Disclaimer: All the characters displayed in this fic are property of their respective creators, JK Rowling (Harry Potter), Moffat and Gatiss (BBC Sherlock), and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (Sherlock Holmes).
By the way, my deepest thanks to all of you that reviewed, favourited or followed the story. It really warms my heart to see how many of you seem to like what I write. I promise I will continue working on this amazing story.
Please see the Notes at the end of the Chapter.
Note: Edited.
Chapter 10: "The empty hearse, Act I"
Hermione closed the door to the balcony behind her, with a glass of wine in one hand, her clutch bag clasped under her arm and a wool blanket hanging from her shoulder. She went to one of the wicker chairs, leaving the noise of Sirius' party behind. She settled into her seat, wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, and sipping from her glass while gazing into London's nightlife.
They should be celebrating Sirius' birthday as they did every year: with a good dinner, an expensive scotch and a late-night film. Instead, Sirius had decided to use his 53rd birthday to smooth things out with the magic folk, given the state in which Mycroft's decision had left them. Everything had been thought to make the attendees comfortable: Celestina Warbeck's latest hit was playing, there were elf wine and butterbeer and firewhiskey, and the Ministry had specially activated the floo in the designer fireplace in the main sitting room. Sirius had removed everything muggle the could be broken or tampered with like the Nintendo or the super high-definition telly. But the house was still painfully muggle, and Hermione could not help but feel vindicated. That sentiment carried her through the cocktail and the dinner, but when the party had started to segregate by gender, she had decided it was time for a smoke.
Hermione drowned the last of her drink and reached for her bag. She took a half-empty packet of cigarettes and lit one. She inhaled deeply, and absently played with the daint onyx earrings John had gifted her on her birthday. It had also been the day Sherlock had been posthumously cleared of all charges and John had taken one of the most important decisions of his life. Hermione glanced at her phone. John and Mary had probably just left the house they had moved in together some months ago. Mary had most likely made yet another remark about the horrendous moustache John was sporting, and they had driven to the restaurant where Sirius and Hermione should have been having dinner. Hermione had helped Mary pick the dress for what she thought was an anniversary dinner. Hermione had also helped John choose the ring he would present to Mary.
Hermione couldn't wait to hear a blow by blow retelling of the evening.
A loud crash made her turn her head to the inside of the flat. Behind the glass doors, Astoria Malfoy had dropped the champagne flutes she carried. On the floor, beeping happily, was the vacuum robot that usually roamed around the house. Sirius had come immediately and scooped up the machine, almost like if it were a dog.
Hermione took another drag of her cigarette. If only Mycroft wouldn't have conveniently booked a trip to Serbia, he could be here with her now, sharing a smoke and trying not to snigger every time someone made a stupid remark about the muggle world. If Hermione had made a drinking game out of that, she would have blacked out hours ago.
Her phone rang, and Hermione smiled, stubbing the last of her cigarette. She looked at the screen and frowned when she saw Mycrfot's caller ID rather than Mary's. Mycroft's trip, however, was the last of a list of anomalies that just kept piling up. He had been to five different "diplomatic missions" in the Balkans in the previous months, and from the last one, he had come back with a slight limp. She quickly picked it up.
"Hi, is everything alright?"
"I require your assistance," said Mycroft. He kept his voice light, but Hermione did not miss his command and got up immediately, leaving the blanket and the glass outside, locked herself inside of the toilet.
"Is it urgent?"
"A car will be at Sirius' door in…" Mycroft stopped for a brief second"...approximately five minutes. It will take you here."
"But it's Sirius' birthday, Mycroft."
"Hermione, I have not the time nor the energy to discuss this over the phone. Four minutes." Mycroft said, and hung up, leaving Hermione with the phone clutched to her ear. She opened the door and found Lavender Weasley on the other side.
"Who were you talking to?" Lavender put her head inside of the empty bathroom.
Hermione ignored her and went from room to room around the house, looking for Sirius. She finally found him in the kitchen, deep in conversation with Kingsley, Harry and Draco. The clack of her heels against the tiled floor made them turn to her.
"You okay, darling?" Asked Sirius.
"It's Mycroft," the phone in her hand beeped, and Hermione saw how the other three men tensed at the name of the person who had literally stripped them of their competencies. "He called me. Apparently, there's something he needs me for, he's sent a car."
"Why? Do you need me to go with you?"
"I don't know, but I'm sure it'll be nothing. You know Mycroft." She came closer and kissed Sirius on the cheek. "Stay and have fun. Don't worry too much." Hermione gave the rest of them a tight smile. "Gentlemen, have a good night."
As Mycroft had promised, a black car with tinted windows was waiting for her when she left the building. She climbed into the backseat and let her headrest, trying to stay warm with her thin coat. The driver turned into Whitehall but continued until the end of the road, and then past Abingdon street and Millbank. They were going to Mycroft's MI6 office rather than his Government position. Of his three offices - Whitehall, The Diogenes Club and the MI6 - the latter was the one Hermione was the least familiar with. In all her years working for Mycroft, she had only been in it a handful of times. Because no matter how closely the MI6 and the MI7 worked, magic was still a sore subject within the walls of the secret service.
The car entered the parking lot and then drove into an underground space, and stopped in front of a metal door. The driver opened the door for her and then knocked three times. Someone on the other side opened, and without uttering a word, led her through a series of hallways.
"Agent Black, Mr Holmes is waiting. Last door."
The room where Mycroft was waiting was darker than she remembered, only lighted by a couple of lamps that showed the grey colour of the concrete, and sparsely decorated. The main object in the room was the table behind which Mycroft was seated.
"Hermione, do sit down, we have some matter to discuss."
"Thank you so much, Hermione. I'm sorry I so rudely took you away from a party, please, accept my apologies." Said Hermione as she sat down and kicked off her heels, her soles resting on the hard, cold floor. "What is so important that it can't wait until tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow will be late for the piece of news I have, but before," Mycroft stood up, and curled the table gently tapping the surface. He was not wearing his ever-present jacket, and his golden sleeve garters shone under the decadent light. He leaned on the desk, hind hand grabbing the edge of the table. "I know you have been asking around."
"You're going to have to be more specific. I always ask around."
To her surprise, Mycroft smirked. "'The empty hearse', Philip Anderson and his club."
"What about it?"
"What do you think of it? What does John think of it?"
"I don't think John knows. And it's better that way." Hermione said. "And I have nothing to think about it, do I Mycroft? You would have told me, wouldn't you?"
He sighed and paced around the office, with his hands intertwined behind his back. Hermione turned around in the chair and waited for him to continue. When he did so, he did not look at her.
"I am afraid I haven't been honest with you, Hermione." Her stomach made a funny turn. Could Mary have been right all this time? "A part of me is surprised it took you this long to figure out that something was amiss, but I've been told I am a great actor. And you were rather busy with John."
Hermione watched as Mycroft went to the corner of the room and opened a small fingerprint reader. He put his thumb on it, and a disguised door in the stone wall clicked and opened. The tall silhouette of a man who should have been buried lurked in the shadows. "10 pointed to Gryffindor, Miss Granger." Hermione heard Mycroft say.
Sherlock came into the room. His curly hair, his long violinist hands, the sauntering, his sea-like eyes, his perfectly tailored suit. It was him, in the flesh, and if she didn't know no one had yet managed to make the polyjuice potion to work with dead people, she would be questioning this man right now. But no. Sherlock Holmes had come back from the dead.
And he was the most attractive man she had seen.
Half of her brain was thinking about how the jacket hugged his shoulder just so. The other was screaming at her that Mycroft had lied to her, had lied to everyone. Not everyone. Mary had been right, Molly had known. Siger and Margaret had known. Hermione felt the anger boiling inside her veins, and the lights in the room flickered.
"Anderson wasn't crazy then," managed Hermione. "He was a bloody genius."
Sherlock chuckled. "I doubt anyone had ever called Anderson a genius."
"Shut up," said Hermione, and Sherlock had the gall to look offended. Hermione looked at Mycroft. "You said there was nothing you were hiding from me. I asked, and you lied."
"This was a top-secret mission. Only very few people knew about this. The danger of Moriarty's network, knowing our plans was too high." He grabbed her gently but firmly by the elbow.
"Spare me, Mycroft, I'm not daft. Molly, your parents. Whoever you needed to pull off that stunt."
Sherlock, who had been watching the bizarre display of human contact of his brother, gave a hum of acknowledgement.
"John has been a mess for the past two years. What you did, what you both did," said Hermione looking between Sherlock and Mycroft. "Was unforgivable."
"Hermione, you've been living with John. He's incapable of keeping a secret."
Hermione shook her head.
"Why have you been living with John?" Sherlock's voice was rich and demanding, where his brother's was authoritarian and cold. Both exuded the arrogance that she now inevitably considered a Holmes' trait, and there was something in how all those nuances mixed in Sherlock's baritone that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I thought you might appreciate it, Sherlock," said Mycroft. "People do strange things when they lose someone they care about. A little thank you will suffice."
The door opened, and Anthea came with a pot of steaming tea and three cups. Mycroft sat again in his chair. Sherlock didn't. "Well, I'm off. I think I'll surprise John, wouldn't you know where he is, brother mine?"
"You might not be welcomed tonight," said Hermione. The line between wanting to fuck him or punch him seemed to be extremely thin with this man. "He's out."
"I'll talk to him when he is back to Baker Street then."
Mycroft frowned. "Baker Street? He isn't there anymore. Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life."
Sherlock seemed surprised and then scoffed at that. "What life? I've been away."
"Unbelievable," Hermione gave an exasperated huff. She had worked with Mycroft for years, she had briefly worked for politicians…She had met Draco Malfoy when he was a brat. And still, Sherlock Holmes was possibly the most self-centred person she had met. "Do whatever you want, both of you. I'm tired, and because as my boss said, this is a matter of national security, I shouldn't even be here. Save it, Mycroft." Hermione stopped Mycroft before he could say anything. She had put on her shoes, and then let the door slammed as she left.
In the room, however, the conversation was far from done. Sherlock was in front of the mirror, fixing his shirt, his mind still focused on the small, angry woman that apparently had a very… interesting, relationship with his brother.
"Always berate me for having John around, and look at you, Mycroft."
"Hermione is no John, Sherlock." Mycroft stood next to him, a smirk playing on his lips. "Her academic and mental capabilities surpass by far anything John might have. And you saw her, she knew, she observed."
"Still not like us."
"You have no idea how accurate that is."
Sherlock looked at him. "I told you years ago about people like her. People with special...Abilities."
"She is one of them, then."
"Why little brother, interested?"
Anthea brought his coat, and he put it on. The weight of if, how he had missed it. "Don't be daft. She seems to be self-righteous, intransigent and stubborn. Perfect fit for you, brother."
After removing all the makeup and trying to drown her anger in a bubble bath, Hermione had put on the comfiest clothes and had poured herself a hot cup of tea. Barely settled with a book on her lap, her phone beeped on the table next to the black leather chair—a message from Mary in her inbox. Hermione hoped Mycroft had been able to contain Sherlock long enough, so Mary and John had been long gone from the restaurant, and that had been too busy with other activities to send her a message. When she opened it, instead of what she was expecting to read, Hermione found a short and cryptic text: 'Beat up street dog coming up'. Then she heard the front door creaking followed by heavy footsteps climbing up the stairs. She looked up from her phone just to see the bloody face of Sherlock Holmes appear, who threw a dirty look at her.
"That's my chair."
Hermione, typing her answer to Mary did not even bother to look at him. "You are too demanding for a new tenant, aren't you?"
Sherlock did not respond and sat in John's armchair, moving around trying to find a comfortable spot, his legs too long for a seat so close to the floor.
"So, what happened? Missus not 'appy to see ya?" Hermione said in her best cockney accent. Sherlock closed his eyes briefly in admission, still pressing a paper towel to his bleeding nose, and closing his eyes briefly in agreement. She stood up and went to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. When Hermione came back, Sherlock had switched seats and was smugly looking at her. She let out a sigh and came closer. Taking the towel away and starting cleaning the blood with a warm cloth, she assessed the nose. "Mycroft did warn you. But Holmes' apparently love big appearances."
She saw him frown, hissing in pain. "Do you live here, then?"
"Stay still," she placed a cotton soaked in alcohol on the cut he had on the right side of his nose, earning a twitch. "I do. When John moved out, I thought this place was too good to let go."
She continued in silence, revelling in the long eyelashes that darkened his sharp cheekbones.
"Mycroft told me about your...thing."
"My magic, you mean. I'm surprised he has. For trying to keep my magic under wraps, he seems to be okay with me telling quite a few people." She smiled, removing the last stains of blood. "Good as new. I'm going to bed, this has been a really really long day. And I expect a very intense conversation with John tomorrow. Night Sherlock." She started walking to her room when she heard him speaking.
"Where are you going?"
"To my room. You know, witches sleep on a bed, not in coffins as vampires."
"But that's my room." He blurted.
"Mmmm no it isn't," she started walking again when she heard him calling after her.
"Where am I supposed to sleep?"
"Not my problem!" She closed the door. In the main area, Sherlock went on with his night, making excessive noise. Hermione took a deep breath. This was going to be difficult.
And this is it! The first part of "The Empty Hearse". Soon you'll have the second part. Please, do not hesitate to contact me if you hate it, love it, every criticism is welcomed!
All the transcripts have been extracted from the work of Ariane DeVere who did an amazing job recollecting them. The link to them is in my profile.
There are approximately 7 chapters left of the story. Well, this is half true. I do intend to get this story up to Season 4, but I need to think about what I am going to do with the storyline. I have a pretty good idea of what I want to do with Eurus, but my big debate is with Mary.
Please, give me your thoughts about my Sherlock. I kind of managed Mycroft and John, but Sherlock is new to me.
NOTE: Sherlock's mum was called Violet because of something I read online, but upon seen His Las Vow, I saw that her book had the initials "M. ", so I had to change the name.