HP: I AM SHERLOCK HOLMES

Time slips through one’s fingers like sand, always gone before you notice.

A week had passed in the blink of an eye since Sherlock’s visit to Gemma’s house.

When he returned home, he had given a brief, matter-of-fact account of his time there. To Sherlock, it had been nothing more than a casual visit between friends.

Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, however, saw things quite differently.

Mrs. Holmes questioned him with patient, tireless thoroughness, intent on drawing out every last detail. Sherlock, for his part, showed little interest in indulging her.

”Gemma is a good girl,” Mrs. Holmes finally said, unable to help herself.

Sherlock was reading. He didn’t look up. ”I know, Mum.”

Mrs. Holmes opened her mouth. The words No, you don’t nearly came tumbling out.

She studied him in that utterly self-assured expression, his attention fixed entirely on the book in his hands and quietly swallowed a sigh.

The lesson of her eldest son was fresh enough to give her pause. When she had pushed Mycroft all those years ago, he had simply cut off every possible connection with the opposite sex, neat and final, and the worry of it hadn’t left her since.

So, for the sake of caution, she bit back what she’d been about to say.

At least for now, Sherlock still had girls like Gemma and Hermione in his life, and things between them all seemed perfectly natural. She could only hope that this time would be different.

It was just then that an owl with feathers sleek, eyes sharp and alert swept through the window and landed on the sill with a soft rustle of wings.

Sherlock recognized her at once. It was Gemma’s owl, Irene.

Irene circled the room once, then, to everyone’s surprise, flew directly to Mrs. Holmes and extended one leg toward her.

”For me?” Mrs. Holmes looked from the owl to Sherlock and back again, genuinely startled.

Sherlock himself was a little caught off guard. He set down his book and took a closer look.

Irene gave an impatient little cry and nipped affectionately at Mrs. Holmes’s fingers.

Understanding settled over him at once. ”It really is a letter from Gemma, addressed to you, Mum.”

Only then did Mrs. Holmes untie the small roll of parchment from Irene’s leg. Receiving post by owl was nothing new to her, Sherlock, Hermione, and Harry had all sent letters this way during their years at Hogwarts. Outside of school, Hermione and Harry tended to reach for the telephone, but the old method was familiar all the same.

Mrs. Holmes unrolled the parchment. A tidy, graceful hand met her eyes:

Dear Mrs. Holmes,

I hope this letter finds you well and hasn’t come at an inconvenient time.

The Easter holiday has flown by so quickly, and Sherlock will be heading back to school before we know it.

I wanted to write and thank you and Mr. Holmes again for the Easter eggs and sweets Sherlock brought over. Mum has been raving about the handmade sweets ever since, she says they tasted like something made with real warmth and care, and even Dad had a few more than usual (and he’s not much of a sweet-tooth, as a rule). They truly made our whole family feel so welcome.

When Sherlock visited, Mum and Dad were absolutely delighted, though they felt the time was far too short to have a proper chat. They still talk fondly about the lovely afternoon they spent at your home two years ago.

After talking it over with them, I hope you’ll forgive me for being so forward but would it be possible, if this weekend happens to suit you and Mr. Holmes, for the three of us to come and call on you? Mum and Dad would love to thank you in person, and I know they’d be so glad to catch up.

And of course, if Sherlock’s brother happened to be home as well, that would be a lovely bonus.

Sherlock always has so much on his plate at school, the Triwizard Tournament, on top of everything else and yet he always manages everything so brilliantly. I do hope our visit won’t cause you too much trouble.

Looking forward to your reply, and wishing you all the very best.

Yours sincerely, Gemma Farley

By the time she finished reading, every last trace of worry had left Mrs. Holmes’s face, replaced by a delight she could barely keep from spilling over. She read it through a second time to be quite certain she hadn’t misunderstood, then looked up, eyes bright, just as Mr. Holmes came downstairs.

”Darling! The Farleys want to come and visit, this weekend!”

Mr. Holmes smiled. ”It sounds as though Mrs. Farley was rather taken with your sweets. That’s wonderful news, dear. Of course we must have them.”

”Of course! Absolutely we must!” Mrs. Holmes was already thinking ahead. ”I’ll need to plan properly, their last visit was two years ago now. This time everything must be even better than before.”

She paused and looked at Gemma’s letter again with warm approval. ”What a thoughtful, considerate girl she is.”

She glanced across the room at Sherlock, who had apparently taken no notice of any of this and picked his book back up without a word.

”Gemma really is a remarkable young woman, Sherlock,” she added.

Sherlock looked up slowly. ”Yes, Mum. Her social graces have always been impeccable.” He paused. ”She also has a talent for achieving exactly what she sets out to do.”

The words were said lightly, without any particular emphasis. But they made Mrs. Holmes’s heart give a small, quick leap, as if her son had seen right through something she thought she’d hidden. What she felt most, though, was a warm gladness at Gemma’s initiative and thoughtfulness.

She wasted no more time. She sat down, took up pen and paper, and wrote a reply at once in a warm and eager invitation for the Farleys to come then handed it to Irene, who had been waiting patiently all along.

And time moved on again.

When the weekend came, sunlight fell through the windows into the carefully arranged Holmes sitting room. The air was rich with the scent of freshly baked scones and warm tea.

When the Farley family stepped through the Floo Network and into the living room, the atmosphere immediately turned cheerful and full of warmth. The stiff, slightly careful quality of that first meeting two years ago was entirely gone. Both sets of parents seemed relaxed, at ease with each other, genuinely glad to be there.

Mrs. Holmes pulled Gemma and Mrs. Farley into a warm embrace. Mrs. Farley had brought a box of her own handmade magical confections as a gift, and thanked Mrs. Holmes again, sincerely and with obvious feeling, for the Easter sweets.

”My dear Mrs. Holmes, your skill is simply extraordinary. Those sweets, they reminded me of the taste of my mother’s cooking when I was small.”

She clasped Mrs. Holmes’s hand, her eyes warm with genuine feeling.

”Oh, please, call me Violet,” Mrs. Holmes said, beaming. ”You’re far too kind, Mrs. Farley! Now please, come and sit down, the scones just came out of the oven.”

Mrs. Farley’s face lit up at the invitation to use first names. ”Of course, Violet. Then you must call me Eleanor.”

The two mothers exchanged a glance and a smile, a small ceremony completed.

On the other side of the room, Mr. Holmes and Mr. Farley had fallen into a quieter, steadier sort of conversation about London’s weather, small curiosities from the Muggle world before it gradually found its way, as conversations always did, to the children.

Mr. Farley spoke with genuine admiration of Sherlock’s performance in the Triwizard Tournament. Gemma, he explained, had given him a far more vivid and detailed account than anything in the Daily Prophet, which meant Mr. Holmes was hearing things he had not heard from his own son. Sherlock had said very little about it.

In return, Mr. Holmes asked warmly after Gemma’s dragon-taming work in Romania, and the exchange had all the natural ease of people who had become, without quite planning it, invested in each other’s families.

As for Mycroft, Mrs. Holmes had passed along Gemma’s request that he join them, but with the Easter holiday winding down, he had been swept back into his work, and he never appeared. It was a small absence that left no real gap in the afternoon.

The hours passed in easy laughter.

Mrs. Holmes and Mrs. Farley discovered they could talk about almost anything together, from the children’s childhood escapades to the finer points of cooking.

The two fathers ranged freely between the wizarding world and the Muggle one, each genuinely curious about the other’s perspective. Gemma drifted between the two conversations, adding a word here and there whenever Sherlock was asked about school.

Sherlock himself said little, but he was quietly present, willing to answer any question put to him, and occasionally offering a precise, dry observation that made the Farleys laugh with obvious affection.

There was something different about this visit compared to two years ago. Less tentative. More genuine. The warmth that moved through the afternoon was the warmth of people who were no longer strangers, drawing closer because of two young people who stood, without quite meaning to, at the center of it all.

On the last afternoon of the Easter holiday, at the crossroads near the Holmes house on King’s Road.

Sherlock, Gemma, and Mrs. Farley were saying their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. Mrs. Farley had offered to Apparate the two of them back to Hogwarts.

”Have you got everything?” Mrs. Holmes had already straightened Sherlock’s collar. Now she turned to Gemma, her eyes full of a reluctance she made no effort to hide.

Today’s parting meant she wouldn’t see the children again until summer.

”Everything’s packed, Auntie!” Gemma said with a smile.

Sherlock looked unruffled. ”There wasn’t much to bring.”

”Be careful, the third task of the Triwizard Tournament...” Mr. Holmes left the sentence unfinished, but the concern in it was plain.

”I will, Dad,” Sherlock said with a steady nod.

Mrs. Holmes looked once more at the two of them standing side by side, Sherlock composed and still, Gemma open and bright and felt something settle warmly in her chest.

She said everything she’d meant to say about staying safe, then reached out and took Mrs. Farley’s hand. ”Eleanor, knowing you’re the one taking them both back makes us feel so much better.”

”Trust Sherlock, Violet. The Tournament is no match for him.” She turned to the two young people. ”Are you ready, children?”

Gemma moved obediently to her mother’s side. Sherlock stepped calmly to the other.

”Thank you both again, so much, for your hospitality, Violet, and Mr. Holmes.” Mrs. Farley gave a warm nod to them both. ”We’ve had a truly wonderful holiday. Our Gemma is so lucky to have a friend like Sherlock.”

She put a slight stress on the word friend but the smile in her eyes was saying something else entirely.

Mrs. Holmes understood perfectly. She smiled back. ”Eleanor, you’re too modest. It’s we who are glad Sherlock has someone like Gemma. She’s extraordinary. Please, travel safely.”

”We will!”

Mrs. Farley replied warmly, then glanced down at the two young people beside her, her gaze lingering a moment on Sherlock. The fondness and approval in her expression were plain to see.

She stepped closer to Mrs. Holmes and lowered her voice. ”Violet, I mean this, I trust Gemma’s judgment completely. Sherlock is steady, he’s clever, he has real substance to him. More, I think, than either of us had at that age.” She paused. ”The fact that Gemma gets along so well with someone like him... honestly, it only makes us happy.”

Mrs. Holmes felt those words settle over her like something warm. She pulled Mrs. Farley into a quick hug and murmured back, ”Eleanor, you’re too kind. Gemma is lovely, open-hearted and considerate. The whole family adores her.”

They stepped apart. The look they shared said everything the words had not.

”All right, children, hold on tight.”

Satisfied there were no passersby, Mrs. Farley spread her arms and gathered both of them close. Sherlock quietly adjusted his footing. Gemma turned back toward the Holmes couple and gave them one last bright smile.

”Off we go!”

The words had barely left Mrs. Farley’s mouth when there was a sharp crack and a twist in the air, and all three of them vanished.

Mrs. Holmes stood where she was, looking at the spot where they had been. The smile on her face was slow to fade.

She breathed out slowly in a long, deep breath as though something that had been held tightly in her chest had finally, gently, been let go. What remained was quiet contentment and a pleasant sense of things to come.

Mr. Holmes put an arm around her shoulders, the smile still in his voice. ”It sounds as though Eleanor and we see things exactly the same way.”

”Exactly the same.” Mrs. Holmes nodded with great conviction, her eyes bright. ”Do you think it won’t be long before we have more good news to celebrate?”

”Let things take their course, dear. You know what Sherlock is like...” Mr. Holmes shook his head with a fond sort of amusement at the thought of his son.

”But things are certainly moving in a very good direction. They have a long road ahead of them still.” He paused.

”What about Hermione? Her father telephoned me last night, he’d heard about Sherlock’s visit to the Farleys.”

”Hermione must have told them!” Mrs. Holmes said immediately. ”Though it’s a little odd that Jane hasn’t rung me...”

”I have an idea,” Mr. Holmes said, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. ”Why don’t you tell Jane that the Farleys came to visit us this weekend?”

Mrs. Holmes looked at him with surprise. ”Tarquin, you...”

”They have such a long road ahead,” he said, and his smile widened. ”Who knows what else might happen along the way? Perhaps the best is still to come.”

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