Pieces of a chess game [Sherlock x Harry Potter Crossover] [COMPLETE]

Chapter 12: The sign of three. Act I - Exposition

Sherlock was a difficult person to live with, or so John had told her one day shortly after the terrorist attack. Hermione, who had been sharing the place with Sherlock for less than a week and had seen glimpses of that alleged difficulty, remained optimistic. Barring the violin at three in the morning and the microscope on the kitchen table, Sherlock had been behaving like the perfect flatmate. Sherlock had consulted with her on a couple of cases, brewed the odd cup of tea for her, and bought Italian takeaway some evenings. Sherlock is not Sherlock yet; John had warned her with a frown after witnessing one of the detective's rare 'thank you'. He'll be back to normal soon.

Sherlock had only needed a Christmas with his brother and parents in an isolated cabin somewhere in Lake District to revert to the Sherlock everyone knew and hated to love. Since then, on top of having to withstand John's smug I-told-you-so smirk, Hermione also had to deal with Sherlock, who had somehow decided that Baker Street belonged only to him. Severed body parts had found their way into Hermione's shelf in the fridge, and the fuses kept blowing because of random experiments with kitchen equipment. Hermione had tried to argue but lost interest immediately once it was apparent Sherlock would not stop doing what he was doing.

However, Hermione still had his old bedroom, and she was not planning on giving it back to him. She might have if Sherlock would have thought about asking for it rather than demanding. But Sherlock wasn't wired like that.

It was early February when the relationship between the inhabitants of 221b would take a dramatic change. Sherlock had been on the phone with Lestrade when Hermione had arrived from a training session, barely acknowledging her arrival as he barked questions to the detective. Hermione had not even given it a second thought. She went straight into her room and started drawing a bath. She lit some candles, put a jazz playlist on her phone, and then lowered herself into the hot water mixed with Epsom salts. Her head was resting against a folded towel, her eyes closed, and her fingers were tracing the scars on her forearm. The warmth, the scent, and the music were luring her into a drowsy state when a metal rattling sound filtered above the piano beats. Hermione reached for her phone and lowered the volume. The noise stopped, followed by the turning of a knob and a whispered swearing. Hermione sighed and wrapped herself in a towel. When she opened the door, her bath ruined, she found Sherlock crunched in front of her bedroom door, his white shirt tightening around his back and shoulders. He had discarded his blue dressing gown on the floor beside his tools and moved a large stencil inside the lock.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?"

Sherlock stood up and turned to her, hiding whatever he had in his hands behind him. Pretending she had not caught him trying to force a door. "Nothing."

"You can't open it; it's charmed."

Sherlock buffed and bent to get the rest of his kit and gown. "I thought it was forbidden for you to do magic when I'm around."

"I haven't, have I? I did it when you weren't here," Hermione said, gripping the towel tightly around her chest. "Besides, your brother cleared you to know about magic, so that technically isn't correct."

"I need my room," said Sherlock.

"Not a good enough reason for me," Hermione pointed at the bedroom. "May I go into my room now, please?"

Sherlock's eyes moved from her face to the arm holding the towel to the other one. He took a step to the side and left for the kitchen. Hermione padded to her room and only emerged late at night when she needed her usual chamomile to help her sleep. Sherlock had changed into his more comfortable sleeping trousers and T-shirt and was hunched over the microscope. The kettle went off, and Hermione started to fix her tea.