#wizardlock

Sherlock had never been the best at apparition. He knew how to do it but he always seemed to just slightly miss his coordinates. Mycroft made fun of him endlessly for it. Today though seemed to be far worse than the mishaps before. Sherlock who was aiming for St. Barts had managed to apparate into some Muggles house quite unexpectedly.

He had appeared in the air, near the ceiling of the room and promptly fell the small distance down and onto the dining table. Plates of breakfast clattered, a pitcher of milk was upturned and Sherlock thinks he felt a fork's tongs stab him in his right arse cheek.

“Bloody hell!” A voice yelled, “What the fuck?”

Sherlock sat up and looked over to the muggle man who had until his unwanted arrival been sitting down to a full English breakfast.

“Apologies,” Sherlock stated matter of factly. “It was not my attention to appear in your home.”

The blond man just continued to stare at him. Sherlock did a quick sweep of the man but before he could say anything else there was a gun pointed at his head.

“Who are you and how the hell did you get in here?” The muggle demanded.

Sherlock quirked a brow, this muggle was refreshingly not dull. Interesting.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?” Sherlock enquired, not answering the ex-soldiers question.

“Afghanistan…” The man answered automatically, then seemed to chastise himself for it “Answer my question or I’ll shoot you.”

Sherlock shrugged, “No.” he glanced down at the plate in front of the muggle picked up a slice of bacon and popped it into his mouth.

“Yes, I will. I grant you it’s not every day someone magically falls through my ceiling onto my dining room table but that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot you.”

“Your left-hand says otherwise.” Sherlock snarked.

“I’m sorry what?”

“Your left hand, it’s quite obvious the gun isn’t loaded. You see here,” Sherlock pointed to the man’s wrist. “If the gun was loaded your wrist would be under more strain with the additional weight of a full magazine. Here, the trigger is not engaged. So it’s not that you ‘won’t’ shoot me. It’s that you cannot. Be assured though that I am sure if the gun had been loaded I would be in fear of my life.” Sherlock paused and started at the muggle. “You’re an army doctor.”

The blond muggle lowered his gun and stared gobsmacked at the stranger sitting crossed legged in front of him on top of his breakfast. “That was amazing.”

“That’s not what people usually say.”

“What do people usually say?”

“Piss off.”

“What do you mean you didn’t obliviate him?” Mycroft was being annoying again. Why did siblings have a predisposition to pissing off their kin?

“He lives alone, in a shoebox of a flat, just returned from military service with no friends in London and not on speaking terms with his family. Who exactly is he going to tell Mycroft?” Sherlock was tired of the conversation, he’d been tired of it the moment Mycroft had walked through the door to 221B.

“Sherlock, you know the Statute of Secrecy exists for a reason. It protects us from being exposed to the Muggles. I don’t need to tell you how they have historically reacted to our kind.”

Sherlock sighed, the kind that used his whole body. His chest expanded and then as all the air rushed out of his lungs his shoulders lowered and his posture shrunk. “I know how the law works, brother dear. I do work for both the Muggle and Magical police.”

“Then you understand why I will be immediately sending obliviators to this muggles house and, once again fixing up your mess. Really Sherlock, you need to either give up on apparition or focus a bit more. The three D’s and all that.” Mycroft waved a hand absently.

“No!” Sherlock threw himself out of his armchair. “You’ve made your point crystal clear, I’ll visit John again and wipe his memory. Happy? Now, don’t you have a war to start? Surely the ministry needs you back, it certainly can’t run itself.”

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed as he watched Sherlock throw on his Belstaff and scarf. “Very well, I’ll let you handle this.”

CRACK! THWUMP!

“Jesus Christ!”

“John! It’s Sherlock, really. I thought I explained that yesterday.”

“Sherlock! You can’t, bloody-Stop… Materialising onto my kitchen table. Fucks sake, you gave me a heart attack you posh git.” Sherlock’s eyes swept over John’s body again, just like they had yesterday morning. It felt like being under a microscope.

“Move in with me.”

“I’m sorry what?” John frowned.

“Move. In. With me.” Sherlock said with a precise slow pronunciation like he was talking to a three-year-old.

“I heard what you said, git.” John huffed and shoved the tall dark and handsome magical man off his kitchen table. Why the bastard kept appearing out of thin air only to slam onto it was beyond John’s understanding.

“Well? Hurry up, get your stuff and I will apparate us back home.”

“Sherlock, you… We just met. I don’t know a thing about you, I don’t even know where ‘home’ is. I’m not going to move in with some sorcerer who magically fell into my flat. I know you’re smarter than that.” John rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Wizard, John. Not sorcerer. I told you yesterday. I apparated and miscalculated my landing, which unfortunately enough ended up with me landing in your breakfast. Ruined my trousers. Those cost me 50 galleons, you know? The price you pay for fireproofing these days is beyond reason.”

“Right, I’m going to pretend that I understood everything you just said.”

“Good, things will move much faster if you take my word as gospel. Now, get your stuff.”

John just stared at the crazy ‘wizard’ for a few minutes before he pushed himself up out of his chair and started packing up his meagre belongings. “I must be certifiably insane for going along with this.”

“Sir?” Anthea called as she looked up briefly from her blackberry.

“Yes?”

“It would appear that Sherlock has a new flatmate.”

“Oh for Merlin's sake!”

“You’re very loyal, very quickly.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just not interested.”

“You’d do anything… Anything at all… To stop being bored. You’re not bored now, are you?”

BANG!

“The bullet they just dug out of the wall’s from a handgun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon – that’s a crack shot you’re looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter. His hands couldn’t have shaken at all, so clearly he’s acclimated to violence. He didn’t fire until I was in immediate danger, though, so strong moral principle. You’re looking for a man probably with a history of military service… and nerves of steel… Actually, do you know what? Obliviate.”

“Good shot.” Sherlock all but purrs the moment he is standing in front of John. It’s not the thought of death that has his heart racing and palms sweaty. It’s the thought of John, protecting him. John. The very, very interesting muggle shooting a serial killer to save a wizard he met three days ago.

“Yes, must have been, through that window.” John muttered and gestured unconvincingly towards the mess of police cars and flashing lights.

“Well, you’d know.” Sherlock grins for a moment before looking concerned, “Are you alright?”

John frowns, “Of course I’m alright.”

“Well, you have just killed a man.” Sherlock steps closer, invading John’s personal space.

“He wasn’t a very nice man…” John shrugs and unconsciously leans into Sherlock warmth. His coat must be magic too, it radiates warmth and it’s very cold out on the street tonight. John can see their breath misting in front of him, mixing in the air between them.

“No. No, he wasn’t really, was he?”

John grins up at Sherlock, “And frankly a bloody awful cabbie.”

Sherlock chuckles, he can feel something building in the air between them but he’s not sure what it means. “That’s true. He was a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!” John loses the grip on his mirth and a giggle bursts forth from his lips. Sherlock wants to kiss him.

“Stop! Stop, we can’t giggle, it’s a crime scene! Stop it!”

“You’re the one who shot him. Don’t blame me.”

“Keep your voice down!”

They were back in 221B now, several Chinese food containers spread around them. Sherlock was showing off some of his magic for John, it was brilliant. Sparks of blue, purple and orange exploded from the end of his wand and he twirled it around his fingers.

“So can transfigure anything into anything else?” John asked, he was desperate to know and understand more about the world Sherlock came from. It was beyond amazing.

“To a point, you can’t transfigure say that chair into a sandwich and get any nutritional benefit from it. You also can’t conjure things willy-nilly, it has to exist somewhere for you to bring it forth.” Sherlock explained. “I have my old textbooks here somewhere, you could read them if you like?”

John nodded and shifted forward in his red armchair towards Sherlock. They were sitting facing each other in front of the fire. It was very warm and cosy and John thought that if he got to spend every night just like this for the rest of his life in Baker Street he would die a very happy man. John overbalanced a bit and ended up with one knee on the floor between Sherlock’s legs, and one hand braced firmly on one of Sherlock’s long legs. “Uh…” John hesitated to push himself back up into his chair.

Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered and his pupils blew wide, “I don’t mind.”

John stayed, kneeling on the floor and just looked at Sherlock. He was painfully beautiful, a bit public school, posh beyond reason and more charming that John would ever admit out loud. “Do you… I mean.” John cleared his throat and shifted his position on the floor. His hand was stroking Sherlock's leg. He tried to make himself stop but found it impossible.

“Sherlock, do magical people ever date… Non-magical people?” John wanted to shoot himself in the head. That wasn’t very smooth Watson. He chastised himself mentally.

“All the time.” Sherlock breathed softly and, miracle of miracles he spread his legs further apart which caused John to shift further off his chair and to reach out for balance with his other hand. Now John had both his hands on Sherlock Holmes thighs.

“Could you see yourself, well… Would you like… Hmm…” John cleared his throat again. He was never good at this talking stuff.

“John, would you like to go to bed with me?”

“Oh god yes.”

“Jesus Christ!” John gasped.

Sherlock pulled his mouth off John’s cock with a wet pop. “John, I told you. It’s Sherlock. I don’t know who this Jesus person is you keep yelling about. It’s certainly quite rude to be calling out another person's name while I fellate you.”

John blinks stupidly at Sherlock for a moment before he bursts out laughing. “You-hahaha-You don’t know-bloody-hehe-HA!”

“John?”

“Sherlock… What do you say when you want to swear, like bloody hell, or shit or gods sake?”

“Merlin. In my world we say: Merlin’s knows, or for Merlin’s sake.”

“Right, so I’m not calling out some other bloody guys name. I’m simply saying in my muggle way, your mouth is fantastic and I can’t think clearly enough to say anything meaningful. Just curse.”

“Oh! I see. You are forgiven then, John.” Sherlock smiles a gigantic goofy smile up at John before he plunges his mouth down over his cock.

“Fuck!”

Sherlock hums happily and shifts his position slightly, then he takes John so far down his throat that the wizard’s nose is buried in John’s pubic hair.

“SHERLOCK!”

There was an incessant ringing noise. Sherlock wanted it to stop, he was warm and comfy in bed and he very, very much didn’t want to get up to answer his mobile phone.

“Sher’ock…” John grumbled, rolled over and grabbed Sherlock’s still ringing phone and shoved it into the detective's hand. “Answer.”

Without looking at the caller ID Sherlock swiped his thumb over the screen and held the phone to his ear. “Sherlock Holmes, speaking.”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” His mother’s angry voice greets him through the speaker, “How dare you obliviate your brother's boyfriend!”

“Mummy-”

“Don’t you ‘mummy’ me young man, I had to spend all morning restoring Greg’s memory.”

“But John-”

“Oh yes, John. I expect you’ll be bringing him along for Christmas this year?”

“Well… We don’t-”

“I’ll make sure your old room is set up with a double bed dear, Toodle-oo!” There was a beep, and mother ended the call. With a groan, Sherlock dropped his phone off the side of the bed before turning and curling himself around John’s warm naked body.

“Jaaaawwwnnn…” Sherlock whines before John quiets him with a sleepy kiss.

Did you really dob me into Mummy about one memory charm? - SH

Are you Twelve? - SH

Enjoy Christmas, little brother. Gregory and I will be spending the holiday season in Paris - M

How mature of you. - SH

You’re going to love the gift we got Mummy, three tickets to a production of Les Misérables. - M

Fuck you. - SH

“It’s magic John, it’s not going to hurt you.” Sherlock rolls his eyes at his boyfriend as they walk down the aisle at their local chemist.

“I believe you, I just... Well. It’s not really fair, is it? You can conjure lube whenever you want, and that’s fine for you but what if I wanna keep you mindless with lust for me hmm? I don’t like breaking the mood to have to bring your wits back long enough for you to twizzle your wand.”

Sherlock’s mouth drops open, “I don’t twizzle!”

“Jaawwwwwnnnnn!!” Sherlock moans exceedingly loudly. Thank god for silencing charms, John thinks to himself. Otherwise, Mrs Hudson wouldn’t ever get any sleep, for being two almost forty-year-old men they were like randy teenagers once they were alone for any period of time.

John was currently three fingers deep into Sherlock arse, both of them sweaty and panting. They’d just chased and caught a murder and had come home full of energy, adrenaline and ready to fuck each other into next week.

Sherlock had dropped to his knees and with a wave of his hands (wandless magic) John was totally naked with his throbbing cock shoved down Sherlock's throat. Over the last six months of their relationship, John had gotten more blow jobs that he ever thought possible in his lifetime. Sherlock loved having John in his mouth. Oral fixation wasn’t even close to describing Sherlock’s addiction to sucking John off.

That was over an hour ago now, and they’d somehow made it into their shared bedroom. They hadn’t ended up needing the one upstairs after all. Sherlock was spread out on the mattress, legs splayed wide, pulled up to his chin as John fucked him open with his hands.  

“Johnjohnjohnjohnjohn!” Sherlock chants like an incantation as John rubs his rough fingertips over his prostate. “Please! John! I can’t!”

“Begging for my cock already, you gorgeous posh thing?” John is panting, he is so worked up and ready to just fuck that he can barely coordinate his limbs into position above Sherlock. “Hold your legs up, love.”

“Hhhuuuummmmmmmfffff!” Sherlock whines as John slides the head of his prick up and down Sherlock's arsehole. The tip of his cock catches on Sherlock’s rim and slips inside. “AH! YES!” Sherlock’s hips rock back onto John and he grinds down.

“Christ! Sherlock, just… Let me. Fucking hell you’re so hot.”

“Hurry up and put your penis into my anus now or I swear to Merlin I will hex you!” Sherlock growls when John pulls away to adjust himself.

John giggles, “Easy now, genius.” After a few seconds and a few adjustments of Sherlock’s trembling legs John finally, finally manages to push into Sherlock.

“About time!” Sherlock groans and pushes back against John.

“If you’d just, bloody wait we would have been at this faster. Bloody, impatient.”

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Ohhh, what a shame. Looks like the production of Les Misérables has been rescheduled due to a rampant stomach bug that has gone through the whole cast. - SH

right thats it im not giving you any cases for a week

its greg bythe way

Obviously - SH

“This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

“John. What the hell ...?”

“Bet you never saw this coming.”

“What ... would you like me ... to make him say ... next?”

“There now – we’re both defrocked… Mr Sherlock Holmes.”

“Miss Adler, I presume.” Sherlock was both stunned and impressed at Irene Adler’s gall to stride, happy as you please, into a room completely naked with a total stranger. What shocked him even further, was her next statement.

“Look at those cheekbones. I bet you had all the girls at Hogwarts vying for your attention.” Adler gave the detective a cheshire grin before her lidded eyes shifted to watch John walk into the room with a bowl of water. “Pitty you play the other side of the fence, in more ways than one.”

“I’ve missed something, haven’t I?” John asked, staring at the naked woman standing in front of his boyfriend.

Sherlock stands and removes his coat, handing it to Adler. His eyes narrow and sweep over her form. “You’re a squib.”

“Oh, brainy is definitely the new sexy. You’re quite right, Detective.”

“You’re having me on, Sherlock.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Dragons?”

“Yes.”

“They’re real?”

“Very.”

“Avada Kedavra!”

The bright green light of the spell cracks like lighting past Johns' head. He ducks and rolls under a lorry that is parked on the street. It’s pissing down with rain so thick and heavy it’s almost like a physical wall. John knows that green spell, he’s only ever seen it used once before and he’d never wanted to see it ever again.

“Everte Statum! Arania Exumai!” Sherlock’s voice is firm and strong. There is a small explosion and two of the cars on the street start to wail as the blast causes the alarms to trigger.

John and Sherlock had been tracking down one of Moriarty’s goons. They hadn’t realised he was a wizard too until too late. Sherlock had shoved John to the ground the moment their attacker had spun around, wand drawn.

“Orbis! Carpe Retractum! I knew it! You’re a wizard after all, Holmes!”

“So I am, you too Moran? Interesting that you never told your boss!” Sherlock called back.

John rolled over to the other side of the lorry and started to climb out from underneath. He spotted Sherlock crouched behind a skip in the mouth of an alleyway. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s and narrowed.

“Colloshoo!” Sherlock shouted, pointing his wand at John. John gasped, and tried to move away from the lorry but his legs appeared to be stuck to the road.

“Shit!” John hissed, Sherlock had used his magic to force him to stay under the lorry. John shot a glare over to the alleyway but Sherlock had already moved down the street closer to their target.

The buildings were lit up with bright purples, reds, whites and oranges as the two wizards duelled. Mycroft would not be happy once he found out Sherlock had participated in an extremely public display of magic in the middle of Muggle London. John tried to pull his legs free of the sticking charm but found it impossible.

“Defodio! Engorgio Skullus!”

John heard the snap, crack of apparition and glanced down the other end of the street. Moran had appeared behind Sherlock. “SHERLOCK!” John yelled and tried again to move out from below the truck, but it was no use. It was like he was cemented to the floor.

Moran’s shoes appeared beside John’s head for a second before the mad ex-soldier laughed. “You’ve lost Holmes! How about I finish this now aye? I’ve always wondered how flammable muggles are. Incendio Tria!”

“NO! JOHN!” Sherlock screamed.

Suddenly John was surrounded by heat. There was fire all around him, burning him. His jeans were alight, his belt buckle felt like it was burning a hole through his stomach and he couldn’t move because Sherlock had glued him down with magic.

Over the roar of the fire, John could just make out Sherlock yelling more spells. “Mobiliarbus! Levicorpus!”. With a sudden violent jerk, John’s ankles were yanked up over his head and he found himself hanging upside down.

“Aguamenti! JOHN! Reducto!” John heard Sherlock calling him, and he yelled out that he was okay, a bit wet and battered now that Sherlock had basically hit him with the magical equivalent of a fire hose. But at least he wasn’t on fire anymore.

“You’re lucky John’s alive, Moran. If you had killed him I would rip you apart with my bare hands.” Sherlock growled.

John pried his eyes open and took in the scene from his upside-down position hanging over the flipped and somewhat burned lorry. Moran sneered at Sherlock and flicked his wand towards the detective.

“Obscuro! Herbifors!”

“Immobulus!” With a thump, Moran’s back smacked onto the pavement, his whole body stiff as a wooden board. “John! John are you alright? John!” Sherlock was shouting again, his wand movements were frantic as he lowered John into his arms.

“Bloody christ Sherlock, don’t you dare, ever stick me to anything ever again!” John croaked and clutched Sherlock’s shoulders in a tight grip.

“John! You’re okay, thank Merlin.”

John couldn’t stop the chuckle, “Hope you like you’re not adverse to partners that are a bit smoked?”

John shifted into a more comfortable position on the bar stool. Greg Lestrade dropped heavily down next to him and placed a pint in front of the Doctor. They drank and watched the footie in silence for a while before John broke the quiet.

“Do you let Mycroft conjure lube?”

“What?”

“You know that twizzle thing they do with their wands?” John attempted to recreate the wand movement with a discarded straw he’d been playing with.

“No idea what you’re talking ‘bout, mate.”

“Oh, well… Guess that’s a spell Sherlock knows that Mycroft doesn’t.”

“Sherlock?” John called his lover's name gently, he’d waited for a moment for a reaction or answer to his question but when none had been forthcoming he’d decided to prompt the wizard. Sherlock continued to stare at John and just blink quickly in succession. John waited again. “It’s getting a bit scary now, love?”

“Oh! John!” Sherlock gasped, appearing to suddenly come back to himself. He looked down at John’s hands, where John was still holding out the engagement ring he’d offered to Sherlock a moment ago.

“There you are.” John smiled and reached out to take Sherlock’s left hand. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“Oh! Yes, please. I mean. Of course! Let’s get married!”

“Wow.” All the air seems to have left John’s lungs. Sherlock blushes and lowers his eyes for a moment. “You… You’re not. It’s bad luck for the groom to see-”

“John. I am not a bride.”

“Yeah, okay.” John nods, he can’t believe Sherlock snuck into his dressing room before the ceremony. John had wanted to follow muggle tradition and not see his intended spouse in all his glory until the moment they met in front of the celebrant.

“I had to see you,” Sherlock admits and his blush deepens. “I’m really nervous, and well… I thought.” He shrugs and just stands there. He looks so small and adorable that John can’t be mad at him.

John walks over to his fiance and pulls him into his arms. “Why are you nervous, love?”

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asks in a whisper.

“Of course I’m sure, Sherlock. I asked you, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes… but-”

John cuts him off with a soft kiss, they pull each other closer and when John pulls away he rubs his nose against Sherlock’s. “I love you, you’re the only one for me, Sherlock. Every since you fell, almost literally into my lap.”

Sherlock took a deep breath and focused on not crying. Not yet. Maybe later. When John would say ‘I do’ and Sherlock would answer the same and then they would kiss and then they would be married.

“It’s always you John Watson. Even if your fork has left a scar on my behind.”

“I promise I’ll kiss it better every day for the rest of our lives.”

“I love you too, John.”

“Oh my god, Sherlock!” John slammed their fridge door closed and stormed into their living room. “What the fuck is in our fridge?”

“Hmm? Oh! You mean the bubotuber pus?”

“Is that what that foul smelling green gunk is? What the hell is it doing in our fridge, my dear Husband?”

Sherlock shrugged and turned back to his murder wall, they had been tracking a new serial killer. “I wanted to see if cooling the pus would change the effects of the potions it was used in.”

“Right, as soon as this chase is done we’re buying you another fridge and it’s going upstairs for you to use for… Pus. The one down here is for food only.”

“Avifors.” Sherlock whispers the moment John and he are alone with Anderson.

“Sherlock!” John snapped, “You can’t keep hexing Anderson!”

“Shhhh… John, not so loud!”

“Don’t shush me, Houdini. I may not be a wizard, but I sure as hell know you can only modify a person's memory so many times before you turn their brain to mush! You can’t keep turning Anderson into a bird forever.”

“Let me dream, John.”

Sherlock’s phone lit up and made an orgasmic ‘ahhh!’ sound.

“Sherlock! Irene’s texted you again!” John called to his husband from the kitchen.

“I heard! Coming!” There was the patter of footsteps from the stairs as the detective clattered down from their spare bedroom which after many arguments had become Sherlock’s laboratory.

“What’s she want this time?” John asked as he flipped the prime steaks he was cooking for their dinner. They were having a domestic night tonight, no cases. They tried to have at least a few nights in a month to just enjoy being home together without running around London after dark wizards or serial killers. John would make dinner (‘Can we have the thing with the peas again, John?’) and they’d share a bottle of wine, snog on the couch and then shag until they collapsed together into a deep sleep until noon the next day.

“Oh, how exciting! John! Hopkins asked Molly to marry her and Molly said yes!” Sherlock did a little happy dance, which, obviously he would never admit to having done.

“Excellent! How did Irene find out?” John leant around Sherlock to read the text.

“Says she knew the waiter at the restaurant, he was one of her clients tonight.”

“Of course she did.”

Sherlock couldn’t stop giggling, which made John smile. “Sherlock, I’m trying to get you off here and you won’t stop laughing! It’s like you’ve been hit with that laughing jinx you showed me.”

“I’m sorry John, it’s just… I’ve just realised, well. Everything worked out, didn’t it? You and I are married, you’re totally okay with magic. We haven’t been killed or maimed chasing murderers, Molly and DI Hopkins are together. Lestrade and Mycroft are some weird version of permanent friends with benefits.”

John snorted, “Greg doesn’t want to get married again, not after that mess with his ex-wife. I bet Mycroft has secretly had the paperwork filed.”

“Probably.” Sherlock agreed with a shrug. “Moriarty’s dead, Moran’s in Azkaban. Irene and Kate are off somewhere in Europe on another sex-holiday. Everything is just, perfect.”

John made a considering ‘hmmm’ sound and kissed the top of Sherlock’s nose. “It would be even better if you let me give you an orgasm.”

“Oh! Yes, please.”

“Let’s retire.” Sherlock announced.

“What?”

“I’m done. It’s enough. I don’t want to run around London anymore. I want to be with you, John. I want to watch the sun rise and set together, I want to see the stars with you. I want to watch you make jam and keep bees and sell organic honey for pocket money.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

THE END

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