No prompt this time, because I had one, and then the story took a completely different direction than I had planned, so just enjoy some random fluff between Harry and John, with interludes from the nosy Holmes brothers. Enjoy this little snippet of my thoughts as I entered these worlds. I mashed everything together.

Kingsman, Harry Potter, Sherlock Holmes, with a bit of James Bond in there. For the Kingsman era; V-day happened. A lot of important people died, including a lot of Kingsmen (they had the chip), but film two never really happend although Harry did live, so Eggsy is Arthur, and Harry Hart still Galahad. Harry Potter works for MI7 which is basically the name the Muggles gave the magical liaison office. John still does cases with Sherlock, and works part-time as a doctor. Do mind: no beta for this one as it still is a gift for my lovely beta Salllzy!


Chapter 1: I spy, you spy, we spy a doctor in need

Harry lay across the sofa like a cat absorbing every streak of sunlight because he could. It was the first day off after having a few taxing weeks, and he deserved this. He tried to stretch out even more, but was hindered by a body that hadn't been on his couch before he fell asleep.

Ex-Boy-who-lived, Ex-Auror, now MI6-liaison as a MI7 Agent – how about that - from the Wizarding site Harry Potter with too much other names to count, still had a sense of urgency in him, as he recognized immediately that it wasn't John. That could only mean a few others, and Mrs. Hudson had learned the hard way not to disturb Harry in these moments. Bless her heart.

So that left Sherlock or Mycroft since Lestrade wasn't stupid enough to wake him up, and Hermione and Ron were on holiday so they were ruled out automatically. It didn't smell like Mycroft, who wore only two sorts of aftershave, so it was the younger Holmes without a doubt.

"Yes?" He drawled out lazily, as he tried to open his eyes but the direct sunlight hitting them was annoying, so Harry decided not to do anything.

"You still haven't answered my question." The direct voice questioned him.

"Nope," Harry smiled, "also, still not going to."

"You told John." It was a statement, and it was up to Harry to do something about that. To acknowledge or deny it.

"If you think I did." Harry knew how to handle the Holmes' brothers. Deadbeat honesty threw them off any given time, and Harry's magic made him less easy to deduce because he could get rid of evidence within seconds. He had become quite proficient in household magic just for this.

"For the love of …" Both men heard John enter the house with a sigh, and soon Harry felt a shade ruining the sun for him, only to be replaced with a soft kiss on his lips that the wizard welcomed any given time of the day. Harry smiled, and deepened the kiss within a few seconds, to show John how much he had missed him.

When they broke apart, John went on with his rant as Sherlock still sat next to him.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to wake Harry if he's passed out on the couch, Sherlock? Especially with those nonsensical questions you keep on asking."

"I don't believe there is so much danger in waking him as you imply, and it is only polite to answer someone."

Harry snorted, and John just sighed. Politeness wasn't Sherlock's best side. Mycroft could be polite if the occasion needed it but Sherlock was just a noisy bugger all day – every day. Both men knew that the taller one in the room had his own way of caring for the people around him, and maybe just a tad bit strange way of showing it, so they probably let him get away with too much.

Sherlock was still prying for Harry's secrets because he believed that the wizard was too clean. This was indeed the case, because Harry had handled everything with Mycroft who was his liaison for MI6 – or at least the man pretended like he was just that – nothing was sure when it came to Mycroft. When Harry had met John in that little pub back then, he realised very early on that John only deserved good, nice, gentle Harry. Not the wicked Auror or grey magical spy who didn't even need his wand to function.

Said wand was supposed to be somewhere on his person, but Harry had been so busy with sleeping, that he hadn't checked it yet. It was one of the only things that would trigger Sherlock if he would ever see it. Harry didn't need to worry, the Elder wand always found him if he needed it. Hermione and him had tried everything, and yet the wand found its way back to its Master. It had its perks and downfalls.

"It's alright, John. I was waking up."

"Stop being polite, Harry. That's my job. He woke you up." Desperation and annoyance were visible in his voice.

"Does it annoy you that I talk to Harry then, John?" Asked the private detective from his own chair. When he had gotten away, Harry hadn't even noticed since his attention had been directed to John instead.

"Let him think he didn't." Harry stretched out as he answered John and they both choose to ignore Sherlock. This did irk the detective, but he seemed to let it slide. For now.

Harry stood up so he was able to draw John close to him. Another soft kiss, and John was already blushing a bit. That never stopped being cute. Even after all these years of being together, John was still so suggestible to Harry's affections. A touch here, a firm hold there, and the doctor would turn like wax into his hands.

Mind you, Harry didn't mind in the least, because he loved having his hands all over John at any given time. Not even caring in the slightest that Sherlock was around, since that man was always bunkered down in his own mind palace. To prove it to John, they had had sex on the couch next to him, without magic to conceal it. It was baffling to see that Sherlock had not noticed, but very useful every now and then.

John did earn a bit of money, but Harry refused to let him pay more for an apartment they both barely only slept at. Since he couldn't tell him about the magical properties he owned, they still shared a flat with Sherlock. Maybe it was also because Mycroft had asked nicely for once. Harry unfortunately needed Mycroft too much, to not be nice to him.


Harry had taken to the kitchen to make them dinner, and that rewarded John of a good vantagepoint of Harry's lovely bottom. Sherlock often caught him staring, but as of late he had decided to not mention it, even if Harry didn't seem to mind him asking questions about their sexuality. John did. Sherlock didn't need to ask who bottomed in their relationship – yes, it was John – or who loved to be sucked off like a teenager – both of them – or even ask who rimmed who – Harry loved to do that to John, even if it could still make John feel uncomfortable. The man was capable of deducting it himself if the need arose. No, he needed other answers. More prominent one's.

The fact that Harry accepted Sherlock as a constant in his life was also baffling. The fact that a man like Harry would rather be with John than anyone else was baffling – without a better word for it, forming in his mind – John thought.

That Harry wasn't just a diplomat was something that even John could have deduced himself, when he met him. Harry did wear a suit with the same ease as he did jeans with sweaters, but he always seemed to have this air of danger around him. Always prepared for the worse, so to speak. Like a soldier that hadn't closed off the war just like John himself.

It weren't the obvious, durable leather boots as Sherlock had pointed out, or the multitude of leather knife holsters that Harry carried around. He wished it were the scars on Harry's body – that John would kiss lovingly if Harry give him any chance - no it was the way the man carried himself.

John recognized another soldier a mile away. Without a doubt. Always lingering in the shadows to make sure you were able to strike first. Always knowing exactly who was in the room at any given time. Harry had never opened up about it, but with his tight bond to Mycroft even John had noticed that Harry was probably involved with MI5 or MI6. So there should be a war background someway.

Sherlock had one decency, and that was never to mention that he lived with two war-trodden soldiers who were weary enough to shoot without asking first. Maybe that was why they still shared a flat.


"Let me see, John," Sherlock had said, "the clothing shows wealth that has been acquired at a later stage in his life, because he seems to hold onto items that you and I would discard which implies poverty at one point but instant wealth later on. Favours his left hand over his right, but is ambidextrous through intensive training. Childhood trauma is visible, but he hides it. Doesn't take well to injustice, but .."

Sherlock's phone announced Mycroft with an old-fashioned jingle, and Sherlock looked at it a few times before he answered.

"I'm busy, brother." He said in that no-nonsense voice that he used while deducting a situation or a case.

John couldn't hear what was said, but as Sherlocks face fell and he let Mycroft finish whatever he had to say, told John more than enough.

"Fine, if you insist so strongly on the matter." There was a tense silence hanging on the line, but Sherlock seemed to be listening to what his brother had to say.

Sherlock closed the phone as if the whole thing was poisoning him personally, scowled and shook his head, after continuing with the case he had been working on before he decided to bother John with his paramour.

Curious indeed.


After that, Sherlock had never bothered deducing Harry again even though it did cost him all of his restraint, but the questions that he asked after that point were as if there was a waterfall that had been released and Sherlock needed the knowledge to survive.

Whenever Harry was around Baker Street, Sherlock would question him about many things. It started relatively simple, but gradually they got more intrusive.

"What was your favourite class in secondary school?"
A pause, and then a mischievous smile; "I loved sports, even if you wouldn't say it from looking at me, and defence lessons."
"Extracurricular?" Sherlock's interest had piqued at the words.
"Yes, also."

"Who was your best friend during secondary school?"
A full-blown smile, "Come on, Sherlock. I thought you would be able to answer that yourself? Ron and Hermione naturally."

"Do you often get into fights?"
A random pause, "No, not anymore, Sherlock."

"Did you ever hate a teacher?"
A quick pause, and a quick answer. "Yes."
"Why?" Harry looked up at Sherlock, from the dinner table with a cup of tea in his hands. "Because she was an absolute evil bitch, that was in league with Moriarty."
Sherlock wanted to say something, but stopped the moment the words wanted to come from his lips.

"Which tea do you prefer?"
A simple shake of his head. "Up your own game, Sherlock. You tell me."
"Your choice is always between Darjeeling and Earl Grey." Sherlock stated as a matter of a fact.
"Yes," was the obvious response, without any emotion. That much John could have told him. With a splash of honey in the winter, and sometimes a pinch of sugar in the summer. Never any milk. Harry brewed a mean cup of tea.

"Did you always knew you were gay?"
A soft smile, "I'm not gay, Sherlock, I'm bisexual."

"Are men and women equal?"
"To me, yes. To the world; that depends on the continent or country itself, but that's probably not what you are asking now, are you?"

"What is your favourite bodily scent?"
"Sherlock, that's a weak question. We use the same bathroom, surely you've deducted which one is my own and which is John's."
"John regularly uses yours."
"I know, but still. You're better than this." That only elicited a pointed look from Sherlock, like he knew something but wouldn't or couldn't say it.

"Why do you prefer a relationship with Dr. Watson over one with a women?"
A soft, wistful smile aimed at John who had just come home and was headed towards the liquor cabinet; that kind of day it seemed. "Because I fell in love with him for who he is and why he loves me. Gender is irrelevant to me in that regard."

"Where did you go to school?" A longing smile, but his eyes hardened. "A boarding school in Scotland."
"What's it called?"
No answer.

Sometimes Harry would answer, other times he would just smile fondly. It wasn't the look he would give John, whereas fond would cross with indulgence, love, or simply lust. It always felt to John as if Harry believed that he wasn't worthy of John. While John couldn't have cared less if Harry was a diplomat or simply something else.

No, the smiles Harry gave Sherlock were almost wistful, as if the man reminded Harry of someone.

"Do you believe in magic, Harry?" A childlike, mischievous look passed on his face.
"I do, Sherlock. It all depends on the context in which we experience it."
"Don't you find the concept of magic to be surreal?"
"A true kiss can feel like magic, so why would that be surreal?" Harry took a sip of tea. He never went without a cup and saucer in hand if he could.
"Because if there would be magic, then the law's of nature would not work."
"Why wouldn't they Sherlock? Why can't both exist? There could be more than one God if you believed in it?"
"That is preposterous. The notion alone could destroy people. Let alone science."
Harry just smiled at him with a wisp of an emotion that John had never seen on his partners face before, but it was wiped away real quick.

"What are your thoughts on death?"
Sorrow etched on Harry's beautiful face. "Death is nothing more than a ritual of passing, just like birth is. It's mostly inevitable."

"Religion?" Sometimes Sherlock wouldn't even word the questions anymore. "You once said multiple gods?"
"Belief in nature and its ways. No, I said that you could believe in it, if you wanted to."
"Too vague." Sherlock retorted.
"Just like your question," bit Harry back, without any real bite in his voice.

"Favourite colour?"
"Blue Sherlock," Harry laughed as he plated their food in the kitchen, as he had just disposed of Sherlock's other experiments. How he did it, John never knew. "Too easy for you to ask."
"Recently I have learned that it is a fair question to ask somebody, if you are to become or are friends, so to speak."
"Low blow, Sherlock," was all John managed to say with a mouth full of food.


This night Harry was busy making a stew with game, various vegetables and he topped it off with potatoes. John would never complain, because he loved his partner's food, and he would gladly live on the leftovers if Harry wasn't around to spoil him with even more fresh food. Nothing tasted better that Harry's lasagne after a long and tiresome day at the clinic. He had just prepared three cups of tea for all of them, after getting a kettle and pot ready, before Sherlock started again with his tiresome game of questions.

"Any living blood relatives?" He asked, while his face was still facing the wall with his papers surrounding his/their latest case.

"Yes, I have an aunt and uncle, who have a son. My nephew." The tone in Harry's voice was constricted. "Before you ask, Sherlock." The man paused shortly. "We're not in close contact anymore. Sometimes I speak to Dudley, but not often. I consider the Weasley's more as family."

"Does it bother you?" Sherlock had laid himself back on 'his' couch.

"It used to, now it doesn't." Harry shrugged it off, but John knew better.

"Do you want a family of your own?"

"Sherlock .." John tried to intervene, but it didn't matter. It often didn't.

"It's a perfectly reasonable question, John. There are enough options to consider, even as a homosexual couple." Sherlock retorted with his even voice.

"Only you could make that sound so wrong, Sherlock!" sighed John, as he looked over at Harry, who had a sparkle in his eyes.

"I don't claim to have a wish for many children, if that answers your question. If I would have ended up with a female, I probably would have. Since I am happily together with John, I do feel that it's up to us, isn't it?" He smiled mischievously at Sherlock. "Or are you planning on becoming a godfather? You would have to share with Hermione, of course!"

Harry turned back to his food, all the while humming a strange tune under his breath. Sherlock seemed to be flustered about that last proposition, and choose to say nothing. John tried to tune him out completely.


Later that night, after the stew bowl had been almost licked clean by John, Harry and John found themselves on the settee that they had scrunched into John's room or rather their room, to have some privacy for when Sherlock was so obsessed with his case, that he even wouldn't let them watch some television in peace.

Now they were snuggled up to each other, Harry in John's arms for a change, and John felt the need to bring up the latest conversation.

"Listen, Harry," he started, but took a deep breath to continue. "I need to apologize about Sherlock, I can't seem to get his mind away from you as apparently he feels that you are a mystery that needs solving."

"Trust me, my love, I hadn't expected anything else. Mycroft at least has the decency to know when to stop!"

"I still can't wrap my mind about the fact that you are that familiar with Mycroft. It just seems strange." John shook his head.

"He's my liaison for special occasions, you happen to meet every now and then."

"I know that, but then it makes me wonder why you choose to spend time with me, and not with some smoking hot 007." John tried to sound a bit less nervous than he was, since he didn't want Harry to misinterpret his question.

"You are, without any doubt, way more sexy than any 007 I've ever encountered. Most of them are not as sexy as they make James Bond look like in the movies," laughed Harry, as he sauntered back up towards John, wiggled his way loose, and took John's face in his right hand. Just a thumb on the cheek.

"You, my handsome doctor, are everything I need in a partner. Please do not doubt that at any given time." He softly kissed John, and as their lips connected, both felt that known rumble of excitement through them, like they were hit by lightning.

Both men extended the kiss, but Harry took charge as he often did. That was one thing John loved about him; Harry never fussed about who was in charge in the relationship. He made things look easy, but the doctor had to admit to himself that being waited to his every whim was something he hadn't expect to find so attractive in a partner. In previous relationships, John mostly had been the one to initiate most contact but with Harry he never lacked any. Except on those days that Harry was away for business.

If John wanted a massage, Harry would do it without a second of doubt. A make-out session, he barely needed to ask. Something to spice up the bedroom, as John had a few different things he liked; Harry made it even better. John knew that he gave Harry more than enough in return. The raven-haired man had explained that more than once. He just wanted to be loved unconditionally, without a doubt, and with a vigour. His partner had told him more than once that he just wanted to be loved because he was Harry Black, a simple man that had sometimes lacked that in his life.

So when that divine tongue licked across his lips for access, John granted it to him. They were practically making love through a kiss, and before he knew it, John felt Harry's hands tugging his dress shirt loose from his trousers.

When those hands started wandering, John trusted Harry enough to let him take the lead, and he sunk back into the couch, to which he pulled Harry practically on top of him. It was all soft smiles and kisses.

Harry was practically worshipping him, and John wondered why he had been blessed with a partner like Harry. Maybe for putting up with Sherlock…

"Stop thinking so much, my love," chided the man him, as a warm hand fell to his neck, and John let the bliss of the moment take over. It was soft, warm but needy. Harry had just returned from a two week business trip, and gods John had missed him. Not only to embrace and kiss, but also to have a good make-out session with. If you would catch his drift.

Harry's hands were roaming all over him, soft but knowing exactly where they needed to be to ignite the fire that was already coursing through the doctor's body. His limp mostly forgotten, John let Harry undress him with ease, as he felt those soft, wet lips ghost over his torso down towards his pelvis. Licking, kissing, and touching him all over.

Harry had chosen the route to fast, good sex apparently, and John wasn't complaining. He felt that beautiful wet mouth engulf him, and then a finger softly rim him. They both knew their limits, and Harry had never crossed them once.


It wasn't until late that night, that John remembered the conversation he really wanted to have. He turned around in bed, to find Harry still awake. The man barely slept, so it wasn't a rare occurrence at all. John sighed softly, but stroked Harry's arm softly to not startle him.

"Harry, darling?"

"Yea?" Harry looked up from some papers that he was reading with the moonlight behind him.

"About children, is that something you ever wanted?" John held his breath. He didn't know if he wanted it, because he had always known he was gay as hell, and his chances had dropped there by some 100%, but Harry wasn't and could have chosen a relationship with a woman if he wanted a family.

"Nah, not particularly inclined in any way about that subject, just like I told Sherlock. I can be a good uncle to Mione's kids. She expects that from me no matter what." Harry pushed the papers to his side, and took advantage from John's sleepiness, to snuggle into him, and push himself completely under their covers.

"If you say so." John didn't know if it was a platitude to keep him happy, or it was the truth. On the other hand, Harry never lied to him about matters of the heart, so he would be speaking the truth.

Harry always said he wanted complete transparency within his relationship, but that did meant for both of them that they needed to keep work and private life separated. John understood that. If it was about work or whatever Harry did; he knew the man wasn't always honest. But in their relationship; hard truths were often given.

"I do, now sleep. You need to cure people tomorrow, and have Sherlock annoy you."

"Yes, love." John smiled sleepily into Harry's mop of hair, and with that delicious scent buzzing around him, the grey-haired man fell asleep.


Your diversion techniques are still good. This is the most I can stop him for now. When will you enlighten dear Mr. Watson about your situation? – M.

Can't sleep too?

When can I ever? Answer me, Potter.

When hell freezes over, probably, Mycroft. John can't hold a secret for his life, trust me. As long as you want Sherlock of our backs, John unfortunately can't know. Sherlock reads him with one glance. Mione and Draco are busy with their experiments for ageing, let's await that. Speaking of telling things. How's your spy treating you?

My bed gets warmed most nights by a twenty-something year younger man, when do you think I will start complaining? – M.

When you've reached my age, Mycroft. You'll feel your bones then. – H.

You are only as old as you feel, Harry, some people say. I say it's hogwash. The weight of the world already falls on our shoulders, even if people pretend it doesn't. – M.

Very true. Are we meeting for lunch tomorrow? I need to speak to the Queen beforehand. – H.

If you wish. She still adores you, I don't know how you got there, you menace. Safe travels into the kingdom of night. – M.

Sleep well, Mycroft. Give my regards to Eggsy. – H.


When John woke up that morning, he was surprised to find Harry asleep next to him. His glasses askew on his head, a phone in hand, and the papers all strewn over the bed, but still asleep. Normally he was up before John with that enthusiastic face to greet him in the morning.

Carefully to not try to wake his 'boyfriend', John took the glasses off, and gathered the papers. He never looked at any of it, knowing enough from Mycroft and Sherlock's business that he usually did not want to know. The less he knew, the happier he was. Moriarty had been more than enough.

Harry always felt bad, that he barely could share any of it, but he had been glad that John wasn't as offended about it as he had expected. John really didn't want to know. All he needed was his Harry to come home when he did, to make love to him as he did, and he hoped to grow old with him. Sitting at some ridiculous terrace drinking tea and wine whenever they had the fancy. That always had seemed like a faraway dream when he was younger, but now it could stay and become his truth.

Finally, he carefully removed the phone from Harry's hands, chuckling softly as he saw Mycroft's latest text message. Mycroft hated texting everybody but Harry. It was still an unusual friendship between the two men, but John loved the way Mycroft and Harry had developed a certain camaraderie. Sherlock was probably the cause, but who knew if that was the truth?

Are you and the good doctor free for dinner? Eggsy insists to meet the both of you. Let me know if you're available. I will reserve at our usual restaurant. Eggsy sends his regards. M.

John took out his own phone and searched for Mycroft's contact, as he sent out a text of his own. He had been dying to meet the mysterious, younger lover that Mycroft had found, and Sherlock wasn't allowed to meet just yet. He knew that Mycroft knew that Harry had no plans for the evening or he wouldn't have proposed this dinner date, so John agreed for both of them.

This would be fun indeed.