Sherlock Holmes was bored.

Sadly, in a castle that was made of stone, it was impossible that he would be able to shoot any of the walls- unless, that was, he wanted the bullet to come bouncing back at him. Nicotine patches were reserved for thinking time only, and he wasn't keen t have yet another conversation with Snape. Or anyone, for that matter. Maybe he was willing it upon himself, but Sherlock Holmes was a very bored man, and the only thing that would fix that was a good case.

But you had to be an auror for that, and Sherlock Holmes had refused to do that years ago. Aurors either did too little or too much, and while he was no stranger to running around London in the middle of the night, Holmes was rather less keen to be paid for it, or to be s bloody conspicuous. Shooting coloured jets from a stick was hardly going to let him evade the spotlight, and at least a gunshot could be covered up by fireworks. Aurors also had the misfortune of not being too bright, and while there were a few who had evaded that, the majority of the department were very, very thick.

In a way, he almost wanted Moriarty back.

At least then he had something to do, someone to protect. And if Moriarty was back, then time could be reversed, things could have gone differently- but that wasn't going to happen. Even stealing a Time Turner would do nothing to help, because all Holmes would be able to do was watch from the side-lines- and hearing John's voice the first time had been painful enough.

The whole thing had been painful. Maybe too painful.

No, Sherlock Holmes did not succumb to pain. Even when he had been thrown to the ground, even when that book had fallen on his head- courtesy of a supposed rogue spell- in the third year, and even when he had managed to drop his trunk on his foot. Sherlock Holmes stood up and carried on, because he was emotionless git who didn't need anyone or anything.

It was a difficult legacy to live up to.

It was the sound of owl on window that jolted him from his thoughts, and at the prospect of a reply, he leapt from the sofa and to the window. But the owl wasn't his and the writing not John's, and so Sherlock Holmes sank once into a strange feeling of defeat that he hadn't felt in so long.

Could I be so rude as to interrupt your evening and request your presence in my office? I have cauldron cakes.

A.D

Dumbledore. Great.

Holmes had been avoiding the headmaster for six days, and he had intended to keep it that way- but of course, the greatest wizard on the planet- and possibly even in the solar system that he knew so little about- would have noticed and forced a meeting.

He never had been good at Astronomy.

Sighing to himself, Holmes pulled on his robes over the shirt and smarter trousers that he was wearing. Boring, Muggle attire, and even though the robes were uncomfortable and too showy, Holmes wasn't stupid enough to walk around in a dinner jacket or blazer.

The halls were cold and quiet, touches flickering in their brackets. The only sounds were the crackles of the flames and his shoes on the hard floor, echoing and bouncing off the walls. How the torches stayed alight with the breeze drifting in through the old castle was always a mystery to him- but of course, it had to be magic. Magic, the greatest force of them all, and the precious few who had been blessed with it.

To Holmes, it felt like a curse.

Maybe it was the secrecy or the fear of not being fully in control, but Holmes was less than pleased with his magical ability. There was a very good reason for his self-exile into the Muggle world, and that reason was that at least out there, he was believed, and at least out there he could feel just a tiny bit more free.

Because who needed science and maths and literature when you could throw a curse? Defence, surely, was all about knowing your opponent, and what better way to do that than to recite some cryptic poetry?

Once the staircase had taken him to every floor that the castle had to offer, Holmes stepped up to the gargoyle that guarded the office.

"Cauldron cakes?" He felt silly just saying it, and even then had to phrase the password as a question. The gargoyle moved aside to reveal a staircase, and as soon as Holmes had laid his feet upon it, he found himself spinning up to the office.

He knocked.

"Come in."

Holmes stepped through the door and into the study. It was filled with books, old and new, and strange instruments that even he didn't know much about. Fawkes sat upon his perch next to Dumbledore's desk, where the older man sat, writing on a piece of parchment.

There were some days in which Holmes really did wish that the wizarding world would update itself in terms of technology.

"You wanted to see me?"

"Ah yes, Professor Holmes! How long has it been?"

"A matter of years. I would have called in sooner, but the Muggles don't sort themselves out too well these days."

Dumbledore chuckled. "It's as you remember?"

"Oh, I couldn't lose myself here- too small. Besides, nothing ever seems to change, aside from the teaching list."

"We have had a little trouble with that- but that isn't why I asked you here. No, I was wondering, Professor Holmes, whether you would be so kind as to answer a few questions for me?"

"Just not Astronomy, please. I'm still a little rusty with the planetary systems."

"And yet you managed to achieve an O! You're too modest. No, I was going to inquire as to the matter of the Order, and pitch you another offer of joining."

As he had expected. Holmes had known, even though it had been a subconscious piece of knowledge, that Dumbledore would ask about the organisation. "My answer remains as always. When I left, I left for good. I have no interest in fighting dark lords, Dumbledore, only in preparing the future of our world to face them. It would be unwise of me to accept your offer."

"Why might that be?"

"Fighting isn't a sport that has ever interested me. I am capable but reluctant. I've seen what war can do to a person, and my previous experiences with the Order have been less than joyful."

"Remus will be disappointed."

"He took the job two years ago, am I correct?"

"Yes, and now he stays at headquarters. I happened to mention your acceptance of this job placement, and he was… hopeful that you might change your mind."

"We were hardly close."

"But for you, it was friendship. Sirius- you know of his escape?"

"He's innocent."

"And in hiding. He was hoping to see you again."

"Black and I were hardly- my answer stays as ever. Joining the Order is a commitment that I simply am not willing to make."

"And yet, extending a hand to Harry Potter is?"

Holmes let his eyes flicker to the window, wishing for some kind of distraction to come hurtling through it. "Mr Potter is a troubled boy who has witnessed things far beyond the nightmares of any boy his age. I hardly doubt that some guidance would be any harm to the boy."

"Or do you see a part of yourself in him? I certainly can."

Holmes sighed, reverting his eyes back to the headmaster. They had never seen eye-to-eye, but there had never been a conflict between them. "Tell Remus that I will drop by this Saturday afternoon."

He could have sworn that the old man smiled.

Am I getting lazy? Yeah, I suppose I am. I will confess to completely forgetting about this until tonight, and so this chapter is hastily typed and not too well written. Possibly also riddled with spelling and grammar issues. My apologies. I know I say this every time, but I do promise that the next one will be better.

In other news, I just finished the first book in my trilogy and am speeding through a different story that I started writing a while ago. Yay ^.^

Until next week, happy reading!