The three teenagers squirmed uncomfortably on the sofa in the flat. John watched them with some form of curiosity. They were very strange, looking around the flat with poorly disguised awe, especially the redhead. He was particularly entranced when Sherlock's phone started to ring.
'Probably slow,' John mused. He wondered what case these three would bring. Hopefully something good, Sherlock had been shooting the walls all day, much to distress of Mrs. Hudson.
"Hermione," The redhead leaned over to whisper to the only girl of the group , "This seems a bit sketchy. Are you sure we should trust him? I know he's good, but is he good enough? We're breaking enough laws as it is." John's eyebrows raised a bit at that part. What could they be doing? Drugs, probably, if their appearance was anything to go by. John sighed to himself.
"Of course we should Ronald," She whispered back in a sure tone, "This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about! He's absolutely brilliant."
"But Mione'! He's a muggle!" Ronald had protested. It took a sharp glare to silence him.
Sherlock swept into the room before John could wonder what on Earth a muggle was. "Sorry about the wait." He said coolly, "The idiots over at Scotland Yard wanted advice on how to actually see. It was quite obviously the butler who stole the painting."
"Sherlock?" John coughed and turned his head at the threesome. "We have guests!"
"Right, right, the client's." Sherlock waved his hand in boredom. He turned to the trio, who all sat a little straighter in his gaze. "Now, wizards, interesting. Not everyday that you stoop down to a muggle's level. Oh aren't you all interesting." He gazed at them intently.
"Sherlock, what? Wizards?" John gave a small chuckle. "They seem more likely to be drug addicts than wizards." All three of them bristled at the suggestion. John took no notice.
"Oh honestly John, it's obvious. Even you can see it." Sherlock replied in his typical offhand manner and aloof manner, too busy staring at the man with a strange scar on his forehead.
John decided to ignore the probably unintentional barb by turning his attention to the three clients. The first was sitting on the far left of the couch and had a thin, gangly frame, and innumerable amount of freckles, and the brightest red hair John had ever seen. The second was a woman who sat primly on the couch, despite her hair being extremely bushy and burned in some areas and the rather large spot of dirt on her nose. The last was a thin scrawny man with extremely messy hair, an odd lightning bolt scar on his forehead, and brilliantly green eyes covered by slightly cracked circle spectacles. They were an odd threesome, to be sure. They all were in tattered and dirty clothing, smelled like they all hadn't had a good shower in a good while, and were clutching sticks of varying color and length like their lives depended on it. That was probably where Sherlock got the wizard idea from. John mentally noted everything just in case this turned out to be good enough for Sherlock and thus John's blog. All of this observation took a little less than a second. Sherlock had been rubbing off on John, it seemed.
The green-eyed man stood up in panic. "How do you know wizards? Who told you?"
"Oh please, Anderson has more brains than the entire wizarding world combined." The redhead flushed with anger from the correctly perceived insult.
Before the redhead could form a coherent retort, John stood up. He could let Sherlock get away with lots of things, but believing in hogwash 'magic' wasn't one of them, "Sherlock, I know there are a lot of things I don't know, but one thing I do know that magic isn't real. Is this some sort of subculture, maybe?
"No, it's true sir! Here, let me demonstrate." The girl with bushy hair stood up and pulled out what could be assumed her wand. Before John could protest, she waved her wand in a series of motions around a teacup full of old tea and turned it into a small tortoise. John made a strangled sound that didn't sound quite human. Ignoring John's sound, the girl plowed into an explanation.
"You see? Magic is real! We really shouldn't be telling you this, under normal circumstances we'd be thrown in jail and your memories wiped, but these aren't normal circumstances. You see, there's this man named Voldemort-" The redhead let out a squawk of anger,
"Don't say his name!"
"-who's trying to take over the wizarding world, he's almost succeeded too. He's trapped pieced of his soul into objects by killing people so he could remain immortal and we're looking for them. They're called horcruxes, we've only found one and we need your help so we can figure out where the rest are. Ron's wearing Salazar Slytherin's locket right now, that's the only horcrux we've found so far, and it's been having noticeable effects on our mental health. Voldemort wants to kill all muggles -sorry, those are what wizards call non-magical people- and muggle-borns, magical people born to non magical people like myself. Oh! I'm terribly sorry, I've just realized that we haven't introduced ourselves. My name's Hermione granger," She pointed at the redhead, "He's Ron Weasley," She pointed at the boy with green eyes, "And he's Harry-"
"Potter," Sherlock responded, somehow still managing to sound cool and bored. "Of course I know who you are. I'm not an idiot you know. Turning my tea cup back into a tea cup would be appreciated by the way." Hermione gave a small jump and quickly tapped the toriouse with her wand to turn it back to it's original form.
"I'm sorry, what?" John blinked and rubbed his eyes a little, just to try to make sure that they were real and not part of his imagination.
"They need our help to find horcruxes. Honestly John, keep up." Sherlock said impatiently. "Now, where would Voldemort hide his horcruxes. You've already found two, so there are five more to go. Now, since Voldemort is obviously a half-blood who gave up his muggle roots. The only way he'd give up his muggle roots is if he had a bad childhood and wanted to cut himself off from it forever. He also has classic signs of psychopathy." Sherlock began to pace. " I'd know. Now, this means that important places to him are all that more important to him. Hogwarts is a definite place, probably in a hidden room that most people don't know about, already magically concealed, probably magical qualities in the room itself as well. It'd probably be hidden in plain sight, among lots of clutter I'd believe. I'm going to need more time on this, and I can't guarantee that I'm going to find all of them but-"
Ron suddenly stood up, his face bright red with anger and his fists clenched. "Why the bloody hell are you ready my best friends thoughts?" He yelled. "I've got enough on my plate as it is already and I don't need a bloody wizard pretending to be smart by using legilimency on defenseless muggles! In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if you were a slimy Death Eater working with You-Know-Who himself!"
"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione exclaimed at the same time John yelled "Watch yourself, he's the one helping you!"
Sherlock let out an agonizingly long sigh as if even being the room with those sorts of people was painful. "Really Mr. Weasley, you are being stressfully dull." Ron tensed, the tone reminding him of somebody painfully familiar, "Legilimency requires eye contact at all times, I don't suppose you didn't see me just pacing around the floor and thus not being able to look at Potter's eyes?"
"W-well you still could've done it earlier!" Ron spluttered. "You're obviously a wizard! No muggle can do that!"
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. Sherlock looked mildly amused. Ron at least had the decency to look slightly sheepish.
"Mate, nobody entered my mind. Even I can tell when someone's doing that." Harry said in what he obviously was hoping to be a soothing voice.
"Yes, yes. What was this about… magic being real? And a magical Moriarty?" John glared at the three strangers. "I don't know who the bloody hell you are what you want but let me tell you you won't be getting it easil-"
"John! These are clients and they have a case for me! As stupid as they are, they managed to come up with a decent case!" Sherlock stomped. Turning to the trio he added, "Though it wouldn't hurt to have a murder in it as well, but it'll work."
Ronald turned a tad green and angrily hissed something into Hermione's ear. Hermione huffed and smacked him.
John sank onto his chair in a huff and closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He groaned when he saw the ragtag group still sitting in his couch. He sighed again, stood up, and said in a defeated tone, "How can we help?"
So this is my first story (hooray!) This is just an ideaa that I got in my head and couldn't get out. Not sure if I'm going to continue, but if you want more, leave a comment (already feel like I'm fanfic author , asking for reviews and everything *warm fuzzies*). So yeah! Buh-bye!