Harry Potter, Sherlock 1. Chapter 1

"John." Sherlock broke the silence of the cab, attempting to stir his friend from his short nap. John showed no intention of moving, or of opening his eyes for that matter. Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, glancing at the sleeping man on the adjacent seat. "John." he said a bit louder, still receiving nothing more than a sleepy yawn and a bit of very slight snoring. "JOHN WATSON!" Sherlock exclaimed, causing John's eyes to snap open. He looked around anxiously, not knowing if there was any present danger nearby. His eyes met Sherlock's and immediately he knew what was happening.

"Oh," John said dismissively, "we're here." Sherlock nodded in an irritable fashion and unbuckled his seatbelt, exiting the vehicle quickly. The two men climbed up the main stairs of Scotland Yard. There was a comfortable silence amongst them in the elevator ride, and again down the main corridor leading to Lestrade's offices.

"Look who it is, Hannibal Lecter and his faithful companion Clarice Starling. What brings trouble down to Scotland Yard today?" a familiar female voice erupted as soon as the two stepped foot into the bullpen. Sherlock needed no guesses as to who the voice belonged to.

"Ah Sally.. still alive I see," he smiled sarcastically at Agent Donovan, "unfortunately..." he whispered to himself as he and John walked past her to greet Greg Lestrade. Sally glared at the pair of them, and continued working.

"Boys!" Lestrade spotted them just as he was pouring himself his third helping of coffee. He took a small sip, making sure not to burn his tongue, and set the mug down quickly, freeing his hand to shake John's and Sherlock's. Sherlock was not keen on hand-shaking, and kept his firmly at his side. Lestrade nodded awkwardly, and motioned for them to follow him into his own private office. John took a seat, while Sherlock remained standing. Lestrade took his own seat behind his desk, and opened a drawer to remove a file. He slapped it back down onto the top of the desk, and opened it swiftly.

"There have been a series of murders within the past year, all thought to be unrelated," he began, flipping through pictures of at least twenty dead bodies that were found in various places all around the United Kingdom.

"_Thought _to be unrelated?" John questioned, raising an eyebrow in confusion. Lestrade nodded slowly, taking out the last picture.

"Yes. There was absolutely nothing linking them to eachother.. until about a month ago." he set the picture down on the table slowly. It was a picture of the latest victim, but not his entire body.. just the back of his neck. In bold black ink there were two unfamiliar symbols followed by a three digit number. Sherlock's slender fingers ran over the markings, eyebrows knitted together as he concentrated. He had never seen symbols like those before, and therefore his mind was racing with different thoughts of what they could mean.

"And the other bodies had this marking as well?" Sherlock looked up slightly to address the Detective Inspector. Lestrade's expression changed into something Sherlock couldn't quite comprehend.

"Well.. not at first." he scratched his chin, not exactly knowing how to explain the situation.

"What is that supposed to mean?" John piped up from his seat, eyes bouncing back and forth between the picture, Lestrade, and Sherlock.

"All seventeen men that have been found were not found with this marking on the back of their neck... just this one. But the medical examiner we hired still has the body from the last killing, and he said now that he's gone back to look- he has the marking too. Different symbols and numbers, but same place and same style of lettering." he explained to the two men. John could almost hear the gears grinding in Sherlock's mind, so much he was surprised smoke wasn't flying out of his ears. "So, considering we kept all the bodies for science, I had him look at the previous bodies as well. Now, all of them have it." Lestrade shrugged, not even knowing where to begin with solving this.

"When was the last time the bodies were checked?" Sherlock interrogated.

"After a day or two of post-mortem observations they were put into the freezer. Haven't been looked at until yesterday."

"So you mean to tell me.. that these bodies were found with no strange markings.. nothing out of the ordinary.. and now they all have it?" Sherlock was clearly very perplexed by the situation, and wasn't quite sure how to go about this. He had never heard of anything like it before.. it had almost reminded him of the effects of invisible ink.

"Is it possible someone could have snuck in and done this to the bodies? Or perhaps the coroners have been very oblivious and lazy and happen to have overlooked these tattoos because they're incompetent and can't do their jobs?" Sherlock felt like the second suggestion was probably the most accurate, however he could never be sure.

"No. Neither is possible, because if you look at pictures of the bodies from behind there's nothing there.. and only a select few people know the vault code so it's highly unlikely that this was an inside job." Lestrade explained, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Sherlock pursed his lips, staring off into space while he visited his memory palace for an answer to what the strange symbols were. "And," Lestrade began, bringing Sherlock back to reality. "The strange thing is, we don't know what's killed them." this statement brought chills to John, giving him goosebumps.

"Sorry?" John questioned, looking at Lestrade with a very confused expression.

"There has been absolutely no trace of poison, none of them bled, not one had any fatal diseases, and to top it all off... no stab, blunt, or puncture wounds. Nothing. Absolutely clean. It's as if they just.. dropped.. in the most random places." he continued. Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the D.I.

"If there's absolutely no evidence, how do you know these were murders?" he asked reluctantly.

"I didn't know.. until the markings appeared. Seventeen men with similar tattoos and an identical way of dying isn't a coincidence. There's more to this story than we can even begin to imagine at the moment." he told the consultant, who seemed had now taken a moment to sit back in his seat and stare off into space with his hands folded across his lips and part of his nose. His thinking pose. "Sorry to interrupt-" Lestrade's voice appeared in Sherlock's memory palace yet again, preventing him from having a deep think about the situation. Sherlock blinked in frustration.

"What? What now? Can you not see I'm trying to think?!" he exclaimed at the Detective, who was staring at Sherlock as if he'd gone mad.

"Sorry.. but I actually had a question for you. This case doesn't just involve Scotland Yard... we are not the only organization that's searching for the murderer.." Lestrade began, receiving strange looks from both men in his office. "Anyways, the other department looking into this case happens to be under the keen control of my niece.. and she's in town helping Scotland Yard figure everything out." he smiled wearily, hoping to dear God that Sherlock would do him a favor just this once.

"And your question is because, although I've never seen your flat, and since I assume you live alone you don't have enough room for her to stay with you and since she's working on the case and you've just asked me to help as well that you were wondering if she could stay in the extra room in my flat because John is married and has since moved out, leaving the room.. shall we say, 'up for grabs' is that your question?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, giving Lestrade a look of pure boredom but also one of absolute sarcasm as well as slight arrogance. Lestrade opened his mouth as if to speak, and then shut it again, simply nodding vigorously to agree with his statement. "Hmm..." Sherlock knitted his eyebrows together, pursing his lips once more.

"Oh please, Sherlock? She's very accommodating, and she will definitely follow any rules you set... please? She doesn't.." he stopped himself, a pained look beginning to show on his face. He wiped it away instantly, "she doesn't have much money.. Sherlock, please? I'll be in your debt, I'll make it up to you I promise." Lestrade was sounding more and more desperate as the seconds flew by, which made Sherlock roll his eyes and feel the need to silence the other man's rambling.

"Fine fine, she can stay at my place. But one slip and she's gone! When will she be there?"

"Uhh," Lestrade gave Sherlock a nervous smile and scratched the back of his head, "She's already there.." he shrugged, and spoke quietly.

"Already there? What do you mean she's already there? Who the bloody hell brought her there?" Sherlock demanded, standing from his seat and placing both hands on the top of Lestrade's desk. His nose was crinkled and his eyebrows were furrowed together, showing how displeased he was with Lestrade's statement. The Detective Inspector leaned back in his chair, attempting to distance himself slightly from the raging consultant facing him. Lestrade bit his lip and glanced at John, hoping to gain some support. John, however, looked down at the ground quickly to avoid eye contact with him as if to say, 'Sorry, mate. You're on your own.' Just as Lestrade was about to open his mouth to speak, Sherlock piped up once more. "Wait. Mycroft. Mycroft brought her there didn't he? Because there's more to the story than what you're telling me, isn't there? Whatever is happening with this case, it's big enough for the government to be involved. Why?" he narrowed his eyes at the D.I, who's face was that of pure anxiousness and secretiveness.

"Sh-Sherlock, Mycroft is always doing things nobody knows about. If everyone knew what the government was up to all the time, nothing would be secret and everybody would be in danger. My guess is just as good as yours as to why he would like to amalgamate Scotland Yard and the other department that my niece works for. He just wants the bloody thing solved, I assume.. and it would be best not to question it." Lestrade told him with a nervous tone- one that did not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"There were so many clues in that statement that only reveals more to me that you _do _in fact know more than you're telling me. You stuttered my name, you're getting defensive that I'm questioning my brothers motives, and you so cleverly used the name of Scotland Yard... but failed to, yet again, mention the name of the other organization... as if it was so secretive that even saying the name could compromise the situation. Fine. She can stay at my flat, but for your sake she better not have touched anything by the time I arrive, or so help me God I will break into your house and smash every glass item in it until it's nothing but a giant broken mess in which you will fall and injure yourself so terribly that you have to be checked into the hospital." Sherlock said monotonously, not once breaking his straight face, keeping a serious demeanor the entire time. Lestrade could only swallow the lump that had been forming in his throat, and nod quickly that he understood what Sherlock was saying. Sherlock gave a nod in approval as well, and then turned his attention to John.

"John, I'm going to need you to find a separate cab to bring you home, I must get back to Baker Street immediately. Say hello to Mary." Sherlock explained, and then bolted out of the room like a mad thief on the run from a hundred police officers. He didn't even bother waiting for the lift to arrive at the top floor. Instead, he convinced himself to sprint down the stairs and out the front doors to catch a taxi. "221 Baker Street, I'm in a bit of a hurry." he told the cabby, who just rolled his eyes and put the vehicle into drive. To Sherlock, the ride took a decade and half, when in reality it was about fifteen minutes. He rode in pure agony, hoping silently to himself that she hadn't touched anything that would potentially mess up any one of his numerous experiments. As soon as he arrived, he nearly threw the money at the driver, and ripped the door off attempting to get himself out of the car. He let out a grunt of frustration when he realized that the door knocker had been straightened out by Mycroft (purely out of OCD) and shoved himself through the door. Immediately as he stepped foot into the building, his ears were greeted with the sound of a familiar instrument.. one he had been playing for a majority of his life. Anger dropped into his stomach like a boulder, and then began to course through his entire body as he ran up the stairs- skipping a few in between his long strides. He nearly knocked the door over, and the first thing he saw inside his flat was Mycroft- seated comfortably in John's chair.

"Hello brother." he greeted Sherlock with a smirk playing on the corners of his lips. Sherlock gritted his teeth together, and his eye twitched a bit at his brother's amused face. He then turned his head slightly to see a young girl standing near the window, instrument in hand. All he could see, however, was her silhouette because of the sun shining through the glass brightly.

"Has anyone ever told you it's very rude to touch items that do not belong to you? Especially items that are very expensive and are strictly for people who have been playing them for a very long time." he stared at the girl, who only let out a scoff. She walked a bit closer, revealing her face to him. She had, loathe he admit to himself, the most gorgeous blue eyes he had ever seen on a person. They could be compared to the crystal blue water of the greek islands- a sight he and his family had seen on trips in his youth. Her nose, small and button like, was soft looking as well as her small pink lips. Her skin was absolutely flawless, and her long blonde hair was curled and pulled back into a loose ponytail that fell down to the small of her back.

"Well then," she spoke, face unmoving and expression unchanging (much like his), "it's a good thing I brought my own then, right Mister Holmes?" she twitched up the corner of her mouth ever so slightly, it almost went unnoticed by Sherlock. Almost. "I've been playing for fifteen years. I believe that gives me the right, don't you think?" her aqua eyes pierced into his, stabbing his soul like a ton of daggers. His eyes trailed down her arm, and glanced at the violin she was holding. It was very shiny, and also black.. definitely not his.. He took a very quick look at her attire, which was a black shirt accompanied by a brown leather jacket and white washed fitted jeans, and brown leather boots. His mind immediately began to read her.

_Plays the violin__.. the deep and full sound of the notes.. Stradivarius? Obviously comes from money.. n__ot many people play the violin.. especially not as much as the piano.. so she wants to stand out.. be different. But why? What could she want to prove? __She must not like her family very much.. if she comes from money, and went into police work (which makes little to no money) then she must not care much about how powerful or rich her family must be._

_ If she does police work.. why not wear a suit or formal attire like Lestrade or anyone else from Scotland Yard? She works for a less commonly known organization.. perhaps even secretive, not told about by the British Government.. Leather jacket and leather boots, which means she's in the field a lot.. and jeans- easy to move around in so she's seen quite a bit of action... Hair tied back, making sure it doesn't get in the way when she's chasing down a criminal.. obviously young, perhaps between twenty one and twenty five.. Her past-_

_Her past-_

_Her past..._

_Her past?_

"Something the matter, Mister Holmes?" she questioned, the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. Sherlock ignored it and narrowed his eyes at her, watching her expression stay the same for a good minute and half. There was pure silence while he attempted to piece together her life.. which shouldn't have been hard... but as he looked at her face- all he could do was draw a blank. Everytime he would start over, he would get as far as her occupation and then.. nothing. Come to think of it.. he'd never psychoanalyzed Lestrade.. Sherlock didn't even know Lestrade had a niece let alone any siblings.. he had the complete demeanor of an only-child... something was definitely off about the family. Something was definitely of about _her._ Her past.. Her expression gave him absolutely nothing to go off of, because she stayed as still and monotone as he usually did. Bloody curse this.. he didn't even know this girl and already she was making him more and more upset with each passing moment.

"Sherlock," Mycroft interrupted, seeing his brother's anger building feverishly. Sherlock looked down at Mycroft, who stood from John's chair. "This is Juliet Avery. She works for a private policing force headquartered down in northern England.. she's helping on the case that I assume Greg has just told you about... sorry it's a bit short notice, but she absolutely insisted on staying here. She feels as though the two of you could become very good partners on the ca-"

"Mycroft I am not mute nor inanimate, I can most certainly speak for myself." she snapped at the other Holmes brother, who did not seem phased at all by her rude statement. Sherlock was a bit taken aback by the behavior, but nonetheless his feelings for her improved very slightly by how she spoke to Mycroft.

"Mister Holmes." she held out her hand for him to shake, which he took very hesitantly. As soon as his skin touched hers, it was if the entire world had somehow changed. He felt as though a bolt of electricity or energy had surged through his fingertips, but not out of affection.. but actually. It had actually felt like there was an energy within the palm of her hand that was swirling around in his own. He had never experienced anything like this before... it was something he was very unfamiliar with. Mycroft watched his brother's strange expressions, knowing very well that Sherlock was becoming more aware of how.. different.. Juliet was.

"Well, I will leave the two of you alone.. try to get along, yeah? We have a case that needs to be solved.." Mycroft gracefully bowed himself out of the room, leaving them to their thoughts and to better acquaint themselves. Sherlock took absolutely no time in beginning to interrogate her, but little did he know that she was no stone that was easily cracked.

"So, what department do you work for and why is my brother so interested in it?" he questioned, sitting down in his sofa. She only blinked, and raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you were smarter than that, Sherlock. I didn't expect you to honestly think that you could get information simply by asking. Figure it out, if you're as clever as I've been told." she took a seat where Mycroft was previously- in John's chair.

"I am clever, my dear. More clever than you can ever imagine." he smirked with a tone of arrogance, attempting to gain the upper hand. She only returned the smirk, something that had genuinely caught Sherlock off guard.

"My imagination is quite large, Sherlock. I know so many more things than you would even dare to think of. If you are so incredibly smart, then why does your mind draw a blank when you try to read me? It's not quite working for you is it?" she countered, causing Sherlock's blood to grow cold. How could she possibly know that he couldn't read her? It wasn't as if he was showing any signs of confusion or perplexity. He did his best to keep a straight face, but it was extremely difficult at this time.

"It isn't a matter of not being able to read you.. It's a matter of problem solving.. you underestimate me. I can figure out anything.. including you. It just might take me awhile." he told her, mentally cursing at himself for even responding to her. She smiled this time, but it wasn't genuine.. it was almost malicious or deceiving.

"You have fun with that. In the meantime, I'm going to unpack my things. I thank you for being so open minded about my staying here." She stood, grabbing her violin and bags. He pointed which door was to her bedroom, and she smiled as she opened the door. She glanced in, and then turned back to him. "And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't wander into my room.. preferably ever and under no circumstances." she smiled sweetly, completely throwing him for a loop. He blinked a few times in a confused manor.

"Why? Are you expecting to shoot up drugs every night or snort cocaine on your comforter?" he questioned, only half-heartedly sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

"No of course not.. I don't do drugs. Or smoke. I just like my privacy, and I would just appreciate it if you would respect my wishes. It would be much easier for the both of us." she placed a hand on her hip, awaiting his reply. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, yes fine. I will not go in there. I have no interest in doing so, anyways." he snorted, attempting to sound convincing, but for some strange reason he felt as though she could see right through him, almost as if he were transparent.. which was exactly the obvious of how she was to him.. she was opaque, absolutely solid.. there was no way of telling anything about her past the obvious.. He stood up, walking towards his bedroom when she heard an almost whisper coming from the spare room.

_"__Cresco grandior." _Sherlock heard her whisper, which confused him to no end. Was that latin? He closed his eyes quickly to think about the translation.

_Cresco.. Crescendo... Grow, expand, enlarge... Grandior, Grandiose, Grand.. Big. Extravagant. What on earth? _


	2. Chapter 2

Juliet had been sitting in John's chair for the second hour in a row, flipping through Lolita slowly, reading every single word with an analytical brain. She bit her lip, glancing at the clock. The clock had just struck six, and there was a stirring noise from down the hallway of 221B. A figure emerged from the bedroom. She could see dark curly hair from her peripheral vision, but she didn't even let her attention wander from her book. Sherlock yawned, and waltzed into the living room in a sleepy yet somehow graceful manner. He placed a hand on the clock with a loud 'thud' and squinted his eyes at the position of the hands.

"How long have you been awake?" he questioned, narrowing his eyes to adjust to the light. She uncrossed her legs and looked up at him with unsleepy eyes.

"Since about four." she said quietly, as if that sounded completely normal. Sherlock blinked a few times, telling her that his mind was processing what she had just said.

"Four? Four." this was more of him talking to himself than to Juliet. He confirmed it in his own mind, and then glanced at the novel in her small hands. "If you've been up reading since four, then you must be the slowest reader on the face of the earth because you aren't even halfway through that book.. and it's not very long." he observed, shuffling back into the kitchen to make himself a pot of tea. Juliet heard the kettle clanging against the other dishes in the cabinets, and listened as he let out a frustrated grunt when he dropped a metal pot onto the floor.

"Actually, this is my third book. I've already gotten through To Kill a Mockingbird as well as Around the World in 80 Days." she explained with a half-smirk, darting her tongue out to briefly touch her thumb. She used her wet finger to turn the page. Sherlock listened to this statement, eyebrows furrowing in a completely 'what the actual fuck?' manner. His head turned to her, but all he could see was the back of her head and her knee bobbing up and down as she continued to indulge herself in Lolita.

"Why have you been up since four anyways? Can't sleep?" he questioned, putting the water on to boil. He went to take a seat in his sofa, looking across at her reading figure.

"Precisely. Sometimes I find it difficult to sleep, especially around this time of the year." she didn't look up from the book. Sherlock nodded, pursing his lips, and attempting to analyze why this time of year in particular she wasn't able to get a proper night's rest. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but yet again it was almost as if she'd read his mind.

"Before you ask, yes.. childhood trauma." she said dryly as she flipped the page. He rolled his eyes, and crossed his legs. He folded his hands into the ever-so-familiar thinking pose he had all but coined for money as 'The Sherlock Pose.'

"Do you mind me asking what specifically happened?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. She shut her book, and sat in a position so that she was now staring him in the eyes.

"No I don't mind you asking." she said sarcastically, getting up from her seat and stuffing the book back into the bookshelf where she had found it. The pot squealed as the water was now hot enough for tea, and he watched as she sauntered back to her own room. He stood up slowly, walking back into the kitchen to pour his tea. Just as he was about to take a sip there was a sharp tapping noise at the window. He looked around quickly, finding the source of the noise, and became instantly perplexed when he noticed it was a very large bird.. he took a few steps further before he realized that it was an owl.

"What the-" was all he had time to whisper to himself before Juliet rushed past him to open the window. The bird was carrying a card in it's mouth, and set it in the palm of her hand when she was able to come into contact with the bird. Sherlock stood there, completely dumbfounded for the first time in his life.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot to mention I have an.. erm.. pet. His name is Otis. He's very friendly, and he won't bite... and he won't make a mess I promise. I really need him here with me. He's important." she told him, letting the owl hop onto her forearm. The owl ruffled his feathers as he looked at Sherlock, who was still absolutely speechless. All he could do, at the moment, was give her one very slow nod as she rushed away to her bedroom with the bird still on her arm. He scratched the back of his head, looking back and forth between her door and the window. This girl was becoming more strange with each passing minute.. She came out five minutes later fully clothed and with a smile plastered on her face.

"Why so happy?" he questioned, finally being able to sit down with his tea. She bit her lip and sat down across from him once more. He raised an eyebrow.

"I've just gotten a letter from my family. We're having a get together at my parents house next month. I'm very excited, we get together every year." she explained, folding the letter and setting it down on the counter. She took a seat back into John's chair, watching him sip his tea gingerly as it was still scorching hot.

"Why would anybody ever be elated to spend time with.. family?" he grimaced with a tone of disgust. Juliet knew about Sherlock's constant dislike for his brother, Mycroft. Unlike Sherlock, however, Juliet loved to be around her family. She loved her aunt and uncles so much, and the best part of the gathering was, it wasn't exclusively just her family. Family friends were also invited, making for a good fifty or so people every year.. including Mycroft.

"My family and I are very close. Plus, Mycroft will be there." she smiled, knowing that this would pique Sherlock's interest. He glanced at her from the sofa.

"What, why?" he narrowed his eyes, setting the teacup back onto the saucer. She held back a smirk of defeat.

"He comes every year. He and my.. mother.. are very good friends. They both work in the government." she explained, crossing her legs. Sherlock nearly bit his lip with excitement. Finally she had said something in a tone that had let him deduce that there was more to the picture than what was right in front of him.

"Mycroft being very good friends with _your _mother? She must not be very old then.. and you hesitated when you said the word 'mother' so.. she must not be your biological mother. Are you adopted?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow. She nodded, not seemingly phased by his sudden burst of 'intelligence.' This irritated him to no end, but he made no facial expression.

"Yes, I'm adopted. My mother is only thirty-seven. When she adopted me I was four, and she was twenty-one. So she adopted me when she was my age." she explained to him, watching his unchanging expression. Even though he remained still, she could tell that his mind was going into all sorts of deductions and over-thinking processes.

"It's really not that hard, Sherlock. Both of my parents were sent to prison at the same time. Good luck figuring out why, because that is something I don't share with just everyone." she sighed, running a few fingers through her hair. What on earth was _that _supposed to mean? So her parents have done something terrible.. so terrible that they were put into prison.. but for how long? Have they been released? Are they still there? Wait-

"Hold on.. you were adopted, but Lestrade is your biological uncle. I can tell. You both have the _same exact smile._" he tilted his head to the left, setting his tea down onto the table. She knew that this gesture meant he was ready to actually begin making real deductions. She would make it easier for him, she didn't like watching him get upset at not being able to figure her out.

"Greg is my real uncle yes.. the most basic reasoning I can give you is.." she thought a moment, wondering how to phrase everything without giving too much away. "He and my birth mother are siblings.. but Greg was conceived after my mother was born. When Greg arrived.. he was.. to be point blank my family is very proud and Greg did not make the cut. They set him up for adoption when he was young, and my mother found him later in life and told him about our family and what had happened that they gave him up. She kept up a good relationship with him throughout her adult life until she met my father, and they had me, and he got her into some things and now they're both paying for their decisions in a very unescapable prison." she finished, attempting to be as vague as she possibly could. Sherlock was staring at her intently, hands folded together and resting against his lips as he sat as still as a stone.

"That was much too vague to be considered actual information." he sighed, leaning back into the sofa. Juliet rolled her eyes, and pursed her lips.

"Nothing satisfies you until you know every single detail of everybody's lives. Isn't that right?" she questioned, a hint of hostility laced within her words. Sherlock bit his lip.

"No.. that's not even the entirety of it. You are one of the very few people I've met that I haven't been able to read. There's something about you that's so mysterious and secretive that it makes me quite upset, actually. Aside from everything you've told me, I know absolutely nothing. _Nothing," _he stood quickly, placing both arms on either side of her on the armrests of John's chair. He leaned his face in close to hers, their noses almost touching, "Do you even _realize _how angry that makes me? Sherlock Holmes, the world's first Consulting Detective.. and I can't even deduct a twenty-one year old girl who is currently _staying in my home_!" he whispered furiously. He stood up, running hands over his face and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He honestly felt as if he would like to bash his head against the wall a couple hundred times just to get himself focused.

"Maybe there's a reason you can't read me.. maybe it's because I don't want you to. Did you ever think of that?" she turned, looking at his frustrated expressions from the opposite side of the room.

"And why is that? It's for that precise reason that I DO want to figure you out! Because you don't want me to!" he countered, swinging his arms in all sorts of motions that she didn't fully understand.

"Some secrets are meant to be kept. I'm not kidding Sherlock.. my biggest secrets aren't even mine to share. I'm not allowed to share them. I could get into huge trouble if I did!" she yelled, letting out an audible sigh. She calmed herself before speaking again. "Look.. I could tell you more about my family if it makes you feel any better? Perhaps someday I'll share more with you.. but you have to try and contain yourself and believe me when I say that _for now _it's just better I don't tell you everything. Deal?" she stood slowly, moving to look him in the eyes. His expression softened at the sight of her face, and he nodded.

"I'm going to get dressed. I'll take you to breakfast, then. You can tell me what you'd like." he told her with a monotonous voice. She nodded, and waited in the kitchen while he dressed himself (in a suit as usual). He emerged from his bedroom ten minutes later, dressed in his charcoal suit with a deep purple button up shirt, something she wasn't sure if he had worn on purpose considering the dress she had put on was almost the exact same color purple. She slipped a pair of shoes on, along with a jacket, and the two left the apartment without any words. She followed Sherlock down the street to a small cafe. He held the door open for her as they arrived, and they both sat down at a small two person table near the window. A waitress suddenly appeared to take their drink orders.

"I'll have a coffee." Sherlock told her. Juliet requested the same, and they both glanced at the menu. Sherlock watched as Juliet bit her lip while she surveyed the menu. He wasted a good few minutes doing this, seeing as how he already knew what he wanted and didn't need to look at the menu. Watching her expressions change as she read was quite entertaining.

"Do you know what you're having?" she looked up at him. He quickly adverted his eyes to the menu to make it look as if he had been reading it this entire time.

"Mmm. I think so." he said quietly, just before the waitress reappeared. She wrote something down quickly on her notepad, and then turned to Juliet.

"I'll have the strawberry crepes." she told the waitress. She smiled, and took the menus, walking back to the kitchen to give the cook the order. Juliet realized that she didn't ask for Sherlock's order because he most likely ate at this establishment quite often, and the waitress already knew what he wanted. Sherlock didn't strike Juliet for the type to try new things. He probably ordered the same thing everywhere he went.

"So.. your family." he took a drink of his coffee, crossing his legs under the table. She nodded.

"Well.. you already know that they aren't my biological family.. but that doesn't even matter. I love them enough that it doesn't even matter." she smiled at the thought of all of her family members, laughing at the memory of the previous year's gathering when her aunt and Mycroft danced on top of the table after having a bit too much to drink. "My mum and dad.." she stopped herself, hoping that Sherlock wouldn't judge what she was about to say. "Well.. my mum is sixteen years younger than my dad. He was her professor.. but he wasn't married or anything when they met. She says they actually hated eachother for a long time before they finally softened up to eachother. They've both been through a lot. My mum was adopted too.. guess you could say it runs in the family." she laughed, taking a drink from her mug. Sherlock nodded.

"So you said your mom works for the government? And your father is a professor? A professor of what?" Sherlock questioned.

"He _was_ a professor.. Science to be exact.. He works for the government now too, but a different department than my mum. I'm not really allowed to talk about what either of them do, really.. sorry." she shrugged. Sherlock clenched his teeth, but then calmed himself. "Anyways, after they adopted me they had three kids of their own. Apollo and Artemis are both twins, mum had them first. They just turned fifteen then they had Malachai, who just turned fourteen." she continued. Apollo and Artemis? Who on earth names their kids after greek gods?

"So three siblings.. who is all going to be at your family gathering?" he inquired.

"Well.. there will be my parents, my siblings, my aunt and her husband and their children, and all of my uncles and their families.. plus Mycroft he's always invited.. then there's the Potter family and the entire Weasley family.. all together it adds up to about fifty people every year." she continued. Sherlock listened to all of these names and not one of them sounded normal. What kind of people does Mycroft associate himself with when Sherlock isn't around?

"Fifty? That's a bit of a houseful. Where is this supposed gathering being held?" he asked just as their food arrived. As it had turned out, Sherlock also ordered strawberry crepes. What Juliet didn't know, is that Sherlock absolutely loved strawberries.. and had quite the sweet tooth in the morning. He took a very large bite of his food.

"It'll be at my mum and dad's house. It's big enough to hold us all." she laughed, using her fork to cut up her crepes. Sherlock thought as he chewed, squinting his eyes as he looked out the window absent-mindedly.

"Do they have room for the people that get inebriated and can't make it home? Because that many drunken adults have to have someplace to stay if they're too intoxicated to drive." he inquired once more. Juliet thought quickly at how she was going to get around this one.

"Erm.. none of them usually drink enough to not be able to get home. Only Mycroft usually drinks that much.. and there's always room for him at my mum's house. He's there almost all the time." she rolled her eyes.

"How long have they been friends?" Sherlock wiped his mouth. Juliet bit her lip, thinking.

"Must be.. about sixteen years now. Ever since she started working for the government." Juliet nodded at herself in approval for doing the math right. Mycroft has had a really good female friend for almost twenty years now, and this is the first Sherlock has ever heard of this?

"What's your mother's name?"

"Mycroft calls her Cece.. and he's the only one she will ever allow to call her that." Juliet shrugged, taking a bite of her breakfast. She felt an explosion of sweet and creamy goodness on her tongue, and she felt her mouth water instantly. The crepes were fantastic, she would have to remind herself to go there more often in the mornings when Sherlock was too busy working on a case. "Oh, and I looked at some of your case files this morning too, while you were asleep. If you would ever like, I could help you with some of them. I've been told my intellect is quite impressive. That's why I was hired by my department so early on." she said as the two of them finished their meals. The waitress took the plates away, and Sherlock approached the counter to pay for the bill. They walked back down to 221B, hands in their pockets and conversing lightly.

"Well.." he began, considering her offer. Since John had been gone, he had been quite lonely as it would seem.. figuring cases out by himself. Although it wasn't hard, he still missed the company.. and she had actually proven herself to be rather intelligent while he had been around her. He could take her up on that.. of course, he would have to make it known that he was the lead investigator in all of their cases. He nodded to himself. "Yes. I will accept any help you are willing to give me, but bear in mind that they are still _my _cases. That means that you will be doing whatever I tell you, unless I say otherwise. Are you willing to accept that?" he questioned as they walked back into the building. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, I suppose.. seeing as how I only offered to lend you input here and there.. but if you would like me to assist you like I hear Mister Watson used to do then I guess I can do that. My uncle tells me that he will contact me when there is something new regarding the murders he's asked us both to assist him with." she explained. He plopped himself back down onto his sofa, resting his legs up on the arm and folding his hands across his lips once more. She glanced at the clock. It was now half past eight, and there was more traffic piling up on Baker Street. She sighed, and grabbed a jacket.

"Sherlock, I'm going to pop out for a bit. I'll be back soon." she told him. He made a small mumbling noise, signaling that he heard her. She closed the flat door behind her, and Sherlock remembered something quickly. He got up, and opened the door (literally three seconds after she closed it) and when he swung the door open, she was gone. He flew down the stairs quickly, looking around for her but she was nowhere to be seen. He opened the door that lead outside, and yet again he could not find her. It was if she had just vanished into thin air. He went back upstairs and noticed her black owl sitting on the fireplace mantle. He ruffled his feathers when he saw Sherlock.

"What do you want?" he questioned the animal. It let out a very small 'hoot.' The corner's of Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smirk, and he approached the bird. He let it smell his hand before he stroked the side of it's face gently. It made a small cooing noise as it closed it's eyes and leaned against Sherlock's touch.

Meanwhile, Juliet had apparated to an estate just outside of Godric's Hollow. She walked around the house to the kitchen door, seeing a familiar figure through the door window. She opened it, gaining the attention of the man in the kitchen.

"Good morning, dad." she greeted him. He nodded, unable to speak because he had a mouthful of sausage. He was currently charming the dishwater so that the dishes would wash themselves. She gave him a hug, and he returned it.

"What are you doing home? I thought you were staying in London." he said dryly, the exact same as he always sounded.

"I haven't seen you guys in awhile.. missed you is all. Where's mum?" she questioned. He pointed to the living room.

"She's in there. With Mycroft." he told her, walking outside towards the shed. She walked into the next room, seeing the two of them seated on the sofa watching a muggle movie. Two very important government officials.. probably with a million different things to worry about.. and there they were- watching... Jurassic Park?

"Well, if the government solves their problems by watching movies all day then I'm not exactly sure we live in that bad of a world." Juliet smiled, causing both of them to turn and look at her.

"Good morning, dear. Sick of Sherlock already?" she laughed, gaining a smile from Mycroft. She sat down between the two of them, resting a head on her mum's shoulder.

"No.. he's just asking a lot of questions and I can't really answer them so I figured I would just get away for a little while." she explained. The three of them continued talking for the remainder of the movie, while Sherlock sat back in 221B, wondering about all of the secrets Juliet was keeping from him.


End file.

Harry Potter, Sherlock, Fantasy, Romance