"Any talkative portraits? Lurking ghosts?" The Weasley boys asked alternately as they entered the room, glancing around the room suspiciously.
"It's safe" Sherlock reassured them as he took his place behind his desk.
"Are you sure? Perry the Peeper could be anywhere, you know." One of them said as he closely examined a small sketch of... when was it that sherlock sketched his own feet?
"Every painting, sketch, doodle, bauble and keepsake in this room is muggle and therefore magic-proof. I make a living out of pissing off dangerous people so when I say 'it's safe' you can take my word for it." He explained as he propped his elbows on the table and folded his hands under his delicately pointed chin. "Now to business. What have you got for me?"
"Everything to satisfy your self-mutilation and reparation needs. We've got bruise removal paste, bruise addition hammer, insta-scab..." they rummaged through their pockets, placing odd objects in a line on the desk as they went spoke. This included a small bottle of something yellow, a pretty ordinary looking hammer and a jar of a red flaky substance. "A special blistering formula. Nasty results but completely painless. Zit-be-gone. Zit-be-back. And this-" one of them shakes a small glass bottle, causing the contents to sparkle. "Will make your eyebrows fall out."
"For what possible reason would I want my eyebrows to fall out?" One shrugs, they other seems to be pondering the subject. Sherlock looks up at me, as if suddenly remembering my existence. "Oh right. Weasleys, this is Dr. John Watson the-
"The screamer you sent flying past the tower last night. Yeah, everyone knows." Oh. People heard that. Oh god. "Didn't know you could fit two on a broom."
"John, these are the top mischief makers of the school, Fred and George Weasley." He continues without a hitch. Oh god, he knew too. The bastard. Of course he never thought to warn me. "You can always rely on a prankster for information, they never stop lying."
"Hey! We don't never lie!" They protest, smiling jovially. Sherlock rolls his pretty green eyes at me. 'Case in point' he says nonverbally.
"Oh so this is your new... network?"
"A network of two. But yes." I nod in understanding.
"And you're buying..."
"Temporary injuries. They could come in very handy." Ah. I can see it now. 'I can't teach today I've got no eyebrows!', 'Headmaster Dumbledore wants to see me? Oh too bad. I've got... blisters. On my soles.' And that's when he's not guilting people to do things for him. "I'll take the insta-scab, bruise removal paste and... do you have anything for vomiting?"
"The puking pastilles are not yet ready for sale." One of them said with a grimace. The other one turned a bit green at the mention of the item.
"I am not settling for shoving my finger down my throat next time I have to cough up a key. Throw one of them in for free and consider me a test subject." Fred and George looked horrified at the idea, but Sherlock stopped them before they could protest. "You obviously test the products on yourselves and you're still alive. I can take whatever side effects that come with it."
"I really don't think you-
"Rule 47." He says, stretching his slender neck.
What does that mean? Some sort of code? Is that some rule in the hogwarts handbook that says 'students must always give teachers vomit pills when they are requested of them.'? I could tell the twins are puzzled too. But slowly, their jaws drop.
"You're the story behind rule 47?" One of them gasps. "Merlin, you're a legend! Did you hit anyone?" The other exclaims after.
"No, I flew through a ghost though. They're impossible to sense." He says, preening happily under the spotlight. Oh. I think I get it now.
Once on a broom through the halls, there's a rule in the book dedicated specifically to the incident.
He's talking about the rule. His rule. He's gaining respect with the top pranksters by bragging about flying through a hall while blind and deaf.
"Wow. We are gigantic fans. Memorized the entire rulebook. Yours was always the most... wow." The gaspy one looks starstruck. Ha. A couple of rebels memorizing the rulebook. Probably so they could find ways to break them. Or make more. "Told you it wasn't Sirius Black." The other elbows his brother's side.
"God no. Sirius gets airsick if he so much as blinks." Siri- Sherlock knew Sirius Black? Well, I guess murderers aren't born murderers. Maybe they went to school together. Maybe that's why Sherlock's so fascinated by serial killers. Hmm..."So. Insta-scab and bruise removal. How much?"
"14 galleons, sir. But we'll knock it down to 10 for you." They beam, turning from slippery businessmen in the making to humble fanboys. "And throw in a love potion, free of charge." One suggested, the other agreeing with a silent smirk and nod.
"I can seduce any vaguely humanoid creature from twenty paces." He says confidently, satin pink lips smirking in derision. In that body, I'd say thirty five paces. "Give me an hour and I can put a glaring of cats in heat and sic them on a band of angry thieves. I don't need to resort to illegal measures. John, hand me that bag." He waves vaguely towards the cluttered coffeetable.
"Right. Ok. No love potions. Will just one of each be enough for you?" There aren't any bags on this table. Unless he means the floor under the table. Or there's a secret compartment that Sherlock assumes I know about.
"Yes. For now, that'll be fine. After I have an idea of the quality, I'll consider buying in bulk. On the sofa, John." He sighs in exasperation. I sigh right back at him after I spot the unassuming bag on top of the sofa. I toss it to him and sit down on the cushion it used to be on.
He shook out a few coins into one of the boy's hands. "Alright, if that'll be all we-"
"Actually I change my mind about the love potion. There's something I want to try." After a brief pause of surprise, one of them takes a small pink vial from their seemingly endless pockets. "John, could you grab that for me?"
Oh this is just Too Much. "It's right in front of your face." He pouts. Nope. Not falling for the 'I'm pretty, be my slave' act. I'm not Molly. "Sherlock, no." He batts his eyelashes and tilts his head just slightly. Damn. Misusing his influence as a temporary female. The bastard. I get up.
"I'm only doing this because you're a prick." I tell him as I pluck the bottle out of the boy's hand and hand it to him.
"Uuuuh... W-we'll just be going." They say, not budging from where they stand, hovering over their seats. Sherlock uncaps the bottle and raises it, holding eye contact with me as he does so. Wait. That's... Why's he... I brace myself as he downs it like a shot. There's a moment of waiting. Is he going to throw himself at me? Am I going to throw myself at him? Or will we start sprouting poetry simultaneously?
None of that happens. Actually, nothing happens. We just continue with our staring contest and the Weasleys I assume continue staring at us.
"Any dilation?" Sherlock asks me. His pupils are a bit wide. But it is dimly lit in here. I shake my head. "Fascinating." His head swivels mechanically, curls bouncing lightly.
"And you're positive that wasn't a defective batch?" The boys shake their heads. "You may go."
The boys scamper out of the room like a couple of ferrets.
"What was that?"
"The typical love potion is supposed to make anyone who takes it become enfatuated with the server." He explains. So. He was supposed to fall for me. That doesn't really answer my question, though.
"But... why? And on top of that, why me?"
"Curiousity." Great way to be specific, Sherlock. "And think about my other options, John. I'd much rather be tied up in a false romance with you than with my own student." Oh. Well. That. How could I not see that before?
"She blinded me with science. She blinded me. With science!" ...what? What's that song doing here? Where's it coming from? I don't think wizards have ipods and I'm pretty certain they wouldn't care for a song about science. Sherlock takes an aggragated breath and opens a drawer in his desk.
He brought his phone? Here? We're in the middle of bloody fairyland and he brings his smartphone. Is that even... legal here?
"Lestrade." He cringes as soon as the word leaves his lips. Lestrade isn't going to recognize that voice. "Ah right. Mr. Watson, could you hand this to Sherlock?" He says redundantly as he holds out the phone. I try to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness as I take the phone, pass it to my other hand, and hand it back.
"Thank you, John. What have you got for me?" He said in an overly gruff voice. It's like someone crushed his normal voice to landscaping gravel. "That's not important. What's th- I told you, it's not im- fine, I have a cold. Just give me the details."
There's a moment of nodded and exaggeratedly male grunts as Lestrade describes a crime scene. "Maid. It's definitely the maid."
Lestrade's probably saying along the lines of 'it couldn't be!' Or 'she had an alibi.' "Just because the woman is pretty and crying doesn't mean she isn't lying through her teeth. Whenever there is a maid, it's the maid. I've never seen a case where the maid just happened upon a body and didn't put it there. Do your job and stop wasting my time." He hangs up without a word, tossing the small black rectangle of advanced technology onto the table.
"You brought your phone." He gave me the 'you couldn't have said a more obvious statement' look. "I thought they don't work here?"
"They work fine. Great reception, actually. It's just impossible to charge the battery. Which is why I brought at least sixty extras." I can't tell if he means extra batteries or extra phones. It's ridiculous, but I wouldn't put it past him.
"And... your ringtone?"
He sighs hugely, running his long fingers through his hair like in one of those shampoo commercials. "Lestrade nicked my phone last time I pretended to faint for a case and changed it. Apparently messing with my phone is a new sp-..."
He freezes in shock.
Is he... looking at something? His eyes are pointing in general direction of a blank wall. Having an epiphany, maybe?
"Sherlock... what is it?"
"Changing." He sputters out, jumping up and rushing to the bedroom. "Don't come in for a few minutes."
"Should I... call the nurse? Is it a side effect?" I ask, at a complete loss. It couldn't be the love potion kicking in, could it?
"No no. These pants are about to become severely uncomfortable, is all." He says through the door, his voice cracking like a pubescent boy's.
Of all the things I never wanted to hear...
Hey! I spent all of yesterday and half of the train ride this morning typing this up. So I got it done incredibly early! Right now, I'm considering posting it right away or waiting a few days for all of my regular readers to get through the last chapter. But that doesn't matter to you, because by the time you read this, I'd have already made up my mind.
Anyways. I've been waiting for a good time to slip in a phone call with Lestrade. It's very important to me that you know that Sherlock still has his phone. It's not vitally plot-relevant as far as I know, but still. You need to know. And I figured it'd be best to do it while Sherlock's a girl.
The love potion will become relevant later. Don't think too much on it now. I know you are anyways. Just stop. Right now. Shhhh...
Alright, I've decided to post it early. so enjoy! Or... I hope you have enjoyed.