The rhythmic sound of Sherlock's footsteps echoed throughout 221B. He was pacing in front of the fireplace over and over again. It had been six minutes and thirty-three second since Yvaine had left them to get her boss; Sherlock had been getting quite impatient. 'Trust him to count the precise time' thought John when Sherlock called the seven minute mark.

Sherlock's pacing stopped as soon as he heard the front door being opened by Mrs Hudson. The sound o the kettle made Sherlock roll his eyes and sit back down in his chair. Laughter wafted up from downstairs but was joined by a deeper, masculine voice. Then finally, just as Sherlock was going to lose his patience and send John downstairs, the sound of three pairs of shoes echoed on the stairs to the flat. The door swung open, seemingly on its own, and a man walked in carefully holding a tray of tea, followed by Yvaine and Mrs Hudson.

"Honestly young man," tottered Mrs Hudson after him. "I can carry it up myself; there is no need for you to trouble yourself."

"No no, it's fine ma'am. Really, I'm quite used to it. Plus wouldn't want to hurt that hip of yours now" The man insisted, he put the tray down on the file cluttered desk and waved off Mrs Hudson politely.

"Oh you are a dear." She patted the man's cheek affectionately. She turned to John and Sherlock who had been watching the exchange, "Do your best to help this new client of yours; he's a darling." She whispered to them loud enough for the man to hear. John stood up to take over from the stranger who had begun to serve everyone diligently. When he handed John a cup of tea, John could see a faint blush of pink across his cheeks at Mrs Hudson's words.

Mrs Hudson left. Suddenly John remembered his manners and stuck out his hand to introduce himself but before he could Yvaine cut in,

"Sherlock, John this is Harry Potter. Har-Mr Potter this is Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson." There was a hint of pride as she introduced the man to them.

"Just Harry please," said the man. He stuck his hand out to shake John's firmly.

"John if you will, calling me by my medical title makes me feel old."

There was a cheery nod in affirmation and a chuckle.

Harry then held out his hand to Sherlock but retracted it when the detective just stared at it coldly.

"Sherlock!" exclaimed John in embarrassment.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grasped Harry's hand in greeting while nodding slightly at Yvaine. "How old are you Mr Potter?" he asked abruptly.

"Sherlock!" John hissed again.

Harry's green eyes blinked behind his round glasses in surprise. He smiled at John reassuringly before turning to Sherlock again,

"I'm twenty- six and please call me Harry."

"Twenty-six?" Sherlock's hands locked under his chin thoughtfully in the steeple position. "You don't look old enough to be head of a department."

"I've err got a lot of experience," Harry gave a nervous chuckle and shared a look with Yvaine. "Um, Yvaine mentioned that you can find out about someone just from looking at them; would you care to deduce me? I'd be interested to see it in action."

The attempt to change the subject made Sherlock smirk, he opened his mouth but John coughed and lent forwards towards Harry,

"I really don't think it's a good id-"but he was cut off by the deep baritone of Sherlock's deduction voice.

"Obviously you work for some kind of security or military firm. Judging by the way you stand and how you surveyed the room as you came in: you are a soldier, or were one at least. Right now you're on edge. You keep looking around as if you expect something to appear out of nowhere. You keep looking at the fireplace suspiciously; don't tell me you still believe in Father Christmas?" sneered Sherlock. He inspected Harry again and then continued, "You've seen a war but there is no evidence of previous injuries that suggest you were invalided out of the army. So there's something else. You're twenty-six yet your eyes look older. Something happened to you at a young age that you can't quite forget." Harry shrugged uncomfortably but kept his eyes trained on Sherlock's as the detective continued,

"How's the wife? She's redheaded isn't she? One – no two young children, both boys. You have a happy family now but that wasn't always the case was it? You mentioned being used to serving so a troubled childhood. Used to serving others but you do it quite naturally, as if on instinct. Also suggests a reason for you being over polite and your need to be liked by people you've just met. From the way Yvaine referred to you using your first name before correcting herself implies you have known each other for a long time; three year age gap means you probably went to school together. Scars you have on the back of your hand and the ones on her face tells me when you were young when this 'war' happened, school age in fact. Just a teenager so too young to be in the army, well legally at least, but you were still fighting something. You've been fighting your whole life haven't you? The distinctive scar on your forehead is nearly as old as yourself. Hmmm, a lightning bolt – unusual. It sets you apart. You survived something at a young age. An accident involving your parents maybe? Whatever it was, it made you well known to certain people. How else would you be head a department at twenty-six?" Sherlock finished with a deep breath.

There was a stunned silence. Harry and Sherlock didn't look away from each other; they were both waiting for the other to say something. Finally, Harry broke the deafening silence with a shaky laugh.

"Blimey," he said running his hand through his already messy hair. "I didn't expect you to be so good to be honest. When Yvaine told me about you I thought you were just some muggl-um, just some amateur detective; I didn't expect a bloody genius."

"Don't inflate his ego anymore; he can barely get out the door as it is." The group, except Sherlock, laughed at John's comment; the tension seemed to leave the room instantly.

"How on earth did you know that my wife is ginger?" asked Harry in amazement.

"Easy," replied Sherlock without a beat. "There are strands of long red hairs on your coat. They could belong to a co-worker but the strands suggest close contact. Unless you're having an affair- which you are not from the state of your wedding ring- they belong to your wife. I could tell you have two young boys from the short brown hairs on your trouser legs. They are the same as the average height of a two year old and the ones on your shoulder of a different shade are consistent with where you have carried a younger child."

Harry laughed again, "Well, Mr Holmes you certainly live up to your recommendation." He looked at Yvaine slyly, she blushed lightly.

"Good good, now that's been sorted care to explain whatever insight you have on these 'mysterious murders' then? Please don't use that use that as the title for your new blog entry John." Sherlock added as John reached for his laptop. John glared at Sherlock and went back to his tea.

"The thing is there is no way of telling you this that doesn't make us sound barking mad but I suppose I'll have to try." Harry took a deep breath and swallowed nervously, "I'm head of the Auror Department-"

"Auror?" interrupted Sherlock and John synchronised.

"Yeah an Auror; a dark wizard catcher." Said Harry with completely serious; he didn't break eye contact with Sherlock.

John chocked on his tea at Harry' words,

"Dark wizard catchers?"

Harry continued as if there was no distraction. "You see we," he gestured between himself and Yvaine, "are wizards working for the Auror Department in the Ministry of Magic."

Harry's statement was followed by complete silence.

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Sorry for the long update time but unfortunately it may be longer next time. In all fairness it is Christmas and I can't give stuff to my Beta.

Don't own Sherlock, John or Harry.

Reviews and criticism are welcome.