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

Chapter 20: The Six Thatchers, Part I

Hermione lowered her book to look at Sherlock, sitting across her in his black armchair. His eyes were fixed on the phone in his hands while he texted, often for several minutes without stopping. He had not even bothered to turn the volume down, and the sound of the keystrokes had been the only thing Hermione had heard from him in hours.

'John is right, you know,' said Hermione, seemingly uninterested. 'You are going on spinning plates.'

Sherlock barely hummed in acknowledgement but did not lift his head, nor he stopped his actions. Hermione took a deep breath and went back to her book, trying her best to ignore the sound of the keys.

Tap, tap, tap. John, Mary, herself—they had been trying to be sympathetic. The situation was delicate, and as Mycroft had said in so many words, Sherlock's sanity was of utmost interest for national security. He had let him play Miss Marple with Lestrade and Dimmock and Hopkins, running around London for the most ridiculous cases the criminal classes had to offer. But the carefree facade Sherlock had tried to portray was flaking, and everyone around him had started to notice the tells of his spiralling. His shoulders were always tense under the suit jackets, he barely slept, and his eating habits had been reduced to his always black coffee with sugar and chips. He took every case that came his way, no matter how small or stupid. Long gone were the occasions when he would only get dressed if a case ranked higher than a four on his personal scale. The phone had become an extension of Sherlock's arm. Only John had finally breached it to him, but he had ignored him, as he tended to do these days.

Tap, tap, tap. Hermione felt her patience thinning with each keystroke. She could stand a lot of things. Merlin knew she had the experience: you don't go through seven years of friendship with Harry-short-fuse-Potter without developing a thick skin. Indifference, however, from him in particular, cut deeper than what she was willing to admit. Had the situation been different, Hermione would have had more endurance. But how could she, when the feeling of Sherlock's body on her own was branded upon her? He had been riding the last remnants of his drug-induced high when he had pressed her against him as soon as he arrived at Baker Street in the wee hours of New Year's Day. His kisses had tasted like ginger. The fumbling of his fingers trying to get rid of her clothes had been clumsy but efficient. She remembered having uttered a few words before she found herself straddling him in the same armchair he now occupied so nonchalantly. There had been no time for conversations: he had seen death up close, and he owed to his archenemy his life, in a sense. From sitting room to bathroom to bedroom, everything had been a blur of hands and skin and sweat, and when she had finally fallen asleep next to him, she wondered if he would be there come morning.

He had not.

Hermione had found him dressed, pacing around the sitting room, phone in hand, and his laptop opened on the table. She had stood in the kitchen for some minutes, but he had not paid attention to her. Hermione had turned around then, shallowing her feelings because Hermione Granger was, first and foremost, a soldier. Feelings were nothing compared to the threat Moriarty supposed, and for now, it had to be enough. It did not mean she was not utterly pissed at him and outraged and frustrated, making her blood boil in her veins and her magic thrum. She knew she was tethering on edge, and that bloody mechanical sound was just getting her closer to it.

Tap, tap. Ping. Ping.

The text alert made her drop her book with a loud thud on the floor next to her. Sherlock did not even flicker, and that made her angrier. Hermione got up and strode towards him. Before he could react, she tore the phone away and threw it to the leather couch across the room. Sherlock finally gazed at her, but his face was impassive, his hands still frozen as if about to type on the air in between them.