"...there's a bluebird in my heart that

wants to get out

but I'm too clever, I only let him out

at night sometimes

when everybody's asleep.

I say, I know that you're there,

so don't be

sad.

then I put him back,

but he's singing a little

in there, I haven't quite let him

die…"

―Charles Bukowski, Bluebird

Stay

They made a stop on Fair Isle. The sun had just slid under the wet horizon, and the weather was turning cold. A bitter wind blew off the Northern Sea.

There were four aurors with Snape. They had him bound with cursed chains, which emitted a very quiet moan when shaken.

A seagull was heard crying high overhead.

"This'll be it," one of the aurors said. Snape did not know any of their names. There were two women and two men. They had used a portkey to get as far as the Scottish coast. Then, they made a very uncomfortable journey to the Isle using brooms. Snape, with heavy chains dragging from his hands and feet, was strapped into an enchanted broom, and one of the male aurors sat behind him. The other three circled them, as they flew over the grey, turgid waters.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief when they finally reached land. It was an uncomfortable journey, to say the least.

"Don't know why they don't bother connecting this bloody place to the Floo." One of the men grumbled, echoing Snape's sentiments. "Would make bringin' 'em up a lot easier."

"No wizards live here," one of the witches explained.

"For good reason," the other witch added, looking around with distaste.

The lead auror clambered onto one of the rough boulders that littered the coast.

"I think I can see it coming." He said. "There, in the distance," he pointed.

Snape looked towards the north. He could not see anything in the gathering darkness.

One of the auror witches was casting muggle repelling charms, and the other one was busy starting a fire.

"It'll be hours before it gets here. Might as well get cozy." She said. The other aurors agreed, and they all sat around the crackling blue flames.

One of the aurors pulled out a leather flask, and started passing it around.

"Really!" The lead auror exclaimed.

"Relax, Holdorf, it's just for a bit of warmth. Hot chocolate with a teensy splash of fire rum. Try it, and see if you want us to put it away still." The wiry, olive skinned auror held the leather flask out to Holdorf. He sniffed it cautiously, and drank.

"It's good."

"Aurelia made it special."

The aurors all passed it around, the two witches complimenting Aurelia's brewing abilities. Snape fought the urge to scoff. As though making hot chocolate could be compared to potions.

When the flask had made the round twice, the witch sitting next to Snape eyed him for a moment.

"You cold?" She asked him.

"Yes." Snape replied.

The witch cackled. She had greying hair, and by her face, Snape could tell she had seen a few nasty duels in her career.

"Here, drink this." She said, and thrust the flask into Snape's bound hands. It was awkward to grab it, but Snape managed, and drank from the flask. The spiced chocolate was, after all, very good.

They had been sitting on the coast for at least two hours when Holdorf spotted a ghostly light, gliding over the black water, almost at the shoreline.

They extinguished the fire. Holdorf and the greying witch ushered Snape to the waterline. He saw it then, a small rowboat, with a lantern affixed to one end. There was nobody in it.

"Get in now," Holdorf commanded Snape. He did as he was told.

When he sat down, more chains snaked from beneath the wooden floor of the boat, and bound him. Really, a bit excessive, he thought to himself. Holdorf and the greying witch got into the boat with him. The other two aurors stayed back on the coast.

"See you back at the ministry," one of them called, as the little boat started moving.

It was going agonizingly slow at first, but then the two aurors on the boat exchanged a look, and both nodded.

The greying witch took out her wand, and leaned over the side of the boat. She whispered something, and the boat began to move quite fast, flying over the waves with ease.

Holdorf sat back and watched Snape.

They passed some time in silence, with only the wind howling around them.

After another hour of traveling in the boat, Snape thought they must be getting close. The temperature dropped, and he felt the cold grip of the dementors in his heart.

Holdorf shivered, and the old witch scowled. She took her wand out of the water, and the boat slowed down.

One second, all Snape could see was black waves and stars, but then, right in front of them, Azkaban appeared out of the darkness. It was a tall fortress, made entirely of stone, and it occupied the majority of a rocky, barren island. The name of the island, Snape knew, was lost to history.

A dementor swooped down, over their boat. Snape felt nausea, and the cold; always the cold…

Haldorf held up his wand. He drew it in the air, and silver letters floated out.

SNAPE, SEVERUS, T.

The dementors passed its rotten hand through the silvery letters, which then dissipated.

It flew back to the fortress. Snape was trying his very best to keep his occlumency shields in place. As long as he kept his mind secured, he would not experience the torrent of terrible memories that he knew would devour him.

He slowed his breathing. Remain calm, he commanded himself.

Their boat hit the rocky shore of Azkaban island. Haldorf and the witch each placed a hand on Snape's upper arms.

"Time to go," the witch said, grimly.

They left the boat.

...

Hermione came in all business. She was led up the stairs of 221b, and upon reaching the living room, immediately started pulling parchment out of her leather attaché case.

"I dearly hope you were right detective," she was saying as Sherlock began helping, organized the papers into piles, "that who we're looking for is a ministry employee."

Sherlock was about to answer, but Harry beat him to it.

"Of course he's right, have you met him?" He said. Sherlock fought down a grin.

Scanning the parchment headings Sherlock realized that Hermione had brought him the names, occupations of all ministry employees in the years 1999 and 2014. The dates of the two crimes. There were some scant, but relevant biographical details affixed to each employee. Date of birth, past convictions, previous jobs...

"You have certainly done your homework," he told her. He could also understand now her feelings of unease when he confronted her in her flat. Hermione must have broken dozens of privacy laws to get her hands on this information.

"Yes, well, I thought it was necessary to be thorough. Now, it is very important that these are held in security. I'm sure you understand I could lose my job, and worse, if this was found by anyone from the ministry. But, there's something else..." She said, then tentatively reached her hand into her case for one last piece. Pulling it out, Sherlock realized it was a newspaper. Except, it must have been magical, since all of the pictures were very busy moving around. Even the text of the advertisements snaked around on the large, front page, between the main articles. The curling script at the top of the paper said 'Daily Prophet.'

"This is the evening edition," Hermione started saying, "I didn't have a chance to tell you last night, but it's out in the open now, anyway-"

Before she had the chance to explain, Harry took the paper from her hands. He scanned the first page, with a look of growing dismay.

"Oh no-" he said, as his eyes jumped around on the page. Sherlock arched over the wizards shoulder to read it as well.

There were two large photographs, side by side. One showed a thin, malevolent-looking youth, with a thin face, long greasy hair, and a scraggly growth of hair on his chin. He glowered at the camera, as though trying to intimidate the photographer. The second picture was of the same man, now completely grey, and very tired looking. He slowly blinked at the camera, in resignation.

Death Eater Caught after 16 Years

Severus Tobias Snape, a well-known supporter of You-Know-Who, and confirmed death eater during the First and Second Wizarding War of Great Britain, was captured by a small detachment of ministry Aurors. The details of his capture remain unreleased. The auror's office was unavailable for any further comments after Head Auror Estimius Toadle issued his statement.

"We caught Snape," the aging, and, some say, no longer effective Head Auror, spoke at a press conference this afternoon, "and we have reason to assume his capture, and the information he might provide, will lead us to the remaining You-Know-Who era criminals."

Snape, 54, was rumored to be You-Know-Who's right hand man, which is supported by the fact that the hostile occupation of Hogwarts happened during his term as headmaster. He is, by many witness accounts, also responsible for the murder of former headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

A trial scheduled for August 13th, 2014 will address these, as well as many other allegations against the death eater…

The article continued with many wizarding officials, politicians, and journalists giving their view on the capture of Snape. The actual information from the auror's office was scant, so the wizard journalists filled the rest of the article with unbased opinions.

The moving photograph of the older Snape pursed his lips, and rolled his eyes with an insolence and contempt that Sherlock mildly admired.

"Didn't you say he was innocent?" Sherlock asked Harry, who was clutching the paper, and staring at the photograph with a frown.

"Yes," Harry answered, "and no one knows…"

"Well, we do, now, obviously." Hermione said briskly. She scanned Potter with a critical eye. "Harry-"

"Hmm?"

"You're not going to go on a harebrained mission to rescue Snape, are you? What with you being on top of the wanted lists again, it would be an extremely foolish thing to attempt," she asked, suspicion heavy in her voice.

Sherlock looked at Harry, who grimaced but did not reply. Now, usually Sherlock was not strictly against crackpot, dangerous missions, but where his wizard was concerned...

"Yes, that would be foolish, especially since, like you've informed me, any dementor to catch you would swiftly administer the kiss; which is, as I understand, completely irreversible." Sherlock put in his two cents, while carefully observing Harry.

Harry looked helplessly at Hermione and Sherlock in turn.

"You don't understand, I have to! I was supposed to clear his name after the war, it's my fault that he's-"

"It's certainly not!" Hermione stated. Sherlock detected the hint of rising panic in the witch's voice. He sensed that the two have had a similar argument, probably years ago. Sherlock wondered who had won then.

"It is, Hermione, it is. I can't let him rot in Azkaban just because I wasn't strong enough to pull myself together and tell everyone that Snape was our spy all along. And anyway, I've already broken out of Azkaban once. What's one more go?"

"What's one more go?! What's…" Hermione was quickly reaching critical levels. Sherlock thought a row wouldn't help anyone. He decided to defuse the situation.

"Why don't we just agree not to do anything rash? Hermione and I aren't your average dullards. Between the two of us, perhaps we could plan an escape for Snape that puts no one in danger? If you were somehow caught assisting Snape, it might mean a kiss for both of you." Sherlock said, and watched the wizard's resolve deflate.

"Alright, alright, maybe…" Harry agreed after a long pause.

Sherlock wanted to breath a sigh of relief, but controlled himself. Cool, and in control, he chanted to himself. The witch looked visibly calmed at Harry's compromise.

"His trail isn't for more than a month," she said, trying, no doubt, to comfort Potter, "we have plenty of time to get something together." Wrong move, Sherlock thought.

"I couldn't leave him there for a month…" Harry started up again, and Sherlock quickly jumped back into the conversation.

"We'll work quickly. Harry," he said, intentionally changing the subject, "how did you escape Azkaban?"

"Ah, I think I know the answer to this!" Hermione said with her relief giving way to excitement, as though knowing answers was her favorite activity. "What form does your animagus take?" She challenged the wizard.

Harry smiled at the witch.

"How did you figure it out?" he asked her.

"Ron and I found some of your books at Grimmauld Place." She answered.

Sherlock did not know what an animagus was, or where grim-old place was, only that it did not sound pleasant.

"And an animagus is…?" Sherlock asked.

In answer, Harry scrunched up his face in concentration. In a blink, he was gone.

Did he disapparate? Sherlock thought, but ruled it out, since there was no accompanying crack. Just then, a large grey and black bird flapped up onto Sherlock's coffee table. Corvus cornix, Sherlock thought. It was more than two full feet in length, a bit larger than the average specimen, and it had the distinct grey and black coloration of a hooded crow. Sherlock noted that it came from where Harry was standing. Could it be...

"That was very quick!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Krawr!" The crow squaked.

It flapped next to Sherlock, and this time, Sherlock could see him transform. He was amazed as the bird grew in height, and the feathers shrank back into skin. In seconds, the wizard was standing in front of him. He was still wearing Sherlock's burgundy shirt, which now had a smattering of grey feathers on the torso and sleeves. Sherlock thought that there might be a few black feathers hiding in Harry's hair.

Sherlock, mesmerized, gently touched one of the light grey feathers on Harry's upper arm. It was definitely the right texture. A genuine feather. Harry, noticing it, did a little shake, and the feathers disappeared entirely.

"Brilliant." Was all Sherlock said.

"Well, it got me out of Azkaban." Harry added. "Dementors don't sense animals as well as people. After I got the hang of it, I just flew away. Thank Merlin they had windows there."

Sherlock was reeling. What other powers had Potter not mentioned to him? He had thought that the two of them had a certain level of trust.

"Can you hold the form indefinitely?" Sherlock asked, trying to force his tone to sound casual, maybe curious at most.

"Yeah, as long as I need." Harry replied uneasily.

"You could have hidden like that for years. No one would be able to find you. What's one more bird?" Sherlock said.

"I uh, I didn't much fancy living the crow life for too long. Kept wanting to migrate, for one." Harry answered. "That and it reminded me too much of Pettigrew."

Hermione must have know who this was; she formed an 'o' with her lips.

Sherlock was struck by an odd thought: if the wizard did leave Baker Street, and decided to hide in his bird form (even if Harry found it uncomfortable, the possibility existed), Sherlock would likely never be able to find him again. Even with all of his prowess, searching for one bird among thousands would be an absolute impossibility. He then came to a conclusion, despite not trying to reach one. Harry leaving would be an intolerable turn of events.

Hermione, untroubled by such thoughts, posed another question.

"Harry, how did you learn animagia?" She asked timidly. "Only that, I didn't think you were much for learning anything right after the Battle of Hogwarts…"

"No, well I wasn't. It's complicated." Harry answered.

Both Sherlock and Hermione kept a silent and patient front, and eventually it made the wizard start talking again.

"Alright, it's, well, what you have to understand is…" Harry took a breath, "this is going to sound mad."

More silence, as no doubt Granger and Sherlock both thought that neither had any problems delving into 'mad' territory.

"So, I told you, last time, that I was, sort of, disconnected from this world?" Harry said. Sherlock remembered. Harry had told them both that his soul nearly broke loose, but was only tethered to life because of something called a horcrux. Really, 'disconnected,' was putting it lightly, but Sherlock allowed the wizard to keep talking.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement. She remembered, too.

"So, right after the Battle, I uh, became disconnected again-"

"How did it happen? The second time?" Sherlock asked. Last time, Harry refused to answer this particular question. Sherlock was hoping for better luck this time.

"I saw something…" Harry closed his eyes, as though revisiting the occurance, "I saw something that was really terrible. And, I uh, I had done it."

Guilt; of course it was guilt. First time, at the hands of the Lestranges, but the second time, Harry did it all to himself. Sherlock almost asked what it was that Harry saw, but restrained himself. It was like trying to get answers from a skittish and scared cat. Easy does it, he thought to himself.

"So, being disconnected, I could see some parts of the world beyond. Er, I guess the best way I could explain is that I had help from that world. With the animagus thing, I mean."

"You were conscious, during this time? When you were, as you say, disconnected?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes. Sometimes; not all the way. I wouldn't always be conscious of my body, if that's what you mean."

That was possibly the most vague answer that he'd ever received, but Sherlock would have to work with it. He sat heavily in his armchair, and Hermione and Harry followed, each taking a seat on the couch. Hermione was shooting worried glances at Harry, and the wizard was busy staring off into space.

"Harry I'm not sure I understand." Hermione finally spoke, "Who did you have help from? Animagia is a very complicated form of magic. And it takes years to learn."

"Right, yeah, but it's not as hard if you have two teachers who were really excellent. Though, it did take me awhile, anyway." Harry replied.

"But you didn't see anyone, after the Battle of Hogwarts, I thought. Kreacher told us you weren't seeing anyone…" Hermione started saying. She was letting her preconceived notions of the world cloud her understanding, Sherlock thought.

He, too, would have thought the world of the living and the dead were two distinct and separate planes, but after interacting with the ghost of Liz, and Harry's account of his 'illness,' he was not so sure. He suddenly had an image of a street, concrete and real, with asphalt, curbs, a streetlamp, and then, a gossamer blanket of snow covering the street, coating every surface gently; two worlds superimposed on one another, with us in the middle, being none the wiser. Perhaps the dead could see the fuller picture.

A bit poetic, but the simplistic metaphor will do, he thought to himself.

"You have some dead acquaintances who were excellent animagi?" He asked Harry. Harry nodded, with a slight twitch of his lips, which meant he was proud of Sherlock for making the connection. It took Hermione a few seconds, and she gasped softly. No doubt she knew the identity of these late wizards.

"Told you it was mad," Harry said sideways, to Hermione.

"Yes, well, regardless of that, it got you out of Azkaban." She recovered. Evidently, the conversation had unnerved Hermione. She decided to change the subject, and Sherlock let her. He didn't think Harry was going to offer them any more secrets for now.

"I was going to tell you two yesterday: I had a chat with Ron's partner, Auror Shemkins. They've had Snape for some time now…" She began her story of slipping something called veritaserum into an auror's meal, and questioning him on Snape's capture.

As she told her tale, Sherlock jumped up and started pacing. Clever witch, he thought. This will bring them closer to the truth, he could feel it.

"They're blaming Ron's poisoning on Snape?" Harry asked incredulously, "But he's in a cell! How could he have brewed a potion and slipped it to Ron in there?"

"I'm sure it wasn't Snape. But I can see why the aurors might suspect it. If Ron was visiting him every day, and didn't tell anyone what he discussed, Snape, or someone working for him, would be a likely suspect-" Hermione said.

"I wonder what Ron and Snape had to talk about-" Harry said.

"Isn't it obvious?" Sherlock interrupted. Looking at Hermione's and Harry's blank expression, it must have not been obvious at all, "They were talking about you."

Hermione gasped.

"The imposter! At the ministry ball, in '99. He told Ron to catch Snape, called him a snake, I think." She said.

Sherlock nodded. "Right, because Harry is the only one who knows about Snape's true allegiance. The imposter said this, believing that Harry dislikes Snape, on account of him being a death eater I suppose-"

"It was public knowledge that Harry and Snape hated each other." Hermione added.

"And if Ron told Snape what the imposter said, Snape would have figured it out." Harry concluded.

"Think further," Sherlock said, "we can narrow our suspects by a very wide margin."

Again, blank faces.

"They kept Snape's capture hushed. Only a few wizards would have known that Weasley was visiting him." Sherlock said.

"Right," Hermione replied.

"Weasley figures it out, privately reopens Harry's case, and gets poisoned." Sherlock stated, waiting for the other two to reach the same conclusion.

"You think that whoever poisoned Ron did so because he started looking into Harry's case again?" Hermione asked, the doubt heavy on her words.

"Yes! Of course."

"I don't know, it's a bit of a stretch." The witch countered. "Though certainly a possibility." She said. "Ron did have a lot of enemies, being an auror. It could have been unfortunate timing."

"Who knew about Snape's capture?" Harry asked her.

"Shemkins said it was only him, Ron, the Auror Department head, and the Department of Mysteries head; but I doubt that's all. Most likely, Grunspell, head of the DMLE; naturally, the minister would know. There's going to be others, too. The ministry always has leaks." Hermione replied.

"That's what we need next." Sherlock said. "Now that it's public knowledge that Snape is caught, those that knew ahead of time will need to be identified."

Hermione nodded.

"On the whole, that was very valuable information," Sherlock said to the witch. She smiled. "We'll also need auror Weasley's report." He added.

"They couldn't find it. Not even his partner. He might have been waiting to write one up. Ron always tended to procrastinate." Hermione said.

"There might not be a report," Sherlock conceded, "but if there is, he would have left it for you. Think, is there any place he might have hidden something, meant only for your eyes?"

Hermione sat in silence for a moment.

"No, I can't think of anything. But I'll keep my eyes out. Maybe do some snooping around his workplace."

Sherlock nodded.

"Be careful. Cover your tracks. If our culprit finds out that you're looking for him, you'll be next on the To Poison list." He warned her. She nodded solemnly.

Harry on the other hand, looked very worried.

"Hermione, you're putting yourself in serious danger with all this-" He began.

"Harry Potter, you stuff it. Serious danger? Who was it that was ready to fly off to Azkaban to rescue an inmate, oh, twenty minutes ago?" She said, folding her arms across her chest in a very stubborn manner.

"That's different, I have a debt to Snape, but…"

"And I don't have one to you? Why is that only you are allowed to risk yourself for others? Hmm?" She said, raising her eyebrows at the wizard.

"I don't have much to lose, but you-"

Hermione unwound herself, and put her hands firmly on the wizard's shoulders.

"Harry, listen to me. You're not alone. You never were. I know the risks. I choose to take them. Do you understand?" She said very seriously, looking into his eyes. Sherlock held himself completely still.

"I, er, yeah, okay, but still, I don't want you to do this on my behalf."

"Let me help. Please, it's the least I can do. We were supposed to help you find the horcruxes, but we failed you then. I'm not going to fail you again." The witch said.

"Hermione, it's-" Harry took a steadying breath, "Everyone that helps me dies." He said, his voice unbearably sad. Sherlock did not miss the quick, worried glance Harry shot his way. Sherlock had to remind himself to keep sitting firmly in his chair. "If you had been with me, you and Ron wouldn't have made it. I swear, you did the right thing when you left. And now, you're putting yourself in the path of this person, who's quite clearly capable of murder-"

"People died because there was a war. Voldemort killed them; or his followers. It wasn't your fault." Hermione was saying, her tone soft now.

"But if I had-"

"No. It wasn't your fault." She repeated. "It never was. They died because a man named Tom Riddle wanted to carve the world into his image. Because he was deranged, and horrible. It had nothing to do with you. And they knew the risks. They chose to fight."

Harry nodded, silent this time.

Hermione relaxed as well. Then, she gently placed her arms around the wizard, and embraced him.

Sherlock let out a breath. He was deeply concerned that his wizard apparently had an enormous issue dealing with guilt. He had no idea how to help him, or even if it was his place do so. Hermione seemed to have a good handle on it for now.

Though Sherlock felt silly about it, now that the two on his couch disentangled, the wizard and the witch having a moment had momentarily terrified him. If this were one of Mrs. Hudson's soaps, the two would currently be snogging on his couch. Good thing it wasn't, he thought to himself.

In order to help them both recover, Sherlock decided to move the conversation along.

"Do you possess a book with the recipe for this veritaserum?" He asked Hermione.

"Er, sorry?" She asked.

"The recipe for the potion you used on Auror Shemkins. Do you have it?" Sherlock repeated.

"Yes, I have a number of potions books which will have the instructions, but it's very tricky and the ingredients are rare…"

"I would appreciate it if you could bring that by." Sherlock told her.

"Well, yes, I suppose I can, next time I visit." Hermione agreed.

Sherlock had nothing else to discuss with the witch. However, he did need to speak with Harry. Privately. Though what he would say to him, Sherlock still did not know.

Sherlock's fears from earlier came back full force. Harry could not leave him. He would have to use all of his tricks and charms, anything at all, to prevent it.

Hermione and Harry resumed chatting, with Sherlock barely paying attention to them. The subject had changed to something far less serious: they were discussing the witch's personal life. As far as Sherlock could see, there was nothing of interest there for him.

"...so when did you and Krum get together? You were married to him?" Harry was asking.

"And divorced. The Weasleys dragged me to another World Cup. This was around 2002, if I remember correctly. It was in St. Petersburg that time. We met again, and started dating." She shrugged. "Ron got married shortly after, too. Girl named Charlotte Dunsbee. Well, Weasley, now. They're still together."

Sherlock faded out of the conversation. His mind was going in circles. What could he do? If Harry had another crisis of conscience, and decided that by staying in Baker Street he was endangering Sherlock (preposterous notion), what could Sherlock say to change Harry's mind?

He barely noticed when Hermione stood up. She bid them both goodnight, reminded Sherlock to keep the information she brought somewhere safe, and told them she would be back soon. Sherlock only lifted his hand in farewell. Harry walked her down.

Sherlock supposed his last resort could be to use the wizard's own complex against him: he could tell Harry that now that he had involved himself in the magical world, he needed a wizard around him (ie, Harry) or he might be vulnerable to attack. It was dirty and underhanded, but if it came down to it, Sherlock knew he could get Harry to stay. But only, he reminded himself, as a last resort.

What other options were there, though?

When Harry came back, and they were alone, Sherlock returned his attention fully to the present. He noticed a light tapping on his window, which meant that it had started to rain again.

"You're not thinking of leaving Baker Street on some assumption that staying here puts me in danger, are you?" Sherlock decided to get straight to the point. After all, he didn't know how much time he had before Harry made a rash decision.

Harry was standing next to the desk, which carried a stack of Hermione's parchment. On top was the folded copy of the Daily Prophet.

He didn't even bother sitting down, Sherlock noticed. That was not good.

"It does put you in danger. Surely you can see that." Harry answered.

Sherlock quickly reminded himself that losing his temper now would be disastrous.

He stood up as well, and walked over to the wizard.

"I believe you've just had a very enlightening conversation with Ms. Granger on this very subject. Were you listening to her?"

"Of course I was. Doesn't mean I agree. But I can't very well stop Hermione." Harry said, and Sherlock's felt like his stomach was in the process of turning into a very viscous liquid.

"She was right. You're letting your guilt compromise your logic." Sherlock said, carefully looking into Harry's face for any sign of hesitation which he could capitalize on.

Harry didn't immediately reply, so Sherlock walked closer to him. Only a few feet apart now, he could read the firm set of the wizard's mouth and the slightly furrowed eyebrows. Stubborn git, Sherlock thought, there is no need for this.

"Sherlock, it's not that I don't like staying here; you know, it's actually been really great…"

"Then stay,"

"But you have to see that if a dark wizard found this place, you would likely not come out on top in a confrontation."

"No one's going to find us here." Sherlock said, in the most reassuring tone he could muster. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pictures on the folded Daily Prophet continued moving, completely oblivious to Sherlock's world, which was currently teetering on the edge. "Amanuensis Quills - Your Number One Destination for Unbreakable, Charmed, Finely Crafted Quills." It almost seemed mocking in its triviality.

Harry bit his lip. Something about the small gesture made Sherlock's pulse quicken, and it was suddenly very important that he step even closer to the wizard.

"But if they do. If they do, Sherlock, and I'm not here…"

"That's a lot of ifs." Sherlock said.

"I…" Harry started uncertainly, "I couldn't live with myself if something happened to you."

Sherlock didn't know what it was about those particular words, in that exact order, but his head suddenly started spinning. He could barely register their meaning.

He did know that those were not words one says lightly.

Sherlock, who was desperately trying to come up with an answer, stood still. The wizard brushed his hand through his hair, nervously. As Harry brought his hand back down to his side, it grazed over the folded Prophet, which was on the large pile of parchment. In a second, it all went to the floor.

"Bugger," the wizard whispered, under his breath. He immediately bent down and started picking up the loose papers on the carpet. Sherlock watched him silently.

Hadn't Sherlock thought of a last resort? Something to do with guilt? That didn't sound right. He didn't want to do that to Harry. But then, the problem still exists. How do I get him to stay? A voice in his mind, which was gaining in volume, was shouting that he knew bloody well what to do, and stop skirting around it like a scared kitten.

It took Harry a few seconds to collect all the scattered paper, and place them back on the wooden desk, during which time Sherlock's legs decided to bring him even closer to the wizard. When the wizard turned around, Sherlock found that their chests were only inches apart.

It was one fluttering moment of proximity. Depending on what Sherlock would do now, their lives might be changed forever. It was only one moment, but Sherlock observed that curious phenomenon of time dilation which accompanies our most significant choices. If he had looked out of the window, Sherlock would not have been surprised to discover that the light summer rain had suddenly frozen in mid air, or indeed started falling upwards, and that the second hand on the clock was taking a lifetime to hit the tick.

And suddenly, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. His whole brain lit up when it finally sputtered out the answer. He wanted nothing more than to close the obscenely small space between them. His whole body was humming with the expectation of it. It played out so clearly in his mind, that he could barely believe he had not done so already.

But wanting to do something, and doing it, are, as we all know, very different. Sherlock could not muster the courage. He had been avoiding physical contact for as as long as he can remember. It was very difficult to unlearn thirty years of self conditioning in one charged moment.

He locked eyes with Harry, and tried to pierce the veil between their minds. If the wizard could just see how the thought was burning him up inside, inflaming his mind, surely Harry would be the one to act.

But Harry only looked into his eyes briefly, and it was evident he wasn't seeing what was in Sherlock's mind. Faltering under the intense gaze, Harry's face tilted away, and Sherlock saw the chance slipping fast. It would be only a second before Harry decided to step back to a more appropriate distance, then blush and say something awkward.

Sherlock's head was whirring. He couldn't let that happen. Somewhere in his mind the decision was made for him.

'Oh, sod this!'

He stopped Harry's face with one hand, and giving him one more meaningful glare, pushed their lips together.

...

AN: As always, thank you to my wonderful reviewers! You guys are awesome! Please leave me any thoughts you had on the chapters. I don't work for money, just for love :) (though, if you have some hate, or even tepid disinterest, I'd pretty much like to hear any of it).

Was that a good place to end it? I thought so! Mwuahahah!

Last thing, in regard to Harry's condition. This story will explore it in more depth as we progress towards the end. So, don't worry if you're still confused by what happened to Harry. I promise to explain more fully when the timing in the story is right.