*Curious case of Calico Jack*

The new tenant moved in the night before last. Mrs. Hudson had told him they were getting a neighbor -a female college student that didn't mind the dampness of 221 c. That was a month before the apartment was gutted and rebuilt. There would be no concern of mold after the workers were done. Then a snooty woman with red hair and too much make up came in and picked out wall paper and the marble for the fire place. The back wall of Mrs. Hudson's establishment was torn out and a chimney was constructed in compliance with the city codes.

Then the movers came and moved in a full size bed several boxes and a large grand piano. Sherlock had not seen the new tenant yet but along with the movers came an orange cat in desperate need of a good comb. Sherlock's curiosity was piqued and he was bored so he sent Jon to the store to pick up cat treats before sending the doctor home to a pregnant wife.

Sherlock left his door open so he could hear when the new tenant arrived. After persuading Mrs. Hudson to let the new tenant's cat out of the flat (he could have sworn he heard it meowing) then luring it up stairs with cat treats and let it set in his lap for half an hour. The cat and he became good friends.

The cat took Jon's chair facing him so to listen to every word of the relative differences of rare animal hair when the front door opened and closed.

The door of the new tenant's flat was ajar and Mrs. Hudson quickly interceded; explaining that the cat had been meowing and was free to run about but because she didn't want to cut the poor dear off to his home she left the new tenant's door cracked.

Mrs. Hudson apologized when the girl kindly comforted and thanked the landlady for her thoughtfulness.

Sherlock had to strain his ears to hear the girl's soft foot steps up the stairs. The door remained open, she knocked on the door frame, "Darling, I'm home." She announced in a sweet coaxing voice, the cat's ears perked and he meowed it was the first sound the feline had made all evening.

"Please come in." Sherlock invited standing to receive her properly, not expecting the formality of her attire or the vision she made in it.

Almost a woman. The dress was a floor length red ball gown-slit up the front, her knees peeked out when she walked in her soft black leather ballet flats, odd choice for a ball gown. Her hair was braided along the right side of her head and rolled into a bun at the base of her neck. She looks elegant and young, too young.

Mrs. Hudson had warned him their new tenant was young- going to university.

Sherlock averted his eyes because, no matter how much back this girl showed, he was still painfully aware that she was just a little girl.

"Hello, you must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I'm Hermione Granger." She introduces herself gliding over to pick up her cat, which is now sitting on the arm rest apparently waiting for her attention. She doesn't bother to look at Sherlock when she introduces herself.

The cat meowed again its head turned almost accusingly towards Sherlock. "I see love, they said you were meowing." the beast did so again, in obvious protest.

"Well it's time for bed. I ate at the banquet with Harry." She was talking to her cat, and Sherlock almost liked her for it.

"He hated the treats you tried to feed him, he hid them in your fire place when your back was turned. Please don't feed them to him again." The Miss Granger instructed adjusting the feline in her arms to hold him like a baby.

"What may I ask are you studying at university, Miss Granger? It seem improbable that you can afford to gut a flat on student loans." Sherlock's small talk is strained and comes out nosy and insulting as usual.

"The general. My parent were not poor, and I am good with figures. I like the bison skull on your wall, it reminds me of some kind of heavy metal band, Led Zeppelin perhaps… The ear phones are humorous." She comments and he sees it, she hasn't looked away from her precious cat, cooing over the thing, yet she makes a spot on comment that appears off handed.

"Would you like a drink?" He asked faking the qualities of a gracious host. Her eyes flicker towards him, they are golden brown and her red painted lips part almost to accept, "Not out of that kitchen, or anything you prepare for that matter. You seem like the kind of man that would poison my drink. Luring kittens out of their homes." She smiles before again turning to leave. There are yards of fabric and too much exposing skin when she turns her back to him.

She reminds him of the woman.

His eyes narrow in on her and his lips turn into a fine line. "Do you play games, Miss Granger?" He asks he can't keep the edge out of his voice, he hopes she hears the lure- the way Jon did.

She stops and slowly turns to look at him. Her eyes swirl with something he doesn't know how to read and this frustrates him. Is it anger, is it curiosity, no something else something he doesn't understand but his, Sherlock Holmes and he has to understand.

"Not unless I must." She declares. Then she lets him see, her eyes are screaming for him to leave her alone.

"Don't you like a good mystery? A puzzle?" He asks almost challenging.

"You miss understand." She tells him, turning away from him again. Dismissing him and walking out of his flat.

"What do I miss understand." Sherlock is at the top of the stairs yelling down at her, she has reached the door of her flat, her hand on the door knob.

"People who play games, Mr. Holmes, like to win." She explains and he suddenly understands all too clearly. She doesn't like to play because she never wins.

Suddenly she is extremely boring.

"Calico Jack is welcomed in my flat anytime he likes." Sherlock announces just as she moves to walk through her door. Suddenly she again turns to look at him only this time her eyes are filled with surprising anger. "What did you call my cat?" She demands the ice in her tone, enthralling.

"I didn't know his name so I had to make do." Sherlock logically explained. The cat meowed it sounded like an insult.

"His name is Crookshanks and we would both be appreciative if you did not go around naming other people's animals." Hermione practically screeched.

"Oh, Crookshanks, is a much finer pirate name then Calico Jack!" Sherlock exclaimed. "Why even with the patches of mismatched gingered fur, his really not a calico at all." Hermione glares at Sherlock again and there are so many dark promises that linger there behind that feminine façade that she is suddenly mildly interesting again. Then she shut the door effectively cutting off anything else he was about to say.

~You are invited to the wedding of Molly Hooper and Peter Humphrey~

Molly's wedding was that following afternoon and Mary inconsiderately decided to go into labor. Sherlock's plus one suddenly became a plus none.

The door knocker to 221 Baker Street was straightened putting Sherlock in an even darker mood. He adjusted it accordingly then climbed the stairs to his flat fully expecting to find Mycroft sitting haughtily in Jon's chair, only the flat was empty.

Sherlock checked every room wondering if Mycroft was hiding somewhere, just when he decided that was absurd he heard the front door open, the door knocker straightened, and the front door closed.

Crookshanks wondered up the stairs about that time and helped himself through Sherlock's open door and into Jon's empty chair.

Sherlock went back downstairs to adjust the door knocker only to find it had been remounted perfectly centered on the door. The thing wouldn't move from its precise position.

Sherlock cursed and returned to his flat sitting down in his own chair and complained loudly about Miss Granger's actions to her cat. Then Crookshanks stood showed Sherlock his tail and left the flat unimpressed with the detectives rant. Sherlock pulled out his violin and took his frustration out on the strings.

Mrs. Hudson arrives with his tea and Sherlock realizes its morning, he also realizes that he stayed up all night waiting for Hermione to return to her flat, which she never did. When he complained of this out loud along with the promiscuous this suggests, Mrs. Hudson corrected him kindly. That Hermione had returned late last night and had already taken breakfast.

Sherlock paced for five minutes, picked up his violin then remembered the grand piano that the movers hand carried into Hermione's flat after the renovations.

He stormed down stairs in his pajama pants, robe and house shoes banging on her door loudly. It was Saturday, therefore, it was unlikely she had nowhere to be. It took her three minutes to answer her door, her hair in a sloppy ponytail, she was bare foot and in her own, what he assumed was pajamas: A silk robe decorated with a tropical floral print, a white silk camisole, and a pair of matching silk shorts.

"Can I help you?" She asked looking neither tired or awake and completely unsurprised to see him in her door way.

He was intrigued that despite the absence of the suggestive red dress, she was still very pretty.

"Why did you fix the knocker?" He asked rudely blocking her entire door way so she couldn't slam the door in his face. Only she doesn't even try and this somehow disappoints him.

"Mrs. Hudson was complaining about how shabby a crooked knocker looked on the building. I tried to simply straighten it but when I went back out someone had turned it crooked again, so I remounted it. This is a decent place and Mrs. Hudson has only been helpful and kind- not only to me but to you as well." Hermione defends and Sherlock is eyeing her like she is a liar.

"It's odd isn't it, that you paid movers to carry in a piano that you never play." He had more accusations. She wasn't sure of what he was trying to imply so she simply looked at him patiently waiting for him to embellish.

"A big instrument like that, I would have heard you play, felt the vibrations in the floor." He stated almost in her face so he could tell if she lied. She swept her hair back and opened her door a little wider. From the door way one could see where the massive cherry wood piano sat, blank sheet music on the shelf, Crookshanks lounged lazily across the top.

"Mrs. Hudson mentioned you played the violin, several times, when I inquired about this flat." Hermione stated with an eye roll. "And since I play the piano it seemed courteous to have the room sound proofed when I had them remove the dampness." She explained like it was all completely logical.

Which in a certain light it was.

"You're composing." He notices. She doesn't affirm this and when he pushes past her, she only half heartily objects.

"Play for me. I would like to hear you play." He commands sitting on her couch that faces the fire place, he props his feet up on her polished coffee table like a king conducting court. The room is tidy, bookshelfs on every wall filled to the brim. There are small signs of feminine touches. Framed pictures mostly; pictures of an older couple undoubtable her parents- who from her current living conditions, their last conversation, and the photo's centered placement on her mantel, they are recently deceased. The other pictures are of her and two boys, she's always in the middle; they all look to be the same age but the pictures are at different time in their upbringing and all at different locations. She is well traveled.

"That is not a good idea, Mr. Holmes." She warns still holding on to the door.

"Keep the door open, Mrs. Hudson would like to hear you as well." He proclaims. Hermione sees there is no arguing and the only way to get rid of him is to play.

Hermione doesn't say another word until she is seated. "What I was working on, or something completed?" She asks.

"Surprise me." he states almost condescending.

But she does.

It's beautiful and filled with passion. The notes twist and turn and are wound so tight. Sherlock is sure something is building, something is going to break- then the notes soften and swoon as they reach a tipping point and fall like a waterfall, cascading down in a melody of wonder and beauty. He closes his eyes and allows himself to imagine that this is a concert hall for an audience of one. She pulls at the notes again adjusting them just so to end in contentment, parting ways like old friends. He opens his eyes and notices Mrs. Hudson standing at the door all misty eyed.

"That was lovely. I have never heard anything so beautiful in my whole life." She declared.

Sherlock stands abruptly, perhaps a concert for two then, he thinks to himself glaring at Mrs. Hudson.

"Don't look at me like that Sherlock, you're a fine musician too." She tells him like a mother praising a second rate child, this Sherlock is used to.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asks Hermione as she turns and looks up at him from her piano bench with her big golden eyes.

"Studying." She tells him, shortly. He does not grasp her irritation.

"I need you to accompany me to a wedding." He tells her.

"No." She replies simply, standing and stretching. Her robe inches up and Sherlock does not allow himself to process the exact surface space of newly exposed skin. "We only meant last night, I'm not going to a wedding with you."

"I'll go with you dear." Mrs. Hudson offered.

"Not someone old." Sherlock complained. Mrs. Hudson huffs and flees the flat.

"My plus one's wife just had a baby, I need a new date. Your parents were dentist, they left you a large sum of money that you have wisely invested. You have always been smart, top of your class, you're hiding from something; a lover, a broken heart. You're insecurities lie more in your academic pursues then social life. And though you can't be more than eighteen and the fact that this is your last semester at university- make your fear of failure illogical. So your fear is deeply suppressed, perhaps projected in your of rather provocative attire." He rants, showcasing that perhaps he knows enough to take her to a wedding.

"Fun party trick." Hermione comments with an amused smile.

That's it- that's all she gives him, clearly unimpressed with his powers of deduction. It was all rather anti climatic.

"You could wear the red dress." He suggests. Not just because he likes the red dress, he really does, but in case it's about clothes, girls are funny about such things.

"Is it an ex-girlfriend's wedding?" She asked with a bit more curiosity than a simply no.

"No." He answers not seeing the relativity.

"Then you don't get the red dress." She bluntly states.

"So you will be my plus one?" He asks again perhaps a bit more eager than he should.

"If you can dance?" She says, eyeing him with purpose. He smiles wickedly.

"Can you?" His now more than mildly curious.

Sherlock arrived on her door step an hour before he told her he would pick her up. She answered her door with a scarf around her head, make-up on, and jewelry in place; a single thin gold chain around her neck with a ruby heart that sat perfectly in the center of her chest. She was wearing her teal robe with tropical orange floral print. She did not appear to be wearing anything else underneath.

"Are you wearing panties?" He asked for clinical reasons only.

She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Are you?" She asks turning and walking into the other room without another word.

He tilts his head just so and makes the imperial decision that yes she was in fact wearing knickers, but not a bra. That could complicate certain activities for the evening, he really didn't want her jiggling about as he twirled her around the dance floor.

It took her fifteen minutes to change and do her hair. He used that time to go through her sheet music and a few of her books. She had excellent taste in novel, education, and music. She returned in a gold daring neck line dress that was several inches above her knees in the front and back but tapered out elegantly for the show of length at the sides. The skirt was a wondrous thing, three layers of sheer material and reminded Sherlock of a flower. There was no bulk but he was sure that when he twirled her the image would make a lasting impression. She turned to once more coo at her cat and he notices that once more she has chosen a dress without a back. The lack of bra puts a damper on his night, but then if she wishes to jiggle about who is he to argue.

When Hermione takes his arm he realizes that she has grown five inches, he curses. Her eyebrow quirks, "Is there a problem?" She asks.

"You are ruining my night." He bluntly tells her, silently cursing the French for making high heels socially acceptable for women. Whom simple were not as graceful while wearing them and dancing. And since she hadn't wore them with the red dress it seemed illogical she would wear them with a shorter one.

"Please explain how in fifteen minutes, I have already ruined your whole night?" She licks her lips and the look in her eyes holds a challenge. If he tells her he will possible lose his plus one, but this is Sherlock Holmes and he certainly doesn't know how to hold back.

So he tells her. Her lack of bra, her high heel shoes, his plans for dancing- how it all interlock and effects one another.

She laughs. It's high and filled with delight like his made the funniest joke ever. "Thank you." She tells him. And he is confused. "I promise none of your concerns will interfere with our dancing plans tonight. I only said yes to your offer because I haven't been out dancing in ages. I don't jiggle, I have an adhesive bra on that prevents it and my heels are for your comfort more than for showiness. Your half a foot taller than me, if we are to dance all night, I don't want your posture to suffer for it. These shoes are comfortable enough." She assures him and his looking at her like she's somehow strange.

He simply nods, reaches over and picks up her favorite pair of black ballet flats. "Just in case, Miss Granger." He tells her tucking the shoes into his coat pocket. She smiles and he leads her out the door.

Mrs. Hudson tries to ooh and ahhs over them, she too is dressed nicely, but she is not ready to leave quite yet, Sherlock simply ushers Miss Granger on and hales a cab.

No Girl Should Cry in the Bathroom on her Wedding Day

There was a girl crying in the loo.

Hermione and Sherlock had arrived at the wedding two hours before the event was even to start.

After their long car ride of license plate alphabet, Hermione needed a break from the insufferable man, and the girl's loo seemed like a good escape because Sherlock Holmes was a sore loser.

Hermione entered the bathroom and sitting in the middle of the floor with yards of white fabric all around her, and tears streaking her face, could only be the bride.

"Molly Hooper, I presume?" Hermione asked crouching down very lady like and holding out her hand to the sobbing woman. The bride nodded and shook the offered hand.

"I'm Hermione Granger, I came with Sherlock Holmes." She explained so the woman wouldn't wonder how she knew her name. The woman stopped crying long enough to look at Hermione from head to toe before she began sobbing louder than before.

Hermione leaned over and draped a friendly arm around the woman's shoulders. Letting her cry out whatever was bothering her.

Molly finally calmed down long enough to take a couple of deep breaths and she again looked up at Hermione. "How old are you?" the bride managed to ask.

"Why are you crying?" Hermione asked, making small soothing motions on Molly's back clearly concerned.

"He said my dress was white." Molly hiccups out.

"It is white, aren't all wedding dresses white?" Hermione reasons.

"Need a splash of red…Because apparently I'm a whore." The sobbing starts again. Hermione goes back to making soothing circles on Molly's back.

"And the flowers died. I'm supposed to walk down the aisle with flower on either side like a princess from a story. Never been married, thirty five- I'm a spinster not a princess." Molly bellows.

"Molly, who called you a whore?" Hermione calmly inquires, already guessing - there weren't a lot a people who had arrived yet, now were there.

"He didn't call me a whore, didn't have to. It's implied like all the nasty things he says. Your tall, dark, and handsome date. Oh those eyes." Molly sounds bitter. This hurts Hermione's heart, she doesn't know Molly but no bride should sound bitter on her wedding day.

"Well his old isn't he. His friend's wife had their baby. He was more than a little desperate- banging away on my door like a lunatic. He didn't want to show up alone. Pathetic really." Hermione knew the facts would make Molly Hooper feel better to hear, particularly that Sherlock didn't want to show up alone to her wedding. Molly Hooper was getting married, she needed to move on from the sociopath in her life, no matter how dreamy his eyes were.

"I see." The bride commented looking a little brighter.

Hermione helped clean Molly up and get her back to her room. Then she called Neville and asked him to meet her in the garden in two minutes and gave him a list of what she needed.

As always Neville never let her down.

It either took an hour for her date to find her or an hour to realize she was missing, she would bet on the later. When Sherlock found her in the garden making the final arrangements for Molly's special day, he was clearly impressed.

"Peter was complaining about the flowers, said Molly was heartbroken, came out to see if there was anything to be done. Did you do all this?" He asked skeptical.

"I had help." Hermione admitted. Pointing to a man covered in dirt near the alter.

Neville stood from where he had been kneeling; planting orchids. He was filthy, had worked like a mad man trying to get things done in time. "Finished! Hermione, I hope your friend has her fairy tale wedding." Neville smiles, nods to Sherlock politely, then leans over and gives Hermione a kiss on the cheek.

"Give my love to Luna!" She calls out as Neville picks up an empty clay pot and walks to a red van sitting on the curb that reads 'Longbottom's Floral Arrangements'.

"Why would you do this?" Sherlock again is accusing, his looks suspicious like she is a villain from a perplexing case of his.

"Because no bride should be crying in the bathroom on her wedding day. Not even promiscuous ones that wear white." Hermione declares pushing past him and marching gracefully back into the building. Hoping to avoid him until the ceremony. Mrs. Hudson is better company, anyways.

Sherlock squeezed into the pew next to her just as the music starts to announce the commencing of the ceremony. Everyone is in awe over the mini enchanted forest that has been created within the garden the white pews are an elegant touch. "Are you mad at me?" He asks, draping an arm around his date with more familiarity than he had any right.

"Why would you think that?" She asked looking up at him clearly confused, her tone is level and her pupils do not dilate.

"You are my date." He informs her like she forgot.

"Yes, I'm well aware, but not everything is about you, this moment is about Molly and Peter." Hermione explains like his a simpleton.

"So I have upset you. You don't even know Molly Hooper or didn't until this afternoon." Sherlock reminds her.

"I think we are missing each other's point. The garden is your apology for indirectly calling her a whore. When she thanks you, you will accept with as much humble civility as you can manage and then I will dance with you."

"I don't respond well to blackmail. Besides why would she think I had anything to do with this?" Sherlock inquires his hand making a sweeping motion indicating the garden.

"Because you're the only one that Peter confided in, and because you have a bit of your own magic or so your friends believe. I am not trying to blackmail you I'm trying to help you."

"Why?" He looks disturbed by the very idea.

"Because I don't try to name other people's animals or feed them junk food." Hermione explains.

"So you are upset about that." he replies like he just unraveled a clue.

"I'm disturbed that you treat your friends the way you tried to teat my cat. Only my cat was too smart to fall for it." She explains looking up at him like he should understand.

"I'm afraid you have lost me, Miss Granger, and that is very hard to do." Sherlock practically shouts. Several people look at him, including George Lestrade, before rolling their eyes and dismissing him just as easily.

"It's because I'm speaking a different language. You rename your friends to fit them in your life and to your whims, then you feed them your bullshit and expect them to digest the empty compliments- with the expectation that they will come back for more." She sounds righteous in her explanation and yet he understands, sort of, what she's talking about.

He squints his eyes and smiles. "I like you." He points at her, shaking his finger like she's a naughty girl. He looks upset but he says those three words calmly, almost frighteningly so, like he can't keep himself from saying it.

She laughs like his made another good joke.

"Jon called it sentiment." He tells her his fingers covering his mouth in a habit that she would not recognize within their short acquaintance.

"Sentiment is subjective by emotions, Mr. Holmes. Trust and respect are measurable virtues." Hermione has taken on a scientific approach to dealing with complicated relationships. And this one is fast becoming very complicated.

"Oh yes, Miss Granger, I just might keep you." He declares his free hand reaching over and squeezing hers almost reassuring. He drops it as the bridal march starts and they all stand to watch Molly enter, the look on the brides face is one of wonder and makes Hermione smile widely.

No one notices that while everyone is watching Molly's reaction, Sherlock is watching Miss Hermione Granger.

Molly is gushing. "Peter said he told you, how did you? Oh, thank you so much, Sherlock!" the bride is holding on to her new husband's hand while giving Sherlock an awkward one sided hug. Hermione is standing at Sherlock's side a proud look on her face.

"You have done so much for me Molly Hooper, you deserve the perfect wedding day." His smile is strained but his words are true. He actually means them. Hermione is somewhat surprise he doesn't outright lie. He doesn't exactly take credit for the garden but he doesn't deny credit either. She wonders if this has more to do with her threating to leave early than anything else. Molly gives Hermione a small smile before releasing Sherlock. Peter pulls his wife over to the dance floor and Sherlock takes the grooms lead, his arm encircling Hermione's waist as he guides her over to finally start their night.

They dance for an hour while the dining room is set up. She glides and twirls with more grace and poise than any partner his ever had. She was right the heels help, mostly with her own leg length in proportions to his own. Her skirt twirled in just the way he hand hoped and her brown curls looked almost golden in the sun. People were watching, even the bride and groom stopped dancing to watch before awkwardly toe touching, and Sherlock floats with his date around the dance floor enjoying the evening just as much as he would have if someone had been murdered.

A/N: There are three chapters to this crossover story, the other two chapters are mostly written. I don't use a beta its too time consuming. I do try and proof read several times, but I do miss things. My brain knows what is suppose to be there so sometimes it auto corrects mistakes in my head- so I don't always catch things on the drafts. Sorry...but I'm not fixing it. I just need it out of my head. Review if you like. This was inspired by a two day marathon of Harry Potter then BBC Sherlock. Plot bunnies are evil-