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: See first chapter for all the warnings.

MISC: So sorry for the delays people. We really are! But TWTL has been having health issues, and it has impeded our writing. We hope to initiate a new method/process so that we may work around these issues... Also, this fic is up on tumblr with BONUS CONTENT. God help us all... sherlockmalfoy . tumblr . com

LAST LITTLE NOTE: Remember... o0o denotes scene changes. the lines across the page denote time period changes. it's pretty straight forward.

Companionable silence fell between brother and sister. She wrapped her arms around him, causing him to at last release his wrist and reciprocate when it had become clear she would not budge until he had. She pressed her ear against his chest, listening to his elevated heartbeat. "You're worried," she said finally, releasing him. "Do you need-"

"Yes," he replied, extricating himself from her embrace and moving to the chair beside the bed. He did not sit immediately. Instead he dragged it around to the opposite side, the side where John lay, and then seated himself in it.

Lily watched him as he settled into silence. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His hands pressed together to steeple just under his chin. She gave a nod, allowing her eyes to unfocus just a little. Allowing her to peek beneath the veil of reality and see the platinum haired woman standing guard beside the chair.

The woman, her Lucia, gave a small nod of understanding.

"I'll be taking Lucia with me," Lily said after a moment, unsure if Sherlock could even hear her. "But if anything changes-"

"You mean if he wakes," Sherlock said from his chair. "Yes yes. Take your ghost and go."

"Should I send for a house elf? In case-"

"No. No one but you or I are to enter this room. Especially Mycroft. He helped bring John here, correct?"

"Yes. After he was patched up."

"Keep him as far away as possible. I can still smell our brother's stink all over him."

She waited a few more minutes after he lapsed into silence once more. Waiting for him to say or do anything more. But there was nothing. His hawk-like gaze was focused entirely on the sleeping man in the bed. Quietly she slipped from the room, closing and locking the door behind her.


Sherlock had sat for hours. Silently willing John to open his eyes. To respond in some manner other than the brief rapid eye movements behind his lids. When Sherlock had first noticed it, he felt a flood of relief. It had been a well documented fact in the post-war medical studies on prisoners who had received the Dementor's Kiss did not dream. That, and many of one's other mental faculties ceased to function properly with the removal of what the majority of wizards considered the human soul. Though Sherlock had become a man of science, a man of reason and rational thinking over the span of his long life, there were still the dormant ingrained fears and half-glimpsed beliefs that lingered still in the darker corners of his mind. Left over from a boyhood spent in the isolated world of magic and mysticism.

Yet as the man's eyes moved quickly, rapid bursts of dreams playing behind his eyelids that lasted in reality for mere seconds, he found himself taking comfort, briefly, in the old superstitions. John had been kissed by death, and lived presumably intact to tell the tale...

"Should he even wake," Sherlock spoke quietly to the otherwise empty room.

He remained hunched, fingertips pressed into the flesh beneath his chin as his elbows remained firmly upon his knees. He needed a wash. He needed food and drink and rest. And knew that had John been awake, he would have insisted upon it. But he wasn't. Thus... Sherlock remained. Sitting in silent study of a face he doubted any other, including its owner, knew better than he.

The steady, shallow breathing periodically sped up in conjunction with the occasional dreams that came and went. Only a fraction, the slightest of differences. But not beyond the notice of Sherlock Holmes and his sharp eyes. When coupled with the slight, brief flaring of nostrils, and the wrinkle of his brow as he slept, it would be a nightmare that had come upon him. Under normal circumstances, he would awaken with a shout. Awaken screaming or sobbing, lost in the mental projections of war and blood and sand. As he had many a night at Baker Street, only to find his friend down the stairs, having silently moved to work in the sitting room rather than the kitchen. Or wordlessly retreat to his own room should it be obvious John had needed complete solitude instead.

But these were not normal circumstances. John's own fear would not wake him. Because it was his fear that had gripped him tight and refused to release him. That was, unfortunately, the after effects of nearly having what metaphorically passes as one's soul ripped unwillingly from the body.

Unfortunately for the both of them, Sherlock understood the physical... and emotional effects of having come so close to the brink. And he also understood that right now, there was absolutely nothing he could do but wait. And hope John woke on his own.


The lock clicked, and Sherlock was on his feet within seconds as the door creaked open. His wand out and pointed at the petite woman standing with a tray carefully balanced on one arm. "Oh, put it away, it's only me."

"You brought me dinner. I'm not hungry."

"I'll have you know I had to fight with the kitchen elves for this. You're going to eat it. Because as bad as he's going to feel when he wakes up, the bloody idiot's going to think it's his fault you haven't eaten."

Sherlock threw himself back into his chair as she came in to set the tray down on the writing desk by the window. "Father is insisting you see him. I've managed to keep him off your case for the evening, but you'd better check in with him tomorrow."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "So he can blame me for ruining yet another happy family holiday, no doubt. If not for mother, I needn't have bothered to come at all."

"Father's worried-"

"Hardly." He tucked his wand away, up his sleeve as he settled back. "I know precisely what the man thinks of me. Likewise, he knows my views on him. There is nothing more to discuss other than the formalities of a father obligated to state his disappointment and attempt to discipline an errant and willful child. Really, Lily. The only time Draco Malfoy showed concern for my welfare was when it became quite obvious he would be stuck with the embarrassment of my existence and the burden of having an unpredictable and dangerous creature under his roof."

She stood with hands on her hips, her red hair pulled up into a messy bun. Tufts stuck out here and there, with stray strands defiantly dancing where they had come free from the rest. "You... You're both just the same. You keep talking like you hate one another! You know father would take a killing curse for you-"

"Because if he didn't mother would hate him for not protecting one of their children. And he would never do anything to deliberately upset mother."

"And you," she continued as if he hadn't said anything, "Would face a pack of rabid werewolves if they took a mind to take a chunk out of father."

"I hardly see how such a scenario would come to pass. Has he been deliberately provoking the werewolves of late? Has he been selling bogus wolfsbane on the black market? Also, what incentive would I have to keep him safe when my entire life he has treated me with less dignity than a common dog? It would be in my best interest to leave him to the wolves than to risk my own life."

She groaned in frustration. It was an old argument and it was going nowhere fast. "Look, I'm just saying-"

"I know what you are saying. And I am simply informing you that you are wrong. It would be unkind of me to allow your belief that father and I may yet come together with hugs and smiles and forgiveness to continue."

"Merlin! You're such a dick!" she shouted angrily.

His expression, she found, softened. Just a little around the eyes as he turned his attention back to John. "Yes," he said. "I've been reliably informed of the fact, thank you. Now, if you would kindly perform whatever tests you need to do and then leave, I would be much obliged."

She mumbled and grumbled as she repeated her tests from before, allowing her brother to tell her every detail he had picked up during his vigil. Her mood hadn't improved, but she was able to set it aside to examine later with practice dummies and a few well aimed hexes later. Easily she allowed herself to drop into her healer role as she listened and worked. Sherlock was detailing for her his incomplete knowledge of his only friend's nightmares. Facts he had been able to glean from listening one floor below. Or outside of a bedroom door and unsure of what would be needed, or if he should even intrude.

By the end, she was frowning. "Nightmares... Why didn't I see that before..."

"Because you did not know to look specifically for it. You do not know what signs to look for, as you do not know John as well as I."

Rubbing her chin she tried to think of something she could do to help the man on the bed. "Normally we would prescribe the highest dosage of Dreamless Sleep for trauma like that. Even then, only sparingly."

"Dreamless Sleep also puts the drinker into a deeper sleep. That is precisely what we do not wish to do." He considered the options for a moment, waving his hand to stop his sister from pinching him as he receded briefly into the halls of his mind palace. Searching for an answer to the problem at hand. Somewhere there had to be an answer. One that his sister had overlooked.

"Of course!"


"Take Lestrade into London. Have him go to my flat," he said excitedly, striding to the writing desk and pushing the tray laden with food out of the way. Lily whipped out her wand and managed to catch it before it clattered to the floor beside him. Quickly he had scrawled across a piece of parchment, then ripped it off a larger roll and handed it over. "Have him procure these items. He's conducted enough drug busts to know where I keep them."

"Drug busts?! Sherlock! Really?!"

"No no. Well... sometimes. Not since John- We don't have time. Go. Now. When you return, you will find me in father's lab."

"And what exactly are you going to do?!" she exclaimed, following him to the door.

"One of three things. Either ease his nightmares until he wakes on his own, wake him up, or possibly overdose him with Pepper-up potion. Have you ever experienced the effects of nineteen consecutive doses, taken regularly at ten minute intervals? Quite invigorating!"

"That could kill him!"

"Yes. But what would you have me do? Sit and do nothing when the answer is stored in here?" He tapped the side of his head. "Sister, I am impatient and easily bored. I cannot sit idly by watching John sleep when I could very well be regaling him with my intellect and receiving the praise I so desperately need like fish need water and the human body needs air. Now get going! I won't wait a second longer than necessary!"


Lily had taken Lestrade to retrieve the items on the list her brother had given her. When they had returned, he was indeed in their father's potions lab. The stench of his work wafted through the halls. Mycroft and Harry were shouting through the door at him when the healer and muggle had arrived.

Lestrade clutched the leather pouch in his hands tightly. Lily had filled him in, as best she could, on why they had to fetch her brother's kit. Specifically his hypodermics. He'd refused, of course, not wanting to aid the detective's drug use. But when she'd explained that they were needed for something entirely different, and for John, he'd reluctantly agreed to find them. Now, faced with the smells, and the two very concerned wizards pounding on the old door... He couldn't help himself. "What's this about!"

"Sherlock! I know what you're making and I personally call the healers to take you back to rehab!"

"Piss off Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted from the other side. "And tell mother to stop trying to apparate inside! It's putting me off!"

"Why you-"

Harry's words were cut off when Lily gave a sharp, almost earsplitting whistle. Mycroft and Harry winced while Lestrade had tried to cover his ears from the sound.

"Now that I've got your attention!" she shouted loud enough to ensure Sherlock could hear her inside. "He is not brewing drugs. At least... I hope not. He's trying to... Well, he's got this idea. About combining some potions into some sort of super Pepper-up potion."

"The last time he tried that we had to strap him to the bed!" Mycroft shouted, turning to bang on the door again.

"Lily, do please deal with our brother!"

With a sigh, she turned her wrist, letting her wand fall from the holster strapped to her arm. The moment her fingers closed around it, she flung a stunner at her eldest brother, then turned her attention to Harry as Mycroft crumpled against the door and slid to the ground. "I know I can't take you in a fight, mother. But I will try if I must."


"It's for John. And I've done everything I can. We can't take him to St. Mungos, he's a muggle. And we can't take him to a muggle hospital because then the department of Muggle Affairs will get involved, and no one wants that. Especially Mycroft. And we do not need our names attached to yet another scandal." She held out her other hand to Lestrade. "The kit, if you please. Then tend to my brother. He's going to have a headache when he comes to. That was a rather strong one."

"Lilian, lower your wand and step away. I know you feel you have to defend your brother. You love him, and so do we, but you need to understand that he's-"

"What? Dangerous? He's more dangerous to himself than anyone else! What with his self sacrificing ways and his selfless acts of bravery he thinks no one knows about!" She made sure to shout that last bit to ensure the man in question heard her. "Why, if he fails tonight I'd have to put him on suicide watch, and he knows I will. Because he very clearly informed me exactly what would happen to him should John Watson shuffle off without him. Now Greg, be a dear and give me the kit or I will forcibly take it from you. I'd hate to have to stun a defenseless muggle like some common dark witch."

The door creaked open, and a very frustrated and very haggard looking Sherlock came out in a wave of orange smoke. "Take this," he said, holding out a small wooden box. "Mix exactly one drop of the solution in the kit with it."

Lestrade shouted at him. "You're not giving John cocaine Sherlock!"

"No. THAT is in the kit hidden up the chimney. THIS is the kit from the floorboards under the left side of my bed, is it not?"

"Yes," Lily answered, taking the box from her brother.

"Then it's the one with the morphine. One drop, Lily. Fill the syringe to the yellow line with the potion. No more than that. Understand?"

"Do I-"

"No. You will wait for me. Go!"

"What about?"

"Accio veritaserum," he said, holding his hand out for one of the bottles from the shelves behind him. Before anyone could stop him he uncapped the bottle with his teeth and downed the entire thing. Pulling a face, he threw the bottle down, hearing it break as it hit the floor.

He didn't stop to answer Harry's demands, stalking through the manor with his mother on his heels as Lestrade and Lily took an alternate route, well out of the detective's path, to John and Sherlock's room.