I Had A Surprising(ly Awesome) Revelation Today...

  So, I was watching part of this movie toady, and one of the people in it was Richard Harris. The name sounded familiar to me, so I went to my good ol' friend Google to look up who it was. Turns out I did know him from somewhere. He played Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone and Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (he was replaced in the other movies after his death in 2002). At ease, I was glad I sorted that out before I went insane.

  Then later, I thought of something: the man who plays Moriarty in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows is named Jared Harris... So I started wondering if they were related. Once again, to Google! *insert classic Batman TV show music*

  And sure enough, they are. Richard Harris was Jared Harris's dad. So that means...

Huh. You'd think he'd have turned out better...

  I just find that incredibly cool. And it proves how my interests are slowly turning into "Six Degrees of Sherlock Holmes". (And I am okay with that).

  Anyway, I just felt like sharing that cool fact...

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 16

<--- Chapter One Here
<--Previous Chapter Here

Chapter Sixteen:

Clearing The Fog

  Everything was going foggy for Sherlock. He could faintly hear the sound of footsteps, rushing into the room. He heard what seemed to be Lestrade, yelling something like “Expulso!”, making the dragon explode. He felt someone lift him up a little, causing him to cry out in pain again.

  Then he heard Mycroft's voice: “Could you be more careful next time, Lestrade? You could have impaled someone...”

  “Sorry, Mycroft...”

  That's when Sherlock heard Mycroft say something,  sounded like “vulera sanentur”. It was almost song-like. He repeated it two more times. It was making the pain go away...

***
 

  Despite his healing and ingesting ground-up Dittany, Sherlock had still lost enough blood to make the boy pass out. Mycroft hugged his little brother to his chest.  He scooped him up and laid him in the chest. Mycroft drew his wand from his umbrella and aimed at Sherlock. First, he extracted Sherlock's memories and put them in a vial. He put the vial in his jacket. Then he aimed his wand at Sherlock again. “Obliviate.” He said, then closed The Chest.

 

  “Sir, I...I don't understand. Why collect and erase his memory?” Lestrade asked.

  Mycroft turned to his most trusted Auror. “Well,” Mycroft said, “he doesn't need to remember what happened here. Especially not today. Alternate world or not, he is still my little brother. I worry about him, you know. As for extracting the memory, that's more for our Sherlock's benefit when he returns.”

  Lestrade turned to the body of Tobias Gregson. “Shame about Toby. He was a good friend...”

  “He knew there would be risks, Lestrade. Sherlock never can keep out of danger, after all.”

  Lestrade scratched the back of his head. “I just can't help but think: "how"? How did this whole mess with those two start?”

   Mycroft smirked. “I figured that out shortly after you escorted the boys back to Hogwarts. My Sherlock had apparently been experimenting with Portkeys. He tried to make one out of the skull he likes to carry around at home. He meant for it to take him directly to Hogwarts should the train ride prove to be “dull”.

  “Unfortunately,  he had a mishap. Apparently he did the spell wrong, and somehow invented his own. So, instead of him and his new friend John Watson heading to Hogwarts, he was instead sent to The Other Sherlock's world. And the accidental spell seemed to have a few side effects. One being the other world's equivalents of them coming here. And said equivalents' bodies changing to match their counterparts. As if both worlds need a Sherlock and a Watson.

 “Presumably, the two of them returning home will bring ours back.” He concluded. There was a sudden clatter from across the room. Mycroft smiled. “Ah. Here they are now.” The Wizarding World's Sherlock and John wandered over to Mycroft and Lestrade. Lestrade uttered an inaudible swear word.

  Sherlock let out a groan. “But the world without magic was exciting!” Mycroft, in his moment of emotional display of the day, hugged his little brother. “Ack! Mycroft! You're getting your germs all over my robes!”

 Mycroft laughed. “I'm just glad you're home.”

 Lestrade turned to John. “John, do you mind going back to the other world for a moment? We just have to edit some of the Other You's memories...” John nodded and went to The Chest with Lestrade.

 Sherlock pulled out of the hug. “How come John gets to go back?” he pouted. Then he saw the charred body of Tobias Gregson. Curious, he went over to inspect the body. “And who was that?” He inquired.

 Mycroft tried not to smile. “When your friend gets back, we'll fill you in.”

***

  Sherlock gasped and woke up on his couch. What had happened? There was a gap in his memory. And he had a couple of inexplicable, long, faded scars across his chest. He couldn't have fallen asleep. Could he? “John? Do you any idea what's happened to me?”

  John turned from his laptop. “You helped yourself to what you call your “seven-per-cent solution”. All sorts of things happened.” he replied.

  Sherlock sat up and looked around. “Where's my bottle and needle?”

  “Did it occur to you I might've thrown them out? It's unhealthy, what you do. Not to mention illegal...”

  Sherlock glared at his flatmate. He got up from the couch and strolled into the kitchen. After rummaging through the cabinets, he returned to the living room with a napkin and a mug full of pens. He set them on the coffee table and sat cross-legged on the floor. After pulling a pen out of the mug and uncapping it, he unfolded the napkin.

 Sherlock looked at John smugly. He started writing on the napkin, saying his words aloud. “Stratagy For Conquest of Western Civilization: Revised Edition. Supplies needed: one paper clip.”

 

THE END

 

 

---

 And now I have finished! Thank you for reading, and if you didn't like it, well... I think I'll modify Shakespeare and say:

If I have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.
And this weak and idle theme,
No more yielding but a dream,
Gentles, do not reprehend:
if you pardon, I will mend:
And, as I am an honest Freak,
If I have unearned luck
Now to 'scape the serpent's tongue,
I will make amends ere long;
Else The Freak a liar call;
So, good night unto you all.
Give me your hands, if we be friends,
And Loveable Freak shall restore amends.

  So, tomorrow(?) I'll go back to normal posts. See you all then!

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 15

<--- Chapter One Here
<--Previous Chapter Here

Chapter Fifteen:

Sherlock's Final Stand
 

  After quite a bit of searching, John shouted, “Here it is!” Sherlock ran over to John. Sure enough, The Chest of Reality was among a pile of books. He clapped his hands together.

  “Ha ha! John Watson, I could probably kiss you right now!”

  John laughed as Sherlock went to open the chest. “Well, don't fuel the rumors!”

  “Alohomora!” Sherlock said, unlocking the chest. He pushed the lid up. “Now, we can finally go hom...”

  “SHERLOCK!” Tobias screamed, running in out of nowhere. The boys saw Tobias change into a cat, rush in front of the boys, and shift back into a wizard just as the furniture dragon blew fire at the duo. Tobias managed to deflect the worst of the fire, but still got hit by a severe amount in the end. The Auror fell to the floor.

  “TOBIAS!” The boys shouted, rushing to their guardian's aide. But alas, they were too late. The Auror closed his eyes. “At least I did my job right. Kept you two... safe enough...” Tobias croaked out. He went limp.

  Sherlock looked almost desperate. “John, can you fix him?” He said, despite knowing it was irrational.

  “Sherlock, I can't just...”

  “You're a doctor, John! Just try!”

  John grabbed Tobias's wrist, checking for a pulse. He looked to Sherlock and shook his head. Sherlock looked down, closed his eyes, and seemed rather depressed. That passed, and the depression was replaced with determination. “John, The Chest. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get away from Smaug here...”

  “So you've read The Hobbit at least...” John said as he hopped into The Chest. “It had to do with a case I had a couple years ago.” Sherlock simply stated. John sat curled up in The Chest, leaving room for Sherlock. The Dragon blew fire overhead. That's when Sherlock had an idea. He reached for the lid of The Chest of Reality.

  “If I'm not back soon, find them!”

  As Sherlock threw down the lid, John shouted at him.   Sherlock then re-opened The Chest, letting out a relieved sigh when he saw it was empty. “At least he's safe. I'm sorry, John. But I can't risk you dying, too.” He said to himself. The young detective turned to the dragon.

 “So, this is where you went!” He shouted at the dragon. “You're probably wondering why I stayed behind. Depression? Guilt? Self-Loathing? Incredible imbecility? No. I simply wanted to finish what we started back at The Ministry!” He climbed halfway into The Chest, and made a slashing movements with his wand at the dragon. “Sectumsempra!”

  Unfortunately, his poor aim hit a vanity on the dragon. The mirror reflected the curse back to Sherlock. He tumbled off the box and onto the floor. He had thick slashes on his torso and was bleeding like mad. The dragon drew in on him.

  And for the first time he could remember in a long time, Sherlock Holmes cried.

  “I'm sorry, John.” He whispered, the very action filling him with agony. The dragon was poised to ignite him...

Next Chapter Here-->

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 14

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<--Previous Chapter Here

Chapter Fourteen

Whatever Remains

 

   John was nodding off in the library after the events of last night. Sherlock, however, was too busy to even think of sleep. Instead, the young detective was furiously searching the books on Hogwarts. He was fully focused, ignoring the fact the last three Chocolate Frogs from Lestrade were bouncing around the library, wreaking havoc. Frustrated with a lack of results, he slammed a rather thick, rare, old tome down on the desk; unaware he'd crushed one of the frogs.

  John stirred. “Nuh-No! You lizards will not invade the palace of I, The Hedgehog King! He who is made of kittens and rage!” He shouted in his sleep, as if he were in some epic fantasy, giving a dramatic speech. Sherlock glanced over at his friend as the other patrons shushed him. Once he was positive John was still sleeping, he secretly vowed to himself that if he and John ever had to share a room, he'd never let John eat chocolate before bed again.

  “It... it can't just be nowhere! The thing has to exist! I can find it!” Sherlock said, trying to reassure himself, but to no avail.

  “Have you checked The Room of Requirement?”

  Molly appeared from around the corner of the bookshelf behind the boys, and continued: “It has all sorts of things in it. Hidden things. Anything you could possibly need.” She pointed to the seventh-floor corridor on one of the maps Sherlock had scribbled out. “It's right there.”

  Sherlock looked at the map, then Molly. “Well, we've eliminated the impossible...” He shoved John, waking him up. John yawned and stretched.

  “Sherlock, what's going on?” He asked.

  “Molly seems to have found out where the Chest of Reality is.”

  “Well, that's great! We can't thank you enough, Molly.”

  “You know what they say about Hufflepuffs; we're particularly good finders...” Molly replied.

  “Come on, John!” Sherlock said, grabbing the map and John's wrist. “Time's of the essence!” he added, dragging his friend from his chair.

  “You're leaving for good once you find this... thing, aren't you?” Molly asked, sadly. Sherlock stopped, let out a frustrated sigh, and turned around.

  “Yes, we're planning on leaving, Molly. I believe this is goodbye, so...”

  Molly cut Sherlock off by suddenly kissing him. Sherlock's eyes bulged in surprise. John looked away, feeling quite awkward at the moment (and trying to ignore any possible unfortunate implications when one realized Sherlock was still mentally an adult). Molly pulled away, turning pink. She brushed a strand of her hair back. “Well... Bye, then...” She stammered, and hurried off.

  Sherlock stood in the same spot in shock. After what felt like two minutes, John cleared his throat. “So.. to The Room of Requirement?” Sherlock blinked, coming out of his trance. “Y..yeah. Yes.” He stammered. And the two ran off.

 

***

  As they got up the stairs to the seventh floor, they were greeted by an unpleasant surprise.

   “So, look who's gotten away with murder?” Moriarty said, standing in the corridor alongside Moran.

  “Oh, quit pretending. You're the one who killed Carl.” Sherlock accused, “I haven't had time to work out how, but I know it's you!”

  Moriarty scoffed. “Of course I did. You think you're the only clever one in this school? But it makes me feel better to see you're not just a boring pretty face...”

  Moran rolled his eyes, as if he were thinking, “Is now really the time to be “flirting”, boss?”

  Moriarty continued, “If you must know, I used a modified version of the Geminio Curse on Sebastian, here. He snuck upstairs, and shot the spell at Carl. He's a brilliant shot, I must admit. Not unlike your little friend...”

  Moran beamed. “Well, thank you, Jim.”

  “Whatever. I'm writing my legacy in bodies, Sherlock. Too bad you boys won't get to read the rest...” Moriarty concluded, and drew out his wand. “Confringo!” He shouted, aiming at John. Luckily, he dodged just in time. Moran pulled out his wand, aiming at Sherlock. “Avada Ked...” he began. But Moriarty smacked him.

  “Don't KILL him! Not yet! I want to enjoy this, first...” He ordered. Moriarty turned to Sherlock, who'd already drawn his wand. “Cru...”

  “Expelliarmus!” Sherlock shouted. Moriarty's wand flew out of his hand. Sherlock did the same to Moran. Moriarty laughed. “Oh, I'm disappointed, dear Holmes. Is that really going to be your move?”

  “Yes,” Sherlock said, smiling. "It distracted you two from John, didn't it?” Moriarty looked confused. Then, he realized Sherlock's ploy. He turned around and saw John, pointing his wand at him.

  “Moriarty, I'm not at all sorry about this. Petrificus Totalus!” John said, casting the spell. Moriarty siezed up and fell to the floor, and slid down the stairs, petrified. “That's for the bomb vest!” John shouted.

  Meanwhile, Moran was running to his wand as fast as he could to avenge his ally. The boys chased after him. Sherlock caught him first, and proceeded to punch Moran in the face. The young sharpshooter was knocked into a pillar, and passed out.

  John stared at the knocked-out Moran. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” John quipped. Sherlock smirked. And with that, they hurried to The Room of Requirement.

Next Chapter Here-->

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 13

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<--Previous Chapter Here

                       

Chapter Thirteen

Demented Search

 

   Sherlock and John waited until nightfall to begin searching Azkaban. While they waited, John began to nod off. He mumbled something as he started to doze off. Sherlock nudged him awake. “John! It's time!” he said in a harsh whisper. John jolted up. He walked over to the bars to see if their was anyone or anything wandering the halls.

  Mycroft and Lestrade managed to sneak in Sherlock's Invisibility Cloak, a map, and the boys' wands into their cell. And Sherlock managed to work some magic on the bars so no potential alarms would go off. “Coast clear?” Sherlock whispered from under the recently-donned Invisibility Cloak. “Yep.” John whispered back. He drew his wand, “Alohomora.” He whispered, unlocking the cell.

 

  Sherlock threw the cloak over John. They were ready to search the prison. “Lumos.” John whispered. He pulled open Mycroft's map, which had all the most possible locations of The Chest marked on it. Apparently, they had nine locations to search, and only five hours until daylight.

***

   They searched and searched. Eight locations and four hours later, and still no chest. And from the looks of the last spot (which was colder then the other places), the ninth place didn't have it either. “Oh, come on!” Sherlock bellowed, ripping the cloak off in frustration. “Does The Chest even exist? I know Smith is mad, what with his severe D.I.D., but...”

  “Sherlock,” John interrupted, the color drained from his face. “Does the map happen to say, I don't know, “Don't bother with here, it's dangerous, let Lestrade and his division handle this?" ” Sherlock looked closer at the map. “Well, yes. Yes it does. I almost forgot how atrocious Mycroft's handwriting is. I swear, it's like he writes in CAPTCHA...” He turned to John, “Why?” John pointed up at a horde of black-cloaked creatures, trying not to tremble. “That's why!”

  Sherlock felt unnerved. “John, care to tell me what those things are?” John backed up to the wall, taking Sherlock alongside him. “Dementors. They feed off human happiness, sucking it out of you and leaving depression. And they can suck out your soul, leaving you an empty shell.” Sherlock was about to ask how to defeat them, when a Dementor started to suck the happiness right out of him.

  “SHERLOCK!” John shouted, not caring about secrecy anymore. He pointed his wand at the Dementor, desperate to save his friend. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” A silvery German Shepard appeared and fended off some of the Dementors, including the one attacking Sherlock.

  Sherlock gasped and started to loose his balence. John grabbed him. Once he was steady, Sherlock finally spoke. “I felt so cold... John, that... that thing you did... Wha... What was that?”

  “A Patronus. You see, you think of a powerful, happy memory, and it fends off Dementors. Luckily I managed to get one with a form, huh?”

  Sherlock nodded, “Thanks.”

  Suddenly John's Patronus disappeared. The Dementors started closing in again, this time they closed in on John. “EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Sherlock shouted, hoping it would work for him, too. Sure enough, a silver Jack Russel form flew around, chasing the Dementors.

  John chuckled, steadying himself. “We seem to have plenty of dumb luck today.” Sherlock started to chuckle, too. Then the new Patronus wore off, too. “And now it appears we're out of dumb luck...” Sherlock quipped. The two boys prepared to summon more Patronuses, ready to fend them off all night if necessary...

  ...When another, stronger Patronus appeared in the shape of a wolf. It fended off the Dementors as the two were suddenly pulled out of the room. As soon as they were safely away, Lestrade pulled off his Invisibility Cloak, and removed an odd pair of goggles from his head

  “Didn't Mycroft tell you boys not to go in there?” he scolded. “Since when has he ever listened to him?” John replied. Sherlock pointed at the Cloak. “He can't trust me for a minute, can he?” Sherlock added. Lestrade folded his arms. “Apparently not. And I'd already checked there after dropping you off. You two risked loosing your souls for nothing.”

  Lestrade sighed and placed his hands on the two boys' shoulders. “Come on. Let's get you two back to Hogwarts. And get you two some chocolate, to remedy the effects of this fiasco.”

Next Chapter Here-->

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 12

<--- Chapter One Here
<--Previous Chapter Here

Chapter Twelve

Prisons And Dragons

 

  “So, Gladstone was really an Auror? Named Tobias?” John asked Sherlock on the way to the trial.

  “Yes,” Sherlock answered. “Hmm... “Toby”. That's a decent name for a cat, too.” He mused.

   John got a horrified look on his face. “Augh! He kept brushing up on me! I petted him! And David, ...Smith... whatever he is, did too! I have to scour my hands...

 ” Sherlock scoffed at John. “Please. He didn't sleep in your bed every night...”

  John's eyes widened. He made a disgusted noise. “I didn't need to think of that! Now I have to scour my mind, too...”

***

  After a long walk down the hallway, they two reached their destination. There Sherlock and John stood, in front of The Ministry. Mycroft stood up, and opened his mouth to speak...

   ...When out of nowhere, a large, animate dragon made of furniture burst into the room! Mycroft promptly whipped his wand out of his umbrella, shouting a spell no one could hear amongst the sheer panic. The dragon didn't even flinch. It blew fire at the young Minister in retaliation. However, John thought fast, and ran up to push Mycroft out of the way just in time.

  The dragon set his sights on John. John grabbed his wand and shouted, “Aguamenti!” shooting out a jet of water that held off the flames. Meanwhile, Sherlock was shouting off spells of his own, trying to subdue the dragon. “A little help, Sherlock!” John shouted. “I can't hold it off forever!”

  Sherlock glared at John. “I'm TRYING!” He screamed something out, and the dragon finally popped out of the room.

  The boys panted, then laughed a little. “That was too close...” John said, winded.

   Lestrade and about a dozen Aurors burst into the room. Lestrade ran up to Mycroft and helped him up. “Minister! Sir! Are you alright?” Mycroft winced as he got to his feet.

 “Yes, of course I'm fine...” He smiled a little. “My little brother and his friend have just saved my life. All of our lives. Obviously, two brave and heroic boys,” (Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Heroic” was far from the right word to describe himself.) “Wouldn't have murdered young Carl Powers. Let alone for something petty like Quidditch.”

  “But, sir, we can't leave them unpunished! Besides, they're probably fooling you.” A woman with a face akin to a frog interjected.

 John walked over to Sherlock and whispered, “That's Umbridge. She's horrible. I hate that woman. In fact,  I think everyone who's ever read the books hates that woman.”

  Mycroft turned to Umbridge. “Well then, Dolores. In case I'm somehow making a horrible judgment, which I highly doubt, I have a suggestion. I figure sending the two boys to Azkaban overnight to show them the consequences of committing something like murder is a good compromise. After all, they are only boys. Shall we take a vote?”

  The majority of the officials voted for Mycroft's proposition. Umbridge glared at Mycroft. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. “Is there a problem, Dolores?”

 Umbridge scowled. “No, sir, Minister.” She said, seething with fury. She, the rest of the Ministry, and all the Aurors (minus Lestrade) walked out of the room. John and Sherlock walked over to Mycroft. “You should fire her.”

  Mycroft looked down at John. “Don't tell me how to do my job.”

  “Sir, was that one of those secret tests of character-type things?” Lestrade asked Mycroft. Mycroft put his finger to his lips. Lestrade understood and nodded. “Yes, sir. Need to know basis for The Ministry. The information never leaves this room.”

  John looked over at Sherlock, who was grinning. “You two planned this, didn't you?” John asked.

 “Yes,” Sherlock said, beaming, “and it worked perfectly!”

 Mycroft frowned. “Though now I'll have find someone to repair this section of The Ministry, creating another hassle for me.”

 Sherlock grinned bigger. “See? Perfect! You see, John, Mycroft knows our problem and offered his assistance. Seeing as we had no choice, I told him about The Chest. And I explained how it might be somewhere starting with “Az.” He said it can only be Azkaban.”

  John shook his head. “Why didn't I think of that?”

  “Because you were too busy fanboying over being in a world from a children's book.” Sherlock said bluntly. John's jaw dropped. “Oh, don't be like that. You know it's true. Anyway, he and I worked out a plan to get us into Azkaban without getting arrested. Mycroft knew that some wizards within The Ministry were concocting a way of turning dragons into furniture. They think it could possibly be a way of transferring them easier. But they hadn't worked out how to make them inanimate yet...” 

  “Hence, the dragon made of tables, chairs, wardrobes, and such.” Lestrade said.

  “And why we let the boys keep their wands.” Mycroft added.

  “Yes. So, we worked out a way of getting the dragon to burst in during the trial. Lestrade, thank Glads-" Sherlock cleared his throat. "Thank Tobias for me later. Anyway, we show how we're above suspicion, Mycroft gets us into Azkaban without getting us into Azkaban, and we're all one step closer to ending this mess.”

  “Brilliant.” Lestrade and John said, almost in unison.

  “Elementary.” Said The Holmes' together.

  “Lestrade, escort them to Azkaban, if you could be so kind.”

  Lestrade nodded. “Yes, sir.” he said, putting a hand on each boy's shoulder. “Next stop: Azkaban.”

 Next Chapter Here-->

Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 11

<--- Chapter One Here
<--Previous Chapter Here

Chapter Eleven

The Ministry's Proposition

 

  John and Sherlock stood by the doors of Hogwarts, luggage and Gladstone in tow. “Bye, boys!” An unbespectacled boy with floppy hair said.

  “Bye, David Smith.” Sherlock said, not bothering to look back at him.

  “Oh, my name's just “Smith” now. Suits me better.” Smith replied.

  John did a double-take. “Your face is different. And your accent's all... BBC-ish now.”

  Smith nodded. “It's all changy-wangy, magicy-wagicy, metamorphy-worphy stuff.”

  “And did you transfigure your tie into a bow tie?” John inquired.

  Smith grinned proudly, adjusting the tie, “Yeah. Bow ties are cool.”

  The doors began opening. “Well... Geronimo!” Smith said, pushing the door closer to the doors.

 As Smith made his exit, John turned to Sherlock. “He's not all that right in the head, is he?”

  “Obviously. I don't even think he's from here.” Sherlock replied.

  He turned to see who was at the door. The man's face was familiar, but younger. Yet, somehow, his hair stayed gray. “Lestrade?” Sherlock asked. “You work for my brother?”

  Lestrade shrugged. “Well, I am an Auror. Aurors work for the Ministry, so... yes. I came to collect you boys.” Lestrade responded. "We'd better get going before Filtch shows up. That man doesn't like me. And to be honest, I'm not exactly fond of him, either."

 

With that, the trio left Hogwarts and began their trip to the Ministry.

 

   ***

  Once in the Ministry, Lestrade guided them into Mycroft's office. Mycroft was finishing a meeting. “...Yes, thank you for your time, Moody. I'll see what I can do. Goodbye. Ah! There's my most trusted Auror, my favorite brother, and his friend. John Watson, I believe. Thank you, Lestrade. I'll take it from here.” Lestrade nodded and exited.

  Mycroft, just like everyone else, was younger as well. Even though he carried himself like someone much older, he looked barely over eighteen. And yet, he was in such a high position already. “Figures,” Sherlock thought. “Although, Minister's almost a demotion for him.”

  Mycroft sighed, massaging his temples. “Oh, Sherlock. Why are you always so intent on causing me stress and worry?” He asked. The elder Holmes tossed the latest edition of The Daily Prophet to his brother.

  The front page had a moving photo of Mycroft sitting at his desk. In an endless loop, he turned his head sideways, covered his eyes with one hand, and drummed his umbrella's handle with the other. The head line read:

             MINISTER'S DARKEST HOUR

 

  Sherlock handed John the paper. “You read it, I don't want to.”

 

  John sighed. “'By Rita Skeeter.' Oh, this is going to be good.” he said, dreading what the infamous reporter would say this time.

 

  “'The Minister of Magic, Mycroft Holmes (18), faces a trying time in his brief career. His brother, Sherlock Holmes (11), and his boyfriend..'”

  “Boyfriend!?” John said, bewildered. “Even here! We're just kids here!” Mycroft gave John a look. “Keep reading.” John took a deep, irritated breath and continued.

  “'...John Watson (11), stand accused of orchestrating the death of Kyle Powers (13).'”

 John glanced up from the paper. “Carl Powers.” he rolled his eyes and continued.

 “'Time will only tell where Minister Holmes' loyalties lie: family, or justice. One thing is certain; the  events of the week are no doubt taking a toll on him. Resignation seems imminent for the once bright polit...”

 

  John crumpled the paper and threw it in the bin, not able to take another word. “What a load of...! That's rubbish! Why does anyone listen to her?” he said, outraged.

 Mycroft chuckled. “Just the reaction I expected from my brother's alleged boyfriend...”

  John corrected him, “FRIEND!”

  Mycroft was amused. "Oh, I know. Sherlock's not one for relationships. Besides...” he said, eying his brother. “He's too young to be having one.”  He turned his attention back to John. “Could you leave me and Sherlock alone for a minute?" John nodded and left, still fuming.

  Once John was gone, Sherlock looked his brother in the eye. “Mycroft, you know I didn't do it.” Sherlock said.

   “Oh, of course not. I figured it out as soon as I heard the news. I think you forget sometimes that I'm as clever as you. If not more.” Mycroft stated. “We don't know who did just yet, but I know it wasn't you boys. I've been keeping an eye on you.”

  Sherlock scowled. “How?” Mycroft pointed next to Sherlock. Somehow, Gladstone had gotten in. Though Sherlock was sure he'd dropped him off back at his and Mycroft's house.

  “Tobias Gregson,” Mycroft said, “say hello to Sherlock.”

  Gladstone leaped into Mycroft's chair, turning into a young man with peculiar salt-and-pepper hair and blue eyes. “Hello, Sherlock. By the way, I hated both you boys' names for me.” Gladstone/Tobias said with a smile.

  “Tobias is one of my Aurors, and an Animagus.” Mycroft explained. “Quite handy for keeping an eye on my little brother.” Sherlock folded his arms and muttered something, pouting. Mycroft shooed Tobias away. “I know you're not my Sherlock.”

  Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  Mycroft nodded. “Tobias told me what happened on the train. He told me about how my Sherlock and “his” Watson disappeared off the train. And that you and your friend popped up in their place.

 "Of course, I would have figured that out anyway, because of your eyes. While they change color, it's not because you're a Metamorphagus, like my brother. He can control everything else, just not eyes yet." Mycroft smirked to himself, remembering an amusing attempt by his brother to keep his eyes one color. “And you don't sound the least bit prepubescent. But, back to business.

  “Listen, Sherlock. I can pull some strings to get you and John off without a trial. And, I can help get you whatever you need to find your way home. Just so long as you do me one favor...”

  “What's that, Mycroft?”

  “Bring my brother home.”

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Loveable Freak Presents:Sherlock Holmes and the Chest of Reality (A Fanfic): Chapter 10

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Chapter Ten

J'Accuse!

   “What?” Sherlock said.

  “Oh, don't pretend you don't know, murderer!” Moriarty announced, barely hiding his smug smile. “Carl Powers, Chaser for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, was killed mid-game. Someone shot a spell at him from afar. Knocked him off his broom, and...” Moriarty whistled, progressively lowering his pitch, to illustrate. “Gravity did the rest.”

  “And, Jim, who were they playing?” Moran chimed in. ("Huh," Sherlock thought. "Manchester accent.")

 “Oh, that's right, Sebastian.” Moriarty said in mock revelation. “Ravenclaw. And guess who we find here, coming downstairs? Ravenclaw House's own Sherlock Holmes.”

  Moran tugged the restrained John a little. “We saw his friend Johnny-boy here just happen to walk back to the game before Powers died. And we all know Gryffindor plays Hufflepuff next game. Obviously they're accomplices!”

  “Wait, Sherlock can't have done it!” Molly called from the crowd. She ran out to the front.

  “Oi! Shut it, lovebird! Your boyfriend's a murderer, deal with it!” Moran said sternly.

 “I'm not her boyfriend...” Sherlock said. Molly turned to the crowd, slightly hurt.

  (“Not good?” Sherlock mouthed to John. “You could've handled that better, yes...” John mouthed in reply.) 

  Molly continued in spite of Moran. “Sherlock's a terrible shot with a wand! Brilliant, no doubt about it, but a lousy shot!” She turned to Sherlock. “No offense...”

  Sherlock blinked and shook his head. “Oh, none taken...” he said, fine with having someone defend him.

  “It would make more sense if John, who's probably the best shot here, had cast the spell." Moran scowled, his pride seeming to be hurt. Molly continued, "If he and Sherlock were responsible. But, honestly; there's no realistic way, magical or otherwise, for him to do that and make it to the Quidditch field before Carl died!”

  “Besides, he wouldn't conspire against Hufflepuff. Holmes's nice to us. He pays attention to us!” Another Hufflepuff interjected. “Well, as nice as Holmes could be anyway.” A random student added.

  “Plus, he doesn't care much for sports...” John said. Moran pushed John's head down. “Quiet, you! Quit trying to make you and your accomplice look innocent.” Moran snapped. Moriarty scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Please, you people don't know how genius works...”

  Dumbledore cut through the mob. “Needless to say, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Watson, this is a serious accusation of Moriarty and Morstan...”

  “Moran!” Moran shouted.

 Dumbledore was unfazed. “I'm afraid we'll have to send you away to go on trial at the Ministry.”

  Sherlock and John exchanged a look. Moriarty sighed and snapped his fingers. Moran released John on Moriarty's command. “Everyone, back to your dormitories.” Dumbledore said, his head still facing the boys as he began to usher Moriarty, Moran, and the mob out. “Boys, you should pack.” he added, turning his head and leaving.

  Sherlock ran up to Molly, who was just about to exit. “Erm... Thank you, Molly.”

  Molly blushed. “It was nothing.” She pulled her tie out from under her uniform's sweater. “House of Loyalty, remember?”

  “Right...” Sherlock said. “Um... Sorry about that... outburst.”

  Molly looked at her shoes. “It's alright.” There was an awkward silence. “Well, good luck!” She said quickly. And she hurried to catch up with the others.

  John smirked. “What?” Sherlock asked, noticing his friend. John laughed and shook his head.

  “Nothing.”

  Sherlock got a serious look on his face. “John, I know Moriarty is behind the murder.”

 John turned serious. “Of course. He's usually behind everything. “ he stated.

  “But,” Sherlock said, “we can't do anything about it, or work out how, until we get the stupid trial out of the way.” 

 "Right, one thing at a time..."

  The consulting detective groaned, annoyed. “Now I have to meet this world's Mycroft...”

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