...

"...almost nothing important that ever happens to you happens because you engineer it. Destiny has no beeper; destiny always leans trenchcoated out of an alley with some sort of Psst that you usually can't even hear because you're in such a rush to or from something important you've tried to engineer."

-David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

Suspicions and Research

...

John had really screwed up this time. Just what was he thinking running off like that, and leaving his best friend in such a dangerous place? The anniversary thing: how could he have been so stupid?

It had felt just like that day that Sherlock jumped, with John running off to see Mrs. Hudson in the hospital, when she was perfectly fine, having tea in the drawing room. John knew he wasn't a stupid man (compared to other people; not Sherlock Holmes, who didn't count). But John had felt exceptionally stupid that horrible day, being so easily tricked by Moriarty. If he hadn't, maybe things would have been different and Sherlock wouldn't have even needed to go into hiding for two years.

But his friend wasn't dead from his mistake, he had to remind himself. The fact that Sherlock possibly killed himself because John wasn't there with him on the rooftop had added another layer of awful on the whole 'losing your best friend' situation. It was that thought that had been the worst to stomach. It was that thought that had kept him from calling Mrs. Hudson. How could he tell her that it was probably his fault that Sherlock was no longer with them...?

Now he had run off again, just when Sherlock needed him, for an anniversary that wasn't today. Even if it was, he should have stayed. They were dealing with a mad criminal that could apparently make whole houses disappear. Anniversary be damned, he should have been there. Mary would have understood. So why had he left?

It was such an odd evening. John distinctly remembered the panic and the need, the compulsion, to run home as soon as possible. What had made him think that? Perhaps, he was just trying to make excuses for himself. 'Right,' John thought, 'I screwed up, and I need to fix it.'

He decided right away that he needed to phone Sherlock. Usually it was almost impossible to reach his aloof friend, but he was hoping today he might actually deign to pick up his phone. 'Unless he's in trouble.' A nagging in the back of his mind that John squashed down. Right now he needed his wits about him. Taking a deep breath to calm down he took out his phone and called Sherlock.

To his surprise, Sherlock answered on almost the first ring.

"Sherlock! I'm sorry, I can't believe what I've done, running away like that! Are you okay? Are you..."

"I'm fine, John, everything's fine." Sherlock said, a tone of calm.

"Are you sure? Where are you, I'll come.." John was desperate to rectify his mistakes.

"No." Sherlock sighed. "No, John, everything's okay really. You need not worry. It's all...it's fine." His friend's voice sounded a bit tired. But overall, he didn't sound stressed, and he didn't sound like he was in any sort of trouble.

"I'll come now. Are you at Baker Street? Did you get in the house? Find that Potter character?"

"Yes John, I'm at Baker Street. There's...well, there's a lot to explain, and believe it or not, I think I may need some sleep. You too, you should rest and come in the morning. I'll explain everything then." Sherlock needed sleep? Since when?

"Alright, if you sure you're okay...?" Tentatively, John agreed with Sherlock. He'd been on his feet for two days in a row, and sorely need to kip for a few hours. And who was John to impede Sherlock when he finally decided to join the other mortals and have a good rest?

"Yes, yes, I've said many times now, everyone's okay, and I'll see you tomorrow morning, John. Good night." Click.

John sighed in relief. Mary was still sitting at the table, staring at him.

"What'd you do?" She asked, immediately picking up on the situation. John sat down and tried to explain the evening's events to her. As he spoke, she looked at him with a bemused expression.

"...and then, I was yelling about our anniversary, and how I had to get home right away." John hazily remembered the moment. Everything about the night, waiting outside that damned house, following the cat, had been a blur.

"Sherlock ran after me, asked for the gun, and I gave it to him. Then, ran off, hailed a cab, and now I'm here." John finished his story.

Giving Sherlock his gun was another screw up, in a night filled with them. Sherlock might be his best friend, and John trusted him implicitly, but handing him a loaded weapon was probably not a good idea. In fact John had several rules regarding Sherlock Holmes, and one was 'never give that madman a deadly projectile weapon.' John thought it was a fair rule, considering that the last time Sherlock Holmes had a gun, there was a dead body between them. Of course, it was all for the best, in the end. Magnussen deserved to die, and John hadn't felt any pity for him. But still. Sherlock needed boundaries. John was usually the person that set them. Because if not John, then who else would?

"You know, if you did miss our anniversary, I would take 'attempting to capture a notorious criminal' as a decent excuse. I might not even be mad...for that long." Mary gave him one of her catlike smiles, and scooted closer. She placed her hand over his, and it had an instant calming effect on John. He was right in saying that she was the best thing that could have happened to him.

The next morning John was hurrying on his way to 221B. His friend had said that there was a lot to explain. Hopefully, the genius that Sherlock was, he would have figured out how Potter could make a whole house disappear.

After knocking on the door, John let himself in. He met Mrs. Hudson on the lower landing. Apparently she wasn't allowed up for awhile, and this fact was gravely irritating the aging landlady.

"And he keeps making such noises up there, oh, the state the living room must be in by now..." John made his apologies on behalf of Sherlock, and went up the stairs. He heard Sherlock call out from his bedroom:

"I'll be right there, just sit down." Fine with that, John went into the living room.

"Sherlock, do you think I could get my gun-" John stopped. He hadn't realized that Sherlock had a visitor. Sitting on the couch was a man that was happily chowing down on John's takeaway from a few night before. He was so engrossed in the carton of food, John could barely see his face. John took in his appearance and tried to place in his mind who the man could be.

His first thought was client. But the man had been wearing dark trousers that had been sadly worn and inexpertly patched in a few places. He also had ratty sweater in the most ridiculous color of maroon. There was a large capital H stitched into the front. By its wear, the sweater could be ancient. So not a client, but possible one of Sherlock's homeless network? A junkie from the den? With Sherlock, there was just no way of knowing who he would bring home.

"Sorry, I didn't realize we had company..." The man looked up in surprise, a bit of lo mein hanging out of his mouth, and John recognized his face at once.

"You!" John was scared now. What was a dangerous and notorious criminal doing at 221B? Luckily, the adrenaline had made everything slow down, and John could think clearly. He spotted the gun, his gun, lying innocently on an end table across the room. John barreled towards the gun, hoping that he reached it before Potter could pull out whatever weapon he had.

He had the gun in his hands now, and was pointing it at the man on the couch, who was apparently so bemused he had not moved an inch.

"Don't move Mr. Potter, or I will shoot!" It was really not John's fault that he had not recognized him. Potter's hair was long and windswept, falling past his shoulder, and he had a growth of beard. He also had a large pair of circular glasses accosting half his face. He was clean shaven and younger looking by far in his wanted poster.

"This is getting a bit old..." Potter muttered, and John wondered what the hell that meant. Harry put the carton of Chinese takeaway down on the coffee table and lazily raised his hands. He also leaned back into the couch, for all the world looking like he was bored. This did nothing for John's temper. He was about to start yelling at the man to get on the floor, when right next to him he heard the deep and calm voice of his best friend.

"Put the gun down John."

"But..."

"No, no, all of that's not true. I had my suspicions for awhile now, but I had the chance to confirm it. You can put the gun down. I assure you, he's nor more dangerous than Mrs. Hudson."

John had already lowered the gun, and looked once again at the man on the couch. Harry already picked up the carton, and was once again munching down on noodles, looking like he had not care in the world. The way he was going at it, one would think he hadn't eaten in days. 'Perhaps he hadn't.' John thought, as he took in Harry's gangly frame and rather thin face.

Sherlock had seated himself in his armchair, which left John his own chair. He plopped down unceremoniously, and looked at Sherlock. Right, he did say there was a lot to explain. Hopefully the presence of a wanted criminal was one of those things.

Sherlock however didn't seem to be in any rush. He was staring absentmindedly at a spot somewhere above John's head. His long fingers formed a steeple, the universal sign that he was thinking very hard about something. Finally he gave a sigh and began talking.

"Perhaps it would be easiest for you to show John before we tell him." Sherlock said, it seemed like to no one in particular. Harry had paused his ravage of the Chinese food to look up, a cross look on his face.

"Mr. Holmes, I don't intend to tell anyone..."

"Yes, the international statute of secrecy. But, as you eloquently put it last night, 'you could not be any more wanted.' So what's the harm in telling John?"

"There no harm, but you can't just tell random people about an age old secret. There's a reason we went into hiding you know..." Harry was becoming agitated. This was not an unusual reaction to Sherlock Holmes. Most of the times John could spot why, but right now, John had no idea what was going on.

"Tell me what? This is ridiculous, what age old secret. Does it have anything to do with the disappearing house?" John was rather indignant at being the only one out of the loop.

"Yes, it has everything to with the house. And Mr. Potter, you'll find that us muggles have changed since the Dark Ages. I'm sure no one would think to burn you at a stake nowadays. Especially not John."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Sherlock went on.

"And John isn't random people. He's my best friend and colleague. He will be assisting me on this case, and he will need to know in order for us to progress anywhere." John thought that was rather sweet, especially coming from Sherlock Holmes. He always thought of him as his best friend, but it was quite reassuring to have Sherlock also say this.

"I already said you couldn't help." Harry said with a dejected air. John thought that was rich. He was sitting in the client's seat, and telling them that they couldn't take on his case. Sherlock also looked on the brink of arguing. Instead, he changed his tactics.

"Fine, I won't help. But Dr. Watson suffered a terrible injustice last night. He witnessed a house that could disappear and reappear, and was a victim to the muggle repelling charm. I'm sure you would agree that you owe him an explanation?"

'Was that a guilt trip?' thought John. It seemed to be working, because Harry now was looking rather guiltily at Watson.

"I am sorry about that. You must be confused." Well, yes. John was rather confused. He decided that perhaps he ought to add his own two bits.

"I trust my friend, Mr. Potter. He seems to think you're not guilty, and then so do I. If this is the case, I think we will both endeavor to help you, whether you think we can or not. And I won't tell a soul about your 'age old secret,' I swear." John tried to sound kindly, putting on his best bedside manner. He was really curious to this secret now.

Harry looked nervously from Sherlock to John, and back again.

"Are you sure?" He asked, looking at Sherlock.

"Yes, of course."

"Well, what should I show him?" Harry asked, looking pointedly at Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes widened in excitement.

"You could do the birds, those were brilliant! Or maybe you could change the color of his jumper to something ridiculous, I'm thinking a poisonous shade of pink. Or wait, no, let's go with what you showed me first, levitation." John had the distinct feeling that he was missing something huge.

"Or no, wait! Do you think you could levitate this armchair, with me still in it?" Sherlock was looking at Harry with excitement. As if to prepare for the act of levitation, Sherlock jumped up on the chair and securely grabbed one of the arms.

'Right, so he's finally gone round the bend. Can't say I wasn't expecting it.' thought John. He looked at Harry to see how he was handling being requested to levitate someone. He saw Harry, with an indulgent look, taking out a wooden stick, and flicking it casually in Sherlock's direction.

Before John realized what was going on, Sherlock began rising, armchair included. John was gaping as his friend was somehow being lifted halfway up to the ceiling.

"Can you move me around the room?" Sherlock asked. John couldn't comprehend what was going on.

Harry screwed his features in concentration and Sherlock's armchair began to float towards the fireplace, then the kitchen, tracing a circle around John.

"Faster!" Sherlock shouted. Harry blew out a breath and gave another flick of his stick.

The arm chair did begin to go faster, round and round the room. Sherlock was whizzing by, and John could only sit there, completely floored.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash, and Sherlock and the flying armchair were in a heap next to one of the walls.

"Shit!" Harry sprang up from the couch and was running towards Sherlock.

"I'm sorry, I lost control of it, it's a rather heavy armchair. I'm really sorry! Are you okay?" Harry was pulling up Sherlock, who was laughing, and brushing away his apologies.

"Ah! So weight matters, how interesting... I wonder, it has nothing to do with your physiological qualities, it's not a matter of your muscle strength. But this is the first limitation that I have seen. What determines the amount you are able to lift?"

Sherlock was firing off, while Harry was flicking his wand towards the crash site. A shelf full of knick-knacks was reassembling itself, an oriental vase gluing itself together before John's eyes.

"Inanimate objects don't have a limitation, if you cast the feather light charm." Harry began, apparently satisfied with his clean up.

"You could technically levitate whole buildings, if you make them light first. The tricky part is getting it so that it spreads through the whole object. The bigger it is, the harder that becomes..."

"Oi! What was that?" John was trying as hard as he could to not sound angry. Both Harry and Sherlock jumped in surprise, being so engaged in their conversation, they might have momentarily forgotten John. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock beat him to it.

"Before the middle ages, there was a group of people that had special abilities, and they lived alongside our society. That is why before then, there were so many reports of 'magic' and 'witchcraft.' Most of the time these people were harmless, using their abilities to aide their non-magical neighbors. However, in the 12th century the inquisition came to Europe. I'm assuming they began to fear for their safety, so they went underground, and began to hide their society..." Sherlock began to lecture.

"Hang on, I haven't told you any of that. How did you know...?" Harry was looking at him, astounded.

"Ah, I was right! I deduced that part, I knew it had to be medieval! See John, no such thing as coincidences. Anyway, so when the witch-hunts began, all of the people from this society gathered and decided to keep their culture a secret from the rest of the world. This is why, to this day, very few people that are not magical are even aware of their existence." Sherlock finished his monologue and was looking at John with the 'figure the rest out, you can do it' look. John endeavored.

"So...then..Harry's a witch?" John asked lamely.

"A wizard, actually." Harry looked a bit offended. John tried to piece the rest together.

"So the house last night, that was magic?" Sherlock beamed at him.

"Correct! And so was your desire to run after Mary, thinking you had forgotten something important. Magical compulsion." John was trying to digest all of this. It certainly made sense. It was the only thing to make sense, in fact. How else could you hide a whole house?

He looked at Harry, in his ratty sweater and glasses. He certainly didn't look how John would imagine a wizard. No long white beard, pointed hat, or billowing robes. But, that stick that he brought out...that must have been his wand. Wizards and wands. And flying armchairs. It was a lot to take in, and John's head was spinning.

"Sherlock, those people we saw, coming out of the chief's office..." Some strings were making connections in John's head. Suddenly a lot more things were making sense from the previous three days.

"Precisely, John. That was how I knew that their society disconnected in the medieval ages. Two groups of costume enthusiasts converging on the two places where we were investigating is too much of a coincidence. Of course, I wasn't sure what it meant then..."

Harry was looking at them both with apprehension. He didn't look comfortable at the mention of other wizards.

"Costume enthusiasts?" He asked.

"Yes, believe it or not, you're likely not the first wizard that John and I have encountered. And the robes were a dead giveaway that something was suspicious..."

3 Days Prior

After investigating the Dursley house, Sherlock dragged John to a primary school: the only one in Little Whining. By Sherlock's reasoning, they would almost certainly have the nephew's records. Sherlock sent John to try to suss out information from teachers, lending him Lestrade's borrowed badge. John attempted to protest and tell Sherlock off for stealing another badge, but before he knew it, Sherlock had already gone somewhere.

The interviews didn't go well. The teachers all seemed to be too busy for him. Without a name to look for, they had nothing to go on. John tried and tried until a rather cross-looking matron told him to leave the property, badge or not, screeching:

"Education is in progress!"

Disappointed, John left. To his surprise, Sherlock was already waiting outside, a file hidden in his coat.

Walking away from the building, Sherlock began to quickly flip through it. He paused on one of the pages.

"John, why is this name familiar to me?" He reached over and let John look at the file. There, in black and white, under the name heading John read Potter, Harry.

"Sherlock! He's been on the bloody news for almost a decade! Er...I think terrorist involvement or something? Caused the death of a dozen innocent people in the late nineties. I would expect you to know more, since it's your job to these kind of crazies." Sherlock took the file back, looking at it with a grim expression. John continued.

"So I was right, it was probably him that did in his dear aunt and uncle, isn't it?" Sherlock looked up at this.

"It doesn't make any sense..." He grumbled.

"What doesn't?"

"Think, if he wanted his foster family murdered, you think he would have sent someone else? No, it would have been personal. It would have been revenge. The man that killed the Dursleys had not opened the door to either the guest bedroom or the cupboard. If that man was Harry Potter, he would have likely visited the locations where most of his childhood was lived.

"And the murders would probably have been more... graphic if this was anger fueled revenge. And the biggest flaw with that is why now? I'm assuming he's been on the run for a decade, why would it matter to him now that his family died? No John, Harry Potter might be involved, but he did not carry out this murder." Sherlock looked at the file again.

"I suppose the chief ought to know we found the nephew, though. Maybe he'll have a bit more insight into this Harry Potter. Otherwise, I might have to resort to unsavory measures to get the information I need."

An hour later they were standing in the Chief's office, and Sherlock was quickly becoming furious.

"What do you MEAN you don't remember?! It was only this morning, we talked, found two impossibly murdered bodies, there was a cupboard,..." Sherlock was leaning over the chief's desk and yelling at him. John didn't think this was a good idea, not at all. Especially now that he saw the chief calling over two burly police officers, who promptly escorted John and Sherlock off the premises.

Out on the curb, John noticed another group of people standing around near the police headquarters. The people themselves all looked ordinary enough, but they were wearing some odd robe-like suits, decidedly old fashioned. John dismissed them as people who did the whole 'dress up as historical figures and brandish plastic swords at each other' nutjobs. After all, if he stopped for every weirdly dressed person in England, he would never get anywhere.

Sherlock regarded them with a fleeting look of suspicion. Fixing his coat, he huffed (after being so disgracefully deposited on the pavement) and turned tail.

John followed after him.

"Do you think the chief was payed off to act like that, then?"

Sherlock considered this.

"Yes, that's possible. I wouldn't have thought him so fine an actor, though."

"Where are we going now?"

"It seems like I have to resort to unsavory measures after all. We're going back to London."

A few hours later, they were outside of lavish palace, where aged government dignitaries all took their tea together. This was also the primary workplace of Mycroft Holmes.

Before the duo would make it inside, both Sherlock and John noticed a group of oddly dressed people hurrying away on some business. Suspicious, indeed.

The three men were sitting around the little kitchen table, as Sherlock recounted seeing the strangely robed men. In his precise memory, he told Harry about the details of the robes, their color, stitching, etc.

"Those were aurors. They're like our special police force. Not surprising they would have linked the Dursleys to me, I suppose. The Dursleys have no other connections to our world, really." Harry explained.

"Right, so what possible motivation could someone have to murder them, since it was obviously a wizard who did it? Therein lies our first clue. If we find the Dursleys' killer, we find the people who wanted you framed in the first place. I'm positive that is the real reason behind the murder: making sure you stay wanted."

Sherlock looked rather smug. Harry, however, looked uncomfortable talking about the Dursleys. In fact, he looked rather grim.

"When did it happen, then? Their...er, murder?"

"Three days ago now." John answered. Harry's eyes widened. He looked at Sherlock with a mix of awe and amusement.

"You found me in three days?" He quietly asked.

"Two. I really don't know what your 'aurors' are doing on their job, but once I found the pattern of how you move it was quite obvious."

"Mr. Holmes, as astounding as that is, even if we find the people who did this to me, I don't think you will be able to help. Our ministry, well they don't take the opinions of er...non-magicals very seriously. Even if we find evidence of something that happened in 1999, I very much doubt anyone will listen."

Sherlock was about to argue. Deciding not to push the issue just now though, he opted change the subject.

"Speaking of your hidey-hole, I believe you must have some personal items still there...?"

"Yes, in fact I was planning on going back there soon." Harry pulled up the sleeve of his maroon sweater to look at an ancient golden watch.

"I won't be able to stay there, not anymore. Mr. Holmes, I might be out of touch with you after I leave. Before I find another house, I'll probably have to rough it, so I won't be in London."

Harry stood up, as though to make the point that he had to leave. However, his face now had a look of sad reluctance. Sherlock noticed, and knew that he could use the man's loneliness to his advantage. There was just no way that Sherlock Holmes would let a wizard walk out of his house. There was still so much to know...

And of course, Harry would probably have missed the company of fellow human beings. Sherlock had deduced that once Harry was probably a rather social person, who was fond of strong friendships. Sherlock knew that his own company was perhaps not the most sought after in the world, but it'll have to do. He'll do his best to be more...charismatic. And John could help of course. He was always being described as a 'friendly' person, whatever that meant.

A plan was formulating in his head. Despite Harry's reluctance to have them on his case, it was nonetheless a case, and Sherlock wanted it solved. It would be hopeless of him to continue, if he did not have 24/7 access to a wizard. Yes, he certainly needed Harry here. He'll capitalize on Potter's starvation for human contact, and hopefully that will be enough to hold him. Just in case, he made a mental note to invite John over as often as possible, to diffuse his own, sometimes unfriendly, attitude.

"Nonsense, 'roughing it' is out of the question. You'll stay here." Sherlock put it very simply.

John was just as surprised by Sherlock's insistence as Harry seemed to be.

"Sherlock are you sure? You're not exactly..." Sherlock narrowed his eyes at John. The message he was sending was rather clear. 'Shut up, John.'

"No, I couldn't possibly..." Harry began to back out, but Sherlock was faster.

"Is it not my fault that you are now without a hideout? I insist, you will stay here. I'm in desperate need of a flat mate anyway. And your aurors would never think to look for you in a muggle's home, why would they?" Sherlock now also stood up, to be more level with Potter. He could see Harry was already faltering. No doubt his paranoia at being found, and his desire for companionship were at war in his head. Sherlock could practically see it behind those green eyes.

"And you can call me Sherlock. After everything, I believe we're there, don't you?" Check and mate. He could see Harry's eyes give a strange glimmer at the thought of having friends again.

'Too easy.' Thought Sherlock, sitting back down with a satisfied smirk.

A bit later the two dark haired men were ironing out the 'flat-share deal', as John sat and watched them. He had never known Sherlock to be so affable. Even to the point of letting Harry bring about his cat (well not his cat, apparently it was just a stray that took a liking to him).

Harry left 221B, promising to return within the hour, after he dismantled whatever wizardry had been over that house on Archer Street. This gave John some time to privately ask his friend about what exactly was going on.

"Do you make a habit of asking people you just met to be flatmates?"

"John, he's a wizard! Do you know what this implies, about the scientific method, about the universe in general? There's so much interesting research I could be doing. There's no way I would just let him leave, not when there's so much to know." Sherlock still wore the same look of happy excitement. He seemed to be in one of the best moods that John had ever seen him.

John had his own suspicions about why Sherlock had been so adamant about Harry staying here. 'Well, that figures. It took someone who was literally magical.' John smirked a bit.

The two old friends chatted for a bit longer, before John had stood up, and told him he had to be home. He had a little girl to take care of, not that this hadn't been fun of course.

John left with a slight smile playing on his face. He could see the way that Sherlock had looked at their new wizard-acquaintance. He would bet a considerable amount of pounds that 'research' is not all this was about. Now, whether Sherlock realized that or not, was another question.

...

AN: Please leave me a comment. Let me know if you liked, didn't like it, or whatever you thought. It definitely helps the writing process :)