This is being cross-posted from Ao3. It was originally posted on 2 May 2022.

Huge thank you to GaeilgeRua for allowing me the use of her Grammarly subscription to read this over. Any other mistakes are definitely my own.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. Sherlock belongs to PBS and BBC America. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made from this creation.

Prompt: #HHBingo22 Square B5: Sherlock Holmes
#TropesAndFandoms22: Hurt/Comfort
#HPCrossoverBingo Square B5: Hurt/Comfort

26 April 2011 - Shangri-La Hotel, Paris, France

Being dead had its advantages.

Sherlock was used to blending into the crowd, but it was now more manageable. After initially fleeing to the Middle East, Sherlock found himself slowly moving closer and closer back to the UK. Back toward John. Back to everything he'd left behind…

A word from the few people that knew he was still alive was scarce, but it was positive. Moriarty was truly gone, and his men had dispersed as well. Soon it would be safe for him to return to his old life, but for now, he remained abroad. There were cases to solve in every town and city he came to, and Paris was just as prone to curiosities as London was.

But he was bored.

It didn't take much these days to cause Sherlock boredom, but Paris was immensely lacklustre for some reason. Initially, he'd secretly helped out the local police by guiding them (albeit secretly) to the home of a prominent serial killer. Unfortunately, that had taken him two, maybe three days to orchestrate and only that long because he'd been kicked out of the hostel he'd stayed at for writing all over the bedroom walls.

Needing to be more careful, Sherlock left that hostel, solved the case, and found a hotel to stay at instead. Sherlock spent an abundance of time recently in hostels, so it was nice to languish in the luxuries of a hotel. He knew that remaining here for too long could cause him to be exposed. A few days at most is all he needed to refresh his mind and body, and then he would move on to the next city.

It had been so long since his supposed death, so not many people looked for his face in the crowd. Occasionally, someone would take a second look at him, but Sherlock would already be lost in the crowd by the time they started to recognize him. Staying away from the most popular restaurants and shops allowed him to keep his secret life. People annoyed him, so being able to separate himself was a relief.

Yes, being dead certainly had its advantages.

29 April 2011 - Paris, France

A light mist fell from the sky, making the grand city seem dull and tired. Hermione didn't bother with an umbrella or water-repelling charm as she wandered the quiet streets. Her hair was already wild, and she'd be inside her hotel before the afternoon storms arrived anyway.

She paused, her hands coming to rest on the cool surface of the railing. Below her, the Seine churned onward, the colour reflecting the sky. It was true she was running away from her life back in London, but after everything that happened this past year, she couldn't fathom trying to deal with the stares and gossip at the Battle of Hogwarts Remembrance Dinner.

Divorce is never easy, even when it's a mutual agreement. Rumours spread like wildfire, and the fact that Ron took up with Pansy so soon after the papers were finalized, well, it certainly didn't look well for either of them. It was best to just stay away this year, even if she'd been set to give one of the most important speeches of her life…

When Kingsley asked her to be the guest speaker at the Remembrance dinner, initially Hermione had been elated. She was trying her best to steadily move up the ranks within the Ministry before someday becoming Minister herself. The opportunity to speak at such a high society event would have allowed her the exposure needed to jumpstart that process. When everything with Ron exploded in the papers, Hermione had a change of heart.

Her usually suppressed anxiety bubbled to the surface like a poorly brewed potion and left her unable to even sleep. Having to get in front of such a large crowd of people she knew and even more of those she did not have her spiralling. After explaining to Kingsley that she had a sudden family emergency, she booked a flight to Paris and didn't look back.

Hermione would spend the next few days hidden away in Paris, where no one could bother her. Having never spent time in the wizarding community here, she knew that no one would recognize her, mainly if she remained acting like a muggle traveller. So before leaving London, she ensured that all owls sent to her would be forwarded to Ginny instead, for she was the lone person who knew exactly where she was and why.

Turning her back on the tumultuous river, Hermione attempted to smile at the city before her. There were plenty of places she longed to visit, so the sooner she checked into her hotel, the better. The line at the Louvre was bound to be long as it so often was, and she hoped to get in sometime this afternoon. Straightening her shoulders, Hermione tried to think happy thoughts as she hurried to the hotel.

29 April 2011 - The Louvre, Paris, France

Sherlock, on a whim, decided to venture to the famous Louvre after the early afternoon storms had passed. The skies were still grey, and the threat of rain still lurked, but Sherlock was restless and needed to stretch his feet.

Pausing, he caught sight of a bushy-haired woman pursuing an informational pamphlet. He immediately recognized her as a woman checking into the same hotel he was currently staying at. It was a small world, but there was something odd about the fact that they were here simultaneously. Despite knowing he had to keep a low profile, Sherlock strode to her and cleared his throat.

As expected, the woman turned her attention from the pamphlet to him. "Can I help you?" she asked, her cheeks slightly pink but her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"You're here to see the Mona Lisa," Sherlock said. "It's not as thrilling as one would expect. It's tiny. Boring even."

The woman's eyes went wide in surprise, and then she crossed her arms. "How did you know I was here to see that painting?"

"It's obvious." When she merely raised an eyebrow in question, he huffed. "Everyone comes to see that painting. Of course, you were also reading the page in the pamphlet about the artist."

"You saw all of that from across the room?" the woman asked, uncrossing her arms and glancing at the pamphlet she still held. "You've got a good eye. What's your name?"

For a second, Sherlock thought about giving a fake name or even using John's as he so often did. However, he felt compelled to tell the truth or at least half of it. "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

Sliding the pamphlet into her purse, Hermione extended her now free hand toward Sherlock. "I'm Hermione Granger. It's nice to meet you. You're the first person to come up and talk to me here."

"You're the first interesting person I've come across while here in Paris," Sherlock said, sliding his hands into the pockets of his long coat.

"I'm not sure if I should be flattered about that or not…." Hermione glanced around at all the other people in the art museum. None of them stood out to her either, to be honest. Then, turning her attention to Sherlock, she asked, "Do you always pick up women at places like this?"

Startled, Sherlock took a step back. "That was not my intention," he rushed to say, eyes wide. "Although, I can see how one would assume as much. You looked immensely sad if you must know. I was curious to find out why and needed a closer look."

"You could tell I was sad while reading a pamphlet across the room?" Hermione inquired, finding Sherlock more and more interesting by the minute.

"One can tell a lot from a single glance," Sherlock replied swiftly, taking the step back toward her now. Apparently, she was not upset by his curiosity and held a bit of her own toward him. "I could also see that you are newly divorced, and by the way you kept checking your mobile, you're avoiding something important."

Hermione blinked at Sherlock in amazement. "That's… incredibly accurate," she whispered, shaking her head slowly. "How did you-?"

"How did I know?" Here, Sherlock walked in a bit of a circle around Hermione as he began to explain. "There is a pale mark from where your wedding bands used to sit. Your constant checking of the mobile shows that you expect someone or multiple people to contact you about being somewhere you do not wish to be."

"Hmm," hummed Hermione. "All that from a single look. Impressive."

After completing his circle, Sherlock paused and peered down at Hermione with his narrowed gaze. "There is something more to you, though. Something I cannot quite put my finger on, and I will admit, it is an enigma I wish to solve."

Hermione stared into the stranger's eyes and felt her heart skip a beat. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she contemplated what to do next. For some reason, this man had sought her out… Her, out of all the people in this room. Deciding there could be no harm in getting to know him better (so long as she kept her wand handy), she took a deep breath and summoned her Gryffindor courage.

"Do you want to grab some dinner?"

Sherlock smirked. "I know the perfect place."

30 April 2011 - Shangri-La Hotel, Paris France

As it turned out, the perfect place was his hotel room.

Hermione thought it interesting that he would choose here, but then she realized he probably thought she meant they sleep together. The thought hadn't crossed her mind, but anything could happen now that they were here and alone. Sherlock had not tried anything with her since their arrival despite her expectations. Instead, they'd ordered room service and ate while sitting on the bed. Now they were getting to know one another, or Hermione was trying to pry information out of him, seeing as he appeared to know all about her.

"I knew who you were as soon as you told me your name," Hermione admitted, propping her chin on her hand. She stared up at him from the bottom of the bed with an expectant smile.

"How?"After pacing for some time, Sherlock finally situated himself at the top of the bed. He stared down at Hermione, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"I grew up as a muggle, a regular person with no magic, and I still keep up with the local papers," she told Sherlock. "I remember reading about you for a while."

The first half an hour before they'd ordered food involved Hermione quietly explaining that she was a witch. It had been a gamble breaking the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, but Hermione was well versed in memory charms, so she wasn't worried. Besides, something told her that Sherlock was trustworthy. The clock had ticked past midnight, and Hermione didn't feel compelled to return to her own room yet.

"Then there is no need to explain that this meeting must remain a secret," Sherlock intoned. He pressed the tips of his fingertips together and stared at Hermione overtop of them. "I will keep your secret, and you will keep mine."

"That's a fair trade," Hermione agreed, smiling.

"Indeed it is."

1 May 2011 - Shangri-La Hotel, Paris France

His touches were so hesitant that it made Hermione falter. "Sherlock… Is this your first time with a woman?" Her cheeks were red from asking, but she had to know the truth. She sat atop his naked form, enjoying the view, but not trusting herself to be gentle once they got started.

Sherlock scoffed, throwing his head back into the pillow. "Despite what you and probably many others believe, I have slept with a woman. The Woman, to be exact." His hands still held onto Hermione's waist, but he gripped harder as if trying to prove something.

"The Woman?" Hermione echoed in question, tipping her head to the side. "Is that her name? You know what…. Nevermind. Now's not the time. I just want to forget about everything and be with you."

Knowing what to do, Sherlock swiftly rolled, taking them by surprise. Hermione yelped but soon found her mouth covered by Sherlock's as he kissed her into silence. As he kissed her, he ground his hips into Hermione's so that she could feel how affected he was by her. It had been far longer than he cared to admit since he'd been with a woman, and this felt exceptional.

Hermione sighed and opened her legs to allow Sherlock access to where she needed him the most. They'd talked these past couple of days endlessly, but now she wanted more than that. She wanted to feel connected to another person intimately… Sherlock was willing to give her exactly that.

His hands caressed her heated flesh, and his mouth peppered her lips, neck, and chest with searing kisses that left her breathless and begging for more. When he, at last, joined with her body, Hermione cried out in wild ecstasy, something that would cause her to blush anytime she thought about it for the rest of her life. Thankfully, Sherlock didn't seem to mind her seemingly wanton behaviour. A fact for which she was pretty relieved.

In fact, he thrived on her ability to be so open sexually. Sherlock didn't make love to her carefully as if she would break. No, Sherlock rocked against her with reckless abandon, grabbing hold of the headboard above for purchase as he drove her closer and closer to that edge. Time was lost to both of them, but that didn't matter. This was exciting and precisely what Hermione needed to forget all of her worries and woes.

When, at last, they came undone, Hermione barely gave Sherlock enough time to recover before rolling him over and starting everything again.

2 May 2011 - Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, Paris, France

For the first time in a long time, Hermione could feel, and what she felt was closer to another human being than she'd ever been before, and that was saying something. Together, she and Sherlock walked along the quiet streets, occasionally holding hands, but for the most part in comfortable silence themselves. Hermione could tell Sherlock wasn't an affectionate man, which was okay. She was just thankful for his companionship today.

On a bench in the park, Hermione said, "Today is a tough day for me."

"You have been unusually quiet," Sherlock noted, smirking when she playfully elbowed his side.

"Today is when we lost many of our friends to a senseless war," Hermione explained, staring off into the distance. "I was supposed to give this big speech at a fancy dinner, but after the papers dragged my broken marriage through the mud, I couldn't bear to look anyone in the eyes."

"The press can be quite thoughtless when it comes to personal matters," Sherlock said, smoothing the palms of his hands down his thighs. "They have a quota to make and hardly care if our feelings get ruffled."

"I still feel guilty for backing out of the speech," Hermione admitted, nervously biting her lip. "I've never done something like that before. I'm always the one people can count on in a situation."

"Sometimes what is best for ourselves is more important than what other people expect of us," Sherlock said quietly, tipping his head to give the witch a slight smile. He could tell his words comforted her because her shoulder relaxed ever so slightly, and she inched closer to him in the chill of the evening air.

"How is it that you know exactly what to say?" Hermione asked, now staring up into the clouds. She blinked back tears that made no sense but felt comforted.

"I do not have an answer for that," he said, biting back a grin. "Are you going to be okay, or do you need me to find more words to sooth your troubles?"

Laughing, Hermione shook her head. "No, this is enough."

"Good." Sherlock cleared his throat and stood, sometimes hating how separated from human feelings he could be. He truly hoped that she was being truthful and it was enough. "Come now. Let us find a quaint place for supper before everything closes for the night."

3 May 2011 - Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France

It was early the next day when Sherlock brought Hermione by cab to the airport. They'd spent the night together one more time, exploring one another inch by inch until the early morning light broke through the curtains. After a brief shower, they dressed and rode to the airport in silence, neither wanting to be the first to say goodbye.

"I've had a really nice time spending these past few days with you," Hermione said, blushing as she stood outside the main doors. She tucked a curl behind one ear and looked up into the eyes she'd grown to adore. "Do you think you'll ever tire of travelling and come back to London?"

Sherlock glanced above Hermione briefly at the plane terminal doors. Shortly, Hermione would walk through them and board her flight back to London. A part of him wanted to join her, but it was too soon. It was still dangerous for him back there. Even contemplating the very idea was putting everyone he cared about at risk, Hermione included.

Sighing, Sherlock bowed his head and tried not to think about how he subconsciously admitted to caring for the witch. "Perhaps, one day, but I must move on to my next location for now." He shrugged, a smirk lifting his lips. "Wherever I choose that to be."

"That's what I'd thought you'd say," Hermione muttered, shaking her head despite the smile on her lips. "I supposed this is goodbye then."

"I supposed it is." Sherlock made to slide his hands into his pockets, but Hermione rushed forward and enveloped him in a tight embrace. "What's this for?"

"If I never see you again, I just want you to know that you've truly helped me get through one of the darkest patches of my life," Hermione muttered into his chest just loud enough for him to hear. "I don't know how to thank you."

Unsure of responding, Sherlock took a deep breath and sighed before wrapping his arms around her. "This is enough," he replied, pressing his palms into her back to keep her there a moment longer.

The embrace lasted a minute before they parted, avoiding eye contact. "I have to go, but if and when you return to London, please look for me," Hermione said, grabbing the handle of her luggage.

"Very well," Sherlock agreed, now sliding his hands in his pockets, mainly to keep from wanting to touch Hermione again. If he did that, there was no telling if they would ever leave Paris. "Safe travels."

"You too."

Sherlock watched as Hermione disappeared into the airport with tightness in his chest. She would return to London and face the demons of her past, but he had a good feeling that she'd be better off than before. He hadn't said much to her about why she'd run away for this excursion, but the time abroad with him seemed to do her well.

It was Sherlock's turn to figure out where he would go next and if London would ever call him home. As he flagged down a cab, Sherlock thought that perhaps he would go home sooner. However, a few more countries on his list needed to be visited first. His own dark past needed to be cleared so that those he cared about would be safe once he did find the courage to return to London.

After all, if Hermione could face her demons, so could he.