Title: How Sherlock Saved the World (Again)

Rating: will be R

Warnings: slash (of the explicit variety), AU-ness - I'm going all kinds of crazy with the HP cannon - the books be more like….guidelines. And this is still un-betaed so forgive the mistakes.

Thanks to Sevlin for the feedback! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far :)

Chapter 2:

The ride to Baker Street was virtually silent. All within realized the prudence of discretion whilst riding in an open cab. Watson took the opportunity to study both Snape and his companion, the boy who's name apparently was Potter. His original assessments of them both held true. Severus Snape was long-limbed and possessed an air of elegance, a trait which seemed a common one in the Holmes family. His skin was pale to a nearly unhealthy degree and slightly yellowish about the fingers, as if he, too, like Holmes, worked regularly with various chemicals. His eyes were the blackest Watson had ever seen, and they shown with a keen, biting intelligence, at once everything and nothing like Holmes's. He also seemed to be always on guard, ever alert and tense. As if waiting to be ambushed at any moment.

The boy was another story altogether. As Watson had noted before, his eyes were his most remarkable feature, unusually large and expressive. His hair, like Snape's, was black as pitch, but, unlike the older man, the boy's locks were worn short and stood up erratically in all directions. His figure was notably smaller than was the norm for lads his age but had a kind of sturdy compactness. Watson thought he gave the impression of being rather malnourished, but, at the same time, surprisingly solid. The doctor could see evidence of a lightly muscled frame hidden beneath the boy's fitted coat. For every ounce of Snape's expressionless, straight-laced demeanor, the boy had an equal measure of restless energy and emotionality. He seemed unable to keep his hands from fidgeting and his eyes from clouding over in what Watson assumed to be thoughtful and pained reminisce. It was obvious the boy had recently undergone some kind of tragedy.

But, regardless of these facts, by the end of the ride Watson felt as though he still had very little real knowledge about the rather unlikely pair. Why was it that everyone related to or otherwise associated with Holmes seemed surrounded by perpetual mystery? He let out a small sigh. He would just have to wait until Holmes decided to let him in on what exactly was going on. It was a game he rarely relished playing.

The small party reached their destination and were swiftly guided up the stairs and into the sitting room. As soon as all four of them were situated comfortably, with fresh cups of tea steaming in their hands, Holmes drew in a deep breath and leaned forward to address his brother.

"Well, I must admit, this is a bit of a shock. I didn't think that I would be seeing you in this particular…mm…era."

Watson's eyes cut to Holmes with a sharp questioning look. Snape raised his eyebrows as if to say it couldn't be helped, but before he could speak in his defense, Holmes continued.

"But, before we get into all that, I believe introductions are in order. This," he said, indicating Watson, "is Dr. Watson, who you've no doubt heard of. He is my compatriot, biographer, and flat mate." He turned to address the boy, "And, I, as Severus has no doubt informed you, am Sherlock Holmes." The boy nodded, his gaze shifting back and forth between the detective and Watson as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"Watson, as I informed you a few moments ago, this is my brother, Professor Severus Snape." Watson and the man nodded briefly to each other.

"And this is one of your students, no doubt?" Holmes asked, gesturing to the young man.

Snape narrowed his eyes slightly and the ghost of a smirk settled over his features.

"I forgot, Sherlock, just how astonishing your powers of observation are."

Holmes smiled at the compliment, settling further into his chair.

"This is Mr. Harry Potter," continued Snape. "He is, as you say, my pupil."

Here he paused, looking momentarily in Watson's direction, and then back at Holmes. Holmes seemed to read something in the look and responded with a slight, negative shake of his head.

"We are here by request of the headmaster of our school," Snape continued. "We've been sent to…retrieve something for him."

"Something that could, no doubt, only be found here in London," Holmes supplied.

"Yes."

Holmes's eyes brightened.

"How curious."

The brothers stared at each other for a moment. It seemed to Watson that some kind of exchange was taking place, though what the content of this mental conversation was, remained a complete mystery to him. After another moment, Holmes broke away, a small, strangely solemn smile flickering across his face for a moment before he became the picture of a perfect host once more.

"Well. You must be tired from your no doubt extensive journey. Please, I insist that you stay here with Watson and I for the duration of your trip."

"It wouldn't be any….inconvenience?" came the Professor's rich tones.

Again, Watson felt as though there was some sub-textual communication he was missing. But Holmes just smiled enigmatically.

"No, no, brother. It's no trouble at all."

"Well then," replied Snape, moving to rise, "I suppose we shall retire."

"It is the room up the stairs to your right. Second door on the left. Do make yourself at home."

Snape nodded and gestured to the boy who rose obediently and followed his professor from the room.

As soon as the door had closed behind the pair, Watson turned to Holmes, an expression of inquiry on his face.

"Holmes, what the devil just happened?"

Holmes rose suddenly and moved towards the door.

"Come, my dear Watson, let us go to your rooms. This is a conversation better held in private."

Watson sat perched on his bed, watching Holmes bolt the door. He found this vaguely suspicious but chose not to comment on it. Instead he sat as patiently as he could whilst Holmes turned and leaned against the doorway, muttering "How to begin?" to himself and then promptly becoming lost in his own thoughts. After a moment, the detective let out a sigh and sunk into a crouch on the floor. He steepled his fingers and pressed them against his lips.

"Watson, what I'm about to tell may seem fantastic. It borders even on the preposterous. I must ask you to suspend your disbelief for a few moments."

Watson nodded, his curiosity peaked. Holmes returned the nod and continued his exposition.

"Well then, Watson, here is the truth: my brother and his charge have come to us from the future, specifically from around the year 1996 if I am not mistaken. They were sent here to recover a most dangerous artifact, and, hopefully, to bring it back with them to their own time so that it might be destroyed. As to why I haven't seen Severus in over sixteen years, that is a rather more complicated matter. Let's just say he was banished from the 19th century and forced to relocate. Somehow he has managed to return and, if his goal is really so noble as he has made it seem, I will be forced to offer him my assistance."

Watson had steadily been growing more and more baffled throughout the duration of Holmes's extraordinary tale. He knew he had promised to be open-minded but…

"Time travel, Holmes? You're serious? You expect me to believe that your brother and this Potter boy came here from the future on some epic quest, and that, when they are through, they'll just pop back to wherever they came from? Pardon me if I find this to be dubious in the extreme."

"I know that it may sound incredible and improbable-"

"Improbable? It's madness! Utterly ridiculous!"

"There's more, Watson."

"More? How could there possibly be more?" Watson stopped to catch his breath. A headache was beginning to throb behind his eyes. Holmes had yet to give a plausible explanation for his brother's sudden appearance-all this talk of time travel was absurd. Wasn't Holmes supposed to be the very manifestation of all that was reasonable? Was logic not his most valued implement? The doctor was about to launch into another tirade when his thoughts were interrupted by his companion.

"Watson, do you trust me?"

Watson opened his mouth to deliver some acerbic retort but was stopped by the look in Holmes's eyes. He sighed.

"Of course I do."

Holmes nodded, satisfied.

"Then I must show you something, something very….queer. It will, I hope, serve to render this whole scenario into something more comprehensible for you. Oh, and I would be very grateful if you refrained of doing anything rash during the next few moments."

Watson's interest was peeked, as was his irritation.

"Holmes, what-" but he was silenced by a wave of Holmes's hand.

"Watson, please. I must focus."

Watson fell silent, pushing away his frustration in favor of observing his friend. Soon, it was no longer very difficult to forget his anger and impatience. The doctor watched, fascinated, as Holmes began mumbling a string of what sounded like Latin under his breath. The detective's hands moved so that they were stretched out in front of him, bent at the elbow, palms facing outward. His face took on a look of absolute concentration.

After a moment Watson began to feel a strange sensation, almost as if a kind of energy was pooling into the room, filling it with a strange, pulsing power. He looked about wildly, searching for a source, his eyes finally landing back on his friend. But that couldn't be….Holmes couldn't be causing this. There had to be some other explanation. But before the good doctor's thoughts could go any further, the feeling vanished. The room became still and calm. Watson looked to Holmes and was surprised to see an expression of triumph on the other man's face. It wasn't until he once again hazarded a glance about the room that he realized that something was amiss. Very, very amiss. The armoire, his armoire, which had previously been resting firmly on the ground, was floating.