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

Chapter 15. His last vow: Act I, Introduction

The corridors in the north wing of St Bart's, unlike the main corridors, were empty at this time of the morning, except for a couple of nurses and porters. Hermione followed the signs in the direction of the pathology lab. In her pocket, her mobile vibrated again. Hermione was tempted to turn around and forget that John had texted her with a succinct 'Molly's lab. Now'. Especially since it didn't take a genius to know that the only reason John would be in St Barts on a Friday morning at nine o'clock, fresh from his honeymoon, was Sherlock.

Everything was about Sherlock.

Hermione took a right turn. As she approached the fire-safety door, she heard voices from the other side. She could make out John, and of course, Sherlock, arguing. Hermione took a deep breath and opened it. Everyone in the room turned their attention to her.

'Finally,' said John. Hermione looked away from John and instinctively searched for Sherlock, propped against one of the lab benches. He looked every bit the stereotypical junkie. The dirty tracksuit he was wearing hung loosely on him, and the pair of trainers on his feet had holes on the sides. His usually luscious curls were matted and greasy with sweat, and a thin scruff covered his chin and jaw. He looked thinner than the last time she had seen him, and more tired. He had barely raised his head to look at her, but she had caught sight of his face. His eyes were bloodshot, and his cheeks slightly sunken.

Suddenly Hermione understood why John had summoned her there, of all places. Sherlock was not only playing dress up as a druggie, but he had also borrowed their toys.

Hermione tore her gaze away. Except for the fact that she now had to get an STD test at her local clinic just in case, what Sherlock did, snorted, swallowed, or injected into his body was none of her business. From across the room, Mary gave her a tired smile as she bandaged the arm of a man possibly dug out of the same sinkhole where they had found Sherlock. Beside her, a young boy, no older than sixteen, wobbled in his seat—what an unholy trinity.

'Molly is going to analyse Sherlock's piss.'

A plastic bottle filled with a yellow liquid was waiting for Molly to finish preparing the various tubes on the tray table. Hermione folded her arms and leaned against the wall, watching the pathologist.

'I don't think Molly needs an audience for that,' Hermione said. 'Why did you call me, John?'

'Why didn't you tell us Sherlock was back on drugs?'

'I'm no one' s nanny, John, least of all Sherlock bloody Holmes.'

'How could you not have noticed, you live in the same house!'

Sherlock answered for her. 'No, not any more.'

Mary and John looked at her agape. John moved his head from one to the other, trying to understand what could have happened. Mary and Molly exchanged a glance but said nothing. Hermione tried to look unfazed. 'Mycroft wanted to keep me at Baker Street, I assume to avoid this,' she said, gesturing with her hands. 'But honestly, I'd rather live alone without having to worry about whether I'm going to find a severed finger in my yoghurt. And I'm sure Sherlock appreciates having his room back, don't you, Sherlock?'

It was the first time she had addressed him in almost a month, and she did so, looking at him straight in the eye. Sherlock pursed his lips and didn't respond, which only added to the tension in the room. Right now, it was obvious that something had happened between the two of them. Hermione had hoped that Sherlock's volatile nature would make it easier for people to believe that she had grown tired of his outbursts, as the reality was, as it usually is, far more humiliating. Just remembering it brought Hermione's anger back to the surface.

'Anyway,' Hermione continued. 'I don't know why you've bothered. Look at him. It doesn't take an analysis to know he's off his tits.' Her phone rang again with an incoming message. She pulled it out and glanced at the screen. Mycroft. 'Sorry I can't stay for what I'm sure is an unexpected revelation, but I have more than enough with one Holmes.' Hermione held up the mobile in her hand. 'Next time you want to know Sherlock's comings and goings, John, ask Mrs Hudson. Or call Mycroft. I'm off the case.'