Author's Note: This is the sequel to "Murder and a Family Reunited" (another one of my stories), it will not make sense if you don't read that first.

I own neither Sherlock, nor the Harry Potter series, nor Fiddler on the Roof. Contains non-graphic slash.

Chapter 1: Make Me a Match

Outside, sheets of rain pounded against the window. Mycroft Holmes sat in the most comfortable chair in his office, his laptop sat open on his lap. He took a sip of tea and glanced down at the list of unread emails. There was one message from the queen inviting him to a royal gala of some sort – he replied that he was honored and would be there, barring any unforeseen circumstances – and several from varied world leaders. Usual updates from his underlings filled in the gaps.

A tapping at the window tore him from his thoughts. He glanced over. An owl, not one of the ministry breed, but his sister's little snowy owl, just like their father talked about having, was hovering right outside the window. Reluctantly, Mycroft put aside his laptop and forced himself to his feet. He strolled over to the window and forced it open. The bird flew in and landed on the gold perch he had set up for just that purpose.

As the owl landed, it sent water droplets flying across the room, the bulk of which managed to hit Mycroft. He frowned slightly and set about retrieving the roll of parchment from the owl's leg. It was miraculously dry; the result of some magic on his sister's part, no doubt. He unfurled the scroll and began to read. He had barely read the salutation when the call of the owl forced his mind back to the present. The bird hooted once more. This time he looked up and saw it staring back at him, its head cocked to one side expectantly.

Mycroft sighed, "She spoils you, you know." He muttered under his breath.

All the same, he walked to his desk and fished out a treat, which he gave to the bird. Once it was nibbling away contently, Mycroft resumed his seat and returned to the letter.

"Dear James," it read, "I hope you're doing well. Mum and dad both say 'Hi' (their idea, not mine). Anyways, I was thinking, since Albus's birthday is coming up soon, we should totally have a surprise party for him! Mum and dad have agreed to it, as long as we do most of the preparations, though they agreed to make a cake! All you need to do is get him here, well that and tell me when he's free. Best of Wishes, Lily Potter"

Once he finished reading the letter, he put it aside on the little table and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed his brother's number from memory – it had barely missed being put on speed dial – and waited as the phone rang. Once, twice, three times, he heard the ringing sound. In the back of his mind. He counted seven rings in total, before he was sent to the answering machine.

Mycroft sighed. He knew calling Sherlock was a rather worthless pursuit, as the man preferred to text, but it would have been convenient. He didn't bother leaving a message; instead he just placed his phone aside, next to the letter from his sister, and returned to his work as he waited for the reply text, that he was quite confident would be on its way soon.

A few minutes later, his phone rang, signaling the arrival of a new text message. Sherlock must have been busy; he usually replied within two minutes. Mycroft opened his phone and read the text.

"Busy. – S&J" it read.

He frowned disdainfully, he really didn't need the mental images that message implied, not like he pictured anything of course, but it was rather too close for comfort. Anyways, that gave him an hour, give or take, before it was worth calling back. Until then, he had a conference call with the new President of France, which went about as well as Mycroft had expected; they talked for more than an hour and got nowhere.

He didn't really feel like having another pointless conversation, this time with his brother, so he decided he ought to set off for lunch and call again when he returned. That he did, and to his surprise, six rings in, someone on the other side picked up the phone.

"Hello?" it was John, "Sorry, Sherlock isn't going to come to the phone, but I can relay a message if you like."

"Actually," Mycroft replied, "I believe it would be best if you didn't relay the message at all. I assume he's in earshot."

"You could call me you know, on my phone."

"Is my brother within earshot?"

"Yes."

"Then move until he isn't."

Finally, Mycroft heard motion on the other end, as John complied with the request, which really had been more of an order.

"So, what could be this secretive? Is it something about her?" John asked, his voice betrayed irritation that quickly became concern.

"I assume you have plans for Sherlock's birthday?"

"That's it? That's the big secret?"

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Will you be free the weekend before?"

"Probably. Unless we have a case. Why?"

"I will take that as a yes. Get him to number 12 Grimauld Place by, lets say, 4:30 in the evening, that Saturday."

"Why?" John demanded, feeling rather like a broken record.

"A surprise party of course, courtesy of our dear sister. See you then, doctor." Mycroft hung up with a smirk.

John shut his phone with a click, that wasn't nearly loud enough to express his frustration. He made up for it by practically stomping back into the living room, where Sherlock sat, apparently deep in thought. John's conclusion was proven incorrect when the detective looked up at his approach.

"Mycroft, was it?" he asked, though it came out more like a statement than a question, "What did he want? No," John had opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock gestured for him to stop, and continued his train of thought, "I can figure it out. Not like you would have been able to answer anyways, he swore you to secrecy, of course." he shook his head, though the smile he wore, ruined the effect.

John couldn't help but smile back as his anger disappeared, "So you've figured out the case?"

"Of course, it was James Brewer. Obvious from the start, really."

"James Brewer... That was the victim..."

"Fast today, aren't we? It was a suicide, open and shut, Melissa framed Wanda – you remember the mistress – because the opportunity presented itself. She was stupid, so even the police saw through it. Obvious, boring."

"And I thought you were confident it was the estranged son, silly me."

"Yes, do keep up." Sherlock retorted, though his mischievous smile ruined the effect, yet again.

"So, how did you go from estranged son to suicide?"

"Now you're just trying to distract me."

"I wouldn't say trying. It's working, isn't it?"

Sherlock laughed "Well played, well played."

There was a moment of comfortable silence before Sherlock suddenly stood and began preparing to go out, "Let's go, it's time we find Lestrade and the rest of those idiots, and set them on the right path." he grinned.

John smiled despite himself and followed suit.

Talking to Sherlock once a year was something Mycroft found less than pleasant, a necessity, but not exactly pleasant. Once a month was something he considered to be a chore, and more than that was downright miserable, not to mention completely unnecessary. But there he was, calling his brother for the second time that month, of three. He didn't have much of another option, but calling it a chore was an understatement.

Mycroft took a sip of tea and drummed his fingers on his desk. They were taking long enough, not like he expected any different. Finally there was a stately knock at the door.

"Do come in." he called out.

An irate Sherlock burst through the door before he could even begin talking, his signature long coat flared out behind him, "What do you want?"

"Brother dearest, have a seat." Mycroft motioned to the chair across the desk from him.

Sherlock ignored him and began pacing the room, "You're wasting my time, I'm in the middle of a case."

"Yes, I was aware."

"Big brother is watching you." Sherlock quoted under his breath.

"That's original." Mycroft replied sarcastically, "Though I can't say I knew you read science fiction. I assume the influence is John's."

Sherlock shrugged and "froze" leaning against the door frame. It reminded his brother of the sulky teenager he had once been. Mycroft sighed in impatience.

"Have you reconsidered?"

"I'm not doing it." he returned to pacing, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

"Sherlock, it'll force people to look at the issue. Our dear sister would stop flirting with your dear Dr. Watson."

"And it could land me and John in jail for the rest of our lives." he countered, freezing against the door frame once more.

"As I've already said, I will make sure that that will not happen. If all else fails I can give you each an alternate identity and send you abroad until it all blows over." Mycroft punctuated his sentence with another sip of tea.

"I'm not risking John winding up in jail for the rest of his life for your stupid gamble." Sherlock spun around and threw open the door. His coat billowed out behind him as he stalked away.

"Should we go after him?" one of the guards at the door glanced in and asked.

"No."

The guard nodded and returned to his usual position, shutting the door as he did so. Once the door was shut and Mycroft was positive he was alone, he let out an exasperated sigh. He would probably have to talk to John again and get him to talk Sherlock into it, but that wouldn't be easy. Neither of them would be eager to risk the other.

For the next two weeks, Mycroft found himself so busy dealing with all the other crises that came up, from the massacre in Sudan, to elections, and the related riots, in Egypt. The wizarding world wasn't all quiet either. The new Death Eater movement, Voldemort's Army, was stirring up trouble as usual, but this time it seemed something bigger was brewing. His father, the famous Harry Potter, was considering to reform the Order of the Phoenix. This time, at least they had the Ministry on their side, and Mycroft would make sure it stayed that way.

All the same, at 4:00 on Saturday, Mycroft Holmes knocked at the door of number 12 Grimauld Place. The door flew open of what seemed to be its own volition. The house was filled with family, though not as many people as it had been during the holidays. They were all mulling around, talking and waiting. Mycroft stepped in and was almost immediately accosted by relatives greeting him from all sides. He managed to get them off his back and maneuvered into the kitchen where Lily was cooking and talking to Hugo.

"James! You came!" she exclaimed the instant she noticed her oldest brother, "Albus is coming, right?"

"I believe so." Mycroft smiled slightly.

"And his cute friend?"

He shook his head, "He'll come if Albus does, but I should warn you; he isn't interested."

"You always sound so sure, maybe you're wrong!" Lily replied indignantly, "Does he have a girlfriend or something?"

"Not exactly..."

"Then how do you know?" she smiled victoriously.

Mycroft decided it was about time to change the topic, if Sherlock was going to come out to their family, it needed to be of his own volition, "What is the plan for this evening?"

"Well, we gather everyone in the living room and put them all under an invisibility spell and undo it and jump out when Albus arrives!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Mycroft interrupted before his sister could continue.

"And why's that?"

"Dr. Watson"

"What about him?"

"He was a soldier, he doesn't take kindly to surprises, particularly when he's carrying a gun – a sort of wand that muggles use – which he almost always is."

Lily pouted, "What do you suggest we do then?"

"I suggest, you simply gather everyone around the door and shout 'surprise' or the like, at our brother's arrival."

"You're so lame!"

"It was not my decision for our dear brother to take on an ex-army doctor for a companion."

Lily sighed and returned to her preparations, under her breath, she murmured "Is there anything else you want to ruin?"

"It depends, is there anything else you have planned?"

"You'll see." Lily replied, without turning back to face him.

Mycroft left the room and meandered around until a knock sounded at the door. It was Sherlock. Everyone rushed into the living room, with Lily at the lead to answer the door. Mycroft maneuvered such that he was just outside the mob, but not too far away. Visible, but not obtrusive, not obvious, not to be held liable. It wasn't like Mycroft wanted his sister to be blamed – for lack of a better word – but it was better than him, better than lowering his brother's already atrocious opinion of him. Sherlock's trust, though fleeting, came in handy every once in a while, and Dr. Watson's trust became even more so with each passing day, so it seemed.

"Surprise!" everyone shouted, starting with Lily and ending with grandma Molly and grandpa Arthur. Mycroft kept his peace and saved his voice.

Sherlock frowned disdainfully, but Mycroft couldn't help but notice how his first instinct was to glance at John, make sure he had not suffered from the "surprise," if it could be called one. Mycroft didn't miss the doctor's slight smirk at the attention, either. The greetings commenced. Everyone wanted a word with the "birthday boy" and no one seemed to feel like waiting. Mycroft didn't care either way. He waited at the edge of the crowd as it slowly moved forwards and dispersed. The people gradually refiled the room with more of an even spread and eventually Mycroft made it to his brother.

"Sherlock, happy birthday." he wore his most pleasant smile.

Sherlock had obviously decided not to dignify this with a response, not like Mycroft was genuinely surprised.

"Dr. Watson, nice to see you." Mycroft continued, not wanting to harbor any uncomfortable silences.

"Er... Nice to see you too, I guess." John replied. This time, it was Sherlock's turn to smirk.

Mycroft laughed a fake little laugh "Of course, of course. Brother dearest, do reconsider. I can assure you it'll be far from boring, at the very least."

"We're not doing it." Sherlock insisted, he sounded almost bored.

Mycroft could see all the signs of irritation; Sherlock was looking away from him, rather pointedly, his mouth kept twitching, as if he was barely containing some emotion, most telling, was how his entire body had clenched. Mycroft nodded and left without another word. Pressing his brother would obviously get him nowhere. As he walked away, Mycroft barely heard John murmuring something in Sherlock's ear.

Mycroft returned to the crowd, flitting past, he heard snatches, little snippets of conversation, nothing of note, really. What he needed to do was find Aunt Hermione. He spotted her across the room talking to Uncle George. Mycroft made his way over to them.

"James! How are you?" Uncle George exclaimed, upon noticing him.

"Well enough, thank you. And you?"

Uncle George grinned, "Great, the joke shop is thriving!"

"That's good to hear." Mycroft turned to his aunt, "Aunt Hermione, a word?"

"Of course." she followed him into a less busy hallway, where they were less likely to be overheard and could hear each other better, "What is it?"

"I've been trying to get Sherlock to agree to it, but he's too worried about Dr. Watson. If I talked to both of them, I might be able to pull it off, but at this point, it's not looking to our advantage." he explained.

His aunt frowned, "I can't say that was unexpected, but it would help the cause... Would they go for it if you could somehow get the sentence reduced?"

"That is a possibility, I'd have to pull some strings, but it is definitely a possibility."

"Well-"

"Hermione, there you are, dinner's about to start." Uncle Ron interrupted.

Mycroft followed them to the table. He found himself between Uncle Percy and grandpa Arthur. There was a toast. John had somehow convinced Sherlock to accept it and remain standing. They all sat. Lily waved her wand and dishes appeared on trivets all throughout the table.

She had really outdone herself; there was stew and fish and chicken and salad and meat pies and some heavy sauce. It all smelled delicious, and no doubt tasted just as good, taste is primarily determined by scent, after all, but Mycroft was on a diet, so he just sampled some of everything, and decided what to eat more of from there. He was trying to decide how much stew he should take for seconds when the smell of desert wafted in from the kitchen. Mycroft let his eyes close to better absorb the scent. He decided that was enough for seconds and quickly finished them off.

Everyone else was busy talking amongst themselves and eating, so Mycroft was left to eat in relative peace. It was nice, he was used to not talking much, anyone who spent a fair bit of their time at the Diogenes Club had to be. It wasn't the silence he was used to, but the homogeneous sound of conversation was comforting in an odd sort of way. Dinner came to an end and everyone made their way to the living room for presents before desert.

Most people hadn't brought presents. Lily had forgotten to mention them entirely, Mycroft would have requested that no one bring them, but the party was Lily's idea in the first place, so it was her decision. Sherlock looked on edge. John must have refused to let him leave the room during dinner, and it seemed Sherlock was regretting his decision to listen, more with each passing moment. Once everyone had entered the living room, Lily called for silence.

First, Lily handed Sherlock a box accompanied by a note from grandpa Arthur and grandma Molly. He tore it open to find one of grandma Molly's famous sweaters. After some nudging from John, Sherlock thanked them with a smile so obviously fake, Mycroft was surprised no one called him out on it. Then came mum and dad, who gave him some potions ingredients. Sherlock thanked them genuinely, without prodding. He had obviously needed the supplies, and it wasn't like he was going to take John on a date to Diagon Alley.

There was a pause, all eyes turned towards him, following some cue from Lily. Obviously it was Mycroft's turn to give his brother something.

"I must apologize, I showed up empty handed. There is something in the mail that you should find worth appreciating." Mycroft explained.

"Don't tell me it's more clothes." Sherlock replied, his eyes had fallen shut, his fingertips were pressed together.

John glanced at his partner, considered reprimanding him, and then decided that it wasn't worth it, Sherlock had suffered enough for the evening.

"Good guess, but it wouldn't be as fun if I told you, would it?" Sherlock and John had been the only ones to detect the slight threat to Mycroft's otherwise harmless jest.

"No, of course not." Sherlock replied, he didn't bother hiding the sarcasm in his statement.

"Now it's my turn!" Lily interrupted, a wide grin stretched across her face.

"First," Mycroft smirked, "Dr. Watson, I assume you brought something."

The doctor blushed, but it was far from obvious and his voice remained steady, not like Mycroft had expected any different from the man, "I believe I'll wait until Sherlock's actually birthday, if you don't mind, of course." he glanced at Sherlock – how sweet.

Sherlock smiled, genuinely this time, "Not at all."

"My turn now?" Lily asked again, just as eager as before, if not more so.

Silence fell and everyone turned towards her.

"Here." she handed Sherlock a simple, large brown envelope.

Sherlock opened it with a sort of delicacy and pulled out two sheets of paper. First, he read the letter, and then the roll of parchment that accompanied it. John read both over Sherlock's shoulder, but only a little ways down the first sheet, John excused himself and left for the bathroom. It was obvious he could barely keep a straight face and stop himself from laughing.

Mycroft's attention was brought back to his brother when Sherlock uttered a simple "No."

On the surface, he seemed as impatient and bored as ever, but Mycroft could see, beneath it all, his brother was panicking. It was something bad, very bad, then, something probably related to John, particularly from the way he was staring at the staircase John had just ascended.

"Albus," it was their mother, her voice was stern, reprimanding, "Don't be mean to your sister. It can't be that bad."

"It's an application for a 'wizard to witch matchmaking' service." Sherlock replied, as if it was something so obviously reprehensible he wasn't quite sure whey he was being asked.

Mycroft understood his brother's predicament well enough. He could have been more tactful, but that was Sherlock. It also happened to be the perfect opportunity for Sherlock to come out to the family, there wasn't any media, but someone would let it leak. Sadly, Mycroft could tell that letting anyone in the wizarding world know was far from his brother's mind.

"That's not that bad, is it?" their mother replied, "A few dates could do you good."

"Mum, I can't!" Sherlock insisted.

Mycroft couldn't help but feel bad for his brother. He made a mental note to look into that and fix it, feeling bad for people was a luxury he could not afford to have.

"And why not?"

"I- I'm married to my work." it was a lame excuse, and Sherlock knew it, "I have a life of my own and I don't need some idiot," he glared at Lily, "interfering in it."

"Albus!" Sherlock was going to get it now, "Apologize to your sister this instant. You will accept her present. It might do you some good."

"I apologize." Sherlock let out reluctantly, his eyes focused on the ground.

Only Mycroft could see the sadness, amidst Sherlock's reluctance. Suddenly, Sherlock turned to Mycroft, his eyes shone with a sort of wild desperation, mixed with pure hatred.

His voice dripped with poisoned honey, "James, I would hate to deprive you of such a wonderful opportunity, especially after your divorce."

"I'm sorry, I just can't accept. I'm a very busy man, no time." Mycroft hastened to reply.

Their mother interrupted, "No, that's a great idea, Albus, you can both go. I think it'd be a good experience for both of you." Her voice held a slight hesitation at agreeing with Sherlock's ambiguous intentions, but Mycroft could tell she wasn't going back down, not after she had said something.

"Of course, mother." Mycroft replied, his voice perfectly clipped and polite.

Sherlock couldn't believe it. It was done, game over, this was the end of his and John's relationship, and all it had taken was one stupidpresent from his stupid sister to ruin it all. John would be furious, and Sherlock couldn't say he blamed him. Sherlock didn't know much about relationships, that was all too true, but he knew that one of the first rules of an "exclusive relationship" was keeping it exclusive. That meant no dating, kissing, hugging, having sex with, or doing any of the like with anyone else. And this definitely classified as a date, with the intent of finding a permanent partner, none the less.

Sherlock was in an almost zombie-like state for the rest of the evening, never really conscious of what he was doing. He followed the crowd, did what was expected of him, took the path of least resistance. All the while, his mind was racing, he needed some way out of this, some way to make John understand that it was all against his will, that he was still trustworthy... He saw Mycroft's almost pitying looks and glared back.

John didn't return to the table for twelve minutes. Once he was back, he avoided Sherlock's eyes like the plague. Of course, Sherlock couldn't say he was surprised, John had to be so angry with him... Dessert finished and Sherlock and John made their way outside to catch a cab. It was then that John finally looked Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock kept his focus on the ground, he couldn't meet John's gaze and see the anger he knew he would find there.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked.

No reply.

John stopped in his tracks and forced the stubborn detective to look him in the eyes "Sherlock. What's wrong?"

"I-" even in such dire circumstances, Sherlock had to work to get out an apology, and the less proud half of him, the one concerned with not losing John, cursed his pride, but eventually he did manage to say, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about that damn gift, I don't want to go on dates with other people, but I don't have another choice. And I- I'm sorry for breaking your trust-"

His speech was cut off by riotous laughter from John.

"You're not mad at me..." Sherlock replied, half surprised, half suspicious.

Eventually John's laughter died down and he managed to reply, "No, I'm not mad at you." he kissed the detective on the lips for emphasis.

"Why?"

"Because I trust you. You're not going to run off with any of them. I'm more worried that you'll drive them to tears. Which you better not do. You have to be nice, and a proper gentleman." John laughed.

"But John..." Sherlock replied, laughing as well.

"Be nice. Show them a good time. Maybe you can even invite one over for dinner so I can meet your new friend."

Sherlock couldn't help but grin.