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 28/11/20: Edited, unbetaed

Chapter 11: "The empty hearse, Act II"

Hermione was woken up by the sound of her phone on the bedside table. She moaned and opened one eye to look at the alarm clock. It was nine o'clock. She didn't know what time she had fallen asleep the night before, with everything that had happened, and with a very much alive Sherlock banging around Baker Street like a hyperactive puppy. Hermione lay down again and reached for the phone.

"Yes?"

"Did you know it?"

Hermione opened her eyes again and sat up on the bed. "John?"

"I don't have much time, and the next patient is about to arrive. Did you know Sherlock was alive?"

Hermione rubbed his face with a sigh. "No, I didn't. Mycroft didn't think telling me was a great idea."

John was quiet for a moment. "Why didn't he?"

"I would have told you, John."

"That's what Mary said."

"What now, then?" asked Hermione. "Are you going to come around? I can be here if only to avoid explaining to Mycroft why his brother is going around London sporting a shiner." John let an embarrassed chuckle. "You pack a great punch, Captain."

"Well, he sprung on us while we were at the restaurant. And after that, he was just the usual self-absorbed prick. He had it coming, well, he always has it coming."

Hermione heard some steps that she knew very well on the stairs, accompanied by the voice of Mycroft and Sherlock. "He interrupted you?"

"He did," John said. "I ended up proposing to Mary in our bathroom while she checked my knuckles. Very romantic."

Hermione heard a rare Mycroft's outburst in the sitting room. "I'm sure she didn't mind, I told you she's not the grand gestures kind of person."

John hung up shortly after, and Hermione left the room as she was putting on her dressing gown. The first thing she saw was Mycroft, by the fireplace, throwing a woollen hat at Sherlock. When she entered the kitchen, Mrs Hudson was coming in with the morning teapot. Sherlock sniffed at the hat and flung it back to Mycroft.

"I've written a blog about the different fibres."

"I'm sure there's a crying need for that," quipped Mrs Hudson, and brought a cup to Hermione. The two brothers then noticed Hermione, and she felt the urge to close her dressing gown a little better. Sherlock looked at her for a moment and then turned to Mycroft. As they continued their particular battle of egos, Hermione saw the game of Operation on the coffee table, and then the massive map on the far wall of the room.

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock," said Mycroft. Sherlock glanced at Hermione.

"Clearly," said Sherlock, and took the hat off his head. Mycroft exchanged a look with Hermione and changed the subject. "Now, back to work, if you don't mind," said Mycroft. Hermione watched Sherlock wink at Mrs Hudson and heard Mrs Hudson's giggle. She brought the cup to her lips. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry, and the buttons on the shirt Sherlock was wearing, which looked like they would open at any moment, were not helping. "Hermione, a word."

Hermione followed Mycroft to the landing, where he closed the two doors to the floor. Hermione crossed her arms and waited as two people approached each door.

"I stand by what I said last night," started Mycroft. "You were not part of the operation, so I couldn't tell you. Nor could I tell you I was hiding something. You would have joined the dots, as they say."

"How did you let him get so out of control, Mycroft?" hissed Hermione. "You couldn't tell me anything because you did not want to damage the operation, but then you let your brother gallivant around the globe? Even someone like Philip Anderson could see the pattern, for God's sake!"

"I was careless, I admit. But you'll learn soon enough, you cannot tell Sherlock Holmes to stay put. You can try, but he rarely listens. That's landed him in a series of very unfortunate positions over the years, and you already know." Hermione shook her head, and Mycroft continued. "Which is why I need you now." Sherlock moved behind the door, and Mrs Hudson's heels shifted behind the other. Mycroft rolled his eyes and pushed Hermione a little further away. "There is a possibility of an imminent terrorist attack in London. That's why the MI5 wanted Sherlock back. Sherlock's singular ability to attract all sorts of unsavoury people is of particular concern."

Hermione scoffed. 'You've promoted me from John's sitter to your brother's sitter," she hissed.

"No," said Mycroft. "Now that Sherlock is back, John Watson's monitoring is over. Officially, you're back on the mission roster. I'm just asking for some surveillance." Mycroft put a hand on her shoulder. Hermione did not move, and he took a step back. "Sometimes we have to do things we don't like for the greater good."

"I've heard that one before," pointed Hermione. "Why have you told Sherlock about my magic?"

"There might be a time when you need to perform magic in front of him, and I'd rather not deal with the aftermath of trying to stop an obliviation as I had to do with John," answered him. "I'll keep in touch."

Hermione watched as Mycroft left and went straight to the bathroom, ignoring Sherlock's questioning glances. After a needed hot shower and a call with Sirius ('What? Sherlock? Alive? I'm not still drunk, am I?'), Hermione got dressed and after opening the fridge, decided to do some grocery shopping. She was putting on her coat when Sherlock appeared on the stairs, calling her name.

"Would you like to… Solve crimes?" Hermione was sure she must have misheard. "I have clients. I called Molly, but she was busy, and Lestrade called me an insane amount of colourful adjectives," clarified Sherlock.

"So I'm your third opinion? And what are you looking for, anyway? A new John?"

"You are a secret service agent. I'd rather think you have some skills John hasn't."

Hermione hesitated. On the one hand, spending the day with Sherlock was probably more exposure to him she could handle. On the other, grocery shopping seemed terribly mundane in the face of a glimpse of Sherlock's deductive prowess. So she took off her coat again and missed the brief smile in Sherlock's lips, and followed him upstairs.

Sherlock received a series of clients, each one as different from the previous as they could be. She stayed mostly quiet, sipping tea in John's chair - because one thing Sherlock wouldn't budge on, was the ownership of his black leather chair - and gave a piece of her mind now and then. Sherlock seemed to appreciate it. In fact, he even hummed in agreement when she pointed out Miss Hick's recent pregnancy. By the time Greg called them to a dingy basement in New Cross Gate, they had established a routine around each other. They moved around each other with ease. And despite Sherlock mumbling to himself, Hermione had felt that for a moment, this was the closest thing to flirting Sherlock could get to.

The last case of the day, however, was the one that caught Sherlock's attention. The impossible disappearance of a man between Westminster and the next station, St James' Park.

"Explain that, Mr Holmes!" said Howard, the owner of the woollen hat and so far, winner of the unspoken price of the best case of the day. Sherlock threw a questioning look at Hermione, and she shrugged.

"Could he have jumped off?" asked Hermione.

"There's a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. Also, the driver of that train hasn't been to work since. Came into some money."

"Bought off?" said Sherlock. Hermione nodded and looked at the man in the video and finally recognised him. Howard said there weren't any side tunnels or maintenance tunnels. Sherlock's face was scrunched in deep thought. As they left the flat, Sherlock stopped her.

"Could he be one of...well, your… kind?"

Hermione shook her head. "The man in the video? He's Augustus Moran, Peer of the realm. Minister for Overseas Development. Pillar of the establishment. If he were a wizard, we would have known. I'll ask around, anyway."

Sherlock closed his eyes, and Hermione could see his eyes moving under his eyelids as if he were reading. She allowed herself that brief moment to admire him. From his dark curls to his cheekbones to the deep cupid's bow of his lips. Sherlock was the complete opposite of his brother in many ways, and that included the way their brains worked. Hermione was used to Mycroft's surgical precision, his wit sharp as that of a scalpel. But Sherlock's was a wind whirl. A tornado. It was easy to see why John had become addicted to this.

Sherlock opened her eyes, and blue and brown locked for a second. "The journey between those stations usually takes five minutes. That journey took ten minutes—ten minutes to get from Westminster to St James' Park," said Sherlock. "I'm going to need maps—lots of maps, older maps, all the maps."

"I'll tell Mycroft about Sir Moran and try to find this runaway driver."

Sherlock seemed to agree with that and walked past her down the stairs. "Fancy some chips? I know a fantastic fish shop just off Marylebone Road. The owner always gives me extra portions."

"Did you get him off a murder charge?" joked Hermione.

"No—I helped him put up some shelves."

Hermione laughed, a smile playing on her lips, mirroring his. "Is that a peace offering?"

Sherlock stood outside the complex, the wind messing with his hair, his cheeks barely visible over the collar of his coat, but with telltale creases of a smile. His eyes, however, had the same expression his brother had when he met her the first time. She had been evaluated, she knew that, and apparently, she had passed. "I think you might be useful, in the long run."

"I'll take that as a compliment. But," Hermione held up her phone. "I have to make a few phone calls. And report back to your brother."

"Has he offered you something already for spying on me?"

"Not yet, but it'll be a bargaining chip at some point, I reckon."

Sherlock smirked at her, and Hermione waved him goodbye.

Hermione spent the entire afternoon and evening tracking down the surprisingly elusive train driver and only saw Mary's dozen lost calls when she left the building. Mary picked the phone and told her everything was fine and promised to call her the next day. By the time she got home, Baker Street was quiet, and as she got ready for bed, she thought there was a faint smoky smell impregnated in the air.

"He's always losing things down the back of the sofa, aren't you, dear?"

"'Fraid so."

Sherlock, sitting in his chair, glared towards the kitchen where Hermione was preparing a tray of tea. She had what Sherlock, in less than forty-eight hours of knowing her, had already deemed the 'annoying know-it-all' smile. Hermione had to suppress her laughter every time he saw him closing his eyes, drumming his fingers against the armrest, or rolling his eyes. Watching one of the Holmes brothers interact with either of their parents was always fun.

Hermione came back and left the tray on the coffee table.

"Thank you, darling. I hope Sherly is not giving you too much trouble."

"Not at all, Margaret," Hermione stood up and looked at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow. "Sherly has been quite the gentleman."

Sherlock got up suddenly and buttoned up his jacket as he walked to his parents. "So, did you find it eventually, your lottery ticket?" Sherlock put one foot on the coffee table and walked over it, almost knocking over the kettle, until he was standing on the sofa, flicking through the papers on the wall. Hermione saw how Margaret merely leaned to the side nonchalantly. Siger looked exasperated but said nothing.

"Well, yes, thank goodness. We caught the coach on time, after all. We managed to see, er, St Paul's, the Tower ... but they weren't letting anyone into Parliament."

"Yes, there is a big debate tonight," Hermione said. Sherlock looked at his mum and then at her, a question in his expression. "Anti-terrorism bill. One of the few things that can save the Government, apparently."

The living room door opened without notice, and John appeared on the threshold. Sherlock looked round in surprise.

"John!"

"Sorry–you're busy."

Sherlock climbed down the sofa and reached down to pull Margaret to her feet while speaking to John. "No-no-no, they were just leaving."

"Oh, were we?"

"Yes."

"No, no, if you've got a case ..."

"No, not a case, no-no-no. Go. 'Bye."

Hermione stood up and pried Margaret away from her son's grip while giving her her purse. "Sherlock!"

"Don't worry pet," Margaret reached to give her a peck on the cheek. "We're here 'til Saturday, remember."

Sherlock stood beside Hermione, pushing all three of them onto the landing. Hermione shot him a glare, and he swiftly removed his hand from her back but continued to push his parents out. He tried to close the door, but something stopped him from doing so. Hermione turned to John and then went to the kitchen door, fuming. Sherlock finally managed to close the door while Hermione said goodbye through the other.

"Sorry about that," said Sherlock.

"No, it's fine. Clients?"

"His parents," shouted Hermione from the kitchen.

"Your parents?"

"In town for a few days. Mycroft promised to take them to a matinee of "Les Mis." Tried to talk me into doing it."

"Well...That is not what I...I-I mean they're just...so…"

"...normal?" volunteered Hermione.

"It's a cross I have to bear." John chuckled and walked to his old chair. That's when Hermione saw the gash on the side of his face he hadn't seen until now. "What happened to you?" said Hermione, coming closer to look at him.

"How is it you don't know? Didn't Mary call you? Didn't he tell you?" asked John, pointing at Sherlock.

"He didn't. And when I called Mary, she said everything was fine. What happened?"

Between John and Sherlock, they filled her in. But obviously, she had a bit of information they didn't. Of course, for them, Mary was just a nurse - or maybe not, as Mary, in her worry, had been careless enough as to let Sherlock know she knew what skip code was. But anyone who had wanted Sherlock to rescue John would have contacted Sherlock directly, without a messenger. No, someone knew something about Mary and that troubled Hermione. And Mary too, as this had probably crossed her mind already. John and Sherlock, of course, were more concerned about John's role in the entire ordeal.

"Who did that? And why did they target me? Is it someone trying to get to you through me? Is it something to do with this terrorist thing you talked about?"

"I don't know. I can't see the pattern. It's too nebulous."

He walked towards his wall of information. "Why would an agent give his life to tell us something incredibly insignificant? That's what's strange."

"Gave is life?" asked John.

"According to Mycroft. There's an underground network planning an attack on London – that's all we know." Sherlock turned to her. "What do you think? In your professional opinion."

"Well, an underground network seems very unspecific. I might have some more news today. I tagged Moran, I'll let you know more. I can tell you, he's been working for North Korea since 1996."

Hermione was positively mortified. She had left John and Sherlock alone in Baker Street and, although she knew she had to talk to Mary, she swung by the office and check on Moran. Mycroft had then called her for a mission of the 'utmost importance'. Which turned out to be accompanying Margaret and Siger to a Japanese exhibition at The British Museum as he was 'sadly unable' to do so. Hermione had argued with him if that was the best way to spend the taxpayer's money, and after some bargaining, she was on her way to the museum.

But the innocent Japanese exhibition dear mommy and daddy Holmes wanted to see so much was 'Sex and pleasure in Japanese art'. And while the pictures had been pleasant and the whole thing highly interesting, she really did not want to hear what the Holmes progenitors did in their free time. A complicated task, as contrary to their children, they love to over-share.

She got home with a mix of hot and bothered and plain bothered in her, praying to the high heavens Sherlock wasn't there. She did not want to deal with him in this condition. As Hermione entered the kitchen, she saw Mary inspecting the microscope that had found its way back to the kitchen table from downstairs at some point during the day. Mary raised her head.

"You look like you just had seen a ghost."

"Worse," she sat down in Sherlock's chair, resting her head against the cool leather of the back. "I've seen two adorable elderly people transform into horny teenagers before my eyes. I mean, good for them, but Jesus, I will not be able to forget some things I've heard."

"Has Mycroft tasked you to babysit again?"

Hermione nodded, and that threw Mary into a burst of hysterical laughter. "Well, now we know who has kept all the libido in that family."

Hermione smiled, still with her eyes closed. "Shame," the word was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"What?" Mary was smirking at her.

"Forget it, Mary."

"Oh, no. No," Mary sat in John's chair. "Are you attracted to Sherlock Holmes?"

Hermione did not answer, and Mary's smile just grew wider. "Oh, come on!" groaned Hermione. "You have to admit he is attractive. It's not just me who sees it."

"And he has violinist hands," pointed Mary.

Hermione wished Mary hadn't put that particular idea in her head. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I thought I could get you alone, talk about last night," said Mary.

"Any ideas of who it could have been?"

Mary shook her head and covered her face with her hands, slowly sliding them down until they were covering just her mouth. "I don't know, and that terrifies me. On one side, if it would have been anyone who wanted revenge on me, they would have killed him. And if they wanted to know they had something on me, they would have signed the message. It just doesn't make sense."

Hermione had to admit she was right. "I think Sherlock is still a part of this, I'm just unsure about how you fit in it."

"You haven't told Mycroft, have you?"

"No," said Hermione. "And if Sherlock doesn't do it, I'm not going to either. Mycroft is a difficult piece at the moment."

Mary reached for her hand. "I'm sorry, love."

"I understand he did not tell me, but at the same time, I don't. I thought I was… that he trusted me." Hermione had been about to say 'special', but she knew how silly and puerile it sounded. Hermione had to understand she was just an agent with privy information, but nothing else.

"I don't trust Mycroft," said Mary. "But I think there are only two people in the world he would risk it all, and they both live in Baker Street now."

"I'm worried about you. More now. Sherlock has stored the fact that you recognise skip code somewhere in his brain. You need to be careful, Mary."

"Don't worry about me. I'm a grown woman, and you have done more than enough for me. It's time for us to take care of you now." Hermione let Mary enveloped her in a hug and felt the tears pricking in her eyes. "Now, enough of this. We haven't even talked about my failed engagement…"

They moved to the kitchen to get something to eat when they heard footsteps on the staircase. Sherlock entered first and acknowledging none of them, dropping himself on his armchair, while John kissed Mary. Hermione looked at Sherlock.

"Where have you been?"

"Aborting a terrorist attack while Sherlock was his typical cock-self" John was hugging Mary by her waist. He was smiling, and Sherlock had turned his head and sniffed his armchair, but instead of saying anything, he simply let his hand rest on the leather.

"You owe them, Sherlock," said Hermione.

Sherlock tried to pretend he hadn't heard her and kept tuning his violin as he looked out of the shop towards the street door. "Sherlock," Hermione stood in front of him, blocking his view. Sherlock looked at her, and it was the first time Hermione realised Sherlock was much taller than she was. "We are going to throw a party for John and Mary, and we are going to have champagne, and we are going to invite Greg and Molly and her fiancé."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll tell you what your parents do behind closed doors in their free time."

Sherlock looked at her warily while Hermione beamed at him. "You are bluffing."

"You know your parents, Sherly, you know how much they like to talk." Sherlock stood in silence. "So, sex -"

"Stop."

"Does sex alarm you, Mr Holmes?"

"Sex doesn't alarm me."

"Good," Hermione took a deep breath. "So apparently your father does this thing-"

"Stop."

"- your mother loves it, she swears. Siger -"

Sherlock made a creaking noise with his violin. "Fine. Tell them to come. No decorations."

Hermione offered him her hand, and he reluctantly shook it. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Hermione had kept her part of the bargain. She bought the drinks and the food, and no decorations. Mrs Hudson, however, had bought several 'congratulations' banners and had hung it over the fireplace and windows. Sherlock had also devised an escape plan and had called the press to formally announce his return, and his first case solved. While the engagement party happened downstairs, several journalists and photographers gathered downstairs, waiting for John H. Watson and Sherlock Holmes to appear.

Hermione sipped from her glass as Sherlock entered the living room with a bottle of champagne, and she almost choked when she saw what he was wearing. Mary drowned her laughter with a cough, and Hermione got his glass taken from her hand as Sherlock refilled it. Did this man not have shirts of his size? Sherlock kneeled next to her and filled another glass.

"Happy now?"

"Very," she looked at him as he drank. She tipped her glass to him, and he promptly clinked it.

"You will be there, Sherlock," said Mary, taking them out of their exchange.

"Weddings–not really my thing," he said, but he still winked at Mary and stood up. Mary looked at Hermione, and Hermione kicked her under the table.

At that moment, Molly entered the room and greeted everyone. By then, they were all well acquainted with Tom—with more or less regard for him —but all the heads turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock, this is Tom," said Molly.

"It's really nice to meet you at last. Quite a feat, right, coming back from the dead," said Tom. Sherlock held out his hand to him. Greg walked across the room behind them. "Champagne?"

Sherlock's jaw dropped open a little when Tom accepted Greg's drink, and he turned his eyes towards John, who grinned back at him expectantly. Sherlock then turned to Mary and Hermione, who were discretely covering their mouths with their glasses. John tugged him outside the room, and both disappeared downstairs.

Tom was bewildered. "What happened? Is there something on my face? "

Greg choked on his own champagne, and Mrs Hudson patted him on the back. Definitely, life at Baker Street has just got more interesting.

Final chapter from "The Empty Hearse". Next one, "The sign of Three" will be covered in three chapters.

I hope you liked it. I tried to change as little as possible the actual interactions. You might be disappointed if you love Molly's characters that I have substituted her by Hermione. But I have the feeling that the actual series did it as a hint of romance between them, and that is not how this story will go.

All the transcripts have been extracted from the work of Ariane DeVere which did an amazing job recollecting them. The link to them is in my profile.

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.