A Study in Black

*Pairings: (Eventual)Wolfstar; Jily.

*Warnings: Magical AU; crossing of events in timeline; dark themes.
Authoritative Sirius. Mature James. Enigmatical Remus.

*Disclaimer: Harry Potter is life, but it isn't mine. Also, any Sherlock references belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and are therefore not mine.
*Artwork: Parental Generation, by Re° - not mine.

Chapter 1: Mr Black, by Dr J Potter.

The first occasion I met a one Sirius Black was on one cloudy morning of September 1st, 1971: the day we were to venture to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first time. We met upon the Hogwarts Express, and after a curious incident involving a group of sixth year Slytherins' underpants, violent cursing and yellow puss, we were branded henceforth as partners in crime and best friends.

From that moment onwards, I had spent many a year of my childhood with that peculiar boy: solving puzzles and Marauding our way through our education, and – much to our delight – still managing to pick up exceptional grades in between. We even invented enjoyable nicknames for ourselves after we managed to achieve the strenuous task of becoming illegal Animagi in fifth year (purely because we knew we could do it). Sirius was labelled as Padfoot – after the frightful, mysterious hound mentioned in muggle legends. I, myself, was referred to as Prongs, for the antlers of my Stag form were dominantly sturdy and powerful to that of a normal deer.

Not everything we endeavoured in was with petulant intent and occasional illegality though, for we could also be serious and mature when our conversations would swift to uneasy territory.

Namely: the uncanny mechanics of Sirius Black's mind.

What first struck me as bizarre about my remarkable friend was how he would often speak of unorthodox pretences. Also, he had an extraordinary gift to always be able to see what others could not – much to my incredulity. As well as this, Sirius was brilliant of the mind; being able to store any piece of information about his choice whenever he chose, in his 'Palace of solitude'. The aforementioned was located within his brain – meaning that inevitably no other individual could enter this Palace - hence the 'Solitude' segment of its title.

But despite my friend's skill and talent with regard to logic and the process of deduction, Sirius had yet to understand the workings of Human emotion. I recollect that of the many different branches, he would often be more accustomed to that of the anger and rage sections – for he could have a ruthless temper. Among this, the emotion that he would speak of in disgust was that of love; he would speak of the 'L' Lexis as if it were the plague.

'Love is an emotional thing, James, and whatever is emotional is opposed to that true cold reason which I place above all things. You see, the emotional qualities of human existence – if you can call them qualities – are antagonistic to clear reasoning; the thing I strive for most in this world.' He once remarked idly when I questioned him on his stoic approach to sentimentality in our seventh year.

I cannot deny, however, that despite my companion's indifference to such sensations, he always knew the chemistry and the theory behind the emotion and was seldom incorrect when it came to concluding when a person was indeed in love.

After all, I fear that he knew of the extent of my infatuation with the dear Miss Lily Evans before even I became aware.

But alas, with passing years, we grew up and graduated from our beloved Hogwarts; and with this separation from our sanctuary we grew apart – much to my extreme disappointment. For the denouement of our school years, unfortunately, brought us into the midst of a dreadful war, which had been gradually brewing throughout our adolescence; maybe even before.

By late summer of 1978, I was stationed amongst other youths like myself, willing to join and fight for the justice and liberation that the demon Lord Voldemort averted us from with vigour. My beautiful Lily and I were stationed deep within the secret society: 'The Order of The Phoenix', which conspired against Voldemort and would eventually be the stigma to bring about his downfall. But I confess that we all entered the war a little heavy headed...

After witnessing Fabian Prewitt's disastrous death while we were mercilessly attacked by Death Eaters, I grew melancholy, for seeing one die so young and my not being able to prevent it, proved too much for myself. It was due to this experience that lead to my training in the medical aspect of Wizardry, and by June 1979, I became a fully qualified Healer - I was a fast learner, and we were growing desperate for more in that time of war.

During this time, little correspondence would be made between Sirius and I, albeit it was not through lack of trying. As Owls were regularly intercepted, we could not trust this method of communication, and my work prevented me from visiting my best friend. I suspect that despite my lack of communication though, my friend knew perfectly well what tasks I was undergoing.

Despite this though, the first time I saw Sirius again had been not long after our departure from Hogwarts in 1978, as it was at my very own winter wedding, which had taken place that very same year. He had eventually released himself from his cocoon of misanthropy and decided to be my best man – for I would not have it any other way – and gave the most remarkable speech a fellow could ask for (despite his reclusive personality, Sirius could be very charismatic when the appropriate social conduct emerged).

We spoke that day, as if we had never left each other's side, for we conversed like the adrenaline filled teenager's we were supposed to be; free of the war. I spoke of my studies and of the horrors that had plagued me during the commencement of my journey through the real world, to which he would confess that he had already deduced as much – much to my pleasurable astonishment. My friend, however, when asked, would speak of his progression through his art of observation and deduction, as well as several uncanny mysteries he had endeavoured in to prevent the spread of the association in the Dark Arts, and informed me of his newly placed position of Consulting Auror within the DMLE at the Ministry, much to my bemusement.

'But Sirius, there is no such occupation!' I remarked.

To which he replied, 'Of course there is, Jamesie, for I contrived it myself. I am the first in my profession, you see.'

An amused, but exasperated palm upon my forehead sufficed as a reaction to this news.

Among this, I also introduced my old companion to my lovely wife Lily – of whom Sirius always held a grudge against in school for: 'She won't admit it, will she?! She clearly feels the same way! Look at the flush that procures her cheeks; the dilation of her pupils; the coat of saliva that covers her lips! Who does she think she's fooling?!'

It was this recollection, therefore, that instigated my amazement when the two greeted each other amiably – although this atmosphere did not last long, for they were soon squabbling over who was the higher achiever in Potions. My wonderful Lily was a full time Potion Brewer for St Mungo's, as well as for the Order, and my friend excelled in the art from a very early age, and even wrote numerous theses with regard to Alchemy and Potions. The knowledge that both the fiery haired woman and the jet black haired man were about as arrogant and stubborn as each other was not entirely reassuring for me, nor the guests.

In short, the conversation lasted 1 hour, 24 minutes, and 17.5 seconds, when the argument reached an impasse and it was time to cut the cake.

…

Shortly after my honeymoon, I promised myself that I would make more of an effort to visit my old friend (having gained (forced) his current address from him at my wedding). When I eventually made to Floo him – September 1979, much to my distaste, for the extensive amount of procrastinated time I had lost with regard to my wanting to visit him was inexcusable – it was to my horror that I found out that Sirius was living in the lowest of places in London. When I extracted myself from his sooty fireplace, I found my best friend collapsed in a burgundy armchair, appearing to be entranced by the ecstasy of the smoke procuring from his chapped lips.

'Dear Merlin, Sirius! What the hell are you doing?!' I almost yelled, causing my companion's eyes to open lazily.

'I would think that what I am doing is pretty obvious, Prongs.' He mumbled nonchalantly.'Look around you. The layer of dust covering the fireplace suggests that clearly I have been engaged in activities of a much higher importance than cleaning – not as if that is any sort of revelation for cleaning has never been of much importance to me anyway. Furthermore, the distinct smell and taste in the air further points to the cigarette in which I was currently enjoying until you made your entrance known. I could go on about the cocaine, but I fear that – upon inspection – your question may have been rhetorical.'

Once more, my palm found its way to my forehead (a common occurrence when dealing with Sirius Black).

'Yes, Padfoot, my question was rhetorical. What I was implying was *why* were you engaging in these particular activities.' I responded, exasperatedly.

'Then why did you not open with that statement, James?' he asked, just to be irritating. 'Anyway, I should think that you have more pressing matters in which you wish to discuss with me as opposed to my addictions and bad habits... Lily, perhaps?'

I confess that despite my familiarity with Sirius's thought process, I was startled by the remark.

'Really, Padfoot? How did you ever come to that conclusion? I mean, I see no tell tale signs.'

Sirius merely barked out a laugh familiar to that of his animagus counterpart.

'No, James. You see, but you do not observe.' He pointed out. 'Now, here, I observe that the receding mirth of childhood is now gone from your eyes, replaced now by a renewed feeling of responsibility that has clearly been placed upon you suddenly; a responsibility that is somewhat different from that of the war. The scruffiness of your hair can be discredited as it has always been that dishevelled. However, your countenance tells a different story, since it appears that you last showered yesterday night.

'Now, given the fact that it is now 11:30 AM and your bow and hairline are already oiled suggests that some sort of strenuous event had taken place between the time you showered and now to make you sweat so profusely. The fatigued shadows below your eyes as well as the creases between your brow and hairline point to the obvious that the ordeal was clearly emotional for you, therefore: Lily. Your spontaneous visit here also implies that you are currently undergoing a task that is foreign to you and that your reason for coming here consists of informing me upon the revelation that Lily Potter is indeed pregnant.'

He spoke this so casually that I struggled for words, for emotion was consuming me.

'How... How on Earth did you deduce that, Padfoot?!' I finally asked, befuddled.

'Process of elimination, Jamesie.' He shrugged.'Your news was not consisting of anything to do with the war – your expression was not that of commiseration and if your news was anything to do with the Order, I would have known beforehand. The aura that was radiating off you when you came here was that of emotion, albeit also surprise – the kind one does not find when happening upon his friend during his "high" time.'

Making a point, he took a drag of his cancer stick.'Thus points to the wonderful Mrs Potter, of whom has not been at all well for a while now and had, last night, been forced by her worried husband to be admitted to Mungo's – despite Lily possibly already knowing what her symptoms point to. Also, the fact that her recent change in appetite and cravings for pickle sandwiches made specifically out of home-made bread (shown through the residue dough that is beneath your fingernails and the putrid smell of pickles) also fit together with the other symptoms associated with pregnancy...'

'Oh Merlin! Sirius, it has been too long; how I have missed this!'

'...Although the cravings for pickles are to be expected, I have to admit that a craving for home-made bread is quite unconventional...'

I laughed disbelievingly and strode over to embrace my best friend, who froze momentarily before responding. When we separated, I sat back in the navy blue armchair opposite Sirius (the two chairs clashed horribly, although Sirius appeared indifferent to it). We stared at each other for a while: him, slouched in his seat, finishing his smoke; myself, leant forward with my elbows upon my knees, and hands clasped together against my face. When the silence grew too much, I spoke,

'Yes, you're right. Lily is pregnant.'

Sirius groaned.

'Of course I'm right, Prongs. Honestly!' The seriousness in his tone of voice was cancelled out by the killer grin that had formed upon his aristocratic face. 'But I don't know why you would come break the news to me first...'

It was my turn to laugh condescendingly.

'Because, you daft mutt, I figured that the Godfather of my child would want to know about the existence of his Godson first.' I spoke with an air of seriousness in my voice as well as amusement at my friend's ignorance.

Sirius's stormy grey eyes widened at this and he immediately stumped his cigarette out of the wooden side table. He then sat up ceremoniously; his back straightened and his posture pristine.

'Jamie... Are you sure? I mean, are you not worried I will corrupt your child or accidentally kill it or something?' His words were so sincere that I could not help but laugh once more.

'Padfoot, there is not another soul that I would've even considered to be my son's Godfather than you. Yes, I am sure!'

When my son, Harry, was born on July 31st, 1980, Sirius was at my side while I held my wife after she had given birth; Harry was placed in Lily's arms and I felt a warmth within me that I could never explain. My heart skipped a beat when Harry was then given to me to hold. So soft; so pure, this tiny person completed us; his form was so small in my arms. My gaze found Sirius through this, and gingerly, I passed Harry over to his Godfather, who (for once) looked unsure of himself.

I remember how he cradled Harry in his long, strong arms and finally let part of his aloof and stoic personality down for my son, leaning down to touch noses with Harry intimately.

'Hello Prongslet. It's a pleasure to meet you.' I recall were his first words to my son.

From that moment onwards, Sirius's presence was continuous and consistent at the Potter house. He gave up smoking for Harry, and – after much scolding from Lily and I – cut down on the drugs. He even sobered up to take Harry out occasionally for a ride on his flying motorcycle (an activity Harry absolutely adored and still does).

However, despite this happiness, the war was still raging on, and on Halloween 1981, a carefully planned Death Eater attack on Sirius's house left my friend homeless albeit, thankfully, unscathed. Naturally, Lily and I opened our house up for him to stay in, for he basically lived with us anyway. Pride begrudgingly lost, he accepted and we set up a spare bed for him in Harry's nursery (for he would not have it any other way).

Due to these recent accommodation changes, I was able to finally peer upon what kind of work my friend pursued. After living in a teenage boys dormitory for seven years, I had learnt to respect everyone's privacy, but when it came to my best friend, I could not help but be a little curious.

I finally found out about his work one morning in December 1981, when I happened upon him in the Potter's library researching. Little did I know that from that day forward, all our lives were to be changed forever...

Upon my entrance, Sirius looked up from a small note he was reading and made to discard the papers that were filling his desk. I stopped him before he got the chance by placing a calming hand upon his shoulder.

'Sirius, please remember: there is no need to hide from me. I'm your best friend.'

'You are my only friend, Jamie, and I don't want you, nor your family, to be caught in the middle of my problems, that's all...'

'Padfoot, you're being mature and responsible... What is wrong with you?' I joked, lightly.

He smiled, 'I'm sorry, Mr Potter, if my sagacious personality insults you, but the work I am doing is top secret for the Order.'

Once again, I found myself shocked, for this was news to me.

'You're in the Order?!' I asked incredulously.

'Yes, I swear I've told you this before.'

'No?!' It was more of a question than a statement though, for having thought about it, I could in fact recall him having mentioned the Order before.

'Oh... Maybe I just didn't say it out loud... I have a habit of doing that.' Sirius analysed instead.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. 'After much thought though, maybe I should share my work with you, Prongs, for it is likely you'll find it interesting.' He sat up in his chair and gestured to the seat beside him for me to sit in, for I was still standing with my hand on his shoulder awkwardly.

When I was seated, he began, 'The Order has a spy, I think you are already aware of that.' When I nodded, he continued. 'In times like this, we can only put our trust in a handful of people. At present, the only people in this world that I trust are you, Lily, Harry, Regs and maybe Dumbledore. My job in the Order is to find out who we can trust and who we cannot trust, as well as unmasking the Death Eaters that have murdered good, innocent people. Do you understand so far?'

'Yes.'

'Basically, I am applying my Consulting Auror occupation to my missions for the Order. I did not want to tell you before in case anything should happen to you due to it. However, after much speculation, I figured that having a Healer's opinion would be of great importance for a case that has recently come up. I think it would interest you, Prongs. Dumbledore just sent it by owl post. Here, have a look.'

He shifted through his papers and produced the scroll he had been reading before I made my presence known to him. My friend held it out trustingly; I took it and read,

S.B

Recent events have occurred that require your assistance immediately. Lauriston Gardens off Brixton Road. Come quickly.

A.D

I looked up from the small, vague note and instead at my companion, who was watching me intently.

'Well?' He finally spoke, releasing me from my stupor. I coughed while I thought of a response.

'Well, what do you make of it?' Was the reply I finally settled with.

He smiled like a Cheshire cat.

'Quick scribbles from Albus Dumbledore; crinkled parchment and ball-point pen as opposed to carefully practised ink quill? The answers obvious, isn't it?'

Upon my silence, his grin grew wider.

'Murder!'

A/N: Okay, this just came to me randomly and has been festering in my Mind Palace ever since. I love Sherlock (both books and TV series) and I love everything Harry Potter so I thought, 'Meh, why not mash?'. This is NOT a crossover though, the characters are all from Harry Potter; I just wanted to experiment with the ideas and the character traits from the two fandoms. You'll have noticed that Remus hasn't been mentioned yet, but he will be soon, don't worry.

I'll update soon. Reviews are greatly appreciated (should you choose to do so), as well as constructive criticism.

Thanks for reading so far. :)