"Don't you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do! Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? All of them realize that, one day, amongst their many victims, there is sure to be one that rises against them and strikes back!"
―J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Halfblood Prince
...
Mrs. Hudson's Tale
...
As soon as Sherlock heard the door close behind his brother's back he burst into fits of laughter.
"Can't believe he didn't notice. He always goes on about how his powers of observation are so superior to mine. Definitely never letting him forget this." Sherlock looked over at Harry.
"Oh, don't look like a kicked puppy. Mycroft had it coming. Wish we could have done something more permanent. Next time, I really think pig ears would be perfect..."
"Sherlock, I can't just hex people left and right. I'd only just met your brother, and he seemed like a nice enough man. A bit on the posh side, but nothing that deserved magical retribution." Harry was chuckling along too, although with a much more subdued air than Sherlock.
"And you're the person that supposedly decimated a room full of people? Your police force must be nearly as idiotic as ours. I've a few theories on the subject, actually. I think there might be a chemical that is released when one receives a badge; perhaps it's in the metal. It's what makes higher thinking for our finest next to impossible."
Harry laughed at that, and Sherlock felt satisfied. Hopefully, next time he would be able to convince him to do something more entertaining than mess up Mycroft's color coordination. Not that that hadn't been entertaining in it's own right.
"In any case, your opinion of my dear brother might change when he decides to kidnap you."
"Does he regularly kidnap people?" Harry asked, a bit confused.
"No, just people close to me. I think the amount of times he did it to John is in the double digits. Usually, it's only because he wants to have a conversation and thinks the phone is just so plebeian."
"I'll keep that in mind, then." Harry said.
Sherlock stood up from the couch and crossed the room.
"All the introductions are almost out of the way now. Just one more. Mrs. Hudson has been growing unbearable. I guess she doesn't like being locked out of my flat. All that talk of her not being my housekeeper, and she can't help but stay out."
"That's the old lady downstairs?"
"Yes, the one. I'll invite her up now." Sherlock made to leave the room.
"Sherlock, wait! It's pretty amazing everyone so far seems to take you at your word. I suppose I understand your brother and your best mate, but isn't she your landlady? Will she believe you?"
Sherlock crossed the room back to where Harry was sitting and bent over him, looking straight into his eyes, their faces inches apart. Sherlock decided it was important to make this point very clear. The wizard was very skittish, and Sherlock noticed more than once the tell-tale sign of shifting and twitching which usually meant that someone was thinking of making a quick escape. He couldn't have the wizard escaping. The physical proximity and eye contact would impress the point that indeed, Sherlock was looking out for the wizard's best interests.
"Have I given you any reason not to trust me?" Sherlock could see the brief flash of panic that crossed Harry's eyes at being so close to someone.
"No, no you haven't..." Harry seemed to hesitate. "Yes, of course I trust you. Bring her up I guess. But if you get kicked out of your flat for letting a known terrorist room with you, don't go blaming me, yeah?"
Sherlock decided that was good enough, and straightened up. As he did he noticed Harry release a nervous breath.
"You're not the only known terrorist that has been here. In fact another one took his tea in that very chair. And she let him waltz right on upstairs. Of course, he wasn't innocent, by far..."
Leaving Harry with a perplexed expression, Sherlock loped off downstairs.
Mrs. Hudson was, as always, in the lower landing. She was watching some incredibly tedious program on the telly.
"Mrs. Hudson! Would you come up with me please?"
The aging matron jumped a little, and looked at him with an annoyed expression. Apparently, not being in the loop of Sherlock's business had irritated her.
"Sherlock, all this business with me not being allowed upstairs is over with. I don't know who's been taking care of you, god knows you can't take care of yourself, and all the bangs I keep hearing from up there... You haven't gone and blown another hole in the living room wall have you?"
Sherlock tuned her out as always. Obviously, everything would be clear once everything was explained to her. He led her up the stairs, and into his own flat. Harry was sitting there, still looking rather bemused.
Before Sherlock had a chance to begin his explanation however, Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.
"Oh good heavens! Sherlock, what's Harry Potter doing in our living room?" Sherlock noted with pride that Mrs. Hudson didn't have an edge of fear in her voice, just curious surprise.
"Yes, you might recognize him. Apparently, he's been the highlighting feature on more than one news reel, in the last decade. You should know, that he is innocent of the crimes attributed to him and..." As he was speaking, Sherlock was looking at, and analyzing Mrs. Hudson, and something was decidedly off. His brain kicked into high gear.
She knew who Harry Potter was, but, judging by her confused expression, seemed to be unaware of his presence on the telly. Sherlock knew she didn't like watching the news, and preferred pop culture drivel. This would explain why she had never seen news reports on apparent sightings of Harry Potter, the deranged murderer. This didn't explain how she knew of him, other wise.
Mrs. Hudson saw her mistake, and attempted to recover.
"Oh, yes, on the telly. Of course, that's where I know him from."
Sherlock literally winced at how bad a liar Mrs. Hudson was. He looked back at Harry, who was looking at the both of them with confusion. So he didn't know what was going on either.
"Mrs. Hudson, how do you know who Harry Potter is?"
Sherlock could see her hesitate.
"Oh, I've just remembered I've left something on the stove. And I've got to dash and get some more biscuits, we're nearly out. The shop on the corner is closing soon, I've really got to hurry..."
She made to bustle her way to the door, but Sherlock was faster, and blocked the way with his frame.
"Mrs. Hudson, how do you know about Harry Potter?" Sherlock repeated himself, (which he really did hate doing).
The landlady wrung her hands and looked from one man to the other. She gave a little sigh, and sat down in the empty armchair.
"Oh Sherlock dear, I'm really not supposed to tell anyone..."
Sherlock groaned.
"Mrs. Hudson, believe me, whatever it is you think I don't know, I probably do. That includes magic."
Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened.
"I hadn't realized...Obviously I don't go talking about it to anyone, my sister made it very clear no one's to know..."
"Your sister?"
"Yes, the one from Bath, I've told you about her." Sherlock made a gesture with his hand to keep talking. He vaguely remembered a sister. He would have payed more attention if he knew that the sister Mrs. Hudson always mentions was involved in this.
"Yes, well, my sister." Mrs. Hudson took a big breath, "She's a witch. None of the rest of my family knew anything about magic till Margaret got her first letter. It was all very exciting. That's how I know who Mr. Potter is."
Sherlock frowned. Mrs. Hudson seemed to think that this explained everything. And it did make a lot of things clear, but the whole picture was still missing. He would need more information.
"And...you've kept in touch with your sister?"
"Well of course I have! We're not like you and Mycroft, always harassing each other. We're very close. She stayed with me when the Troubles began in the seventies. That is, the magical world's troubles. Poor dear, her husband went missing around then. I rather liked Mr. Fenwick too, such a shame. He was a wizard too, you know. I've only met him a few times, but he was very kind. Maggie was never the same after that..."
Sherlock contained himself as Mrs. Hudson prattled. This is all useful information, he reminded himself.
"...And then in the nineties when the Troubles began again, that's when she told me about Mr. Potter. She had a job in the ministry by then, and she would always talk about you."
Mrs. Hudson smiled warmly at Harry. Harry shifted a bit, embarrassed by the attention.
"Oh she'd go on and on, about how this young man had more spine than the lot of barmpots she worked with. She would always show me articles from their newspaper (and Sherlock, the pictures move!), and tell me about this amazing young man, and all the adventures he had..."
Sherlock had jumped up and began pacing. Mrs. Hudson's story faded to background level. So, Harry was famous before his crime. This changed everything. Sherlock felt irritation at Potter, for not revealing this. Of course, a famous person would be much easier to frame. Sherlock knew, very intimately, how easily the crowd can be swayed.
"You didn't tell me you were a celebrity before you were set up." He shot Harry a glare. Harry, who had been silent, remained so. Sherlock tried for a deduction. He had to admit he was a bit out of his depth, though.
"You would have been in your teens in the nineties. Child prodigy?"
Harry chuckled.
"No, not exactly a prodigy." Damn. It was a good guess, though, Sherlock consoled himself.
"Oh heavens, Sherlock he's the Chosen One!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed.
"It's been a long time since anyone's called me that." Harry added, darkly.
Mrs. Hudson, untroubled, went on.
"My sister told me all about it when she came to stay with me during the second Troubles. Well, she said she was only visiting, but I reckon she was hiding. It was a nasty time, as I understand it. People turning up dead left and right, and poor Maggie in the middle of it all...
"She ended up staying with me for a whole year, while the war went on. She would always point to your picture and say, 'There, Martha. If we've got a chance, it's this young man there.' Even though by then the articles about Harry weren't very nice.
"Well, she was right wasn't she? Mr. Potter ended up winning the war. It all had to do with some evil wizard, but I never learned his name. No one would say it, which I thought was very strange..."
As Mrs. Hudson spoke, Sherlock digested everything to do with Harry. It seemed that the wizard he had found was far more interesting than he assumed. That was saying a lot, as Sherlock thought that magic was literally the most interesting thing he's ever encountered.
In his mind, Sherlock was making a specific and detailed list of questions for Harry. As impatient as he was, Sherlock realized that he would have to be more delicate with Potter. It was obvious that Harry was immensely uncomfortable at the mention of this magical war. He was fidgeting in his armchair, and his eyes darted about the room.
Usually Sherlock wouldn't care in the slightest if he hurt his feelings or some such rubbish. But with Harry it was different. Sherlock fully understood that the wizard could easily leave, and finding him again would be very annoying, not to mention time consuming.
Mrs. Hudson, who was oblivious to both Sherlock's calculations and Harry's discomfort, plowed on with her story.
"Well, whatever that man's name was, Mr. Potter was able to defeat him. The articles about Harry all became nice very quickly. Shows you how easily they can turn. Apparently he defeated that man-with-no-name right at the school where Maggie went for seven years.
"Hogwarts, wasn't it? Oh she loved it there! She said it was the best place in the world. She told me such amazing stories. You know she met her husband there. He was in the same house: Fluffy-puff, I think. They got married a few years after graduating..."
Sherlock snapped around, a scandalized look on his face.
"Please tell me there's not actually a school house called fluffy-puff..."
"No, no it's called Hufflepuff. It's named after the witch that founded it." Harry clarified, chuckling.
"I find that nearly just as ridiculous. So..." Sherlock squared off and stared at Harry. He was done with Mrs. Hudson for now. "So, you were involved, nay headlined, a magical war when you were a teenager."
Harry nodded to confirm this. Sherlock examined the man before him and noticed a new facet of his character coming through. He seemed...tired, much older than a few minutes ago. He had a slight frown on his face, disapproving the conversation and allowing it at the same time.
"And the man that Mrs. Hudson doesn't know by name?" Sherlock questioned further, too intrigued with the story now to stop himself.
"Tom Riddle, but most call him Voldemort. Megalomaniac who wanted to control the whole world, and refused to stay dead." Harry answered.
"Ugh, those are obnoxious. There's one named Moriarty, currently running around London. Or, so I suspect. He could be anywhere really."
"Yes, I remember hearing something about him quite recently."
Harry was staring into Sherlock's eyes as he said this, no longer smiling. He had a determined and calculating expression on his face. At first, Sherlock thought he might be trying to read his mind again. But, the odd glitter in Harry's eyes was missing, and Sherlock didn't feel the little push in his mind that signified legilimency.
Sherlock realized that Harry was measuring him, wondering if perhaps they weren't so different. In the back of Sherlock head, Mycroft's voice floated to the top of his mind.
He could hear his brother saying: 'You've found yourself a dragon-slayer.'
Except, that wasn't what Mycroft said earlier this afternoon, so why had Sherlock's brain produced that?
Sherlock returned Harry's stare, and considered the man. He supposed they were both dragon-slayers, in their own right. With everything Mrs. Hudson just told him, Harry's life seemed to be similar to Sherlock's. Except, Sherlock didn't take on a fully-grown Moriarty in his teens. And it had been Sherlock's choice to side with the angels, he wasn't 'chosen' to do so.
Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat. Sherlock realized he and Harry had been staring into each other's eyes for half a minute. Harry came to the same conclusion, and blushing a bit, turned back to Mrs. Hudson.
Breaking eye contact, Sherlock felt an odd lurch somewhere in his naval. It was an odd sensation, and one Sherlock definitely did not recognize. He decided it was probably something magical, and ignored it.
"As I was saying about Margaret, I asked her sometime after the war was over about that young man. She said that he'd gone dark, did some very evil things. And weren't you saying, Sherlock, that Harry was innocent? That's just lovely, I should phone up Maggie, she'll be happy to hear that he hadn't gone dark all along..."
Sherlock and Harry both cried: "No!"
Harry looked at Sherlock with evident fear. His expression read something like 'you better fix this now.'
"Mrs. Hudson, until I clear Mr. Potter's name, and he assures me it won't be easy, absolutely no-one is to know that he is staying here." Sherlock felt sure that the landlady would keep their secret. She smiled at him, her indulgent motherly smile.
"Oh Sherlock! I didn't know he'd be staying here! Well, isn't this lovely. And I thought it must be a terrible blow to you, with John getting married. I'm glad you've decided to move on, dear. And a wizard too! Very exotic."
Sherlock wondered why she always insisted that his roommates were his bed-mates. Mrs. Hudson knew him very well, and should know by now that this was definitely not Sherlock's area.
Mrs. Hudson was taken care of now. If he had any hope of doing work she will have to vacate the living room.
"Mrs. Hudson, what was it that you left on the stove? Don't you think you need to attend to that?" Sherlock tried his best to imply it gently.
"Oh, no, come to think of it, I haven't got anything on the stove. Are you two boys hungry? Sherlock never eats if he can help it. Horribly unhealthy if you ask me. My mother always said one really shouldn't skimp out on meals, if one can help it.
"And Harry, you look awful thin. Poor dear, you probably haven't had a good home cooked meal in ages. I'll whip something up for dinner just this once. Maybe as as a house warming celebration, and we could all sit down..." Sherlock inwardly groaned.
He tried getting up and walking toward the door, to indicate through body language his desire for Mrs. Hudson to leave. She remained sitting, and even worse, talking. Harry, however, was taking it all in stride. In fact, Sherlock observed that the wizard seemed to be quickly growing comfortable around the landlady.
"And Harry dear, do you usually keep your hair that long? I'm not sure it suits you. But you probably haven't been able to go to a barber's or anything..."
"No, no I haven't. And I don't have the courage to attempt to cut it myself. It doesn't really matter to me much."
"Oh that's no way to go about things. I'm a rather adept with a pair of scissors, maybe I could give it a go?"
"If you could, I'd appreciate it." Sherlock sighed. There was no hope of getting Mrs. Hudson back in her rooms now. Not when someone was engaging her. Nothing would work short of bodily forcing her out, and although Sherlock had no problem doing this to his brother (and on occasion John), he could never do that to dear Mrs. Hudson.
Just then he felt his cell buzz. Taking it out, he saw that he had 5 missed text from Lestrade, all of increasing urgency.
Case hopeless. I haven't got a clue why the head was found in the cellar. Any thoughts from you would be great.
I swear, if you're just at home playing Cluedo, while the city of London is terrified of decapitations, I will punch you.
That last text was a joke, I'm not going to punch you. No promises for Sally.
Just come. North of Camden Market. Do you want me to send you the address?
Sherlock, I need you on this case. Very important.
I would rather not beg. Is that what you want? Fine I'm begging. Come, please.
Sherlock had been hoping that Lestrade might figure this one out on his own, since it irked him that he would have to leave the wizard alone for a bit. But his Work was calling, and he always answered.
"Right, I'm heading out; will be back in a few hours." No point beating around the bush. Mrs. Hudson reacted to the news with an offhand wave. Harry on the other hand glanced up with a slightly worried expression. Sherlock had no idea what that meant, and decided not to pay attention to it. Occupied with Mrs. Hudson, he was sure that the wizard would be fine for a couple of hours.
…
"...The only logical solution, then, is that the head was brought down by the brother's wife. Mr. Emberly's murder eliminates him from the will, and framing his daughter, would obviously eliminate her. Thereby, all the money goes to the brother, and in effect, his wife." Sherlock pronounced proudly to Lestrade, who was looking at him with a skeptical expression.
"Well, alright, but why couldn't the brother have done it? Why did it have to be his wife?" He asked.
"Because, if you use your keen sense of insight, that you must have surely developed in the ten years you've served Scotland Yard, you would have seen that the brother deeply cares about his niece. He would have left everything to her given the chance. Also there's the fact that he's a complete pillock and couldn't possibly think up a murder this intricate."
Lestrade nodded his head, looking off in the distance. He was trying to digest all this information. It made sense, and he trusted Sherlock's abilities.
Sherlock seemingly finished, turned himself around, and looked over the crime scene once again. Greg always had the distinct impression that he might be expecting a round of applause when he finishes solving cases, and announces his conclusion to all the coppers gathered round.
If Greg was being honest sometimes he felt like giving him a standing ovation, but that might undermine his authority with his co-workers (specifically Sally). Anyway, he was sure that Sherlock probably heard clapping in his head all the time when he made his brilliant deductions.
"Well, if that's all, I'll be heading back..." Sherlock begin to wander off. Greg decided this was the best opportunity to approach him. He had a few questions for the consulting detective.
"Sherlock? Can I speak to you for a moment?" Sherlock turned around and narrowed his eyes. Lestrade really hated when he did that. He knew all of his secrets were a moment's notice from being disclosed to the general public or whoever happened to be standing near. He was hoping he'd be able to keep the subject matter not focused on himself this time.
"Listen I know it's none of my business, but you'd been rather...absent lately. I was just wondering if there's something going on? Any trouble? Anything I should know about?"
Sherlock looked at him impassively. Greg decided to elaborate.
"It's just that, if you're busy, I'm wondering what's keeping your attention. Especially with Moriarty being back and all. Just, give me a heads up if there is any trouble, yeah?" Sherlock considered him for a second.
"You're still feeling guilty about my 'suicide?' Touching.." Sherlock smirked at him. That wasn't what he was talking about, thought Lestrade indignantly.
"No, it's just...if there's any trouble, you can come to me. You should know that, that's all."
Sherlock seemed to hesitate, thinking something over.
"You've broken the law, for my sake, a few times." Sherlock stated ponderously.
Now Greg was lost. What did this have to do with anything? Before he had a chance to ask, Sherlock snapped out of his reverie.
"Right, I might stay busy for awhile, but if a truly interesting case pops up, you should know that I'll be bringing a new assistant next time. Just a heads up." With that Sherlock swished his coat, and walked away from the taped-off crime scene.
Lestrade blew out a breath. Although a part of him wanted to clarify exactly what laws he would be breaking in the near future, a bigger part decided that he really didn't want to know.
…
On his way back to Baker Street, Sherlock decided to take a stroll. He had to work out a few things about his wizard friend, now that his mind was no longer occupied with the Emberly murder. He'd made a few too many deductions that were wrong. And although he tried to assuage his ego by telling himself that the subject of magic was completely foreign, his pride was still wounded.
That and he had a burning desire to impress Harry. The wizard had been able to floor him, after all. Sherlock thought he should return the favor.
Barely noticing where he wandered, as his feet found the familiar paths of London's street, Sherlock set his brain to figuring out what Potter wasn't telling him. Or rather, what he has yet to tell him.
By the time Sherlock turned onto his familiar corner of Baker St, he felt he had a few deductions that would be spot on. Letting himself in, he found both Harry and Mrs. Hudson working in the kitchen.
In his absence, Mrs. Hudson somehow convinced the rogue sorcerer to not only have a shave, but chop off his long hair as well. His new friend looked decidedly better, and much less like one of his contacts in the homeless network.
He considered Harry, now that he was at least halfway presentable. Sherlock supposed, in a very objective way, that the wizard was a handsome man. He was thin, but Sherlock thought it rather suited him. His face was angular, sharp, but altogether pleasant.
Harry's worn and patched clothes, though a gold mine of information, would also have to go.
Sherlock made a point to remember them all in intricate detail. He was confident in his memory, and thought they were no longer necessary. He mentally made the decision to let Harry borrow his own clothes. They were nearly the same size.
Sherlock quietly sat down at the table. Mrs. Hudson seemed good on her promise for dinner, and soon they were all eating. Sherlock mainly kept his silence, and observed Harry as he interacted with Mrs. Hudson.
She prattled on about things Sherlock couldn't care less about, and the wizard, in a show of good nature, followed her along. He nodded and asked the appropriate questions. All in all, they seemed to be getting along splendidly.
Sherlock thought this was definitely to his advantage. He knew that his caustic personality was liable to upset the wizard at some point. It would be beneficial if Harry also became attached to the landlady. More chance of him staying at Baker Street. More time to study this incredible phenomena of magic.
After dinner, Mrs. Hudson told them that her favorite shows were coming on the telly, and that she'd be downstairs, and if Harry-dear needed anything he ought to call her up. They both assured her that everything would be fine, and thanked her for dinner.
After she was gone, Harry served them tea, and they sat together for a few moments, in companionable silence.
"So then, how was it that you escaped prison?" Sherlock thought he would be sly and slip this clever deduction in, with no preamble. He thought it would certainly be more dramatic that way.
Across the table, Harry's color drained from his face. This was not the reaction Sherlock had expected. He saw Harry's eyes narrow, his shoulders hunch a millimeter, and his hand dart into his pocket. All of the reactions were obvious: he was deciding on fight or flight. However, what was not obvious was why this bit of information caused such a response in Harry.
Sherlock's first thought was that perhaps his deduction was slightly off, and he decided to attempt to correct it.
"Or whatever the wizarding equivalent is. They wouldn't put you in a normal prison, I would think." Across from him, Harry was sitting very still, a slight frown frozen on his face.
"How could you possibly know that?" The wizard asked hoarsely. Sherlock stared at him. Something wasn't computing. Harry was perfectly impressed with Sherlock's deductions before this. They've all been rather simple ones, to date. Why was this longer leap in logic putting him on edge? He decided to clear it up.
"I deduced..."
"You couldn't have deduced that."
"Well I did...
"I doubt that very much." Harry narrowed his eyes. Sherlock noticed his right hand twitch, as though gripping a gun. It would be his wand, Sherlock reminded himself. He had to admit, this was quickly spiraling out into dangerous territory.
Sherlock still had no idea what was making the wizard this distressed. Frankly, it looked like Harry was a few seconds away from showing the darker and more aggressive side of magic to Sherlock. Sherlock considered letting him, out of curiosity, but decided that he was not the appropriate target for curses.
He was on the verge of apologizing when Harry whipped out his wand, and pointed it straight at Sherlock's head.
"You couldn't possible know that...unless you talked to other wizards..." Harry's voice was low and oddly hollow.
Sherlock could have laughed, as relief washed over him, now that he understood. In fact he did let out a chuckle, which didn't help the situation.
Quick as a shadow the wizard leaped out of his chair, and brandished his wand to the living room ceiling. Sherlock thought he heard him mumble 'Magus Revelio.' Sherlock could have punched himself. Well not really, but it was now very clear what had upset the wizard.
Harry had assumed that the only way Sherlock could have come to that information was if he had sold him to the magical authorities, whoever they were. No doubt, the fugitive now thought that the wizard cops must be closing in on him, and he was going to be dragged back to prison. The quick leap in Harry's logic, though faulty, had impressed Sherlock.
"There's no one coming, if that's what you're searching for. You can read my mind if you like..." Sherlock tried for his best calming voice. Harry seemed to agree with his suggestion. Wand still out, the wizard locked his green eyes with Sherlock's.
Sherlock expected the gentle push that accompanied his friend's ability to read minds. However, this time there was nothing gentle, as image after image seemed to be ripped from Sherlock's mind. It was highly unpleasant, and he felt a thrumming pain forming behind his eyeballs.
After the barrage stopped, the wizard still seemed unsatisfied.
"Memories can be faked, altered..."
"Although that's very interesting, and I would love to question you about the implications of that later, let's focus on the matter on hand, shall we?" Sherlock noticed, with chagrin, that his voice sounded rather shaky.
"I can explain to you, how I came to that conclusion. If you can follow, that is?"
Harry made no move to sit down, and Sherlock decided that he might as well start explaining.
"It was Mrs. Hudson's story. If you read between the lines, most of the information is there." The wizard made no move of encouragement, but also none of protest. Sherlock took a big breath and began explaining.
"Her sister was an adoring fan of yours. I'm assuming since you were the young hero that defeated the evil wizard, you had more than one of those. Nonetheless, her sister, who had sided with you during the war (probably to some personal danger), had been convinced that you had 'turned dark.'
"Now what would convince and adoring fan of something like that? If it was, as I assumed before, a crime in which you were assumed the culprit but never captured, Mrs. Hudson's sister would probably maintain that you were innocent. However, she did not. I.e. you were taken in, and put on trial, after the crime was committed. This is not altogether surprising, since you probably had no idea it happened, and would have been taken unawares.
"They must have done a very good job of framing you. I'm assuming there were witnesses that saw you there at the scene. You'll have to flesh out the other details for me later on, if you want me properly on the case, but let's move on.
"Obviously, at the trial, they found you guilty, despite your status as, what was it? Oh, the chosen one. It must have been a combination of a mountain of evidence, as well as poorly mounted defense on your part.
"Not that I blame you, you would have been hardly twenty at the time. So you would have had to stand a fair trial and found guilty, since Mrs. Hudson's sister no longer stands by your innocence. If you were guilty, they would have put you in prison. You're here now, so you must have escaped. Altogether, not a very difficult deduction."
Harry was staring. Sherlock couldn't quite identify the expression on his face. It wasn't floored, precisely. He did notice, thankfully, that he had lowered his wand at last.
"If it helps, I also deduced that your jumper was given to you by a mother of seven children, whose family unofficially adopted you. Oh, and that your favorite dessert is treacle tart." Sherlock finished in what he had hoped was an offhand manner.
Harry ambled back towards the table, and plopped down.
"You got all that from Mrs. Hudson's story?" Harry asked. Sherlock noted that now, at last, he looked properly surprised. He nodded.
"Blimey, I thought you were smart, but that...that's proper genius."
"It wasn't a hard leap, considering all the facts..."
"No. No, that was brilliant. It was incredible. Do you think like that all the time?" Harry was still staring at him with a bemused expression.
"Yes, it's what I do. So was I right? About everything? I usually miss one or two points."
"No, that was...that was everything. I mean, it's astounding, better than legilimency really. Loads better." Sherlock practically glowed with pride. This was the initial reaction he had hoped for. He was glad they were finally here, considering the very long way they had taken.
Harry took a deep breath.
"Right then, I owe you a huge apology..."
"Absolutely unnecessary."
"No, I acted like a git. You're probably the only person in Britain that doesn't think I'm a dangerous nutter, and here I go acting like one."
"Well, I'm hardly an advocate for sanity. You've seen my icebox..." Harry let out an uneasy chuckle.
"Sherlock, still, I'm sorry. Very, very sorry. I guess all that running has made me a tad paranoid."
Sherlock considered the man across from him. Guilt was very easy to take advantage of.
"Well, there is something you could do, if you wanted to make up for it..."
Harry looked up.
"How do you feel about crime scenes? I need a new assistant."
…
AN: Please review, kind, dear readers :)
