However Improbable
XandyNZ
Harry Potter/Sherlock(BBC) crossover prompt;
"I sort of had the idea that John was related to someone in the HP world (maybe Hermione? Because she's pretty smart herself) who came to visit at 221B (maybe during the 7th book or something, before they go on the run, you know, the part after they escape the wedding into Muggle London, and need somewhere to stay), and Sherlock just deduces everything about their situation, and that there is still a magical world, and then maybe he decides to help them, because he really wants to do experiments on all the magical things or something, and he can't do that if there's a magical civil war going on... or maybe one where John was a childhood friend of Severus Snape and Lily Evans while growing up, and then he meets Harryor something (maybe after the 7th book, where he goes to the funeral or something? Or bumps into the Golden Trio sometime, and immediately recognizes Harry as Lily's son from the eyes, or some other similar characteristic (because there's so much emphasis on how much Harry's got Lily's eyes, I think it'd be nice if John, knowing his friends so well, would be able to pick up other similarities - maybe they have the same temper, the same way of speaking? etc.)
You suggested that after Hermione makes her parents forget about her in the 7th book, the rest of her relatives (read: the Holmes) go to find her."
AN: …yeah, what is bolded and italicized is pretty much where I think this came from in the prompt. Opps?
0o0o0
Everyone lies, some lies are harmless, called little white lies and some lies…some lies could cause the very world as we know it to end. John Watson knew a few of those lies, and had told some by admission.
There are things about John Watson that Sherlock Holmes doesn't know; simply for his own safety.
Sherlock deduces that John carries himself like he's military- he's tan, he went to Afghanistan (or Iraq when it was and Iraq); even that he's trained in St. Bartholomew's Hospital. It's all quite logically brilliant, and for the most part Sherlock Holmes is correct. But, as Sherlock himself says – there is always something.
What that something is, is this; John Watson went to Hogwarts, that he had N.E.W.T.s of a grade E in the subjects of Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, Herbology and Defense Against the Dark Arts. He had both St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries and the Ministry of Magic clamoring for him to be a Healer - or an Auror. His 'training' in St. Bartholomew's Hospital had more to do with blending in with doctors and nurses than any 'modern' medical learning – because John Watson had chosen to become both a Auror and a Healer.
John had been further jointly trained under Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody and Madam Poppy Pomfrey – he went on assignment in Afghanistan in an attempt to find the golden fleece of Jason. It's forgotten by muggles, but by wizards and witches it said to be stolen back by the witch Medea as she fled the Corinthians, later inherited by her son Medus, the half brother of Theseus, who traveled with his mother to Colchis and came to rule there.
That Medus or his mother Medea had made pact with a people of the land than called Aria; what called Ecbatana their city; the people had been called the Medes thereafter, their land had been Media. John Watson and his Auror team had brought it back, and it was kept locked away in the Department of Mysteries – for whatever good it did there, it might just have done better to stay where it had been kept.
That was not to say he had not fought, he had, and had the muggle star-burst scar upon his shoulder to prove it. Wizards and witches weren't meant to fight the muggle way, just as muggles could not fight with magic. It did something to them. It was why he had a psychosomatic limp and the intermittent tremor in his wand hand. It was why he was now a retired Auror, those nightmares; he couldn't get rid of them. It was why he was bitter enough to admit it.
"Nothing ever happens to me." He'd been away, and hadn't been able to do anything for Lily when the Dark Lord had found out the secret keeper, Sirius Black. It wasn't until Clara Granger called him from the Ministry of Magic that he realized something had happened; was still happening. Harry Potter named for John's own older sister Harriet – Clara's wife – was missing. John had to find him – and he knew the place to start looking. He put aside his gun and picked up his wand, deciding he'd best not leave his flat without it.
"Sherlock, I'm going out for a bit." Sherlock spared him not so much as a glance as he fussed with beakers and what looked like bits of colored paper. He waved absently, as John opened the door, stepped past the door, and disappeared with the pop of displaced air.
Sherlock paused and frowned toward the closed door, going to open it. He narrowed his eyes not to see any sign of John Watson.
0o0o0
Apparition at Spinner's End, childhood home of Severus Snape, perhaps should have been done with more caution. As it was, John Watson found himself at wand point when he opened his eyes. His hand clenched about his own wand, but he would not raise it yet against one of his oldest friends – no matter what Clara had said about him having the Dark Mark. There had to be good reason for it, and John would hear Severus out before he passed judgment.
"Hello, Severus." He kept his tone calm, and Severus's dark eyes widened in surprise. He put away his wand with more haste than any kind of style.
"John." Severus greeted him soft and surprised; he didn't look as if he'd been taking care of himself.
"Your wrist, Severus…." John looked to his friend's hands, and Severus swallowed and looked aside.
"Clara is not wrong, John. I took the Dark Mark." John took his friend's hands, looking to each one, hissing as he caught sight of the black mar against Severus's pale skin. They looked wrong there, like bruises.
"Why?" John demanded, he had been an Auror – Severus had to know how this looked, it looked like betrayal. John had almost not come, simply for what Severus had done.
"Lily chose…chose James, and I, I had no one John – you were off, and I was so angry, I…did it to spite our friendship, for it seemed to me I was alone. I am so sorry John. I've tried to make it right, I spied for Albus Dumbledore – joined the Order of the Phoenix, like you – like Lily…please believe me." Severus had never looked so earnest, so honest – so painfully young. John closed his eyes, pained.
"What of Harry, Lily's boy?" Severus glanced to the grounds of Spinner's End, not far from this very house, Severus had played with Lily and Harriet and Clara and John. They had been the best of friends – and what had happened to them? They had grown up, grown apart.
"He's safe John, Albus assures me of it. He's living now with Petunia." John hissed in surprise. Severus had never known Lily's sister, he likely thought her baby safe in the care of his mother's family – but Severus had never seen Petunia save for a handful of times.
"He's my godson, Severus." John couldn't help being pained with it – why had no one gotten word to him? Being the boy's godfather, he had the right to take him in, to raise him.
"So he is, John – so he is. What would you have me do?" Severus stood so near him, but did not meet his eyes.
"I'm responsible for him, Severus. I need to find him." It was the truth, and John couldn't help but try to do the right thing. Everything else had gone so…wrong.
"Than what, John…will you take care of a baby? Take him form the only blood family he's got left?" Blood meant something to wizards and witches, pureblood or muggleborn. It would not earn John any favor if he claimed the Boy Who Lived as his own.
"If I must…Petunia must know that she has that option, Severus – it is not fair to thrust the responsibility of raising a wizard onto a muggle, or anybody." John knew it, because Harriet had had to grow up to raise him, and she had resented it, but done it to keep the family together. He didn't want Harry Potter to be raised like that. He wanted his godson to be raised knowing he was loved, and wanted.
"What, do you think she does not want him?" Severus asked, frowning in confusion.
"That is exactly what I think." John confessed, and Severus looked horrified.
"I do not know where they are, John…where do we even begin looking?" John tilted his head with a small smile. A wizard navigating the muggle world would be lost; it was simply a different world, just as a muggleborn had a hard time of it in the magical world. It was the greatest protection Harry Potter had, that wizards looking for him would not know how to begin looking – but John knew one of the cleverest of muggles.
"We will start by asking Sherlock Holmes." John stated, at Severus's frown, he smiled.
"He's my flat mate."
0o0o0
There isn't really a good way to ask your flat mate to find a baby for you. So, John just tries his best.
"Sherlock…if I wanted you to find someone for me, would you?" Sherlock pauses in tuning his violin, tilting his head as he quietly regards John Watson. John doesn't look away, even though he knows he could quickly break that studying stare. A part of him wonders if Sherlock knows all he has tried to keep from – for surely he suspects.
"The way you left yesterday, to go out so quickly – I suppose it was a partly successful meeting. You've been looking for someone since you got that call from your sister's wife. It's personal, so you didn't think I would be of much help. Yet, there is something you've been keeping from me." Sherlock's fingers curl against the violin cords, the distance in his tone makes it plain he feels hurt by what he perceives as John's distance.
Not that Sherlock expects John to pick up the subtle clues. Yet he's surprised, John might not notice things like Sherlock, but he has fought in wars and healed people from sicknesses. Judging people is something John is very, very good at.
"Yes, there is." John doesn't bother to hide that truth; neither does he yet confess it. It is something very, very puzzling, and personal.
"Will you help me, now?" Sherlock knows that John isn't going to be giving him answers like why or who – and Sherlock is fine with that, he almost prefers it.
"Do you trust me?" Sherlock asks in turn.
"With my life..." Sherlock notices that John is the sort of man who does not much value his own life, but it is enough – because Sherlock prizes John's life and budding partnership.
"You will have to give me at least part of the name of who you are looking for." Sherlock states and John puts his lips together and nods firmly.
"When I knew her almost thirteen years ago, her name was Petunia Evans. I think she's married, might have a child of her own – but she has a nephew who I don't believe she should be guardian of." John meets Sherlock's eyes, and Sherlock nods once, very surely.
"I will look into her." John takes Sherlock at his word, for he gets up and goes, leaving Sherlock alone to do what he does best – find people, solve puzzles – and there is one thing Sherlock is sure of, whoever John went to meet yesterday he goes to meet again today. John is gone from the staircase without taking more than a step out from behind a closed door; there is no sound of footsteps upon the stair, no familiar tread of feet in the hallway.
John Watson isn't anywhere in the building, Sherlock knows, because he looked yesterday. This too, is a mystery that Sherlock seeks to answer, and maybe in solving one, he will find a clue to the other.
0o0o0
"4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey." Sherlock tells John, as he steps through the door – as if afraid that John will disappear for good without Sherlock saying something. It's silly but not an altogether unreasonable theory with what Sherlock has been observing. It can't all be faked, or explained, it's real he's sure, for John wouldn't go this far for a prank.
"Hello and good evening to you too..." John sounds confused, but smiles when Sherlock looks up to judge his expression at Sherlock's answer.
"So what's this about Surrey?" John asks when it is clear Sherlock won't say anything more unless prompted to.
"4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey is where that Petunia Evans is living, Mrs. Dursley, I should say now. She lives with her husband Mr. Vernon Dursley and a son, Dudley – you're information about the nephew is not incorrect, he was enrolled in nursery school and there have been reports of strange bruises and scrapes upon the boy, one Harry Potter - brushed under the rug for a not insignificant sum of money." Sherlock is very curious as to just what John will do hearing this, and he is not disappointed.
John is pale and sickly looking with shock, as if he's been punched in the gut, and he turns quickly to the door – and is gone, just as the times before. He did not go down the stairs, did not go down the hall, and did leave by the door of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes is almost entirely sure – but he must be positive, it is his sanity he risks.
0o0o0
John Watson comes back to 221B Baker Street the ordinary way, walking through the door, up the stairs, in the hall and opening the door to their apartment. This is largely due, Sherlock does not doubt, due to the two year old toddler napping in John's arms. It is a sight that Sherlock does not know what to make of – he never thought to see it. When Sherlock thought of the future at all, it was only of John with Sherlock in this flat, solving the great games.
Now there was this – a baby.
"Are you going to keeping him?" Sherlock asks, just to be sure, because there is always something.
"He's my godson, Sherlock. Yes, I'll keep him – do you have a problem with that?" John's eyes narrow upon Sherlock sprawled on the couch, watching the pair, man and baby, with an arm flung over his face.
"No, he's the only family of yours I've met. I'm honored to meet a member of your family, John – he's the first I've seen, do you know how odd that is? I thought it was my oddity, my influence, but it's not that is it? It's something else, something I think I've worked out." Sherlock trails off, as a toddler's sleepy green eyes open to see him. He tries to smile, and those eyes gleam with more than the usual intelligence, and he's smiled back at most charmingly.
"Oh?" John wonders, half humoring Sherlock as he lets down the now fussing godson. Who promptly makes his way in a waddling walk over to Sherlock, his hair is wild and black and doesn't look like it's ever been brushed. Sherlock lets himself be climbed up on.
"He's at the age of terrible-twos, isn't he? How appropriate it is that we meet, Mr. Potter." Sherlock is sure that John's godson is quite safe while using Sherlock as his perch, he kicks his legs cheerfully – and carefully, he does not kick Sherlock's side. It is a caution not learned, but taught – and not carefully, but harshly, and it isn't a curiosity to Sherlock that the boy chooses the highest place to sit, where he can see everything and everyone.
"Har'y." The boy's protest is a pout, and Sherlock nods thoughtfully.
"Harry, I think you and your godfather are very special. In fact, I think that there is something about you that is more than unique, isn't that right John?" Sherlock doesn't look to his flat mate, his friend, his partner. He hears John's sharply inhaled breath. John has been careful, almost too careful, but Sherlock both sees and observes.
"Magic." Sherlock Holmes says the word, and Harry Potter cringes as if he's been hurt from hearing that word.
"Sherlock!" John's voice rings out in warning, harsh and sharp. John has never spoken so to him, he has had 'the Captain' tone, someone who has known and dealt in power and authority, but never has John sounded as if he thinks Sherlock is a threat.
"Can't tell, have to be normal, hides it." Harry says softly, looking at Sherlock wide eyed.
"You don't have to anymore, I know. I won't let anyone hurt you. You're safe." Harry lays his head on Sherlock's chest hearing his heartbeat. Little green eyes peek up at John.
"Truth..." Harry blurts out, and Sherlock thinks Harry is bolder and braver than he is, for he hasn't dared look to John.
"You knew - how?" It's a sharp accusation coming form a man Sherlock thinks of as his friend.
"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth…" There is always, Sherlock knows without saying, always something.
John ruffles Harry's hair, and shares a smile with Sherlock.