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

Chapter 7: Past Present

A cloud of smoke blurred the images of the people packing the sidewalk towards Covent Garden Market. From the terrace in Sirius's flat, Hermione stubbed her cigarette on the ashtray and leaned over the handrail, observing the crowd. The Olympics had caused London's population to swell tenfold, turning the city into a crowded obstacle course. It was also a security risk. Anytime England hosted an international sporting event—like last year's Champions League at Wembley—the MI5 and MI7 were on high alert, expecting anything from terrorist attacks to performance-enhancing drugs. Everyone they employed was put to work or agents were borrowed from foreign countries or Interpol.

Hermione had been waiting for a call that never came. She knew she wasn't ready for assignments in the field; her shoulder still throbbed whenever she raised her arm. Under any other circumstances, she'd probably be assigned paperwork duty or at least to a control room. But not this time.

It had been weeks since Hermione last spoke with Mycroft. Anthea was the only one who contacted her after her doctor cleared her for work and told her to take as much time off as she needed. This meant in Mycroft's own way of speaking, to not come back unless Hermione has sorted out her priorities.

Hermione hadn't given much thought to her priorities. She found herself spending most of her free time at Baker Street or on Sirius' terrace sipping coffee and reading books while he talked on the phone sending coded messages to someone else. She'd occasionally get some food with John, go on trips with Mary, and chat away with Molly Hooper. And in her free time, she had thought back to Mycroft's outburst.

The reason Mycroft had the position he had was because of his ability to strip a situation of any humane values and pass judgement based only on the facts. He was pragmatic, and ruthless, and had saved countless lives. And he had been in every aspect of his job except when Sherlock had been involved, so it was hard to accept Sherlock's death wouldn't bring some sort of emotion out in him. And then there were the missing flowers. Mycroft may have been indifferent to the more demonstrative elements of mourning but Molly was too caring to have forgotten about Sherlock's death—and Margaret and Siger would never forget about their little boy's anniversary.

Lost in thought as she was, Hermione did not hear Sirius approaching until his hand touched her shoulder, gently travelling up and down her upper back in a soothing gesture.

"Ready for lunch pup?"

She responded by nodding but her attention quickly turned to a young couple handling their crying son.

"He'll come around, Hermione. He always does."

An involuntary sigh made past her lips and gave a half-shrug.

"We'll see."

The month of September ended with no word from Mycroft and gave way to a cold October. Mrs Hudson had the fireplaces cleaned, and both Hermione and John lit them in the evenings, filling the room with the warmth of a fire and the gentle sound of crackling logs. Hermione's life was at an impasse - with her job hanging by a thread, and with a flatmate who had decided not to ask about it.

One Sunday afternoon, Hermione cosied up in her armchair with a mug of tea in her hands, hoping to warm them. Sirius was browsing the mantelpiece skull, visiting Baker Street for the first time despite Hermione having been living there for more than eight months.

"So, where's our good doctor off to?" He asked, settling into John's chair.

"Out with mates," she answered. "And by mates I mean Mary."

"Does he know...?"

"Mary will do it when she is ready," Hermione said firmly. Sirius brought his cup to his lips gracefully; no wonder why Mycroft and he were always welcomed at Buckingham Palace.