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

Chapter 14: The Sign of Three, Part III; Climax [SMUT]

Note: Smut parts will be marked with *** when it begins and with *** when it ends. Read at your own risk

From the bench she was sitting on, Hermione watched the door to the banquet hall. Hermione took a puff on her cigarette. She was not far from the building and had been able to make out the notes of Sherlock's composition. Now, more festive music had replaced the violin, and Sherlock would soon tire of it and escape. She did not have to wait long. The detective's tall figure drew against the door's glass panels, coat in hand, before slipping outside. Without looking back, Sherlock put on his Belstaff and strode down the gravel path.

'Are you leaving, Sherlock?'

Sherlock halted and turned to her. Hermione smiled at him, even though the darkness and the distance between them made it difficult to make out their faces, and holding out her arm, she offered him the cigarette. The tip glowed like embers, and Sherlock stepped closer to her. His fingers brushed hers, his mouth closing over the lipstick mark Hermione had left on the butt. Sherlock leaned her head back and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

'Weddings are not really my thing,' he said.

'They aren't Mycroft's either,' observed Hermione. 'Have you spoken with your brother today?'

'Before the banquet. I had to make sure he wouldn't show up to upstage the bride.' Sherlock flicked the ash off the cigarette and passed it to her. 'He seems under the impression he would be seeing more of me from now on.'

Hermione could have told Sherlock his brother was not coming and had saved him from whatever snarky comment Mycroft had made. Hermione doubted Mycroft had ever gone to any wedding without an ulterior motive, such as acquiring a political ally or conspiring against a political enemy. That extended to funerals, birthdays, and other social occasions. In this case, Mycroft had commented several times on Sherlock's position in the wedding in the ever mocking tone he adopted when talking about everyday actions by ordinary people — none of which applied to him. Whatever remark Mycroft had made earlier had hijacked Sherlock's brain's control centre, and Hermione would eat her hat if it hadn't influenced his decision of leaving.

Hermione finished her smoke and stubbed out the butt on the stone bench.

'We should go inside, Sherlock. They are probably wondering where we are,' Hermione said, standing up. Sherlock looked towards the window. Far from the crowd, Mary and John were having a quiet moment talking behind the stage. John's thumbs were circling over Mary's belly.

'I think they have more pressing things to think about.'

'How do you mean?' asked Hermione.

'I'm almost sure Mary's pregnant.'

'Oh!' Hermione took a few seconds to answer. 'That makes sense.' Sherlock looked at her quizzically. 'Mary chose the wine which she now hates. Last week we changed the flowers last minute because the smell was too much, and the dress she had fitted is now too tight. And her breasts are sore, but that's probably information she'd rather not tell you.' Sherlock muttered something under his breath, and Hermione grabbed his hand, pulling him towards the door. Despite his scowl and general reluctance, Sherlock complied. 'Smile Sherlock. If it makes you happy, we can guess how many couples will divorce by the end of the year.'

'That's hardly amusing if I cannot tell them.'

Hermione pushed the door open. 'How about we finish this wedding with no one punching that beautiful face of yours?'

Hermione was, as per usual, right. As soon as Sherlock and Hermione re-entered the room, Mary launched herself at Hermione and carried her away, while John, more restrained, gave Sherlock a glass of whiskey.