A/N: Hello all! This is my first adventure into a crossover story. I REALLY hope you like it, I have been working this for about a month. I would love your opinions, reviews, thoughts, what you like, what you didn't.

-Summary: 13 years of pain, suffering, & a wish for death is suddenly taken away when a man with slate/blue eyes gently grabs my wrist and just gives me a smirk.

-Story revolves mostly in normal London, with some mentions of the WW, maybe an 'adventure' to it later on. fem!harry, non romantic john/sherlock, diffrent mycroft (to a point) and greg just being greg.


The walk back to the flat was long. My face had this ache that reminded me that I did a stupid thing. But, I could only ignore it for so long. How does one simply ignore the constant belittling of the men who saved my life? Another pulse of pain has me stopping, leaning against the nearest object, it being a red phone box that was cool in the mid spring air. I notice too late the CCTV camera moving to face me, but when I finally do, I start fast walking the remaining blocks to the flat, knowing I needed to get there first, before…

After 5 minutes, the door opens quietly for me. 'Please be off. Let there be a case.' This is the only thing passing through my mind as I creep up the steps. I glance at the door leading to our land lady's flat and blissfully see the lights off. But, the real obstacle lay up the stairs. The bag is digging into my shoulder, my usual carrying arm useless to me at the moment. All I need to do is get to my room and I can get cleaned up, before I'm seen. My foot hits the top landing and I freeze, listening for the telltale signs of my dad's breathing or da's laptop. But, nothing. Not a sound from the living room or kitchen. Sighing, I continue walking until I pass the kitchen archway, when a long fingered hand gently grabs my chin, bringing slate-blue eyes into mine.

'Shite.'

Normally, Dad would have read this in my eyes and smirked, but his eyes were hard and focused, taking in the injuries to my face, neck and arms. I can see the anger build behind his eyes and before I could stop him, he turned and called out,

"John."

My eyes closed as a scuffling was heard; Da getting out of the chair was always noisy. Then his fingers replaced dads, medical knowledge leading him through my cuts and bruises. I cracked my eye lids open to see da's blue eyes scanning my injuries while dads were buried into my green.

"Stella, what happened?"

"John, do pay attention. She obviously has gotten into a physical argument with…five others. This didn't happen at the school, otherwise we would have heard from the headmistress. No, this happened on the way home; confronted by the plebeians. The only question is why let yourself be brought to their level." Dad's deep voice cut through me.

But I still don't answer; instead I let da guide me to his chair while he then gets the first aid kit, dad once again watching me, only now he is in his chair, knees not drawn up like he normally does. His fingers are twitching, an action that shows how worried/frustrated/angry he is. An old fear creeps up in my subconscious and I felt myself shrink into the plush chair, my heart rate increasing.

'I knew it. I knew I would muck it all up.'

"Stop it." Dad's voice almost cuts through my mind.

But I can't. The shakes start before the tears, the painful memories over riding the past 3 years of my life. Memories of pain, hunger, humiliation, shame and a wish for death. I'm hyperventilating, fingernails digging into my forearms, the nails pushing into my already bleeding wounds. Gentle hands pull my fingers away, but I can't calm down.

'Please, I don't want to go back. I'll be killed if I go back.'

I suddenly find myself on the ground, dad's arms wrapped around me, my head tucked under his chin, hands held tightly in his, his voice in my ear. I don't know what he is saying, but between this and da's gently hands cleaning my injuries bring me down from another panic attack. I thought I was getting better; I haven't had one for months. When I finally come down, I realize I've been talking the whole time, telling them exactly what happened and why.

"I don't understand why you didn't just come to us." Da whispered, wrapping the last bandage around my forearm before turning to my face.

"I can normally take it, I've taken worse. But dad just got back and every day when he was gone, she took great pleasure in tormenting me about his 'false' status. Even when he comes back, is proven innocent and is given a bloody knighthood," Dad grimaces at this, "she still digs at me. She just doesn't stop and I'm just tired of being the bloody high and mighty HERO!"

My voice is cracking, but my eyes are locked in my da's and he has this understanding expression that just makes him look older then he should. I know what he went through when dad 'died', I was there and I know he knew I took it really hard. Dad was the one who pulled me away from my ex-uncle before he broke my wrist in his beefy, puce hand. The one who saw through my 'hero shield' and was the one who adopted me with some help from a 'minor' government employee. To suddenly not have him there because some psycho man decided he was bored and would take one of few important people to me, reminded me too much of what I ran from.

A gentle scoff from over my head pulls my eyes up into dad's slate/blue. He has his head tilted, a small smile towards me before he kisses my temple.

"You foolish girl, no one expect a hero." He whispers into my hair, arms wrapping tighter around me.

A voice, so similar my dad's, pulls our attention the door, to a figure in a 3 piece suit leaning on a black umbrella.

"A hero is no longer required of you and you are only required to be a 16 year old student."

'Go tell the Minister this.' I snapped in my head.

As he always does, my uncle seemed to read my mind. "I already have, has he been bothering you still?"

All I do is point to a pile of unopened parchment letters with the Minister of Magic's seal on everyone. The latest pile is 10 letters high, the writing on the address more agitated the newer they are. My uncle simple glares at them before pocketing them. Usually, this is where he would leave, but his blue/slate eyes were locked on me again, the foreign emotion freezing me in place.

"Tell me you didn't see her getting into this and just let her walk back injured?" Da asked my uncle with his jaw clenched and his blue eyes trained on him.

"No John, I only saw the aftermath and found her when she came off of York Street onto Baker. I can tell you that of the five plebeians, 3 are unconscious and the other 2 have fractured ribs and wrists, as well as…fractured egos."

Now, I could be wrong, but I could swear I saw pride in my uncle's eyes for a brief moment. It was only a second, I could be wrong. But something I knew wasn't made up in my mind was the prideful chuckle I heard and felt from dad, his free hand rubbing small circles on my back. Da looked torn between anger at my fighting and joy at my defending myself. He didn't get a chance to respond because there were footsteps on the stairs; fast and heavy.

"That will be Lestrade." Dad whispers, standing and pulling me up with him.

A second later, the salt & peppered DI Greg Lestrade rushes through the living room door. His brown eyes search the room quickly before landing on me, his lips set into a half grin half grimace.

"Cor, got into a tiff didn't you?" He asks, moving forward until he stops.

His fingers lift my chin up, and since Da hadn't bandaged it up yet, he got blood on said appendages. I know he's not here in DI mode, no he is here in Uncle Greg mode, and I feel the tension release from Dad's grip.

"Got a call in 10 minutes ago, woman sees this group of blokes and birds ganging up on another bird. She then proceeds to inform us that the lone girl does get hurt, but then dishes it out right back, knocking out 2 boys and a girl before injuring the others, even with several injuries to her own person. First I thought, not my department, than the responding officer shows me the CCTV footage. Imagine my surprise when I see my little niece fighting back like a pro." Greg says all this, he eyes never leaving my own.

But I don't respond & before dad can, Greg speaks again.

"Obviously, no charges against you, seeing as it were all self-defense. Just wanted to know you were alright."

His gentle tone set me even more at ease, letting him pull me into a tight hug, despite the sharp pain it causes. I can hear dad whispering to da, who then talks in hushed tones to my uncle, who keeps sending glances my way. I'm closer to my uncle than people would think, given his personality. It would surprise most who knew him just how protective he was of me, given that I have only been his niece for three years. At times, I understand dad's irritation at my uncle at how overprotective he could get. Sometimes, I feel like a prisoner in my own home and I've let my uncle know this, sometimes very loudly, much to my dads' pleasure.

I see my uncle nod at da before looking at me, a guarded expression in his blue/slate eyes. I pull out of Greg's arms and walk carefully to my uncle, the pain still pulsing through my head. He simple pulls me into a brief hug, his lips at my ear, whispering. After this, he takes his leave, the black umbrella tucked under his arm. As if coming off an adrenaline high, as soon as the front door closes, I suddenly collapse to the floor, sobbing as the pulses of pain rake my body.

"Stella!" My dads' combined voices ring through the flat.

Da's hands try to help but there isn't much he can do without painkillers, so he rushes to his phone. I'm guessing he is calling Sara, the head nurse at the Surgery center where he works part time. Dad's arms gently hold me, my head tucked under his chin again.

"Never dull around you, huh poppet?" He whispers, fingers raking through my hair as another spasm of pain rocks my body.

'No matter how used to it I am, pain is no fun.' My mind is fuzzy, but I can hear Greg talking to dad, saying he would work personally on the case, make sure that no one got away with anything.

"Even Lucille Marroe? Pretty sure her father could get her out of this. Scum bag wanker." I ask, watching Greg go into DI Lestrade mode.

"Oh he can try, but when we have clear CCTV footage of her throwing you into the wall then trying to hold you while the boys punched you, don't think that little bird is going anywhere." He replies before seeing my reaction.

I see da freeze in the middle of a sentence, turning his blue eyes back to me while I feel dad tense up again behind me, the hand in my hair stilled. I hadn't told them that yet. I think Greg sensed this, because he quickly left the flat, leaving me with two overprotective dads.

"Why would you leave that out?" Da asks, kneeling back down in front of me.

I open my mouth, but fail to come up with an adequate answer. Dad lifts the front of my blouse up, revealing ugly black and blue bruises all over my abdomen. Making a noise, he gently pulls my up again, letting da examine me once more, only my torso this time. After 20 minutes of salve and bandaging, they let me go upstairs to change after a dose of painkillers, provided by Sara, who had this look that made me fear for the idiots who hurt me. I make it up my bedroom and collapse at my desk, my laptop still open to the news article I had been reading this morning before school. Looking into the mirror hanging over the desk, I'm unsurprised to see my skin paler than normal, the dried blood making it worse. My long, jet black hair was tousled on one side while the other was more tamed down, due to dad's fingers. Finally resolving to try and take a small shower, I begin to strip, grimacing as the now ruined school uniform fell to the floor in a heap, dried blood flaking off onto the ground. Moving into the bathroom, I see what my dads saw: bruising up and down my back, legs and arms, scratches down my back and what looked like a hand print on my neck. After the painkillers kick in, I can finally move more like a human & ease into the shower, watching the water turn red/brown, careful not to get the bandages around my abdomen wet. Thankful for the detachable showerhead, I somehow wash my hair, noticing blood coming off from my scalp as well.

'Damn, well, I have to let him know.'

I get dressed in my favorite soft pjs, leaving my hair wrapped loosely in the towel before moving back down the steps, stopping when I see and hear my dads talking in the living room.

"Dammit Sherlock! I'm not going to just sit back and let this little group of….of…" Da's voice trails off & I can see his fists shaking before he turned and hit the doorway behind him.

I love these men with every fiber of my being; the last thing I need to be doing to causing more upset in the flat. I should have just run, but that damn Gryffindor pride and all.

'Well now Potter, look at the mess you're in now.' I could swear that was Malfoy's voice running through my head. He always knew how to egg me on and always did, until…until that occurred. After the incident, he was always…dare I say kind?

But, enough about the blonde wonder, I have other things to worry about. I inch off the steps and head back to the living room, da sitting in his chair, a cuppa steaming in his hands while dad is standing near his desk, texting either Greg or my uncle.

"Da?"

I don't normally speak so low, but my throat feels like fire and I know that they both hear the scratchy hoarseness that causes da to push his cuppa into my hands before I'm put in dad's chair. Before I can continue, I feel the blood creep down my forehead, which is noticeable due my hair being still up in the towel. Da's eyes widen before he is in doctor mode again, fingers gently going through my hair.

"Not much I can do about this, without bandaging your whole head. For right now, we'll use the towel and apply pressure and see if it helps cease the flow. The cuts aren't deep, but there are two or three areas that concern me. Want to tell us why you have wounds there too? No more secrets, Stella."

Dad sits on the edge of the chair, doing his own inspection of my head while I take a long sip of the tea in my hands, gathering my words. I take a few more sips until dad's fingers cease and rest on the nape of my neck. Putting the now empty tea cup down, I open my lips and answer.

"I think I happened when Lucille threw me or when one of the trolls grabbed me. I honestly don't know da. I knew it was stupid to try and sort her out. I knew I should have just come home. But I let my foolish pride blind my actions and I got hurt; I just thought that I wouldn't have to deal with things like that once I left the wizarding world."

My voice cracks again, stopping the flow of words, but I see that da doesn't need more said. He simply nods before leaning forward and kissing my forehead. He mutters something about needing his own cuppa again and goes into the kitchen, leaving me with dad. He is silent, completely still, bringing me to look up at him, seeing him gazing at a picture on the mantel.

It's from my first Christmas in the flat, 10 months after I was...saved by my dads. At that point, I was still unsure of the pair, although by that time I was already adopted by dad and my name changed. I still have injuries from my ex-uncle and my…adventures from my previous year. But, I was happy and smiling, wrapped in a sweater that da has bought for me while he pushed dad down for the picture. I remember that being a moment where I knew I would be safe with them, knew that they would do anything for me; so I resolved to try my best & get better, letting these two men into my heart.

"I understand, poppet." Dad's voice draws me from my memories, once again feeling his fingers resting on the nape of my neck. "Believe me, I understand why you stood up to her, but if I ever lost you…"

He trails off, but his eyes stay on me, shame building up in my heart again. Wrapping my arms around his waist, I bury my face into his chest, the familiar scent of rain and pine pulling the tears out again. I find myself sobbing again, dad's hand again rubbing circles on my back, while he pulls me up only to sit in the chair, pulling me to his lap. He lets me curl up in his lap, putting my head under his chin again. I've stopped myself crying, but I still feel the need to be close him, not that he seems to mind.

A knocking draws the attention of all three of us and da leaves to answer it, muttering about the time and inconsiderate morons, sounding a bit like dad actually.

'For not being a couple, they are sure beginning to act like a married duo.' The thought brings a small smile to my lips.

But this doesn't last long, as two pair of footsteps coming up the steps causes both dad and I to sit up, his hands resting protectively over me. Da walks into the room first, a grim expression filling his face. The next person is someone I thought I would never see again

"Ms. Potter, how…delightful to see you unharmed."

A/N: OK, so you know what to do. Please review, i eat them for breakfast. I cannot say what the posting schedule will be, it does highly depend on you wondrous readers.