CHAPTER 6

Okay, change of plans. Change of authors, really. This chapter (and the rest of the story) are written by me, sassicusfinch312, aka Mel. Don't try looking me up, I haven't written anything else. Anyway, unspoken-code, the original writer of this story, has generously handed over the reins to me. I'll be posting under her account, so no big changes there. Let's hope I do the story justice! Thanks to Beck for starting this story and letting me finish it (and for the first paragraph of this chapter).

Sunday looms dangerously on the horizon that week and Hermione is more than a little stressed at the idea of the Sunday dinner- but really, more of a meeting of sorts because of the Statute of Secrecy- at the Weasley home. She hasn't really talked to John or Sherlock because she's tried to give them space. Unfortunately, it makes her extraordinarily anxious that they don't know what to expect. The Weasleys, though warm and open, are a sharp contrast from the sophisticated quiet of the flats at Baker Street.

But when Sunday does come along, the butterflies Hermione felt earlier in the week disappear. Instead there's a cold, heavy weight sitting in her stomach, some sort of mix between dread and anxiety. She stands for a moment in front of the mirror, evaluating the simple outfit she picked out three days before. Her bushy hair is tied back plainly in a bun but a few flyaway hairs escape.

Breathe, Hermione, breathe. It's going to be okay. Harry and Ginny will be there, Molly and Arthur will be there, George and Angelina, and of course John, Sherlock, and this Miss Adler. Unusual guests, yes, but manageable. There's a knock at the door and Hermione takes a deep breath before going to answer it.

John stands there hesitantly, holding a platter wrapped in tinfoil. His hair, Hermione notices, is combed to one side today and looks quite nice. Sherlock stands behind him, as well dressed as ever, and standing like a pillar.

She smiles slightly and steps aside. John seems just as nervous as she is and steps in carefully, while Sherlock marches in with purpose. He begins speaking without a moment of hesitation.

"Didn't sleep well last night, did you?" he asks Hermione sharply.

John sighs and says, as if he's done this a million times before, "How'd you guess?"

"For goodness' sake, John, have you looked at her face?"

Hermione coughs deliberately and shoots John a look. He smiles tersely in reply.

"It's true I haven't been sleeping well," Hermione confesses, looking at Sherlock, "but it's no trouble. There are a few things I should mention before we go to the lunch. First is the family. We are going to the Weasley house, also known as the Burrow, for lunch. As they are my family in an unrelated sense, I'd appreciate it if you refrained from making harsh comments." Hermione gives Sherlock a pointed look at this, but he either ignores it or doesn't notice. "Second thing is transportation."

"Can't we just take the Overground?" John asks.

"That's one way." she replies. "The other way is much faster, much more thrilling, and much more dangerous. I've done it only once with Muggles before."

"And that is?" Sherlock inquires impatiently.

"Disapparation." Before Sherlock can ask any more questions, Hermione says, "It's the magical way of traveling. Witches and wizards can learn to Disapparate at seventeen, much like driving for non magical people. It's completely different, however. The book I lent you might have mentioned it."

Sherlock nods and John eyes him before turning to Hermione.

"You said it was dangerous?" he asks.

"Very."

"We'll do it." John decides.

Sherlock is about to open his mouth when John stops him. "The less we know, the better."

Hermione gives him a nod. "I agree. It'll be a bit uncomfortable, just so you're prepared. But I should be able to manage it." The smart part of her brain is collapsed on the floor in panic. But for once in her life, she quiets it down. It's an exhausting thing to be sensible all of the time, and frankly, Hermione is sick of it. "Are we ready?"

Sherlock's face goes through a series of reactions at being left out of the decision making. His mouth opens again but this time Hermione stops him.

"Each of you take an arm."

She holds out her hands and after a pause Sherlock and John take one respectively. Sherlock's fingers are cool, but Hermione focuses on John's hand, which is warm and steady in her own. He manages to hold his dish with one arm and hold Hermione's hand with the other. Trying to capture the tingling feeling from his touch, she lets the world around her pull and spin like putty.

The wind tickling her cheeks tells Hermione to open her eyes. When she does, she looks around. They are standing at the top of a grassy slope with the Burrow just at the foot of the hill. A sense of relief floods her, as it always does when she comes home. After breathing in a breath of clean air, she finally remembers to check on John and Sherlock.

John appears to have handled the journey better than Sherlock. He's standing, dazed, a few feet away from Hermione. The tinfoil covered dish is at his feet. His eyes are locked on the Burrow as if he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"John?" Hermione walks over and places a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

John quickly looks down at Hermione's hand and she removes it hastily, her cheeks hot.

"I'm fine." he says, looking away. He laughs slightly when he sees Sherlock. "Although Sherlock may not be."

Sherlock is hunched over, his hands on his knees. He's breathing heavily and staring at the ground in shock.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asks for the second time, stepping in front of him.

"Fine."

"Are you sure?"

Sherlock doesn't answer but straightens slightly.

"It's a relief you didn't get Splinched." she says.

"What's that?" John asks her, walking over to them.

"Losing a limb or a part of the body." she replies. "My friend Ron lost an eyebrow once, it was awful-"

"Like this?" Sherlock interrupts, holding up his left hand, which is now missing a pinky finger.

Hermione gasps. "Holy- I'm so sorry, Sherlock, really, I shouldn't have Disapparated with Muggles, it's my fault- are you left handed?"

"Ambidextrous." he responds crisply, calmly staunching the flow of blood with a handkerchief.

"Jesus, Sherlock, are you okay?" John asks him, his face slightly paler.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "It's only one small finger, John, really. I'm not that bothered by it. In fact, I didn't notice it until Hermione mentioned 'Splinching', whatever that is. I was more shocked by the confirmation that Mycroft was not playing one grand trick on me. Also I vomited." he says, nodding to an odorous pile.

Both Hermione and John visibly relax, although internally Hermione is punishing herself for being so foolish. The trio gazes at the distant Burrow when Hermione says finally, "Ready?"

The lunch has not started yet in the house. People mill about the crowded Weasley kitchen, talking and munching on the food Molly has already laid out. When Hermione and company arrive, the hustle and bustle of the party stop. Ginny is the first to greet them, giving everyone (including a frozen Sherlock) a hug over her pregnant belly and taking John's dish.

"It's a steak pie." he tells Ginny sheepishly. She gives him an encouraging smile, places the dish on the table, and walks back to her place beside Harry.

Molly is the next one to approach the group, donned in her hostess robes of soft green. Her frizzy red hair and large smile exude warmth and excitement.

She gives Hermione a motherly hug and waits to be introduced.

"Molly, this is John." Hermione begins, keeping her voice steady. Why is she so nervous?

Mrs. Weasley smiles welcomingly. "John. Thank you for coming, especially with these unusual circumstances. And thank you for the pie, it looks delicious, dearest." She squeezes his hand and smiles an even brighter smile.

"And you must be Sherlock!" she says, turning to the man himself. "You look hungry. Dinner will be ready soon, I promise." She gives him a pat on the cheek.

Sherlock starts to speak. "I'm not-"

John stops him yet again by saying, "We are famished, yes. Thank you for having us over."

Hermione gives him a relieved smile but he's too busy looking around to notice. She watches him absorb the floating knitting needles, potatoes mashing themselves, and crowd of oddly dressed wizards and witches. Please don't run away, she thinks.

Then there's a flurry of greetings as the party guests crowd around them.

"They're roommates in the flat next to me." Hermione explains above the noise when somebody asks how they know each other.

"Oh, roommates." she hears Molly say, a light of recognition flickering in her eye. "Why didn't you tell me, Hermione? I could of found them some nice single wizards, I know plenty-" she whispers. "I'm so embarrassed, I should have known, and now I have Irene coming over!"

Hermione places a comforting hand on her arm. "They're not gay. I'm sure they'll be happy to meet Irene."

Just then, with the entire crowd facing the group at the door, Hermione senses a presence behind her.

"I'm sorry I'm late." a cool, feminine voice says. "I hope you saved something for me."

It takes a moment for the assembled wizards, witches, and Muggles to react to Irene Adler's sudden presence. All is still for a moment until Mrs. Weasley walks over and gives her a kiss on the cheek. Her cold, unapproachable figure seems out of place in the welcoming dining room of the Burrow. Hermione stifles a giggle as Irene Adler smiles warmly at Mrs. Weasley. "Molly," she says, her phone dangling from her pale fingertips, "it's been too long."

"Far too long, my dear. Well, you're here now, and it looks like you could use a good home cooked meal. I could cut my hand patting those cheeks!" Molly rushes to the stove and plops the now mashed potatoes into a dish. She then faces the crowd.

"Take your seats, everybody! Be sure to find your name tags!"

The group separates and everyone squeezes past each other, trying to find their seats. Little slips of paper hover above each table setting, each one with name written in cursive on it. Unsurprisingly, John and Sherlock are placed next to Irene, with Molly, Arthur, and Hermione nearby.

Conversation bubbles as the food is passed around.

Mr. Weasley does not hesitate for a second as he begins to ask Sherlock and John questions.

"So, what do you do?" he interrogates excitedly, taking a large bite of casserole.

John answers for both of them. "I'm a doctor, and he solves crimes."

Unlike most people, Arthur is more excited by the doctor part. "Fascinating! Do you use a spethascope? I found one once, a wizard at Mungo's had bewitched it to predict the date of one's death. Was driving people mad, very tough case. One poor man found out he was to die next week, and sure enough he did, just out of fear!" Arthur takes another bite, only noticing a second later John's confused expression and Sherlock's calculating look. Hermione bites her lip.

"They don't know what you mean, Arthur." she whispers.

Mr. Weasley turns red.

oOo

"How'd you think she met them?" George whispers to Angelina at the other end of the table.

"I heard Hermione had moved into her great aunt's apartment in London. Didn't she say they lived in the same building?" Angelina says back quietly, leaning in towards her husband.

George takes a bite of his food, thinking. "There's a story there, you can tell. Hermione wouldn't just befriend any Muggles off the street."

Angelina sighs and picks up her fork. "True. She wouldn't break the Statue of Secrecy so easily. There must be something about them."

Her husband snickers as he observes them. "Look at the tall one's face. Dad must be saying something off without realizing it."

"The short one just seems confused."

"He seems alright."

"I agree. I just don't know what to think about the other one."

"Yeah, he's interesting. Can't wait to see how he gets married off."

oOo

"How's it going?" Harry quietly asks Ginny, who is closer to John and Sherlock than he is.

"Sherlock is going ballistic."

It is true. He is not so subtly making faces at John, hoping to convey some sort of emotion or idea, but John ignores him and continues the conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Which one is that?"

"The attractive one with the curly hair."

Harry turns to his wife. "You find him attractive?"

She places a comforting hand on his arm. "Shh, sweetheart, I'm trying to listen to the conversation."

Harry eyes Sherlock as he takes another bite of John's steak pie, which tastes vaguely like rubber.

oOo

"So, Mr. Holmes. You solve crimes?"

Sherlock turns to Irene Adler and gives her a once over.

She realizes right away that he's analyzing her and smirks. Two can play that game, she thinks, and does the same.

"Yes," he replies curtly, already reaching his conclusions. "And I already know what you do."

Irene grins. "Nice work. You're as good as he says."

This captures Sherlock's attention. "Who says that?" he asks sharply.

Enjoying the game, she casually takes a bite of John's steak pie and immediately spits it out. "Ugh, what is this?"

John hears this and turns to her, gritting his teeth. "Steak pie." he says.

"Well, it's perfectly awful." Irene tells him, then turns back to Sherlock. "What were you saying?"

Sherlock is getting impatient. "I was saying, who told you that?" he hisses.

"Oh, Moriarty. James Moriarty." she says nonchalantly, picking at the carrots on her plate. "Do you know him?"

Sherlock presses his lips together and looks straight ahead.

"He told me all about you." Irene continues. "Your likes, dislikes, the people you hate, the people you care about, despite how you act. Oh, he told me plenty about you. But that doesn't compare to what I've found out from my own research."

Sherlock looks at her. "And what is that?" he asks.

"Like I'd tell you."

"Then tell me how you know Moriarty." he demands.

"Old friend." she shoots back.

"Client?"

Irene wrinkles her nose. "God, no."

"How do you know James Moriarty?"

Irene just smiles and takes a delicate bite of food. Sherlock rolls his eyes.

oOo

"Your steak pie is excellent." Hermione tells John, taking a large bite. Molly and Arthur are talking amongst themselves, and Irene and Sherlock seem totally wrapped up in their conversation.

"It's not." John says glumly.

Hermione chews for a second, then gags. She tries to hide it behind her hand but fails.

"Told you."

Despite his disappointment, Hermione smiles. "It might not be the best steak pie ever-"

"It's very bad." John interrupts, looking down at his plate, which makes her smile wider.

"Maybe. But I think it's still good. And maybe it's a bit older, and worse for wear, but I like my steak pies like that."

John looks up slowly. Quietly he asks Hermione, "Are we still talking about steak pies?"

She shakes her head. "No. No, we're talking about friends."

He smiles at the thought.

oOo

When the dinner is over, all of the guests move to the living room. As it often happens at parties, everyone moves into separate groups.

John sits on a chair in the corner, watching Hermione talk to Angelina and George. He's so lost in his thoughts that when Harry Potter sits down next to him, he barely notices.

"I was on the train to school when I met her." Harry tells the other man, looking in Hermione's direction.

John doesn't look at Harry when he says, "Oh?"

"She was helping another kid look for a toad when she came to the compartment my friend Ron and I were in. She told him to clean off the soot on his nose."

John laughs at this, and Harry joins him.

Harry continues, "I remember that because Ron and I disliked her so much and never realized that she was to become our best friend."

John looks at Harry, who seems a million miles away.

oOo

The guests are leaving. In the corner of the Weasley garden, hidden by the night's darkness, Sherlock and Irene are talking.

"Tell me what you know." he says to her.

"I'm not going to."

"How about a deal: you tell me everything, I give you nothing in return."

Irene smirks. "Not happening. I'm sorry."

Sherlock is frustrated now. "Would you tell me more if you were my wife?"

"Is that a proposal, Mr. Holmes?"

Silence.

"What would I get from a marriage?" Irene asks him, stepping closer.

"My phone number."

She snorts. "What else?"

"My brother is the most powerful man in Britain."

This makes Irene interested. "Yes?"

"I give you what information you want, you give what information I want and marriage so I don't have to go through any more of these insufferable dinners."

"Deal. But any information I want."

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Yes, yes, let's shake on it."

They do, then go their separate ways. As John and Sherlock follow Hermione up the hill, Sherlock speaks.

"I'm going to get married."

John stops, flabbergasted. "Married, Sherlock? To who?"

"To whom." Sherlock corrects, striding ahead confidently. "And to Irene Adler."

"You only just met her, for God's sake."

"Honestly, John, do you think it matters?" Sherlock asks him, incredulous.

"Yes."

"We have a deal."

"Think, Sherlock. Is this wise?"
Sherlock pauses. "Okay, I've thought about it. Thursday seems like a good day to get married, doesn't it? You're better at these things than I am, John. Is Thursday okay?"

John shakes his head. "You're insane. A psychopath."

Sherlock grins, his teeth flashing in the darkness. "Haven't you heard, John? I'm not a psychopath. I'm a high functioning sociopath."

oOo

Late that night, three people drift into a restless sleep.

One is getting married.

One might be in love.

One is being hunted.

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