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.

It is obvious that many things have been changed according to 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.

I do not have a beta, so I would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance. Please do not copy this story anywhere.

February 2010

Sherlock was standing by the window, looking down the street dejectedly. It had been days since his last case and he was still nowhere near figuring out the secret of one Helena Potter.

Mycroft knew!

Even Angelo knew!

He was the only one kept in the dark! He had searched everything he could, but hadn't found a single thing about anyone but the Grangers! They were dentists and had been killed in an 'accident' in Australia around 12 years ago. There was no mention of Hermione Granger or any child that might've had. Surprisingly, he couldn't even find much about Zabini's or Ross. There was nothing about the Weasley's. It was as if these people didn't exist! Mycroft was being useless as usual!

He couldn't help but feel annoyed as he saw how peaceful and calm everything was!

How tediously boring!

His ears perked up when he heard the clicking of heels and the main door in the foyer opened before it was closed softly. Normally, while going to the office, she preferred walking. He had tried following her, but the results had been the same. She always managed to disappear somehow before he or his homeless network could catch her. But today, Helena stopped in front of the house and was looking around for a cab. Within seconds he rushed after her, grabbing his scarf on the way. By the time she hailed a cab and gave the cabbie the address, Sherlock had jumped in, nearly pushing her further in the back seat in his hurry, much to her shock.

"Where are we going?" he asked as soon as the door was shut.

She asked incredulously, "We?"

"Yes. You're dressed in your usual work attire, but you do not have your coat like you wear when you go to your workplace. You've tied your hair in a braid and not a bun which you prefer while doing paperwork. You do have your 'weapon' hidden in the right sleeve. It's visibly obvious that even though you're working, you're most possibly going to investigate a case." He uttered casually.

"I'm still working." She told him.

"Dull!"

She glared at him before asking, "I thought you weren't talking to me?"

"Who gave you such a foolish idea?" he snapped childishly.

Rolling her eyes, she looked at him and blinked at how utterly ridiculously the man was dressed. A grey shirt with brown coloured pyjama pants and a silk dressing gown on top. Looking down, she noticed that he was wearing socks with a pair of white bathroom slippers.

She couldn't hold herself and said, "By the way, you look truly dashing."

That earned her a scowl, but he ignored it and asked eagerly, "So, what are we investigating?"

"There's been a murder. I'm just going to see if it falls under our jurisdiction." She responded reluctantly.

His eyes sharpened at the words 'our jurisdiction' and he ordered, "Tell me more."

"I haven't been informed much." She shrugged.

"BORING!" he sang loudly, starting the driver, who glared at him through the rear-view mirror.

She jumped at the chance and nodded. "Yes. It's very boring. Why don't you go back? I'll tell you all about it once I'm done."

He squinted at her suspiciously before stating, "We're nearly there and I want to see what's special about it."

She huffed and turned towards the window. They didn't speak for the rest of the ride.

St. Barts

"Agent Potter. I'm here to investigate the animal attacks." She informed the receptionist, who didn't look up from the computer screen and said after a couple of seconds, "Please wait. Doctor Black will be with you shortly."

That made her blink and she inquired, "I'm sorry. Did you just say, Doctor Black?"

"Yes." Was the reply she received.

They waited for a couple of minutes before someone cleared their throat. Helena's eyes went wide with shock as she gawked at Doctor Black.

"Malfoy?!"

"Potter."

"You're Doctor Black?!" she gaped as if the idea in itself was ridiculous.

Despite being uncomfortable, he nodded. "I took my mother's maiden name."

Sherlock stayed where he was and noticed the exchange curiously. Even though they never interacted, he had seen Doctor Black many times during his visit to Barts.

Now, he looked for everything that he had previously missed, like how he was connected to the same organisations as Helena. The man was wearing scrubs, but it was easy to tell the way he held himself that he belonged from an aristocratic background. His blonde hair was neatly trimmed and his clothes were specially made for him, most likely from somewhere in France. Married for nearly 3 years, recently had a son. He played the same game as Helena or Roger, had been in the same war, but there was something different about him. Studied medicine at Cambridge. Trying to hide that he is uncomfortable at seeing Helena. Had the same weapon hidden in the right side of his coat pocket. Left the organisation after the war, possibly because he and his entire family had been an essential part of the war, but not on the winning side. Hadn't been the part of the organisation for a long time now, maybe 7 years? That only led to one conclusion – went to Hogwarts like the others. Not friends. Changed his name because of fear of recognition? From what he'd deduced so far, Sherlock was fairly certain that even 'Malfoy' was connected to Sirius Black somehow. Took his mother's maiden name, so his mother and Sirius Black were possibly siblings.

"You work here?" she asked aghast.

"Yes."

Shell-shocked, she inquired, "You're the healer Kingsley told me about?"

"Yes."

Looking utterly thunderstruck, she asked, "You studied in a muggle university?!"

Sherlock frowned at yet another word he hadn't read before, but Dr Black gave a wane smile and replied, "Yes. It was… quite an enlightening experience."

She pointed around her and asked, "Why… why here?"

The man looked down at his shoes and answered weakly, "It's not prejudiced."

"Oh."

The silence was awkward as the two looked anywhere but at each other, but Sherlock stayed quiet. This was quite informative and he wasn't going to interrupt.

"I believe you're here for the reports on the women who were murdered. If you'd follow me?" Malfoy said formally and led them towards the morgue.

After a couple of seconds, she came out of her shocked state and decided to introduce the two. "Oh, this is Sherlock…"

Malfoy nodded. "Mr Holmes. He's quite… famous."

In the elevator, she asked awkwardly, "So, how have you been? It's been a long time since..."

"9 years, since you didn't come back for N.E.W.T.s," Malfoy replied. "I've been good."

"And Narcissa?" she inquired and Sherlock felt like screaming! The absurd small talk wasn't why he was here!

"Mother is doing well. She moved back from France before Scorpius's birth." Malfoy finally smiled a bit as he mentioned his son.

Her nose wrinkled at the name. "Scorpius?"

"It's a perfectly respectable name for a Malfoy." He replied strenuously before muttering under his breath, "Much better than Weasel."

Realising he had insulted her friend, he added hastily, "Uh… sorry."

She waved him off before finally, finally asking, much to Sherlock's relief, "How many victims?"

"Five."

Her head snapped towards Malfoy and she yelled, "FIVE?!"

Both Malfoy and Sherlock flinched at how loudly she said it, but she didn't care and marched towards the morgue and pushed the door open.

As she stared at the victims, she couldn't help the bile that rose in her throat. She asked tightly, "Do we have anything on the attacker?"

"No." He looked right into her eyes and said pointedly, "But the pattern is similar and all of them were found right before the full moon. These have been classified as animal attacks."

Helena swallowed, dreading what she already knew but still asked, "Were they…"

"Raped. Yes. All of them."

Sherlock peered closer to the bodies and his brows knitted together with surprise. They seemed like animal attacks and the faces were almost unrecognizable. There were claw-like marks all over their bodies, the rest of the bodies were badly scarred and chunks of pieces were missing from their bodies, especially their throats. 'Animal teeth', he noticed. And there were obvious signs that all of them were raped, but what confused him was the timing. Did the rapist throw the girls to an animal after he was done?

Helena on the other hand, glared mutinously with her hands clenched on her sides, looking ready to murder someone. Gritting her teeth, she asked, "How many?"

"3, most likely."

"A pack." She mumbled under her breath before asking sharply, "And the victims?"

He shook his head and answered reproachfully, "Not in our records, but their families have been contacted by the local police."

She was looking at their files, when Sherlock asked suddenly, "Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."

Startled, she looked at him wide-eyed before exchanging a panicked look with Malfoy, and Sherlock raised his brow. Deliberately, he held his hand up for the phone, feeling too smug when there was a sigh from Dr Black and he pulled out a phone from his pocket and said, "Here. Use mine."

Glaring, he replied, "Thank you."

Without looking, he fired a text to John, but his only focus was on the two people standing beside him.

An organisation which operates without phones? She did not have a phone, neither a landline. How do people contact her then? He also hadn't missed the look Malfoy had sent her. They knew who the killer was. Once again, he was the only one out of the loop and he felt like screaming.

Later, on their way back, he asked deliberately, "A friend?"

"Arch Nemesis." Was the answer and involuntarily, his lips twitched.

Mycroft's Office

She entered his office through the fireplace in a haze of green. For his part, he remained composed and collected without giving any reaction. She nodded at him before taking a seat in front of his desk. Setting his face in the usual polite mask, he straightened up while pretending her presence did not affect him by any means.

"Helena Euphemia Potter. I never imagined I would be seeing you again." He said casually.

She folded her hands together and stated in a blasé manner, "It's good to see your memory isn't as abysmal as your brother's, Mike."

Mycroft's lips thinned at the nickname.

"Kingsley said you wanted to see me? What could be so urgent?" she asked innocently.

The previous smile was gone as he asked seriously, "I see you haven't told him about… everything."

"I don't think it's consequential anymore." She told him offhandedly.

Mycroft stared at her, knowing when someone was lying and right now, she was lying through her teeth. He had read her file and knew for a fact that she was extremely sentimental. The sole reason she had given her life for the ones she cared in the past.

'Stupidly courageous.'

"Why?" he asked instead.

She arched an eyebrow at that. "That's what you wanted, isn't it? This is why you paid a visit the other day? It is why you've been nagging Kingsley to see me."

"After you – left, Sherlock became," he stopped to look for the right word before adding, "…withdrawn. He never actually had any friend. Well, you know he had always been 'different'. Not until John Watson. Though I wouldn't go as far as calling him Sherlock's… 'friend', but…"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Sherlock has always been… sensitive when it comes to you, which is why I assume he ended up locking your memories. I don't want him to…" Mycroft stopped, decided against saying the next words and said slowly, "I worry about him."

"The two of you used to be a bit more… friendly. What happened?" She knew it wasn't her place to ask, but it has been nagging her for days. What happened to the two brothers who adored each other?

Mycroft leaned back in his chair and eyed the girl silently because no matter how much he wanted to blame her for what happened to Sherlock, she truly wasn't responsible, was she? Her only fault had been meeting Sherlock all those years ago. Here she was again and he could already tell that it won't end well for either of the two. With a wan smile, he said, "Things change."

Helena stared. Even though the man hadn't said it out loud, it was glaringly obvious. He still cared for his brother and didn't want her anywhere near him. So, she asked, "You want me to move out?"

Mycroft shook his head before stating, "No. Sherlock is like a dog with a bone. Your moving out will do nothing but intrigue him further."

She threw her hands up and asked tiredly, "Then what will you have me do?"

Mycroft thought for a second, his eyes shined with something before he gave her his best fake smile.

22IB

Sherlock was lying on his couch with his hands folded under his chin when she entered his flat. She didn't knock like she always did and that made him frown, but he stayed quiet. 'Something was different this time.'

Helena went straight to the window and cast a non-verbal spell to dispel the cameras or microphones around before stating flippantly, "Your brother asked me to spy on you."

Rolling his eyes at Mycroft, he asked, "What did you say?"

"Yes, of course!" she stated as if it should have been obvious.

This had him turning his head towards her and he arched a brow. "In exchange for what?"

"A favour." She shrugged.

He thought for a moment before sitting up. Narrowing his eyes, he asked suspiciously, "Why are you telling me this?"

"You're the one I'll be 'spying' on. You should be aware of what's happening." With that, she winked at him and went back to her flat without giving him time to reply.

A slow smile crept on Sherlock's face as he jumped and went to the kitchen to check on his experiment.

March 2010

Sherlock barged in 221C as if he owned it. He scowled when he saw the 'new phone' lying on the table and its owner nowhere in sight.

'What use was it when she didn't even keep it with her?' He thought angrily.

Knowing where she might be, he rushed towards the backyard, only to be stopped short when his eyes fell on the portrait covering the wall. He remembered seeing it before – a stag's head resting on top of the doe as they slept along with the werewolf and a black dog had been playing right on top of the wolf. In the background was a castle, not the one he knew about.

He had seen it in passing, but now, Sherlock leaned forward and squinted at the picture suspiciously. The dog wasn't playing anymore but was staring right back at him. He moved his fingers and poked the canvas with his fingers, but it was just that – a canvas.

'Had she changed the painting? But how could it be possible? He knew that he wouldn't be getting anything out of her. He would have to wait for her to leave and then inspect the painting.'

Nodding to himself, he walked towards her backyard, but not before casting another glance at the painting.

And there she was, reading the newspaper like she had no care in the world. When she didn't notice him, he scowled and opened his mouth to announce his arrival, but changed his mind when he saw the name of the newspaper. The Daily Prophet. 'Never heard of it before'. As he peeked closer, he noticed the headlines:

WANTED

Fenrir Greyback.

And there was the picture of a man with black hair covering most of his face and neck, weird grey eyes – definitely lenses, crooked yellow teeth. What piqued his interest was that the man in the picture was growling. He couldn't read the words underneath, so he rushed forward before jumping on the bench and practically moulded himself next to her.

Startled by his sudden appearance, her hand clenched into fists until she saw who it was and gasped, "Sherlock!"

Snatching the paper from her hand, he flipped it open and frowned when he found it to be empty. There was absolutely nothing, not even the picture he had seen seconds ago!

"Where did it go?" he demanded.

"What the hell are you doing?" She snapped back.

"The picture of the man! It was moving! Where did it go? This paper wasn't blank before! How did that happen?" His eyes narrowed and he waved the paper right in her face, making her push it before glaring at him.

Arching a brow, she picked her mug up and asked innocently, "Are you suggesting, that the picture and words somehow… vanished right in front of your eyes?"

Gritting his teeth, he glared at her like it would scare her in telling him all her secrets before he snatched the mug from her hand and rushed to the door.

"Oi!" she shouted.

He put the paper under his arm and took a sip from her mug, and made a face, but didn't look to see what was in the cup and stated, "This coffee tastes odd!"

With that, he rushed upstairs, taking the mug along and Helena rolled her eyes because seriously? She stayed quiet though, not bothering to inform him that it wasn't coffee, but hot chocolate.

A Week Later

Helena was nursing a cup of tea in Mrs Hudson's kitchen, while her landlady was preparing something for her shop when they heard yet another THUMP from upstairs.

Mrs Hudson sighed and shook her head before looking at her and asked, "Helena dear, could you please check on Sherlock? I've been hearing things from his flat, but I'm a little busy."

She looked up and saw her hands covered in dough. The woman looked worried, so she assured, "I'm sure it's nothing, Mrs Hudson."

"I hope so. I don't know how John deals with the mess Sherlock keeps on making!" The lady said in a motherly tone, reminding her too much of Molly.

She couldn't help herself and gave a nod. After finishing the last of her tea, she thanked Mrs Hudson before rushing upstairs. The voices became louder as she took the final steps towards the flat, only to be stopped short when Sherlock stumbled into view before landing on the sofa. A man, wearing pastel coloured dress and a cloth covering every part of his face, but eyes, lunged towards Sherlock with a sabre, but he kicked the man away with his feet, got up, adjusted his suit and followed him to the kitchen.

Wide-eyed, she peeked in cautiously, just in time to see Sherlock knocking the man and rolling away from the table. Sherlock didn't look at her as she'd already jumped back. He dodged another blow before pointing towards her and shouted, "Look!"

Startled, the man looked at her and she did what any intelligent being would've done. She grimaced but waved at him. Sherlock didn't wait and punched the veiled man and knocked him out as he collapsed on Sherlock's black chair.

Sherlock looked into the mirror above the fireplace and brushed the creases out of his coat before nodding at her like it was a daily routine. Helena walked towards the man and checked him. His breath was steady, just passed out and she pulled the veil that covered his face down. Biting her lower lip to stop the grin that was threatening to break out, she schooled her features in a look which could only be described as crestfallen as she looked at Sherlock.

"What?" he asked, clearly confused.

"He was a friend. I asked him to contact you regarding a missing family heirloom! Why would you do that?!" she cried out rather dramatically.

She kept her eyes on his face as he looked between her and the man on the couch, turning rather flustered by the seconds.

She couldn't hold herself any longer and smiled impishly. "Just joking."

Realising, he had been fooled, he glared at her murderously before whirling around and stomping towards his kitchen.

Chuckling to herself, she looked around and said, "You'd want to get rid of him before John returns."

He stopped and clenched his eyes shut before snapping them open. Moving towards the man, he asked innocently, "At least you can clean this mess while I get rid him?"

She patted his arm and told him gleefully, "Nah, you'll manage."

With that, she was gone before he could say anything to manipulate her.

Once she was gone, Sherlock screamed, frustrated and punched the man again. For good measure, of course.

Van Coon's Apartment

Sherlock pulled a small black origami flower from Van Coon's mouth before dropping it carefully into a plastic bag. He heard a man talking and turned around to see Anderson and a new Sergeant.

He walked towards the man, offering his hand and introduced himself, "Ah, Sergeant . . . We haven't met."

The man in question put his hands on his hips and said with a mild glare, "Yeah, I know who you are; and I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with any of the evidence."

He lowered his hand and handed over the evidence bag to the officer before turning on his best stroppy look and demanded, "I've phoned Lestrade. Is he on his way?"

"He's busy. I'm in charge. And it's not Sergeant; it's Detective Inspector Dimmock." The man replied, surprising him and he shared a look with John before following the man into the living room.

Next Day

221B

She had heard the front gate closing and wanted to know if John got the job. She had to leave for work, but she had a couple of minutes to spare, so she hurried upstairs in time see John tossing over a pen to Sherlock, who caught it without looking away from a couple of photographs taped on the mirror above the fireplace with graffiti painted over a man's face. She was mildly impressed by his reflexes.

'He would've made a brilliant seeker.' She thought ideally.

Sherlock was sitting on a chair, staring at it unblinkingly with his hands folded under his chin. John looked at her and nodded.

"How was it?" she asked.

There was no inclination that Sherlock heard her, but John said with a goofy smile, "Great. She's great."

Helena blinked, while Sherlock turned towards him and asked, "Who?"

"The job," John replied.

Sherlock arched his brows and asked incredulously, "She?!"

John thought for a second before saying, "It."

Sherlock looked at him suspiciously before tipped his head towards the laptop lying beside him and said, "Yeah, have a look."

"Hmmm?" John walked over to the table and read aloud, "The intruder who can walk through walls."

Sherlock entwined his fingers together and replied, "It happened last night. Journalist shot dead in his flat. Doors locked; windows bolted from the inside. Exactly the same as Van Coon."

John turned to look at Sherlock and asked, "God! You think…?"

"He's killed another one."

Sherlock stated before he turned to look at her as if she was the murderer. She scowled. 'It was good to see she wasn't forgotten.' She thought sarcastically. He squinted at her before shaking his head in negative as if concluding something.

"Can I have a look?" she asked, surprising the two.

Sherlock waved a hand, gesturing towards his laptop and said snidely, "By all means!"

Rolling her eyes, she went towards it and looked down at the newspaper article displayed on the screen.

The headline was, "Ghostly killer leaves a mystery for police."

There was a photograph of the bald man, and the article next to it read: 'An intruder who can walk through walls murdered a man in his London apartment last night. Brian Lukis, 41, a freelance journalist from Earl's Court was found shot in his fourth-floor flat but all his doors and windows were locked and there were no apparent signs of a break-in. A police spokesman said they are still uncertain how the assailant broke in.'

"Hmm…" She mumbled before straightening up and asked, "How were these two connected?"

"That would be telling, wouldn't it?" Sherlock snarked.

She ignored him and questioned, "The first man who died… you found an origami near his body? And you said he returned from China?"

"Yes?" John mumbled.

She nodded to herself and stated, "I think your murderer might be Chinese."

At this, Sherlock looked at her sharply and asked, "How can you tell?"

"Figure out how this journalist was connected to the first victim… or China." She mused before thinking for a moment and adding, "You do realise that they're famous for martial arts, aren't you?"

Sherlock's eyes widened and he straightened up. Meanwhile, John asked confused, "Yes?"

"Easy. Think out of the box." She shrugged. "You just have to search for a man who can climb up the walls."

Sherlock stared at her, feeling lost for words before stating, "You are... good."

This surprised John as he gawked at his flatmate; Sherlock's ears turned red, realizing that the words had tumbled out without his permission.

"And don't you forget it." She told him mirthfully. "Now, I'm getting late for work. See you later."

But before she left, she ruffled his hair and ducked swiftly when he tried to hit her hand away. John heard her laughing as she rushed downstairs and then stared at Sherlock, who was glowering.

Those cold grey eyes snapped towards him and he growled, "What!?"

John shook his head before muttering, "Nothing. Not a damn thing."

221B

Later that Night

Helena was lounging on Sherlock's couch after he had 'insisted', more like dragged her upstairs as soon as she had entered the building.

'She shouldn't have opened her big mouth this morning. At least, she would've had her tea! And Sherlock would've solved the case either way.'

She willed her eyes to stay open as she tried to focus on the numerous photographs that were stuck on and around the mirror. The numerical value of each symbol had been written against it. Sherlock was standing in front of them, looking at the pictures closely and mumbling something too fast for her to understand in her sleep-deprived state; also unaware of the fact that even John had fallen asleep on the study table, with his head propped on his hand.

"Always in pairs, look," Sherlock said loudly.

Startled, John blinked before turning his head and squinting at the man behind him.

"Numbers… come with partners."

John gazed at her blankly and mumbled, "God, I need to sleep."

"Why did he paint it so near the tracks?" Sherlock asked, more to himself.

"No idea," John answered tiredly.

"Thousands of people pass by there every day," Sherlock mumbled again.

John closed his eyes and whispered, "Just twenty minutes…"

Shaking her head, she stood up from the couch and moved to stand beside Sherlock. This was going nowhere and she needed tea to work her brain! Or to stay awake for that matter! One more minute on the sofa and she would be gone.

"How many people do you think would be able to understand that?" she pointed at the pictures and added, "It's obviously meant for someone they know… someone they work with."

He stared at her through the gaze that made her feel like she was under inspection. She wasn't smart, but she was the head Auror and had been solving crimes for more than 10 years now, 7 more if she counted every school year.

"Of course." Keeping his eyes on hers, Sherlock whispered before looked back at a photo and smiled triumphantly. "Of course! He wants information. He's trying to communicate with his people in the underworld. Whatever was stolen, he wants it back." He ran his finger over the symbols trying to search for the message and added, "Somewhere here in the code."

Suddenly, he pulled three pictures off the wall and walks towards the door. "We can't crack this without Soo Lin Yao."

"Oh, good." John said, exchanging a glance with Helena, who cleared her throat rather loudly, making Sherlock turn and said, "Why don't you go and talk to Soo Lin Yao? I'll be in my flat if you need me."

Sherlock looked at her like she was a mental case in need of help before he raised his chin and snapped, "Don't be silly! You're coming along."

Helena opened her mouth to argue but her eyes went to the red marks on his neck. Frowning, she walked towards him and took his chin between her fingers. She must've startled him because his whole body jerked as if electrocuted and he squinted at her but didn't push her or her hand away, for which she was grateful.

"What are you doing?" he asked gobsmacked.

Instead of replying, she turned his head from one side to the other before asked horrified, "Did someone try to strangle you?!"

John, who had been staring shell-shocked at the display, gasped, "What?! When?"

He glared at her with an unfathomable expression, making her arch a brow questioningly, so he told her petulantly, "At Soo Lin Yao's flat. They were trying to send a message."

With a huff, she took a step back and mumbled to herself, "You're prone to more danger than I am."

Sherlock opened his mouth, possibly to ask something but changed his mind and said instead, "Come on!"

"At least let me have a cuppa!" she nearly whined as he took his scarf and hurried downstairs.

He didn't bother replying, at which John gave her an apologetic look before the two followed the man.

Museum

Sherlock was sure Soo Lin Yao would be here, so the three of them waited for the museum to close before entering through the duct. Helena wasn't sure what she was doing here, sneaking in like a thief. She had to wake up for work in the morning! She was almost 30, for Merlin's sake! Not a teenager like she was feeling right now! She swallowed the whine back and followed Sherlock, making sure her wand was close to her.

Obviously, the man had been right. Soo Lin Yao was in a dark restoration room, pouring tea into the teapot on the desk in front of her, when Sherlock decided to step beside her and say, "Fancy a biscuit with that?"

She gasped horrified and whirled towards the voice, dropping the teapot she had been holding. Again, to Helena's surprise, Sherlock reacted instantly. He bent his knees with quick reflexes and caught it before it could hit the floor. He looked at her and said slowly, "Centuries-old. Don't want to break that."

Standing up, he handed the teapot back to her with one hand, while flicked the switch on the desk with the other, turning on the light.

"Hello." He said with a slight smile.

Her eyes found Helena and John standing behind him and she sighed. The three of them took seats on opposite sides of the table before she spoke, "You saw the cipher. Then you know he is coming for me."

"You've been clever to avoid him so far." Sherlock said, but she kept her eyes on the table and said, "I had to finish . . . to finish this work. It's only a matter of time. I know he will find me."

Helena frowned before asking, "Who is he? Have you met him before?"

Soo Lin Yao's eyes flicked towards Helena and she nodded. "When I was a girl, we met in China. I recognize his… signature."

"The cipher?" Sherlock asked.

"Only he would do this. Zhi Zhu." She replied.

Helena stared confused, while John questioned, "Zhi Zhu?"

"The Spider." Sherlock translated, confusing Helena even further, but before she could ask, Soo Lin Yao brought her knee up, unlaced the shoe of her right feet and took it off. On the underside of her heel was a black tattoo of a lotus flower inside a circle.

"You know this mark?" Sherlock nodded before answering, "Yes. It's the mark of a Tong."

"Huh?" Lost, Helena looked at John, who seemed just as lost.

Sherlock looked at her and replied easily, "Ancient crime syndicate, based in China."

"Every foot soldier bears the mark. Everyone who hauls for them." Soo Lin Yao spoke.

"Hauls?" John asked, making her look him and his eyes widened. "Y-you mean you were a smuggler?"

Soo Lin Yao lowered her gaze, put her shoe back on and said, "I was fifteen. My parents were dead. I had no livelihood; no way of surviving day-to-day, expect to work for the bosses."

"Who are they?" Sherlock asked.

"They are called the Black Lotus. By the time I was 16, I was taking thousands of pounds worth of drugs across the border into Hong Kong." She said, eyes glassy, but continued, "I managed to leave that life behind me. I came to England." She said with a small smile, "They gave me a job, here. Everything was good. New life."

"And he came looking for you," Sherlock stated.

"Yes." She nodded before continuing tearfully, "I hoped, after five years, maybe they would have forgotten me. But they never really let you leave. A small community like ours… they are never very far away." Wiping tears from her face, she added, "He came to my flat. He asked me to help him to track down something that was stolen."

"And you've no idea what it was," John asked.

She shook her head. "I refused to help."

It was Helena who leaned forward and stated, "So you knew him well when you were living back in China."

"Oh, yes." She nodded before looking up and said, "He's my brother. Two orphans. We had no choice. We could work for the Black Lotus, or starve on the streets, like beggars. My brother has become their puppet, in the power of the one the call Shan. The Black Lotus general. I turned my brother away. He said I had betrayed him. Next day, I came to work and the cipher was waiting."

A tear fell down her cheek, making Helena wince for the poor girl.

But Sherlock was here for a reason. Standing up, he laid the photographs on the table and asked, "Can you decipher these?"

Leaning forward, she pointed to the marks and said, "These are numbers."

"Yes, I know." Sherlock told her impatiently, so she pointed to another photograph and said, "Here, the line across the man's eyes – it's the Chinese number one."

Sherlock too leaned down the table, looking right at her and asked, "And this one is fifteen. But what's the code?"

"All the smugglers know it. It's based upon a book…" she wasn't finished talking when the door thuds and all the lights go out.

Both Sherlock and Helena straighten up and looked around sharply, while Soo Lin Yao squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, "He's here. Zhi Zhu. He has found me."

Sherlock looked around before taking off… somewhere.

"No, no, Sherlock! Sherlock, wait!" John shouts after him urgently but to no avail.

Helena squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and with a muttered curse, rushed after him, ignoring John's panicked calls. She'd apologise to him later, but for now, she needed to keep the man safe who was hellbent on killing himself.

Shaking his head at the two idiots, John turned towards Soo Lin Yao, grabbed her wrist and said, "Come here!"

Helena ran after Sherlock towards the large foyer with staircases at each end, where the bloody idiot was standing in the middle and looking around as if there wasn't a murderer around somewhere! Wand in hand, she rushed towards him and his eyes widened with shock.

He gaped at her before snarling, "What're you doing here?"

"Can't let my friend die now, can I?" She replied snidely, but Sherlock stopped his search to stare at her.

Between the glaring contest, perhaps they forgot where they were and were reminded when a figure ran across the balcony and fired at them. Startled, they turned to look at the man who had a gun pointed at them before Sherlock grabbed her wrist and shouted, "Run!"

There were more gunshots as they both ran in the opposite direction before flinging themselves on the floor. They slid along it and took shelter behind a statue on a low plinth. The figure fired a couple more times making Sherlock duck, but Helena clenched her wand in her fist, peeked out from behind the plinth, pointed her wand where she knew the man was standing and fired a silent, "Stupefy."

The force of her spell shattered the pillar where the man had been and she winced before turning back. She didn't get the man, but at least he had stopped firing.

"Come on." She whispered, keeping her wand in front of her and stood up.

When the man didn't respond or follow her, she looked at him only to freeze. 'Oh, she'd forgotten for a moment that he was a muggle.'

The man in question was openly staring at the wand and she resisted the urge to hide it away. Frowning, he blinked up at her and asked excitedly, "That's the weapon! How does it work?"

"Can we do this at home?" she practically begged.

He looked at her wand again, looking ready to snatch it away and figure out how 'the secret weapon' worked, but finally nodded reluctantly and turned to look across the balcony, where their attacker had just disappeared from their view. Without wasting another second, Sherlock leapt from behind the plinth with Helena on his toe. They ran across the foyer and up the stairs before turning around and into the display room. The man started firing again from behind, making Sherlock duck, while Helena turned slightly and cast a "Protego," to stop the bullets.

Sherlock grabbed her wrist, startling her and pulled her along to duck behind a display cabinet. The man was still firing, but Sherlock kept a hold of her, shielding her from view before calling, "Careful! Some of those skulls' are over two hundred thousand years old. Have a bit of respect."

Panting harshly, they waited for a couple of seconds, but there were no more gunshots. So, Sherlock shouted, "Thank you!"

There was absolute silence, making them frown before Sherlock carefully peered through the glass case. They looked around, but the place seemed empty until they realised why. A single gunshot rang out in distance and both their faces filled with horror as they realised where the sound had come from.

"John!" They gasped together before rushing down the stairs and back to the restoration room. The room was still dark, so they moved slowly, looking for any signs of the gunman. Their eyes fell on John standing in front of them, looking down at something and they sighed with relief, but it was short-lived when they saw what the man was looking at. Soo Lin Yao was sprawled on the table, dead with a black origami lotus lying in hand. Helena closed her eyes in despair for the girl who was killed by her brother for choosing freedom over the life of servitude.

"You're hurt!" John remarked, staring at her arm.

"Oh." She mumbled surprised and turned her head to look down her right arm, and yes, her coat was torn and sticky. "I – uh… didn't notice."

"You didn't…" John snapped horrified, "It's a bullet wound!"

She cringed, making Sherlock jump into action as he barked at John, "Don't shout at her, John! She's hurt!"

"I'm fine." She said but was ignored as Sherlock helped her out of the coat, making her wince when he pulled the fabric off and revealed a gash on her arm where the bullet had grazed.

Upper-half of the sleeve of her pristine white shirt had turned red with blood, but the gash itself wasn't that bad and she took a relieved breath. "It's not that bad."

"Not…?" John stared bemused by her nonchalant attitude before stating firmly, "You'll still need stitches."

"John's right." Sherlock said before looking into her eyes and asked pointedly, "Would the medicine you gave me work?"

Pursuing her lips, she glared and he arched an eyebrow elegantly at the childish behaviour, making her huff. "It's only for healing or growing bones." She told him waspishly.

"Growing bones?!" alarmed, John exclaimed, unable to keep up with the conversation through no fault of his own.

Ignoring him, Sherlock asked again, "Can you heal yourself?"

Sullenly, she replied, "No, it doesn't work like that."

"We're going to Barts!" he announced primly before putting his hand on her left shoulder and dragged her along, disregarding all her protests. "John, call the police!" He called before leaving.

St. Barts

"You're going to sew me?" she asked horrified, eying the torture device.

Startled, the nurse looked at her and even Sherlock was surprised after realising that she had no idea what 'stitches' meant until now. She had stated had the 'cut wasn't that bad' – meaning she'd had worse injuries before. How did they treat them all? With their private medicines which no one else was aware about?

"That's barbaric!" She gasped.

"Miss Potter…" the nurse started, but was cut off.

"Nope! I'm out of here." Helena jumped from the table and rushed towards the door, only for Sherlock to block her way.

As she glared at him, he stated in a whisper, "You've no idea what stitches were."

"Well, I thought it might be the name of some – some procedure! Not an act of torture!" she yelled dramatically.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Torture? Really?"

Tired of their bickering, the nurse interrupted softly, trying not to scare the patient. "Do you need anaesthesia? It will calm down your nerves and alleviate the pain."

If her face had been pale before, it turned green within seconds.

Sherlock's mind was whirling even though he kept his eyes on the nurse who was treating Helena. Also, she had refused to take the local anaesthetic, claiming that she can handle a couple of stitches. What surprised him the most was that despite wincing occasionally, she did not indicate that she was being 'sewed'. It was a fairly deep wound, but she hadn't even realised she'd been hurt until John had pointed it out. She'd been with him the whole time and had not displayed any sign that she'd been hit. Most people would've been crying or panicking by now, but not her. But then, she had been in a war and surely had dealt with far worse?

The idea of numbing her right hand had made her panic and finally, he understood why! She needed her right hand to be in perfect condition in case she needed to use her stick. It fit the description perfectly, but how could a wooden stick be used as a 'weapon'? And he had seen her using it twice, and the force of whatever she had used had broken the pieces of a marble pillar! Despite it being a plain-looking wooden stick, it was carved and polished with precision. It wasn't merely a stick, but the weapon used by people who went to Hogwarts in Scotland. It was obvious that children were trained there, but what he wanted to know was how were they selected? Was it a family thing? He was almost certain it was.

How big exactly the organisation was? They had different departments, doctors, their own medicines – far different and advanced from what the world knew of, their newspapers, people who didn't use technology, kept owls as pets, had a secret war unknown to the mankind…

He had bought her here in hope to see Dr Black and how he would 'heal' her cut. It was a fairly deep wound, and she had lost quite a bit of blood. It wasn't life-threatening, but he just knew the man would have something to treat it. They had a medicine that can heal broken bones within seconds and his head was brimming with several possibilities that he had no clue about! He was sure Mycroft knew, after all, there wasn't anything the man didn't know and it was killing him that he was kept in dark.

His phone beeped and he looked down at the message with a scowl. He needed to get his hands on her stick so he could figure out himself how it worked, but right now, he had another pressing matter to attend.

Scotland Yard

"How many murders it is going to take before you state believing that this maniac's out there?"

Helena and Sherlock heard John saying when they walked in, only for the inspector to turn away and head towards another desk, but John followed him and continued, "A young girl was gunned down tonight. That's three victims in three days. You're supposed to be finding him."

Despite her hand being in a cast, Helena strode forward confidently and asked, "Detective Inspector Dimmock?"

Hearing a new voice made Dimmock look at the newcomer and his eyes fell on Helena standing beside Sherlock.

"Agent Potter." She offered the man her hand which he shook with a confused frown. She added deliberately. "I work with the British government."

He looked at her suspiciously, so she pulled out her muggle ID and showed it to him. He straightened up, eyes flittering between the three.

"I was attacked by the same man who gunned down a young girl right in front of my eyes. If it hadn't been for these two gentlemen…" Her voice wavered and she sniffled a bit, looking for all intent and purposes, a damsel in distress.

John gaped at her, while Sherlock lowered his head to hide the grin that was threatening to break.

"Well, I…" Dimmock scrambled for words, staring at her wide-eyed before opening a drawer hurriedly and passed her a box of tissue. "Here."

She took one and dabbed her eyes before whispering tearfully, "Thank you."

None of the men knew what to say as they stared at her awkwardly, and in Dimmock's case, scared that she might burst into tears right this second.

"These nice men here filled me on what's happening." Helena asked authoritatively, "Three victims in three days, all killed by the same man. What has been done to find him until now?"

Dimmock blinked at her, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water before glancing at the 'two nice men' in question.

Sherlock chose that moment to speak and sneered, "Brain Lukis and Eddie Van Coon were working for a gang of international smugglers. A gang called the Black Lotus, operating here in London right under your nose."

With a sigh, Dimmock looked at Sherlock and asked, "Can you show me?"

Sherlock smirked.

St. Barts

Cafeteria

Helena stared, feeling confounded as Sherlock grinned as he approached the doctor. She had been living in the same house for over a month now and had yet to see this… smile. Truth be told, she found it a bit… phoney, but wisely, kept her mouth shut. Also, because she was feeling a bit faint and all she could think about was going home and having a hot cup of tea before taking sleep and blood replenishing potions and slumbering straight for a week.

"What are you thinking? Pork or the pasta?" Sherlock asked the woman, who was surprised to see him, but smiled shyly before turning back to look down at the food and whispered, "Oh, it's you."

"I suppose it's never going to trouble Egon Ronay, is it?" He smiled at her before nodding to the display. "I'd stick with the pasta. Don't want to do roast pork, not if you're slicing up cadavers."

Another smile and the woman grinned at him nervously before asking, "What are you having?"

"I don't eat when I'm working. Digesting slows me down." He informed offhandedly.

The woman looks down before peaking up at him shyly and questioned, "So, you're working here tonight?"

"Ah, yes." He said in place of replying before nodding towards Helena, who was standing not far away and introduced, "This is my friend, Helena Potter."

Then he nodded towards the woman. "Helena, Molly Hooper. She is the pathologist here."

Helena waved tiredly with her left hand, while Molly seemed surprised to see another person around. She looked between the two and asked tentatively, "A… friend?"

"Yes, a friend, Molly. Do keep up!" Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't see you." Deflated, Molly said before asking apprehensively, "Are you alright? You don't look so good."

"Really?" Helena asked half-heartedly.

This made Sherlock turn and look at her. Leaning against the wall for support, she was indeed looking pale and was sweating. Why would she be sweating in March? He took her to the doctor, didn't he? But then he realised that she had lost blood and had gone through a 'barbaric' procedure and was now, in need of rest, but instead she had been running along with him all over London. Nodding to himself, he told her decisively, "I'll take you home once we're done here."

She perked up eagerly at the suggestion. "Tea?"

"I'll get you your damned tea!" he muttered through clenched teeth before turning back to Molly and said with a fake smile, "I need to examine some bodies."

Molly blinked away the shock, still feeling dumbfounded, if only because Sherlock had agreed to 'get' Helena tea without her really asking for it, while he had failed to understand that she had been asking him out for coffee for months now. Why? She looked at him and noticed he was still waiting for a response, but all she could manage was, "Some?"

Sherlock nodded, "Eddie Van Coon and Brain Lukis."

That made Molly frown as she looked down at her clipboard she was holding and stated, "They're on my list."

Sherlock looked at her surprised before widening his eyes and asked in a deep baritone, "Could you wheel them out again for me?"

Affected by his 'charm' she faltered for a bit but still told him apologetically, "Well… their paperwork's already gone through."

He pretended to think for a moment and then frowned before pointing towards her hair. "You changed your hair."

Molly touched her hair and asked nervously, "What?"

"The style. It's usually parted in the middle."

"Yes, well..." she whispered self-consciously.

"It's good. It suits you better this way." He told her with a soft smile.

Molly smiled back, looking both flattered and flustered before turning away. Instantly, the smile was gone and he looked impatiently at his watch.

'The manipulative bastard!' Helena thought, glaring daggers at the back of his head.

The Morgue

Once Dimmock had left after affirming that there were tattoos of a single Black Lotus on the bottom of both their right heels, Sherlock turned towards Helena and said, "Let's go."

She didn't reply but turned towards the woman who was zipping the body-bags and asked, "Molly, is it?"

Both Sherlock and Molly looked at her, startled before the latter glanced at the detective before nodding. "Yes."

"Would you like to have tea?" Helena asked.

Molly looked surprised at the offer and repeated as if unsure, "Tea?"

"On Sunday, maybe? I'll call Mrs Hudson and we can exchange stories about our favourite consulting detective." Helena nodded, ignoring the glowering look thrown her way by Sherlock.

"Oh. Alright?" Molly agreed, still confused.

"Good. I'll see you then. The address is 221C, Bakers Street!" Helena called out when the man took her by the shoulder and dragged her out.

He was still glowering at her by the time they reached home.

"What?" she asked, feigning confusion, but behind it all, she felt angry and couldn't understand the reason behind his behaviour. She invited a potential friend for tea. So, what?

His mouth twisted, eyes showed clear annoyance as he stated, "You're not the one to gossip."

"Yes?"

"Why did you invite Molly over?" He demanded, glaring at her.

Something in his tone made her blink, but she couldn't understand what. All she knew that her patience was wearing thin. She hadn't interfered in his daily life by any means, so what was his problem? With a dour look, she replied, "She seems nice. I like her. There's nothing wrong in making friends."

"You already have friends!" he told her impatiently.

"Well, what's wrong in making some more?" she asked through gritted teeth.

"You don't need them!" He yelled suddenly.

She flinched before glowering right back, "I can have friends without needing them!"

"Why? It only makes you more vulnerable." He told her fiercely.

That made her stop and she asked slowly, "So, what you're saying is one shouldn't have friends because it weakens them?"

"Yes! Exactly!"

That was the wrong thing to say because hurt flashed in her eyes as she asked, "Does that mean you're not my friend?"

Speechless and flabbergasted – Two words, Sherlock never thought he would associate with himself, ever, and he stared at her mutely, for the first time in his life not knowing how to respond.

She nodded and without another word, stomped towards her flat before opening the door and slamming it shut with a loud bang.

Sherlock was left staring at it blankly, seemingly baffled by the turn of events.

EN: The part where Greyback's cannibalism and rape can be too much for some people, but I thought this is an issue that needs attention.

And yeah, their first fight. Sherlock needs to learn how to share! Not much hope there, though.

I would love to hear what you think or if you have any suggestion regarding this story or its characters. Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a lovely day. 😊

October 4th, 2020