Well, everyone, this is it. The final chapter of The Disappearance of Molly Hooper. I want to say a heartfelt thanks to all of you for reading and showing interest in this story. It has been a pleasure to write, and I hope a pleasure to read. In the midst of some recent changes in my life (I got a job! Very grateful, but unfortunately have mixed feelings about my compatibility long term - massive sigh), I have always looked forward to writing the next chapter and getting feedback from you, whether by review or a follow/favorite, or both, or all three!

On that note, if you guys have had as much fun with this crossover setup as I have and want to see more of any particular character or a situation etc., please feel free to send me a prompt. I would love to hear from you and see what I could do! You can send me a note here on ff, or find me over on tumblr (brookenado). Down the road I might write revisit this world in oneshots that sort of popped into existence as I wrote, as well. So keep an eye out!

Thank you again to everyone who reviewed the story, favorited and followed. Giant group hug! Now, what to expect this chapter? The end..? Enjoy! :)

star-eye - Haha, I am so glad you liked that bit as well! It popped into mind and just felt very John ;)

katdemon1895 - Thank you, I am so pleased you liked the chapter! And yes, Molly totally is ^^

Renaissancebooklover108 - Lol, batwitch indeed! XD

Disclaimer: One last time, now. This story wouldn't have happened if it weren't for the inspiring characters and setting that have been brought to life by the absolutely brilliant minds of Sir ACD, Moffat, Gatiss & co., and J.K. Rowling.

Sherlock lay on the couch in front of the dim glow of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room. He had been deposited there about an hour or two ago, and the effects of the curse were finally beginning to wear off. The thought, however, did not much improve his mood on that front.

After Molly had stumbled onto the scene, attention finally seemed to fall onto the fact that Sherlock couldn't move. (If Sherlock had ever wondered if the ForbiddenForest grew with human comfort in mind, he had his answer now. A resounding 'no'.)

Molly claimed to have gotten a bit turned around trying to find all of them – A definite possibility. When Molly is flustered, she is more likely to make simple mistakes. He continued to ponder.

After John had done another check for anything indicating Sherlock should be taken to the Hospital Wing, it was agreed upon that he would just have to wait it out. So, John had bent down to hoist him up and Molly rushed over to help bear Sherlock's weight as well.

Clearly muggleborns.

Sherlock had always found it mildly intriguing – the way in which the mind reacted differently for those who grew up around magic and those who grew up without knowing anything about it. Stressful situations bred the same basic emotional reactions, yet the instinct and the thought patterns could be vastly different.

As Sherlock had attempted to roll his eyes at the pair, Greg chuckled and cast a spell, shaking his head in amusem- On the other hand, Molly is a terrible liar.

His eyes stared unseeingly at the stone ceiling as his mind tried to unfold some hidden piece of the situation. Moments later he shook his head and resumed his train of thought, as if hitting 'play' on the pause button that had taken over his recollection.

"Mobilicorpus." Just like that Molly and John were unburdened as Sherlock was lifted from their shoulders. "Magic," Greg stated with exaggerated awe.

They walked (floated) across the quiet grounds, retracing their steps to the castle. By the time John and Greg had deposited Sherlock in the room, night was drifting lazily into morning.

"Well alright, then," Lestrade looked to John as he pocketed his wand and crossed his arms- Was she lying? Again, a nagging sensation broke through his musing.

There had been something, he couldn't quite put his finger on it, that had just seemed odd. Molly was both abuzz with energy and very on edge, yet quiet and introspective as they walked (floated). Sherlock huffed and turned on the couch, the movement a physical sign of his frustration with his broken.

John had given Sherlock a final glance to reassure himself that his mate was fine. The Slytherin already looked to be in his mind palace, paying neither boy any heed or thanks. "Yeah, let's call it a night."

"At least we know he won't be getting up to any more trouble until morning…" The pair walked out of the Slytherin domain to rejoin Molly, who had insisted on waiting outside. Miss. Molly. Hooper. Plain - but intelligent enough - and yet intrinsically different. Why? How?

In his mind palace, he once more visited the moment from hours before when John had finally actually listened, and turned him to face everyone. He had locked eyes with the flustered Ravenclaw. Her expression and countenance was familiar to him; brows knit slightly in apprehension, hands aflutter, brown eyes flitting around the clearing before settling directly on him. Wait.

His eyes snapped open. No. He sat up, movement having slowly returned to his body. The nagging feeling that the bat had looked so familiar resurfaced. But the eyes. They had been the exact shade of Molly's dark brown eyes. They had held the same intelligence, worry, and…kindness. The fur. Contrasting with the lighter shade, there had been a unique auburn streak starting at the top of the bat's head and trailing down its back. It was the exact shade of Molly's hair, which was almost always styled in a straight ponytail that fell past her shoulders. Animagus always had a marking that resembled their human selves to distinguish their animal form.

His hands went up to ruffle his hair in agitated excitement, brain suddenly thrust into overdrive. She had been working on the spell. The bat had been extremely aware of the events transpiring, flying into danger and acting in a manner opposite to an animal's natural instincts.

Sherlock jumped up, a little stiffly, and paced in front of the last dimly glowing embers in the fireplace. Oh-ho, when you have eliminated the impossible…The bat. Molly had been the bat. The bat was Molly! He turned on his heels and jumped. "Ha!" Wonderful!

Molly Hooper glanced around her in the cool night air. She had finally realized her animagus form last night (her steady mantra of 'I did it, I actually did it!' played in her head again), and she had been eagerly awaiting her chance to try it out and really take it all in.

She stood looking over the edge of the astronomy tower and exhaled. It was quite a long way down. Molly closed her eyes and exhaled again, excitement and terror making her heart beat faster. She stepped up onto the edge.

"Alright then, dad – are you watching?"

Her lips twitched slightly before she focused her mind solely on becoming her animagus form once more. The transformation was just as startling as it had been the previous night. Without warning she felt herself falling, picking up speed with every second. Oh god, why did I feel the need to start at the astronomy tower! I don't know what I doing!

Terrified, her first instinct was to cover her eyes, but her attempt to do so caused her wings to open partially. Her body was jolted as air suddenly caught the skin, her flailing drop halted with an unpleasant jerk. Ok. Ok. Breathe, the wings work. She shook her head. Duh. Of course they work.

Molly flapped her arms experimentally, awkward at first. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to stop thinking so much and let her new senses help her out as they had before. Relax. Stop over thinking it.

Slowing, her body steadied as she grew more comfortable. Ha ha, straight! Flying straight is good! After a while, when she felt she had a good grasp on the how to read the air and maneuver as a bat, Molly grew bolder, enjoying the experience immensely. I don't think I've ever felt so free.

In a burst of energy she flew up high in the air, climbing closer and closer to the heavens. With one last pump of energy she stopped her upward motion and hung in the air for an immortal second, caught between flight and free fall. Her eyes tried to take in as much of the star laden sky as she could. In that moment, she knew exactly what her dad had meant that he and her mum would always be with her. Molly Hooper experienced a rare moment of intense clarity as gravity started to pull her down. Everything is ok.

This time, she didn't freak out. Instead, she let herself dive down, wings tucked in close to her body. Her laugh came out as high pitched series of notes. Opening her wings again, she let an air current sail her into a wide sideways arc.

I wonder if…She carefully flew closer to the ground and looked for a suitable perch. Womping Willow – I think not. A-ha. It took a couple of tries, but Molly managed to perch herself on an overhang jutting out from the castle wall, effectively hanging upside down. She found the whole thing far too amusing, giggling – or whatever sound that was – as she enveloped herself in her wings to mimic the classic bat pose.

A happy, warm sensation spread through her body; something that hadn't quite been there for a while. It felt damn good.

Unbeknownst to Molly, a pair of sharp blue eyes had been following her movements from under the protection of an invisibility cloak.

Sure, Sherlock had been not been happy with Mycroft's delivered item and note (Really Sherlock, this is just embarrassing. The girl is heading to a familiar spot to the two of you…). But he snatched the cloak anyway, knowing it would be stupid not to. I'll have to keep it under better protection spells this time.

All antagonist thoughts were swept away as he came upon the scene just as the last of her human features were shifting and Molly began to fall. Sherlock didn't want to admit it, but his first instinct had been to rush to over, an elevated heart-rate driving him to clutch his wand tightly should he need to stop her fall. Admit it or not, it was exactly what he'd done.

She looked uncomfortable at first, her flying pattern quite dodgy. But as the night went on he could see the real transformation taking place. Her confidence grew, and the bat's cries clearly conveyed a feeling of pure joy.

It was amazing. Sherlock had never seen such a literal display of catharsis, and as he watched Molly fly in and out of view, he couldn't help but be captivated. A thought came to the forefront of his mind, surprising him with its strength. I want to fly with her.

He watched for a long while before heading back inside, even when she began to drift away from the area for more prolonged periods of time. A bat. As he waited for her to come back into view, an image from months ago came to mind; Molly Hooper in her oversized winter coat and a pale pink scarf, tiny infant bats crawling on her. His lips twitched. Of course.

He mused upon the matter more as he made his way back to the dungeons. Bats were unique creatures. They were the only mammal to have adapted to achieve true flight. They were awkward when out of their element, often times forgotten in the daylight, and misunderstood by many. But when they took to the skies they were focused, skillful, and he would add, had a grace of their own.

Sherlock felt that peculiar warmth spread through his body again. He rather liked that Molly was a bat, and more so, that he knew. How had she said it? I can see her.

The next morning, one Greg Lestrade was accosted by an overly excited Molly Hooper.

"I have to tell you something," Molly grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the doors of the Great Hall.

"Good morning to you, too. Very good, apparently," Greg let himself be maneuvered good naturedly, curious as to what had Molly so vibrant at this tie of day. It struck him that he hadn't seen this spark in her since her dad had passed. I hope it stays.

Once he was forcibly stopped, he looked down at his friend who was rocking the slightest bit back and forth on her shook his head slightly. "Well, what is it then?"

"Ok, I'm so sorry I haven't told you until now its just been…just that," Molly wasn't sure how to explain herself because the reasons seemed so silly now, especially when it came to Greg. Warm hands grasped her shoulders and warmer eyes looked bemusedly at her own.

"Molly, it's fine. Blimey - just tell me already!"

The words bubbled up in a burst of excitement as Molly explained how she was now officially an animagus, and why it had been so important.

"Are you serious? That's fantastic!" He engulfed her in a hug and lifted her from the ground for a moment, sharing in her triumphant excitement. After a moment of thought he added, "You have got to teach me. If not now, over the summer."

She grinned even more at the prospect of the two of them traipsing around as animals, curious to know if his animagus form would match his Patronus. That was most common in the case of a witch or wizard with both abilities. "Of course I will."

That very same morning, John Watson was met with an unusually eager Sherlock Holmes. John slathered another piece of toast with strawberry jam and glanced across the table at his friend. Predictably, Sherlock hadn't touched his food. Instead he looked a little manic, bringing a hand up to rake through his hair every two minutes and staring across the room. Looking over his shoulder, John saw nothing but the usual row of tables filled with students.

Hang on, we've been here before. He turned and looked again, this time completing Sherlock's gaze to Molly. Ah yes. Molly herself seemed very lively for a change, chatting excitedly with Greg.

"What is it this time? New 'mystery' involving Molly?" His tone was teasing, before sobering as he thought that through. "Though I really hope that's not the case considering, you know, what it all revolved around this time." he stared at his plate.

"I thought the case was closed, myself. It is closed," he paused as his hair got another good ruffle. "I'm not sure I understand it, John."

Pushing his plate aside, John leaned forward to give Sherlock his full attention. "Understand what?" His tone was very gently probing, and he watched as the Slytherin debated with himself whether or not to confess.

The debate lasted a week and three days. John had simply assumed he wouldn't get an answer, and chalked it up as another bit of Sherlock Holmes he would never get the chance to fully understand.

A rather bizarre turn of events brought it up again. Walking down to dinner late, John had pulled Sherlock away from their usual spot to join Greg, Molly, Sally, and Anderson. It was the end of the school week and John was not in the mood to talk to a wall. Unsurprisingly, Sherlock refused to acknowledge Anderson (not that Anderson was any happier), and Sally and Sherlock managed to maintain a strained peace that had come about during Molly's devastating loss.

John may have given Sherlock a light elbow to the back so that Slytherin was seated next to the Ravenclaw. At Sherlock's accusatory glare, he simply shrugged his shoulders and looked about innocently before walking around to sit next to Greg.

Dinner was amiable enough. Anderson bowed out first, followed a bit later by the Molly, Greg, and Sally who had all been at dinner before John and Sherlock had arrived.

Just outside of the Great Hall, Molly smacked her head lightly and stopped mid-stride. "I almost forgot! I have something in my bag that I need to give to Sherlock before it goes bad."

"Of course you do," Greg rolled his eyes at her.

"Right, 'things that go bad' – and I have a distinct feeling you don't mean a pudding or something – we're out," Sally deadpanned, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

Shaking his head and crossing his arms, Greg added, "Definitely not our division." The phrase had become an ongoing joke between them.

Rolling her eyes back at both them, Molly waved them away. "Yeah, yeah," she began dismissively, "I've got it. You can't handle the Molly." She then turned on her heels and started to march purposely back the way they'd come.

At the exaggerated display, one voice began with a "Look out Hogwarts," and the other took over with a, "Here comes the Molly." They finished it off by whistling and making other similarly ridiculous noises – just as she was walking into the large room semi-laden with students. They would.

Molly quickly ducked her head and turned her strides into more of a shuffling motion. She spared her friends a sideways glance that all but said, stop embarrassing me you horrible, horrible people!

She sincerely hoped she looked unperturbed and relaxed by the time she reached John and Sherlock again, though she had her doubts. "I, um, have something for you," she spoke to the latter. Digging inside her rucksack, Molly mumbled as she tried to find it. "There you are," she muttered, finally pulling out a small glass jar. "I found it the other day by the lake. Put a stasis charm on it to preserve the cultures, but I don't think it's going to stay fresh much longer, regardless."

Sherlock immediately perked up as he recognized the specimen in the jar.

John raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Eh, what exactly is…" he trailed off pointing a finger at whatever it was he was failing to describe, "that?" It looked like a tiny, bottled up slime monster.

"Oh, well, if I'm correct, it's a particular type of algae that only grows in the lake when certain bacteria have entered the environment. It doesn't happen this far north that often, which is why I thought I'd bottle some up," she paused before speaking directly to Sherlock. "I remember you mentioning that you had preliminary theories on the properties of the bacteria when under certain environmental influences. And, erm, I thought you might want to have some."

Sherlock took the proffered jar, examining the specimen more closely. While studying the contents, he asked Molly, "Find this on an evening flight, hmm?" His tone was surprisingly playful.

Molly's eyes flickered in surprise before she tried to mask any reaction from his words. Maybe he just chose that word at random, she thought optimistically. No, Sherlock doesn't do random. Damn.

"I think you can take that as a thank you," John joked, unaware of the wordplay. Before she could reply, a small group of fifth years walked by and made a point of purposefully elbowing and shoving Molly and making "tsk" sounds, leering past.

Not expecting the contact, Molly was easily jostled, her frame hitting the tableside and bench, making her wince. Before she could do anything else, they were already past the table and headed out. Sherlock was looking at the backs of the group with narrowed eyes, John was confused as hell and looked to be on the verge of yelling at them, and Molly was rubbing one of her knee caps with a grimace.

John broke the silence. "What was that about?"

Molly heaved a sigh and before looking back up at John and shrugging her shoulders. "Haven't you heard, John?" Molly began, cheeks still flushed but smiling a bit cheekily as she continued, "I'm a dungeon bat."

John was about to ask for further explanation and refute the statement when something made him pause mid breath. He couldn't believe his ears. It had started as a surprised sort of snort, but now Sherlock was full on chuckling to himself.

That great clod! He was about to kick the Slytherin under the table for his inappropriately timed giggling when another laugh joined in. What? Something is going on here.

Well. He knows. Molly decided she just didn't care as she laughed quietly with him. The group that had just passed had little idea just how true their usual taunt was now. Gathering herself, she reached over the table to pat John's hand, for he looked utterly lost. "Oh, you shouldn't be so surprised John. Not everyone likes me. You've known I was a bit of an oddball since we were kids."

"Molly outperformed everyone on our most recent potions exam," Sherlock explained to clarify the situation to the Gryffindor. "I fear our peers are rather more adept at holding a grudge than they are at making potions."

"Molly, why didn't you give them detention or something? You are a prefect…hang on, you're admitting that she outperformed you?" He turned his head dramatically to look at Sherlock. His friend looked utterly nonplussed.

"Oh the exam was a waste of time. We've already made the potion, why make us do it again? Boring, John."

"He brewed a Draught of Living Death instead to show his feelings on the matter," Molly interjected ruefully. "And to answer your question, John, they just aren't worth giving the satisfaction of a reaction to. If it becomes a bigger problem, I'll take care of it."

Shaking his head at Sherlock, John spoke with exasperation. "It's a wonder that you aren't bloody kicked out of here, mate."

Molly bid them goodnight once again not long after that, and Sherlock quietly thanked her for the specimen.

After a period of companionable silence between the two in which Sherlock was still looking intently at the jar, turning it this way and that, he carefully spoke.

"Molly, John," his words were oddly quiet.

John looked up at him in confusion. "Ok, yes, Molly. …Molly what?"

"I'm not sure I understand it," he mock repeated his words from a week and a half ago.

"Molly?"

"Not just Molly," Sherlock sighed. "Myself. This…it." John waited for him to expand. When he didn't, John used what he'd learned from being friends with Sherlock to guess what he was hinting at.

"Is it," John began a bit uncertainly, "Is it that she makes you feel sentiment, Sherlock?"

"No."

Taken aback by the immediate reply, John was even more blown away by his friend's next string of words.

"It's that she makes me want to feel sentiment." Sherlock closed up after that and wouldn't meet John's eye, as if he was particularly ashamed.

John didn't push or pry after that. Doing so would prove to be counterproductive, he knew.

Instead he was just very glad to know that Sherlock Holmes trusted him enough to divulge what must seem to him, right now, as his biggest weakness and a failing. I just hope Molly has the patience of a saint. Because if this is really meant to be, it's going to take a lot of time. John had thought for some time that if anyone was out there to complement Sherlock, it was Molly.

Later that night, back in his dormitory, John was still thinking about the pair. He sighed and brought his arms up to rest behind his head.

His Slytherin and Ravenclaw were going to need some help, a little nudge in the right direction every now and then. And, fortunately for them, they happen to be friends of one John Hamish Watson. Greg would be graduating soon, but John thought he knew exactly who could help him out. She was the first member of Sherlock's 'student network', and Molly had a huge soft spot for her.

Oh yes, this thing is going to work if I have anything to say about it.