Sadly, I do not own the greatness that is both Sherlock and Harry Potter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my story. I may or may not be bringing in some of our favorite HP characters. And I do not apologize for any angst or possible feels this story may cause you. Enjoy!

He didn't know.

He didn't know about Sherlock's secret until after he had returned from the dead. If that's any way to describe it.

He didn't believe him.

He didn't believe that magic existed. It was impossible, against everything that Sherlock stood for.

It was a trick.

Sherlock was playing a trick on him. How could he? Two years of waiting, of mourning his death and the bastard thought it would be okay to play a trick on him.

It was real.

Magic was more real than he could have ever imagined. Sherlock could transfigure anything into something else with just a quick flick of his wand.

That's how he did it.

Arresto Momentum. Sherlock demonstrated the spell for him, dropping his mug and stopping it just before it could shatter on the hard floor.

He was back.

Back in his arms at last, after months of tears and heartbreak.

Twelve years. Twelve years since Sherlock's return and John couldn't be any happier. They laid in bed, wrapped around each other. A rare occasion these days.

Sherlock didn't always sleep when he held John in his arms. Instead, he watched the gentle rise and fall of his partner's chest as he snored softly. It was moments like this that made him smile ever so slightly, his eyes shining with nothing but love.

John reveled in the warmth of Sherlock's body next to him, fisting the soft fabric of his t-shirt in his hands. He wished that the two of them could stay there forever, just holding each other, but that dream soon ended when he heard their bedroom door open with a soft creak. A small hand was placed on his shoulder, nudging him until he opened his eyes.

The doctor turned his head with a small a small groan as he was awoken from his slumber. "Yes, what is it, Hamish?"

Much to John's dismay, Sherlock released him from his arms and sat up to look at the dark haired boy. He noticed their son's hands, obviously hiding something behind his back, before a bright smile spread across his face. The detective practically leaped from the bed, throwing the covers off of him as he went over to Hamish and pulled him into a tight embrace. He then knelt down and gently took the boy's face in his hands, his smile never faltering. "Hamish, I am so proud of you."

The boy's face lit up at his father's words. Hamish knew how much SHerlock loved him, but it wasn't very often that he expressed it in such a manner.

John finally sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he spoke groggily. "Sherlock, what's going on?" It had been years since he'd seen him this happy.

"Go on, Hamish," Sherlock said, still smiling. "Tell him."

Hamish turned to John, running his fingers through his dark curls nervously. His dad had never really been much for the whole "magic" thing and he worried about how he would react to his news. "Well…" He chewed on his lip. "Today is my birthday."

John smiled softly and ruffled the boy's hair. "Yes, I know. Did you honestly think I could forget something as important as my son's birthday?"

Hamish smiled back as he played with the envelope in his hands. "But, Dad. You don't understand. It's my eleventh birthday."

He furrowed his brows at the boy before glancing up at Sherlock, who was still smiling proudly. What was so special about turning eleven? He shook his head with a shrug. "Sorry, Hamish. You've lost me."

"Oh, for God's sake, John!" Sherlock huffed with a dramatic roll of his eyes as he stalked out of their bedroom.

John sighed softly to himself. "Hamish, stay here, please," he said before going after Sherlock. He found him staring out the window, hands carefully folded behind his back. "Sherlock, do we really have to do this? On his birthday, of all days?"

"You forgot, John," he replied simply, not taking his eyes off the busy street below. "You insist that he live a normal, boring, muggle life and then, on the most important day of his childhood, forget everything. You've forgotten what he is, what I am. You can't hide from it, John. It's who we are."

John stared at him, mouth slightly agape. He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration before letting out a soft sigh. "I'm scared, Sherlock."

Those three small words were enough to cause the detective to turn around in confusion, his eyes scanning over the other man's compact frame. "Scared," his nose wrinkled as he said it. "Why on earth would you be scared?"

John swallowed, staring down at the floor, avoiding Sherlock's gaze, as he thought over his words. Finally, he looked up with a small chuckle. "I… I'm scared because our little boy is growing up. He'll be going away to school. We'll only be able to see him once every few months… He's leaving us, Sherlock. I just don't know what to do with that." He couldn't stand to meet Sherlock's eyes due to his embarrassment.

Sherlock's face softened at John's words. Was this really what he had been so worried about? Hamish going off to school? He sighed softly before going over to the doctor, carefully wrapping his long arms around him. "You should have told me," he whispered against John's slightly graying, sandy blonde hair.

"I know," he whispered back, sliding his arms around the taller man's waist. "It's just… What if something happens to him at school and we're not there to help him? What if the other kids pick on him? What if he gets hurt? What if-"

Sherlock silenced John's rambling thoughts by pressing their lips together in a gentle, loving, reassuring kiss. When he pulled back, he held John's face carefully in his hands as he stared into his blue eyes. "Stop worrying. He'll be fine. He is our son, after all," he said with a small smirk.

"Dad? Father?" They both turned around at the sound of their son's timid voice and found him cautiously poking his head around the corner. They knew how much he hated it when they fought and he was often the only voice of reason. He could stop their arguments with a single word.

John smiled at Hamish and pulled away from Sherlock to go over to him. "There he is!" He said as he pulled the boy into his embrace. "Happy birthday, Hamish." He released Hamish and nodded at the letter he was still holding in his hands. "Mind if I take a look at that?"

Hamish simply shook his head with a smile as he held the letter out to his dad. John took it in his hands and pulled the rough parchment from its envelope. Sherlock peered over his shoulder, reading it with a smug smile on his lips.

Finally, John finished reading and put his arm around the boy's shoulders. "Congratulations, Hamish. I'm so proud of you." He smiled softly and gently kissed the dark curls on top of Hamish's head. The little boy smiled back with delight and hugged both of his parents. "Sherlock, why don't you get his presents and I'll get breakfast started?"

Hamish's smile widened even more as he turned his gaze to his father, who, in return, nodded his head before dashing off to the bedroom. Hamish followed closely behind.

John watched them until they were out of view and slumped down into his chair with a heavy sigh.