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 go forward.

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

3 days later

St Barts

The two observed the red light shining over the piece of cloth that was lying on the table before she asked, "It's his, isn't it?"

"Yes." Malfoy nodded before looking up at her and asking tentatively, "You found him then?"

She shook her head, irked and said, "No. Just the hideout, but they'll be there before full-moon."

He swallowed. "So, you will…?"

"Yes." Was the terse reply.

"Be careful, would you?" said Malfoy, making her grin and said teasingly, "Aw… I didn't know you cared, Malfoy."

"Don't be stupid, Potter!" he replied hotly. "I just don't want another body on my table."

Before she could come back with a clever retort, someone knocked on the door before entering slowly.

"Dr Black?" Molly called.

"Dr Hooper." Malfoy nodded back curtly before acknowledging the man beside her. "Lestrade."

"Molly! How are you?" Helena asked with a smile.

"Good. Good. I'm good." Molly replied softly but her eyes flittered around as she asked nonchalantly, "So, you're here with Sherlock?"

Helena was not at all surprised by the question. If she wasn't wrong, the doctor loved Sherlock or she unquestionably had a crush on the man. She just shook her head and said, "Sorry. It's just me."

She turned towards the man and offered her hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, was it?"

"Miss Potter?" he looked surprised as he shook her hand and asked, "Are you on a case?"

"Something like that. I needed Draco's expertise." She told him with half a smile.

Now, Molly looked from her to Dr Black and asked, "Oh. You know each other?"

She looped her arm around Draco's, startling him and said, "Oh, yes. We go way back. Practically childhood friends."

Malfoy gaped at her like she was mental, but didn't shrug her off. Though he did roll his eyes exasperatedly and huffed, "You wish, Potter."

Lestrade and Molly looked at them awkwardly before Molly cleared her throat and said, "Dr Black? Inspector Lestrade needed the paperwork of the man who died this morning?"

Malfoy nodded and turned to his table, picked up a file before handing it to Molly wordlessly.

Startling them all, Lestrade spoke, "So, Miss Potter…"

"Helena, please."

The man nodded and asked, "Helena. Can I drop you somewhere?"

She stared at him wide-eyed before shaking her head. "Oh no. I don't want to be a bother."

"It's not an issue. I'm done for the day anyway." The man said with a small smile.

And she found herself nodding. "Aright."

221C

Hot water cascaded down her body as she scrubbed herself clean after days. Helena was still in a daze about the little fact that she had a date on Friday. Lestrade… Greg had asked her out on the way here and she had said yes. She could already tell that the man was sweet by the simple fact that he had not bad-mouthed Sherlock after finding out that they lived in the same apartment. When was the last time she went on a date? Teddy had been 8 when Ginny had set her up with one of her friends. It had turned out to be a disaster as Teddy had thrown a tantrum and accidentally apparated himself in William's bedroom when the man was in the middle of removing her dress. There had been no second date after that. Now her little boy would be turning 12 next month and she was finally free to date. If 'that someone' accepted that she had a 12-year-old who was her main priority.

She hadn't told Greg about Teddy just yet, but she would tell him on their date. If there was a date and the 'man-child' didn't interrupt her as he had done with John. To say that she was scared would be an understatement. Especially after the reaction he had when she had invited Molly over, Helena couldn't even begin to imagine what he would do if he found out she had a date with his colleague. She was going to keep the little detail to herself.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she didn't hear the door open until there was a sharp intake of breath and her eyes snapped to the man standing in front of her. She would've laughed at the wide-eyed look on his face which was turning red if it hadn't been her naked!

She tried to cover herself with one hand while the other flew out blindly where she knew the towel was. The shower was still on and in her haste, she slipped into the tub… or she would've if two steady hands wouldn't have caught her in time. Her own hands held onto his shoulders reflexively as she settled against his chest, hyper-aware of his hands that were now wrapped around her waist tightly. At the moment, she wasn't sure whether she was grateful or not about the fact that even though she was completely starkers, at least he was fully clothed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and hissed, "Did it ever occur to you that you shouldn't barge in when someone's taking a shower?!"

"I did knock! You didn't answer. You've been gone for three days and you weren't answering your phone." He mumbled.

Her eyes flew open and she glared at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His eyes were locked onto the wall behind her and his face was scarlet.

She gritted her teeth and said furiously, "I'm going to turn you into a bloody pig!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped back to hers; disbelief written all over his face. By now, he too was soaking wet but paid no heed.

"Oh, yes. I can do that." She told him vindictively.

"You wouldn't." He gasped.

Arching a brow elegantly as if she wasn't standing naked in his arms she asked smugly, "Wouldn't I?"

He stared down at her while she scowled until Sherlock moved one of his hands from her waist and turned the shower off. She shivered and squeaked when unexpectedly, he lifted her out of the bathtub easily before settling her on the mat and was startled to see him holding her towel out. Exhaling a shaky breath, she took it from him and closed her eyes when his eyes fell on the back of her hand. She wasn't wearing the glamour. She didn't think she would need it in the privacy of her bathroom!

'I must not tell lies.'

The words had faded with time, but they were still clearly visible as the day they had been carved.

His eyes had darkened considerably when he looked back at her and she could see a million questions swirling in them. Removing her other hand from his shoulder, she took the towel, unable to meet his eyes feeling oddly vulnerable. He didn't speak and simply stormed out, closing the door behind him. Helena slumped against the wall and took a deep breath. Not bothering to dry herself down, she quickly wrapped the towel around herself, feeling her face burn with embarrassment.

221C

Once dressed in her comfy pyjamas, she decided to search for something to eat but froze when she entered the living room. Sherlock was sitting on the chair in front of the fireplace in what she now knew to be his 'thinking position'. His hair was wet but other than that, he had changed and was looking as immaculate as ever.

She thought of whirling around and hiding in her room until he left, but knowing him, he would possibly break the door to get the answers. Collecting the remaining of her dignity, she moved forwards and slumped on the sofa opposite the man.

His ears were still red and she felt her face growing hot as he mumbled, "I apologise."

Helena nodded, still unable to meet his eyes and stared at the fire. None of the two spoke for some time and the silence grew loud. She couldn't help herself and peaked at him, to see that he was staring at her steadily… definitely observing.

Slumping into the cushions, she waved her wand at the jar, covering the 'worm' swiftly and said, "Go ahead. Start the inquisition."

He stared at it in wonder before eying her wand, looking ready to snatch it, but shook himself out and enquired, "Why cover the worm?"

Instead of answering, Helena picked the newspaper lying nearby and threw it at him.

"Let's see how good your deduction skills are." She challenged with a small smirk.

Frowning, but delighted he looked down at the paper. The Daily Prophet, only this time, the words and pictures remained instead of vanishing.

A New Headmistress for Hogwarts?

Story by Rita Skeeter

There was a picture of a stern-looking woman, witch, his mind reminded. Black hair, wearing a pointy-hat, glaring at whoever took the picture. His eyes flew through the absurd article and he rolled his eyes. Then he looked at the other picture. It too was of a woman – heavy-jawed face, rigid blonde curls, heavily painted face, jewelled spectacles, large, mannish hands and long crimson fingernails.

He looked up at Helena, who was now staring at him looking thoroughly amused and he frowned before looking at the paper again, searching for anything he might've missed. Shaking his head, perplexed how any of this could be connected to the 'flobberworm', he closed his eyes and everything flew in front of his eyes. And suddenly, his eyes flew back open and he gaped openly, making her grin.

"The journalist. How?" he asked dumbfounded.

"Transfiguration. We're taught in our 2nd year. It's illegal, but… nobody would care about a lying slut." She told him offhandedly.

His mouth was still hanging open in an undignified manner as he stared at her before his expressions turned to amusement.

He pointed towards the back of her hands. "How did you get those?"

Already uncomfortable, she waved him off and said, "They're not important. It was a long time ago."

"You didn't have them 3 days ago." He poked.

Huffing, she replied, "I've had these since I was 15."

'Better to get it over with, yeah?' she thought to herself before adding, "I use glamour to hide them. It's… it helps in altering minor appearances like eye colour, the shape of your nose or mouth, hide injuries…"

"…or scars." Sherlock finished for her before asking, "How was it carved?"

"With a Black Quill. It's a torture device." She told him monotonously. "

"You were tortured because you were an intricate part of the war." He mused before Mycroft's words rang in front of his eyes. 'Her kind.' He leaned back and exhilarated by the concept of finally learning about the secret which everyone knew but him and asked, "What are you?"

She looked straight at him, but her fingers were fiddling with her pyjamas.

'Nervous.' He observed.

"I'm just as human as you are… but, I'm also a witch." She spoke quietly.

He stilled. The only expression that crossed his face was the widening of his eyes. Otherwise, like his brother, he did not indicate that something was going on in his mind.

"This is my wand." She twisted it in her fingers. He was still staring at her like she was a liar or maybe he was in shock, so she said, "You've seen what I can do. What my… others can do."

He wanted to ask her if she was working for his brother but, how could he? He had seen her and the others using the wand himself. He was not mad! She had teleported right in front of him; she had used the wand to cut the scarf; the man – Wood, had removed John and his date's memories; she didn't know what stitches were; his homeless network was never able to follow her; Mycroft's warning to 'stay away' because she was dangerous and even his brother wasn't equipped to handle people like her. Her world was wholly different from the one he knew about. Pieces fell into place as he had never expected.

His eyes snapped back to hers when she waved her hand in front of him and asked worriedly, "Are you – alright?"

He nodded slowly, mind running to process everything that he had seen in the past months. "Yes."

She looked sceptical but nodded nonetheless. "It would be easier if I tell you everything from the beginning."

She bit her lower lip and asked tentatively, "But you can still leave if you want?"

He scowled at her and she raised both her hands. "Aright."

"You must've figured out by now that I went to a private school?" she started.

"Hogwarts." He supplied easily.

With a nod, she corrected, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

He stayed glued to his spot, unwilling to move until he knew everything.

"You should know that witches and wizards are extremely prejudiced and the wizarding world is divided based on blood purity – purebloods, half-bloods and muggle-borns. Purebloods, who are born in a family with a magical bloodline, which could be traced back to the founders. Muggle-borns are those, who born to muggles, non-magical people. And half-bloods are those whose parents are both, a pureblood and a muggle-born. Ron and Malfoy are purebloods and Hermione is a muggle-born."

"Muggle?" he asked inquisitively.

"Muggle is someone with no magic blood inside them. Non-magic folk." She replied.

He made a face like he had swallowed something vile and asked outraged, "Did you imply that the odious term applies to me!?"

"Oh, come off it! I'm a half-blood! How do you think I feel?!" She told him with an eye-roll.

He huffed, but raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.

"First you need to know that there are two types of magic – light and dark. That's how the wizarding world has always been. There are spells that we use in our daily lives, but there are curses that you aren't allowed to use. And then there are the Unforgivable Curses – Killing Curse, it causes instantaneous and painless death without causing any injury to the body, and without any trace of violence.; Cruciatus is a torture curse. It's… its worse than a thousand hot knives burning into the skin. 6 minutes under the curse is enough to cause permanent mental damage, for a witch or a wizard. A muggle goes mad in less than a minute if he survives it. And Imperius places the victim completely under the caster's control. Using any of these on another human being, Muggle or wizard, results in a life sentence to Azkaban, unless sufficient evidence is provided that the caster did so under the influence of the Imperius Curse." She added after a moment, "It was made legal during the Second Wizarding War under Lord Voldemort's regime."

He stared at her intently, still unmoving, already realising that she had been under at least one if not two.

"Tom Riddle or as he liked to call himself Voldemort or the Dark Lord, hated muggles and muggle-born; he wanted to cleanse the world and kill them all. People who agreed with him followed him, while others fought against him. He was very powerful and had already killed my grandparents 4 years before my birth along with many others. And then a prophecy was made:

'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...

and the Dark Lord shall mark him as his equal but he shall have power the Dark Lord knows not...

For neither can live while the other survives...'

"After I was born, my parents went into hiding along with the Longbottom's. Neville was born a day after I did."

"Your partner." He remembered the man she had been arguing with the other day.

She nodded. "Both his parents were tortured to insanity to the point that they don't even recognise Neville. Not even now."

"Anyway, my parents were betrayed and Voldemort killed them, but he couldn't kill me. His curse rebounded and he vanished. That's how I got this scar." She pointed to her forehead. "My godfather, Sirius Black was falsely accused of the murder of my parents and was sent to Azkaban. Wizarding prison – horrid place. Well, I was 15 months old and was sent to the Dursley's. I didn't know about magic until I received my letter when I turned 11. It turned out; Voldemort wasn't as dead as people thought him to be. He returned when I was in 4th year."

Taking a deep breath, she continued, "You should know that Albus Dumbledore was not only the Headmaster of Hogwarts but the most powerful wizard of his time. He's even regarded as the strongest wizard in history, and even Lord Voldemort himself feared to face him which was why he stayed hidden. I tried to tell people but no one believed me. He was like a grandfather to me, so it was easy for them to think that I was lying because Dumbledore wanted to take the minister's position."

She pointed towards her hand. "That's how I got these. The professor sent to keep an eye on us punished me for 'spreading lies.' Umbridge loved using Black Quill on students as punishment. It is a dark magical object and does not require ink as it writes with the blood of the person using it. What the user writes gets carved onto the back of their hands. Then the blood from the words sliced into the hand is magically siphoned and used as ink on the parchment."

He stared at her attentively, his eyes fixated on hers, with his hands clasped together under his chin.

"In my 6th year, Dumbledore took me to the Cr…" she stopped suddenly. She couldn't tell him the name or he would get himself killed with his curiosity. He narrowed his eyes when she changed what she was about to say. "…a cave to retrieve one of the seven Horcruxes created by Voldemort. However, he'd cast several different enchantments to protect the Horcrux. It is an object in which a Dark wizard or witch has hidden a fragment of his or her soul to become immortal. The spell has to be performed right after committing cold-blooded murder. A Horcrux is considered to be the darkest art and the most terrible of all dark magic."

Sherlock noticed that she rubbed the mark on her forehead tiredly and said, "The Death Eaters, Voldemort's followers found their way into Hogwarts that night. Dumbledore was weak and was killed. After that, Voldemort took over Hogwarts and the ministry. He killed hundreds of muggles. You must remember hearing about the Brockdale Bridge?"

His eyes widened because he remembered it being too suspicious. "It was…"

She replied, "…the death eaters. Muggle-borns were killed at sight. We knew we couldn't go back anyway and we couldn't let him win. No one else knew about the Horcruxes and I knew I had to find them to end it all."

"Them?" he asked curiously.

"There were 8, including one that was the part of his soul. Two had already been destroyed by then and the locket hidden in the cave turned out to be a fake. I was on the run for more than a year. Ron and Hermione, they… they followed me willingly despite knowing that they were targeted because of me. Her parents were muggles, so she erased their memories and sent them to Australia. As you know, they were murdered. The last one was destroyed on the day of the final war."

"You killed him." He stated.

"Yes."

He observed her, not missing the melancholy in her eyes. It made him understand how she easily adapted to the dangerous circumstances when anyone else would've run away by now. From the moment she had understood life, adventure and danger were all she had known. This was the reason she was important. This was why Mycroft couldn't simply kidnap her. She was too important… too famous, suddenly her picture in the paper made sense. Working 'with' the British government made sense. That's how the man, Marcus Flint was killed – the killing curse. The potions and medicines; the moving newspaper and the words vanishing right in front of his eyes, it all made sense now.

"What's a squib?

"A non-magical person born to at least one magical parent. They are rare and are looked upon with disdain by some witches and wizards, particularly pure-bloods. Purebloods tend to abandon squibs and pretend that they never existed."

He said, "Angelo's grandfather."

"Yes. Zabini's are pure-bloods. Famous for supporting the dark side." She told him.

His eyes didn't leave her face as he finally asked, "You know who killed those women."

"A werewolf." Came a short reply and he straightened.

He leaned forward before ordering, "Say that again!"

"Fenrir Greyback is a werewolf notorious for his savagery and preference for attacking children. He is a leader in his community and strives to infect as many people as possible with lycanthropy, hoping to build an army strong enough to eventually take over the wizarding community." She told him with utter disgust.

But his eyes shined excitedly and he jumped off his seat and sprang in front of her, startling her.

"Tell me more!" He demanded, grinning like a madman.

She opened his mouth to snap at him but promptly shut it back as an idea clicked and she said, "Why don't I give you the book. It has all the information about the creatures of the wizarding world."

"Yes!"

With an innocent smile, she waved her wand and the book flew right into her hands. Startled, he leaned back, but his excitement was too much and his eyes shined at the display of magic. He was kneeling in front of her, so she dropped it in his lap.

He caught the tome easily. It had a green cover, emblazoned with the golden title that read – The Monster Book of Monsters by Edwardus Lima.

He went to open it in his haste, but she stopped him and shook her head. "Take it upstairs and don't open the lock until you're ready to read it. Return it once you're done."

Nodding, already immersed in the book, he jumped and rushed out and wouldn't have listened if it hadn't been for her words. "I should warn you. It's a particularly vicious copy. It bites!"

He stopped short and whirled around to stare at her and asked disbelievingly, "Bites?"

"Bites." She informed smugly, not that he noticed because suddenly, she waved her wand at him and he felt a gust of wind, but nothing happened. He opened his mouth to tell her exactly that but promptly snapped it shut when a mirror flew and stopped in front of his face, floating in mid-air.

He stared at her with narrow eyes, that was until he saw his reflection in the mirror. At that moment, he did one thing the great Sherlock Holmes would've never done.

He yelped.

Instead of his ears, he was now supporting huge pink ears.

He stared horrified as the ears twitched and his eyes snapped to the 'witch'.

She was smirking outright as she said, "I did say I would turn you into a pig, didn't I?"

221C

Next Day

"HELENA!"

'Ah. Revenge was sweet.' She thought.

"HELENA!"

She grinned before standing up from her cosy place on the sofa and went upstairs at a leisurely pace.

She blinked at the scene in front of her. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the 'book' viciously ate the papers lying on the floor next to the study table, while Sherlock was standing on his black couch with a large stick in hand, glowering down at the book. As soon as he saw her, he jumped on the floor, hoping that Helena would help, only for the book to shuffled rapidly across the room towards the man himself. He jumped back on the couch, beating the book with the stick. The book glowered at him before scuttling back under the desk and Sherlock glared at it viciously.

"How long have you been there?" she couldn't help but ask.

Instead of replying, he whined, "It keeps growling at me and it bit me! It has been trying to rip my arm off ever since I opened it!"

"I told you it was a particularly vicious copy." She reminded him, thoroughly amused.

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted as a loud ripping noise rent the air and two turned to look where the Monster book had seized another book and had torn it apart.

"That thing is a menace!" Sherlock hissed.

"It is, isn't it?" She chucked.

Sherlock glared at her before accusing, "You did this on purpose."

She didn't deny it and smirked. "I'm the daughter of not one but two mauderers. The next time you barge into my bathroom without knocking, I'll give you a nose to match with your ears."

His pink ears twitched and he blinked at her a couple of time, deliberately, if she wasn't wrong. He looked thoroughly embarrassed as he squared his shoulders as if preparing himself for war and mumbled, "Please. I – have to use the loo."

Helena bit her lip so she wouldn't end up laughing at his misery and said simply, "You have to stroke its spine."

Sherlock's lips twitched downwards, clearly agitated as he downright glared at her before jumping off the couch and scrambled towards the book on his hands and knees, which flapped past him with a torn piece of paper between its sharp teeth. Sherlock threw himself forward and managed to flatten it. He clutched the struggling book tightly in his arms and ran his fingers down its spine furiously. As expected, the book shivered and then fell open, laying quietly in his hands.

He stared at the book with curious fascination. Then nodded at her like he hadn't been tussling with a book for hours now, before putting it under his arm and rushed towards the bathroom.

Late March

221C

Someone was shaking her and it took her a moment to realised that it wasn't Teddy. Even before her eyes opened, she yanked whoever it was down on the bed, making the man gasp and was sitting on top of him with her wand pointed at their throat. Now awake, she found herself looking into the wide eyes of one Sherlock Holmes.

Pulling her wand back, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock at her bedside table.

4.

It was bloody 4 in the morning! She wanted to cry. Why couldn't he let her have a full night's sleep? She was already regretting emptying the bottle of chardonnay the night before and the day hadn't even begun.

"Why do you hate me?" she grumbled.

Sherlock blinked at her once before stating, "Don't act like an idiot. Of course, I do not hate you."

"It's 4' in the morning!" she whined before slumping on top of him unbothered by the fact that their hips were perfectly aligned because her knees were folded on either side of him. In her inebriated state, she didn't notice how he stiffened underneath her or how he flexed his fingers unconsciously, not knowing what to do with them, so he kept them by his sides firmly.

Her cheek was resting on his chest, right where his heart was beating furiously but she didn't pay any heed and if possible, burrowed even closer. "Mmm… You smell nice." She mumbled.

"You're drunk." He observed before finally bringing his hands to hold her thighs, so she would stop moving or maybe it was to push her off. He wasn't sure.

"No. I'm sleepy." She countered before adding sluggishly, "Just 5 minutes."

As she fell back to sleep, he stared at the girl sleeping on top of him uncertainly. Should he push her off him? She was his friend, wasn't she? What kind of friend would he be if he threw her off her own bed? Was sleeping on top each other common between two friends? He shuddered at the thought and his nose wrinkled with distaste unconsciously. Helena wasn't doing it deliberately anyway. From the smell of alcohol on her, he could tell that she was inebriated. He probably should ask John about the basic rules of friendship. But for some reason, he didn't really want to throw her off. The idea of having a friend had never interested him. Especially women. They were weak and emotional, the reason he had intentionally stayed away from them.

But Helena wasn't like others. Not only she was efficient in taking care of herself, but she was also skilful enough to easily 'kick his and John's ass' as she had so eloquently pointed out not long ago. She wasn't an idiot and even Mycroft was wary of her. She could turn people into animals! He would have to ask her if she would transform Anderson into something else.

Though his conundrum solved itself when there was a sharp intake of breath and he felt the exact moment she went stiff. She rolled off him hastily and landed in a heap on the floor with a loud yelp.

He peaked down slowly, to see that she had covered her eyes with both her hands and was muttering something too low for him to hear.

"Are you alright?" he asked cautiously, not wanting a pink nose, now that he had finally gotten rid of the horrid ears. He shuddered.

"No." came the murmured reply. "I wish the floor would open and swallow me whole."

His brows furrowed and he asked confused, "Why?"

Maybe it was the alcohol, but in an uncharacteristically bold move, that even surprised herself, she lifted her head and looked right into his eyes before informing him seriously, "I haven't had sex in a very long time now and I was this close from having my way with you."

His eyes went sharp at her words and he stared into the green eyes wordlessly.

"Next time when you decide to barge in my bathroom or bed… keep in mind, I'll do just that." She added.

He studied her steadily, looking for signs, in case she was jesting at him. He found none. She had never tried to manipulate him and at this moment, she was nothing but truthful. He swallowed visibly as he felt his ears turning hot, but other than that, he gave no indication that her words affected him in any way. He had been propositioned before – by men and women alike, but he had rejected them all. Right now, though, he couldn't manage words. What was about this woman that always left him speechless?

So, he filed it for later and said instead, "We're going out."

She cursed under her breath before asked, "What? Where?"

"Minsk."

"Minsk?!" she gaped.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"For a potential case, obviously." He supplied.

Her eyes narrowed as she asked, "Where is John?"

Testily, he said, "He is busy."

"You are a grown man! You don't need a babysitter!" She couldn't help but snap.

The dark look he shot her clearly said what he thought about her choice of words, but then his eyes shined and he told her excitedly, "Yes, but we're going to teleport. I want to see how it works."

That made her gawp before she asked incredulously, "You woke me at 4 in the bloody morning because you want to teleport?!"

"Yes. I got tea. It's on the table outside." He told her like the 'angel' he was.

Sanding up from the floor, she went to her cupboard, contemplating murder before asking, "Where in the bloody hell did you get tea from at this hour?"

"I made it." He told her proudly.

Her head snapped towards him and she gasped, "You made it?"

Shaking her head, she pulled out the potion and chucked it down, already feeling better. Now that her brain was clear, she felt a little embarrassed, when she felt his presence right behind her and he asked, "What is this and what does it do?"

She shivered when his hot breath ghosted in her ear. Her face burned when she realised that he might not have noticed, but he had moulded his body to hers and she could feel the heat radiating off him in waves. He was leaning over her shoulder and staring inside the box and she snapped her eyes shut. Sometimes, she believed, he did such things deliberately. She should probably just turn around and throw him on the bed…

'Oh, dear Merlin! She needed to get laid.'

Perhaps, it was a good thing she had agreed to that date with Greg.

Collecting herself, she replied, "Pepper-up potion. It got rid of any after-effects of the wine I had last night."

With that, she turned around and pushed him aside before practically sprinting to the bathroom. She made sure to lock the door firmly behind her before slumping against it.

As soon as she sipped the tea, she spat it out. Wheezing, she thumped her chest as she felt her eyes watering. 'What the hell was that?!' She thought before rushing towards the sink and rinsed her mouth.

When she looked at him, he looked thoroughly insulted, but she couldn't take another sip of this… this calamity. She pulled a piece of chocolate from her drawer and popped it into her mouth, still feeling like instead of tea, she had gulped Polyjuice potion.

"What was that?" she finally managed to gasp.

He scowled at her before peeking into the cup and said slowly, "It certainly looked like tea."

"I think I'm gonna be sick." She bemoaned and he rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

Minsk, Belarus

They were both dry heaving. Sherlock, because he was relatively new at 'teleporting'. Helena, because the 'tea' he had made was doing somersaults in her stomach. It had been the most disgusting thing she'd ever tasted, far worse than any potion ever made. She wasn't even sure if it was 'tea' and vowed to herself – she wasn't going to drink or eat anything he 'made'… even if her life depended on it.

Never again.

They were sitting in the assembly room in a Belarussian prison on the opposite side of a shifty-looking man named Bezza, who was wearing an orange jumpsuit. The room was empty except for a guard who was standing not far away. The room was freezing and Helena didn't think before casting a non-verbal warming charm around herself and Sherlock. Other than casting a glance her way, he didn't give any other indication whatsoever.

"Just tell me what happened, from the beginning," Sherlock said, sounding bored.

"We had been to a bar, nice place, and, er, I got chatting with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't happy with that, so… when we get back to the hotel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?"

Sherlock sighed and let out a long breath deliberately.

"She's always getting' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man."

"Wasn't a real man." Sherlock corrected, clearly annoyed.

The man asked, "What?"

"It's not "weren't"; it's "wasn't"." Sherlock corrected again and beside him, Helena leaned back in the chair.

"Oh." The man nodded.

"Go on," Sherlock stated slowly.

"Well… then I don't know how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands… And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives." Sherlock lowered his gaze to look at his hands which were resting on the table as the man continued, "He learned us how to cut up a beast."

"Taught." Sherlock interrupted and Helena linked her fingers together, clearly knowing where this was going.

"What?" he hissed, sounding a bit angry.

"Taught you how to cut up a beast," Sherlock stated, clearly bored.

"Yeah, well, then-then I done it." The man confessed.

'Dear Lord. Here it comes again.' She thought.

"Did it."

Finally losing his temper, Bezza shouted angrily, "Did it! Stabbed her…" he repeatedly slammed his hand on the table as he continued, "…over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't…"

Sighing loudly, Sherlock turned his head towards Helena, whose fingers were twitching under the table, clearly itching to take out her wand and hex the man. He was tempted to see what she would do and what else the wand could do, but then she would get in trouble for using magic on a 'muggle'.

"…wasn't movin' no more." Bezza corrected slowly before looking from her to Sherlock and stated aggravatingly, "…any more."

He lowered his head and said quickly, "God help me, I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident, I swear."

Sherlock stood up and she followed suit. As they turned around to leave, Bezza called agitatedly, "You've gotta help me, Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock stopped, but Helena left just as the man said shakily, "Everyone says you're the best. Without you… I'll get hung for this."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder and said, "No, no, no, Mr Berwick, not at all." Then, he added thoughtfully, "Hanged, yes."

And left with a quick smile.

Once outside, Helena glared at him and hissed, "You weren't interested in the case, were you? You woke me in the middle of the night because you wanted to 'apparate'?

He gave her 'the smile' and her mind instantly started making revenge plans.

April

221B

Helena rushed out of her flat when she heard the gunshots, only to come face to face with John who was entering the apartment.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

They rushed upstairs and John opened the door and they tumble inside. Sherlock was sprawled in the chair with his head resting on its back. He was wearing his dressing gown and was holding a revolver in his hand. Helena noticed that on the opposite side of the wall, a smiley face had been drawn with yellow spray too similar to the one used in the last case he had solved and the 'face' had bullet holes for eyes and mouth.

Removing his fingers from his ears, John yelled, "What the hell are you doing?!"

"Bored," Sherlock replied sulkily.

"What?!" John asked quietly, squinting at him with disbelief.

"Bored!" Sherlock said loudly with a glare before springing out of his chair.

BANG!

John covered his ears immediately as Sherlock shot towards the face again.

BANG!

"No…" John started, only to cut off by Sherlock who stated angrily, "Bored!"

BANG!

He fired at it thrice more before John managed to snatch the revolver from him.

"Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job I'm not one of them." Sherlock said, walking towards the smiley face while John locked the revolver in the drawer of the study table.

"So you take it out on the wall?" John asked resigned.

"Ah, the wall had it coming," Sherlock said, running his fingers along the painted smile before flopping down on the sofa dramatically. His head landed on the cushions with his feet resting near the armrest.

"No to the Russian case?" Helena asked from where she was leaning on the door, while John took his coat off.

"Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time." He replied, making himself comfortable on the sofa.

"Ah, shame!" John said sarcastically, making Helena smile. Talk about 'having domestic'.

John walked into the kitchen and threw his arms up with frustration at the mess on the table. Heading towards the fridge, he asked, "Anything in? I'm starving."

"Oh, fu…" John stated loudly, immediately slamming the door of the fridge shut.

Helena frowned, wondering what could it be that got such reaction from John. He must've been accustomed to finding body parts stored in 221B. She couldn't hold back her curiosity and peeked in the kitchen in time to see John opening the door again.

Her eyes widened when she saw a man's head – a served head resting on one of the racks inside.

John stared at it for a couple of seconds before closing the door and mumbled, "It's a head."

Then he turned and looked at her before stating loudly, "A severed head!"

"Just tea for me, thanks." Sherlock called back, sounding 'bored'.

"No, there's a head in the fridge," John said, moving towards the man on the couch resolutely, possibly to punch his flatmate.

"Yes?" Sherlock asked confused.

"A bloody head!" John shouted.

"Well, where else was I supposed to put it?" Sherlock grumbled before casting a look at John and asked, "You don't mind, do you?"

It was clear in his tone that he didn't care either way; John buried his head in his hands despondently; Helena though had other things in mind. She looked at Sherlock and asked suspiciously, "Did you kill him?"

"Of course, not! I got it from Bart's morgue." He glared at her, looking cross and declared, "I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death."

John closed his eyes, while Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her and stated, "You were out on a date."

She shifted uncomfortably but said with an arched brow, "Uh… yes?"

John looked between the two uneasily as the two were locked in a glaring contest. Two months since Helena had moved into 221, but he was still unable to understand how these two worked. The tension between them was palpable and if it had been anyone else, they surely would've 'resolved' it by now. But it was Sherlock and John wasn't sure he would even understand if it hit him in the face. Helena wasn't fragile like most women; she could hold on her own and she followed Sherlock despite the situation… though most of the times he ended up dragging her along. Most women would've punched him by now or would've left long ago, but not her. She was the only one who knew how to handle the man when no one could and John wasn't ashamed to admit that he was a little envious of her 'talent'. Most of the time these two ended up having their own communication that even he didn't understand. Just like they were doing right now.

He noticed as Sherlock huffed and turned his head away moodily and Helena rolled her eyes. He really needed to ask her how she ended up shutting Sherlock up without even trying.

John blinked when Sherlock waved his hand vaguely in the direction of his laptop and stated, "I see you've written up the taxi driver case."

Helena moved over to John and peeked over his shoulder to the laptop screen curiously. Without a word, John handed his laptop to her and she took with a small smile before settling herself in Sherlock's chair.

"The taxi driver case?" she asked, already immersed in the words in front of her.

"Er… yes," John replied before settling himself into his chair comfortably.

"A Study in Pink. Nice." Sherlock said with an undertone of sarcasm, picking up a magazine from the coffee table and holding it on front of his face.

"Well, you know. Pink lady, pink case, pink phone. There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?" John asked.

"Erm… no," Sherlock replied sardonically.

"Why not? I thought you'd be flattered." John asked, genuinely shocked.

"Flattered?" Sherlock said incuriously, turning his head to glare at John before adding, "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

John raised his hand and explained, "Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a…"

Sherlock interrupted him. "Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister… or..."

"I know…" John mumbled quietly.

Sherlock continued, "…or who's sleeping with who…"

Helena kept her eyes firmly on the screen, unwilling to interfere and more than ready to make her exit before they dragged her into this.

"Whether the Earth goes round the Sun." John added sarcastically; Helena's head snapped up and she asked disbelievingly, "You don't know the Earth goes round the Sun?"

Sherlock sighed and stated loudly, "Not that again. It's not important!"

John shifted in his chair to face Sherlock and quirked an eyebrow, "Not impor…? It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?"

Sherlock pressed his palms to his eyes and replied, "Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it."

"Deleted it?" John questioned.

He sat up, putting the magazine back on the table before looking at John and said, "Listen."

Pointing towards his head he added, "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful… REALLY useful." Looking disgusted, he continued, "Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish. That makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?"

Helena blinked at him before standing up hastily with John's laptop in her hands and mumbled, "I should leave."

John though couldn't contain himself and shouted at Sherlock, "But it's the solar system!"

Who buried his head in his hands before looking up at John with frustration and said, "Oh, hell! What does that matter?! So we go around the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make a difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots."

He ruffled his hair with both his hands and looked up to see Helena tiptoeing downstairs. "What are you doing?!" He asked clearly confused before glaring back at John and snapped, "Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

"Sherlock!" Helena gaped, startled by his sudden rude behaviour towards John.

He shoved the magazine across the coffee table pettishly and flopped down on the sofa with his face towards the wall. He curled into a ball, pulling his dressing gown around himself.

John pursed his lips before standing up and picked his jacket when Sherlock turned to look over his shoulder and asked, "Where are you going?"

"Out. I need some air." John replied tightly, moving towards the door.

They heard footsteps before Mrs Hudson said with a chuckle, "Oh, sorry, love!"

Irked, Sherlock looked at Helena and snapped, "Don't you have something to do?"

Helena's lips thinned as she glared at him. Feeling vexed, she picked up the nearest newspaper, folded it and threw it at his head, just as Mrs Hudson entered the living room and knocked, "Ooh-ooh."

Startled, Sherlock looked at her and asked indignantly, "What was that for?"

"You had a little domestic?" Mrs Hudson asked looking at her.

"He's being an arsehole," Helena informed her, earning a glare from the said man and marched downstairs angrily.

221C

Irritated, she closed the door with a loud bang behind her and threw herself on the sofa. Pulling her wand, she fired a spell at the fireplace, lighting it up. She threw her wand to the side and slumped back and rubbed her eyes tiredly. She was clearly not wanted in Sherlock's home… why was she so intent on getting herself insulted every single time? Oh, yes! Because she was lonely and miserable. Now that Teddy wasn't here any longer, Helena realised that she had no one to come home to. Yes, there were people who loved her, but they had their own lives. Hermione was pregnant and they were starting a family. Neville was engaged to Hannah. Even freaking Malfoy had a child!

What was she doing with her life? She would be turning 30 soon and had no one. She had known that she might not survive the war when she was younger, so it hadn't been an issue, but she always knew that if she lived, she wanted a family of her own. Teddy was her family, but he would have a life of his own now and she wouldn't be a part of it anymore.

Her first date with Greg had been surprisingly nice. He had informed her that he was in the middle of getting a divorce because his wife cheated on him. In turn, she had told him about Teddy. He was kind, but Helena wasn't sure what to make of him. He had kissed her on the cheek before leaving. Did he wanted more or were they done? It didn't help her that she had no idea how these things worked!

Deep in thoughts, it took her a moment to realise that there was a massive explosion on the front street. The windows blew in and the force of the blast hurled her forward onto the coffee table. There was a loud ringing in her ears and blinked a couple of times to dispel the sudden starts that were forming in front of her eyes. She groaned with pain before moving to sit on the carpet, touching the cut on the side of her head gingerly. It was a good thing Mrs Hudson had left moments ago.

Suddenly, she realised that Sherlock's flat was just above hers and she stood up hastily, only to stagger. She held the nearest wall for support, trying to get herself together. It took her a moment, but she wasn't harmed, so she picked up her wand and rushed upstairs, only to collide with the man who was rushing downstairs

Apart from looking a little winded, he looked fine and she sighed with relief.

"Are you alright?" she asked at the same time he said, "You're hurt."

Shrugging, she said, "It's just a cut. I crash-landed on the table."

"You can heal that," Sherlock stated.

She shook her head and informed, "One cannot heal themselves. It's absurd really, but at least I can use the healing salve."

"The healing salve?" he asked curiously.

"Yes." She told him simply and turned back towards her flat and wasn't the least bit surprised when he followed her.

Pulling out the salve from her cupboard, she informed him before he could ask, "Star Grass Salve. It's used for healing or relieving wounds and sores."

He looked at the star-shaped box and took it from her. It was a greenish substance and looked like a regular ointment.

"Sit." He ordered, pointing towards the bed.

"What?" She asked confused.

Not willing to repeat himself, he just stared at her until she gave up and sat on the corner of her bed. He pulled out a cloth he had noticed earlier, which was definitely meant for cleaning wounds. He kneeled in front of her before pressing it on the cut that was bleeding, making her wince. Once satisfied, he threw it in the trash bin by the door and scooped the salve out and dabbed it on the side of her forehead.

All the while, Helena stared at him wide-eyed, feeling like she had been put under a stunning spell. Her heart was hammering in her chest and she felt herself turning hot from his proximity. He was close… so very close and it was bad. Very bad, but they weren't doing anything, were they? Why was it bad again? She could see the flecks of gold in his grey eyes. His lips looked so soft and inviting. If she just weaved her fingers into his curly hair and pull him forward, she would be able to taste him. Just a little spell to divest them of their clothes and she would be able to feel his skin against her own…

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little flushed." He asked startling her and she blinked.

"Yes!" her voice came out high pitched and he arched a brow. She gave him a shaky smile and shifted further onto the bed, as far away from him as possible, so she wouldn't end up 'attacking' him and said, "Yes. It's the cut."

It was clear by his expressions that she called her bullshit, but before he could open his mouth and demand answers which he would not like, the doorbell ringed.

"Mycroft." Sherlock groaned at the same time she took a relieved sigh, "Mike."

He threw her a look at the nickname and she shrugged.

He moved to go out before looking over to her and asked, "Coming?"

Grimacing, she gestured around towards the shattered glass lying all around and said, "Uh… no. You go ahead. He's probably worried about you. I should clean up either way."

He rolled his eyes but gave a single nod before leaving and Helena covered her face with her hands.

'She was in trouble… big trouble.'

221C

The door hurled open, startling her and John barged in, looking distressed. "Helena! Are you alright?"

"Yes." She pulled the phone away from her ear before adding, "Sherlock's fine too and Mrs Hudson wasn't home."

He looked upset, so she hugged him, not noticing the way he turned red. She pulled away and said with a small smirk, "You should probably go upstairs before the two mad-brothers kill each other."

John shifted awkwardly before asking, "Mycroft's here?"

"Of course, he is." She snorted despite herself and with a nod, John headed upstairs.

221C

2 hours later

Someone knocked on the door and she put the book she had been reading down. Opening the door, she frowned when she saw Sherlock, John and Greg standing there looking edgy at best.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Was someone in here recently?" Sherlock asked as he entered her flat and looked around.

"No. I've been here all day." She told him perplexed as she followed him into Teddy's room.

Teddy wouldn't be back until July, so his room was closed like it had been for months now. Sherlock turned on the lights as soon as he entered and Helena's eyes widened when she saw a pair of shoes on the bed. They hadn't been here before. How in the world did someone enter her flat without her notice? That too in Teddy's room?

She looked at the three for some information when Greg told her, "It could be a bomb."

Her mouth fell open as she looked back at the shoes. She didn't know anything about muggle bombs. It could very well be triggered by her single spell. Swallowing hard, she left the three men, rushed outside and cast a charm around the house. It had been a muggle, which is why her wards hadn't alerted her and he had here when she had rushed upstairs after hearing the gunshots. Someone had been keeping an eye on her and had waited until she left the apartment. When she found out who it was, she was going to murder them.

She went back in time to see Sherlock talking on a pink phone.

[H-hello... sexy.] A woman spoke tearfully, taking in ragged breaths.

Helena exchanged a look with John and Greg, who shook their heads, just as puzzled.

[Who's this?] Sherlock asked softly.

[I've... sent you... a little puzzle, just to say hi.] The woman replied shakily.

[Who's talking? Why are you crying?] He asked questioningly.

[I… I'm not... crying. I'm typing.] Her voice was shaky and full of tears as she continued, [And this... stupid bitch... is reading it out.] She said sobbing hysterically.

Sherlock gazed in front of him thoughtfully and muttered softly, "The curtain rises."

Helena frowned, but John asked, "What?"

"Nothing," Sherlock said, too quickly.

"No, what did you mean?" John demanded.

Sherlock didn't turn around, but replied, "I've been expecting this for some time."

[12 hours to solve… my puzzle, Sherlock... or I'm going to be... so… naughty.] The woman cried out before hanging up the phone.

EN: This chapter turned out to be too long, so I've divided it into two. The other part will be posted soon.

What do you think of Sherlock and Helena's relationship?Your views and opinions would be greatly appreciated. Positive Criticism is always appreciated unless it is rude or insulting.

Have a nice day everyone.

October 21st, 2020