The Villain in the Pub
They were on a stake out. Sherlock had not been forthcoming with information, nothing new on that end. So when the famous detective showed up at Doctor Watson's townhome with Hermione in tow leaving her with Mary and the kids then taking Jon out on a new case, the doctor had been thrilled.
Hadn't asked any questions.
That was three hours ago. Now Jon's arse was falling asleep as Sherlock's eyes haven't left the pub since they parked, and the detective refused to let him leave the vehicle- Small talk was defiantly in order.
"Fine girl, Hermione. I was thinking of setting up with Charlie Bucket." Jon casually started.
"I thought you liked Miss Granger?" Sherlock snidely inquired.
"I do." Jon cleared his throat. "I do, it's just she seems lonely is all, fine girl like that deserves a good bloke, someone as lovely as she is and Charlie, well his heart is made of pure gold." Jon explains.
"Lonely? Did she say she was lonely? Why would she be lonely, she has friends coming out of the woodworks, not to mention I live right up the stairs from her…keep my door open." Sherlock ranted still his eyes remained fixated on the pub.
"No she didn't say anything, but she's a real kind girl, I think that her and Char…" The doctor is cut off.
"Kind? She does her own private drug raid on my flat at least once a week. Donates my favorite clothes to charity, and downright refuses to accompany me on any of my cases." Sherlock growls.
"So you have asked her, out on…cases." Does Jon sound jealous?
Sherlock turns and looks at Jon like being caught in a potential lie. "She always suggests I take you." The detective looks somewhat upset over this but suddenly the detective understands Miss Granger's insistence- Sentiment.
Jon doesn't know rather to be offended or thankful. "Sweet girl. I like her, myself. I can see why you like her." Jon tells his friend.
Sherlock's gaze has once more fixated on the pub and when he says nothing more to Jon's assessment, the doctor realizes Sherlock is done talking about this subject, especially since it involves feelings.
"Who are we waiting for?" Jon asked.
"The invisible man." Sherlock stated, his eyes fixed on the pub, watching as another young group of university students leave.
"Bit of a young crowd. Hermione's age group." Jon states off handedly. Then he turns and looks at Sherlock like the detective is a dirty peeping tom.
"What case are we working on exactly? You didn't say." Jon comments.
"And you didn't ask." Sherlock responds throwing Jon a green hand knitted scarf. "Lifted it off an invisible man in an alley way. I saw his face for only a moment from my hiding spot as he frantically searched for the scarf, before I grew bored."
"You stole a man's scarf, why?"
"So I could return it." Sherlock says climbing out of the car as the blond emerges from the pub,
Knowing Jon will follow.
"Oi!" Sherlock shouts, it sounds weird coming out of his mouth but the young man turns, his blond hair remarkably in place, his features angular and handsome, his eyes are cruel and taunting.
"Lost your way grandpa, on the wrong side of town?" The boy laughs, there is a dark haired girl at his elbow clinging to him in contrast to the way the youth ignores her, and she snickers rudely.
"Not, exactly, I live nearby. Thought I recognized you." Sherlock half lied. The young man turned up his aristocratic nose he was arrogant and from money, very old money.
"Not likely, I'm new to your culture." The young man says this coldly; like it's an inside joke. The dark haired girl in at his elbow looks disgusted by his comment and over everything around her except the man she's holding on to.
"I think you dropped this." Sherlock states taking the green scarf from Jon and offering it to the young man.
The young man didn't bother to hid the fact he was pleased to see it or deny it was his.
The blonde's date, however, looked at the scarf like it was only fit for the garbage.
"I thought it lost, where did you find it?" The blond asked with a sly smirk.
"On 5th, must have snagged on something been carrying it around in the off chance I would run into you again." Sherlock again lied. The scarf had led the detective right to the invisible man.
"How thoughtful. I am very fond of this scarf you see." The blond explained shifting his weight as he took the scarf in an almost loving embrace.
"Really." Sherlock asked watching with a keen interest. This man was what everyone else thought the detective was, the blonde was a psychopath.
"Yes, it was made for something else, you see, but I wanted it, so I took it." The young man smirked again. Looking at Sherlock with challenging grey eyes that told the detective what he needed to know.
Sherlock tried not to look like he wanted to punch the boy in the face. He had been face to face with many psychopaths, serial killers, and mad men, but in this moment he hadn't felt the hatred bubbling inside him over any of the evil he faced the way it was at this moment.
The blonde suddenly looked very dangerous the kind of man that liked to play games and to win, "Tell that little cunt that she will be coming for me soon enough. I'll see her at the Ministry. Maybe then we can have a formal introduction, Sherlock Holmes." The young man mocked shrugging the dark haired girl off him and walking away, while wrapping the green scarf around his neck, whistling a haunting tune.
"Well his a delightful chap." Jon's sarcasm doesn't register with Sherlock.
"Jon, Miss Granger is in trouble." Sherlock sounds mildly alarmed.
"So this case of the invisible arsehole is hers is it? One that she hired you to look into?" Jon asked.
"No." Sherlock tells him as the detective practically runs to the car.
"No?" Jon asks his humor gone, "Then why…?" the doctor looked confused.
"Because, Jon, Miss Granger is in trouble." Sherlock repeats more forcefully.
Hermione slammed the door in his face when Sherlock confronted her about the psychotic blonde.
Sherlock uses his key to let himself into her flat.
"Why didn't you ask for my help?" He yells at her.
"Because I don't need it nor do I want it!" She screeches back. "You worm your way into my life and turn my heart upside down. You complicate things. I don't need you complicating this."
"What is this? What game are you playing?" Sherlock asks and she looks at him like his an idiot.
"You should never have confronted the snake. I had every Eventuality planned out, every eventuality except the one where you get involved." She is angry, and his proud of himself for catching on that her anger is about more than the crazy bloke stalking her.
"Men like him will burn the world down to get what they want." Sherlock tells her hoping she can understand the severity of the picture he paints.
"It's a war, Sherlock, and I have kept him at bay for six years. I moved out of Harry's to regroup, to plan my final move against him. I was very careful so he wouldn't find out where I lived. Always traveled in crowded areas with cameras, never leaving the flat or returning in the same way or at the same time. All to stall him: to keep him from his final end game, just a little longer." Hermione is pacing, she turns to shoot him a scratchy glare then she turns her back on him.
Sherlock approaches her from behind like stalking a frighten animal. He had never seen her truly upset, but it didn't take Jon to tell him, somehow the detective had crossed a boundary he had not been aware existed. "So what is the psychopath's final end game, Miss Granger? What is he talking about with the Magistracy?" his standing right behind her so when she turns and looks at him her golden eyes harden into amber, Sherlock feels an unfamiliar sensation in the pit of his stomach. Fear? Anticipation? Regret? His really not sure.
"Having a bill passed that will ensure registration for all endangered species, so they can be cataloged and bred, to prevent extinction." She explains, the ice back in her voice.
"I thought your goal was to save endangered species?" the law sounds like something a humanitarian would promote not rally against.
"Some endangered species should die out, Mr. Holmes." The conviction in her tone is righteous, and it is apparent she has been keeping secrets.
"I'm missing something. What are you hiding, Miss Granger? What evidence are you withholding?" He is angry himself, now shouting at her, she wasn't supposed to lie to him.
"Secrets I can't share, because they aren't just mine. I didn't ask for your help, I didn't want it. I told you I'm not your damsel in distress. I don't want to lie but you're such a difficult man… Please don't make me lie, not to you. Just leave me alone." She's begging. Her pride stripped down and she is staring at him with her big golden eyes melting and swirling with so many emotions as she stares up at him and for the first time since she looked at him like that he understands what it means.
"Want does the invisible man want?" Sherlock asks calmly, his anger is diffused by that look, by what honesty she can afford.
"My life." Hermione states like it is so simple.
"How do we stop him?" Sherlock asks, aware of how willingly he is to follow her into battle.
"We attend a very boring meeting and pray my time at Oxford was not wasted." She explains in a whisper and Sherlock like a sentimental fool, pulls her into a tight hug.
Silent promises for silent honesty.
Draco Malfoy is waiting for her outside of Parliament. His in a crisp white suit and a Kelly green tie and looks like his just won the crown jewels and all that entails.
Malfoy smirks arrogantly when he sees her and Hermione is suddenly thankful that Sherlock Holmes has claimed the place at her side.
"You look lovely, mudblood." The snake hisses.
Sherlock is not familiar with the insult, but from the tone it is certainly derogatory.
Sherlock flinches and wonders if this is what Jon feels when people insult the detective; this urge to protect, to smash people's faces in?
"Ah, cockroach, I see you crawled out of the gutter long enough to grace us with your radiant presence." Hermione greets in her fitted black pants suit, white silk dress shirt and single strand of pearls. Her hair in an interacted braid along her head, so very beautiful and incredibly professional looking with that soft touch of femininity, Sherlock admired about her.
Sherlock stands at her side, his hand not quite touching the small of her back. He has chosen to wear his black suit, all black: it was one of his more formable looks, along with the parlor of his skin and high cheek bones- he didn't need to be told how scary he looked. The sly look the blonde gave him as they approached, boarding on disinterest, but it was a lie, Sherlock could read it just as clearly as he could read what the invisible man had for breakfast that morning, the blond snake was rightfully intimidate by the detective.
"Think your funny, don't you?" Malfoy barked, eyeing Hermione with warring interests.
"I have never been known for my humor, but then you were always able to make us laugh." she sighs like simply talking with the fool was a boring endeavor, and Sherlock can't help but admire her turn of phrase and the way she plays the game when motivated.
"I'm going to make you laugh, mudblood, then cry, then beg." The blonde threatens adjusting his tie, his eyes swirl with more emotion then his face expresses.
"Oh, how terribly rude of me. Sherlock Holmes this is the Amazing bouncing ferret, Ferret, Mr. Holmes." Hermione introduces them and Mr. Malfoy looks irritated that she even bothered.
"Formal introductions." Sherlock says holding out his hand. Mr. Malfoy looks like he would rather bite it than shake it.
"Ah, yes the simple man." Malfoy states looking at Sherlock like the detective is the biggest joke ever.
"I don't think I have ever been called simple." Sherlock smiles withdrawing his hand, the other one still hovering protectively at Miss Granger's back.
"No? You might be cleaver, but you're still just a man, Mr. Holmes. Incredibly fragile and easy to kill." Malfoy states then turns his back on them and enters the building.
"How incredibly ambitious of him and completely unoriginal. I have been killed before." Sherlock comments with an eye roll.
"Yes, darling, well snakes aren't known for their creativity, or intelligence." Hermione comforts the detective, her hand over his heart before she turns and enters Parliament. Sherlock's heart is suddenly pounding in his chest.
Did she just call him darling?
With that thought all he can do is follow her into her final battle.
It suddenly all made complete sense. Sherlock sat in the boring legislative meeting listen to the new bill proposal and how the document was worded and understood why Miss Granger would find fault with passing such a bill into a law.
It took away free will and did not indicate what species the bill would pertain to; while the clause was hidden in fancy words and bureaucracy nonsense, it was blatantly apparent to anyone with a smidgen of intelligence, a potential violation of human rights.
Draco Malfoy sat smugly overseeing the congressional and Sherlock could tell the snake thought he had a victory: that this proposal would pass as is without fail.
However, Sherlock had played many games with Miss Granger over the last several months, and that was the only reason he saw what the other man couldn't.
Miss Granger always won, because she understood the rules.
Everyone knew the rules, but she understood them and how to play within the boundaries they set. She didn't diverge or try to cheat, she was too moral for that, no she played the game within the rules and on the edge of the rules and by accepting those limitations she was limitless in strategies and in victories.
Jon was right she was a good person. This revelation was shocking, disturbing, and Earth shattering.
Truly good, honest people simply did not exist- but there she sat beside him looking captivated by every boring word said.
The wedding with Molly, her helping with Lestrade's mother, even her with Jon and Mary, all evidence that supported that she was in fact a truly good girl. Not to mention the way she looked after the detective himself- Sherlock hadn't wanted a cigarette in weeks and wasn't even using the nicotine patches.
He turned and looked at her like the final piece of the puzzle made sense and it was so mind boggling that Sherlock could not move or speak all he could do was stare at her and how pretty she looked and when her master victory unfolded and that bright smile lit up her beautiful face: Sherlock was blinded.
When Sherlock was able to blink the room was dark and everyone had cleared out. Jon sat where Hermione had been looking at his friend expectantly.
"Come back to the world of the living have you?" Jon asks pulling out a flash light and shining it in the detective's eyes.
Sherlock waves him off irritated. "Where did everyone go?" Sherlock asked looking around at the dark room.
"Home, I expect. But no doubt when you say everyone, you mean Hermione. I sent her out with her friends to celebrate. The bill was declined, called unconstitutional." Jon explained.
"And she just left me here, without…?" Sherlock asked sitting back and folding his arms in front of him like a pouting child.
"Well she tried to get you to respond, but you just stared at her all creepy like: You know like you did with me when I asked you to be my best man. She didn't know what to do so she called the only doctor she knew that wouldn't want to murder you in such a weaken state. I reassured her of your episodes and that I would look after you until you came around." Jon explained… "So did she tell you she loves you?"
Sherlock turned to look at Jon like the man needed some medical help himself.
"No? So you realized you love her then?" Jon suggested. Sherlock turned away from his friend dismissively.
"Better to keep your romantic notions in that blog of yours." Sherlock bites out. Wishing Miss Granger would have simply abandoned him to the empty courtroom.
There is silence, Jon sitting back in his chair waiting for Sherlock to explain what just happened.
Then Sherlock uses both his hands to wipe his face and turns to the doctor clearly ready to share his revelation. "You were right Jon, she's a good girl. Honest and trustworthy." Sherlock whispers like a confession.
"Yeh? So Charlie Bucket, then?" Jon perks up, he is teasing his friend but Sherlock shoots him a paralyzing glare.
Logical vs. Illogical
Sherlock finally gets Hermione to the morgue only for her to be clucking about with Molly. A compelling homicide, laying ready to reveal a murder and they are talking about babies.
"So have you found out the gender yet?" Hermione asks, she's perched up like a graceful bird on the counter overseeing the morgue. She was wearing purple today, and she reminded Sherlock of a plum. They were distracting. He pulled out his magnified glass and began to search for clues trying to focus on the case at hand.
"A boy. Peter and I have been discussing names. I like Roger and Randy but Peter preferred…"
"No sensible man wants to name his son after university codes that suggest shagging." Sherlock shouts.
"Oh!" A frightened Molly looks to Sherlock, then back to Hermione. Clearly use to the man's rude comments.
"What names do Peter like?" Hermione urged ignoring the detective.
"Martin and Allen." Molly stated looking to Sherlock for apparent approval.
Hermione patted Molly's hand kindly, "He might be an expert on many things but raising a child is not a skill, Sherlock Holmes has mastered."
"Or will ever." Molly whispers.
"What do you mean?" Hermione asks looking shocked by the possibility.
"He doesn't want any." Molly shares.
"I never said I didn't want any I said having them was Illogical." Sherlock argued from across the room.
"Well if you don't want children you shouldn't have them. Besides it's not like anyone is asking you to breed with them." Hermione turns and looks at him from over her shoulder, smiling cheekily. "However, Mr. Holmes you are mistake it is completely logical to want children- due to genetic encoding. Its biology's way to insure the survival of a species."
"They are sticky, loud, and a safety hazard." Sherlock shouts with a less scientific argument.
"I could say the same about you." Hermione smartly replies turning her back to him, Molly covers her mouth to prevent from laughing.
"Miss Granger, breeding is a dirty affair that has more to do with instinct and feeling then logic." Sherlock is all worked up and he doesn't completely understand why, starring at the girl in purple with her soft hair cascading down her back in chocolate curls.
"You know your lips just moved but I swear the words that come out sound like ignorant fear…that can't be right? Because Sherlock Holmes isn't afraid of anything." She is baiting him, again turning to stare at him with ice eyes and he doesn't like it - the way she makes his heart hammer to a point of irrationality.
"Are you going to help me with this case or sit around and flap your fanny?" He rudely asks, forcing his body to calm down.
"High heel to the head…Jealous lover, boring… you promised me coffee." She accused looking away from him again.
Okay so Sherlock might have offered to take her out for coffee as a rues for getting her St. Bartholomew's.
"The hospital has coffee, Molly." He dismissed the woman who was standing there simply watching their argument like it was a play on the tele.
Hermione still didn't trust Sherlock to prepare foods or drinks, particularly after reading about the Hound of Baskerfield, so she gave Molly a sweet smile in hopes for a little cream in hers.
"So, please tell me, Miss Granger, what is so compelling about breeding?" Sherlock inquires when Molly has left, his attention presumably back to the corps in front of him.
"Observational study, Sherlock. Children are like little scientist learning and growing with each new discovery. True there is some crying and the occasional mess, not unlike some of your own experiments. But you get to watch all that, to guide and teach them: A lifelong student." She made it sound far more appealing than it ever has before.
"What is the end gain?" Sherlock asks gathering his final clues for the mystery murder: jealous lover, found out he was married, high heel to the temple.
"To watch your children take their turn on the world stage, knowing that the future is not solely in the hands of any idiot that knows how to shag." Hermione is such a sensible girl and her rationality actually is compelling to the detective.
"What were you doing at Oxford? You got a doctorate, but that was a ruse, what were you really doing there?" Sherlock changes the subject, her answer about children sparking an idea he had been toying with.
"Making friends." She explains and he is sure there is more to it than that.
"With children of parliament representatives." He is not asking his telling her, letting her know he finally figured it out.
"A few, yes. I was also show casing vast knowledge of animal rights, so I could be called as an expert witness if needed." Hermione informs him. She had after all stated she had every eventuality calculated except the one where he got involved.
"Why would you go through such lengths?" Sherlock sounds suspicious.
"It was my mess, I had to clean it up." She is saved by having to explain what she means when Molly's returns with their coffee. But Sherlock has had his own arch nemeses and his pretty sure he understands once again what she is saying.
Curiosity is not a Sin
Hermione is sitting on his kitchen table cross legged, his laptop open in front of her. They were spending time together, she was leaving on holiday that evening and so he persuaded her to help him work on a case with him before her cab arrived. Only her eyes have not left the screen to the lap top all day. She appears captivated by Jon's romantic renditions of their adventures. Sherlock knows she has been reading them since Molly's wedding, when she finds the time. But Sherlock does not know how far Hermione has gotten, mostly because she hasn't even attempted to discuss them with him. Not one question or inquire- not like others that read the blog.
Sherlock is attempting to work on the first case he has had in weeks- to look through the diagram of clues he has pinned on the wall, his attention, however, is more compellingly on her; then the task at hand.
Therefore, when she violently slams the lid to his computer and at looks up at him like his a sociopath he is only mildly surprised.
"Billy Kincaid, really?" She asks, only it's an accusation.
"Did Jon include my explanation? Logically…" Sherlock starts to rationalize slowly making his way to the kitchen like approaching a hungry lion.
"Right the death of hundreds of children and a few garrotes are not enough to condemn a criminal king pen but a few thousand illegally made dollars donated to charities is enough to praise him." Hermione replies, swinging her legs over the side of the table.
But his standing in front of her- his hands on her thighs, closer to her than he had been since he had her up against the wall; unintentionally presses into him so intimately.
She is too angry to care.
"Right, Jaine Crawford, never crossed your mind." She asks with that alluring ice in her voice.
"She's a woman, the question as I understood it was best man." Sherlock smartly reasons with an eye roll.
Hermione makes a frustrated face, "Paul Edgecomb, then" she bites out adjusting herself on the table, he steps into the opening her legs just make.
"Delusional liar." Sherlock argues. "Hardly the best man, he let an innocent man be executed."
"Alright how about..."
"If you say Harry Potter..." The detective warns. She looks at him like his crazy
"Good, I'm a bit worried about your friend especially knowing he was in prison and has access to your flat." Sherlock truly sounds concerned.
"Is that why you stole the key to my flat? To be my black knight?" She inquires.
Sherlock looks offended by the accusation "I borrowed the key, Miss Granger...and Mr. Potter said I could keep it, he also said he wouldn't tell you." Sherlock said this like it vindicated his theft.
"Right, my creepy neighbor happens to have a key to my flat, and my best friend is not going to tell me." It's her turn to roll her eyes at him.
"More like mysteriously, clever." His flustered only his never flustered. "I never used it unnecessarily." He reassured her.
"Right, like snooping and stealing my panties is necessary. Besides borrowed entails returning." Hermione states like catching him in a lie.
"I was doing an experiment on relevant materials in air travel." He explained.
"Well I am doing a study on the disappearance of tobacco products." She tells him with a giggle.
"Ah, so you're the culprit that keeps stealing my cigarettes." Another clue for the detective.
"Pack per panties." She informs him.
He glares at her.
"Why do you thing Harry has been in prison?" Hermione has suddenly gotten serious her eyes are on his lips and his hands shift from her thighs to her hip.
"He carries a shank on him." Sherlock explains his voice has dropped an octave and she shifts her weight her hands griping his forearms.
"A Shank?" she asks not grasping what he just told her. Sherlock smiles wickedly he likes the feeling of knowing something that perhaps she doesn't.
"Common prison weapon. In Mr. Potter's instance a sharpened stick, he nearly shoved it up my nose." Sherlock tells her watching as her focused shifts from him to his words.
She looks at him like his mad, then her eyes sparked and clearly she understands what his saying.
"Up your nose?" She is clearly amused by this information.
"Nearly lobotomized me." Sherlock answered seriously. That was when she laughed. Like he just told another great joke. Her body jiggling against him, at his own expense and all he can do is stand there and wonder what is so funny.
"I don't see the humor in unauthorized brain surgeries. I thought he was a thief." Sherlock states very loudly.
She is still laughing she has let go of him and is bracing her weight on her palms, her body as far away from him as possible for the moment. He hands travel from her hips back down to her thighs.
She sifts her weight again and gets back to their original subject without explanation.
"Karl Popper, then." She asks her eyes still dancing with amusement.
"Closer, but not the best." He seems to understand they have come to a standoff on other subject matters. Her skirt shifts and his attention is caught by the newly exposed flesh, even though she favored skirts and dresses, she usually sat far more lady like then she currently was up on his kitchen table, legs spread, skirt ridding up… it was a distraction he refused to acknowledge.
"Right he just wrote the book on the relativity of logic in science." Hermione argues sitting back up once more adjusting herself.
Sherlock stopped whatever was going to come out of his mouth- it simply got swallowed down and before he rationally thought about consequences he did the most logical thing of all, what he had been wanting to do since he first heard her play the piano.
He kissed her.
He was not polite about it either. He slammed his mouth into hers and bloody hell went for it. Passionately ravishing that smart mouth of hers.
It took her three seconds to respond, he was expecting her to push him back just as she had the red headed git that wanted to marry her, only she presses herself into him and opens her mouth for him to plunder. And like a pirate he seizes the opportunity to steal what treasures she allows him.
Sherlock is again shocked when her fingers do not thread into his hair; like so many other women's first instinct have been. Instead her hands find their way into his shirt caressing his sides, his chest, and his back. He does not break contact with her lips as he quickly unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off- allowing her better access.
His hot all over- in a dangerous and illogical way. He has never felt this, never, not with the woman with her lies and mind games.
This lack of control, this yearning to touch to hold, to consume, to protect- this belonged to Miss Granger.
He pulls Hermione's shirt over her head with that thought, he wants to touch her, his lips leave her for a second and that is long enough for her brain to catch up with her emotions. He sees it instantly and when he dips back in to kiss her again her heat is nearly gone, there is a blush on her cheeks and she is covering her chest clearly embarrassed.
Sherlock realizes she's far more logical then him in that moment.
His a pirate, and to crudely put it all he wants to do is bury his treasure.
He sighs heavily and curses himself.
Without concern or thought to their lack of clothing he grabs ahold of her and pulls her in to a tight hug.
That's it. If this is how it ends so be it.
But he won't have her afraid of him nor ashamed or embarrassed of herself.
"I'm sorry." Sherlock whispers sincerely. His hand stroking the soft plains of her back- a desire born in thanks to that ridiculous red dress he likes so much.
Hermione's arms timidly rise to hold him in return wrapping around his waist and up his back, her breast pressed flat against his bare chest. It's the most intimate moment of his life, and he was no blushing virgin.
Somehow her lips tenderly touch his and her single kiss is filled with more emotion than any word could do justice. He holds her tighter and just to prove his capable kisses her back just as tenderly.
There is nothing in this moment but honesty ripped to its core.
His not being seduced, lied to, or manipulated. It's all so painfully real that if he lets go of her; his actually afraid he will wake up and find that she has been a dream or a terrible game orchestrated by his brother to remind him of Redbeard and the folly of love- of sentiment.
Her teeth nip his bottom lip, a silent command before her tongue dances with his, softly like they are waltzing to one of her compositions. He lets her lead, it's slower more sensual, and safer. She's arching up and into him as his right hand presses against the small of her back, his left has found its way under her skirt and to the inside of her thigh, his fingers curl around the band of her panties and her mouth opens wide a small moan escapes, his lips there mating with her call for him. Her fire is burning bright again and he fights the urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her to his room like a savage brute.
Just as he makes the decision to behave less like a hormonal driven buccaneer, she unbuckles his belt...
And behind them someone clears their throat.
Sherlock wishes whoever it is a slow and painful death. Turning to step in front of a topless Hermione and finding none other than Jon Watson looking at them partly embarrassed and partly entertained. Okay Jon he simply wishes uncomfortable chaffing on.
"I'm a doctor, I've seen...it..." Jon perhaps is trying to be reassuring as Hermione puts her shirt back on. Sherlock is still standing between her legs, trousers unbuttoned. He doesn't seem to care for anyone's modesty but the girl's behind him. His hands still on her thighs to keep her from escaping.
"Did you need something?" Sherlock tried to sound casual but his heart is still beating too fast for the words to gain the effect.
"The door was open." Jon commented pointing to the open door.
"I keep it open for the cat." Sherlock points out.
"Well maybe you should shut it if you're planning on ravishing your girlfriend on the kitchen table." Jon suggests.
"It was a spontaneous decision, Jon." Sherlock pointed out.
"You are finally admitting she's your girlfriend then." Jon asks.
"I..." Sherlock freezes up, his brain kicking into overdrive.
Hermione pushed on his back, "Let me down please." She requests calmly, he really had no reason to object so he moves.
She hops down and looks at Jon, "I'm not his girlfriend." She challenges, then walking out and to her flat.
"Too bad." Jon states to Sherlock.
Sherlock looked ill.
"Why would she say that? After we just practically. On the table?" Sherlock asked Jon truly looking confused.
"Because you hesitated. Because she's odd. Not like a normal bird."
"No she's not." Sherlock states like it's the final puzzle piece.
"Sorry, you came over for a reason." Sherlock states looking at his friend.
"Your mum called." Jon stated and Sherlock groaned.
"You told her didn't, you. About Miss Granger."
"Hermione, you practically...Had... a girl on your kitchen table, you can call her by her first name…No, Mycroft beat me to it."
"Damn." Sherlock cursed.
"Your mom wants to have Christmas again with the little ones and your girlfriend."
"She's not my girlfriend."
"Oh, yes she is." Jon argues.
When Jon leaves Sherlock goes down to explain to Hermione, that if she wanted, he wanted to be her boyfriend.
That sounded weird and was completely inadequate on his feelings for her. Because damn sentiment! Logically his heart and brain wanted the same thing, both wanted Miss Granger to be a permanent fixture in his life.
He knocked on her door for five minutes then found himself shouting at her door for her to open up.
Then he remembered his key and helped himself into her flat.
It was empty. Her belongings just where they should be, but she was nowhere to be found and she took the Crookshanks.
"Christmas is in three days, Sherlock, she told you she would be out of town. That she was leaving tonight." Mrs. Hudson had finally came to the ruckus, reprimanding him like a disobedient school boy.
He stood there looking at Mrs. Hudson like there was a far more sinister plan a foot and the landlady was in on it.
"Don't look at me like that, I was standing in my kitchen when she told you as much last month. Heard every word." Mrs. Hudson said, "Not my fault you don't remember."
"She didn't say good bye. We nearly... not twenty minutes ago on my kitchen table, Mrs. Hudson. Why wouldn't she have said goodbye?" Sherlock shouts.
"You two hooked up! Finally, well that's good news." Mrs. Hudson gushed.
"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled clearly upset.
"Because she's Hermione and your Sherlock…too logical the both of you. Probably didn't think you'd care, you were busy with Jon when her cab arrived." Mrs. Hudson explained.
"Where is she spending Christmas?" Sherlock asked a bit more calmly.
"How am I supposed to know, she's very private, worse than you." Mrs. Hudson comments.
"Then what use are you!" Again he shouts. Marching upstairs and for the first time in months he slams his door shut.
Sherlock refuses to call her, if she wanted him to know where she was then she would have told him.
Thirty minutes later he is making a phone call.
Sherlock nicked the number months ago, just in case he had use of it. It rang twice when the Harry Potter picked up his phone.
"She said you might call." Mr. Potter greeted. Sherlock was momentarily shocked, quickly deciding Hermione must have given her mate the number for such opportunities.
"Where is she?" Sherlock asks, not overly polite.
"You're a consulting detective, Mr. Holmes. Clever man like you, read people- you don't understand them but you read them. You're always asking Hermione to play games. How about you and I play a game. Tell me the first time you meant, Hermione, what you read." Harry asked.
A pop quiz.
"How is that relevant? It has been months any initial findings could have been modified during case study." Sherlock, feels his palms get sweaty. It's irrational the way his heart is speeding up.
"Spoken like a true scientist. Observational study is what you have been doing. Manipulating her surroundings watching how she reacted to certain stimulus. Did she exceed your expectations?" Harry asked.
There is silence and Sherlock knows Harry Potter is waiting for an answer.
"She always exceeds mine." Harry explains. "Hermione is a rare treasure. She understands you, Mr. Holmes, far more than you understand her. While you are clever- she is brilliant. And yet, she likes her oddities. You two are from different worlds. While you play games, she win them. Do you comprehend the pattern, Mr. Holmes? She told you any finding you made would be complete rubbish if you did not use the proper methods in obtaining your results." Harry explains.
Sherlock is breathing heavy; his angry, upset, and all he can think about is the lie of Redbeard.
"You are a far more emotional man then you pretend to be. Hermione is not a villain, she has not seduced or manipulated you in any way, at least not intentionally. You are the seductress, Mr. Holmes. The manipulator. While, Hermione, does have a dark side when defending the helpless, she is not a selfish woman. She gives with passion and loves completely. When she tells you her secret: we all have them, remember not all secrets are as simple as murder."
"Where is she?" Sherlock asks again the dark edge back in his tone- only Harry Potter doesn't sound intimidated by the detective's voice, he sounds amused.
"Australia, of course, it's Christmas." Harry states like Sherlock Holmes is daft.
Sherlock contemplates several different scenarios where he charges after the girl and demands answers. He considers asking Mycroft for help in tracking her down in Australia, but quickly decides against it, for three days he tries to track down Mr. Potter's address only to come away with a bad head ach and more questions than answers. Finally he decides he will go to his parent's house for holiday and cringe through the ridiculous custom, if only for Jon's benefit and wait for Miss Granger to return after the New Year.
This gives him plenty of time to figure out why the word boyfriend disturbs him but the thought of Hermione not in his life disturbs him even more.
Jon and Mary arrive with the kids. Sherlock is waiting in the front yard refusing to go into the house without them. Cheryl sequels running to him and hugging his leg- well that's a first.
"Where is she, where is she? I want Hermione!" Cheryl demands forcefully jumping up and down on top of Sherlock's shoe.
"Out of the country." Sherlock says this with as little emotion as he can patting the child on the head.
Mary frowns, "Oh? I was hoping she would be here, Albert started to crawl, and I wanted to surprise her. He hasn't had any colic since she gave me that medication, I wanted to thank her properly." Sherlock looked to chubby faced Albert whom had went from scrawny sickly looking infant, to health robust babe, with in the course of four months.
"She promised me a new story about a clever rabbit!" Cheryl complained clearly upset. "Guess it's back to dad's boring mysteries." The now four year old complained, running into the house.
Sherlock knew just how the little girl felt.
Mycroft arrived on time to embracing mother and sneak out the back door for a cigarette before dinner.
Sherlock could hear them all in the living room decorating and singing merrily, as he snuck out to join his brother. "Cigarette?" Mycroft offered holding out the pack.
The thought turned Sherlock's stomach.
"No." He declines watching the small quirk of his brother's lip.
"Don't know where she is do you?" Mycroft asks with dry amusement.
"Australia." Sherlock tells him looking back at the house and the way the windows glow against the twilight of the approaching night.
"Hum." Mycroft is thinking. "Last time we had holiday here, it ended with you stealing government secrets and shooting a man in the head." Mycroft observed.
Sherlock smiled, rocking back on his heels. "Yes, my second favorite Christmas." The detective announces.
Mycroft smiles. "It would be….Why haven't you asked me to track her down?" Mycroft asked. "You clearly don't know where she really is in Australia, which is why you are a nervous wreck." The big brother observes.
Sherlock shrugs. "I don't need to know, do I? She's not a damsel in distress, I'm not her knight in shining armor. You miss read my nerves for fear of her safety. Miss Granger can take care of herself."
"The anticipation of her return then, not nerves." Mycroft verbalizes. "I have a Christmas present for you little brother." The older man states snuffing out his cigarette. He reaches into his beige suit and pulls out a little velvet box. "It was nana's. Since I'm not getting married anytime soon…"
Sherlock takes the box and opens it and there in sitting elegantly in white silk is a golden ring decorated with diamonds, rubies and pearls. It's an antique a beautiful work of art.
"What am I supposed to do with a ring?" Sherlock inquires shortly.
"What men in love do, I imagine." Mycroft in that inferior tone of his when he thought his little brother was being stupid.
Presents were opened and when Cheryl opened a glittering small package before screaming in excitement and running over to her mum, an old book clenched to her chest, Sherlock hadn't really understood.
"Here you are, Sherlock, one more present." His mum commented dropping the light weighted rectangle box in his lap. It too was wrapped in glittering wrapping paper, his name on the tag- from Hermione.
He opened it slowly, the last time he had gotten a mysterious present from a woman he fancied she had faked her own death. Only it wasn't a locked phone with potential government secrets.
It was better.
He held up the black t-shirt in awe of its beauty. A Led Zeppelin concert shirt from the American tour in 1977 with a white outline of a male winged figure. This was wicked.
"Were did you get that?" Mycroft's voice dripping with envy as everyone stopped opening their glittering packages to witness the only Christmas present to have ever come close in comparison to the gift of man's best friend.
"Hermione." Sherlock said her name like a holy prayer, and Jon is the only one who understands the importance of the bridge Sherlock Holmes just crossed.
Sherlock was lounging on his couch a week after New Year staring at the velvet box Mycroft had given him, when Crookshanks walked through his door. The cat looked at Sherlock before making its way over to mantel and making himself comfortable.
"So your back." Sherlock greeted, Crookshanks simply ignored him.
Sherlock quickly got dressed, and looked around. His flat was a disaster he was in the middle of throwing out his latest experiment when Hermione walked through his door, in a yellow sundress her hair pulled back on the sides, she was smiling.
"Good holiday?" She asked casually, like the last several weeks had not been agony.
Sherlock stalked around the table as he answered her. "Delightful! ...What is in Australia?" He was blunt in asking, not caring if he sounded rude.
"My parents." She tells him. "They moved there at my urging some time ago, and they love it so much they refuse to move back. It's easier for me to visit them." She tells him casually.
"Your parents?" He is clearly shocked because she's not supposed to have any of those.
"Yes. They are dentists." she tells him. Nearly seven months of pulling answers out of her like pulling teeth and now its show and tell.
He shows her he has a heart and she tells him her secrets.
"What else did I get wrong?" Sherlock asks moving to stand in front of her with a pinched expression.
She pauses as if to think of everything he had said when they first meant. "I'm older than you think I am and I technically I wasn't running away from a lover, I was regrouping during a battle with my arch nemesis. Perception is a funny thing: Like you- for instance using preconceived conformities to guess what others are- how often are you wrong?" Hermione asks with a playful smile.
"Rarely and It's more scientific than that." He informs her.
"I know. " She reassures him still smiling.
"Jon believes there are some fundamental pieces missing from me. Like emotion." He says this like a warning. She's at arm's length and after so many weeks of pining after her all he can do is try and scare her off. What the hell was wrong with him? He can't even get his arms to move to hug her like his done countless times.
"Missing? Interesting." She comments like she doesn't believe it, she is looking up at him like she wants to touch him but she too is holding back.
"What is interesting?" Sherlock is suddenly afraid of the answer to a question that has plagued him his entire life.
"Anyone with eyes can see that Jon and his family mean a great deal to you and while you treat Mrs. Hudson with dismissive absurdity, you care for her too. You are far more emotional than any man of logic has the right to be. You're not broken, Mr. Holmes. Love is not the absence of logic but the nutrition of a starved mind. To see everything without feeling anything is logic's greatest flaw: its greatest weakness, because while you understand you can't comprehend without emotion."
"Without sentiment." Sherlock states his arm finally reaching for her; pulling her closer. His mouth claims hers and she is what he has missed, she had once cried at him that he complicated things because he had wormed his way into her heart, a declaration of love as loudly as it shone in her eyes when she looked at him. But the truth of it is she is the only person that has ever made sense to him, mind, body and heart, the only person he has every wanted to understand so thoroughly. Her ability to explain feelings and emotions in a sensible and rational way. Why did she have to be so brilliant, honest, kind and so irresistible?
"Sherlock, there is something I do need to tell you." she breathes in between kisses.
Sherlock simply cannot help the irrational suspicion that goes hand in hand with such a declaration.
"Unless it's that you're a lying, manipulative, back stabbing whore, then I think we're good." He reassure her kissing her again before taking a step away from her.
"Noting so dire, but if this is going to work between us I do need to tell you something about me…"
"Yes, I know you're French." He says this like it is one of the greatest sins since attending Oxford. "Moved here when you were what- eight. Your mother still uses French terms of endearments. I expect you can still speak your native tongue?"
"I speak five…well technically six languages. I can read nine." she explains looking at him confused.
"Nine is that all?" He asks with a rather high voice. How could she possibly know nine languages?
"Well yes. I have always been smart, but my class mates were generally eight to nine years older than me...that is until…Sherlock, when I was eleven I was faced with the prospect of being accepted into medical school or attending different kind of school…I know this might shock you …but I'm a…"
"Alien from outer space!" His only partly kidding- kind of hoping, that would explain her vast intellect.
"No a witch." She states matter of fact, like it's a common enough occurrence. "That is I have a bit of magic and Crookshanks well his part Kneazle a very intelligent breed of cat. Harry and Ron are wizards too. It really wasn't a decision when I found out I had magic. I couldn't do both, so I let the magic choose me. It was the most illogical decision I have ever made, and one I have never regretted." She tells him with a completely straight face.
Sherlock takes a step away from her considering her mental stability before quickly deciding that his shocked because he still believes her to be the most sensible person he had ever meant even after such a ridiculous declaration.
"Magic?...Prove it." He requests kindly enough for him. His not denying her statement after all he is the one that coined the phrase: when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And her having a bit of magic on her side would explain how she was so bloody good at everything.
Hermione took a deep breath, shocked really on easily the complicated man was taking her news.
'Prove it.' He said: easy enough.
She walked over and opened his windows the sun was setting and so the rays filtered in casting the evening light into the detective's flat. She stood in front of the wall between the two windows the light surrounding her like a holy vision. A small breeze rises drifting into the flat seconds later her piano starts to play from downstairs, the complicated piece she had played for him months ago, Sherlock blinks wondering if this is the dream he feared.
"Anyone could be playing..." He begins to argue. Then his violin rises and begins to join in with tune of the piano. Sherlock stumbles backwards looking at her still cloaked in sunlight, flowers are drifting in on the breeze swirling and dancing around the room, flowers that are not found readily in London.
Sherlock is a rational man and it takes him ten seconds to rally his nerve and walk over to his floating violin, quickly checking that it was in fact playing by its self. The flowers are a romantic touch and Sherlock is easily convinced that Hermione Granger does in fact have a bit more magic than what she claims.
He slowly walks up to her, Hermione's eyes open and she is watching him- the hesitation on her own face tells him of her buried fears. The taunting children, Freak they screamed at her when she was simply smarter than they were, Freak they screamed when she found the magic she was born with. Both the gifts she utilizes as a young woman to make her who she was today standing before him so honestly undone and so incredibly perfect.
"Will you dance with me, Miss Granger. " Sherlock asks offering his hand with a formal bowing. Understanding for the first time who someone, other than himself, truly is. Two weapons so perfectly shaped that while they can win many battles on their own, together they could win a war.
The relief on her face is enough to make him smile as he pulls her into his arms and together they waltz perfectly in tuned with each other: finally having found the perfect partner for all of life's adventures.
A/N: The end.
I know what I said in my notes at the end of the first chapter, if there are plot discrepancy please let me know- those I will change. I did try and stay on task, but I did end up cutting out ten pages of fluff that I ultimately deciding took away from the central plot.
Thank you for reading and reviewing!
Charlie Bucket is from Charlie and the Chocolate factory: Jaine Crawford- Their eyes where watching god: Paul Edgecomb- The Green Mile: and Karl Popper is in fact a real person that wrote a book on the logic of scientific relativity.