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 would like to apologize for any mistakes in advance as I do not have a beta. Please do not copy this story anywhere.
If you are enjoying this story please leave a review!
221C
Same day
The only sound in the room was crackling of the fire, while she was cosied up in her bed. She had taken both the pain and blood-replenishing potions about an hour ago and was ready to sleep, but for some reason instead of doing just that, she was staring at the photo album glumly.
They shouldn't have, but Sherlock's words hurt more than she had expected. She didn't know what had happened all those years ago, but he did 'delete' her of his own free will, so it should've been obvious that she hadn't been important. He didn't think of her as a friend. So what? She had many friends and people who loved her. She shouldn't care what he thought of her or if he considered her a friend, but for some annoying reason, it did. It did matter to her that she was so insignificant to the one person who had literally been with her when she was 'no one' – an orphan who everyone hated because she was a 'freak'.
He had shown her what friendship meant; the boy who made her laugh for the first time in her life; someone who stood up for her when no one else did; who had proudly declared himself her best friend without possibly understanding what it truly meant; who despite knowing about her 'freakishness' became the most important part of her life until… until the horrible day she could never forget.
She shouldn't be hurting because even after 20 years, the man discarded her like trash again. She should've known it. She did know it would happen again, but being foolish that she was, she'd thought that maybe after such a long time, things would be different. Once again, proving to herself how silly she was.
Looking down, she traced the picture of the small curly dark-haired boy, who was hugging little Helena as if he would never let go.
Snorting to herself, she closed the album and it flew back to the shelf.
Memory
Helena had been 6 the first time she met Sherlock. For some reason, aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon had to take her along when they took Dursley to the zoo and then had left her with a threatening – 'don't wander off, girl!'
Dudley had tried to make the snake move, but for all intent and purposes, it looked dead. So, uncle Vernon and Dudley had gone somewhere else because the snake was 'boring'. Now that they were gone, she moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. It wouldn't be a surprise if it had died of boredom – getting disturbed by stupid people all day long. It was worse than her cupboard.
The snake suddenly opened its beady eyes and raised its head until it was looking right at her and said, "Yes. It is annoying."
Helena stared before nodding.
"Are you talking to the snake?" came a voice and she jerked away from the glass as if burned. Her head snapped towards the boy with curly black hair and grey eyes, standing not far from her, looking at her wide-eyed.
She quickly looked around to see if the Dursley's were watching shook before looking back at the boy and shook her head vigorously. If Uncle Vernon found out, she would be in for a thorough beating before they lock her in the cupboard for days on end without any food.
The boy was still watching her so she replied fearfully, hoping he would leave her alone. "I don't know how I did it."
"Wow! That's so cool!" he told her excitedly.
Her head shrivelled towards him and she gaped.
'Did he just? Would that mean he wouldn't tell anyone?'
She looked at him suspiciously and asked tentatively, "You think so?"
"Yes." He nodded seriously. "I haven't seen anyone who can do that! Not even Mike!"
His eyes were full of wonder as he stared at her with awe and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Suddenly, he held his hand out and said, "I'm Sherlock."
She looked between the hand and his face and shook his before murmuring, "Helena."
"Can you talk to all animals? Can you teach me?" He fired in rapid succession making her gape, but she didn't get to reply because Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.
"Out of the way, you," he said, and punched her in the ribs, making her fall hard on the concrete floor.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" The boy shouted before pushing Dudley with full force.
Dudley stumbled back, looking confused and angry at the same time before shouting, "You're not her friend! She's just a freak!"
"She's not!" The boy screamed back. "I'm her friend!"
Dudley, who was turning red, glared at the two and shouted, "You're a freak too!" before rushing forward to lean against the glass, peering down at the snake. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Dudley was right up close to the glass, the next, he fell forward with a howl of horror. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor.
Helena gasped as the glass front of the snake's tank vanished, but Sherlock was laughing, looking excitedly at her, ignoring how the people throughout the reptile house were screaming and running for the exits.
The snake slid swiftly past her before stopping and in front for a moment and hissed, "Brazil, here I come.… Thanksss, amigo."
Helena nodded dumbly before standing up and stared at Sherlock, who was still laughing and asked slowly, "Are you really my friend?"
He nodded earnestly, grinning and she beamed back.
It wasn't long before his family whisked him away, while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's eyes promised revenge.
"Yoo-hoo!"
Helena blinked back the memories when she heard Mrs Hudson's voice and called out, "It's open."
The lady rushed in with a kettle and despite herself, Helena smiled.
She kept the tray on the table and asked worriedly, "Are you alright? John told me you got hurt on a case today."
"Just a scratch." She mumbled awkwardly, while her landlady poured a cup, handed it to her and said, "Here. Tea makes everything better."
Taking the cup with a grateful sigh, Helena said, "Thanks, Mrs Hudson. You're a lifesaver."
"Oh, don't thank me, dear." The lady replied with a small smile before adding, "Sherlock asked me to bring you a cuppa."
It was a good thing she hadn't sipped it yet or she would've spat it out.
"Oh."
221B
Next Day, Around 4 in the morning
Sherlock was playing his violin as he thought about Helena Potter and for the first time, it wasn't related to finding her secret in any way. He knew he would figure it out, but right now, he was only focused on her actions today, which had left him feeling lost, flabbergasted and confused.
'Can't let my friend die now, can I?' and 'Does that mean you're not my friend?'
The words kept ringing in his ears constantly. She had followed him despite knowing she could get hurt and she had. But why did she follow him? Is that what friends did? Follow you even after knowing that it might end in your death? He'd never had a friend before and it baffled him. He had known what the term 'friend' meant, but he had never been able to understand the sentiments behind it. After all, sentiments were not an advantage!
He wasn't as clueless when it came to emotions, despite what everyone thought. He knew she had been hurt by his words. She hadn't said a word, but it was clearly written all over her face and it didn't sit well with him. She was – not exactly an idiot like everyone else, she never reacted as everyone else did around him; didn't try to make him do things which he did not want to do like John, Mrs Hudson or everyone else did; never tried to make him feel less because he was different or didn't understand the social norms. She took everything in a stride and didn't turn in a mess like people did when put in a life-threatening situation and unlike everyone else, even John, she was able to keep up with his conversations most of the times, even if she did ignore some half the times.
And then his mind supplied something which shocked him to his very core and he froze. For the first time, he agreed with Anderson's assessment that Helena indeed was rather attractive. His ventromedial prefrontal cortex did register people as attractive occasionally. It would be stupid for anyone, even him to pretend that his body did not have the same biological urges as others, but he had overpowered them even before he finished uni. So, the revelation came as an eye-opener that he was undeniably captivated by her. And to his utter horror, he realised that it was not because she was an enigma to him.
No.
It was everything – from her appearance to the way she could keep up with him like no one he has ever met or the way she was able to tune in from one situation to the other without a blink of an eye or how she was capable to taking care of herself even in dire situations without getting frantic and how she chose to be his 'friend' even when he didn't know what the word exactly meant. The way she dealt with Mycroft and how his brother couldn't blackmail her into doing his bidding was just added bonus.
He was still frozen when John came yawning from his room 3 hours later.
221C
Same Day
Sherlock's ears perked when he heard voices coming from 221C. One, he recognised well, but the other was of a male he hadn't heard before. He tiptoed downstairs and towards the flat, trying to hear what was being said, hoping to figure out about the weird incidents he had been noticing ever since he met Helena. He peered inside cautiously and noticed Helena and a man hissing furiously to each other, too low for him to hear.
There was a newspaper in her hand and she was waving it around wildly with her good arm. He tilted his head, focusing on the part where the name of the paper was visible.
And there it was – The Daily Prophet.
He looked down and yes, he hadn't been wrong! The picture was indeed moving! But what came as a surprise was that this picture was of none other than Helena herself. She seemed angry as she snapped something at whoever took the photo before the photo replayed again and again, and again.
Under the picture, he read in big bold letters – Is our Head Auror, The-Girl-Who-Lived, A Cold-Hearted Bitch?
He blinked. Was that seriously a headline of a newspaper or a magazine article? As he tried to get a closer look, the paper was gone and two pair of eyes were staring right at him. He straightened up and stared right back.
"Really? Eavesdropping now?" Helena asked irked.
Sherlock shrugged, not bothering to deny it and looked at the man stonily.
Hazel eyes, blonde, tall, nearly 6' in height. Parents dead. Grew up with his grandparents. Went to the same school as the others – Hogwarts. Athletic built. Plays the same sports as Helena. Have been in the same war. The same weapon was hidden up his right sleeve, like Helena. Easier to access, so definitely because of the profession. Works with Helena. Partners, most probably. Loyal, trustworthy, brave. Standing close together. She's comfortable and relaxed, even when he touched her to calm her down. She tended to maintain her distance from people, she had tensed when John was standing too close that one time. Obviously, the two have been involved romantically in the past. Still on good terms. Dirt under his nails. Worked in the garden this morning. Was called urgently. He too doesn't have a phone.
The man looked at him and smiled before asking awkwardly, "Uh… hello. I'm sorry. We didn't see you. Can we help you need anything?"
Sherlock glared at him, if only because the man was here in his space and asking him stupid questions. Shouldn't he be the one to ask questions? He opened his mouth to fire an insult, but Helena beat him to it.
"He's just a neighbour." She said with steel in her voice, daring him to deny her claim, making him frown before asking, "Do you need anything?"
"No." He glowered, scowling at the man behind her for some unknown reason.
"Good. Now, if you'll excuse us? We're working." She replied coldly before slamming the door in his face for the second time today.
221C
Later that Evening
She was lying on the sofa, idly surfing channels on TV, when someone knocked on the door, making her frown. It wasn't Mrs Hudson, while Sherlock simply was not aware of the concept of knocking. Not for the first time she was thankful for her magic, for she had charmed her door, so the said man wouldn't be able to enter without her permission.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"John."
Frowning to herself, she called, "Come on in."
The man came in and gave a small smile. He didn't waste any time and like the doctor he was, his eyes zoned in on her arm and he asked, "How're you doing? Any pain?"
She couldn't tell him about the pain potion, but the doctor had prescribed her pain medication, so shook her head and replied truthfully, "Better. Though I must tell you that the procedure of getting stitches was rather barbaric. They should do something about it."
Chucking, he stated, "Maybe someday. For now, it's the best we have."
As they lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, Helena realised that the two of them had nothing to talk about without Sherlock being present.
"So, can I ask why are you sulking?" John asked awkwardly, reminding her of Neville before they dated.
She scowled and replied too quickly, "I'm not sulking."
"Hmm…" John mused and arched his brows. "So, it has nothing to do with the man-child pouting upstairs?"
Despite herself, she snorted, "Man-child?"
"We both agree with that and don't try to change the subject." He told her sternly before he softened and asked, "What did he do?"
"Nothing."
John perused his lips, but took her word and nodded. And just because he was an ass like his flatmate, he threw in casually, "Sherlock asked me to check on you. I'll let him know that you're better now."
"Don't." She snapped suddenly.
He looked too innocent as he asked, "What?"
"Don't try to make me feel guilty." She nearly hissed.
"I'm not." He shook his head and raised his hands to stop her when she opened her mouth. He chose his words carefully, hoping she would see that the truly meant them when he spoke, "I'm really not. Sherlock, he is… different. In the time I've known him, he has never noticed when I or anyone else is mad at him. And there he is – pouting on his chair."
He made sure to maintain eye contact as he said this. Once done, he ignored the dirty look thrown his way and said cheerfully, "Tell me where everything is and I'll make you a cuppa."
With a parting smile, the devious man walked into her kitchen at a leisurely pace, leaving her to do only one thing – bury her face in the cushion and scream.
221C
A couple of Hours Later
She was wearing a loose hand-knitted sweater with a 'P' printed on the front with pyjamas that had ducks printed on them. Once again, her hair was piled on top of her head messily as she glaredat him through her glasses.
"Oh, good. You're home." He announced, giving her the same smile he'd 'bestowed upon' Molly yesterday and continued, "Come on, I'm taking you out."
'Pouting my ass!' She thought before her eyes narrowed down to slits and she stated, "I don't think you've noticed, but I'm not talking to you."
The way he looked at her made her feel like he'd been hit with a 'confundus'. "What? Of course, you are."
She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead before asking tiredly, "What do you want Sherlock?"
He shifted uncomfortably, making her frown. Then he asked mildly, "I – I was hoping you'd come to the circus with me?"
Perusing her lips, she peered down the hall and nodded to herself before asking, "Where's John?"
"He's out on a date." He mumbled grouchily.
Glaring, she stated unimpressed, "You need an assistant."
"Yes."
"Have a nice day, Sherlock." She said, ready to slam the door in his face for the second time today, but before she could close it, he placed his hand on the door, stopping her.
She looked at him impatiently, so he took a deep breath and confessed, "I've never had a friend before."
As he said this, Helena felt something in her heart clench. He had no memory of her and if Mycroft's words were true, Sherlock never actually had any friend because he was 'different'. He wouldn't say it out loud, but she understood what he was trying to tell her. He didn't know what 'friendship' meant. He had seen with others and factually knew that 'emotions made a person vulnerable', but he couldn't comprehend why someone would want that. He wasn't aware that even if 'love and friendship' make you weak, it gives you more strength than one could possibly imagine.
"I want coffee, beforehand." Sighing, she stated, because she refused to run all over the city without having something that would help her in dealing with the madness.
His eyes widened and he looked at her with disbelief, making her realise that he was here on a whim and didn't think she would accept his… offer. At the moment, all she felt for him was sadness. She couldn't imagine her life without her friends because she would be dead if it hadn't been for Ron and Hermione. They had followed her without question even in the war. And here Sherlock didn't even have a friend to call in case he needed.
Unaware of her inner turmoil, Sherlock schooled his features and raised his brows before asked curiously, "Not tea?"
"Headache." She informed and he gave a single nod. Satisfied, she said, "Give me a minute. I need to change."
"Why?" he demanded.
This time, she did slam the door in his face.
Circus
They arrived at a building adorned with Chinese style lanterns shortly. They walked in, climbing the steps to the box office when she heard John's voice, "…don't think so. We only booked two."
"You said John's out on a date!" she hissed at Sherlock.
"Yes, he is." He told her before walking behind John before she could stop him and said smoothly, "Then I phoned back and got two for ourselves as well."
John turned back, glaring at his flatmate with disbelief before turning to Helena exasperatedly. "I didn't know." She mouthed silently making John sigh.
Sherlock meanwhile offered John's date his hand and said, "I'm Sherlock and this is my lovely date, Helena."
Both Helena and John's head snapped towards the man, gaping at him.
Sarah glanced at John momentarily, who was still gawking at Sherlock, before she turned back to Sherlock and shook his hand nervously. "Er, hi."
"Hello," Sherlock said before dragging a stupefied Helena along.
She rounded in on him as soon as they were out of hearing range and hissed, "What the bloody hell?"
"What?" he asked confused, making her snap, "We're not on a date!"
"Of course, we are. I asked you out." He informed her as if she had dementia.
"No. You said John is out on a date and you require an assistant." She stated.
"I didn't say that!" He argued.
"Do you even know what a date is?!" she snapped at him and instantly regretted when his eyes turned cold. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."
He tilted his head up, but kept his eyes on hers and told her haughtily, "Where two people who like each other go out and have fun." She blinked, unsure what to say, so he spoke for her. "We're friends, so clearly we like each other. Which leads to only one conclusion. That we're on a date."
"Dear Merlin…" She breathed, staring at him wide-eyed and he frowned.
"You could've had your little domestic at home!" John snapped angrily.
"We're not having a domestic!" They hissed at him together.
John scoffed, but before another argument could break out, he snapped at Sherlock, "You couldn't let me have just one night off?"
"Yellow Dragon Circus, in London for one day. It fits. The Tong sent an assassin to England…" Sherlock told John, who cut him off and said mockingly, "…dressed as a tightrope walker. Come on, Sherlock, behave!"
Sherlock looked around before whispering, "Helena was right. We're looking for a killer who can climb, who can shin up a rope. Where else would you find that level of dexterity? Exit visas are scarce in China. They need a pretty good reason to get out of that country. Now, all I need to do is have a quick look around the place…"
John pointed his thumb in the general direction of the loo, where his date was and said, "Fine. You do that, I'm gonna take Sarah for a pint."
Sherlock looked back at him said sternly, "Helena's hand isn't in working condition! I need your help."
"I can still kick both your asses." She told him tersely, earning an eye-roll.
John ignored her in favour of uttering, "I do have a couple of other things on my mind this evening!"
Oblivious, Sherlock demanded, "Like what?"
John and Helena blinked, staring at him agape before John shook his head and asked, "You are kidding."
Sherlock whispered, "What's so important?"
Helena's eyes widened when she saw Sarah making her way up behind John's back. She tugged at Sherlock's sleeve and muttered, "Guys?"
She was ignored as John continued, "Sherlock, I'm right in the middle of a date. You want me to chase some killer while I'm trying to…" he broke off and looked around.
Still confused, Sherlock asked, "What?"
Finally, losing his patience, John snapped loudly, "…while I'm trying to get off with Sarah!"
Helena closed her eyes, not wishing to see the slap that must be coming John's way. Thankfully, Sarah smiled and looked at the three, making John smile awkwardly. "Heyy... Ready?"
Huffing, Sherlock turned away from the two to head upstairs, grabbed Helena by her left elbow and dragged her along.
The hall was dimly lit. The large performance area was covered by curtains and a circle of candles had been laid out in the centre of the hall. The crowd was sparse and it seemed like the stage wasn't going to be used as a huge circle of candles had been set in the middle of the floor. There were no seats, so they stood on one side of the circle along with everyone else. Sarah was standing beside John, Helena was just behind Sarah, while Sherlock was standing with his back towards John, looking all around the hall for some clue.
Keeping his voice low, John turned his head the other way from Sarah and looked over his shoulder to Sherlock before muttering with distaste, "You said circus. This is not a circus. Look at the size of this crowd. Sherlock, this is… art."
"This is not their day job," Sherlock spoke just as quietly over his shoulder.
"No, sorry, I forgot. They're not a circus, they're a gang of international smugglers." John snarked back, making Sherlock glare at him.
"What were you saying about me and Sherlock having 'domestic'?" Helena whispered to John mockingly, who turned to smile at Sarah instead.
Music wafts throughout the room with the tapping of a tiny hand drum, and finally, Sherlock turned to face the stage. A traditionally costumed Chinese woman with a heavily painted face walked into the centre of the circle before walking across the circle towards a large object covered with a cloth. Pulling it away, she revealed an antique-looking crossbow before picking a long thick wooden arrow with a pointed end standing beside it. After showing it to the audience, she fitted it into place in the crossbow. Then she pulled out a single white feather from her headdress and gently dropped it into a small metal cup kept on the rear of the crossbow. It set the arrow off as it whizzed across the room. It was fast, but being a seeker, Helena was able to track it without difficulty. By the time others looked at it, the arrow was embedded in a large painted board on the other side of the circle.
With a hand over her heart, Sarah turned towards John and laughed; Sherlock almost rolled his eyes and Helena had to look down to keep herself from crackling like a madwoman.
As the music began again. a masked man appeared as part of the act, making the audience applaud. He was wearing a head mask and he held his arms out before he was strapped with heavy metal chains against the board.
"Classic Chinese escapology act." Sherlock leaned closer and informed before looking at three blank faces and explained, "The crossbow is on a delicate string. The warrior has to escape his bonds before it fires."
The man was chained tightly as the Opera Singer loaded another arrow. The music began again before the cymbals crash unexpectedly, making Sarah jump and clinging onto John's arm. Helena bought her left hand up, resting the elbow on the palm of her right one and cover her lips with her fingers. She shared a look with Sherlock, who himself was rolling his eyes at the display.
"She splits the sandbag; the sand pours out. Gradually, the weight lowers into the bowl." Sherlock told them softly.
The Opera Singer did exactly that – she plunged the knife into a bag of sand before splitting it open. The sand begins pouring out. Gradually, the weight lowers to the trigger of the crossbow, while the man still struggled to free himself. As soon as it reached the bowl, the masked man pulled free just as the arrow streaked across the room. He ducked down at the same time the arrow hits the board. The warrior cried out in triumph and the audience began the applause.
Helena glanced beside her and sighed when she noticed that Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Even John looked around before raising a questioning brow at her and she shook her head. She looked around for him, but her eyes fell on the masked acrobat who descended from the ceiling with the help of red strips that were wrapped around him. Tilting her head unconsciously, she wondered if this was their murderer, but shook her head. She needed to find Sherlock. The man was more danger prone than she'd ever been and with a huff, she tiptoed away from the crowd.
She made her way towards the backstage, hoping she'd find him there. He'd search for clues and what could be better than the performer's room? She cast a nonverbal 'notice-me-not' charm around herself when the Opera Singer exited the hall and entered the dressing room. She followed the lady quietly and side-stepped in the shadows, waiting for her to leave. She was checking her phone when one of the hangers fell onto the floor and the lady turned towards the sound sharply. Helena cursed again at the 'cast' on her hand. Why did it have to be her right hand? Making sure her wand was safe and within reach, she waited, but thankfully left without checking what it was.
Once she was gone, she heard Sherlock's voice. "Found you." He sang, sounding mighty pleased with himself before pushing through the clothes on the rail and walking over to the dressing table. Bending down a bit, he sprayed the same yellow paint over the mirror, which had been sprayed in every picture hanging over his fireplace.
Then, he stopped and looked into the mirror at something behind him, when suddenly, previously thought to be a prop, attacked Sherlock. Unsure what to do, she watched as the attacker lashed out at Sherlock with a huge silver blade, who ducked backwards to avoid the blow. By the time, she looked around and picked a metal rod lying in the corner, Sherlock had hit the man with the tin can he had been holding, which turned out to be useless, as the man blocked the blow and punched Sherlock hard in the stomach, making him groan with pain.
"Duck!" She yelled and Sherlock obliged.
She threw the metal rod straight at the man's head, who fell back with a grunt of pain.
"Amazing throw." Sherlock praised, clearly surprised that she could manage a throw even with her left hand.
She grinned before muttering automatically, "Thanks. Wood always said I could be a beater."
The man jumped back up before charging at Sherlock again and grabbed him by the throat. Realising he had a spray-can in hand, Sherlock sprayed it directly onto the masked face and shoved him away firmly. The man landed on his back, but raised his legs and rolled before flipping to his feet again. Grabbing Sherlock's scarf, the masked man pulled him in a chokehold, trying to strangle him. Sherlock grabbed his scarf, trying to relieve the pressure when suddenly it was gone.
Helena didn't waste time. After blasting the man, who had propelled down the hall through the curtains, she glanced at Sherlock, who was breathing harshly, but was fine, she jumped after the man. She hid her wand hastily. It was different in front of Sherlock, but using magic in front of a whole crowd? That would certainly land her in court and possibly in Azkaban!
John rushed towards the masked man without a second thought and pushed him back, but somehow the man still managed to lash out with his foot and sent John stumbling across the room.
'What the bloody hell does he eat?' Helena thought as he charged and backhanded her hard across the face. The force of it off-balanced her and she fell on the floor. She blinked, feeling a bit winded when she saw the man charging towards her with another huge-sword.
'Use magic or die? Well, not much of a choice, was there?'
He raised the sword above his head to deliver the killing blow as she snapped her eyes shut and let her magic loose. She could feel it flowing in waves; could feel it hitting the man with enough force to shock someone and stop their heart and she felt when the man's breath left him and he scummed to the shock.
She was ready for the backlash, for people's hatred or maybe more, but when none of that happened, she opened her eyes and saw Sherlock standing just above her, with an iron rod in hand. Her eyes involuntarily went to the body and she grimaced. It was clear that even though he had hit the man on his head, she had landed the killing blow.
Sherlock kneeled next to her and grabbed her shoulders in both his hands, making her wince. There was a red handprint across her cheek and her lower lip was bleeding. The anger he felt bubbling inside was new and he wasn't ready to examine it at the moment.
He looked into her eyes and asked urgently, "Are you alright?"
She didn't respond verbally but nodded. It was good enough. Everything could wait, right now though, they needed to leave.
"We need to go." He suggested to John, who nodded.
Sherlock pulled her up and dragged her towards the exit. She didn't protest.
Somewhere in London
Once sure they weren't being followed, Sherlock stopped in an alleyway, breathing heavily. John and Sarah were in the same condition, but not Helena. No, she wasn't out of breath as the three of them, nor was she panicking, at least not like John and Sarah.
"Did – did you – just kill someone – at a circus?" John asked Sherlock and Helena's gaze snapped towards the man with a confused frown. She had been the one to kill the man, not Sherlock, but suddenly it hit her what must've happened. She'd been lying on the floor without any weapon. She hadn't used her wand. It had been Sherlock who'd hit the man with an iron rod on the head. Her 'blow' had been invisible, unlike Sherlock's and for all intent and purposes, it certainly looked like he'd been the one to kill him.
"He was going to kill Helena, John. What do you propose I should've done?" Sherlock snapped, feeling vexed.
That had Helena turning her wide-eyed gaze towards him because no matter what it looked like to others, Sherlock must know he didn't kill someone. He must know the force he'd put while hitting the man, and from what she saw, it was enough to break the man's jaw and teeth, but it wasn't meant to kill.
"Not kill the man!" John said dreadfully, while Sarah was nearly dry heaving with panic.
"Will you just shut up for a moment?!" Sherlock nearly yelled before he took her by the shoulders and moved quite a bit away from John or Sarah before turning towards her.
"Are you alright?" he asked and she didn't miss there was something soft in his voice and he seemed worried.
"Yes."
He looked at her imploringly, assessing to see whether she was telling the truth or not, while she did the same before asking, "Why did you lie to John?"
"What are you talking about? Why would I lie?" He asked seriously, but the look he gave her would've fooled anyone else, but not her.
'Why was he lying? He knew it would put him in shit-load of trouble, despite the fact who his brother was!'
She shook her head at him and said, "We both know it wasn't you…"
"Of course, it was me! How do you think he died? You didn't have a weapon and I hit him with a rod." He snapped frustratedly, but it was clear in his eyes that he was lying.
'Maybe because there was no evidence that she'd even moved, let alone killed someone, but she wasn't going to let him take the blame… not of this.'
"Uhh… guys?" John mumbled but was ignored, again.
"We both know the pressure you applied wasn't enough to kill someone!" She snapped back before adding determinedly, "You shouldn't be held accountable for my deeds."
"You were there because of me!" He told her furiously, at least accepting she wasn't wrong.
"I won't let you suffer for something you didn't do!" She hissed back.
"GUYS!"
John's voice made the two blink and they realised that sometime during their little squabble, they've moved closer and were in each other's space, literally. But this wasn't why John was upset. No. Both Sherlock and Helena noticed at the same time that the street lights around them were flickering. There was a gust of wind which stopped just as soon as it has started.
"Time to face the music," Helena mumbled, making Sherlock look back at her. They hadn't moved and were still standing close, but neither moved away.
"Wh-what's happening?" John asked uneasily, holding onto Sarah or was it the other way around? Helena couldn't tell.
A tall figure appeared at the end of the alley and Sherlock readied himself, moving in front of everyone slowly until he heard Helena's voice behind him. "Oh! Thank Merlin, it's you."
He pretty much felt as she slumped with relief before rushing from behind him and flinging herself into the man's arms like a damsel in distress. Sherlock scowled, again feeling out of the loop as the man hugged her back before asking jokingly, "Who else do you think was it going to be?"
He didn't waste his time as he deduced that this man worked with Helena as well, went to Hogwarts and had the same weapon hidden in his robes. Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock asked rudely, "How did you find us?"
As Helena pulled away, the man looked at him and supplied easily, "I walked."
Sherlock walked closer to the man, offered his hand and introduced himself, "Sherlock Holmes."
The man looked down at Helena as if for confirmation before shaking his hand. "Oliver Wood."
"You work with Helena." Sherlock stated, keeping his eyes on Oliver, who nodded, but before he could say or ask something, Helena looked at him and asked, "How much trouble am I in?"
"Kings said and I quote, 'It's a good thing I don't have hair or I would've lost it because of Potter!" Wood mimicked, making her wince. He, then pointed towards her face and the cast on hand before asking, "What happened?"
"I got a cut and they sew me," Helena told him dramatically, making Sherlock roll his eyes; John and Sarah just gaped.
"SEW? With a needle?!" Oliver's eyes widened with horror and gasped, "That – that's ghastly!"
"I said the same thing! They treat all their patients like this! Apparently, it's a common procedure." Helena replied gravely.
John couldn't hold any longer and yelled, "Are you seriously having such a ridiculous conversation after… after… There were people! And cameras! By now the police must be looking for Sherlock!"
Oliver gave him half a smile and said placatingly, "Don't worry about it, mate. We have it covered."
Behind his back, Sherlock clasped his gloved hands and stared quietly, not wanting to interrupt, knowing they would say something which would let him know what exactly was it that these people did!
"Covered? Covered?! How in the bloody hell can you have it covered within 15 minutes?" John snapped agitatedly.
Helena looked at John and said, "John, this is what we do. Oliver and I have been working together for about 10 years now."
"Zach and Susan are taking care of it." Oliver told Helena, who nodded as he continued, "The good thing is, the place was almost deserted by the time, uh… the man died. You didn't use the wand, so no one really knows what happened. The memory of what happened was changed. The official report says that the man died after falling. No harm done!"
John shook his head confused and asked, "What do you mean the memory of what happened was changed?"
In the blink of an eye, Oliver pointed, what he now knew to be 'a wand' similar to Helena's at John and mumbled, "Obliviate."
Before Sherlock could register what had happened, a bright light hit John square in the face and the man slumped down on the ground, making Sarah shriek with fright. She tried to run, but the same light hit her and she too, fell on the ground.
Sherlock stared shell shocked at the stick which was not pointed at him but he couldn't outrun it and they both had the stick or wand. How did it work? And what was it that these people did? To say that he was surprised when Helena leapt between him and the man holding the stick would be an understatement. If the widening of his eyes was anything to go by, the man himself was surprised.
"Not him." She told the man firmly.
He looked dubious, looking from her to him before asking, "Are you sure?"
Helena gave a vigorous nod.
Sighing, the man lowered the stick and said, "Kingsley won't be happy."
She snorted. "When is he ever happy?"
Sherlock looked towards John, who was waking up from whatever the man had done before turning towards Oliver and Helena and snapped furiously, "What did you do?"
Helena rubbed her forehead and mumbled, "Changed the memory. It won't harm him in any way. They'll just think that the attacker hit his head after falling and died."
"Don't worry, mate. They're fine. Won't remember anything." Oliver added, hoping to placate the man, but it had the opposite effect.
Sherlock leaned back, observing the two for some time before demanding, "How?"
Oliver shared a look with Helena before shrugging and replied, "It's a memory charm and is used to erase specific memories from an individual's mind before the false memories are created. And before you ask anymore, we cannot tell you. At least not right now. It'll get us in trouble."
Sherlock promptly closed his mouth as his mind whirled as it had never before. There were so many questions in his mind and he wasn't sure which one to ask for! Who were these people? How could a memory of another person be changed? He knew the mind could be tricked into thinking or believing entirely something else, but doing it with the help of a 'stick' was impossible! But he had seen it with his own eyes. Did they have some kind of technology that was able to manipulate the human mind? He was practically bursting with questions! The first one being, did Mycroft know?
He looked at them and asked the most important thing, "Does Mycroft know?"
Huffing at his priorities, Helena replied, "Not exactly. He is aware of the basic things that concern England in general, but other than that, no."
That made him frown. Now, more questions arose but Oliver placed his hand on her shoulder and said, "We need the memory. You know its standard procedure."
Helena nodded at Oliver before turning towards him. Closing the distance between them, she hugged Sherlock. He stiffened at the gesture feeling muddled. His hands stayed by his sides, not knowing what to do with them, but thankfully, she whispered in his ear, "Go home. I'll answer every question you have once I'm done."
She pulled back just as quickly and looked at him. He was still as stiff as a board but nodded once.
"They'll be waking up any second now." She told him and just on the clue, there was a groan from John.
Clearing his throat, Oliver said to Helena, "Alright. Let's go to Mungo's first."
The two walked towards the end of the alleyway and had vanished before Sherlock reached them.
Somewhere in London
He had asked John and Sarah to back to the flat after making sure that they were fine if a bit disgruntled. True to words, none of the two remembered what had happened at the circus. They knew the man had died after 'falling and Helena had been called to work'. How had the man done that? He needed to find out more about the school where they were taught and the stick which was their main weapon. Despite hating that there were individuals out there who could play with his mind without his knowledge, he was also curious as to why Helena hadn't let the man take away his memories? Shouldn't it have been easier? She had killed a man without using 'the stick', so maybe it was something else? She had been right as he hadn't put enough force to kill their attacker, but just to stop him for the time being. How had she done that?
He wasn't sure how he felt about the whole 'situation', but despite everything, she had followed him again and had almost died again. She hadn't stopped Oliver from taking John's memories, so why him? No matter how much his racked his mind, he couldn't figure it out. There couldn't be an ulterior motive, could there? What would she gain from manipulating him when she had more resources than Mycroft himself? By now, one thing he was sure about – this organisation was not connected with the British government, for the most part. Which explained why Mycroft hadn't been able to do anything about Helena.
A black car stopped beside him and he rolled his eyes, but his curiosity got better of him and he got in.
"You're getting tardy." He mocked even before he looked at his brother.
Mycroft huffed but didn't waste any time. Looking straight into Sherlock's eyes, he asked seriously, "Would you listen if I… ask you, not to get involved?"
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and asked innocently, "Involved in what?"
"Let's not pretend, dear brother," Mycroft stated sternly. "With Miss Potter or anything connected to her."
"Why?" he asked inquisitively.
"She's… different." Was the reply and Sherlock scowled, "Different how?"
"You must've realised by now that she and her… friends are – not like us," Mycroft told him tiredly.
Sherlock observed his brother, who had his lips pinched in a thin line and he looked like he had swallowed piss. An expression usually reserved when things did not go the way he wanted. He raised his chin, somewhat surprised and declared, "You're not allowed to say."
As always, Mycroft's reply was cryptic as he said, "You know how I always say that people are like 'goldfish'? Well, for her kind… we're the goldfish."
Now this – this excited Sherlock. His eyes glittered as he leaned closer to his brother unconsciously and asked, "Her kind?"
"They think of themselves as the – superior race, even if I do not agree," Mycroft replied sardonically.
Sherlock glowered at yet another arcane reply and mocked childishly, "Round and round and round…"
Mycroft was not amused and warned grimly, "Don't get involved, Sherlock!"
This was as close to begging as Mycroft could come and Sherlock was surprised. The brothers stared at each other unrelentingly, where instead of replying, Sherlock looked away moodily. He opened the door, ready to leave when Mycroft tried one last time, "She has enemies. People, even I cannot go against."
Irked, Sherlock looked over his shoulder and asked, "Why do you even care?"
"As I've said before – I worry about you, constantly," Mycroft replied emotionlessly, but his voice was soft as he looked at Sherlock, knowing his brother would not listen.
As soon as Sherlock got out of the car, he slammed the door shut. Within seconds, the car was gone.
Glaring at the back of the car, Sherlock realised that he was already involved. Deeply involved.
221B
Half an Hour Later
Sherlock was staring at the pictures over the fireplace when she entered the flat. The place was full of boxes filled with books and more books. She ignored the occupants for now and put the glass jar she had been holding on the table. Noticing, that the couch was nearly empty, she pushed the books lying on it down the floor and slumped sideways onto it with a tired sigh.
She had never been up here without reason, so if John or Sherlock were surprised, they didn't show it.
"You're back early," Sherlock stated, not missing that both her arm and the cut she had on her lip were healed. She no longer was supporting a hand-print on her cheek.
Helena grunted in acknowledgement, not in the mood to deal with anything else after the day she'd had.
John looked at Sherlock, who was staring at Helena like she was a client and shook his head. He looked back at her asked, "What happened to the man?
That made her turn her head and she asked grumpily, "The man?"
John raised his brows and reminded, "Yes, the one who died? You were handling his case, weren't you?"
She slumped back, her face mushed into the cushion and mumbled, "Uh… yeah. I have to be at the wizengamot the day after tomorrow."
"Wizengamot?" Sherlock asked sharply.
"Court." Came another muffled reply.
Sherlock was about to ask more, when Sarah, who was hovering close to John and asked awkwardly, "You're not in trouble, are you?"
Helena shook her head. "Of course, not. It's not really much of a case now, is it?"
Glaring daggers at John's date, Sherlock nodded towards the glass box and asked, "What's that?"
Walking closer, he saw that it looked like a worm, slimy, ten-inches long and brown in colour. Something he had never heard about before. He wouldn't delete information about a being, so how had he not heard about it before?
"A nasty flobberworm." She sat up and glared at it like she was going to set it on fire with her eyes. Leaning closer to the jar, she asked, "How long can a worm live in the fridge without food?"
"You're not going to feed it?" Sarah choked-out horrified.
Helena looked at her and said with a dark smile, "I was planning to burn it slowly, but keeping it alive seems like a better idea."
John and Sarah stared like she was mental, while Sherlock contemplated something before asking, "What did it do?"
"Nothing. I just don't need to worry about the Prophet anymore." Helena beamed, making Sherlock blink. He knew for certain that 'Prophet' was the newspaper he'd seen twice now. What he didn't understand was what did a worm had to do with the said paper. Leaning closer, he narrowed his eyes in concentration before looking up at Helena perplexed.
Taken aback, he asked, "Is it – wearing glasses?"
"Oh, yes. It's a special worm. Weak eyes and all that…" She waved her hand offhandedly and he gaped along with John and Sarah.
There was nothing but silence as the three stared from the worm to Helena before Sarah cleared her throat, took a few steps towards the door and said, "Well, I think perhaps I should leave you to it."
John turned to her and shook his head, "No. No, you don't have to go. Stay." At the same time Sherlock looked pointedly at Sarah and said, "Yes, it would be better to study if you left now."
Sherlock looked over his shoulder to John, who glared at him darkly before turning back towards the girl.
"He's kidding. Please stay if you'd like." John said and Helena observed exchange with something akin to pity for 'poor John'.
Sarah looked between the two nervously before turning to look at Helena, who hastily stared down at the worm, transfixed. Sarah looked back at Sherlock and smiled awkwardly and tried in a friendly manner, "Is it just me or is anyone else starving?"
"Oh, God," Sherlock muttered and despite he didn't look away from the pictures, Helena could practically see him rolling his eyes exasperatedly.
John opened an almost empty fridge and sighed when he saw the eyeball before closing the door.
Sherlock was sitting on the chair of the study table which was littered with photos, notes and drawings of various cyphers. Helena was standing at the other side of the table, trying to figure out a way to help the man, hopefully without magic. He was rummaging through the papers faster than she could ever hope to do, discarding the ones he'd gone through towards her; consciously or not, she didn't know as she tried to stay out of his way, knowing how he could be if interrupted in the middle of a case.
Focused on their work, the two ignored Sarah, who was standing in front of the mirror, looking at all the images and notes stuck at the mirror. Hands in the pockets of her skirt, she looked at the back of Sherlock's head and mused, "So, this is what you do? You solve puzzles for a living."
Sherlock looked miffed but didn't turn around as he replied, "Consulting Detective."
"Oh." She walked over to Sherlock and looked over his shoulder. Leaning down a bit, she pointed at the paper and asked, "What are these squiggles?"
Once again, Sherlock blinked, looking as if he was trying very hard not to throw her out and told her testily, "They're numbers. An ancient Chinese dialect."
"Oh, right! Yeah, well, of course, I should have known that!" Sarah said, nodding to herself.
Helena frowned at the photograph which Dimmock had brought back sealed in an evidence bag. She took it out before opening it and her eyes widened at what she saw. A word had been written across each of the first two sets of symbols on the photograph. Bless Soo Lin, now the case would be solved much easier than they had anticipated.
She looked up to see Sherlock glaring at Sarah, who apparently had picked up a photo he'd been studying. He had his teeth bared in a way that reminded her of Sirius and his hands were clenched in fists, looking like he was contemplating picking the girl and throwing her out the window.
"Uh… Sherlock?" she called slowly; at the same time Sarah asked oblivious of the man's ire, "Eh, so these numbers, it's a cypher?"
"Exactly." He replied through gritted teeth, even though he threw Helena a look which screamed, – 'Don't be dull! Get on with it!'
Huffing, she put the picture in front of him and said, "Look… Soo Lin Yao has already translated two words."
Picking up the photo hastily, he stared at it before shouting, "John! We didn't see it!"
John came out of the kitchen and stared at the photo as Sherlock reads out-loud, "Nine mill."
John squinting down at it and asked, "Does that mean millions?"
"Nine million quid. For what?" Sherlock mumbled and turned around to grab his scarf and coat. "We need to know the end of this sentence."
"Where are you going?" John asked.
"To the museum; to the restoration room." Putting his coat on, he pulled a face and yelled at himself, "Oh, we must have been staring right at it!"
John looked at him and asked confused, "At-at what?"
"The book, John. The book. The key to cracking the cipher!" He waved the photo at John and continued, "Soo Lin used it to do this! Whilst we were running around the gallery, she started to translate the code. It must be on her desk."
With that, he was out the door and gone.
Helena and John share a bemused look before she picked up the glass jar and said, "I'll be in my flat… hoping I'll get a nap before he disrupts it again."
With that, she too was gone, leaving John to clean up the mess that had become his date.
Sherlock rushed into his flat shouting, "John! Helena! I've got it! The cipher, the book. It's the London A-Z that they're usi…"
He stopped short, staring with open-mouthed horror at the yellow paint that had been sprayed across the windows. His eyes filter around uselessly looking for any sigh of Helena, John or Sarah when he noticed that the glass jar had been gone. Without thinking, he rushed downstairs, hoping that she would be in her flat.
"Helena! Helena!" He yelled, pounding on her door. "Helena!"
She opened the door looking alarmed and asked, "What is it?"
The first thing he noticed was that she was freshly showered and had changed into her pyjamas. That's why she didn't hear when they took John. The second was the 'wand'. The piece of wood was clutched tightly in her fist.
"They've taken John." He said and rushed back upstairs.
"What?!" she gasped, following after him and asked, "What about Sarah?"
"Oh, yes. Her too." He said, hurrying over to the bookshelf. "Tramway."
He looked all over it before muttering under his breath, "Oh, Christ."
Pulling the map of London out, he spread it on the table and looked all over it before pointing with his finger, "There."
He turned around to head out, but was stopped when Helena held his hand and stated, "Show me the exact spot."
Baffled, he gaped at her. 'He knew she wasn't this stupid.'
"We need to hurry!" he stated in annoyance.
"I know how to reach there faster! Show me the exact place, please." She said, making him stare at her questionably. He knew every street of London and knew there was no shorter way. For the first time, he looked at her doubtfully.
She looked at him imploringly and all but begged, "Look, I know how it seems right now, but please trust me this once. I won't let you down. John is my friend too."
Dubiously, he nodded and pointed at the tramway.
Once she was certain where the place was, she said to him seriously, "Whatever you're going to see, you can't tell anyone. Not even John." She didn't wait for his reply and warned, "This won't be pleasant."
She closed the distance between them and held onto his shoulders tightly.
Startled, his eyes widened as he stared down at her and asked confused, "What are you doing?"
Staring into his eyes, she whispered, "Hold me and don't let go."
"Why?" he frowned.
"I quite like you. Don't want to leave half of you behind." She told him seriously and his eyes widened even more.
Noticing that she was serious, he moved his hands and held her waist slowly. Still unable to think why instead of taking the cab, he was holding her like the foolish couples did. How would this help in getting John faster?
"Don't let go…. And close your eyes." She whispered, bringing his thoughts to a halt as in the next second, everything went black and through no fault of his own, he slammed his eyes shut and pulled her closer. It felt as if he was being forced through a very tight rubber tube, there was a tightening around his chest and he could not breathe, so, he hid his face in her mess of curls as his hands clutched her even tighter.
Then suddenly, he tumbled and slammed to a stop. He was still clinging to her with all his might when she asked slowly, "You're not going to hurl, are you?"
He pulled away from her, ready to inform her that he was fine, but his need to breathe stopped him. His knees wobbled and he held onto the nearest wall for support so he wouldn't faceplant on the road when suddenly he realised that they weren't in his apartment anymore. As he looked around, still unable to speak for some reason, he realised that they were just outside the tramway.
The same tramway he knew John was in.
He looked at Helena wide-eyed and gasped, "Ho – how?"
"Uh…" was the eloquent reply.
"Did we – just – teleported?" Flabbergasted, he asked.
Now, she panicked, so in lieu of changing the topic, she asked, "You are all there, aren't you?"
Shocked and horrified, he gaped, so she said placatingly, "It's only at times when some of your body parts are left behind. Though, it has never been me."
"This how you disappeared the other day." He mused before swallowing. He took a deep breath, feeling like himself again and demanded, "How did you teleport?"
His tone made her fidget, but she straightened and said, "Look, I'll answer all the questions you have to the best of my ability once John and Sarah are safe."
Reluctantly, he agreed because right now, saving John was his prime concern, but he would get everything out of her once they were done here. Determined, he walked towards the darkened tramway, when he was stopped by her voice.
"You cannot tell anyone, Sherlock."
He looked over at her and for some unknown reason, found himself nodding.
Tramway
"…distant moonlit shores of NW1, we present for your pleasure Sherlock Holmes' pretty companion in a death-defying act." They the Opera Singer's voice, which turned out to be Shan. Peaking around they noticed Sarah tied-up in front of the same machine they had seen at the circus.
"Can you do something?" Sherlock whispered to her; eyes focused on the scene in front of him.
She shook her head and whispered back, "Too risky."
"I'm not Sherlock Holmes!" They heard John's frantic shout.
"Distract them. I'll take care of the lackeys." She told him and was gone before he could say something, making him blink blankly at the space she'd been standing at.
"I don't believe you," Shan said.
With a muttered curse, Sherlock stepped out of the shadow and called, "You should, you know."
John sighed with relief when he saw the familiar silhouette at the far end of the tunnel.
"Sherlock Holmes is nothing at all like him."
Turning around, Shan raised her pistol and aimed it towards him. But he immediately dodged to the side, disappearing into the shadows again. The big one of the two guys, ran towards him, but Sherlock continued, "How would you describe me, John? Resourceful? Dynamic? Enigmatic?"
"Late?" John said impatiently.
Helena rolled her eye at the two and moved towards John slowly. The movement caught his eye and she motioned for him to stay quiet with a finger on her lips. She didn't want to alarm the thugs as the machine could be triggered with a hair's breadth. Also, she needed to make sure John or Sarah wouldn't find out about magic. She already had a hearing at wizengamot, she didn't want another sword hanging over her or John's head.
"That's a semi-automatic. If you fire it, the bullet will travel at over a thousand meters per second." Sherlock said.
"Well?" Shan asked, aiming her pistol towards the shadows.
"Well…"
There was a THUMP and Helena looked where the big guy had been standing. Sherlock had hit the man across his stomach, possibly with a metal pipe. The man collapsed with a loud grunt and Sherlock ducked back into the shadow before Stan could fire. "…the radius curvature of these walls is nearly four meters. If you miss, the bullet will ricochet. Could hit anyone. Might even bounce off the tunnel and hit you."
As soon as Helena reached behind John, she tugged at his hand slowly to let him know not to make any movement.
Pointing her wand towards the ropes tied above his hands and whispered, "Diffindo."
The rope fell off and surprised, John pulled his hands instantly, but Helena held them with her own, stopping him. His ankles were still tied to the legs of the chair and it wouldn't do them any favour if they alarmed Stan or Liang. They needed to get Sarah out of the chair and fast.
Sherlock burst out of the darkness and kicked the nearby dustbin which was burning. There was a loud crash and Shan's eyes widen, realizing that it's now impossible to see the tunnel clearly.
As Helena freed John, Sherlock rushed behind Sarah and started undoing the ropes that were binding her.
Looking around, Helena noticed Stan turning around at the end of the tunnel, trying to escape. And without a second thought, Helena rushed after her. Turning around the corner, Helena saw Stan in a car, about to escape, so she pointed her wand at the woman and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"
She froze in the driver's seat with her hands on the steering wheel, eyes whirling around frantically. Nodding to herself, she rushed back inside in time to see Sherlock struggling against Soo Lin's brother as the man had a red scarf coiled around his throat and was trying to strangle him.
John meanwhile was trying to untie Sarah's ropes, who was dry-heaving and not in any state to help. Her eyes were staring pointedly at the arrow above her and then to the sandbag, which by now was almost near the metal cup on the crossbow.
He was untying her second ankle and Helena's eyes widened when she realised that once Sarah was no longer in the way, the arrow would hit either Sherlock or Liang. She didn't have enough time to run towards them, so she apparated directly behind Sherlock, pointed her wand at the red scarf and muttered, "Diffindo!"
It was torn in two as she looped her arms around Sherlock tightly. Even though he did stiffen, he relaxed as soon as he heard her voice whispering in his ear urgently, "Close your eyes!" and for once, didn't argue, possibly because his eyes were trained on the red scarf.
John took Sarah and jumped to the side. The chair she'd been sitting on fell, just as the arrow flew. Helena disapparated before apparating on the other side at the same time the arrow buried itself in Liang's stomach. He grunted; his face filled with shock as he toppled on the ground.
She pulled away as soon as they landed, making Sherlock stumble. Groaning at the way his stomach lurched, he doubled over with his hands on the knees and breathed harshly. Grimacing, Helena rubbed his back, hoping it would soothe him if nothing else.
"You were there," John said suddenly, making the two turn towards their friend. "…weren't you? How did you get here so fast?"
"Don't – ask – stupid – questions, John!" Sherlock breathed out, making John huff as he held onto a shivering Sarah. Then, to everyone's surprise, he looked at the girl and whispered, "You're going to be all right. It's over now."
Right now, he reminded Helena so much of the boy she knew, that she blinked up at him feeling confounded as Sherlock looked around, his eyes searched the area for something before bemoaning angrily, "Stan. She got away."
"No, I managed to tie her up. She's in the car outside." Helena replied hazily.
Two heads turned towards her, staring with disbelief.
"When did you manage to do that?!" Perplexed, John asked slowly.
She shrugged uncomfortably, making John frown, but Sherlock hurried outside and the three followed. When they reached outside, they noticed that the door of the passenger side was open and Sherlock was searching for something. As Helena moved closer, her eyes widened when she saw that even though Stan was still in the same position she'd been in before, still holding onto the steering wheel and eyes wide but there was no a sign of life in them. The windshield of the car was cracked and there was a bullet hole in her forehead.
"I – I don't…" Helena started but was cut off when Sherlock told her sharply, "Of course, you didn't know. Someone shot her because she got caught."
She looked at him, noticing that there was something in his eyes… something she couldn't decipher, so she simply nodded.
After his talk with Dimmock, Sherlock innocently advised John, "Why don't you drop Sarah home? She must be traumatised."
"Yes, yes." John turned towards Sarah who was still looking a bit shaken and asked, "Why don't I take you home?"
She nodded and the two hailed a cab before leaving.
Helena's eyes narrowed when he turned towards her and demanded readily, "How do you teleport? How do you change memories? How does the stick work? Tell me!"
"Merlin's beard!" She snapped, making him blink at the unusual exclamation. "I haven't slept for nearly 2 days now. I'm starving and in case you've missed, I'm not really in a state to answer your questions!"
"You are hungry?"
"Yes."
Surprising her again, he asked softly, "Dinner?"
Her mouth fell open before she uttered, "Dinner? It's 4' in the morning."
"There's a good Italian at the end of the road. Stays open all night." He informed quietly, still staring at her.
She nodded and followed him when he started walking towards the restaurant. There was silence for a couple of seconds before she said cheekily, "You'll be paying, won't you? Seeing as we are on a date."
He rolled his eyes at her, but his ears did turn red and he did end up paying the bill, stating that they were on a 'date', much to Helena's surprise.
221B
After the extremely late dinner, Helena was sitting in the kitchen, still in her pyjamas, while Sherlock poured her and John a cup of tea from the teapot. Seeing as it was her day off, she was determined to sleep the rest of the day, but after a cuppa or two.
"Ta." She muttered gratefully, taking the first blessed sip from the mug.
John looked at the translated message and mused, "So, nine mill…"
"Million." Sherlock corrected, pouring some for himself.
"Million, yes. Nine million for jade pin dragon den black tramway." John continued.
Sherlock said, taking a sip of his tea. "An instruction to all their London operatives. A message. What they were trying to reclaim."
John looked up at him and asked, "What, a jade pin?"
"Worth nine million pounds. Bring it to the tramway, their London hideout." Sherlock replied, pointing to the translated words.
John blinked aghast before asking, "Hang on. A hairpin worth nine million pounds?"
"Apparently."
"Why so much?" John frowned.
"Depends who owned it or how old it was," Helena told him with a shrug.
221C
Helena blinked her eyes open as someone knocked on her door. Peering blearily at the clock, she sighed. She had been asleep for nearly 2 hours, but after being awake for more than 2 days now, she deserved more sleep! Whoever it was, she was going to kill him!
She stomped towards the door and opened it to see a beaming detective standing at her door, ready to knock again, but grinned like a madman when he saw her. She flinched. By now she knew that this particular smile was evil and could do no good.
"I solved the case." He informed before firing rapidly, "Now tell me everything!"
He was ready to burst into her apartment and she yelled, "For fuck's sake, Sherlock!"
And she slammed the door in his face, again, leaving a confused detective out.
She turned back to go back to bed when she saw a letter lying on her table. Frowning, she picked it up and recognised the handwriting as Neville's immediately. As she read it, her eyes turned cold and she crumpled the letter in her fist angrily.
Another woman was found, raped and 'attacked by an animal', but the thing was, her 7-year-old child was missing and presumed dead. She couldn't wait for Greyback to kill another person. She will have to find his hideout one way or the other.
She sent a patronus to Neville, informing him about her plan before packing an emergency bag.
Talking to Sherlock would have to wait.
EN: The next chapter will be posted possibly within a month.
Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting. Have a nice day everyone.
October 9th, 2020