The Weasley twins were not, to their sometime-girlfriend's eternal annoyance, the sort of business owners who kept bankers' hours. They could be found in the workspace behind their joke shop at any hour of the day or night, working or playing as their muses moved them. Everyone who knew them knew this, and that it was easiest to track them down if they weren't at the shop by just waiting there until they arrived. Most people, however, waited in the main storefront, or else outside the back door.

Sherlock, either unaware or uncaring of this convention, had let himself in, bypassing wards to keep out witches and wizards and all manner of magical creature simply by virtue of not being magical, and had spent a diverting half-hour poking around the various magical experiments the twins had left in progress while he waited for them to return.

"I'm telling you," a voice floated back from the main store, "color-changing charms have been overdone."

"Yeah, but if you want to shift the trend, we need a new fad!"

The magically powered lights came on as the twins entered, rendering Sherlock's torch obsolete.

"Sherlock" "Holmes?" the boys – Sherlock couldn't help but think of them as boys, even if they were only a few years younger than himself – stared at him in shock. "What're you doing here?" they asked as one.

"I've got a problem. Obviously. Been paying attention to the muggle press at all?"

"Not a bit of it, mate," Fred said.

"Care for a cuppa?" George offered, shooing the detective away from some of their more unstable work.

Sherlock nodded, and followed the twins to their business office. It was small and surprisingly organized, compared to the workshop or the storefront. The twins noticed his appraising look.

"No," George said, anticipating his snarky comment, "Hermione doesn't come in and do the books of a weekend. We can be organized when necessary."

Fred sniggered, "Though she did have exactly the same look the first time she saw the inventory. Must run in the family."

Sherlock just rolled his eyes at the boys. "How is my dear cousin, anyway?"

"Oh, well, worried about you and your mad game with that Jimmy bloke," Fred grinned.

"And she's been taking the piss out of Mikey for you, since she's fair certain he had a hand in facilitating the whole business."

"Do thank her for me, after our business is concluded," Sherlock said drily. He had suspected something of the sort, of course.

The twins were sharp, he would give them that. They couldn't have kept up with Hermione if they weren't. "So we've got business, then." "And you don't want Hermione to know about it."

"Right in two."

"What is it then?" they asked, again in stereo.

The detective grinned broadly. "The endgame is in sight. I'm not sure on the details, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to die."

"Mite cheerful about that, mate?" George asked sarcastically.

"You mean you're not up for fooling all of London and my arch-nemesis into thinking I've died? Who are you, and what have you done with George?"

"Ah, well, when you put it like that…"

"Right. So you're in?"

The twins shrugged. "Yeah." "'course."

"Excellent. I'm not sure on the details, yet, but the broad strokes are these: We'll need a body double. I've got a spell that will work – Granger and I have used it before. And we'll need to switch it with my own body, preferably before I actually die. That'll be the tricky bit, and I expect we'll need to be in close communication for the next few days, which might be a trick as well."

"Nah, we'll give you one of the multi-com mirrors we've been working on." Fred disappeared from the office, presumably to fetch the device in question.

Sherlock raised an eye, and George explained his twin's offer. "They're like your mobile telephones, a bit, but the range is too limited for a practical release, yet. Still, as long as you're not leaving London, it should be fine."

"Got it!" Fred announced, tossing a compact mirror at Sherlock.

"Wait, here, we'll need to adjust the power-runes, since you're not a wizard."

Sherlock passed the mirror over, and George had it in pieces in a trice. He conjured engraving tools and set to work while the muggle continued to explain.

"I've already got a coroner on board who won't look too closely at any minor inconsistencies in trauma or whatever, she'll deal with the paperwork and having me officially killed off. I think we can count on Hermione to reverse it once everything's said and done, with no one the wiser. And I'll need a good disguise, something that will last long enough for me to get out of the country. Minor transfigurations should work. I've got false documentation already, if you'd make the disguises a bit permanent."

"Alter fingerprints, hair, eyes, take a few inches off your height and add a few pounds?" Fred offered.

"Need to change the bone structure of his face a bit, too," George added, handing the reassembled compact to Sherlock. "Try it. Just open and call for Forge Weasley."

Sherlock did so. George's pocket made a chiming sound, and when he opened his own compact, his face appeared in Sherlock's. "I'll leave the details of the escape to you two," he said, words echoing as George's compact repeated them with a slight delay.

"Sounds good, mate." George's voice came through the compact clearly enough.

"Is the delay on these constant, or is it affected by distance?"

"It's affected, but the curve is non-linear. We've not quite got that sorted yet," Fred said, rolling his eyes. "Mine is keyed to Gred Weasley. Hermione's got one, keyed to 'Granger,' but she leaves it at her flat all the time. Yours will be 'William Scott.' Can't be too careful on using your real name about."

"Right. So you'll let us know when you've got the details of how it's going to go down, and we'll coordinate the switch, since we've a better grasp of what we can do," George frowned. "What about that spell for the body double?"

Sherlock tapped his head. "Got a notebook? I'll copy it out."

…

Sherlock: Come and play. Bart's Hospital rooftop. SH

Sherlock: Got something of yours you might want back.

…

"Are you ready?"

"As ever. Got the details?"

"Half an hour, roof of St. Bart's hospital. I expect I'll have to jump."

"Right. We can make that work. Mid-air switching spell, soften the floor, quick arresto, should be doable. Place the disguise, apparate you to wherever. Can you make it an hour so we can find a good spot?"

"Best I can do is half an hour. Can you do it?"

"Of course we can. Give us a look at what you're wearing. It'll be done."

"Thanks, Fred."

"How do you -?"

Sherlock snapped the mirror closed on the question.

…

Sherlock: I've finally figured out his last clue.

Hermione: And?

Sherlock: It's time to end the game.

Hermione: Do you need my help?

Sherlock: It's handled. Tell Miss Evans I said adieu.

Hermione: Sherlock…

Sherlock: Goodbye, Hermione

Hermione: Goodbye? What are you doing?

Hermione: Sherlock?

Hermione: SHERLOCK!

Hermione: If you die, I will /never/ forgive you.

…

Unknown Number: I'm waiting… JM

…

Hermione Granger's mirror, lying abandoned in its usual spot, made a soft chiming sound as she returned from the funeral of Sherlock Holmes. She opened it to find her cousin's light eyes, corners crinkled with amusement.

"Think they bought it?" the man asked.

"Of course they did. John was crushed. Even Mycroft looked a bit lost."

"Yes, well, Mycroft's never done well with emotions. I'm going to go to his office tonight and give him a heart attack. Want to come watch?"

"No, I'll let you have your little revenge in private."

"You seem angry."

"John's a mess, and Molly's not much better. Mrs. Hudson was acting like she'd lost a son, and your mum thinks she really did lose a son. I've spent all day lying to all of them, and trying to explain to my one-year-old daughter what it means that her favorite uncle is dead. She's going to be so confused when you come back. You are coming back, aren't you?"

"I've got a criminal organization to dis-assemble, first. But yes, eventually," the detective admitted.

"I suppose you and the twins have got everything planned out, then?"

"You said you didn't want to use magic around him."

"So you got my boyfriends to do it instead?"

"Obviously. Besides, he was dead by that point. We were really just putting on a show for his gunmen."

"One day, Sherlock. One day you're going to cut things too close and absolutely ruin yourself."

"But not today." Sherlock grinned, more than pleased to have pulled off his stunt.

Hermione sighed loudly at her mirror. "You know, I used to think you were smarter than my other friends…"

"This is the best way, Hermione. The only way to end it, once and for all."

"Yes, well, I distinctly remember thinking the same thing, once upon a time."

"Yes, well, that was, what, fifteen years ago? If I come up with a better solution in ten years, feel free to say you told me so."

Hermione couldn't help but smile a bit at that. "John's going to be right pissed, you know, when you finally tell him. And I want to be there when you tell your mum. She's going to kill you for real."

Sherlock winced. His mother was a formidable woman, even if neither he nor Mycroft was often willing to admit it. "I'm going to be out of the country for a while. Not sure how long. Do me a favor and see what you can do with Lestrade to get my name cleared. And if Mycroft's not in a conciliatory mood, I may need you to fudge some records for me when I get back."

"Even if he is in the mood to help you, I'll still be doing the legwork. Lazy arse. But yes, it should be easy enough to unravel Rich Brook posthumously. We won't be able to get public opinion back on your side, but we ought to be able to get all the official issues cleared up. Give me a call when you're back in town, and I'll take care of the loose ends then."

"Thanks Granger. You really are my favorite." Sherlock gave his cousin a winning smile.

"I know. And by the way, you didn't need to tell me it was an Adler Ploy. Magic bond, remember? I'd have known if my blood-brother died."

"Is that your way of telling me not to die for real?"

"If you do, I'll learn enough necromancy to bring you back and kill you myself."

"Love you too, little sis."

"Don't call me that, it's creepy."

"Well, I thought it was creepy watching you mourn me, so we're even."

"Did you want me to just tell everyone now? Because I could…"

"Oh, I had no doubt you could manage it, but that doesn't make it less creepy. Psychopath."

"Nonsense, I'm just a very good actress. Jackass."

"Witch."

"Arsehole."

"I'll check in when I can."

"Be careful."

"Always."