Title: John, I'm a Wizard
Series: n/a
Fandoms: BBC!Sherlock/Harry Potter
Pairings: Pre-slash and slash Johnlock, established Mystrade, established Drarry
Author: Z-sama (dA user the-lady-harkness) and TWTL
Beta: none

WARNINGS: This story will have but is not limited to... Ginny bashing, lots and lots of slash, creatures, wizards, more slash, a broken bed at some point, and Sherlock being... well... Sherlock. It will also have Draco Malfoy being awesome. There will be mentions of mpreg, so you'd best watch out for that. And also, there's some slash. Did we mention the slash? because very clearly, it needs to be mentioned. Because if it's not your cuppa tea, then you really don't need to reach much further than this one more mention of SLASH.

MISC: This story comes from a line in a Sherlock fic where a very drunken John says on a video recording Our babies will be short and smart! That immediately led to a fic writing session of Sherlock quoting, Ginny bashing, and eventual talks of wizards and creature!fics. So here you go. This is what we came up with. Please bear with us, as this is the very first Sherlock fic we've ever done, as well as the first Harry Potter fic we've ever done. Our knowledge of Harry Potter comes from the movies, fanfics (mostly drarry and creature!fics) and all the Harry Potter wiki sites out there for our research. So please, be kind. We're not fans at all of Potter, but we'll do our best!

LAST LITTLE NOTE: This story will MAINLY be Sherlock and John. The Harry Potter elements will be there, just... not the dominant ones.

Two heads of curly, sandy blond hair rested on pink and blue pillows respectively. Two small beds took up each side of the room, with matching night stands side by side beneath the window between them.

Two sets of ashen eyes watched from above the identical duvets as a man stood at a bookshelf near the door. He was carefully considering which book to choose when he heard a little boy's voice pipe up behind him.

"Tell us a story about you and father," he said.

"Which one?" he asked as he selected an old, well worn book from the shelf and moved to sit at the end of the pink bed.

"The one about that mean Mr. Moriarty!" the boy exclaimed, sitting up in his bed and letting the duvet fall to his lap. He hugged a stuffed penguin tightly, ash colored eyes wide in anticipation.

"No," he said.

The girl sat up straight, hugging a stuffed hedgehog. "Then what about when you learned father was a wizard!"

"Yeah!" the boy chimed in.

He sighed. "That's a really long story," he said, running a hand down his face. "Why don't I just read you more of The Hobbit instead?"

"No no. We wanna know about you and father and the wizards!"

The little boy nodded. "Yeah. Harry's right! We wanna hear the story!" The boy was all but jumping on the bed now.

"Hudson, you plant that bottom and get right back under those blankets," he said sternly.

The boy pouted, much in the same manner his father pouted when their daddy used that tone of voice. They all called that tone The Captain because he sounded like he was ordering people about when he used it.

Hudson groaned, climbed back under his duvet, and hugged the penguin. Once both children were settled, he opened the book but didn't get a chance to read.

Harry, the girl, grinned. "Uncle Greggy says it's a romantic story."

"You're five. You shouldn't know about romantic stories," he said.

Hudson puffed out his cheeks. He was clearly annoyed. "Uncle Crofty says it's a funny story."

There was a soft chuckle from the open door behind him. "He would say that."

John turned enough to see behind him. There stood Sherlock. Wrapped in his dark blue dressing gown and fighting to keep from smiling too much. He was, after all, still Sherlock Holmes. The cold and calculating consulting detective. Smiling as much as he'd liked would spoil his reputation. But he couldn't help but tease. "Come on, John. It is a rather fascinating story."

John groaned, causing both children to giggle from their beds. They knew that their father could always get their daddy to do whatever it was they wanted. Unless, of course, daddy was acting like The Captain. Then none of them would have any luck.

"Fine," John said at last, closing his book and setting it to the side. But he cast a half-hearted glare to Sherlock. "But you're going to help."

"Of course." And with that, the consulting wizard detective strolled into the room. "Otherwise you will no doubt leave out crucial details of the story."

When Sherlock sat opposite John at the end of Hudson's bed, the doctor leaned forward and said so only Sherlock could hear, "Nothing sordid. They're only five."

"Then I leave the majority of the story in your capable hands of censorship," Sherlock said, then added louder so the children could hear, "Now then, John. Where shall we start?"

"Well..." John replied as he got more comfortable and racked his brain. It had been seven years since that Christmas, after all. "It was late November-"

"December seventh."

"Right. And we were just wrapping up a case-"

"I believe you titled it The Case of the Beligerent Barista on the blog," Sherlock added helpfully. Causing both children to giggle.

"Yes," John snapped in annoyance. "Now can I tell the story before the kids turn eleven and have to leave for boarding school?"

Sherlock smirked. "Of course, John. Proceed."

"Thank you."

The children giggled again at the exchange. They always giggled when their daddies bickered. Because it was always so funny.

"As I was saying," John said, turning to his children. "We were just wrapping up a case. Your father was doing one final experiment in the kitchen to prove whether or not the victim was burned with a specific brand of coffee that could only be found at this one specific cafe in Ealing. There really wasn't anything left for me to do, so I made a cuppa and sat down to read the paper..."

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Sherlock?" John.

"Thinking," the consulting detective said, sitting at the kitchen table with his fingers steepled under his chin. Test tubes filled with murky water and coffee grounds. Another experiment. Another possible lead to his latest case.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Sherlock, it's an owl."

Sherlock didn't respond. He was completely engrossed in his thought processes. Locked away in his mind palace as he worked through the theories concerning the coffee grounds. John sighed when his flatmate didn't move. "Typical," he muttered, setting down his tea and rising from his chair to cross the room to the window. He peeked out and there, tapping the glass, was an owl.

"It's an eagle owl," Sherlock said without moving. Without even looking at the window before lapsing back into silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

John was just about to open the window when it flew away, but something looked like it had been clutched in its talons. The soldier's forehead creased as he frowned, but he shrugged it off and went back to his chair.

He was only given a moment's peace before the two men heard the downstairs door burst open and a horrified shriek from Mrs. Hudson.

Seconds later John nearly jumped out of his chair when the owl dropped a package in his lap, causing him to spill his tea. The large bird found a good place to perch, right on the back of Sherlock's chair across from John.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson called as she raced into the room. John was just picking up the package, inspecting it closely when Sherlock snapped at him.

But it was too late. John had opened the package, and a letter tumbled out with a few other mysterious items.

Sherlock groaned when the letter hovered in the air, reshaped itself to resemble a letter with a large mouth and started shouting.

"SEVERUS JAMES MALFOY-POTTER!" the letter boomed in a rather angry voice, and John could only stare, wide eyed as Mrs. Hudson fainted. Sherlock on the other hand let out a long, mournful moan.

"...He sent a bloody Howler..." Sherlock groaned while John tried his best to regain his wits.

The owl only looked at the three of them, blinking before preening itself while waiting to be given a reply and sent on its way.

"Sherlock! There's a letter!"

And the letter kept shouting at them, or rather, more specifically Sherlock. "You fake your death and don't bother to inform your parents that you're still alive! Your mother was worried sick about you! Your sister had to be taken to St. Mungos because she was so distraught! Just because your brother was an ass does not give you the right to give your entire family nightmares!..."

"It's a... It's a floating..." John muttered, ignoring the tea cooling on his jumper. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"My father is expressing his anger at me through a letter. Do keep up, John," Sherlock said drily as the howler just continued nearby.

"...And another thing! You WILL be attending the holidays at home. You WILL be on your best behavior. And you WILL bring your friend because I am not going to allow you to use your muggle friend as an excuse to get out of your familial obligations again."

Then, just when the two men thought it was over, the floating letter turned away from Sherlock to John as if it could sense him in the room. Its voice was softer and much more polite than it had been while shouting abuse at Sherlock. "John we simply cannot wait to meet you. Mycroft has told us so much about Sev's little muggle boyfriend. He'll be bringing his as well so you won't feel so awkward. We look forward to your company for the holidays and trust you to keep my prodigal son on his best behavior during your visit."

And with that, much to John's amazement, the letter ripped itself to shreds and landed in a pile on the carpet.

"Sherlock?" John asked, not taking his eyes away from the pile of paper as if afraid it would some how pull itself back together to spout off more abuse.

"What the bloody hell is going on?"

"You know I hate repetition, John," Sherlock said in that same even tone he always spoke in when he found things to be less than interresting. "Well, I suppose now is a good time to tell you. I'm a wizard."

"Excuse me?"

"I will not repeat myself," Sherlock said evenly, and turned on his heel to return to his experiment.

The owl just cocked its head and stared at John with mild interest.

A/N: So... Yeah. That's this then. Please review and tell us what you think. As I stated above, it's our first Sherlock AND first HP fic so... yeah.