A/N: To all you amazing reviewers, favouriters, followers, and lurkers who have stuck with this story until the end? Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you! But a very special Molly Weasley-esgue hug to Spell and Bludger for their immense support. My beta Spellmugwump97 has saved this fic more times than I can count (I am utterly convinced she either has a time-turner or an enormous supply of felix felicis), while Bludger1, my wonderful boyfriend, ensured the tale's continuation by sneaking me wit-sharpening potions and letting me drone on about plot details into the early morn.

Thus? This is the end, the happily ever after. So let's forget about closed time loops and good old-fashioned villains. Instead, we'll return to where this all began: 221 Baker Street, a consulting detective, a wizard, and a blog.

General Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling or Steven Moffat. I'm a 945 year old Time Lady who's parked her TARDIS on a meter.


'"How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?"' Sherlock Holmes in The Sign of the Four.


The Personal Blog of: Dr. John H. Watson

About me: I am an experienced medical doctor not-so-recently returned from Afghanistan.

Hit Counter: 1927


3rd May, 2007

A Scandal In Baker Street


All was well.

After that story I doubt any of you believe this. Is it shallow optimism? Maybe. Sure, there was a Fall. Multiple falls. But they were two years ago and, honestly, I've always enjoyed life-threatening chaos. Don't ask me how people can survive without excitement. Somehow, Sherlock chucking skulls at reporters won't cut it.

The cases of the Dancing Men and the 'Scandal In Baker Street' were overflowing with heroes, villains, and everyone in between. A few, by the end, were tired of being placed on dehumanising pedestals. Others decided to write fairy tales. Most kept a secret or two. Some fell in love. Too many lost everything: souls, memories, or belief in a sane world. But one thing that became clear was how life is so much more amazing than any story or archetype. We all got a wake-up call as to what's important, and maybe that's why so much transformation happened in the aftermath

In fact, the Woman was the only one of us who didn't change in the least. The ambiguous police record only worked in her favour, and she's broadly remained a loveable anti-hero…who has a weekly tea with Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Weasley, and her 'assistant'. Ginny Potter joins them every so often, but that family is as perplexing as ever. Oh, by the by: whoever's reading this just to pick up clues to where the Potters have run off to, good luck getting past their fidelius charm. I will say they're happy, but I've been sworn to secrecy (literally and unbreakably, in this case) to all other information.

Still, there might be another Weasley before too long. Molly took a leap of faith, deciding that flying to Romania for a chance at happiness was better than tickling any dragon (or that nothing was stopping her from doing both at once). But most of the rest had no time for romance. For Mary Morstan—the art student lost in more ways than one—apparently excitement suits her. She (of all people) became Mycroft's new PA. I know, right? Sherlock was the only one not surprised. He blabbered on about how her texting skills, shrill scream and attitude, and knowledge of a secret world matched with Mycroft's agenda of running the world. That's not to say Mary could fully replace Anthea, but that wasn't needed. The crazy witch continued the magical research partnership with Mycroft, and thus the separate PA job became a bit truer to its name: bureaucracy, bullets and all. No, I'm not asking how the hell all of that works. Those people are mental and control however many governments: I'm picking my battles where I can. Let Sherlock got caught up in that disaster waiting to happen.

On a vaguely more normal note, Greg Lestrade quit Scotland Yard to become the world's second private consulting detective. Sherlock threw a fit…until Lestrade drily pointed out that the overgrown child was now not only the best consulting detective, but was no longer the worst. As for Sally Donovan, after an auror interrogation and stay at St. Mungo's (wizarding hospital, for those not 'in the know'), she was cleared of all wrongdoing. She's a DI now and, though she still isn't our biggest fan, we have more cases coming from her department than any other. Guilt, professional duty, who knows?

But those aren't who you lot want to hear about. Unfortunately, Anthea (aka: the impossible woman with however many names) is as impossible to read as ever. My muggle viewers are surely familiar with her books, but don't let those fool you. Anthea is still Anthea, whether she's Jo, Joanne, Rowling, or JK. She's a magical billionaire mummy philanthropist who wrote a bestselling children series so illegal that—if the truth came out—being chucked in prison would be the least of her problems! Mark my words, that woman is hiding more secrets than everyone else combined. Even Mycroft is frustrated by the uncertainty, though it doesn't stop the two of them from plotting whenever they can. Really, whose idea was it for the two most powerful people in Britain to become best mates! If this alliance doesn't end in WWIII, I don't know what will.

Before you ask, yes, I've read her books. They're quite good. Sherlock disagreed and slammed the sixth through the window. Mrs. Hudson (who's perfectly fine, so you know) threatened to have him follow. Needless to say, within an hour the glass had been replaced. A certain detective was far too smug at avoiding Hudson's wrath.

Also, yes, the Potters have read them as well. The Weasleys had a bet on who would burst into more curses and if there'd be any fainting, but they needn't have bothered. Since Ginny was rather amused by the whole thing, there wasn't a competition. You see, Harry didn't exactly warm to them. Took particular offence to the portrayal of felix felicis. Poor bloke wouldn't stop muttering 'bloody pincers' for days, and he outright hexed Ron Weasley for a quip about a certain monster in his chest. The subsequent shouting match between Rowling and her 'main character' would put a Holmes brothers' argument to shame.

As for the bow-tied 'Doctor' and his two companions, they remain one of many mysteries. From The Tales of Beedle the Bard, John Openshaw, to numerous coincidences, the inconsistencies nagged at all of us. Unsurprisingly, Harry and Sherlock were most perturbed by this. The wizard covered the aforementioned book with numerously scribbled cryptic codes in search of a pattern, and the collection of still unexplainable Dancing Men has now all but become our flat's wallpaper. Mrs. Hudson was less than pleased at the last, but Sherlock can talk anyone into anything when he wishes to (including, apparently, overlooking a few broken windows and body parts). As for me, I've tried to ignore these unanswered questions. Anything else seems a tad unhealthy and, besides, I have my own theory.

See, impossible time travel wrapped around this entire case. With its unsettling resemblance to a BBC series, would it be that improbable to guess that the story has, actually, not yet begun? Sherlock—who's reading over my shoulder—is scoffing at my unsupportable theory. The prat won't admit that mine's the only solution that makes the slightest bit of sense. My guess? He's just perturbed at the idea of a big blue box whizzing us away, and that he'll be forced to remember that the Earth revolves around the sun.

Sherlock grabbed the laptop from me! Had to promise not to clear out the refrigerated eyes to get it back. Anyway, back to the story.

For any muggle readers, Wizarding Britain has also seen a few changes in the past years. Not least of which has been their constant appeal for the Potters to return to Britain. There's no emergency or anything, but the society is feeling terribly vulnerable without its 'hero and prodigal son'. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the Potters have declined every one of the Ministry's public invitations. The magical community is thus…less than pleased at the Potter ex-pats.

Maybe some of you are interested in my own life. I'm still doing cases, still racing after Sherlock and excitement. Why change something that's working? I figured that, though the world has plenty of heroes, it's woefully lacking in doctors who are part-time crime bloggers. Though now, that reminds me. I got a ridiculous number of messages a few chapters back questioning whether Mary and I began dating…which, she's a lovely woman, but what? That would've come out of absolutely nowhere. Besides, things have been going rather smoothly here.

Okay, 'smoothly' is a horrid way to describe life with Sherlock Holmes. Swimmingly? Brilliantly? Aggravatingly perfect? Meh, you all know that man is an absolute prick of a fantastically eccentric consulting detective. He can get under my skin like no other and has the social skills of an otter…okay, yes, fine, so maybe we've both got the emotional range of a teaspoon. But we figured it out in the end. And now? Let's just say that some changes are absolutely fantastic, and that I can't wait for the next few chapters.

Right, enough of that. You want to know about the old-fashioned villains. Still, there's not much to tell. Moriarty/Anderson has been as quiet as a grave and Lestrange/Moran is locked up in a hole somewhere (the Weasleys caught him in the room we were originally held captive in; some sort of timey-wimeyness that gives me a headache). Maybe Moriarty really is dead this time. Huge maybe. Though, I suppose stranger things have happened. I almost hope he'd resurface just so some of these bloody questions were answered. Was he really so mad that he simply wanted to see the world burn? For a man who had triple intentions with every action, he left far too many bodies scattered around for no other purpose than his own 'amusement'. The Dancing Men cyphers? The London attacks? Maybe—just maybe—insanity could explain it, but I think we all know better.

You might be curious about the title 'A Scandal in Baker Street'. Make of it what you will. Maybe the 'scandal' is that two grown men decided being best mates wasn't enough. Maybe it's referring to our old 'neighbours-turned-heroes-turned-villains-turned-ex-pats'. Maybe it concerns Jo pulling the blinds over her 'scheme' to support her family and accomplish the dream of seeing her words adored. Maybe it's referring to the grand plot that made Britain stand at attention as every national icon was put at risk. It doesn't matter much. Not really. Pick whichever you like, because don't you get it? This world is so much madder, so much darker, so much better than what we could ever imagine. It was never a bloody scandal, and it certainly wasn't solely in Baker Street.

So after all of that, you're wondering why I've posted this up. Even if you believe in magic you must think I'm mental to put this case's chronicle online. Why do you think I waited two years to reveal the details? Sure, I'm worried that Obliviators are even now at my door. But I have a few cards up my sleeve—or rather, a group of people with minor positions in the British government have a plan. My own involvement stretches back to Mycroft's obvious advice that, "Keeping a journal would be beneficial" (subtle as a rampaging dragon, that one). But his train of thought wouldn't take a genius to translate. Jo's (Anthea's? Who even knows after all of this) proved the Statute of Secrecy is obsolete. The magical world is known to every industrialised government and countless frenzied fans are already searching for Platform 9 ¾. It would only take another event like the Pentagon Papers, Wikileaks, or a dragon flying over Wales to reveal the full truth to the public. Two years later (or ten, or twenty, or a millennia of built-up tension, depending on one's understanding of the time-space continuum), and the world has already been enchanted by the very hint of magic. Everything could be left at the muggle/wizard divide remaining secure. But it's only a matter of time before that secret backfires, and the best case would be if it was controlled and lightly shifted into place for a new golden age…rather than if a misguided truth came out and led to a terrifying bout of witch hunts (complete with nukes and avada kedavras).

So here we are. Epilogue finished and with a new world beginning to form.

After this is done there'll be an outcry and people who refuse to believe. Obviously. Course. But isn't that what accompanies every historic moment? At the end of the day the magical community will be accepted. There will be fanatic groups who'll protest witchcraft, wizards on their high horses about interacting with muggles, and the biggest disturbance will certainly be fangirls picketing Hogwarts for denying them admittance letters. For the first two, I hope everyone will eventually realise we're all human. For the last? I vote we give the crazies a one-way ticket to Salem Academy: let the Americans deal with them.

Sherlock, who's again reading over my shoulder (despite his promise; is anyone surprised?), is loudly rebutting my optimism, cheesiness, and blissful side-stepping of the facts. But screw his logic. Screw some other things as well…

Alright, that thoroughly distracted him. For five minutes give or take, so I'll make this short. Are you still staring blankly at the screen? If you've gotten past the, "Fiction's real!" reveal, you're likely bewildered by the dates. Remember Moriarty's time scheme? Remember Jo's book series? Remember that the British muggle and magical governments should have halted her bending the Statue of Secrecies the moment they learned about it? Remember who's in charge of those governments? Yeah. Exactly. Do you see it now? Create a cultural icon, take off a nifty wide-spanning charm, and allow two worlds to watch up to each other

Amazing what one reporter sent back fifteen years can do. Don't feel bad for her, Jo made out the best of any of us. Don't blame her either. She couldn't risk a relatively happy future by changing things. Plus, it's the old paradox: if you fix the past would you then have not gone back, which 'unfixed' the past, which is impossible because you're in the past?

So really, there was no saving a good chunk of London on 7/7.

Funny how they were 'magical' numbers. Harry called it a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sherlock called it the mind of an obsessed man who wanted to burn the world. I'm supposed to vote for coincidence at this point, but I don't put much stock in those. Maybe I watch too much BBC, but it's nice to think that every fixed point is leading to something more. How many scars and self-made demons have branched off of Moriarty's insanity? Maybe it's fate or destiny, or maybe I'm reading too much into a closed time loop and butterfly flapping nonsense. But everyone knows how the States gunned up in the London attacks' aftermath (the wizards having covered up magic by pointing at home-grown terrorism), which only further increased with rumours of gamma radiation. At least Stark Industries has been laughing all the way to the bank. But the rest of us are worried, and maybe that's another reason why magic should become known: it would solve so many problems while giving so much hope.

But the reality—whatever it is—is set. Everything begins, continues and ends with a time traveling woman, the Impossible Girl…who told the entire world about a Boy Who Lived through every Fall. So this whole mess returns to the vanished Harry Potter. The Perplexing Potter. The wizard whose moniker can be spotted in every bookstore and movie theatre. The man who quit the heroics business once he sorted out his priorities. The man who will be…rather annoyed when he finds out what we've been doing. But it was all Mycroft's fault, I swear! Or Rowling's: who even knows these days. I'm only thankful the Potters don't have easy access to the internet or this blog.

But now Sherlock's undistracted and back to criticising my phrasing as being, "Too literary and flourishing, completely devoid of facts in favour of superfluous sentimentality!" Prat. Oh, and now I've apparently misquoted him. For the record, he was speaking in a ramble for five minutes; I'm allowed to paraphrase. But I'll tune him out to return to the grand finale. Yes, you're welcome.

So, what cards are left to play? Jo's finishing her fable of childishly inspiring magic, proving to all the purebloods that anyone can enchant an audience. This blog—on the wonder but danger of this 'new' world—is almost complete. There's only one last move before the truth can be shouted from the hills. This isn't any simplistic story. It's a revolution for two stagnated worlds. After so many secrets, it's almost time for fantasy to become reality.

As for me, I don't regret a thing. The revealing of magic will bring about horrors and things seen only in nightmares. But I've found my family. I've found my heart's desire and, judging from Sherlock's sudden speechlessness, even he concurs with my 'flourishing sentimentality'. So from this one tale of wizardry alone, I can assure you that the hope and curiosity will be worth any scar.

Mischief Managed,

John Watson


*Comments Disabled


A/N: THE END!

Though actually, no. Not really at all. While what's past is prologue, you lot haven't yet seen the beginning. Or middle. Or the true end, actually. Try not to think about it too much. But in the forthcoming tale don't panic and don't blink. For the wibbly-wobbly space-time continuum gets confusing in its delinearity. It's a big ball of timey-wimey stuff where any multitude of universes can coalesce and, in realising this, you grow to believe that anything is possible if you've got enough nerve.

The Eleventh Doctor knows all this. He is, in fact, used to six impossible things happening before breakfast. But when another doctor (twice-time displaced, not ginger, not impressed, and late to a wedding) materialised in his TARDIS more around lunchtime, the Doctor could be excused for beingstartled. Even worst? Finding out Jo kept the fantastically brilliant Geronimo of magic from him! Which was the very opposite of cool, thank you very much. Shame there's no one to vent to, as John's preoccupied with being impossible, Amy's squeeing over bromance, and Rory's…entirely unsurprised about there being magic (apparently a Welsh dragon stole the Pandorica, as it will).

As the Doctor busied himself with an existential crisis, the plot moved steadily on. Which wasn't necessarily bad, mind you, but that sort of thing's terribly distracting—what with the shattering Statue of Secrecy, ex-pat Potters, Sherlock Holmes wrecking havoc, a Beedled Crumple-Horned Snorkack quest, Captain Jack Harkness and Irene Adler meeting, Jo hiding more than one twist, and a few muggle actors finding Hogwarts at last.

So with all of this? Little will our favourite heroes recognise the threat knocking four times upon their doors.

For Voldemort, Moriarty, the Master, and a certain Death Eater have waited for too long as the barest of ghosts haunting their foes. It doesn't seem hard for a horcrux, the Hallows, Weeping Angels, a Dream Lord, and a fob watch to be more than enough to destroy seven years of peace.

The world is about to burn. The only question remaining? Which monster will be resurrected first.

~~ Sound supermegafoxyawesomehot? Brilliant! Book 2 awaits in just the next chapter :D