Author's Note: As promised, here is the second part of Light the Way. Actually, I think I have talked myself into turning this into something larger. I'm sighing up for Hermione's Haven #HGBigBang2018 where I plan on writing an expanded version of this story. It's going to take months, but when I do post the new version, I will rename this "Underneath the Christmas Lights" so that I can keep this title for the full tale. I hope you enjoy this, but if you do feel like it's missing something, that's because I held back a bit.

This was not beta or alpha read so any mistakes you find are definitely my own! Much love, xxDustNight

Disclaimer: All non-original characters, plot points, and information belongs to J.K. Rowling, BBC, or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The story plot and dialogue belongs to me. I do not write for profit.

Holmes for the Holidays Playlist: htt*ps:/open*.*spotify*.*com/user/12464*01351/playlist/1prfNYC9f8LMVVqPzgjs5l (remove * to visit link)

. . . .

Light the Way, Part II
Rated: M
Song Recommendation: "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui
Summary: In which Hermione remains at 221B longer than she hoped and she and Sherlock find themselves drawn to one another in more ways than either thought possible.

. . . .

"I'll keep you warm,
Underneath the Christmas lights."
- "Keep You Warm" by Sam Tsui

. . . .

Christmas came and went, and with it, Hermione's hopes of being saved by Harry. In fact, she had only heard from him once more since that first message. He was brief, telling her that matters had yet to be resolved at the Ministry and that she was safest laying low. With the New Year quickly approaching, Hermione was starting to think that things may be more dire than originally assumed. At least, now, she didn't feel as much a burden as before.

Ever since the night Sherlock helped her get out of the bath and then offered her his bed, he'd been much more accommodating to her presence in 221B. With John busy with work, Mary, and Rosie, he hardly had the time to keep popping in multiple times a day to check on her recovery. Sherlock, on the other hand, was there more often than not, and suddenly eager to make sure she was on the mend. It got to the point where Mrs. Hudson mentioned that he had his own cases to solve.

Hermione saw him a bit less after that, but not substantially so. Not that she minded either way, but when Mrs. Hudson couldn't come upstairs for one reason or another and Sherlock was out on a case, she found herself wanting for company. Her ribs were healing quickly now that she was able to rest for over a week without pushing herself. This made moving about the flat a lot easier too. As she perused the bookshelves against the back wall, Hermione thought about what it might be like to get some fresh air.

Biting her lip, she dropped her hand from the spines of the books to glance out the window. Sighing heavily, she turned her attention to the people walking the pavement and the cars driving by. What she wouldn't do to be out there with them… Laughing at her silliness, she turned away from both the window and the books and gasped. Sherlock was standing in the middle of the room, somehow having come in without alerting her to his presence.

"You should be resting," he said by way of greeting, eyes roving over her form as if searching for a decline in her progress of healing.

"You're going to give me a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on me like that," Hermione pointed out, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the pull in her chest from her broken ribs.

"Why are you not resting?" He continued speaking as if she hadn't said anything. Walking to the mantle, he picked up the mail and began to rifle through it.

"I was bored of lying around in bed." She shrugged as he briefly glanced her way. "Besides, I've read all the books in your bedroom and needed new material."

Setting the mail back on the mantle, Sherlock picked up the knife and stabbed it through the envelopes. "I had at least twenty books in that room. You have read them all?" Sherlock was standing in front of her now, staring down into her brown eyes as if searching for something.

"I did. I'm a fast reader, and learner. Actually, as much as I hate it, I'm known as the brightest wi-woman of my age." She chuckled, absolutely hating that endearment, and also at the fact she'd almost slipped up and revealed she was a witch. That would certainly make things more difficult, wouldn't it? Luckily, Sherlock either didn't notice or he chose to ignore her mistake.

"Hmm." His eyes flickered over her and then he stepped around her, heading toward the door. Donning his coat and scarf, he said, "Rest. Take the medicine John left for you. I'll be back this evening." And then he was gone, sweeping from the room and hurrying down the stairs.

Confused, Hermione went to the window and watched as Sherlock exited the building. He looked both ways before hailing a cab which quickly stopped and allowed him to slide inside. As the cab drove away, Hermione was left feeling alone and utterly lost. Why was he always doing this? All this time and still she felt like she knew little to nothing about the consulting detective. Granted, she wasn't being entirely truthful with him either, but still she managed to reveal snippets of herself to him.

Yawning despite the earliness of the day, Hermione decided to heed his words and made her way to the back bedroom. Standing in the doorway, she looked around the room. It was still lit by the Christmas lights Mrs. Hudson had decorated with, but it appeared much more organized than that first time she'd glanced inside. Had Sherlock tidied up the room without her realizing? Why would he do that? It's not like she minded the clutter of discarded books, teacups, and clothing all that much.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Hermione took the medicine prescribed to her by Dr. Watson and then curled up on the bed, pulling the cover overtop her body. She needed to get out of here and back to the Ministry and her world. The longer she remained, the more of a risk she became. She didn't need Sherlock or John figuring out she was a witch. As sleep took her, Hermione wondered what was happening in her world that required her to stay away.

. . . .

"Mrs. Hudson? Can I ask you a question?"

Hermione was sitting in what was known as John's chair while the landlady dusted the small flat. It was a chilly day so Hermione was settled by the fireplace to keep warm. Mrs. Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to her with a smile. Perching in the edge of Sherlock's chair she gave Hermione her attention.

"Of course, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied, settling back in the chair.

"Okay, it's just… It's about Sherlock." Hermione paused uncertain if it was okay to talk to Mrs. Hudson about such things. After all, she was his landlady not his mother or his keeper. That was probably more John and Mary's job than anything, but they seemed awfully busy lately with the holiday.

"Oh," Mrs. Hudson said quietly, glancing at her hands in her lap before lifting her gaze back to Hermione. "What is it that you care to know about him?"

"Well, I was just wondering if Sherlock has anyone he cares for." She blushed, looking away and feeling entirely silly about even asking at all. Swallowing thickly, she made to push up from the chair but Mrs. Hudson reached out and patted her knee. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a thing. It's not my business. I'm not even supposed to be here. I should have been gone long ago."

"You're fine. Honestly." Mrs. Hudson began, laughing lightly. "You are not the first one to wonder such a thing. But no, Sherlock is married to his work, or so he says anyways."

This was news to Hermione for she hadn't really seen Sherlock working too much in her time spent in 221 B. Granted, he did spend a ridiculous amount of time browsing only Merlin new what on his laptop. Occasionally, she did find that he ventured into the kitchen to fiddle around with his microscope, but he never really lingered for long.

"I really am sorry. I guess I just still feel like such a burden on all of you all the time." Hermione ran a hand through her curls and tried to give Mrs. Hudson a smile but she felt like it was off, so she stopped. "Do you think that Sherlock really doesn't mind me being here, or that he's just putting on a show for my benefit since I told John how he treated me that first day?"

Mrs. Hudson stood up and resumed her dusting, the corner of her mouth turned up into a smirk. "In my experience with Sherlock, he doesn't do things unless he wants to. He's very stubborn that way, sort of like my ex-husband." Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Mrs. Hudson paused again and threw Hermione a glanced over her shoulder. "Honestly, Hermione, I think that your presence here has been quite beneficial to Sherlock."

"Really?" Hermione questioned, seriously struggling to see how she could have benefited Sherlock in anyway when he made it so that they were never in the same room together for longer than a few moments time.

"You might not see it now, but I think that before you take your leave of us, you'll find that Sherlock Holmes actually has a heart under all that…" Here Mrs. Hudson made snooty face which caused Hermione to laugh.

Her giggling made her chest ache so she cut it off fairly quickly, but she appreciated Mrs. Hudson's sense of humor all the same. "Thank you for answering my question."

"You're welcome, dear," she replied, passing by her and laying a hand gently on her shoulder. "We all want to see you well again. It has been lovely getting to know you, I think that perhaps you should take this evening and try and get Sherlock to open up about himself, as well."

"How can I do that" Hermione questioned,staring up into Mrs. Hudson's kind face. "He hardly ever wants to talk to me about anything other than if I'm healing the way I should."

"You're clever," Mrs. Hudson noted. "I think that, between you and me, you'll be able to come up with something." Tapping the side of her nose, Mrs. Hudson gave her a wink and then disappeared back downstairs to her own flat, leaving Hermione alone to contemplate what exactly the landlady meant.

. . . .

Hermione spent the remainder of the day trying to figure out a way she could get the elusive Sherlock to speak to her for longer than a few minutes. By midafternoon, she decided it was useless and retreated to the bedroom for a nap. When she awoke, there was still no news from Harry but Sherlock had returned. He was standing in the front room, shuffling through papers and muttering under his breath. A case, Hermione realized. He was working on a case.

Not wanting to disturb him while he worked, she wandered into the kitchen and found the drawer where she knew John stored the take-out menus. This was how she would get him to open up to her. She'd order dinner for the two of them and then when he was finished working, they could sit down and eat together. Surely, he wouldn't have anything to say against that?

Selecting the Chinese restaurant from down the street, Hermione snuck back into the bedroom and made the call. She was surprised to find that the worker recognized John's phone number and added the total to their ongoing tab. She thanked him and then went back into the living room to wait for their dinner to arrive. In the meantime, she enjoyed watching Sherlock work; he was so focused she didn't even think he registered her presence.

Hermione was so enraptured by his process that she never even heard the knock on the door. Sherlock must have, though, his head popping up and a deep frown forming on his lips as he glanced toward the stairs. When the knock didn't sound again, he returned to his work. Hermione knew she wasn't supposed to go down stairs as of yet, but still she pushed to her feet and started toward the door.

Mrs. Hudson came through the door before she could exit, rapping her knuckles on it as she went. "Hoo hoo!" she called, earning a disgruntled sigh from Sherlock. He didn't further acknowledge her presence. "Sherlock, the carrier is here with your dinner."

"I didn't order food," he replied curtly, waving her away in favor of flipping angrily through the pages of a book.

"No," Hermione spoke up from by the door. "That was me."

"You?" Sherlock slammed the book shut and rounded on her. "Why would you do that?"

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson said with a bit of a warning to her voice. "The poor girl was probably hungry and you could use a break. You've been on this case for over a week now."

"I don't eat when I'm working." Sherlock crossed his arm as if he were a petulant teenager.

Despite herself, Hermione smiled, having to avoid Mrs. Hudson's gaze lest she fall entirely into laughter. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "I should have asked first. I just ordered off the take-out menu what items were starred."

"You see," Mrs. Hudson declared, walking forward and swatting him lightly on the arm. He gave her a stern glance, but she ignored it. "She even made sure to order your favorites. Now go downstairs and tip the delivery man."

Narrowing his eyes at the landlady, Sherlock huffed and then disappeared downstairs. His footsteps were loud on the stairs, obviously meant to convey his annoyance. Mrs. Hudson merely laughed and followed behind. As she left, Hermione caught her eye and mouthed, 'Thank you.' Honestly, if it wasn't for that woman, Hermione would be lost as to how to deal with Sherlock's slight temper. She had much to learn.

When Sherlock returned, he set the bag of food on the coffee table and allowed Hermione to sort it. They didn't speak as containers and chopsticks were divided out. In fact, Hermione was certain they wouldn't talk at all unless she did something. So, wandering over to where Sherlock and resumed working, she pushed away her nervousness and broke the uncomfortable silence.

"So," Hermione said hesitantly, digging in her carton with her chopsticks. "What sort of case are you working on?" She was nervous to talk with Sherlock, but determined to learn who he really was.

Chewing thoughtfully, Sherlock turned slowly to regard Hermione. Clearly, she was not going to go away. Gesturing toward the wall behind the desk where he'd hung a plethora of photos and a map, he figured he might as well test her skill. "Have a look. What do you see."

Setting down her take-out box, Hermione peered at what Sherlock had displayed. There were scribbled notes on the photographs, as well as red yarn pinned to connect certain parts of the map. It was odd to see someone else display their work, especially since this is exactly what she did on a daily basis working at the MLE. One spot in particular drew her attention so she pointed to it. "You're not just working any case… You're trying to solve mine."

Sure enough, there was a star next to the spot on the map where she'd been attacked over a week ago. When she met Sherlock's gaze, he merely nodded, also setting aside his half-eaten dinner. "I found it odd when you had no one to come and retrieve you."

"You did want me to leave." Hermione swallowed down her disappointment. "I'm sorry."

"It matters not." As if that simple sentence settled the matter. Nodding back at his display, he asked, "What do you think? Have you any ideas what might be going on?"

"You want my help?" He nodded and she frowned. "Why?"

"Because there is something about you that I can't see, that I am missing." He ran a hand through his curls and stepped awfully close to her. "I can see everything else, the fact that you're alone by choice, that you work in a similar area as I do, that you sleep with one arm outstretched as if searching for someone to hold… But I can't see what's hiding under the surface. I need you to show me."

Mouth popping open, Hermione wanted to be angry that Sherlock had somehow figured out these things, or that he possibly watched her as she slept. However, she only felt more intrigued. If he was a mystery to her, she was even more of a mystery to him. She couldn't tell him about being a witch, not yet at least, but she could help him try and solve the pattern of this case.

"Okay," she said with determination. Placing both hands on her hips, she nodded. "Let's have a look at this thing." Sherlock smirked at her gumption, clearly glad to see her feeling better. She tried not to blush as his gaze examined her; instead, focusing on the map in front of them.

They spent the rest of the night bonding over the case until she could barely keep her eyes open. Only then, did Sherlock force her to rest, one arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders as he guided her down the dimly lit hallway. As he tucked her into the bed, Hermione enjoyed the way his large hand lingered on her shoulder and the way his deep voice bid her goodnight. And it wasn't until sleep was nearly claiming her, that it occurred to her that the places on the map coincided with locations of Magical homes or structures.

. . . .

When she woke up the next day, Hermione immediately sent a text to Harry asking about whether or not her suspicions were correct. Sherlock was absent from the flat, as was Mrs. Hudson. This left Hermione to examine the evidence on her own, using the solitude to her advantage. It was true she didn't have her wand; however, she had always been partial to nonverbal spells anyway. Glancing back and forth just to ensure she was truly alone, she reached out with her magic and tried to figure out a connection.

That was how John found her later that afternoon. "Hey, Hermione," he called, jerking her back to reality. When she stumbled, he quickly dropped his coat and made to grab her before she could hit the floor. "Whoa!"

Once he'd helped her to sit in Sherlock's chair, Hermione took a deep breath. "Thank you," she said breathily, chest heaving. It hurt and it was then that she realized she'd overexerted herself with the wandless magic.

"What happened? What were you doing," John asked, kneeling beside her and going to take her pulse. He frowned at whatever he calculated and then stood to go rummage through his doctor bag.

"I guess I just stood for too long. I'm trying to help Sherlock with his case." She accepted the medicine tablet he handed her, popping them in her mouth and then taking the glass of water he handed her. He hoped he didn't pester her further about it; she didn't want to lie about having used magic.

"Did he ask you to or something because if he did, I'm going to kill him. You're not supposed to be over exerting yourself." John sighed, truly concerned for her and she suddenly felt bad.

"I'm sorry, John," she apologized, relaxing into the worn leather chair. "I'll take it easy. I swear."

"Good." John moved to sit in his chair, rubbing a hand over his worn face. "Why are you helping Sherlock with his case, anyway?"

"Because it's mine," she replied simply, taking another sip of water. Already, she could feel a little bit of her strength returning. At John's startled look, she shrugged one shoulder. "And because I think it's related to the case my team is working on too."

"You're in law enforcement?" John looked surprised, to say the least. He ran a hand through his hair and reminded her of Harry for a moment.

She shrugged one shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant. "Sort of. Private sector. Very much a need to know basis." That was the best she could say by way of explanation without revealing her true self.

"Were you sent here by Mycroft?" he asked, suddenly causing her to frown.

"Who?" She had no idea who that might be, racking her brain for any mention of the name.

Shaking his head, he muttered, "Nevermind," and then made to stand. "Look, I came by to check on you, but you're not going to get any better if you don't take it easy, okay?"

"I'm going to relax the rest of the evening. I swear it." She smiled, crossing her heart with a gesture and earning her a laugh from the good doctor.

"That's what I like to hear. If you feel worse or anything at all, use the mobile I gave you to call Mary, or even bloody Sherlock. They can get in touch with me." He patted her on the shoulder and then bent to pick up his coat from where he'd dropped it on the floor. "I'll see you tomorrow for the New Year's party."

"Okay! Give Mary and Rosie my best." Hermione smiled, grateful that she was lucky enough to have been rescued by such a kind hearted man. John was great, and she felt bad for pushing herself. Clearing her throat, she managed to get his attention before he disappeared out the door. "And thank you, John. I appreciate all of this, really I do."

John's face softened and he cleared his throat, though she suspected for a different reason. "You're welcome, Hermione. Goodnight."

"Night."

. . . .

Getting into the bath was easier now and so Hermione didn't bother disrupting Sherlock from his playing. He'd picked up his violin sometime after dinner and hadn't stopped playing since. The tune was unfamiliar to her, leaving her to assume he'd composed it himself. Mary said he did that often, composing music during emotionally temperamental parts of his life. She wondered what he was focussing on now as she relaxed in bathtub listening to the music flow in from the half-opened door.

Having taken care of her hair and body, she relished the warmth of the bath and closed her eyes as the beautiful music calmed her frazzled nerves. As she lay there, she thought not of the case, but of Sherlock and his persistence toward solving it. Was he doing it just because it was another case or was there something more there? Sighing, she hated that she hoped it was the latter. While Sherlock was still very much a mystery to her, she couldn't help but be compelled toward him.

It was maddening in a sense, being so enthralled in someone only to have them care less than nothing about you in return. At least, that's the way it appeared. Maybe solving the mystery of her attacker and the other similar instances would bring them closer together. The only issue was that she was still unable to comfortably walk the stairs (she'd tried) and Harry wanted her to remain here. That was the other thing…

Harry had confirmed her suspicions, her attack being one of many that occured over the course of three days in London. Someone had it out for Muggleborns, an issue that caused the Wizarding community to go on high alert. Hermione knew in her heart that she was incapable of helping her team of MLE agents and Aurors solve anything in this state, which was the only reason she remained in 221B with Sherlock. If she couldn't be out there in the fray, then she was going to keep aiding Sherlock in his deductions at the very least. Only, she had to do it without magic seeing as that drained her completely.

As Sherlock continued to play and Hermione's bathwater grew cold, she decided it was time to get out. Biting her lip, she really didn't want to call for him and interrupt his playing since she knew he was most likely thinking about the case. With a sigh, she let the water out of the tub and then waited for it to drain fully before attempting to stand. Surely, she was well enough by now to complete such a simple task as pushing herself upright in the tub? She did it all the time on chairs and the bed.

Holding her breath, Hermione gripped the edges of the tub and heaved herself upright. All appeared well; she didn't even feel too much of an ache in her chest. Carefully, she finished pulling herself into a standing position and then exhaled harshly. Breathing again, she smiled, thankful she'd successfully got herself up in the tub. In her excitement, Hermione made to step out of the tub; only, she didn't quite account for the fact that she probably used most of her energy.

Exhausted, her feet slipped on the still damp tub and she went flailing. Closing her eyes, she knew that if she hit the side with her ribs, she'd be in dire trouble, so in a last ditch effort, she wrenched her body around mid-fall. The side of the tub hit her back so hard the breath was immediately knocked from her body. She grunted from the impact, her body folding in on itself as she toppled over the ledge and landed on the tile floor in quite an undignified manner. Idly, she noticed that the violin had abruptly cut off at some point during all this.

With a gasp, Hermione found herself able to breathe once more. She took great heaving breaths as she tried to work through the pain in her body. She needed to move, to get up off this floor and wrap a towel around her naked form, but there was no way she was moving right this moment. Even the thought of sitting up made her want to cry. As the door to the bathroom was thrown open, she stared wide-eyed into Sherlock's shocked face.

"What the devil were you thinking!?" he asked, standing above her and taking in the entire situation. "Why didn't you call for my assistance?"

"I thought I could handle it on my own," she said and then winced as she tried to move. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"For the love of…" Sherlock trailed off and then bent down to help her sit up. "John is going to be furious with you if you caused any of your ribs to refracture." Pausing, he frowned as he was able to get Hermione to sit against the side of the tub. "Or rather, he's going to be furious with me for not taking proper care of you."

"It wasn't your fault," she said simply, pulling her legs up to her chest and covering herself. It hadn't really occurred to her, but she was, in fact, entirely nude. "I'm sure I'm fine. Other than being winded and achy, I don't think anything worse has occurred."

Sherlock began to pace, shaking his head at her attempt to placate him. "This will certainly set your healing back days, at any rate."

He continued rambling on, gesturing wildly in his apparent anger. Hermione wanted to smile, to laugh even, but she was cold sitting naked on the floor and she desperately wished to be in bed with some of the pain medicine John had prescribed for her. Deciding she'd better stop him before he worked himself up into a tizzy, Hermione cleared her throat so that he would stop.

"Uh, Sherlock?" she queried, lifting her gaze to his when he paused. "Do you think you could hand me a towel?" She gestured down her body with one hand, careful to keep herself covered as best she could.

Sherlock blanched, finally realizing the state she was in. "Oh! Yes, of course." He grabbed her towel from the rack and handed it to her before stepping back and averting his gaze.

"Thank you," she mumbled, a blush gracing her cheeks as she wrapped it around herself. "Could you help me up now, do you think?" She bit her lip, again embarrassed at even having to ask.

He stooped without comment and wrapped his arm around her waist to carefully hoist her upward. The pain was minimal, but even so, she stumbled as she was placed on her feet, the towel slipping to the floor. It was too late to do much about it, though. Sherlock took hold of her shoulders and held her flush against his body.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed quietly, her hands clutching at his white Oxford shirt. Her breasts were pressed against him and they were both breathing heavily. It took everything she had but somehow, Hermione peered up at Sherlock through her lashes. "I'm so sorry. I'm not normally this clumsy."

"It's quite alright," Sherlock murmured, his grip softening as he slid his palms down her arms, thumbs brushing over her soft skin. "Are you hurt?" He looked down into her eyes, obviously not worried about her lack of dress.

In fact, Hermione could have sworn that was concern reflected in his beautiful eyes. She swallowed, feeling rather warm all of a sudden. "I'm feeling okay, all things considered," she replied softly, dropping her gaze to his chest. She knew she should back away and try to get her towel, but something held her there, in his arms. "Sherlock… I-"

As if breaking from a spell, Sherlock inhaled sharply and released the hold he had on Hermione. "I presume you'll be well enough to walk to the bedroom unassisted," he said breezily and then nodded once before ducking around her and exiting the loo.

Hermione was left standing there, naked and entirely exposed like never before. What had she been about to say and why did Sherlock want to get away so quickly? Had he felt it too, that indescribable connection they shared? She'd certainly felt it, and had since that first night when he'd allowed her to use his bedroom. Turning slowly, Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the open door, her heart racing and a feeling she'd not experienced in quite some time flowing through her veins.

. . . .

Midnight wasn't far off this New Year's Eve, and Hermione found herself smiling joyfully as she watched Rosie being bounced on John's knee. Sherlock was standing at the window, his back toward the room as if having so many people together thoroughly annoyed him. Mrs. Hudson, and Mary were in the kitchen tidying up the leftovers and making tea while she sat in Sherlock's chair and listened to John recount his and Sherlock's previous cases. It was fun and frivolous and Hermione felt better than she had in ages.

When the clock finally stuck midnight, Rosie was fast asleep in Mary's arms but they all toasted and celebrated the New Year all the same. Well, everyone save Sherlock, who had wandered into his bedroom. Hermione could see him in there, going through his drawers and tidying up as if it wasn't a holiday. There was no reason to say anything on the matter seeing as the others paid him no mind. She figured it was safe to assume this was just his way.

"Goodnight, Hermione," Mary said as she passed Rosie to John so she could give her a hug. "Happy New Year." She kissed her on the cheek before letting her go.

"Same to you, Mary, and you too, John," she said in reply, giving her friends each a hug in return. It was nice to celebrate with friends, even if they were new ones. She did miss Harry, Ginny, Ron, and the rest of the Weasley clan dearly, but right now it was unsafe in her world and she needed to be here.

When they were gone and only Mrs. Hudson remained, the landlady handed her two glasses of champagne and nudged her in the direction of the bedroom. "Go see if you can't cheer him up," she whispered with a grin. "He's always such a grump on the holidays." Once Hermione had taken the glasses, she added, "I'm off to bed. See you in the morning, love. Happy New Year."

Hermione said nothing, simply stared after the landlady wondering if perhaps she knew more than she let on. Finally alone, she had a decision to make; either she could take the champagne to the kitchen and fall asleep on the couch, or she could go back into the bedroom and offer Sherlock a glass. Against her better judgement, Hermione chose the latter, figuring she only lived once. Hell, she'd almost been beaten to death in a dirty alley; certainly, having unwarranted feelings for Sherlock Holmes wasn't nearly as dangerous?

She felt awkward standing in the doorway with two glasses full of bubbly champagne. The lights in the rest of the flat had been turned down, the only remaining light coming from those of the Christmas lights still strung up along the hall and above the bed. Sherlock was standing by the window, his back to her and both hands in his pockets. Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped fully into the room and sighed which caused him to turn around.

"Happy New Year, Sherlock," she greeted him softly, extending one of the glasses towards him. He regarded her for a moment before striding forward. He slid one hand from his trousers and accepted a glass of champagne, surprising her. She lifted her glass with a little smile. "Cheers."

Sherlock said nothing still, simply clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of the bubbly beverage. She made sure not to drop her gaze as she drank deeply, enjoying the way the bubbles made her nose tickle. The silence was getting them nowhere and Hermione was tired of silence. She wanted answers. She wanted to know more about Sherlock and why she felt so compelled toward him. Setting her champagne on the bedside table, she turned to Sherlock and crossed her arms.

"Look, I just want to apologize. Again." She tucked a curl behind her ear and took a step toward the detective. "I know we've discussed this previously, but I want to apologize for being a burden here. I've been thrown into your life, taken your bed and your time, forced myself into your work, and overall I feel like you just can't stand my presence at all."

She sighed and raked a hand through her curls because, damn him, Sherlock still didn't even say a word. "I have tried over and over again to get to know you better because I feel like we have this connection, but you never let me in," she continued, finally eliciting a response from the man. He blinked and then frowned, looking around the room as if to say, I'm here now, aren't I? Huffing, she ignored her inner musings and carried on ranting. "Is it me, Sherlock? Is there something wrong with me that you just don't like, that makes you wish I had never been attacked so close to your doorstep?"

Sherlock smirked then, and gave a small shake of his head as he watched Hermione breathe heavily. In turn, she watched him, wanting to throttle him for smirking. He chuckled, the sound amused and deep, so deep she practically felt it in her soul. Merlin, what was happening to her her? Slowly, painstakingly so, Sherlock closed the space between them with purposeful footsteps. His eyes never left hers, as if he was seeing her for the first time, and maybe he was. She hadn't been so bold previously, too injured to do much more than lay around. Perhaps, he was seeing her in a new light, one where he found her interesting enough to look further.

"Do you truly want to know what's wrong with you?" he asked her, voice sending shivers down her spine.

"What's that?" Hermione asked in return, completely taken aback. She was a bit breathless after her rant, but she had a feeling it had nothing to do with her remaining injuries and entirely with the way Sherlock was staring at her right now. And his voice. Sweet Salazar, that voice was giving her the naughtiest of ideas.

"Nothing," he replied simply, before setting aside the glass of champagne. "Absolutely nothing." He didn't wait for her to say anything further, pulling her close and kissing her soundly.

Startled, it took Hermione a second to realize what was happening. Sherlock's mouth on hers was strange, or rather, unexpected really. For days she'd wondered what it would be like to get to know this man, and here he was snogging her senseless. Deciding she no longer cared, she closed her eyes and returned the kiss. Her hands found their way into his hair, fingernails scraping his scalp. He moaned into her mouth and she nearly melted into a puddle from the sound.

She was pressed so firmly against his body, she could feel the contours of his muscles under his Oxford shirt. But she wanted to feel more. She needed to feel all of him, and now. Separating their mouths, she simply stared at him, panting, her eyes burning with a fire she'd thought was gone forever. He was watching her, examining her, wanting to know if he'd overstepped his boundaries. Reaching forward with surprisingly steady hands, she began unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his pale skin to her inch by inch.

He helped her shed the shirt when she was finished before reaching out and grabbing hold of her waist. Tugging her back to him, his lips found hers for a brief moment before sliding down to trail wet, hot kisses along her neck. She could feel him trembling, but she was too. This time, her hands shook as they reached for his trousers, his arousal tenting the front of the expensive fabric. That was for her, she thought, and she moaned as he nipped at the base of her throat.

After unfastening his trousers, Hermione slid one hand inside, stroking him through the cotton fabric of his boxers. He was hot and hard and long, and Hermione wanted him inside of her like she couldn't believe. Sherlock had stopped his kisses to pant wantonly into the crook of her neck so it was easy for her to disentangle herself. She stopped her ministrations for a moment just so she could pull her own shirt over her head. It hurt, but she ignored the pain as a fresh wave of desire rocked through her.

Sherlock was staring at her hungrily, his pupils blown wide like he was high. Maybe he was. Maybe they both were. Hell, she was drinking champagne on top of her pain medicine and she knew from quiet conversations with Mrs. Hudson that Sherlock was prone to using every now and then for a case. Forcing such thoughts away, Hermione quickly removed her jeans, and wasted no further time before removing her socks, bra, and knickers as well. Now, she stood in front of Sherlock, naked and baring her soul.

His eyes roamed over her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, taking in the valley between her breasts and the curve of her hips. She was far from perfect, scars from the war and recent years marring her body. But as she continued to stare at Sherlock, his hands removing the last of his clothes and revealing his entire self to her, she realized he had scars too. Cuts and slashes, and what appeared to be a bullet wound showed his own battles he had won. Sherlock was not perfect and neither was she.

Swallowing, audibly, she reached out and placed her hand over the bullet wound scar. "You have survived much," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his gaze.

Sherlock's hand gently reached out to cup her chin. "So have you."

He kissed her then, much more tenderly than before. She walked backward slowly, leading him to the edge of the bed as they kissed. He helped her onto the high mattress, waiting until she'd shuffled backward before crawling atop himself. Hermione's heart was racing as she stared up into Sherlock's eyes, everything she wanted and more was reflected there. "Please," she asked, wanting nothing more than to be entirely filled by him.

He nodded and placed a tender kiss to her forehead. As Sherlock slid inside of her, she cried out his name. Her hands slid down his back, feeling his muscles pull taut as he made love to her. She met him thrust for thrust, wanting nothing more than for this to last forever. He was close, she could tell, so she took matters into her own hands, sliding one hand down to rub at her swollen nub. She wanted to find completion together, and Sherlock nodded, knowing what she was after.

With her other hand, she tugged his face down to meet hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth for a taste. He tasted of tea, champagne, and perhaps a bit of tobacco… She didn't mind it though. When the rhythm of his hips became erratic, Hermione sped up her mintrations, and that was all she needed. She came on a cry, tears springing to her eyes as Sherlock continued to move within her. He helped her to ride out the orgaasm for a moment before, he too, let go. Her name was whispered into the crook of her neck, so reverently she wanted to cry all over again.

When it was over, Hermione could barely breathe, her heart was so full. As if knowing this, Sherlock retreated from her body and curled onto his side. Pulling her close, he pressed his body to hers and settled his palm over her heart. It was comforting, more compassionate than she thought the man was capable of. She wanted to speak, to say something momentous, but words escaped her. Desperately, she'd wanted to unravel the mystery of Sherlock, and here it was. He was just as lonely as she, and now they had to figure out where to go from here. Wrapped in Sherlock's embrace, she was warm and content underneath the Christmas lights. Sleep took them both easily, but neither would be prepared for what the morning brought.

. . . .

"Hermione?!"

Slowly, Hermione felt herself pulled from sleep. Behind her, Sherlock's body was still snug against her, his hand holding her tightly against him. But something pulled her from her dreams… Dreams where she and Sherlock were together and happy and this entire ordeal was over. She was going to let herself go back to sleep when she heard it again, knowing it hadn't been part of her dream.

"Hermione? Are you here?"

Fully awake now, Hermione gasped. Sherlock, too, must have heard it because he was up and out of the bed instantly. Thankfully, he had enough sense to throw on his blue dressing gown. Frowning, he tossed her his spare. She quickly crawled to the edge of the bed and slid to her feet before wrapping herself in it. Sherlock left the room, apparently eager to find out who was calling on her so early in the morning.

"Who are you?" the voice came again and she paused while tying the sash.

"Harry!?" Moving quickly now, she exited the bedroom and ran down the hall. She nearly rammed right into the back of Sherlock, who was stood frozen in the doorway. She peered around his tall form to find her best friend standing in the middle of the front room, a panicked look on his face.

"Harry! Oh my goodness, thank Merlin you're here!" She rushed around Sherlock and all but threw herself into his waiting arms. Tears poured down her face as he hugged her, carefully, and then released her to have a better look.

"Hermione, you're a sight for sore eyes. How are you? Are you feeling better?" Harry held her at arm's length, checking her over and trying to make sure she was all in one piece.

"Yes," she breathed, so full of relief at seeing a familiar face. "I'm much better. I wish I'd known you were coming. I would have been awake." She blushed then, reminded suddenly of Sherlock and why she'd still been fast asleep. Biting her lip she peered over her shoulder to find the detective standing in the same place. "Uh, Harry, this is Sherlock Holmes. This is his flat."

Harry smiled, obviously not minding that Sherlock was in a dressing gown. He stepped forward and extended his hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter. Thank you for allowing Hermione to stay here."

Sherlock looked at his hand and then to Hermione before finally taking hold and shaking once. He dropped the shake and then took a breath. "You're here to take her back to your world," he said by way of greeting.

Hermione frowned when Harry gave her a strange look. Something wasn't right with that statement, and she felt her heart start to race as panic rose. "What do you mean?" she asked him, taking a single step toward her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him release his wand from the holster in his sleeve.

"I think I have known for quite some time that while you appear normal enough, there was something else lingering beneath the surface. Your comment from earlier confirmed it," Sherlock explained, crossing his arms and staring at her intently.

"My comment?" Hermione really had no idea what he was talking about.

"Merlin."

"Oh…" She trailed off, feeling a blush rise to her cheeks. She'd done so well not to use that exclamation, but in her excitement, she'd slipped up. Sighing, she turned to Harry, a sad smile playing on her lips. "I have to tell him."

Harry, with his keen eyes, observed his best friend and then Sherlock. Noting their state of dress amongst other things, he closed his eyes. "Damn it, Hermione. You just had to let that heart of yours get in the way…" He said it in jest, though, one hand coming to rest gently on her shoulder. "Fine. Go on, but make it quick. The Minister wants to meet with you this morning. I'll be waiting outside."

Hermione waited until Harry was gone before turning back to Sherlock. He was looking at her with expectant eyes, his jaw tense in anticipation. Sighing heavily, she ran both hands through her messy curls and decided it was easier to just come out and say it. "Sherlock, I've been keeping a secret from you and everyone else not because I wanted to, but because it's against the law of my people to just randomly reveal it unless absolutely necessary."

"Go on," Sherlock said, turning and beginning to head back to the bedroom.

Confused, Hermione blinked at his retreating form a second before hurrying after him. In the bedroom, he began redressing, paying her no mind as she stood in the doorway. "Uh, okay. This is going to make me sound completely nutters, but I'm a witch."

Sherlock paused as he was pulling up his trousers, his frown deepening. When he came to some sort of conclusion, he finished pulling them up and fastening them before meeting her stare. "You can do magic."

"Yes." She bit her lip, watching as he buttoned his shirt and then tucked it in. "I can do magic, if I have my wand, that is." He was standing there staring at her, his beautiful eyes reading her like an open book now. She felt utterly exposed under his scrutiny. "But I lost it when I was attacked. If I had it, I could have healed myself and been on my way ages ago. I'm so sorry for keeping that from you, but I had no choice and Harry couldn't come to get me with the other attacks happening."

"Other attacks." Now, Sherlock moved, striding forward and brushing past her to the living room. She again followed, finding him staring at the mess of papers and photographs that was his current case. "These are related to your magical world."

"Yes," she answered hesitantly. "Harry and I work for what is known as the Ministry of Magic. He is an Auror, someone who specializes in finding Dark wizards, and I am part of the Magical Law Enforcement."

"A wizarding police officer," Sherlock said with a smirk, turning to look at her. "That is how you knew how to help with the case."

"I do this all the time," she said with a smile, gesturing at his work. "You and I are quite similar when it comes to solving cases."

Stepping away from the table, Sherlock came to stand in front of Hermione. He took her chin in his hand and stared down into her eyes. "You have lied to me, though I find I cannot be angry with you." He dropped his hand as a frown formed on his face. Stepping away from her, he said, "However, I am afraid you are about to be quite furious with me."

"What? Why?" Confused, Hermione stood there watching as Sherlock walked over to the mantle. Shuffling around the papers and the skull, he slid the tip of his finger into a crack at the edge of the wall. With wide eyes now, Hermione watched as a wand, her wand, was pushed into view. Without a word, he walked over and handed it to her. "This is my wand," she said breathless, accepting it from him and holding it close to her chest.

"I found it in your coat that first night you were here," he admitted and then turned away from her again. He entered the kitchen, taking a seat at the table to pull his microscope towards him.

Feeling a burst of anger, Hermione gripped her wand and used it to cast clothes upon herself. Sherlock paid her use of magic no mind, picking up a sample to examine on the microscope. "You had my wand the whole damn time I was here and never thought to mention it to me?"

"I was afraid you were a criminal."

"A criminal?!" Hermione threw her free hand up into the air as she stormed into the kitchen. "I was beaten to within an inch of my life and you bloody well thought I was a criminal?"

"I am careful these days."

He wouldn't look up from the microscope and Hermione felt her heart breaking. It was stupid, but that was how she felt. Two weeks she'd spent in this flat getting to know Mrs. Hudson, John, Mary, and Rosie and yet, Sherlock was still a bloody mystery to her. Even after last night. She knew she was rather closed off herself, but she'd hoped Sherlock wouldn't be just another notch on her wand. She' hoped he was something more, but now she wasn't so sure.

"All this time I just wanted to know who you really were…" She trailed off, throat clogged with emotion. "I thought maybe there was something…" Nope. She stopped, opened her mouth and then closed it again. She wasn't going to do this. If this was meant to be how it ended, she didn't want to make false declarations. Sighing, she tucked away her wand and moved to the living room where her coat was still hung on the chair. She put it on and turned to say farewell. "You know what, nevermind. Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes."

"Goodbye, Hermione Granger."

Sherlock made no attempt to glance her way as he said this and so, with a heavy heart, Hermione walked out the door and down the stairs. With every step she took, her chest ached something fierce, but it wasn't from her healing ribs. No, it was from something else, but there was nothing she could do about that. Down here, Mrs. Hudson had already taken down the Christmas lights, but that was okay. The darkness was where she felt she belonged anyway.

. . . .

Harry stood waiting by the cab, but for some reason, she could not go to him. On the doorstep of 221B, Hermione felt more conflicted than ever before. Something had changed within her during her time spent with Sherlock. Dragging her teeth over her bottom lip, she looked at Harry, who was waving her on, and then back inside. Sherlock hadn't followeed her downstairs, choosing instead to remain seated at his microscope in the kitchen.

Knowing that she needed to return to her world, Hermione took a shuddering breath and a step down onto the pavement. Inside, her heart ached, more so than when her ribs had been newly broken. Swallowing, she took another step toward Harry, somehow knowing that if she left now, she would never see Sherlock again. Stumbling to a stop, she felt the sob bubbling up inside of her before she could force it down. Harry's face fell, but she held up a hand so he wouldn't come to her.

"Harry, I-" Unable to speak, she just shook her head as tears formed in her eyes. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to stay. With Sherlock…

She didn't have to say anything further, her friend seemed to understand. He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips as he opened the door to the cab. "Hermione, it's okay. I understand." He sighed, sliding into the cab and staring out the door at her. "Take the time you need. We'll be waiting when you're ready to return to us."

Hermione hesitated… How could she just skirt her responsibilities and stay here with Sherlock. What was she thinking? As if realizing she was second guessing herself even further, Harry laughed, drawing her attention to him.

"Hermione," he said with bright eyes. "Go."

"Thank you, Harry," she said with relief before turning on her heel and dashing back up the few steps and into 221B. Ignoring the lingering pain from her fading injuries, she raced up the stairs and quickly turned left so she could enter the kitchen.

Sherlock was exactly where she left him, eyes peering through the microscope with such intensity there was no way he even knew she could be standing there. Torn between bursting into tears for reasons unknown and catching her breath, Hermione shuffled forward and observed his still form. His shoulders were tense, back just a tad too straight, and that was all the indication she needed that he knew she was really there. She needed to know if he felt this too, whatever this was that she currently felt between them. Was it love? Perhaps, but she felt like it went deeper than that.

"Sherlock?" she tried, placing a hand on his shoulder. Their initial farewell had been so abrupt, so tense, that she was certain he'd ignore her entirely. "Sherlock, please."

Something in her plea must have stirred him, for after taking a shuddering breath of his own, he lifted his head and peered over his shoulder. His eyes were shining, as if he too had been crying, but that was ridiculous. Why would the great Sherlock Holmes cry? She didn't have the time to think on it as he rose from his chair and carded a hand through her curls.

"You stayed." She nodded, so he continued. "Yes, but why?"

"I think you know why." Placing her hand on his chest, she gazed up into his face, losing herself in his eyes. "There's something about you that I can't explain, but it draws me in. I want to discover what that is."

Sherlock leaned into her touch, his eyes searching Hermione's for deception, though he found none. "You would stay simply to learn more about me?"

Hermione laughed lightly, shaking her head as she moved her hand to cup his cheek. "No, Sherlock, don't you see? It's more than that. I want to stay because I think I'm falling in love with you."

Sherlock merely blinked, and for a second, Hermione thought he would shy away from her declaration. Instead, he took her by surprise, surging forward and capturing her lips and kissing her adoringly. Hermione, let herself go, wanting nothing more than to remain with Sherlock forever. It appeared the acerbic man felt the same as she, his kisses full of passion and something, dare she say it, more. It no longer mattered that they were from different worlds, they had found one another and together their love would light the way…