So Sherlock Holmes had re-joined the Order.
That hadn't been the intended outcome of his trip: rather, he had wanted to outline his stance and tell everyone that he wasn't back as a permanent member, and that he was only there on Dumbledore's orders and as a favour. But nothing ever worked out as he planned these days, and maybe being a part of the Order would offer some protection.
Even though Holmes worked alone. Even though Holmes needed no one anymore, because the only people that he had ever wanted to need had to stay away from the truth.
Sherlock Holmes wasn't happy.
But in a way, a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Members of the Order, members who didn't hide behind greasy curtains of hair, knew more about Harry Potter than the boy himself. While sitting at the table in Grimmauld place, Sherlock Holmes had managed to unearth some facts about the boy, which at least made the next step of his plan easier to execute.
The boy was lonely, however many friends and admirers he had. He also partly wanted this loneliness, for others to stay away from him and out of danger. Because the boy was dangerous, there was no doubt about that. A time bomb, planted by Voldemort but without the knowledge of anyone else because ever young wizard had to go to school, and even though the Dark Lord couldn't take his enemies directly, he could at least use the one he really wanted gone. Oh, it was clever, and Holmes couldn't help but admire that tactic and subtlety that had gone into that.
It was clever. Almost Moriarty clever.
The boy was needed, but also needy. He needed comfort and support and while there was no doubt that his friends gave him just that, there was something about the surrounding adults that didn't quite cut it, that made the situation only worse. And Holmes could relate well to that, to the sense of needing more than what he had.
Mr Potter was a complex individual. He was traumatised, Molly said. He was confused, Remus had muttered. He was fine, Sirius had insisted, although no one really listened. Mr Potter needed Dumbledore, and all Dumbledore could do was ignore the cries for help.
So Holmes would have to step up.
His plan was unclear to even himself. Was he to simply help the boy and do nothing else? Was he to recruit young members for the Order? Or was he to prepare the students, Mr Potter in particular, for the years of war and turmoil that were surely approaching?
A mix of all, perhaps. It was a tricky matter, and how Holmes went about it was the most important choice to make.
He sighed, looking around the room. Books were stacked and scattered wherever they could find a place, parchment piled upon the desk. Quills and ink dotted on every elevated surface and a wand, discarded on the other side of the sofa.
Holmes took the wand, hating every inch of the wooden stick. How he loathed the power it gave him, the advantage he had over those who he called friends. He hated how even without the thing, he could easily reveal himself, accidently let sparks fly in only the most literal of ways.
He could control it around John. Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Molly too. Even Anderson and Donovan. But Moriarty had known, because Moriarty was one too. And Holmes had never had the advantage, and that was what he loved the most.
An equal.
They had never duelled- it wasn't the style of either of the men. But it was apparent to both that the other could very easily dispose of him in a second, suddenly and quietly and in a way that couldn't possibly be traced back to him. Moriarty had held the threat and so had Holmes, because neither would use it, and the other always knew.
Moriarty was afraid. Holmes was too, but for opposite reasons.
The power that he had held was too great for a skinny, lone wanderer, and he could never have used such power to kill. Killing was for guns and knives, not magic. It was too quick, too easy- too powerful. Something weak was often the best for the one with no physical pros.
Moriarty on the other hand, was simply weary. He knew the consequences, and even he couldn't break out of Azkaban. So Moriarty had kept to the basics, breaking in and breaking out without anyone noticing, and getting a kick out of taunting Sherlock Holmes.
Well, Moriarty was gone now. But his laugh lingered.
Before he knew it, Holmes had taken up the quill, each dot of the I piercing a hole in the parchment.
John,
Ignore this. Don't reply. Don't tell anyone that you got it, because goodness knows who might still be watching. But I'm here, I'm alive. I can't tell you how or why but please, you have to listen to me. Moriarty is gone, but so am I. I can't come back and find you. But his men can, and you have to look out for them. I can't lose you, John, even though I already have. Watch out. Stay vigilant.
Sherlock.
It sounded wrong. But Holmes wanted to send it off, to tie the parchment to the leg of the owl and watch the thing fly along its way.
Even if that would have John a heart attack.
"And if you'll direct your attention to the board, your homework-"
The class gave a unified groan, as though they had honestly thought the lesson might end without extra work. Holmes was almost ashamed- surely he had taught his class better?
"Will be due next lesson! If it's not completed, you can expect lines and a very angry owl to your parents! Even you, Malfoy!" Holmes called after the blonde, who was hurrying away as fast as he could. "Mr Potter, a word?"
Potter's every move indicated reluctance, and it was with some hesitation that his friends left him behind. But he knew, really, what Holmes wanted, even if Holmes didn't know it himself.
"Yes, sir?" The boy was looking him the eye, the very way that Moriarty had when trying to unnerve him. It was all Holmes could do not to look away.
"You seem to be finding my classes rather easy, Mr Potter. You have a good track record in this subject, as I'm sure you know, but I am nonetheless… surprised."
"How, sir?"
"It's an unexplainable surprise. As you may recall, I asked you about Mr Black last week. I had the joy of meeting with him over the weekend, as a matter of fact."
"Did he insult Snape- professor Snape, sir?" Oh, he took joy in it. He knew what his godfather thought of the potions master and he loved having someone else who felt the same, someone who had authority and supposed morals, and yet someone who still laughed at the greasy haired slime ball.
"Numerous times. However, my impressions of you, Mr Potter are still limited. You're interested in joining the Order?" The boy nodded. "I would happily allow you in, even though that's not my choice to make. Now, I wanted to ask what you know of the Order- specifically, where they stand in terms of Muggle relations."
"I-" He wasn't sure. Holmes knew, but what he didn't know was what the boy would say. Would he deny that he was unsure, and make something up? Or would he say what little he knew and leave it at that? "I'm not entirely sure, sir. They broke into my aunt and uncles house, but-"
"Well, certain houses deserve breaking into, Mr Potter. Now, I'm prepared to help you. You want to join the Order, I want to stay out of it. But we're both in the very place we don't want to be, and with the help of each other, we could very easily change that around. But you have to be honest, you have to volunteer answers in my lessons, and you have to convince Miss Granger that I am not, in any way against the use of practical magic like she thinks I am."
"Hermione-"
"Has been asking me about it every day since school started. Tell her we'll begin practicing next week."
The boy was startled. So was Holmes. He had never been this forward, not without protection. He was sat here, in a suit and nothing else. His wand to the side, no gun or other weapon, not even robes to shield him. If anything, Potter was intimidating.
"I- Of course, I'll- If I could just ask you a question, sir?" Holmes nodded, although he was suspicious. "Why did you decide to come back? Only Sirius said…"
"The Muggle world, as I'm sure you know, holds just as many dangers as this one. It was in my best interests to lie low for a while. A few skirmishes, an Irish fiend and some murders don't help one's public image, as you may have guessed."
The boy frowned, but Holmes couldn't bring himself to elaborate. There were sentimental reasons too, ones that he couldn't admit to even himself. And as Potter closed the classroom door behind him, Holmes began to wonder what really made him go back to the world he was supposed to hate.
I know, I said I'd update properly this time. I lied.
I mean, you'd think I would have learned to stop saying these things.
BUT THANK YOU FOR THE REVIEWS AND FAVOURITES AND FOLLOWS AND READS IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME YOU HAVE NO IDEA. Well, you probably do.
Look, I won't pretend that there's something great after all these italics. Just me with my excuses. Thank you and goodnight!