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Set at Year 2011.

Hermione is born in September 19, 1979 which makes her 32. Sherlock is born on January 6, 1980 which makes him 31.

The actual birth date of Sherlock is way back in 1800's so I made up a year for him.

Chapter Text

September 2011 (present day)


SHERLOCK HOLMES of 221b baker street was not pleased to say he was getting more bloody bored by the second, thank you very much.*

In fact, John's gun seemed a very tempting object at the moment, he wanted to shoot someone or something or anything really, anything that can ease this unbearable boredom. The only thing thats stopping him is the distance to get the said object, which was twelve footsteps away. He deduced it was twelve.

His eyes, pale blue ones that desperately roamed the flat, landed on the yellow smiley on the wall. It stood there, and the more Sherlock stared at it, the more he was convinced that the drawing was mocking him. It was particularly giving him a look, a look that clearly says 'bored are you? better kill yourself now'

With an angry grunt, he stood up and grabbed John's gun, twelve footsteps be damned. He was about to shoot when the door was opened aggressively. "John! Why--"

But it was not John that greeted him, instead, it was a woman. A woman, dressed in a sparkling red long gown with a very smudged eye make up, hair wild around her face. Her eyes, golden brown ones, landed on him and the next thing that happened made Sherlock's boredom immediately forgotten.

She began to cry hysterically.

Loud, heart-wrenching sobs that made him take a step back. She then walked towards him, no, swayed towards him and it was then that he realized she was drunk. And by the smell of it, she was very well bloody intoxicated indeed.

"Oh merlin, this i-is too much...t-too much" she mumbled between hiccups, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand while she continued to sway towards him. When they were merely inches apart, for Sherlock found himself unable to move away, she cupped his face with both hands. "I m-must be dr..."

Then she proceeded to puke her guts out.


 February 1986


Golden brown eyes stared incredulously at the pale blue ones throwing haughty looks at her. "Of course I know the earth revolves around the sun! I'm not an idiot!"

The haughty look disappeared and was replaced with confusion and a pout. "You do? Mostly kids my age dont. I wanted to show off"

"Well, it's not very good to show off is it?" She raised her left brow and eyed the boy in front of her in a scolding manner.

"But my brother Mycroft always shows off" he answered, crossing his arms. "Tells me everyday mummy loves him more because he's smarter"

Rolling her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world, she replied as she reached for a particular book in the shelves. "He's not a very good brother then. Don't do what he does"

"Of course I don't!" he scowled defensively.

"Uh, you just did?"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did!" the golden eyed girl sighed exasperatedly. Clearly this boy had sibling issues. She didn't even understand why he's so defensive. Thank God she didn't have any sibling. Must be a hassle. Time to change the subject then, this boy was giving her a headache. "What are you doing here anyway?"

The haughty demeanor was instantly back again and he gave her a looks. "Reading of course! What else would one do in a library?"

"Thats not what I meant" she groaned. "I mean what are you doing here. You've been following me around for an hour now, pestering me with 'did you knows' and I don't even know you!"

"Oh, well" shrugging, he grabbed the book she was holding, the one she took from the shelves and examined the title with interest. "You're the only kid I ever saw around here. Got bored and...seriously? Myths and fairytales? Why would you read such a stupid book?"

"It's for my little research" she glared and grabbed the book back. "And do stop pestering me please"

With that she walked away, the soles of her shoes clicking soundly against the floor, more so that the library was vast, with high ceilings and hundreds of aisle of books. Though she knew the place as if it was her second home, and even with eyes closed, she can walk around without getting lost. In a few minutes, she found her mother in the lounge area and the woman greeted her daughter with a smile.

"Mum! I got the book I needed" she grinned excitedly.

"That's brilliant dear" her mother stood up, and fixed her skirt. "Shall we borrow that one and go then?"


The girl was cut offed in her response, as for that moment a certain pale blue eyed boy interjected, facing the mother with right hand extended. "Pleasure to meet you at last madam. My name is Sherlock Holmes, your daughter's friend"


Present Day 


"Care to explain why there's a woman on my bed?" John Watson inquired with a frown.

"Yours was nearer" was the simple reply of his flatmate.

"Sherlock be serious!" he yelled exasperatedly.

Rising from his black leather sofa, Sherlock Holmes turned to look at perhaps the only person who could tolerate him, and raised a brow. "When was I not?"

John sighed.

"Fine. Let me tell you despite how its so obvious"

"How can it be obvious--"

"The moment you opened the door you noticed the hinges were a little off yes? That was her. She barged in drunk and began crying hysterically. Im sure you also noticed her tear stained cheeks and how she reeks of alcohol. Stranger, as I clearly dont associate myself with the fairer sex unless they have some use to me. So no idea who she is. Yet she puked on me and passed out, I changed of course but you can see the carpet is quite decorated with her stomach contents, so I sent her to the closest bed being the very good samaritan that I am"

"I see" John nodded and smiled sardonically. "The very good samaritan part is what got me confused then. So you really sent a stranger to bed out of the goodness of your heart? No any other specific intentions?"

"Well there is of course the matter of me wanting to find out why she got here in our flat of all places. Coincidence? I think not" he shrugged.

"You mean you dont know why?" the doctor scoffed.

"How am I supposed to know? Not a mind reader John"

"Wow, did those words really came from your mouth?" he gaped.

"Unless the nose developed the ability to speak, then yes"

"God, nevermind. I'm just surprised you didn't sent her out sleeping on the streets"

"Good samaritans don't do that John" Sherlock replied distractedly, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

"So what do we do now?"

"We wait"

Chapter Text

April 1986  


THE LIBRARY WAS EERILY QUIET, more so than usual. The common undistinguishable chatter was nowhere to be heard and even the lounge area was devoid of people. Maybe it was a particularly busy day, and people had more matters to attend to than read books leisurely or maybe no one simply felt reading. 

No matter the reason though, the two kids located at the far end of the establishment could not care less about their surrounding, as they were too caught up in their bickering. The librarian and all the adults concerned was used to them by now, as they had started their routine two months back. 

They would meet up when school is over and even sometimes on the weekend, then they'd agree on a book to read, then start bicker. 

What they bicker about exactly, the adults didn't know. Truth to be told, they don't exactly care. It is normal for children to argue and fight over stuffs all the time. Who would be interested in listening to the conversation of two six years old anyway? 

There's also the fact that they always meet up again, every time, no matter how much they fight. 

So the adults concluded they're not doing anything harmful. Atleast that's what they think. 

"Are you listening?" 


"I'm planning to become a pirate" Sherlock said excitedly to the girl sitting on the floor beside him, who was busy reading one of her biology books. He noticed she was quickly skimming through the text, eyes darting left to right and finished the whole page before speaking. She does that, finish the page before answering, told him she hated to stop reading somewhere in the middle of the text. 

"What did you say?" she said at last, looking up. 

"I'm going to be a pirate" he repeated. 

She answered with a gape. "Why on earth would you want to be a pirate?" 

"Because its fun!" his eyes shifted, glittering with excitement and his face lit up with a grin. It was one of those rare moments when he becomes his age, a child filled with wonders, and not a genius trapped inside a kid's body. "I can imagine the thrill of it! The never ending adventure, sailing from sea to sea. The adrenaline rush! The danger! I'd never be bored! Can you imagine?" 

"Uhm, how exactly are you going to be one?" she frowned. 

"That's what I'm trying to figure out at the moment" 

"But Sherlock..." 

"What is it now?" he rolled his eyes. 

"Pirates aren't exactly the best people in the world" 


"So it means you'll be stealing stuff! Thats what pirates do!" She gave him that particular scolding look again. "and stealing isn't a good thing to do" 

With a frown, he stood up and crossed his arms. "Who cares about good? Its the perfect job for me!"  

"You should care, you're not the only person in this world you know. Your actions might affect others, hurt others" she stood up too, and she was suddenly thankful she was a bit taller than him. It meant she had the upper hand. Hopefully.   

"Why are you scolding me?" he scowled. "You're not my mother. In fact my mother never scolds me"  

She sighed. "because you're my friend Sherlock and I care"  

"Who told you to be my friend?" He kept scowling and she slapped his head in response.  

"You, idiot" she rolled her eyes. "you made yourself my friend two months ago" 

"Right. I wonder why I did that" 

"Nope, I wonder why I let you" 

Sherlock was about to respond when someone cleared their throat. It was the librarian, Ms. O'Neil.  

"Hermione, your mum is here to pick you up" 

"Oh it's already that late?" 

"Yes luv" the librarian answered with a knowing smile. 


Present Day 


"Jesus Sherlock! Will you stop pacing?" was John Watson's exasperated remark. 

"She's been asleep for eight hours John. Eight hours!" Sherlock yelled, and paced faster. "I'm running out of patience. My brain is already on overdrive. I've got thirteen ideas on who she is and why she's here. I need answers, wake her up now!" 

"What happened to being a good samaritan?" John sighed. "You're probably just overthinking. Maybe it is a coincidence she's here. She was after all drunk, got lost or something like that?" 

"There is no such thing as coincidence John" he glared at his friend. "Its all orchestrated, one way or another" 

"You mean like fate?" 

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't be more stupid than you already are--" 

He was interrupted when a noise was heard from the direction of John's bedroom and moments later, the stranger finally got out. And she was not a pretty thing to look at. Her hair was in a tangle of curls, frizzy and obviously greasy. Her dress, all wrinkled and some parts torn. Her face on the other hand, was truly a sight to behold. It looked like a two year old made it as canvas. With a particularly abstract painting at that. 

"Bloody hell that hurts..." she muttered, massaging her temples with both hands. She seemed to fail to register the presence of the two men present in the room, one gawking at her and one grinning maniacally. She also seemed to find Sherlock's chair unconsciously, as she walked towards it and sat, continuing to rub her temples, muttering complaints all the way. "Merlin I'm going to kill Harry for this..." 

Sherlock cleared his throat. 

"Harry is that you?" The woman groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Can't bloody open my eyes. This is the worst hangover so far. I should have never taken that firewhiskey of yours..." 

"Nope. Not Harry" he grinned. "the names' Sherlock Holmes and what is a firewhiskey? Is that a new brand?"  

With keen eyes and a piqued curiosity, Sherlock watched the woman as she immediately turned rigid still, all movements ceased in an instant. After eleven seconds, he counted, she took a deep breath and slowly turned to look at him, eyes alarmingly sharp for a woman who claimed having the worst hangover a few moments ago. Though he noticed her complexion was white as sheet. 

"Where am I?" she asked calmly, her voice was even and with precision.  

"221b Baker street" Sherlock answered simply and walked towards her, crossing his arms in a show of intimidation. "Although I'm sure you already know that. Who are you? Why are you here? And did Mycroft orchestrated this?" 

"Sherlock" John interrupted. "I think maybe you should let her shower first yeah? She clearly needs it." 

"No. I've been waiting too long John--" 

Turning to look at the woman, John gave her a smile and ignored his friend. "Its down the hall, last door. Go on, don't worry. I'll fetch you some fresh clothes and some medicine while you're at it. I'm a doctor, you can trust me"  

She nodded, face blank and proceeded to do as instructed.  

Hermione Granger was not one to drink. When she did, she had a good excuse, and it was when she wanted to get her mind off things for a bit or when Harry forces her to.  Though looking at where she is now, showering in his flat of all places, she's definitely making a vow never to drink again no matter how good her excuse might be.  

Dare she say the dreaded F word? It was really appropriate at that moment. Nothing else would describe her predicament really, except well for, fuck

There. No point in stopping now. She was fucked

"Stupid Hermione! How can you be so stupid?" she hissed, taking her frustration out on her scalp as she scrubbed it vehemently. It would sting like hell later but she was way past caring now. Not when she's here, showering in his flat.  

She didn't even remember how or why she got here! Last thing that came to mind was her birthday party last night at the Grimmauld. Harry wanted her to have fun, 'let loose' as he liked to call it, then offered her a drink. Oh she was so going to give him hell for this! She must've been carried away, she was feeling quite a bit odd and peaky before the party, and she did have a tendency to be a maudlin drunk. Perhaps she thought of him at that moment and her feet led her to somewhere forbidden, like here in his bloody flat! 

"Deities above, forgive me but I'm going to say it out loud..." she mumbled and was so close to screaming the next word out. "fuck!"  

When she was done murdering her scalp and muttering more expressive profanities, she hastily dried herself and changed into the clothes John had given her. She paused before opening the door, going through the best way to handle this situation. Thank Merlin she was a master occlumens, therefore hiding her feelings was not a problem. The only thing causing her much dilemma really is how the bloody hell was she supposed to face him after fifteen years? And the funny thing is, he doesn't even remember! 

Now whose fault was that? The back of her mind whispered traitorously. She shook her head angrily and took a needed breath and went out.  

She found him sitting on the leather black chair, with John on the opposite seat. She couldn't help but notice he looked exactly the same. Same curly mop of a hair, same pale blue eyes that shifts in the light, same cupid's bow that is perfectly defined and those cheekbones, oh those cheekbones... 

Blimey! Get a grip Hermione!  

She hurriedly placed all her defences up, years of years of perfecting the arts of occlumency was finally being put to good use as she walked towards them, towards him, and crafted her perfect disguise. To them, her face was entirely blank and demeanor uninterested. Inside though, she was basically screaming bloody murder. 

"Here drink this" John stood up first and offered a pill with a glass of water. 

She nodded gratefully, although her hangover was way forgotten at this point. "Thank you" 

"Yes yes, now stop dawdling and hurry up" Sherlock glared at the both of them. "Start explaining" 

John offered her a sympathetic smile and a seat and she sat down, cleared her throat and gave a sheepish smile for effect. "I don't remember exactly how I got here. It was my birthday party last night, at my friend's house near the neighborhood.." she paused to find both men looking at her intently. "and I got this bad habit of wandering around when I get drunk you see. There was even a time when I ended up in Thames if you can imagine, so its really not surprising, to me at least, that I ended up in somebody else's home" 

She took another deep breath and looked at Sherlock. Her defences rattled for a bit the moment her eyes landed on those pale blue ones, but she was not Hermione if she didn't have discipline. So she pushed back any unneeded feelings to the  very depths of her mind and continued. "Mr. Holmes was it? To answer your question, I don't know why I'm here and I have not the faintest idea who this Mycroft is. I can't justify the actions of my drunk self, the only thing I can do now is apologize. I am terribly sorry for the trouble I've caused you. I was just at the wrong place and at the wrong time"  

There was a silence and Sherlock sat still, clearly going over the facts in his head. Her heart was starting to beat rapidly. 

"Hmm" he muttered at last. "I must applaud you, you sound very convincing, I'd believe you but..." Sherlock smirked. "Did you know your left index finger twitches when you lie?"  

Suddenly breathing was difficult and Hermione was so so close to losing her grip on her occlumency shields, as for that moment hundreds of images flashed through her mind unbidden, images and memories of her and him. Laughing, arguing, bickering and suddenly it was all too much, too painful and she was reminded of everything she had lost and continue to lose. She desperately tried to keep her voice in check. "Whatever do you mean Mr. Holmes?"  

"Is it an urge?" He stood up and started to circle around her, like a predator examining its prey. "An urge to cross your fingers perhaps? A long time habit to excuse your lies?"  

"It's an involuntary movement Mr. Holmes, not an urge or anything" she reasoned out. "It's the result of my job, I do hard labour you see. Strains the muscles and all that."  

"Oh nice try" Sherlock mocked. "but I'm not one to be fooled--"  

He stopped all of a sudden and looked up to where the door was. Distinct footsteps can be heard outside, someone going up the stairs, and a moment later, Mycroft Holmes entered the room carrying a brown folder. 

At first nothing unordinary happened, then the older Holmes's gaze landed on her. 

Mycroft eyes widened uncharacteristically in surprise, before he regained his composure and cleared his throat. "Hermione, fancy seeing you here"  

Sherlock grinned. "I knew it!"  

Hermione Granger groaned. She was indeed, fucked.


October 1986 


It was not unusual for little Hermione Granger to be bullied. After all, everyone found her odd, a misfit. Some even calls her a freak. Yet she tolerates it, because she knew better. She also believed that ignoring the taunts was the right thing to do, rather than retaliating.  

This time though, something was different.  

She sat there on the floor, in one of the most deserted aisles of the library, form slumped and hugging her knees, burying her face in them. She wasn't reading, that much was obvious, instead her shoulders were shaking and faint sobs echoed through the hall. She was crying. 

There was something about the sight that made little Sherlock Holmes take a step back. His chest was suddenly tight, as if something was clogging it, and it was only days later when he realized he was angry. Angry that someone made her cry. At that moment though, he acted on instinct and hurriedly went over her, kneeling besides her. 

"Hermione, are you okay?" he inquired, pale blue eyes filled with worry. 

She immediately stopped sobbing when she realized he was there, and quickly wiped her tears away. "Oh, you're here, yes yes I'm fine" 

"No" he scowled. "You were crying"  

"I just got into an argument with mum that's all" she smiled at him and ruffled his hair. "Thanks but I'm fine Sherlock" 

"It was the bullies was it?" He insisted. 

"No, you know I don't care about them" 

"Who was it?" 

"I told you it wasn't them" 

Sherlock sighed. "Hermione, I'd believe you but..." he paused to give her a look. "did you know your left index finger twitches when you lie?" 

As she saw no point in denying it this time as she was obviously caught, he was so observant like that, she let the tears out again and continued to cry out her hurt. "I-I know" she stuttered while sobbing. "Its the u-urge to cross my fingers. I h-hate lying you know. Not a g..good thing to do" 

"Why do you keep on prattling about 'good things to do'" he glared at her. "Anyway, who was it and what did they say this time?"

"N-not going to tell you" she glared back. Although she felt way better than before. It was nice to know someone cared. It was nice to know she had a friend, at least. It was nice to know Sherlock was there. 

She could handle bullies, she could. Because he was there. 

Chapter Text

Present Day

THE MOMENT HE HEARD THE FOOTSTEPS Sherlock knew it was Mycroft's. He wanted to do a happy dance right at that instant, for the timing couldn't be any more perfect. When his brother was surprised to see her, it was all the answers he needed to confirm his suspicions. Mycroft did plan this. For what? He was about to find out. Looking at the situation they were currently in, as they all gather around his flat, with an obvious tension in the air, he definitely wasn't bored now.

"Queen of Sicily or Helen's daughter?"  he inquired at the woman sitting besides Mycroft on the couch.

She sighed. "Queen of Sicily"

"Your parents loved literature then, particularly Shakespeare...Hermione" he smiled and crossed his legs. "Tell me, what did my brother pay you for?"

"I'm sorry?" She raised her brow.

Doesn't care about her appearance like most women do. Eyebrows haven't been shaped or plucked for a very long time. Sherlock thought as he let out a laugh. "Oh don't bother denying it now. Mycroft obviously payed you to do this. Did he tell you to get drunk and barge in to my flat? What is his ulterior motive?"

"Mr. Holmes, you're simply overthinking. I was not payed to do anything" she glared at him.

Sclera is white and clear, not an alcoholic. Though those crease underneath her eyes obviously tells she constantly sleeps late. Reading, obviously. "Then why does Mycroft know you?" he rolled his eyes.

"From work. Though that's not surprising, Mycroft knows a lot of people" she shrugged.

Actions deliberate. Perfect posture. Back straight. Unnaturally composed. Though, very very convincing. "Then why did you pretend you did not know him earlier?"

"You were already jumping into conclusions! Wouldn't believe a word I say" she scowled. "Admitting I knew Mycroft would just encourage you."

"So what you're saying is..." He paused and rubbed his chin for effect. "You had a party last night, got drunk, wandered around and ended up here, accidentally, while there's also the fact that you know Mycroft from work but initially chose to hid it?"

She snapped her fingers and grinned brightly. "Exactly Mr. Holmes! Exactly. Glad you finally get it"

Teeth very straight and very white. No signs of artificial replacements. Been taken cared of since she was a child. Her parents were dentists. "It's fantastic how you continue to deny it" he deadpanned before enunciating the next words very carefully. "What did my brother pay you for?"

"Like I said, your brother did not pay me for anything!"

"What did my brother pay you for?" he repeated.

"It was a coincidence!"

"Oh hell, coincidence this, coincidence that. What-"

"That's enough!" Mycroft snapped, while John's eyes kept darting from left to right, clearly entertained. "You forget I am also here." He sighed. "You are correct in your assumptions dear brother. I paid Hermione here to distract you from a case. Yes, by getting drunk and by barging into your flat"

"But Mycroft-"

"It's alright Hermione" he assured the woman, then landed his eyes on Sherlock. "I simply needed you to be focused elsewhere. Didn't want your unneeded attention on this one, it is of national importance you see. But unfortunately, my men lacked the skills-"

Sherlock scoffed. "Not surprising-"

"Let me finish" He glared. "My men lacked the skills to solve the issue, so here I am, forced to seek your assistance anyway. I got in and was surprised to see Hermione, did not expect her to still be here. Was the hangover that bad?"

"Yes" she said sheepishly. "Sorry"

"So there you go brother" Mycroft smiled sweetly. "There are your answers"

"Why thank you Mycroft. Very kind of you to elaborate at last!" Sherlock said sarcastically and looked at Hermione. "You should ask my brother for a raise, for the acting and the persisting and all that. Great job! Though I'm sorry to say your efforts are wasted anyway"

John interrupted by clearing his throat, and finally spoke the first time since Mycroft arrived. "So what is this case? And why didn’t you want Sherlock involved at first?"

"When he's involved, it attracts all sorts of people you see. He's very showy. I needed it to be hidden from the public, but alas I've got no choice now" the older Holmes winced slightly, handling the brown folder he was holding earlier to his brother. "Check it over Sherlock and phone me your thoughts, immediately. I must leave, can't be away from the office far too long. With the Korean elections coming around...Hermione, come now"

Sherlock watched as Hermione followed his brother on his way out. He noticed she paused at the door for a moment, clearly wanting to say something before deciding against it and went out. He shrugged it off, as he was very ecstatic at the moment. Who wouldn’t be? When he made Mycroft Holmes admit his schemes, even made him admit he needed his assistance! And the best part, he got a case! His day turned even better than he expected, as he excitedly opened the brown folder.

Andrew West. Known as 'Westie' to his friends. Civil servant. Found dead on the rails at Battersea station this morning. Head smashed in. The Ministry of Defence has been working on a new missile defence system. The Bruce-Partington Program. Plans were on a memory stick. Top secret. Stolen. Andrew West is a main suspect...

Yes, way better than he expected.

Although at the back of his mind, something was still niggling at his thoughts. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

January 1987

"Hermione, Sherlock's here!" Mrs. Granger shouted from downstairs, causing Hermione to drop her pen in surprise which smudged the wet ink of the letter she was currently writing.

"Oh no.." she mumbled as she tried to fix the ink stain before quickly writing the rest of the sentences she had thought of. Once she was done, she blew the paper dry, folded it thrice and placed it inside the scented blue envelope.


"Just a second mummy!"

When everything was finished, she went downstairs to find Sherlock sitting on the couch, eyes set on her mother's violin. She sat besides him, hiding the letter behind her back.

"You interested in playing?" she inquired. "I'm learning the piano this summer"

"Perhaps..." He answered distractedly, still eyeing the violin.

"What are you doing here though? Its eight in the morning"

"Mycroft dropped me off. Said he needed to be somewhere and didn't want to babysit me" he scoffed. "As if I need babysitting..."

"Oh, did he tell you where he went?"

Sherlock shrugged in response and finally turned to look at her. He narrowed his eyes when he noticed she was hiding something. "What are you hiding behind your back?"

Hermione grinned.

"For you!" she said excitedly and handed him her letter. "Happy birthday Sherlock"

His eyes widened in surprise. "It's my birthday?"

Hermione's smile disappeared and her jaw dropped, aghast. "What do you mean 'its my birthday'?"


"Sherlock! Don't tell me you forgot your own birthday!"

"I didn't think it was that important!" He defended. "Birthdays are boring!"

"No, birthdays are special!" Shaking her head, she put the letter into his hands. "You are so stupid sometimes you know"

"Hey, don't say that!" he grumbled. "I remembered your birthday!"

"Really?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes. October nineteen!"

"Its September you idiot"

"Oh, it is?"

Hermione Granger sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. Just read the letter. "

Present Day

Mycroft Holmes was a very powerful man.   He was powerful enough that even the Queen would pause, and listen when he's speaking. For those who knew him well, which was not that many, that fact was not a surprise. He is after all, Mycroft Holmes. A brilliant mind, a detached heart, and a perfect self control. He was born for power, for authority, for leadership. That's the kind of man he is.

He is also cold, who acknowledges no one but himself. At least that's what people think. It was mostly true, the cold part, but he did have someone he acknowledged, aside from himself.

And it was two people. Sherlock Holmes, his brother, and the one sitting besides him at the back of his limo.

Hermione Granger.

"You still have that habit of arguing with him I see" he commented casually, twirling the umbrella in his hands.

Hermione sighed. "I didn't argue with him Mycroft, I just didn't want to lie more than I already did"

"Well in that case, it was certainly easier to go along and confirm his assumptions, or else you would've still been in that flat. He hates to be proved wrong." He replied, casting a sideway glance. "You know that more than anyone"

"I-I know.." Her head was rested in the car window, staring outside. Hair covering her face. "Thank you for that Mycroft, really. I just didn't know what to do after all I guess"

"Was it really an accident though? You ending up there?"

"Of course, I was stupid enough to get drunk" she replied morosely. "It was all a huge mistake"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Must be hard"

"Caring too much?" She let out a rueful chuckle.

"No" Mycroft smiled a little at that. "Seeing him. Fifteen years is a long time after all."

"It is"

"It's been long for me too" Mycroft admitted. "It's hard not having you around to keep him in check"

"Oh? Since when did I became the babysitter?" she said with a teasing voice, although she was still looking out the window. "I thought that was you"

"You claimed the title the moment you became friends, until you obliviated him that is, now its me again"

She shook her head and laughed. "Still as blunt and as harsh I see" 

"I wouldn't be me if I was anything else"

It was silent again, only the soft hum of the engine filled the air. Mycroft suddenly found himself lost on his own thoughts. He had many memories of this woman, although not as much as Sherlock used to have, but enough to make a lasting and significant impression. When he first met her, she was nothing but his little brother's annoying little friend. Always scolding him for treating Sherlock badly, always scolding him for being a bad brother. She was just annoying, naive, and a waste of his time. He even thought she would be one of those who come and go, just a passerby of Sherlock's life who would eventually disappear. Yet for some reason she managed to stay and it was the first time she ever proved him wrong. After that, it became his sole mission to do everything he could to drive her away. Caring was a disadvantage and Sherlock obviously cared for her and Mycroft wanted her gone because of that. Yet again, she persisted and stayed and never looked back. She even managed to hide to Sherlock, and him the existence of the Wizarding World in the process and it was only when he turned twenty one that he started to work for the government that he discovered Britain's secret community. Imagine his surprise when he found out she was part of it. Over and over she proved him wrong and it was that one particular moment, when she approached him that day and seeked for his help, that he was proved wrong most of all. She cared, but she did not make it a disadvantage. Instead, she did what was needed to do because she cared.  She had to obliviate Sherlock.

He stood besides her that day, even watched as she erased Sherlock's memory of her entire existence, watched as she uttered the spell that would lose the person she had known more than half her life. But she cared, loved him enough to let him go.  She didn't even cry, didn't even hesitate. She persisted and never looked back. It was that moment that Mycroft learned to never underestimate people. She left then, told him her parents was next and that she trusted him to tend his brother for her. Then he never saw her after that, until now.

He knew though, that her side had won the war. He knew that she resumed school after that. Knew that she had taken private research for the Ministry of Magic as her job for the last four years. He knew, because if he was honest with himself, he had learned to care for the woman who proved him wrong all those years ago, who taught him that caring was not always a disadvantage and who he acknowledged, aside from himself and Sherlock.

The limo then came to a stop, shaking him out of his thoughts and he looked outside to see they were already at their destination. Claremont Square, Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hermione finally turned to look at him and gave him a small smile. "Thank you for driving me here Mycroft"

"You're welcome" he replied, for once genuine in saying those words. Before she was about to get off the car, he called after her. "Oh and Hermione?"


"Happy Birthday"

"You knew?"

"I'm Mycroft Holmes" was his answer. "I know a lot of things" 


Chapter Text

Hello everyone!


I'll be really brief with this note because as of the moment I'm in a hurry but I'm gonna list down three important announcements: 



and by that i mean completely, from the very first chapter. I did a lot of changes because as time passed by I hated the way I wrote the chapters so I rewrote everything. Only the plot remains the same.


i changed the title too because im so indecisive that way *sigh* but yes its on fanfiction with my username still @samuelleslytherin and if you want to check it out its there. I do plan to update this one here on archive of our own but i still dont know when.


yes, the story is going to be quite long and i only have a few chapters written so far. Im very careful this time with the editing and writing because i dont want to redo everything all over again. Yes i have that certain writing ocd. Sucks to be me.


Well, there you go! Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you continue to support this little story of mine.