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.

Same Day

St. Barts

John had gone to get himself a cup of coffee, leaving her to follow Sherlock in the lab. Once inside, he set the pair of shoes down and put a pair of latex gloves on when she decided it was the right time to talk or ask about her suspicion.

"Is it Moriarty?" she asked slowly, startling him and his head snapped to hers.

Staring at her peculiarly, he asked, "How do you know that name?"

"John mentioned it when he told me about your first case together." She replied before arching a brow and asked again, "So? Is it him?"

"It could be." He mumbled, still staring at her unblinkingly.

Nodding to herself, she asked again, "The woman – she's just a hostage. What does he want?"

Now, he looked down at the trainers but didn't reply and went back to his work.

Knowing he might not know himself, Helena huffed and leaned against the wall. Sipping the coffee, she watched him as he examined the trainers scrupulously. He dug out some mud from it's sole and dropped it into the dish. Eerily focussed, he stared at the shoes again when John entered with two cups in hands and handed one to Helena, who gave him a grateful smile.

"So, who do you suppose it was?" John asked, clearly annoyed by the lack of information.

"Hmm?" Sherlock hummed absentmindedly, ignoring his phone which beeped with a text message.

"The woman on the phone – the crying woman." John clarified.

"Oh, she doesn't matter, she's just a hostage. No lead there." He replied offhandedly, making both Helena and John glared at him, not that he noticed.

"For God's sake, I wasn't thinking about leads," John said with exasperation.

"You're not going to be much use to her." Sherlock said before glancing towards the scanner in the laptop, which showed nothing but 'NO MATCH' and he went back to his microscope.

John asked, "Are-Are they trying to trace it – trace the call?"

"The bomber's too smart for that." He said as his phone beeped again, alerting them of another message. He didn't look up and said brusquely, "Pass me my phone."

John looked around the room, but couldn't see it anywhere, so he asked, "Where is it?"

"Jacket." Was the curt reply he received and he straightened with disbelief when he saw the man was wearing his jacket. His eyes met Helena's, who was smirking, just waiting for John to throw something at Sherlock's head. But then she noticed his clenched fists and how rigid his body had gone as he glared at his flatmate; she took pity on him and she was nearby Sherlock anyway. So, she stepped closer, standing right beside Sherlock. Taking the lapel of his jacket in one hand, she pulled it closer before moving her other hand around until she reached the inside of his pocket. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw him scrutinizing her, but his eyes snapped back to the microscope when he saw her looking.

Pulling his phone out, she looked at the name on the screen and muttered, "Mycroft."

"Delete it." He murmured back.

"Delete it?" John asked confused.

She passed the phone to John as Sherlock said, "Missile plans are out of the country now. Nothing we can do about."

John opened the message and read.

Re: Bruce-Partington Plans

Any progress on Andrew West's death?

Mycroft

"Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important." John said and Sherlock looked up and asked, "Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?"

"His what?" John sighed tiredly.

"Mycroft likes to talk. Why do you think he 'kidnaps' people?" Helena told John with a grin she couldn't contain.

"Right." Eying her, Sherlock mumbled before he said, "Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is that why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting."

Sherlock looked back into the microscope again and Helena just stared at him, hoping that she had heard something wrong. One look at John and nope, she hadn't. He had, indeed, said it.

"Try and remember there's a woman here who might die." She told him as if he had forgotten.

"What for?" He said before looking up at her like she was an idiot and said tauntingly, "This hospital's full of people dying, Helena. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them? You've been in a war… did you save people by crying over their corpses?"

She recoiled at that, feeling as if she had been kicked. She had lost so many loved ones during the war and it felt like he was dismissing every life that had been lost. Faces of those 'corpses' and people who were left behind to grieve swam in front of her eyes. George, who hadn't been able to cast his Patronus ever since he lost Fred; Mrs Weasley, who still knitted sweaters for his son; Padma, who too had lost her twin; Dennis, who had lost his older brother Collin; Andromeda and Teddy, who lost their families; Lavender, who became Greyback's meal… and so many more.

Suddenly her grief turned to anger as she stared at the detective coldly and snapped, "Yes… stupid girl! Crying over her dead boyfriend, parents, godfather, friends, classmates and professors! It won't bring them back!" her eyes were burning as she hissed furiously, "Well, not all of us have been privileged enough to grow in a loving household. There are orphans like Teddy, who lost both his parents, grandmother and godfather just days after his birth! Or like me, who spent their childhood with relatives who hate their very existence! Not all of us are heartless bastards who wouldn't care about the people who are left behind to suffer!"

His eyes went sharp at her words and he stared at her with his cold grey eyes. Helena had to clench her fists, so she wouldn't end up punching him. She wanted to leave. She didn't want him to see her crying over people who had been gone for a decade now. She didn't want him to see her pain and call her a moron because she hadn't been able to move on. She was so… so damn foolish to think that he was her friend. He wasn't! The boy she knew was long gone.

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but she looked away from him, not willing to listen to another insult. All she wanted to do was leave, but before she could tell John that she was leaving, who was staring back at her with pity, the door opened and Molly entered the lab.

Sherlock looked across the screen which was flashing 'SEARCH COMPLETE' and cried out delightfully, "Ah!"

"Any luck?" Molly asked while John moved closer to Helena, hoping a friendly presence might comfort her if nothing else.

"Oh, yes!" Sherlock said triumphantly.

As she moved over to look at the screen, a man in his thirties entered through the door. He was wearing slacks and a T-shirt as he looked at everyone before stopping at the door and said apologetically, "Oh, sorry. I didn't…"

"Jim, hi!" Jim turned to leave the room, but Molly stopped him. "Come in! Come in!"

Sherlock gave Molly a once over before casting a discreet glance at Helena and went back to his work.

Jim closed the door behind him and walked over to stand behind Molly introduced him to Sherlock over-enthusiastically, "Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes."

Helena rolled her eyes at the woman's 'crush'. Because she knew for certain the doctor's heart would be crushed by the man, she 'loved'.

Not noticing the apparent tension in the room, Molly turned to look at her and her smile fell for a second before it was back again and she said, "And this is his friend, Helena Potter and, er…" not noticing how Helena stiffened she looked at John apologetically, who replied apathetically, "John Watson. Hi."

Helena observed the man. There was something different about him. Something she couldn't put her finger on, but the vibe coming off him was enough to make her wary. He seemed harmless though, but her eyes widened when she saw him gazing lustfully at Sherlock's ass rather than Molly's.

She linked her arm with John's and whispered in his ear, "Molly's boyfriend is gay!"

She ignored Sherlock, who had somehow heard her, not that they were standing very far and his eyes met hers before going back to his work; John's eyes widened as he looked at her before his eyes took in the man.

"So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. You on one of your cases?" Jim walked closer to Sherlock, forcing John and her to take a step back.

"Jim works in IT, upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance." She and Jim giggled in unison, while Helena and John exchanged a look.

Sherlock briefly glanced at the man before returning to look into his microscope and stated, "Gay."

Molly's smile fell and she asked, "Sorry, what?"

Sherlock raised his head and his eyes met Helena's again, who glared at him darkly. He turned his head towards Jim and gave him a fake smile and said, "Nothing. Um, hey."

"Hey." Jim smiled back shyly before knocking a petri dish off the table. "Sorry. Sorry!" he scrambled to pick it up, giggling nervously.

John turned away from what was about to become the 'future' crime scene and face-palmed, while Sherlock glared at Jim, making no effort to hide his irritation.

Jim wandered back to Molly and said, "Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox. About sixish?"

"Yeah!" Molly smiled at him.

He put his hand on Molly's back but gazed at Sherlock and said softly, "Bye."

"Bye." Molly nodded.

"It was nice to meet you." Jim told Sherlock wistfully, who ignored his existence, so John spoke instead, "You too."

Jim looked at him awkwardly before leaving the room.

Once the door was closed, Molly asked Sherlock, "What'd you mean, gay? We're together."

Sherlock turned his head to look at her and said, "And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly. You've put on three pounds since I last saw you."

"Two and a half." She said with a glare.

"No, three."

"Sherlock..." John tried to interrupt, when Molly, looking like she was about to cry stated angrily, "He's not gay! Why do you have to spoil…? He's not!"

Sherlock didn't look at her and snorted, "With that level of personal grooming?"

John frowned at Helena before turning towards Sherlock and stated incredulously, "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair."

"You wash your hair. There's a difference. No-no – tinted eyelashes; clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines; those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear." Sherlock listed off.

"His underwear?" Molly repeated bemusedly.

"Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand," Sherlock spoke.

"Well, er… he was more interested in checking out Sherlock's ass than yours." Helena blurted hastily, knowing it would hurt Molly more if she found out later. Now that made three pairs of eyes snap towards her and they all glared at her, making her grimace. But she looked at Molly and said, "And the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under the dish for Sherlock."

Nodding, Sherlock reached for the piece of paper under the petri dish and showed it to Molly before adding, "…and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

"Sorry," Helena whispered, but Molly's eyes were focused solely on Sherlock before she turned around and ran out of the room.

As usual, Sherlock looked surprised at her reaction and Helena sighed.

"Charming! Well done." John scolded before turning towards Helena and said, "Him? I can understand, but I didn't expect something like this from you."

Her face fell and it was Sherlock who replied, "Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?"

John crossed his arms across his chest and said, "Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind."

Huffing, Sherlock threw Jim's number on the table before motioning towards one of the trainers and said to John, "Go on, then."

"Mmm?" John hummed confused.

"You know what I do. Off you go." He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest and looked at John expectantly.

John looked at his watch before shaking his head. "Oh… no."

"Go on." Sherlock insisted.

"I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try and disseminate..." John stated.

Sherlock interrupted him and said, "An outside eye, a second opinion – it's very useful to me."

"Yeah, right!" John scoffed.

"Really," Sherlock stressed.

John turned back to look at Helena, who shrugged.

"Fine." Clearing his throat, John picks up a shoe before looking at it and its partner lying on the table. "Oh, they're just a pair of sho... trainers." He corrected himself immediately.

"Good," Sherlock told him as she did with Teddy when teaching him something. Then, he looked at Helena before looking away and picked his phone up, while John stared at the trainers and spoke, "Umm... They're in good nick. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while."

It hadn't missed Helena how Sherlock had huffed when John said 'pretty new' but sighed silently when the doctor corrected himself. "Er, very' 80s. Probably one of those retro designs."

"You're on sparkling form. What else?" Sherlock asked, studying the other shoe.

"Well, they're quite big, so… A man's." He said uncertainly.

"But…" Sherlock asked looking up from his phone.

John looked inside the shoe and at the blue smudges on its side before amending himself, "But there are traces of a name inside in felt-tip. Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid."

"Excellent. What else?" Sherlock stated, looking a little proud.

"Er…" John looked at the shoe again before putting it down. "…that's it."

"That's it," Sherlock repeated back and John nodded.

"How did I do?" John asked with a pleased smile.

"Well, John; really well." Sherlock paused momentarily before adding, "I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…"

He lifted his hand and John gave the trainer back, shaking his head with frustration. Sherlock looked at it before he turned around his chair and his eyes landed on Helena again. He held the trainer up, staring at her coldly. She glared at him, well aware of what he was trying to do. She was tired of his silly games but she straightened up and took the trainer from his hand.

She looked at it from all sides before bringing it closer to sniff it. Looking inside, she nodded to herself before stating, "The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean. Whitened them where they got discoloured. Changed the laces… at least thrice."

"Four."

She ignored him, while John put his elbows on the desk and lowered his head with despair. Sherlock's eyes were glued to her now as she continued, "There are traces of flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from some skin condition."

"Eczema," Sherlock said but was ignored again.

"Shoes are well-worn but much more so on the inner side… which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old." She finished before taking Sherlock's hand and slapped the trainer on his hand with enough force to hurt, feeling satisfied when he winced.

"20 years?" John straightened up.

"They're not retro – they're original." Helena said before adding awkwardly, "Dudley… Er, my cousin got these for his birthday that year."

Sherlock showed John an image on his phone and said, "Limited edition: two blue stripes, 1989."

"But there's still mud on them. They look new." John asked aghast.

"Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. The analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it." Sherlock looked at the trainer thoughtfully.

"How do you know?" John asked.

"Pollen. Clear as a map reference to us." Sherlock nodded towards the computer screen. Two dots were flashing on a map of Britain, one around the borders of East and West Sussex and the other to the south-east of London.

Sherlock said, "South of the river too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind."

"So what happened to him?" John asked.

"Something bad." Sherlock looked up at John. "He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets…" he stopped suddenly, staring ahead as if remembering something and mumbled softly, "Oh."

"What?" Helena asked, for a moment forgetting her anger.

"Carl Powers." He said softly.

John asked, "Sorry, Who?"

"Carl Powers," Sherlock replied again, still staring ahead blankly, clearly remembering something.

"What is it?" John asked again.

"It's where I began," Sherlock said, making Helena and John exchange a confused look.

They were picking their coats, ready to leave when Helena looked at John and said, "Uh, John? I'll see you at home."

John frowned at her, still looking concerned, but it was Sherlock who turned towards her and asked, "Where are you going?"

She didn't look at him, shoving her hands in her pockets and told him coldly, "None of your business."

"You are angry." He realised suddenly before straightening up and stared at her icily, but received no response and said, "Come along, John!"

He didn't spare her a glance as he turned around and stalked out the door. John looked at her apologetically and she waved him off with half a smile.

She walked into the bathroom and locked it behind her before resting her forehead on the door. She felt her throat clogging as the faces of people swan in front of her. She had never cried for anyone… not really. Teddy had always been her priority ever since Andromeda first handed her a little blue bundle. She had never felt more alone like she was feeling in this particular moment. So, she decided to do what she hadn't done for years. She apparated to Shell Cottage to visit her best friend and the boy who had stolen her heart all those years ago.

In the Cab

"Did you know?" John asked a bit angrily.

"What?" Sherlock mumbled, not paying attention.

"Did you know about the people, her family and friends she had lost…" John started, but was cut off when Sherlock snapped, "Of course, I didn't know, John!"

He was feeling frustrated that his friend would think that he had deliberately hurt Helena. He didn't understand emotions, but even he knew that he had been out of line. Sighing, he said, "Her parents died when she was young and there are clear signs that she was abused as a child. It's obvious that she had been in a war…"

Sherlock trailed off because he hadn't known. Despite knowing that everyone surrounded by her had been through a war, he hadn't known that almost everyone she must've known had died. That explained why the friendship she had with Hermione and Robert was above others or why she valued the life of her friends above her own. He might be a sociopath, but he had regretted his words as soon as he had seen the hurt in her eyes. He knew he should've apologised, but he didn't do apologies and then she had left without even looking at him!

"You should apologise," John stated after a couple of seconds.

Sherlock didn't reply and turned his face towards the window.

They were about to reach home when John asked, "Who's Teddy?"

Rolling his eyes at his friend's cluelessness, he stated with frustration, "Her son, John!"

"What?!" John gaped at him shell-shocked and Sherlock shook his head.

221B

John entered the kitchen and asked, "Can I help?" Sherlock didn't react so he tried again, "I want to help. There's only five hours left."

The phone beeped and Sherlock looked down to the text. Frowning, he thought, 'Not Helena.'

Annoyed, he dismissed his brothers' text and asked John, "Have you heard from Helena?"

John blinked, thrown off-guard by the sudden change in topic but shook his head when Sherlock raised a questing eyebrow. "Uh… no."

Sherlock picked his phone and fired yet another text to the witch.

Don't ignore me! -SH

He didn't reply to John and went back to his work when John's phone beeped, alerting them of a text.

"It's your brother. He's texting me now." John frowned. "How does he know my number?"

"Must be a root canal." Sherlock mused to himself.

221C

His hand was halfway raised to knock on the door when the nerves settled in. His fist hovered over the old wood door as he thought about the pig ears he had supported and shuddered. It had taken two days of 'begging' before she had relented and he got his ears back.

But she had been ignoring his texts for hours now and he knew she was back. He had heard the sound of her door half an hour ago. Now that the case was solved, he resolved himself and knocked.

He heard footsteps before the lock slid out of place and the door opened. Helena peered at him before her eyes narrowed to slits and she closed the door sharply before he could open his mouth.

Sherlock scowled before knocking again, but the door remained firmly shut, so he knocked yet again and barked, "Open up!"

There was no reply so he raised his fists and knocked loudly and incessantly.

"Stop that!" Helena hissed and he smiled. At least she was talking to him again.

"I will when you open the door." He called back.

"Go away!"

"Really, Helena!" he huffed. "Stop being childish."

"I will when you go away." She said.

He scowled before calling back, "I know how to break in the door!"

"Seriously, Sherlock! I'll turn you into a freaking bat!" She threatened.

His eyes widened minutely and he paused the pounding on her door. It took everything in him not to pout like a toddler, but he steeled himself and started knocking again. "I'll keep this up until you open the door!"

There was silence before the door opened abruptly and she hissed, "What do you want?"

She looked frustrated and furious and her hair looked wild like she had been running her fingers through them all day. She was wearing an ugly, oversized pink sweater that was more than a decade old.

"You are ignoring me." He said with a mind glare.

"Very astute." She replied mockingly, "Now, why don't you go back and wait for another case? I'm sure it'll turn up soon. Have fun."

"I – I…" he scrambled for words before stating in an accusatory manner, "You didn't tell me everything."

That was the wrong thing to say and even he knew that.

Her eyes turned cold as she said, "No, but I trusted you to tell you enough. I know you hate 'sentiments' and I don't know what made you hate them… but I need you to know that those 'sentiments and emotions' are the only reason I'm alive. Even though my mum was gone, her love saved me time and time again. Love is not a 'defect'. It makes you stronger."

He didn't know what to say, feeling agitated, but he didn't get a chance as she continued, "My godfather was killed in right front of me. I was young and he was the only family I had. I lost it there for a bit – the anger and hurt was enough for Voldemort to possess me, and he did – mind and body; he would've succeeded in killing me too if it hadn't been for the people who loved me. It was the only reason I was able to defeat Voldemort. He never understood the power of true love and that became his downfall."

She looked downhearted as she added quietly, but he heard it loud and clear, "I thought you were my friend, so I showed you a part of my life which could've potentially taken away my magic. Professor Dumbledore told me once that one should not pity the living or the dead, but the one who lives without knowing what love is. I'm not angry. I feel sad for you because you don't know what true friendship and love means."

As they both stared at each other, Sherlock didn't know how to respond. His face was set in a stony mask before he turned around and stormed out of the house without another word.

Somewhere on the Streets of London

Sherlock ignored yet another text that was undoubtedly from Mycroft. He had already texted his meddling brother to take his umbrella and shove it up his ass.

The killer kept the shoes all these years. It was brilliant, really. But now that he had solved the case, he was bored again. He knew there would be another one soon, but it couldn't be sooner.

His anger flared as he remembered Helena's words. He didn't need her pity! She was a fool just like others to think that sentiments made you stronger. He scoffed at the very notion. She would've won either way. She was trained and didn't need others, maybe as a backup, but still!

It took him a while to understand that the odd feeling he had been experiencing since he had left 221C was hurt and not anger. He stopped abruptly, realising that he had never been hurt before. If he had, he must've deleted it and for the right reasons too! This wasn't a nice feeling. He was hurt because she had dismissed him just as easily like he was… someone like Anderson!

Another realisation hit him and the anger vanished sooner than he would've expected. It was the reason behind Helena's anger. She too was hurt, wasn't she? Hurt because he had so blatantly disregarded her family and friends who had died. They were killed right in front of her – not one but numerous people. Maybe John had been right. He should probably apologise.

Nodding to himself, he turned around to go back when other words she had said floated in front of his eyes. She had said 'Voldemort had possessed her'. So, possessing someone's mind and the body was a possibility for wizards and witches. This scared him more than anything ever had. He couldn't imagine any idiot possessing his mind and he shuddered involuntarily.

And suddenly, he felt a cold, looming presence behind him. He tensed before turning abruptly and hit the man that was about to attack him. He held the man's hand which held the knife and easily headbutted him. The man fell back with a grunt at the same moment he felt a sharp and thin needle digging into his neck.

'Oh. The man was a distraction to trap him.' He thought dizzily, already feeling the effects of the drug that had been injected into his system. The feeling wasn't new, but right now he felt out of control as he was unable to make sense of things happening around him. His veins were chilling in a familiar haze of overdose. The phone slid from his hand and fell on the pavement just as another message beeped. He didn't realise he was falling until his head hit the ground underneath him. His ears rung and his vision blurred even though he turned his head to the side to see who it was or stand up, but to no avail. His body trembled as two people picked him up and threw him onto the floor of a van. He grunted when he realised his consciousness was slipping and it wasn't long before his eyes drifted closed.

221C

Someone knocked on the door and Helena groaned angrily. She was going to murder the man! Stomping towards the door, she threw it open, only to come face to face with a pale John and worried-looking Mycroft.

"Oh, good. You're home." Mycroft said pleasantly as he entered inside her flat. If it wouldn't have been his eyes, she would've never figured out that something was wrong. He asked, "When was the last time you saw Sherlock?"

She looked at him with a frown and said, "About an hour or two ago, I reckon. Why?"

"Sherlock has been kidnapped!" John snapped suddenly.

Her eyes widened and she gasped, "What?!"

John shook his head before whirling in on Mycroft and shouted, "We should be looking for Sherlock and the people who kidnapped him! What the hell are we doing here?"

"The car they took him in was unlicensed. They dodged the cameras without difficulty. Whoever kidnapped him had it planned for quite some time now." Mycroft told him calmly and mused, "Russians, I believe. Sherlock helped with a case some time ago… Well, you don't need to know the details, do you?"

He turned back to John and said in a clipped tone, "Now, if you'll let me speak, I'm here for a reason."

Mycroft looked at Helena, looking cool and composed as ever, but it was clear that he was barely keeping it together.

"I'm aware of the… fight you two had not long ago. It's hard to deal with Sherlock, isn't it?" he smiled thinly before adding with some difficulty, "I'm afraid… it might take a little bit longer for us to find Sherlock. Despite your differences in opinions, I believe you still… care for my brother. Could you… help?"

"I – uh… yes." Coming out of her shock, she nodded and said, "I'll need a map of London and something of Sherlock's. Something personal, like a hair or a nail?"

Mycroft wrinkled his nose but fired a quick text to someone; John stared between the two aghast and yelled, "What the hell are you two on about?!"

Mycroft looked bemused and Helena grimaced before looking at the older Holmes and suggested innocently, "You should probably tell him and then inform Kingsley?"

The look of bemused turned to irritation as he glared at her, and she looked away hastily, knowing she was throwing him under the bus, but after Sherlock, Kingsley would have her head if she informed another muggle!

A young woman entered the room and held out a plastic bag which had a few strands of hair and a folded piece of paper. Mycroft took them from her without a word and handed it to Helena, who took them with a nod.

She spread the map on the table urgently before taking out the strands of hair from the bag and dropped it on the paper. She pulled her wand out and pointed it at the map before mumbling, "Appare Vestigium."

Bright golden light illuminated from her wand before swirling it on top of the map. With a woosh, it vanished out the backyard.

Mycroft was not amused as he stared down at her with his lips pursed.

"Tracking spell. It'll lead me to Sherlock." She informed him, summoning her bag and uttered, "Accio firebolt!"

An old-looking broomstick flew into her hand and three pairs of eyes widened. Mycroft stepped back, eying the broomstick like it was about to hit him in the head; John was gaping, feeling like he was about to have an attack. Helena ignored them as she mounted the broom and soared up and out the balcony.

"What…?!" John gaped, clearly mystified.

She turned the broomstick sharply, looking down to see three dumbfounded faces that had followed her out.

"Oh, you won't be able to follow. I'll send you the word as soon as I find him." She told Mycroft awkwardly but received no reply. With that, she was off, following the golden light.

John, Mycroft and Anthea stared where Helena had been hovering on a broomstick and John chocked out, "H-how? What – what's happening?"

Mycroft sighed tiredly.

Somewhere in London

She followed the light to an ancient-looking abandoned building in Richmond. Shoving her broomstick in her small bag unceremoniously before casting her Patronus silently to informing Mycroft about the address. Once done, she soundlessly walked in, belatedly realising that sending a corporeal Patronus probably wasn't a good idea. Shrugging, she moved upstairs slowly where she could hear voices from.

She heard the sound of a whip as she moved up and she hurried, anxious and worried about what she would find, hoping she wasn't too late. Anger burned through her when she saw Sherlock hanging limply from the cleaning as the man behind him whipped him senseless. His coat was lying in a corner while his shirt was in tatters nearby. Pained moans escaped him every time the whip made contact with his back and the men around him laughed.

There were five men in the room including the one whipping Sherlock. She reigned in her rage as the man stopped whipping and grabbed Sherlock's hair, forcing him to look up. Helena noticed that his eyes were hazy as he looked at the man holding a gun meters away from his face, trying to focus, but it was clear that he had been injected with something.

"Well, as nice as it was to see you in person, I'm afraid your time is up, Mr Holmes." The man holding the gun said with an unmistakable glee in his voice.

Sherlock's face was impassive as he stared ahead until his eyes met hers and they widened briefly. He blinked a couple of times before masking his shock and looked back at the man holding the gun and croaked out, "I believe – you're wrong."

The hand holding the gun faltered and the man asked bemused, "What?"

"I don't think – I'm going – to die today." He informed the man smugly.

Helena nearly facepalmed. The bloody git was playing with the attacker! Shaking her head, she pointed her wand at the nearest man and stupefied him. The man slumped like a sack of potatoes, alerting others, who turned around hastily, waving their guns all around.

She heard the safety click and hastily conjured a shield around Sherlock, just in time as the sound of gunshot permeated the air.

BANG!

Sherlock blinked along with everyone when the bullet collided with something right before it could hit the detective and fell on the ground. Chaos erupted but she easily stupefied the remaining four before binding them, so they wouldn't be able to run in case they woke up before the police arrived.

She rushed to Sherlock, who searched her face for something she couldn't comprehend, at least not until he spoke. "You came."

His tone was surprised as he stared at her dazedly and Helena realised that he wasn't expecting her to search for him, much less saving him.

She swallowed hard as she saw his torn back and whispered, "Of course, I did."

She held onto his shoulder, mindful of his back and whispered a single spell to unlock the bindings around his wrists. He fell on top on her and she grunted under his weight before casting a lightning charm.

"You weren't talking to me." He mumbled into her shoulder in a tone that reminded her so much of Teddy.

"I am now." She whispered back and rubbed his arm comfortingly, but he didn't reply and went lax in her grip.

'She would need to heal his wounds and give him the pain potion immediately'. She thought.

Knowing she couldn't apparate him in his current condition, she looked around until her eyes fell on his coat and she whispered a non-verbal 'Accio'. The coat flew into her hand before she pointed her wand at it and muttered, "Portus.' It glowed for a second before the white light vanished.

As she readjusted her hold onto him, he whimpered with pain unconsciously. She pressed her lips to the side of his head and whispered, "Just hold on for a bit. I'm getting you home."

She didn't receive a reply but tightened her hold on him while her other hand clutched his coat tightly and she closed her eyes.

221B

He was still unable to believe everything Mycroft had told him.

Another world, hidden in London!

Wizards and Witches!

Helena was one of them!

She had magic and the Queen was aware of their society.

And on top of it, they weren't allowed to reveal the existence of any of it or their minds would be wiped clean!

Bloody Hell!

John jumped to his feet when someone appeared out of thin air into his living room and his eyes widened when he saw Helena holding Sherlock, who was covered in blood. Without thought, he rushed to her side, only for her to stop him. She waved her wand at Sherlock, who starting floating mid-air, looking peaceful in his slumber. John didn't know how to respond as he gaped until he realised that they needed to take Sherlock to the hospital. He told her this, but she shook her head.

"I have potions that can heal him faster. They're in a wooden box in the cupboard in my room. Could you get them, please?" she asked slowly.

John wanted to say no and stay with Sherlock, who was defenceless, but realised that Mycroft himself asked for Helena's help, so he might trust her. Nodding, he ran downstairs, his mind trying to digest everything he had just learnt.

With the box in hand which wouldn't open, he ran back up only to find the room empty and for a second, he panicked, until she called, "In here!"

Shaking himself out of his shock, he barged into Sherlock's room. The detective was floating a couple of inches off his bed with his face down and Helena was waving her wand over him. John took in a startled breath when he saw the welts and torn skin now that the blood was cleaned. The pattern stating that he had been whipped and John felt useless as he saw Helena rummaging through the box.

"Can I help?" he asked before adding unnecessarily, "I'm a doctor."

Startled, she looked at him as if she had forgotten he was there but nodded and said shakily, "Dittany will heal the wounds. It's a good thing he's unconscious. It can be very painful."

She opened the glass bottle and started drizzling the clear liquid on the torn skin of his back. Smoke started billowing from his back and Sherlock grunted with pain. John watched with awe as the skin stitched itself back and wound healed, looking days old right in front of his eyes. By now, Sherlock's whimpering has increased and he was twisting in the air, clearly in pain.

John watched with utter astonishment as Helena ran her fingers in Sherlock's messy lock's tenderly and leaned down to whisper something in his ear. The twitching stopped and the man went limp again.

He was still gaping when she handed him a jar of green gooey looking substance and said, "It's a healing ointment. It will heal the rest of his wounds or scars that are left."

Nodding dumbly, he applied it on the 'healed' wounds, now realising why she had been horrified about being 'sewen'. Shaking his head, he continued until Sherlock's back was covered in green and he saw her taking a relieved breath before she waved her wand again and turned Sherlock onto his back, still floating above his bed.

Then she held her hand out and three bottles few out, settling themselves next to her. Without looking at him, she dropped three drops of each in Sherlock's mouth and he was grateful that she told him what they were - blood replenishing potion, pain potion and sleeping draught.

Then she adjusted the room's temperature with her wand and slumped onto the chair next to Sherlock's bed with a sigh and muttered, "He won't wake up until morning."

John leaned back against the wall, flabbergasted, still trying to process everything when Helena spoke softly, "Do you hate me now?"

He looked at her startled before shaking his head. "Why? Why would I hate you?"

She bit her lip and looked down before mumbling, "I'm not normal. That's why my relatives hated me."

"You're not abnormal." He stated instantly, feeling angry on her behalf. "I've never seen anything like this in my life. It was quite extraordinary."

"So, you don't hate me?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course, I don't!" he told her vehemently before asking curiously, "Will you be able to show me some magic?"

She beamed and was out of the chair, hugging him before he could blink.

For once, he hugged back, not feeling awkward at all.

Next Day

221B

He blinked his sleep away, feeling surprisingly rested and sat up slowly. Sherlock didn't remember the last time he had slept this deeply and he looked around until his eyes fell on the green substance on his sheet, suddenly remembering the events of the day before. He had been kidnapped; the Russians had managed to trick him. Not only had they managed to drug him but they had whipped him to the point that there had been nothing but pain.

Surprisingly, he didn't feel any ounce of discomfort, let alone pain as he moved. He remembered seeing Helena through his drugged haze. She had stopped the bullet before it could hit him and the green substance was telling that she had healed him. Springing out of his bed, he looked into the mirror and stared at his back. It should've taken him days to heal but the welts seemed months old! The marks were still there, but he had been healed!

The potions were truly amazing.

His mind had been foggy, but for the most part, he remembered it all. She had been angry, so why did she save him?

'And, where was she? Did she leave? He was hurt, wasn't he? She should be here!' He thought and rushed out to the living room, before coming to a halt when he saw her slumped on his couch. He must've made some kind of noise because she sprang awake and looked around wildly until her eyes fell on him and she sighed with relief. She yawned and kneaded her neck, making him realise that she had slept on the couch.

"Oh, you're awake." She mumbled, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "How are you feeling?"

"Surprisingly fine. No pain at all." He told her truthfully as he studied her, unable to understand why she would help him.

"Good. That's good." She said, before standing up from the couch and walked towards him. She motioned for him to turn around, but he just stared confused, she rolled her eyes and manhandled him until he was facing the other way. He let her but stiffened when he felt her fingers on his back. He observed her through the mirror above the fireplace and saw her frowning as she mumbled, "These should've healed."

He shivered involuntarily as she traced the scars left behind softly before pulling her hand back and asked quietly, "Are you cold?"

He turned back, facing her and replied, "No."

"Oh." She looked at him and said, "You should apply the salve once more. It will heal the remaining sores and marks."

He gave a nod, but continued to stare at her and remarked, "You came for me."

Her eyes darted towards the door as she fiddled with the loose strands of her hair and nodded. "I – well, yes."

"Why?" he questioned.

Startled, her eyes snapped to his and she asked, "What do you mean why? Why wouldn't I?"

"You were angry and you weren't talking to me." He told her before adding in a rush, "I, er… You were hurt because of what I said."

She exhaled loudly and much to his surprise, settled herself in John's chair before pointing towards the other and said, "Sit."

Staring at her, he took the seat opposite hers reluctantly as she looked right at him and said seriously, "I know you hate sentiments and you don't understand them, but I want you to listen carefully, alright?"

He gave an uncertain nod, but leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable as if he wasn't shirtless.

'He looked ridiculous.' She thought, but shook herself and said, "What I said yesterday – the people that I've lost, they were all killed right in front of my eyes… because of me."

His eyes sharpened at her words, but other than the lifting of his chin, Sherlock didn't respond.

"They were trying to save me… all of them and they paid the price with their lives. I didn't tell you earlier because it didn't seem…" she stopped, trying to find the right words before stating, "Anyway… Sirius, my godfather was in the wrong place only because Voldemort managed to lure me there under false pretence. I should've listened to Hermione, but I was stubborn and he was killed because of me. They killed Fred because he refused to tell Voldemort where I was. Cedric was 17 when he was killed because he was trying to protect me. Hermione's parents were murdered because she was my friend. She was tortured because she refused to tell them anything about my whereabouts. Dobby, he was a friend and he died to keep me safe. I don't remember my dad, but I remember my mum's voice as she begged Voldemort to spare my life and kill her instead. He killed them because they tried to keep me safe. I had a professor – Snape. I hated him and didn't realise until it was too late that he too was trying to save me and he gave his life in the process. He was in love with my mum and her death gave him the strength to fight against Voldemort. Hedwig, Professor Moody, Teddy's parents… they were all targeted because of me."

Swallowing hard, she took a breath before adding slowly, "I know crying won't bring them back, but they were my friends. The only family I've ever known and they gave up everything for me."

She stopped to collect herself before continuing, "I – what you said hurt… and I was angry, but that doesn't mean I'll leave you to fend for yourself. You couldn't even imagine how many times Ron, Hermione and I have fought. Even when we were in hiding, the circumstances were less than stellar and Hermione left… but she came back and we defeated Voldemort together." She told him seriously, making sure he would understand before taking his hands in hers tentatively.

He stiffened, but when he didn't immediately snatch them back or throw insults her way, she sighed before adding slowly, "I want you to know that even if I'm not here, I will always be there if you need me."

Sherlock stared into her eyes before looking down at her hands which were holding his and swallowed compulsively. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. She was promising something which he didn't understand. How was she so sure that she wouldn't end up hating him like everyone else? How could she have so much faith? He had no idea and it should've frustrated him, but for some reason, he felt relieved. She was not an idiot, and she knew he wasn't a good man, but still, not only did she offer him her friendship, she had followed him everywhere and now, had promised to stay with him. She didn't expect anything in return and had rescued him or he would've been dead!

She was relatively smart and she even helped him with the cases!

For some reason, he wanted her to be here with him.

And he would make sure she stayed!

Leaning forward, he made sure to look into her eyes before surprising her by turning over their hands and wrapped his fingers on the underside of her wrists. Startled, she stared back at him, but he only tightened his grip around her wrists until someone cleared their throat and Helena jumped nearly a mile away, snatching her hands back as if they were on fire.

Sherlock merely looked at John, who was clearly amused as he kept the bag of food on the table and asked, "Everything alright?"

"Yes." Sherlock nodded.

"You think you could put something on?" John said, pointing towards his bare chest, barely keeping his laugh in as he looked how the two flushed.

Sherlock glared at him but the effect was ruined by his red cheeks as he stated firmly, "Help me in applying the salve! It will heal the remaining sores."

With that, he turned around and marched back to his room, leaving a bemused Helena behind. She glanced at John for help, who shrugged. Cursing the two men, she followed the 'man-child' at a much more sedated pace.

EN: Helena visited Fred Weasley who is buried outside Shell Cottage.

Also, please do let me know how Sherlock and Helena's relationship is coming along? I am trying to keep in character… somewhat, but I'm not sure how successful I am. How do you think the pace of their relationship is? Too fast? Too slow?

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 22nd, 2020