By the time Harry, Sherlock, and John reached 221b, Harry felt he was going to explode with all the questions he wanted to ask. John looked amused and Sherlock couldn't stop staring at the letter.
"How—" Sherlock started, before closing his mouth. He opened it once or twice more, reminding Harry of a fish out of water. Silence continued until John spoke up.
"Maybe Miss Adler snuck into 221b," John suggested. Sherlock shook his head.
"And I wouldn't have noticed? Me?" Sherlock sounded a bit put off by that.
"Well, you do seem to kind of shut off whenever you're around her."
"She must be something really special, then," Harry said. John smirked and nodded.
"Oh yeah. First time we met her, there she was, stark naked and sitting on Sherlock's lap with his clerical tab between her teeth!"
"Clerical tab? I thought Sherlock believed himself to be the only higher power on this Earth," Harry remarked. Sherlock scowled.
"She merely took me by surprise, that's all," Sherlock said, cooling his words. John laughed.
"She probably was going to do a lot more than that," John murmured to Harry. He snorted.
"Anyways," Sherlock said, turning the conversation, "somehow, she sent you a letter. There are only a few viable possibilities—"
"Obviously she's either a witch or a squib. There's no other way she'd know to send me mail via Hedwig," Harry cut in. Sherlock nodded. He seemed both annoyed that he was interrupted and glad that Harry'd actually thought about Adler's mail.
"Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of asking her. Maybe she'll pop by for Christmas," John suggested. Sherlock made a face.
"Do try to take this seriously, John, if The Woman is a witch—"
"Then you can pull some crap excuse of her 'bewitching you'?" John said. Sherlock groaned.
"Well, I suppose until she shows her face again, it's a moot point," Harry concluded.
For the days leading up to Christmas, Irene Adler wasn't mentioned, in Sherlock's presence or otherwise. Apparently, the Winter Holidays were a good time for people to commit multiple crimes. Sherlock was so busy with helping the police, he let Harry take over the mundane and domestic cases. Harry found it interesting, which was good because Sherlock certainly didn't.
The cases came one after another. Harry dealt with at least three a day, and most paid pretty well considering an eleven year old boy was conducting the deductions and investigations. It seemed a lot of people were having affairs. Honestly, why did they even get married if they weren't going to keep their vows?
"Another case cracked, Harry?" John asked as a tearful man and angry looking woman stepped out of the flat. Harry nodded and counted the notes.
"Their idiocy is my fortune," Harry replied.
"Our fortune," John corrected after snatching up the bills. Harry crossed his arms stuck his tongue out at John. John smirked and put the notes into an envelope that was filled with notes.
"Even with Mrs. Hudson little bargain, this flat is expensive," Harry groaned. John patted his shoulder.
"It's alright. Once we have all the rent sorted out, you'll get your pay."
"Can't come too soon," Harry said, slumping in his (Sherlock's) chair.
Soon, Christmas had arrived. Harry was disappointed when Hermione claimed she could not come. Apparently she and her parents were in France. In the end, Molly and her boyfriend, Mrs. Hudson, and Mr. Lestrade came over.
"You've definitely gotten a bit taller since the last time we saw you! Not to mention it seems that school is feeding you properly!"
"We fed him properly!" Sherlock protested. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes.
"You're lucky I cook you breakfast, Sherlock Holmes! Take out does not count," sniffed Mrs. Hudson. John shrugged in defeat while Sherlock still looked uncomprehending.
"It works for me."
"You are not a prime example of physical health," Molly chimed in.
"Yeah the school's very nice. I'm learning a lot," Harry cut in. He didn't want Sherlock to retaliate with more deductions.
Unfortunately, Sherlock didn't comply. He started deducing things about everyone and everything, even poor Molly who looked like she wanted to cry.
"You always say such horrible things. Always…" she said in a trembling voice. Harry looked between them unbelieving.
"I am sorry, please forgive. Mery Christmas, Molly Hooper," Sherlock said. Harry was more surprised about the apology than the deductions. Then, Sherlock kissed her on a the cheek and a woman's moan was heard. Harry let out a laugh and then covered his mouth.
"I—I swear that wasn't me! I—" if it was at all possible, Molly seemed even more red than before.
"No that was me," Sherlock said, reaching into his pocket.
"Seriously?" Lestrade asked incredulously.
"My phone," Sherlock replied, glaring. Harry peeked from behind Sherlock. The text was from Irene Adler.
'Check the mantle,' The text read. Time seemed to slow down as Sherlock unwrapped a small cell phone. No one seemed to really notice except Harry.
"Excuse me," Sherlock said, in a more monotone voice than usual.
After a brief squabble between him and John, Sherlock stepped in his room.
"Is that her cell phone?" Harry asked, Sherlock spun and stared at him. There was a glimmer of unbridled rage and sadness in his eye which disappeared in an instant. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it once more. He took a few moments to stare at the phone, then Sherlock gave a very stiff nod.
"The cell phone that she wouldn't let anyone have, ever?" Another stiff nod.
"I'm sorry, Sherlock," Harry said, wrapping his arms around the tall man.
After a few moments, Sherlock opened his phone and dialed a phone number.
"I think you're going to find Irene Adler tonight."
A brief silence, then…
"I think you're going to find her dead." That monotone voice made Harry shiver.
After another brief silence, Sherlock walked out of the room, not acknowledging Harry whatsoever. Harry fell back onto Sherlock's bed, staring at the door sadly. He'd never really seen Sherlock grieve and it made him sick to his stomach.
The next hour or two was a blur for Harry. Everyone bustled about. Lestrade and Molly left, Lestrade for home and Molly for the morgue. Mrs. Hudson and John turned the flat upside down, looking for something. Harry only stared off into nothing, his mind racing.
"Did he take the cigarette?"
…
"Shit. We've checked all his normal spots, we didn't find a thing."
Harry looked at John who appeared exhausted and worried. He ran his hands through his hair and paced back and forth. It was another thirty minutes before Sherlock returned. He stepped into the doorway, his eyes darting around. Harry knew what he was looking for. Sherlock turned and headed for his bedroom.
"I hope you didn't mess up my sock index this time," was all Sherlock said before turning in.
Harry waited a few moments before standing up and wordlessly walking to Sherlock's room. He knocked lightly. There was no response. Harry lightly pushed on the door and it creaked open. Sherlock had not even bothered to change. He laid on the bed, facing away from the door. Harry stepped into the room and walked over to a chair. He sat down, not uttering a word.
"It is rude to wake someone up," Sherlock said. Harry smiled weakly.
"We both know you weren't asleep. You have my condolences regarding Ms. Adler," Harry said formally.
"Thank you, but I am fine. Love and sentiment are not things I value, even if you and John do," Sherlock replied.
"Don't be like that, not with me. Distancing yourself from us will do nothing but hurt you."
"I'm not distancing myself."
"You're a great detective, and an intelligent man, but you're not a very good liar."
"Or perhaps you just know me well enough," Sherlock said.
"Perhaps… Goodnight Sherlock," Harry said, closing the door.
"Is it?" was the last thing Harry heard before the door shut.
Harry couldn't sleep. He occasionally had nightmares and the trick cyclist usually said they were just memories resurfacing of Harry's trauma, and there was nothing they could really do about it but hope it went away. Tonight appeared to be one of those nights. The one or two times Harry could drift off were often filled with bad memories. There was something new now. Green light tinged each memory and Harry would often wake to cold laughter.
The last time he woke, the sun was beginning to rise. Harry groaned and rolled out of his bed. The sad scrapping of a violin could be heard. Harry padded downstairs to see Sherlock in his nightgown and pajamas.
"Composing?" Harry asked. Sherlock silently nodded and continued. Harry plopped down onto the chair that Sherlock usually sat in while working and listened.
"Any cases?" Harry asked sometime later. Sherlock nodded yet continued to play. Harry remained for another half hour before deciding to return to his room. He raised an eyebrow at a package on his bed.
"John?" He called.
"Yes?" John said, peeking into Harry's door.
"Did you leave this for me?"
"No, and God knows Sherlock couldn't have," John replied, frowning.
"Could be a trap from Moriarty," Harry pondered. Then, after a moment of silence, Harry grabbed the envelope from the top of the package and opened it.
Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you
Use it well…
"Use it well?" John murmured, reading over Harry's shoulder. Harry shrugged and tore the package open.
"It's some kind of cloak," Harry observed.
"Let's see how our resident wizard looks in it," John replied taking a step back. Harry smiled and threw it around his shoulders. A second later, it looked as if John's eyes were going to fall out of his head.
"What's wrong?"
"Your body's disappeared," John said in shock. Harry looked down and nearly jumped. Where his body once was, there was only thin air. But something wasn't right. Harry could still feel his body from the neck down.
"Is this some sort of cloak of invisibility?" Harry asked aloud. John clapped excitedly.
"That's amazing! I wonder who'd want to get rid of something like this," John said.
"That's a good question, one I'd like to have an answer for," Harry said, rubbing his chin.
A few days passed and Sherlock was not doing much better. Harry, John and even Mrs. Hudson had no answers to fix the almost moodier-than-normal nature of Sherlock. Once again, Sherlock was playing a melancholy tone on his violin and Harry was staring out the window, thinking about the many problems that faced him. First, there was Sherlock, then the mysterious invisibility cloak, which he managed to tie around his waist. He never knew when it would be handy. Now, John was approached by some woman and led into a car.
"Great," Harry huffed.
"What is it?" Sherlock asked irritably, annoyed that his playing was being interrupted.
"John just got in a car with some woman. Doubt it's Mycroft since he's got no reason to want to avoid your attention, unless…"
"Unless he wants John to know something that I should not or cannot know," Sherlock said.
"Shall we go after him?"
"Indeed."
Apparently, Sherlock hid a tracker in each pair of John's shoes after the first Mycroft incident. Harry thought that was somewhat paranoid until he thought about the current situation he was in. So, there they were, at an abandoned factory. This was not what Harry was expecting for his New Years. After getting out of the taxi, Harry and Sherlock entered through the door that was left open by John and the woman.
"This is definitely not somewhere Mycroft uses. He tends to like more open spaces, where his sniper can get a good shot," Sherlock deduced. Harry stared at him for a moment.
"Is all of your family this paranoid?"
"I'll have you meet a few of them and then you can get back to me with an answer," Sherlock retorted.
They made their way through the warehouse until they heard John's voice. Sherlock was about to call out to him when a woman's moan was heard from his pocket.