be it John or Rhett or anyone else. Still, he opened his mouth, but the words that tumbled out weren't insulting as he had originally planned. What came out instead was, "I'z brkn'."

"No shit, Sherlock." She snorted and started rummaging something in one of the boxes. Obviously, pain medicine or maybe a cloth? What else could it be? He didn't need medicine. He's had far worse, but he chose to stay quiet, taking the moment to look for anything 'unnatural'.

The back wall was painted red, while the others were white. There was a small fireplace made of old bricks. On the other side, there was a small window with a view of the backstreet. A door right beside it, possibly leading to the bathroom. There was a couch right beside the main door; an empty bookshelf on the far side of the wall; a small table with a drawer with an ancient-looking table lamp on top; the bedsheets were golden, but the cushions were red, the same colour as the wall; a red and yellow coloured scarf was lying on the armrest with an unfamiliar looking lion crest printed on it, part of the school uniform, sentimental value. This was the crest of the private boarding school in Scotland, maybe he could find something now that he knew what it looked like. He peered at the picture hanging on the wall, red-haired woman with same eyes as Helena's and a black-haired man, her parents. There was another picture of a relative younger Helena holding a boy of 5 or 6 and Sherlock frowned. The boy had green eyes and black hair, even their features were the same. She couldn't have a sibling, not one that was so young. She hadn't been married, so maybe a child out of wedlock or a cousin?

"Done with the inspection?" came a casual voice and he turned towards it.

"No." He replied, earning an eye-roll, while she set a wooden box down on the table and opened it.

There was nothing else to see in the room, so he almost rushed beside her and peered inside the box, to find numerous glass vials filled with differed coloured liquids. He moved his hand to pick one, anyone to see what it was, but she slapped it away.

He did not pout!

Finally, she pulled out a square vial which held a blue coloured liquid and with a decisive nod, gave it to him.

"Here, drink this."

His eyes narrowed, squinting from her to the bottle and he asked suspiciously, "Whz' ths'?"

"I'm not going to poison you. It's just a potion, tastes like horse's piss, but heals small injuries and alleviates the pain." She told him truthfully.

He took the vial tentatively, looking at her with a confused frown, hand covering his nose and stated, "U're n't a doctr'."

"I'm not."

With that, she crossed her arms across her chest, waiting for him to drink the potion patiently. She couldn't use her wand to heal him and even giving him the potion could easily put her in trouble, but she couldn't just watch him in pain. He was… had been important to her. It didn't matter if he chose to forget her; she didn't.

He must've seen something in her eyes because, without another question, he bought the vial to his lips and gulped it down. His eyes watered and he gagged at the taste. He was about to spat it out when he heard her snigger and she said, "Don't spit it out."

Tasting like 'horse's piss' was an understatement, but he swallowed it down despite the bile that was about to make an appearance on her new carpet. Within seconds, his nose felt as if it was burning and he yelped, but just as suddenly, his nose turned cold as if he'd applied ice on it. And just like that, the pain was gone. His mind reeled with possibilities as he raised his hand and touched his nose gingerly, which miraculously seemed mended.

His eyes widened and he leapt from the bed, rushing towards the bedroom door, behind which he knew would be a mirror. Closing the door with a loud bang, he stared at his reflection dumbfounded.

'It was healed!'

'How?'

'HOW?'

In a flurry of motion, he jumped right in front of her, standing at his full height, hoping to intimidate her and breathed, "How?"

"You know I can't tell you." She replied slowly.

He grabbed her by the arms and pulled her close, almost to the point that they were pressed against each other, ignoring her surprised yelp. He was aware of the effect he had on women and how stupid they tend to be when it comes to emotions, so he lowered his voice and spoke, "Tell me."

He felt, more than observed, the hitch in her breath because of the proximity as he stared into her green eyes, assured that he would surely get something out of her. What he wasn't expecting were her lightning-quick reflexes. Within seconds, he found himself pinned against the wall with his cheek pressed into the wall, while his arm was gripped tightly behind him. He knew she was dangerous, but he was stronger and should've been more resilient! He had been able to overpower John in their last 'match' and the man knew how to fight!

'She wasn't brash like most people which gave her an advantage over her opponent. He didn't try to free himself, knowing it would be useless, not that she was trying to harm him in any way. Not yet at least.', his mind supplied.

He had always hated people who tried to get in his personal space and was aware of how close the two were standing. It was his fault really, not that he would admit it out loud but he froze when she practically moulded herself against him. He was hyperaware of how every inch of her body was pressed against his and despite the number of clothes between them, he could feel the heat coming off her in waves. But he went stiff when she leaned even closer until he could feel all her curves against his back.

'Was it possible to get this close to someone? Technically, he knew it was… he was aware of the physical aspects of sharing your body with another and its mechanics, but this, right here wasn't sexual. Was it? She wasn't trying to seduce him. She was trying to send a message, but right now, Sherlock wasn't sure his brain was receiving it.'

Suddenly, all his thoughts came to a screeching halt when he felt her breath, hot and scented with mild alcohol. His breath hitched when he felt her lips ghosting over his ear; close, but not enough to touch as she whispered hoarsely, "You don't want to play games with me, Sherlock."

There was something in her voice… something he couldn't grasp that made him shiver and even before he could begin to gather his thoughts, she took a step back and the heat was gone. He whirled around and stared, for the first time regarding her as sharp and vigilant, not someone who could be fooled easily because of their base-urges. As he stared at her closely, Sherlock reluctantly acknowledged that he had made a mistake of severely underestimating her. She was self-resilient and could easily take him down. She had been trained in hand to hand combat and was most likely, one of the best this secret organisation had.

"Why do you do that?" She asked suddenly.

He frowned. "What?"

"Wire her up." She said and held her hand up when he was about to reply, shook her head before adding, "And no, I know you do it on purpose, so try something else."

He promptly snapped his mouth shut and again stared at her almost making her squirm, before finally stating, "Because she's easy."

"Easy?" she asked indignantly.

Sherlock replied nonchalantly, "Yes. She hadn't fully dealt with the trauma of her parents' death and the torture she suffered. Maybe something else happened in recent years which triggered it. She's suffering from the post-traumatic stress disorder. It's not severe, but it affects her when someone or something triggers old memories. Such people especially hate when someone points out their trigger points and lose any semblance of control for the time being. Of course, there are many ways to let these emotions out and hers is anger. Which makes her vulnerable and therefore the easiest one to provoke. She doesn't see it but she is insecure, maybe because she feels that her husband likes you more…"

Helena stared despairingly at the space the more he spoke, but this made her snap out of her reverie and she cried out, "That's preposterous! It's clear to anyone with eyes that Ron loves her!"

Ignoring her little outburst, Sherlock nodded. "True, but if I'm correct… which I am, she has faced bullying different than yours. She still feels inferior for some reason and she knows Robert…"

"Ronald."

"…cares about you just as much. He might not be in love with you, but he certainly loves you, maybe like a sister. Hermione is aware of the fact, but..." He looked confused, while he wrinkled his nose looking repulsed before shouting, "Emotions! They make a person foolish!"

She gaped at him, while he stared back with his stone-cold eyes, daring her to state otherwise. As he looked closer, observing her, Sherlock noticed the fleck of gold in her eyes which now seem prominent.

'How had he missed it before? Her eyes were a unique mix of the two, truly captivating, something he was sure he hadn't seen before. Her black hair matched his own – curly and seemingly unmanageable. She had pale skin, hourglass figure and lips the shape of cupid's bow.'

There was something charismatic about her, something he couldn't put his finger on and all of it fascinated him as nothing had before. He was sure it was because of the secrets she was hiding. He loved nothing more than a good mystery and unravelling the case of Helena Potter would be the best one so far.

They were brought out of their staring contest when someone cleared their throat and both their eyes snapped towards John, who was looking between them with confusion.

They raised their eyebrows in such a similar fashion, that John had to blink before shaking his head, looking embarrassed and said, "Uh… the door was open."

"How can I help you, Dr Watson?" She asked politely.

"John, please." He said, earning a nod.

"Oh, uh… I wanted to ask if you'd like to have food?" John babbled. "You've shifted here recently, so you might not have anything to eat. We can go out? For food! I mean we can go out for food… if you're hungry? Are you hungry?"

Sherlock looked at him like he was simply an idiot, while the girl's eyebrows had almost reached her hairline and John hung his head tiredly.

She smiled at him gratefully before mumbling, "Starved."

"I'll go get my scarf," Sherlock said with a decisive nod.

Startled, John's head snapped towards him and he asked through clenched teeth, "You-you're hungry?"

"I'm not working." He shrugged before rushing upstairs, oblivious to the fact that John's eyes turned mutinous and he glared daggers at his soon to be dead flatmate but smiled at the girl half-heartedly.

It was freezing and Helena was sure it was going to snow in a day or two. The harsh wind slapped on her face as soon as she stepped out of the house. Again, why was she out on a winter night on a day off, when she could've been sitting cosily in front of the fire? Ah… because she was an idiot and hadn't bought any groceries yet, that's why! True that she ended up eating out mostly, but she always kept food just in case of emergencies. Now that Teddy was at Hogwarts, she didn't need to cook thrice a day or keep her pantry stocked with snacks the kid liked until he returned, but she loved her tea if nothing else and for that, she needed to go to the grocery store, soon!

She shivered when another gust of wind hit her and cast a warming charm around herself silently. She would've cast the charm on the two men as well, but that would only make Sherlock more suspicious and determined to find out about her 'organisation'. She'd already filled her quota of being foolish for the month!

'Emotions!'

A voice ridiculously like Sherlock's shouted in her ear making her huff.

Apparently, the silence had been too much, so John spoke, "So, Helena. Sherlock told me you met while on a case?"

"You could say that." She said with a smile, but for some reason, John felt it was more bittersweet or wistful than anything else which made him frown.

He shook his head as they walked towards the restaurant and asked, "You're an officer who works in some special branch for the government?"

John stared confused when Sherlock perked up at the question like he did while solving a murder case. 'What exactly was he missing here?'

"You could say that. I do work with the British government." She replied smoothly before adding under her breath, "…sometimes."

For some reason, as soon as Helena entered Angelo's, she felt warm and cosy. There weren't many people at this hour and the environment was peaceful, but what threw her off was how much it reminded her of Gryffindor's common room, just a tad bit darker.

A man showed them to a table and Sherlock nodded. "Thank you, Billy."

Once kept their coats and scarfs aside before skimming through the menu. Helena glanced at John, who was doing the same, but not Sherlock. No, the man was watching her closely as if merely by looking, he would unveil all her secrets. Though knowing the man… he just might and she huffed.

She bit her lower lip and just to throw him off-guard, inquired innocently, "So, Sherlock… how long have you been playing the violin for?"

Sherlock's eyes sharpened and he asked, "How do you know about the violin?"

"The coat." She replied simply.

John looked between the two confused and repeated back dumbly, "The coat?"

"Rosin residue." She replied before adding with a smirk, "A tip? Rosin doesn't mix well with a black wardrobe."

John chose to keep quiet while Sherlock cursed under his breath before glowering at her and asked, "Where's the dog?"

"What dog?" John inquired at the same time she shot Sherlock a look full of amusement.

He scowled at her accusingly as if it was her fault that he got something wrong before stating, "It wasn't yours, was it?"

"No. I was taking care of him for a friend." She told him gleefully.

There was another muttered curse before he grounded-out, "What else was I wrong about?"

"You're the genius here, Sherlock. I'm sure you'll figure out."

She looked thoroughly entertained; John regarded the two carefully; Sherlock sulked, until an Italian man, who was undoubtedly the owner saw the detective.

"Sherlock!" the man exclaimed joyously and rushed to hug a nonplussed Sherlock before eying John and added with a wink, "…and your date."

"I'm not his date!" John clarified with an embarrassed smile to an utterly baffled Helena, who was eying the two curiously as if she'd missed something before shrugging and going back to her menu.

He turned towards her and asked just as animatedly, "And who is this lovely lady?"

She looked up from the menu with a small smile and greeted, "Hello. I'm…

"…Helena Potter!" the man finished, staring at her wide-eyed.

Not for the first time that day, John felt confused, while Sherlock's eyes narrowed in concentration as he stared at Angelo and Helena.

Her own eyes widened and she stared at the man confused. He was a muggle, and Helena was fairly positive she hadn't met him before and asked, "I'm sorry. Have we met before?"

"No, no. Unfortunately, not. I never thought I'd get to see you." The man said before claiming happily, "Angelo Zabini."

Flummoxed, she gawked before gasping out, "Zabini?"

"Yes, my grandpa was disowned… squib, you know how it works." He finished lamely, earning a sharp glare from Sherlock which was ignored in the favour of staring at her mystified before adding wistfully, "You look just like James, but you have Lily's eyes."

This man was a Zabini, a squib and he knew her parents. She stared aghast before asked curiously, "You knew my parents?"

"Sì." He beamed before stating proudly, "I opened this restaurant almost 40 years ago. Sirius and James were my first customers. Sneaked out of Hogwarts to come 'ere. Your grandmother found out of course. It didn't end well." He finished with a grimace.

Both Sherlock and John noticed her looking entranced, hanging onto Angelo's every word.

"I've been told that they were troublemakers." She told the man with a small grin of her own.

Angelo thought for a second before ushering her out of her seat to show her something.

John stared at Sherlock, who himself looked out of sort, and asked, "Do you know s…"

"No." Sherlock snapped irked at being left out and of course hurried after the two, leaving John alone with the menu, who sighed and followed his 'friend'.

Sherlock stopped beside Helena, who was staring intently at a picture on the wall. It was in the middle of many others, but his eyes snapped to it automatically. The two people in the picture were Helena's parents, but when his eyes landed on the third one, he breathed sharply. He knew the man… had seen his posters all over London almost two decades ago. He was a mass-murderer who had killed his friends, a couple and then thirteen other people before he was caught.

By the way, he was standing in between and holding Helena's parents, he was undoubtedly a close friend, but what surprised him the most was the fact that instead of looking at her parents, Helena was focused on the black-haired man, looking at his face with melancholy.

Helena must be 13 when Sirius Black escaped the prison, but how were these two connected? And what was a squib? There was no such word in his dictionary. How did Angelo know more than he did? It was certainly because of his grandfather. Hogwarts – it has to be the school which connected them all or the academy where people were trained. Their families were connected, but what kind of organisation worked like that? No, there was more. He hadn't missed how she'd said that she worked 'with' the government. Not 'for', but 'with'. Now, he needed to search about Zabini's because there had been nothing about one Helena Potter, and he had tried!

He heard a laugh and his eyes snapped towards the sound. It was the first time he had heard her smiling and he frowned at the thought before focusing back on whatever Angelo was saying.

"…mes nearly fainted, so Sirius, being the best friend that he was, took the ring and proposed to Lily himself. Ah, she was furious but clever. Very clever indeed. So, she took the ring and said, 'Yes, I'll marry you, Sirius'. Should've seen how fast James and Sirius turned white. James cursed Sirius before he proposed again. I took the picture just after that. It was a good day."

Helena willed the tears back and grinned at the man. "There's not much I know about them. Thank you for telling me." She whispered gratefully before hugging the man.

Angelo beamed back before speaking, "I read the book… Your parents would've been proud. Lily would've surely killed Dumbledore, though James and Sirus would've lit the old man's beard on fire."

She didn't reply, instead stared back at the picture on the wall longingly until Angelo stated enthusiastically, "Anything on the menu. Free. Absolutely anything you want! I'll make it myself!"

Once they were back on their table, no one spoke until John asked, "So… they're your parents?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the stupid question, feeling irked at how people couldn't see something even if it was glaringly obvious and snapped before Helena could reply, "Of course, they were her parents, John! Didn't you see?"

That earned him a glare from his flatmate which he chose to ignore and turned towards Helena before demanding, "Angelo knows about your secret. How?"

"Secret? What secret?" John asked.

Helena shrugged, not bothering to respond, knowing fairly well that it would only dig her into a deeper hole; also, because she was focused on the street-lights on the opposite side of the roads, which were flickering. No one paid attention, not even Sherlock until he followed her gaze and saw a man staring right at them.

Helena groaned loudly, startling the two and said, "I'm sorry, but I have to leave. Something came up. I'll see you at home."

Turning towards Angelo, who was putting the plates down himself, she apologised. Sherlock noticed how the man's face fell before his gaze too landed on the man standing outside and they widened.

"Is that Mi…" he asked, clearly awed.

"Yes." Helena cut him off before he could complete his sentence making Sherlock scowl.

For once, John too was looking at the two apprehensively.

"Of course, you must be busy. But you have to come whenever you get the time!"

Standing up, she promised the man to be back and strolled out.

"Who is that?" He asked Angelo pointedly, who made a face and shrugged before rushing back in the kitchen.

Sherlock stared after him coldly before turning towards 'the woman' unblinkingly as she met the man and they talked for a couple of seconds. It all seemed normal, until a black car passed from the street, blocking his view for a moment. What left him gobsmacked was the two were gone as soon as the car passed. He stood up abruptly and rushed out to where they had been standing, ignoring John, who was running behind him. He looked around, going as far as rushing into the streets nearby, but there was no sign of Helena or the man.

'There had been no other cars, so where could they go within the blink of an eye?'

His mind was racing but he couldn't figure out what had happened?

John skidded to a halt beside him, panting as he did so and asked, "What – the bloody – hell – Sherlock?"

"Where… where… where did she go? Both of them? And who was the man?" Sherlock mumbled, looking all around.

"Sherlock!" John snapped. "What's going on?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and was thinking back to what he had seen.

The man had been standing right under the streetlight – tall, black, broad-shoulders, bald, wore a single gold hoop in the left ear, purple clothes with the same coloured hat. The clock was similar to the brown one Helena and her team wore; vigilant; a stance that matched a soldier's just like her and the rest of them; important enough for Helena to leave without food despite her previous comment that she was 'starved'; Angelo knew of him, but his awe stated that they hadn't met, also that the man was someone big. Head of the organisation? The most important thing though - it didn't seem like anyone noticed him before they disappeared.

His phone beeped and he pulled his phone out before reading the message.

'Stay out from the matters that do not concern you.'

MH

Now that his curiosity was piqued even further, he obviously ignored it.

"Come on! We're going home!" He told John before hurrying down the street.

The man stared at her silently making her squirm in her seat.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Miss Potter." He said before continuing, "You must know by now how… inquisitive the young man is? He's closer to figuring things out than you might think."

She winced because yes, she was aware, but wisely chose to stay quiet.

He stared at her and added, "I should let you know that the older Holmes brother has requested us to schedule a meeting with you… without informing the younger one."

This had her gaping and exclaimed, "Mycroft?"

The Minister arched an eyebrow. "And how do you know him? As to our knowledge, Sherlock hasn't shared the information with you yet."

She avoided his gaze before mumbling, "It's not important."

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, regarding her carefully before stating, "Mycroft Holmes has a unique position in the British government. Other than the Prime Minister, he's the one who deals with threats that muggles face from our world."

"Oh." Shocked, she whispered in a small voice.

"We don't need an unnecessary dispute with someone of his stature, but I hope you remember that Sherlock Holmes is a muggle and not an exception to our rules." He warned.

Her face fell and she glared at her hands in her lap hatefully. Sherlock might be an arse sometimes, but he was… or had been her friend. He had an exceptional mind and she won't let anyone destroy it because of some stupidity. She knew how playing with memories affected wizards… and she shied away from the idea what it would do to someone like Sherlock.

"Which is why Mr Holmes wants to speak to you directly." He told her before adding, "Now, I don't want you to think you're entitled to special treatment just because of your role in the war. As long as the two of you keep it under wraps, we won't have an issue."

Helena's eyes snapped towards Kingsley, who was looking at her strictly, but there was a softness in his eyes which he reserved for only a few people. They had fought side by side many times by now, even before he was the Minister. This is why she loved the man to bits. He was one of the best people she knew.

She couldn't help herself and was out of her seat, hugging the man within record time.

Sherlock was still fiddling with the door of the basement flat, trying to open the lock without success with his lock pick. John was leaning against the wall, tiredly staring at the mad detective, who was intent to find out 'the secret', only if he could enter inside.

"Maybe you should ask her?" He suggested again, sounding bored.

"Don't be stupid, John!" was the snappish reply he received, though the man didn't stop his efforts of trying to break-in.

They both heard the sound of their main gate opening and John froze, glaring at Sherlock, who turned on his heels with his hands behind his back, looking the very picture of absolute innocence.

They heard the clicking of heels and Helena strolled over to them, looking cool and unperturbed by the fact that two men were trying to break in her flat. Stopping in front of them, she crossed her arms across her chest, looked at John and drawled, "I thought at least you'd know how to respect a woman's privacy."

The man's face went red and he blurted, "I tried to stop him!"

Sherlock scowled at him but turned towards Helena.

"We're friends!" He said as if it explained everything. "Friends can visit each other whenever they want. You said it yourself."

"I should've known it would come to bite me in the ass." She snipped back without heat.

He threw her a dark look, which she ignored and asked politely, "Would you like to come in?"

"No." He replied stonily.

She gave him a knowing look and said, "Is that why you're still fiddling with the lock?"

Surprise filtered across his features while John hung his head.

"Do you want me to wait here while you search my flat for… whatever you're looking?" She asked sardonically.

"Yes!" Sherlock replied at the same time John mumbled, "No!"

The two glared at each other, having a silent conversation before John looked at her and said apologetically, "Sorry about that, but we're leaving."

With that, he dragged Sherlock upstairs, ignoring the man's outraged protests.

February 4th, 2010

Despite it being open, she still knocked on the door of 221B. Sherlock was glued to the screen of his laptop and no move to indicate that he'd even heard anything.

John, who was reading a paper, turned around from the chair in front of the fireplace and his eyes widened with surprise, but he stood up and said with an awkward smile. "Helena. Come on in."

"Oh, no! I just wanted to ask if you have some tea or coffee? I haven't had the time to buy groceries yet. I would've asked Mrs Hudson, but she isn't home." She told him just as awkwardly.

"Yes, of course. It should be here somewhere…" He mumbled before rushing off to the kitchen.

Sherlock still hadn't looked up from the computer, so she looked around the large sitting room with a fireplace and mantelpiece with several objects on it. There were two chairs near the fireplace, a table with a black couch and a desk filled with more stuff next to the window. It was a cosy place if a bit… messy.

Helena was still waiting when the main door opened and closed with a loud click. She could practically see Sherlock's ears being perked up, even though he didn't move an inch from his earlier position. She could hear the footsteps ascending before a man trudged upstairs.

He was wearing a black suit and was leaning on an umbrella, which she could bet her ass on, held some kind of weapon. His loafers were pristine and not a fleck of dust on his clothing. Pretty suave and sophisticated, not someone who would travel by tube or a cab. The play of subtle expressions on his lips and the grace with which he held himself reminded her of Lucius Malfoy.

Just perfect…

His eyes which were peculiarly light, watery grey as he stared at her introspectively; the face though different, held the sharpness that was remarkably alike with the man ignoring them and her eyes widened when she realised who this was! Another person she thought she'd never see again.

Helena hid behind Sherlock, clutching his sweater in her little fist while peering up at the tallboy. Her friend had assured her that this was his brother Mike and he was nice, but she wasn't as confident. She was scared that he'd force her to leave or ask Sherlock never to talk to a 'freak' like her again.

"And who is this?" Mike asked.

Sherlock beamed proudly and stated, "She's my friend."

Mike's eyes zoomed in on her and he rubbed his chin thoughtfully before asking, "And how exactly did she find her way here?"

She shared a wide-eyed glance with Sherlock.

Helena blinked back the memory which now seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Mycroft." John acknowledged him at the same time Sherlock sang condescendingly, "You're getting rusty."

Mycroft rolled his eyes but drawled dryly, "I'm not here for you, dear brother."

This shocked Sherlock and his head snapped towards his brother so fast that Helena was surprised he didn't get whiplash. He squinted at Mycroft before looking at her and slowly, his lips formed into a devious smile and he said, "You couldn't abduct her, could you? It's out of your control."

"I hardly call it abducting." Mycroft defended.

"You did kidnap me… kind of." John piped before giving her a sympathetic look and said in a placating manner, "They've got this childish – rivalry thing going on. You get used to it."

Mycroft ignored him and nodded at her. "Miss Potter, I presume?" He asked politely, but there was something in his eyes that gave him away. Gave away the fact that he did recognise her.

The teenager she remembered had been good-looking and had hair just like Sherlock's. This… man seemed unrecognizable. Maybe it was because of the shock of realising that how he's grown, she blurted without thought. "Sherlock's brother Mycroft? You're old."

Mycroft's lips thinned, John blinked, but Sherlock burst out laughing.

Her own eyes widened and she tried to assure the man hastily, "Sorry! I didn't mean that!"

"Yes, you did," Sherlock said through his fit of giggles.

She glared at him before correcting, "Okay. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

The smile Mycroft gave her was belittling as he said, "I can see why you would like my brother's company."

Sherlock stopped laughing and frowned at that, but John had other issues. He cleared his throat and asked, "Uh… how do you know he's Sherlock's brother?"

She gestured towards them and said, "It's obvious, isn't it? They look nearly identical."

"WE DO NOT!" The Holmes brothers screeched, clearly outraged at the suggestion.

Ignoring the two, she turned towards John and added with a conspiratorial smile, "See? And look at them – how they hold themselves, the way they're looking down at 'the idiots', the disdain and the desire to kill right now? It's all very similar."

"Huh…" John observed the brothers before mumbling, "I never saw it before."

"It's the hair." She whispered loud enough for all to hear before taking the tea box John had been holding and thanked him before adding, "Now, I'm sure you'll have much more important matters to discuss. I'll take my leave."

With that, she was gone, leaving two bemused and irate brothers behind.

February 7th, 2010

Remembering that the boy she had known had a sweet tooth for freshly baked goods, she decided to bake some as a peace offering. She had gone to the grocery store and bought her monthly ration and now, here she was, knocking on the door of 221B, despite it being open again.

There was a loud shout of, "JOHN!" which almost made her jump.

"For God's sake, Sherlock!" It was John as he rushed towards the door, cursing his flatmate under his breath.

She tilted her head, noticing that the kitchen was connected to the sitting room, holding a wooden dining table, which was also covered with various scientific instruments which she couldn't name even if her life depended on it. There was another door, leading to a hallway.

And then there was the man himself, wearing a silk nightgown on top of a suit, no less, staring at something from the microscope. He ignored her existence like he'd done since she left him and Mycroft the other day.

So, she asked John, "Is he still pouting?"

"I do not pout!" Sherlock hissed loudly, making her smile involuntarily.

"Oh, here." She didn't bother replying and gave the plate to John, who took it with an appreciative smile. The man gobbled down the first one and the second, making her wonder if he was hungry, so she asked, "Would you like some tea?"

It wasn't John who replied, but Sherlock. He didn't look up from his work, but ordered, "Coffee! Black! Two sugars, please."

John looked uncomfortable as he shifted on his red sofa, while she narrowed her eyes. Deliberately, she perched on the black chair in front of John's and called, "Sherlock, be a dear and make some for me too please."

Now, the man's head snapped towards her with a look that shouted, 'how dare she!'

He all but leapt from his chair, jumping right in front of her and snapped through gritted teeth, "You're in my chair."

She raised a challenging eyebrow and just to spite him, leaned back, almost melting into the chair comfortably.

He stared down at her stonily before turning towards John, most likely to complain but stopped short when his eyes landed on the plate. Snatching the plate from the man's hand, earning a huff, he rushed back and sniffed the baked goods, reminding her of a dog. Once satisfied, he looked between John and Helena and stated, "These aren't baked by Mrs Hudson."

"Yes. I made them." She told him, making him squint at her.

He didn't say anything, but he took the plate back to his work table and away from John's hands which were about to snatch more cookies.

There was silence, apart from the occasional mumblings from Sherlock, which they both ignored while she peered closely for sometime before saying, "It's a real skull."

"Friend of mine. When I say, friend..." Sherlock looked up and stated proudly as if introducing someone to his child.

"Ah. What's his name?" She asked mockingly, "It's a he, right?"

"Of course, it's a he!" Sherlock snapped before blinking at her and mumbled petulantly, "I forgot to name him."

She had to bite her lip to keep herself from laughing, but replied seriously, "Oh… what about Captain Jack?"

John snickered and hid his face behind his paper when Sherlock threw him a glare. Even though he didn't speak to her for the rest of the day, the plate was empty by the time she left.

EN: This series will have 5 parts in total. I tried to keep Sherlock's character the same as the one played by Benedict Cumberbatch, after all, he's the inspiration behind this series, but a presence of a woman in his life is bound to change him. I've also changed some of its plot accordingly, but mostly the stories will be the same.

Mycroft and Helena will have 'a talk' soon.

In case you like this, review and let me know. I'll work on the next chapter after I'm done with Thor's chapter 4 and the last chapter of The Witch's Touch.

Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.

September 24th, 2020