A head of mostly bushy haired looked at the unassuming clinic, and hid a wince. Ever since the wedding...which had come to a great shock to the magical community, learning their missing Savior had not only abandoned the 'traditional' education, but had somehow managed to marry into the famous Holmes clan with great blessing from the current Matriarch...Hermione Granger, formerly Weasley, had been sitting in her flat trying to work up the last bit of Gryffindor courage she had to ask for help from an old friend.

Iris...no, her name was Joanna now...had made it clear during the war what her stance on those who followed Dumbledore's teachings were.

It was the main reason Molly, Arthur and the two youngest Weasleys hadn't been invited to the wedding. Well that and Joanna rightly worried that Molly would make a scene, never mind Ron.

Without her to buffer them, the golden trio had fallen apart and Ron's unusual lack of tact had only gotten worse.

They had tried, oh how she had tried, but the marriage fell apart. The only thing keeping her was a doomed sense to keep things together, but eventually her mother-in-law said some things about her infertility that lead to her leaving the family permanently.

Hermione was not oblivious to the fact Molly kept testing her for common potions to prevent pregnancy, or that she laced her food with the counter-potion and charms. Fortunately the overbearing woman was unaware of the advances in modern medicine, including a device which could be implanted that would keep a woman from becoming pregnant for as long as it was in. If not for that little ring, she had absolutely no illusion that the second she became pregnant Molly would have done everything in her power to force her to become a second version of the mother hen.

Leaving had lifted a good deal of stress off her.

Sadly she couldn't find her parents anywhere, at least until the wedding. Finding out Joanna had tracked them down to serve as a warning to other muggleborn parents of the major downsides to allowing their children to fall victim to a "Hogwash Education" as she called it had been an unpleasant shock.

The worst part was that she couldn't even dispute the claim. She had been infatuated with the new world to the point she let her old one suffer.

Taking a swig of some calming draught, she went in. Twenty minutes later Joanna came in.

She looked happy. Hermione didn't bother to try and resent her for it.

She had seen a fraction of what her old friend had gone through when they tried to locate her, and she couldn't blame her one bit.

"Hermione."

"Joanna."

You could cut the tension with a knife. But then Joanna's gaze softened, and she did something that would shock Hermione to the core...and shatter any defenses she had tried to put up.

She hugged her. For a few precious seconds Hermione was stunned, before she started sobbing. It was like a dam had broken.

An hour later...

It was good to have her friend back. Joanna had to be the single most patient woman in the universe, as shown by the fact she married the biggest prat in England with an abrasive personality. Hermione had heard the stories of Sherlock Holmes.

It didn't hurt that Bill had been kind enough to fill Joanna in on the rough time Hermione had before she finally gave up trying and left. The older Weasleys still considered her part of the family, but their parents and two youngest siblings considered her a traitor bigger than Percy.

"So you tracked Percy down to act as the official go-between with the British government and the 'real' Ministry for Magic?"

"The twins mentioned he was having trouble paying the bills, what with the galleon suddenly losing it's value and the Ministry cracking down on their paychecks. Imagine his shock when he found out the reason why things are so hard for 'purely magical' areas like Hogsmeade and Hogwarts was because the first gens got fed up and decided to drive the old system to a slow death by attrition. Though to be more specific, I simply introduced him to Mycroft who apparently took a liking to him and decided to give him a chance. Apparently he wanted a fellow pure blood in his office to work with who can act as a proper spy for the old guard. No one looks at a pure blood for spies, especially not one from a progressive faction like the Weasleys."

"Mycroft is your brother-in-law, isn't he?"

"If you ask Sherlock, he is the British Government, or damn close anyway. He has the most odd habit of kidnapping people by giving them a minor scare using security cameras, then sending a car after making it clear he's not going to take no for an answer. You might like him, actually. He's a bit frigid and stuffy, but he's almost nice and he likes rules almost as much as you did back at school."

Hermione gave Joanna a Look.

"Alright he's Malfoy with actual class and has more diplomacy than Ron would ever have in his little toenail, much less his body. He might be a pure blood, but he's the sort who can put aside minor things like the fact you're his enemy if he thinks it might prove beneficial for one of his little schemes. I might have married a bloody Ravenclaw, but Mycroft is almost pure Slytherin."

"Would he try to stunt my desire to learn or experiment because he thinks I should act as a proper house wife?" she asked flatly.

"You kidding? He'd be more likely to fund you and give you the best tutors possible once he realizes how smart you can be. You were the most organized girl in Gryffindor, and once he finds out how often you go into the little insignificant details he might hire you," said Joanna without hesitation.

With how bad the inbreeding was with the old lines, it was unlikely he'd be able to find a "proper wife" in the magical community. Sherlock had gotten lucky, Joanna was from an two old lines, but had a first gen for a mother so the chances of her having any defects were very slim.

So Mycroft might take to Hermione enough to consider her as a prospective partner.

If Joanna had interpreted the look in Mrs. Holmes eyes when she saw her up there with Sherlock, once she became pregnant with Sherlock's child Mycroft would end up on the short end of the stick to follow suit.

Joanna knew this would happen. Once Mycroft saw how intelligent Hermione was, and how quickly she could ferret out the little details to create new spells, he hadn't hesitated to hire her on his staff to work on spell research.

Her main project, in between whatever her brilliant mind could come up with? Finding a way to turn off the "gift" known as Quibbs once and for all!

Joanna had snickered at the unamused look Mycroft had given her when she tried and almost failed to hold in her laughter. It was as close to cross as he would get in public.

She wondered how he would react to the news that the easiest way to rid himself of the doll was to have children. Then Quibbs would automatically hone in on them and act like an older sibling.

Back in 221b...

"How was the trip to see Mycroft?"

"I may or may not have set the foundations for him to marry an old school friend of mine. I can't wait to see the look on his face when he finds out all he had to do to get rid of the doll permanently was to have children."

Sherlock snorted in evil amusement.

"Other than that, I mostly caught up with Hermione."

"Do you want to continue working on your mind palace until supper?" he suggested. There wasn't a case, and Joanna had been intrigued with the concept for a while now.

Sherlock chose his old family home, Joanna had been quick to chose Baker Street. It was the closest thing to a home that felt "safe" since she was an infant.

"I suppose we could order in," said Joanna.

The two settled into a meditative position, and through the link granted by magic via their rings, the two went into a joint mental space. It was one of the many benefits of using one of the older wedding ceremonies in the Black archives. It meant they could find each other no matter where they were, so long as the other was alive. They just had to let the area fall into focus.

Sherlock went around the mental image of their home, occasionally helping her shore up the image with his perfect recall of the flat.

The bookshelf where he kept most of his books (except Pete, who was more like their pet) was where Joanna kept her spell and general knowledge base. No matter which book she picked off the shelf, it would automatically generate the subject she was looking for so long as she knew what she wanted. She could re-read all her favorite books at her leisure without having to find them.

The kitchen became her potions laboratory/recipe area. If she were to open a cabinet she would find all the ingredients to cook up something, or to make a potion along with the memory of what she needed to do and when. The fridge, however, contained one of the many surprise traps in the flat.

Opening it up would reveal an inferi or other Dark creature that would spring out and attack without warning. She based it off Sherlock's rather vexing habit of leaving human body parts in the fridge without warning her. While that might have turned off most prospective partners, Joanna's only request was that he sanitize the fridge after he was done to the same standards as a bio-hazard lab to prevent any contamination.

Which meant bleach. Lots and lots of bleach.

The living room was her emotional nexus... if it was tidy and clean, she was in a good mood and things were fine. Sherlock-level of messiness, and she was in a bad mood and ready to hex someone. Considering she had a minor case of OCD when it came to keeping things clean, it was a pretty interesting way to keep track of her moods.

The shared room where she slept with Sherlock (usually by forcing him to actually sleep) was where she kept her memories of them together. There was a painting on the wall above the headboard that would display images of memories, from that day in Bart's lab all the way to the present. The cabinet against the wall was actually a trap for unwanted visitors. It would suck anyone who opened the door straight to Grimmauld place where all sorts of nasty things waited to rip the idiot apart.

It might be cleaned up in real life, and would serve as a permanent safe house since it was still in Sirius' name and not hers, but she used memories of how bad it had been from Sirius to make it a trap.

They never used the actual vanishing cabinet she had enchanted to avoid the reporters, though she had been very, very tempted.

Mrs. Hudson's flat was naturally the collection of good memories with people she associated with, but wasn't close to other than as a good friend. Everyone from the magicals from Hogwarts she still spoke to on occasion to the tottering old landlady who always insisted she wasn't their house keeper, but still did things around the flat. Like make the tea in the morning whenever Joanna was having a lie-in.

Her half of the flat served as the nexus of the Black Iris, and the memories of all the skills she had had to learn over the course of her entire life. From pick pocketing to using a sniper rifle and healing people the normal way. Iris was enough of a trap for anyone stupid to enter the room to snoop. She didn't suffer intruders, and often slept while the Zhen dozed on it's perch. The window was open, and whenever she shifted into her animagus form (something Sherlock was still having fun playing with, particularly the feathers with special gloves) it would fly out the window.

Her computer, which was usually on the kitchen table, was the center for all her hacking skills. It was password protected, and the password changed at random. Usually after obscure phobias no one would believe existed. If the intruder used the wrong password, they were turned to code, and only someone who knew how to code with magic would be able to escape.

Which pretty much eliminated all but a technomancer, none of whom lived in England.

221c Baker Street was the most unusual room, if anyone managed to get into it.

After evicting Voldemort from her soul/headspace, Joanna had found a void left behind.

Which was why the first thing she did, after erecting basic mental shields and creating the mind palace, was to turn the vacant flat into a prison. It was an empty void that looked disturbingly reminiscent of space itself. It was a completely dead area where magic would be sucked out and used as fuel to strengthen the prison itself. The 'air' was absent, which would shock and possibly do some serious damage to any mind reader stupid enough to enter it, and the crushing cold would make it hard to use any magic.

Joanna had another purpose for the room. For every kill added to her count or the darker aspects of Black Iris, the room would grow colder.

The mental image of 221c was where she kept her worst memories and the darkness of her soul.

Contrary to what she might have thought, Sherlock always thought the fact that the room merely looked like it was under a cloudy day said volumes of the fact that his wife was not evil, or doomed to hell.

Satisfied with the way her mind palace was coming along...and the fact she had kept the unassuming danger of Pete scuttling about to make any intruders curse and wake "Iris" up...they exited the area.

It was close to dark, and Joanna ordered some American pizza. She had forced Sherlock to try a deep dish "Chicago-style" pizza before they tried the "New York-style" kind prior to leaving America...and he hadn't hated it enough for him to ban it from the flat.

Joanna apparently had an addiction to the foodstuff, as well as spaghetti with extra meat. She had the most odd habit of putting noodles, meatballs, sauce, and various cheeses onto slabs of garlic bread and turning the entire thing into a rather messy sandwich.

The first time he had seen her eat the odd concoction (after being bribed into trying a smaller version) he had stared at the fact she didn't look the least bit bothered by the messy way she was eating.

Then again, there was a reason she had stuffed a napkin in her shirt and another on her lap before taking a rather large bite.

Joanna was actually a tidy eater, which was why Sherlock had been so surprised.

So now they had the "best" pizza restaurant on speed dial (according to Joanna's taste buds anyway) and ordered from there at least once a week.

Joanna was walking up from the ground floor after retrieving the pizza from the delivery driver (and giving him a generous tip) when she spotted the old mirror on the wall.

She didn't know why Mrs. Hudson had bought the thing at a sale, or why she insisted on placing it in an area they would pass every time they left the house.

In fact just looking at it gave Joanna this horrifying sense of dark nostalgia...and oddly, a sense of needing to look into the depths of the glass for something.

It wasn't a magical mirror (she had made very sure to check for compulsion charms after the first time) but there was still something familiar. It was almost on the tip of her tongue as to where she had seen it before.

Hence why she was still working on her mind palace, despite the fact Sherlock said it was "sufficient". She felt like there was something critical missing from it. Something to make it complete.

After dinner, when she finished updating her blog again (the most recent case which they finished yesterday), she decided to add something new to her mind palace. It was mostly on a whim, and she saw no harm in it.

She added that odd mirror to the wall, down to the last detail. She even added pieces she barely registered about it anymore, like the tint of colors around the edge and the patina on the wood backing.

When she went to sleep that night, she found herself in a place she never expected. Yet at the same time, she recognized it immediately.

The shadow King's Cross Station where she always ended up when she "sacrificed" herself to insure Voldemort's death.

Everything around her clicked into place, and she found Iris Potter sitting where Dumbledore used to be until she forcibly kicked his old ass into the train to the afterlife.

"Did I die or is this a message from Death?" she inquired to her alternate self.

"More along the lines of setting 'this' timeline into a locked position. A few things could have gone better, but with your permission we can finally lock our destiny in a direction we want it to go, and Dumbledore will never be able to use the Mirror of Fate again," replied her alternate, which was now a male by the name of Harry.

"What do I need to do then?"

Her male/female alternate self, which had altered things through the stream of time a thousand times, and would have done it a thousand times more by diverting the path with tiny steps, turned to face the shadowy figure of a pale man with a familiar cloak, ring and staff made from elder wood.

Hand the mirror over to her, so that she may take custody of it at long last.

Her alternate self handed her the mirror from the flat. The moment she touched it, a sense of cold inevitability settled over her like a familiar cloak. Her other self looked relieved, and went to the train.

"Your turn now. Though now that it's locked, you'll only get one do-over, and you won't be able to see the path it'll take like before."

"Once is enough. And thank you for breaking the unending cycle."

S/He nodded, before finally boarding the train after waiting for so long for a respite.

After they had forced Dumbledore to give up control over the reigns, they had tried to make things right considering how badly he had messed things over for them.

As the train pulled away to the afterlife, Joanna turned to Death. She didn't need to look to see the three Hallows were once again in her possession.

It is your duty to take upon my mantle, so that I too can finally enjoy the long rest. Like my predecessor, I shall offer you an out, when the burden becomes too much to bear.

Joanna nodded, and was about to say something when she heard another voice. One that shouldn't be there.

"Well this is an interesting place. I suppose this is your representation of Limbo?"

Joanna turned, and found...

"Sherlock?!"

Sherlock POV

He was having the most unusual dream. He was in a shadowy train station and he could hear Joan's voice talking to a figure who was both male an female, holding something in their hands.

From what little he could see, the other figure bore a striking resemblance to his wife's actual appearance, though the gender was far too fluid. The most consistent thing was the obvious "magical" garb with normal clothing under the robe and the tired appearance. A third figure appeared and he felt a supernatural chill creep down his spine.

They obviously saw him, but kept their silence.

The fluid figure handed his wife a mirror that looked disturbingly like the one Mrs. Hudson had bought in their absence and placed in the flat in the front hall. He honestly didn't see the appeal of the item, as it gave him a terrifying feeling.

It reminded him far too much of the old saying of staring into the Abyss and having it stare right back at you.

The moment Joan took the mirror and the fluid figure went into the train (which promptly departed for lands unknown) his wife turned to the other figure who spoke of a mantle.

Sherlock felt the need to speak up, if only to find out what the hell was going on.

Joan turned to face him with shock and disbelief on her face.

"Sherlock?!"

The ceremony you used to bind yourselves went deeper than just your magic. You literally bound your souls to one another, thus allowing them to permanently connect. Even in death, you shall not be parted.

Death gave Joanna a Look.

There was a reason why it fell out of favor.

Most modern wizards could barely tolerate the idea of binding themselves so thoroughly to one witch or wizard, much less following each other into death. Their egos needed a good kick to the pants.

Sherlock was obviously observing everything around him. Then he reached his wife.

Joanna turned back to Death.

"What does this mean for Sherlock? I thought the Hallows had only one Master."

Only one can take the mantle of Death...but there are allowances for a Consort. The idea of husband and wife is mostly a human concept. However even the Old Gods recognize that there are some who can be considered equal partners. At most he will be granted protection and follow you into places the human mind is not meant to go without breaking.

Joanna relaxed at that. She had no intention of leaving the "mortal plains" just yet. At least not for a few centuries, when boredom firmly set in.

From what she remembered of the latest "incarnation" of "Master of Death" path, her alternate self had gotten really bored and looked for a soul that looked somewhat compatible enough to hopefully break the cycle.

They certainly hadn't expected the "Girl-who-Lived" path to take off like it had, or that the paths that diverged from it to be a mostly straight one that lead directly to Baker Street with a few minor exceptions.

If not for the fact that Joanna was genuinely happy and had found actual love, they might have nixed the path entirely.

The two woke up the next morning. Sherlock would remember the bare gist of what had happened, because he still needed to get used to being "Death's Consort", but Joanna remembered everything.

Then again, she was used to having her soul in limbo after she took command of Fate's Mirror.

She still didn't know where Death found that much magic in such a variety of colors to make a kaleidoscope effect, or why it had bonded with her so thoroughly.