I have crossed Timelines, so Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts is taking place in modern day instead of 1993 as I feel it would work better than Sherlock being back in the 90s. John has left Mary after finding out about her past and is of course heartbroken, Sherlock is at a loss as to how to handle this so a case is needed. They have hit a dead end concerning Magnussen due to not having Mary there anymore. Enjoy. I don't own anything, except Sherlock himself. He is mine!
The Mystery of Magic
Chapter 1 ~ No Post On Sundays
"Sherlock!" Came the voice of Mrs Hudson as she bustled up the stairs. "Sherlock there is a letter for you, oh for goodness sake what now!" She cried as she saw the state of the apartment. Papers crumpled up littered the floor and Sherlock was balancing what looked like a sword across his knee, holding it lightly in his right hand.
"If you even think about shooting my wall again young man! Is that a sword?"
"The wall is safe, for now, as for this." He leapt up out of the seat and twirled it around in his hand. "Exquisite isn't it, there has been a murder done with an English broadsword, so I decided to do some research into using them, the man must have been quite the artist in combat oh yes!" He pointed the sword up to the ceiling with a look of glee on his face before dropping down into his seat with a big sigh and taking out his phone.
'Murderer in medieval re enactments, look for left handed man with long hair and scar down right arm, works at local castle doing displays in combat at arms, arrest immediately. SH' With a beep it was sent to Lestrade and Sherlock went back to his moping.
She gave him a stern look and walked over, muttering about the state of the floor before dropping a letter into his lap. She turned and left as quickly as her rickety hip could manage, pausing in the door way to once again complain about the mess.
"Thank you Mrs Hudson!" He called over her loudly before taking the letter in his hand with great disinterest.
He stroked the rough paper, no, parchment? And turned it over, lifting his hand up into the light and turning it this way and that. The parchment was thick and heavy compared to the modern paper normally used and it peaked his interest ever so slightly. Pursing his lips he took the letter up to his face and sniffed hard, the parchment smelt old and musty. He raked his eyes along the delicate script written upon it, staring intently at the indents it made into the parchment. This was written by a cartridge pen, no, not cartridge, proper ink. He touched the tip of his tongue with his index finger and dragged it across the writing, blurring it slightly before touching his finger to his tongue once more. Ink made for quills, rarely seen or used meaning this was written by someone very old fashioned, rich and ignorant or possibly in denial to workings of the modern world.
He turned it onto its back and looked at the wax seal upon it. A four sectioned crest sat in the middle of the circle made by the stamp, he swiftly took his magnifier from the table beside him and flicked it open, focusing on each section individually. A lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. How curious. He closed his eyes, focusing his thoughts as he went through crests of noble families in the United Kingdom. His eyes flickered beneath his lids and his facial muscles twitched unintentionally, his fingers gripping at the parchment and magnifier as he searched through the archives of his mind.
A few seconds passed before he opened his eyes and blinked as though coming out of the darkness and into somewhere light. Nothing he could find in his mind palace matched this crest at all, there were similarities to long standing families, one such as a serpent crest or a lion crest, but nothing of the four or even two together. He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and hooked his thumbnail under the seal with a satisfying snap as it cracked off the parchment. He pulled the letter out ever so delicately and unfolded it, lifting it up into the light. Yet again written by quill and ink, the same delicate writing of someone who had had an incredibly old fashioned and upper class childhood.
Dear Mr Holmes
I am writing to you to ask for your help in a serious matter. I have heard you are the best detective the world has to offer and you have a passion for the strange and unusual. The matter at hand is challenging, incredibly dangerous and baffling to behold, I hope it will not be too much for you.
Sherlock snorted and twirled the paper in his hand. Too much? For me, who does this guy think he is? He looked back to the letter.
A convict has escaped from the most high security prison in the United Kingdom and has sworn revenge against many people. Not only have our own authorities no leads on how he escaped, but also where he is and what he is going to do. It is believed he is going to take his revenge for his master, a dangerous terrorist of the highest calibre. I cannot give out any more details in this letter in case it is intercepted. We need to find this criminal and stop him before he kills again; he is a wanted murderer and one of the most dangerous criminals you may ever encounter. We need your help if you are who you are said to be, if not then I apologise for wasting your time.
If you are interested please come to Kings Cross station before 11am on September 1st and wait at the column between platforms 9 & 10, lean against the column so you are easily viewable and my associate will meet you and give you all the details you need about this case. Do not be late by even one minute.
Professor Albus Dumbledore.
"FANTASTIC!" Sherlock leapt from his chair in excitement, narrowly avoiding taking off his foot with the sword before he managed to grab it and hastily ran upstairs to John's room.
"John, you'd better be dressed I'm coming in." He hammered down the door and almost broke the knob off before I flung the door open and ran inside. He quickly took in the closed curtains and lifeless figure slumped in the bed before he threw the curtains open. "John wake up, stop moping wake up!"
"Bloody hell Sherlock close the curtains and piss off." John put his arm over his eyes and rolled over to face the wall.
"John get up now!" He leant forwards and grabbed the duvet and pulled it off the bed and onto the floor, almost taking John with it. "You have been in those clothes for 4 days now!"
"I don't bloody care," he sat up and rubbed his eyes, blinking as he focused on Sherlock, a letter in one hand, a sword in the other and his dressing gown open, still in his pyjamas, "why have you got a sword…"
"Oh what this, doesn't matter anymore." He tossed it aside and John yelped as it landed pointy end down in the floorboard and stood upright. "This, this matters!" He flourished the letter in John's face.
"Is that a letter?"
"Yes it arrived today!"
"How? There's no post on Sundays?"
"It doesn't matter how! Just read it." He threw it at John and stood there anxiously, bouncing up on the balls of his feet.
John scanned the letter a couple of times, his face creased as he tried to shake off sleep and concentrate. After what was an excruciatingly long time for Sherlock John took the letter away from his face and handed it back before putting his head in his hands and sighing.
"John, please stop moping it is getting unbearable."
"Oh, you know what unbearable means do you!" He took his hands away from his face and sighed heavily. "Sorry, sorry."
"Come on you can't spend the rest of your life shut away in here, there are mysteries to see, cases to solve… Showers to take." He crinkled up his nose and stared down it at John with the look of an expectant puppy. John looked up sternly and felt his face soften, Sherlock was right.
"Ok, oh-kay, I'm up, I'm going to go have a shower."
"We have 3 days until September 1st, so let us research any details we can find hidden in this letter until then. We need to take your mind off of things."
"By things, do you mean Mary."
Sherlock was silent and stared hard at John, as if expecting him to faint.
"I'll be fine Sherlock I am not going to fall over or anything."
"Are you sure?"
"What? Yes, yes I am damned sure I am fine."
"You know, if you want to, um. Talk. We can, well, talk?"
"You, talk about my problems?"
"Silly idea, yes of course sorry no I'll say no more." He looked away, trying to hide the hurt look on his face.
"No, no Sherlock thank you, I just don't know if I am ready to talk about what happened yet."
Sherlock instantly brightened up and bounced from the room, John watched him go and felt like he had just watched a little boy open his Christmas present early.
The three days passed quickly and they were no closer to figuring out who had sent the letter. No schools or families shared the crest on the seal and when Sherlock tried to ask Mycroft about it the call was swiftly disconnected after he was told not to take the case or he could be arrested. That only strengthened Sherlock's resolve and they left a day early to escape Mycroft's spies whom were sure to be waiting for them to leave and would try to stop them.
John woke up at 9am the next morning to find Sherlock sitting in an ugly armchair in the hotel down the road from Kings Cross Station pretending to read a newspaper. But his eyes were blank and John could see he wasn't there at all, he left him to it and showered and got dressed. By the time he was out Sherlock was back and full of life that only came from not sleeping.
"Breakfast first!" John said before Sherlock had even opened his mouth. Sherlock gave him a look that rivalled a kitten being taunted and John had to resist stomping his foot down. "Breakfast or I go home."
"You underestimate me."
"I may not be able to make you sleep but I'll be damned if I am going running around chasing a murderer on an empty stomach, and you will do best to do the same or I will shove it down your throat."
Sherlock rolled his eyes before folding the paper between his long fingers and putting it down on the arm of the chair, pushing himself up and stretching.
They came downstairs and into the lobby, turning left to go to the dining hall where a buffet breakfast was being served. John nudged Sherlock on in front of him to join the queue and watched him like a hawk as he piled scrambled eggs, bacon, beans and toast onto his own plate. Sherlock took a two slices of toast, an egg and some bacon and proceeded to prod it and stare wistfully out the window once they had sat down.
"If you don't eat it we won't go."
John gritted his teeth, he was used to this but it still annoyed him to no end. He managed to get Sherlock to eat half his breakfast before he started pushing it around the plate and finally gave up. He was happily full and Sherlock's eagerness was infecting. It was quarter to 10 by the time they arrived at Kings Cross Station and they had the funny feeling someone (I wonder who, MYCROFT) was following them.
They wandered through the station until they came across the column which had a sign either side for platform 9 and platform 10.
"So, all that is left now is to lean up against this column and look interesting I guess." Sherlock mused, he lifted his hand to touch the cold stone when a voice rang out.
"Touch that column and I'll have you arrested." Mycroft's sinister voice came from behind them, Sherlock's hand paused centimetres away from the stone and he spun round, putting his hands behind his back and looking as innocent as he could.
"Some things are best left unknown Sherlock." Mycroft warned as two men who were obviously from the Secret Service came up and flanked him.
"One who lusts for the pursuit of knowledge, namely me, would argue that point incessantly."
"There will be no arguments here Sherlock, step away from the column."
"Why? Give me a real reason and I might consider it." He looked down at John, trying to convey everything through his eyes, he hoped John knew him well enough to know what he was thinking by now.
"I am not about to divulge information about this countries secrets just to put your brilliant mind at ease."
"Did you hear that John, I think he just called me brilliant." John had to suppress a giggle and Sherlock's mouth curled at the corners as he watched Mycroft try to keep his emotions intact.
"Sherlock now is not the time for games, step away from the column."
"I'll ask you one more time, brother dearest, why? You can't just arrest me for looking at a column or touching it."
"But, brother dearest, I can, remember."
"Oh enough with the theatrics Mycroft what is going on!" John tried to keep his voice low, people seemed completely oblivious as they passed and he didn't want to catch their attention.
"None of your business John, that's what is going on."
John held his tongue as he waited for the signal from Sherlock.
Sherlock stretched one arm up, the other covering his mouth as he yawned. "Well this is terribly boring if you're going to play Mr Mystery Mycroft, you're going to arrest me if I touch the column?"
"Yes." He twitched forwards and caught himself before he took a step and took a deep breath. "Yes, that is correct."
"What if I do this." The emphasis was what John had been waiting for and he stepped backwards just as Sherlock pulled his arm down and leant back onto the column, his eyes catching the clock upon the wall that said it was less than a minute before it was 11 o'clock, it was now or never.
Without warning, his arm went through the stone and he stumbled backwards. John let out a gasp as Sherlock disappeared, his arm flailing about before grabbing John's coat and dragging him backwards through the stone. John cried out and squeezed his eyes shut as he fell into nothingness, his last sight being that of Mycroft lunging at the across the distance between them.
Mycroft hit the hard stone of the column and uttered a whimper of pain. He slammed his hands into the column and dropped his gaze to the floor.
"God damnit!" He shouted out so loudly passers by jumped.
"Sir, what do we do now." One of the agents behind him said quietly.
"We pray for him, there is nothing we can do for Sherlock Holmes now."