Fortunately, Sherlock managed to fall off the roof right above Weasley Wizard Wheezes and landed on their giant wizard with the top hat. He only sprained his ankle, thank god. Unfortunately, he got quite an eyeful of the wizarding world.

It took about half an hour for the Obliviators to show up. Apparently, they didn't think one Muggle falling into Diagon Alley was a big deal. In the mean time, I had to deal with slightly hysterical and an overly-curious Sherlock. He'd go from freaking out ( "This is not possible. It defies the laws of physics.") to pestering everyone who got too near ("But how does that work?"). And then there are the questions he had for me ("You knew about this!" "Are you able to do that too?" "Why didn't you ever tell me?"). I was grateful when they finally decided to show up, if for no other reason than to get him to show up.

After pestering me about having a Muggle in Diagon Alley, healing Sherlock's ankle, and modifying his memory, I led a slightly dazed Sherlock to a cab. It was a bit disconcerting how well he was functioning after having his memory wiped. If I didn't know him as well as I did, I wouldn't notice any difference. This was Sherlock though.

As I pushed him up the stairs to the flat, Mrs. Hudson came out the door of 221A. "Oh my! Is he okay?"

Obliviated, I mouthed to her. Her eyebrows went up.

"Later," I muttered.

"Later what, John?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh,' I said, stalling for something, anything. "I-I'll make you some toast later."

"No one mentioned toast. Where did that come from?"

"With honey," I added hastily. I was learning the detective's weak spots.

"Perhaps." (Like I said, disconcerting.)

I was able to push him into his room and pull the Belstaff and suit jacket off his lithe frame. When I got to the shirt, I hesitated. He'd be fine like that. Of course, I wanted to keep going, but there was no way I'd do that while he's out of it. I pushed him down on the bed and knelt in front of him to pull off his shoes. Once that was complete, I tucked him into bed so, hopefully, he wouldn't wander in the night.

I stood, my knees cracking, and looked around the room. The furniture was nice, and the room was surprisingly neat compared to the rest of the flat. I turned and saw the periodic table on the wall. That was definitely Sherlock.

"Thank you, John," Sherlock muttered from the bed behind me. I hadn't realized he was still awake.

"Any time, Sherlock."

When I stepped out of the room, Mrs. Hudson was flittering around the flat with a feather duster fretting over the smallest specks of dust on the mantle.

"Ah, John,'' she said when she saw me. "What happened?"

I pulled my wand from its holster and flicked it toward Sherlock's bedroom door casting a wordless Muffliato. I never was sure where that spell came from, but it really was useful.

I sighed as I sank into Sherlock's chair. For someone who left magic behind, I'd been using it an awful lot.

As Mrs. Hudson settled into my chair, I began to tell her the events of the day. Once I'd finished, she clucked in sympathy. "The poor thing. He must have been so confused."

"That's one way of putting it," I laughed. "He couldn't decide if he was confused or curious and settled for tormenting anyone that passed."

"Well, at least it's over. He'll have no memory of any of it."

"I'm just hoping he doesn't get suspicious of the whole thing. Two hours of his evening missing is likely to drive him mad."

"It will all work out." Just then, the clock downstairs chimed one o'clock. "Oh dear. It's late. I think I'll just have an evening soother and pop off to bed."

I smirked. I had a fairly good idea of what her evening soother was, but I didn't bother her about it. She was Harmless, and I could barely smell the smoke from my bedroom. Granted, I think she might have added something magical to it as well….

"Good night, Mrs. Hudson," I said. She slipped out of the flat, and I decided to go up to bed. The last two days had been exhausting. Knowing Sherlock, he'd have something even more ridiculous planned for tomorrow. Careful to hide my wand in its customary hiding spot, I crawled into my bed and drifted off to a deep sleep.

I was woken rudely by the screeching of the violin. I squinted at the alarm clock on my bedside table. 5:30. In the man was bloody insane.

"Sherlock!" I shouted as I came down the last couple of steps. "Do you know what bloody time it is?"

He was standing in front of the window in his second best dressing gown. As he turned, those eyes darted over me inquisitively. "Yes, John. It's 5:38 in the morning. Do you have a problem?"

"Yes, I bloody well do.! I'm exhausted and you decide that a dawn wake up call is just the thing for me."

Rather than responding, Sherlock crossed the room in two long steps (the man was a bloody giant) and rested the back of his hand on my forehead.

"Wha-what are you doing?" I asked. It was too early for the unexpected.

"You don't seem to have a fever. It is difficult to tell however. The body's temperature rises during sleep."

"Sherlock." I might as well resign myself to being awake. "I'm fine. I'm just exhausted."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but he stopped himself. A moment later, almost as an afterthought, he said, "There's coffee in the kitchen."

"Thanks." I ambled into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of coffee. A moment later, Sherlock was in the kitchen.

"There is no physical cause of death and no forensic evidence pointing to a killer. The only thing I have to go on is a bit of pollen, a building that is too large, and a seemingly non-existent boarding school." He paused. The Obliviators must be getting better if he remembers the building. And it really was unlike Sherlock to qualify a statement.

Sherlock slowly crossed the kitchen until he was standing a couple of feet from me. Looking me straight in the eye, he said, "What I want to know is this: What do you know?"

Now I was starting to panic. Either he was desperate, or the Memory Charm hadn't worked very well.

"You know more than I do." I grasped for anything to deflect his attention from me. "I can only guess."

"Hm." Sherlock reached into the pocket of his dressing gown. "What is this then?"

As he asked the question, he drew my wand from the pocket and held it out in front of me.