Author's Note: I'm back from my mini hiatus (so small you didn't even know it was happening). I'm trying to get my fanfic life organized and I really want to finish this story before the end of September. We shall see if I can keep it on track! Huge thanks to those of you that left feedback! I'm sorry I don't always respond, but I appreciate what you have to say! The implied Johnlock relationship comes into play in this chapter. It's sort of heavy, but never fret, this is still strickly a Hermione/Sherlock fic. I can say nothing about the upcoming companion story though ^.^

In other news (long A/N I know…sorry), the first story in this series, Nights in Diagon Alley is up for the Semi-Finals in the Enchanted Awards over on the GES Facebook group. If you wouldn't mind taking a few minute to pop over and vote for me, I'd truly appreciate it. I'm also up for a few other stories/categories. I'll list them below for your perusal. The voting link is there too! Thank you in advance if you happen to vote!

*When Worlds Collide: Best Crossover*
-Nights in Diagon Alley
-Wolves without Teeth

*Time Lord Award: Best Time-Travel*
-Partners in Time

*All the Feels: Best Angst*
-Teardrops & Teacups

VOTE HERE: ht*tps:/*/dr* *gle.c*om/*ope*n?id=0B*3wiw*GvGfgYMR*V94REhV*Tmp5bn*M (remove the * to access the link)

And last but most certainly not least, a huge thank you to GaeilgeRua for beta reading today! Lots of love to you, my dear! xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

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Nights in 221B
Rated: M
Pairing: Hermione/Sherlock, Sherlock/John (implied)
Summary: When Hermione leaves the wizarding world behind, choosing to aid Sherlock in his desperate search for Moriarty, she learns much more about the consulting detective than she ever thought possible.

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Chapter Six

Night was waning quickly by the time Lestrade left the flat. Sherlock was standing at the window, lost in thought while Hermione observed him from the sofa. She was curled in the corner of one end and John was seated at the opposite side, his head tipped back to rest on the back with his eyes closed. They were all exhausted, the Inspector's questioning taking its toll. What she needed to do was contact Harry with the news of Dennis's death; after all, he was the lead Auror on the case. She just didn't want to interrupt the calm that had descended upon the flat, a calm that was often rare these days.

Stretching, Hermione extended her legs and accidentally kicked John's thigh. He startled, obviously having been on the verge of sleep. As he blinked back into consciousness, he turned to find Hermione staring at him with an apologetic face. "Sorry," she murmured, realizing she'd managed to do exactly what she'd hoped to avoid.

"S'fine," John mumbled before a yawn overtook his face. "I didn't mean to doze off. What do we do now?" The question was directed towards Sherlock, who didn't bother to acknowledge his friend. He remained as stoic as ever, staring at Merlin only knew what. Shrugging, John returned his attention to Hermione. "If you want, you can head to bed. I don't mind sitting up with him…I'm used to it."

With a soft smile, John reached out and patted her leg, his hand lingering just a tad longer than necessary. Hermione didn't comment on it; she simply returned the smile before glancing over at Sherlock. She was surprised to find him staring back at her with an intensity she'd not seen from him previously. Before she could ask him what was wrong, his head snapped to look at John and he broke his silence.

"Don't you need to be returning home to Mary and Rosie, John," Sherlock snapped, briskly moving from the window. Without breaking eye contact with the doctor, he stepped overtop the coffee table and made to sit in the middle of the sofa. Hermione barely had enough time to move her legs before he was seated, his hand coming to rest on her drawn up knee.

Surprised at the obvious show of possessiveness, Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing and leaned to the left so she could see John's reaction. To her surprise, John looked entirely taken aback by Sherlock's behavior. Hermione was far from Sherlock's property, she would be the very first person to tell anyone that, but she thought it had been quite obvious how the detective felt about her based on their actions earlier in the evening. Surely, John's gesture had been one wrought from lack of sleep and compassion over the situation at hand and nothing more?

"I texted Mary hours ago and told her it would be a late night," John supplied, raising his eyebrows when Sherlock still did not relax in the slightest. "She knows how we get with extreme cases."

"Surely, you will be missed if you remain here much longer," Sherlock tried again, narrowing his eyes at his friend. "There's not much else we can do at this time of night. Moriarty will have returned to hiding, and until we figure out how to lure him out into the open, we must take this day by day." The corner of his mouth tipped upwards in a smirk as he added, "Or night by night."

"Are you suggesting you'd rather back off the case for the moment and do what? Go to sleep?" John crossed his arms and leaned into the corner of the couch so he could see Sherlock easier. "Have you lost it entirely, Sherlock? He's lost it, right?" John glanced briefly at Hermione before facing his friend once more.

"I don't think so," Hermione trailed off when Sherlock shot her a stern look.

Suddenly realizing what kind of mood Sherlock was in, Hermione carefully stood up from the sofa and began to collect their scattered teacups and glasses from earlier in the night. She tried to make herself invisible knowing a mini-feud was brewing between the two. Where was Harry's cloak when she needed it? Practically tiptoeing into the kitchen, she kept her ears open in case she needed to intervene. The doctor and detective had put aside their differences over the past few weeks, but there was always something still lingering underneath the surface. Hermione knew what it was, but they had to work it out on their own or it would forever interfere with their friendship.

"Come on, Sherlock," John began again. "When have you ever relaxed on a case? Normally you go for days, weeks sometimes, without sleep or even a proper meal. It would take both Mrs. Hudson and me ages to get you to have a lie-down and a piece of toast to tide you over." He was giving Sherlock a strange look, almost as if he'd never seen him before.

"This case is different, John." Sherlock snapped, rising from the sofa and striding towards the fireplace. He turned his back on the doctor, shielding himself from the look of incredulity he knew he would find. "Moriarty knows how we play the game, so we must change our course of action to catch him off guard." Reaching out, he grabbed hold of the knife holding their bills in place. He wriggled it for a second as he listened to the telltale signs that John was standing and moving towards the middle of the room.

"So you're going to sleep! I feel like I'm missing something here. What are you keeping from me?" John's voice was a bit louder than normal, an edge there that hadn't been earlier in the conversation. It caused Hermione to glance up from where she was filling the sink with hot, soapy water. She met Sherlock's sea-colored eyes for a brief second before he sighed obnoxiously and whirled about to face the doctor.

"I'm not keeping anything from you, John. Not this time. We know nothing more than what we told you," he explained, shoving his hands angrily into the pockets of his suit pants. "Moriarty is killing Muggles, Muggleborns, and Halfbloods in the memory of Tom Riddle, and there's nothing we can do about it unless we lure him out into the open!" Sherlock obviously didn't realize that with every word he spoke he took a step closer to John, or that his voice was raising at the same time. "And I'm not quite certain I'm willing to do that."

"And why the bloody hell not," demanded John, his chin lifting in defiance to Sherlock's statement. "Why all of a sudden are you unwilling to do whatever it takes to catch the bad guy? This is Moriarty we're talking about! You threw yourself off a bloody building and faked your death in order to protect us all from him before. Why not take another risk if it means we can finally bring the bastard to justice!?"

"Because this time there are more lives at stake! I can't risk losing any or all of you for this man." Sherlock was standing in front of John now, chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to suppress his emotions. He was failing miserably, his eyes shining as he stared down into John's face. "I can't do what you did, John. I can't imagine a life without…," he paused, swallowing audibly as he forcibly carded a hand through his dark curls.

"You can't imagine a life without what, Sherlock," John asked quietly, his voice just barely carrying to where Hermione stood frozen at the sink, the teacup in her hand long forgotten. She had a feeling she knew, but she waited for him to answer nonetheless.

"I—" He stopped, unsure of how to say aloud the feelings that were churning inside his chest like the sea during a hurricane. He'd never had this problem with John before; or if he did, he'd just locked the feelings away in his Mind Palace in some lost closet. Sherlock made to turn away, but John's arm shot out and grabbed him by the forearm, forcing him to turn back around. Sherlock stared into John's face, not seeming to notice that the shorter man never let go.

"Tell me."

Sighing heavily, Sherlock took a tentative step closer to John, watching Hermione in his peripheral vision. When he saw that she made no move to stop him, he placed a gentle hand on John's cheek and held him so he couldn't look away. There was no reason for his hesitation, but still he found himself floundering. After all this time, he was finally getting a chance to tell John how he really felt, what he would do to keep him safe, and he was failing miserably.

"I cannot imagine a world where Hermione no longer exists," he admitted, watching as John's face fell ever so slightly. When the doctor made to pull away, he moved his hand to the man's shoulder and held him steady. "I was not finished…" Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, he raked his eyes over John's face, lingering at his lips for just a brief second before returning to his eyes. "I would also find myself inconsolable if I were ever to lose you as well, John."

John blinked in confusion, faltering as he took a step backwards as the full impact of Sherlock's words hit him. "What are you saying, Sherlock?" He questioned, finally stepping free of the detective's hold. He didn't know how the comprehend the look of mild hurt that flickered across Sherlock's features at that or that somehow Hermione had made herself suddenly scarce.

"I believe you know exactly what I am referring to, John. But if you need me to say the words aloud, I can understand." Sherlock cleared his throat, intent on finally admitting to John the way he'd felt for most of their time spent together as roommates, friends, companions. Stepping closer to John, who had managed to get out of his reach, he opened his mouth, the words on the tip of his tongue, when the fireplace roared to life behind him.

Startled, John stumbled backward, tripping over the coffee table and landing in a sprawled mess. Sherlock cringed, his hands held out awkwardly as he tried to determine what to do next. Shaking his head at his antics, he turned and shouted down the hall. "Hermione! It appears someone is trying to get ahold of you." Finally, he reached out and offered a hand to John, who took it begrudgingly.

Hermione burst back into the room, her hair pulled up into a messy bun with her wand and face damp from being washed. She'd obviously been preparing for bed, having left Sherlock and John to their own devices. Sparing them a glance, she hurried to the fireplace and dropped to her knees. "Someone is trying to use the Floo Network, but I haven't set it up here yet. I didn't think I would need it." She explained tugging her wand out of her hair and tapping the hearth in a few choice places.

"Floo what?" John questioned, rubbing his back where he'd hit the edge of the sofa. He waved off Sherlock's concern, their moment from earlier clearly shattered. "I thought the flat was exploding. Again."

"Again," Hermione repeated, only half listening as she tinkered with the fireplace some more. "I probably don't want to know anything about that, do I?"

"No."

"Definitely not."

She shot them both a teasing grin over her shoulder before waving her wand once more and moving to stand. Dusting off the knees of her pajama bottoms, she sighed heavily when nothing happened. "I guess now we wait and see who was trying to contact us…" She nibbled on her lip, turning to face the two men. "Tea?"

"No," John replied, reaching for his jacket on the arm of the couch. "I think I should be getting home. I can come by tomorrow after my shift at the clinic." He met Sherlock's disappointed stare and gave him a look that was more smirk than smile. "I have a lot to think about after tonight. I'm not avoiding what you said, not really, but I need to sleep on it, okay."

Straightening himself, Sherlock tired not to appear as disenchanted as he was feeling at the disruption. He desperately wanted to know how John would have reacted had they not been interrupted by the infuriating fireplace. Nevertheless, he made himself appear unfazed as he nodded once to his oldest and dearest companion. "Of course, John. Have a good night. Give Mary and Rosie our love."

"Have a good night, then. You too, Hermione," John called out as he opened the door and exited the flat. Hermione and Sherlock waited until the front door downstairs opened and then shut again before turning to face one another.

"Are you alright," Hermione questioned, stepping toward Sherlock, concern lacing her voice. "I won't ask what happened after I left the room, but, please, at least tell me if you're okay." She made to brush the curls from his forehead but thought that perhaps he may not want to be touched right now. He seemed more fragile than usual, as if something had fractured inside of him.

"I will be fine," Sherlock answered after a quiet moment of contemplation. He pointed to the fireplace. "What did you do?" He stepped around Hermione, ignoring her frown as he examined the hearth for any physical changes. When he found none, he turned and lifted an eyebrow in query.

"I activated the Floo Network, illegally mind you, but now witches and wizards will be able to visit the flat freely." She lifted the bottom of her t-shirt and finished drying her face. "I suspect it was Harry…or Draco…trying to get a hold of me. Perhaps they heard about Dennis." She looked stricken at that thought, but shook herself get rid of the feeling.

"Would it not be easier for them to apparate?"

"You have to clearly picture the location you are apparating to in order to get there without splinching. It's much safer to use Floo the first time you visit." She cringed at the thought of Harry arriving in the flat missing an arm. "Yeah, it was probably Harry. My guess is that he's trying to talk to us about the case. I haven't heard from him since I left Diagon Alley, after all."

"What shall we do while we wait for whoever it was to try again?" Sherlock took in her appearance, realizing she'd been getting ready to go to sleep, leaving him alone with John. Lifting a hand to tuck an errant curl behind his witch's ear, he relaxed when she closed her eyes and placed her own overtop his. "I suspect the mood has changed from earlier in the evening."

"It has," she admitted, opening her eyes slowly. "But that doesn't mean we can't crawl into bed together and just enjoy each other's company. Come on," she said softly, taking Sherlock's hand and beginning to lead him to the bedroom. "Let's end the night on a good note, okay?"

Sherlock merely nodded, glancing around as she used her wandless magic to turn off the lights. He was suddenly feeling more than exhausted, the night's events finally taking their toll. He barely even noticed as Hermione stripped him of his clothes and guided him into the bed. It wasn't until the room was dark and Hermione was wrapping her soft body around his, intertwining their limbs, that it occurred to ask her why she'd allowed him to reveal his true feelings for John. Before he could voice his inquiry, sleep pulled him under, Hermione following him into dreamless slumber.