Fic for nox_candida: Patient Doe

[holmesticemods]

Title: Patient Doe

Recipient: nox_candida

Author: mmc12 (SiriuslyPeeved)

Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson; Ron Weasley; Harry Potter

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Adult Themes, Doctor/Patient, PTSD / Flashback, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Injured Sherlock, Drug References, Pre-Slash, Harry Potter/Sherlock Crossover

Summary: Potter!lock AU: Sherlock Holmes has run afoul of both New Scotland Yard and the Ministry of Magic. Healer John Watson is fascinated by the unconscious patient on his ward at St. Mungo's and by the intense security surrounding him. How dangerous could a Squib really be?

Notes: I've had such fun writing this story, and I hope to continue it in the future. I hope you enjoy your gift!

I borrowed the description of John's wand from "Wandlore" by SkaraBrae. I think it fits healer John perfectly. Thanks!

I am so grateful to my wonderful beta, Aiko Isari. Any remaining errors and missed Britpicks are all mine.

December 2010

Like a ginger Father Christmas, Ron Weasley laid a finger aside his freckled nose. "I'm telling you, Johnny, watch out for this one.
Bollocks this up and it's a dead-end career in general practice for you."

"Shut up, Weasley." One side of his patient's face was wrapped in layers of bandages, and the other side was rayed with fine lacerations, swollen and reddened. Cut by broken glass, John clucked, and not properly cleaned-up.

John pushed sparkly red-berried garlands out of his way to make a note on the chart. (St. Mungo's Volunteer Auxiliary always went a little overboard on the Christmas decorations.) "I'll be cleaning and re-bandaging these lacerations after my rounds," he said aloud for Ron's benefit. "And then I'll be ripping those idiots in the Trauma ward a new one for neglecting my patient."

John ferociously scrubbed his hands clean. "So you really can't tell me anything else about this guy?" Ron shrugged in apology. "Fine then. Let's see what the chart says." John kept reading. "Name: John Doe... That's original. Six feet tall, seventy-two kilos. Skinny bloke. Hair, brown. Eyes... Blue?" John frowned at the question mark.

"Blood status: Squib. Ah, yes. Very dangerous." John smirked and raised both eyebrows at Ron. The Auror failed to rise to the bait.

What in hell was a Squib doing in Magical Injuries and Accidents in the first place? And for God's sake, why had Weasley found it necessary to handcuff him to the bed?

John pulled up the cuffs of his green work robes and slid two ungloved fingers around the patient's wrist to ensure it wasn't chafing. Satisfied, he moved to the other wrist and measured the pulse: slow but regular.

As John's hands moved up the patient's warm forearm, his fingers trailed across worn marks of Muggle drug use: fading green-and-yellow bruises and a ragged strata of scar tissue along the inside of the elbow. John bent fractionally closer to examine the man's face. Deep purple shadows bloomed under his eyes. Broken blood vessels scattered across his cheeks like twigs fallen in a storm.

"Who is this poor bastard, anyway?"

Ron Weasley shook a packet of Bite-Sized Chocolate Frogs out of his robe pocket and tore it noisily open with both hands. He waved a squirming frog toward John, who declined. "I'm serious, Watson. I'm under orders not to tell you who this bloke really is, but since you're Bill and Charlie's old mate-- " Ron wiped his chocolaty fingers on his robe and stepped closer to whisper. "This is the younger brother of Mycroft Bloody Holmes."

"Jesus H. Christ!" John reached up to whack the Auror upside his scruffled red head. "Buggering fuck, Weasley. You could have told me that!"

Ron covered a shit-eating grin with the hand that wasn't holding the bag of Chocolate Frogs. Jesus, even as a grown man, Ron Weasley really was as big a prat as Bill and Charlie had always said.

John took a moment to recover. "I thought Mycroft Holmes was a story mums use to scare their kids into behaving."

Ron just grinned back and wadded up the candy wrapper, tossing it into the bin beside the bed.

If you believed the rumors, (and John didn't) the elder Holmes was the single human link between the Ministry and the Muggle government. Placed unobtrusively in minor positions in both the magical and mundane Ministries, running each like his very own Punch and Judy show... ...or that's what John's conspiracy-minded mates liked to yammer on about when they were pissed, anyway. John very much liked to ignore them.

"That's a crock. Seriously, Weasley, the world's bad enough as it is without this extra layer of mysterious mumbo jumbo."

"Mycroft Holmes is real. I've met him."

"You never."

"This morning. Crime scene."

John burned to know more, but the bed curtains swished back. A man with messy black hair and crooked glasses poked his head inside. "Hello, Healer. Sorry to barge in... I'm Auror Inspector Potter."

"Ta," nodded John, feeling like a fool.

"You ready, Ron? Wright's arrived to guard the suspect."

Ron grinned. "My modest colleague requires no introduction." Harry rolled his eyes. "John, this is my brother-in-law Harry. Harry, this is Bill and Charlie's mate John Watson: Gryffindor Chaser, '86 through '89."

Harry Potter dropped his professional correctness and met John's handshake with a friendly smile. "Brilliant. Watson, your name's all over the trophy cabinet at school. Ron once made me stay up and study Charlie's playbook the night before a big match."

"Which I recall we lost because you fell asleep at the breakfast table with your face in a fry-up."

The two Aurors had a hard time keeping from laughing long enough to give Wright her parting instructions. John felt a wave of loneliness tugging at his feet just from listening to them.

John had of course heard plenty about Harry Potter from his old friends Bill and Charlie. He'd once asked them whether being brothers-in-law to the Boy Who Lived was a right pain in the arse. Bill laughed and denied it, but John had a keen feeling there was more to the story. He knew the Weasleys. While they were a loud and exuberant pack of gingers, they would have tired of the spotlight very quickly. That had been Fred's place.

---

Buttresses crumbled under magical shock waves, blasting green and red in the stormy twilight. Giants roared. Dying children screamed.

A gargoyle plummeted to the floor, shaken loose from the safe perch of centuries. Frozen lips were drawn back over its fangs in an open-throated laugh, carefree and blithe.

John held the spell in his mind, but he couldn't set it free. In his mind the incantation screamed, but nothing happened. He was going to die. He fell hard to his knees, and the jarring motion finally shook the spell free from his throat.

"Deprimo!"Gargoyle dust poured down over their heads.

"Watson!" A stone lintel broke from the doorway and teetered toward them. Bill Murray dragged him away just in time. "Arresto momentum!"

The massive stone hovered inches above John and Bill's heads. Together, they lowered it to the floor. Panting, the two
Healers leaned back into the wall. John felt the bones of the castle throbbing with pain under the Death Eaters' assault.

John wiped his face with the back of his hand. Beside him, Bill's bloodshot eyes shone out of a death mask of pulverized stone. "Jesus, that was close. You all right?" Bill nodded, panting.

The corridor ended in gray sky. An entire wall was gone. Three redheads surrounded a fallen companion. My God, John recognized them. George Weasley. Percy. Ron.

"No! Fred! No!"

---

John scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand. With the other, he gripped the bedrail to stay upright. How long had he been standing there?

Auror Wright settled in the rigid caned chair by Holmes's bedside. Her round face still bore the plumpness of childhood: to John, she didn't look experienced enough to be in charge of an unstable patient. Wright held her wand with casual efficiency, betrayed by restless eye movements. It seemed as if she expected Holmes to jump up from unconsciousness and perform some crazy contortions to steal her wand, knock her out, and leap right out of the seventh-story window. John hid a smile.

In the corridor, a phalanx of Hit Wizards stood on either side of the door. Was his patient really that lethal? John turned his shoulders to squeeze through the gauntlet. "Sorry... Pardon me."

Christmas music tinkled softly along the corridor as John progressed along his regular rounds. He grimaced at the saccharine warbles coming from the wireless in the nurses' station. John liked Christmas music, but Celestina Warbeck was taking it a little bit too far.

"What have we tonight, my friends?" John smiled.

Nurse Aurelia Hamilton handed him a thick sheaf of parchment. "It's Saturday, Healer Watson. The usual."

"Couple of domestics, couple of kids fooling around with Mum or Dad's wands and blowing off somebody's eyebrows, couple of Splinches?"

Aurelia giggled. "That's about right, sir."

John's final patient was a five-year-old boy who came out second best in a scrum with The Monster Book of Monsters. His mother hunched beside the bed, pale and sweating with anxiety.

"It's all right, Mrs. Chatworth. I've surely seen worse from this book; I think you got off easy. Just a little nip, isn't it, Charley?" The boy snuffled and nodded, holding out his bandaged hand to John. "We'll stay out of Mummy's big bookshelves in the future, won't we? Plenty of time to learn these things when you've got a wand and can stick up for yourself. Can you believe that's a
school book?"

"A school book?" the little boy squealed. Mrs. Chatworth shook her head furiously.

"Yes, so you'll have to tackle it again eventually. When I was at Hogwarts, we had it in second year Care of Magical Creatures." John ruffled the boy's blonde hair. "Rest up, mate. Mum, just ring the call bell if he needs anything."

John made his way back to Holmes's room. During his rounds, the patient's unusual features had never left his mind: high cheekbones, a prominent nose. The ghosts of frown lines lay dormant across his pale forehead.

A warning sounded in the rational part of John Watson's mind. He muffled it as impatiently as he clapped down on his alarm clock when the covers were too warm to leave.

John wanted to be there when Sherlock Holmes opened his eyes. He wanted to see whether they were blue or grey or something else entirely.

---

Half submerged, Sherlock held his breath and flailed for the surface. His face pressed against the border of awareness. He felt the cool air on his skin. Once again he slipped beneath, not strong enough to push through the thick elastic rind obscuring the surface like custard gone cold on the dinner table. His breath pistoned faster and faster, shallower and shallower.

Gloved hands touched the pulse points at his throat. Sherlock convulsed at the contact, wavering on the line between the deception of dreams and the clear evidence of his senses.

A kind tenor voice spoke nearby. "Mr. Holmes... Sherlock. It's all right. We've got you. You're in hospital."

Sherlock's lips cracked at both corners as he spoke. "Mycroft?"

"I can call him."

Sherlock fought to open his eyes. "No!"

"Nurse, I'll need the valerian.

The doctor's voice held such courtesy, such effortless authority. What a tantalizing paradox – kindness was weak. Footsteps moved away, and a door opened and closed.

Valerian, not Valium: Mycroft's people had him. Hopelessness swam up from his stomach and into the back of his throat with a sour tang like acid reflux. Damn it all to hell. The lab – the lab must have exploded. He was only trying to gather materials he couldn't grow or synthesize on his own.

Sherlock's right hand tingled brightly. The skin at his wrist caught against something unyielding, something cruel and pinching. Cold ridges encircled his forearm, pressing with precision into soft flesh.

"Mr. Holmes, can you please open your eyes?"

"My name is Sherlock."

The tenor voice chuckled. Sherlock was insulted.

"All right then, Sherlock. I'm John Watson, Attending Healer in St. Mungo's. You've been here for--" Papers rustled-- "Eight days. The Aurors who responded to your, ah, difficulties rushed you directly to Trauma Care. You were transferred to my ward yesterday."

Sherlock heard the unmistakable swish of vellum being re-rolled and tied with a ribbon. He longed for the lab at St. Bart's, for microscopes and tablet computers and the nose-burning aroma of preservatives from the morgue down the hall. Even a dreadful cup of coffee from the mousy little hospital pathologist wouldn't go amiss.

"Sherlock, I need you to open your eyes." Watson waited a few beats. "I don't wish to force you, but I do possess that ability."

"Magic," grumbled Sherlock. "Boring."

The doctor laughed. "If it's so boring, don't make me use it."

Sherlock waited half a minute, listening for the telltale sounds of the doctor preparing to cast a spell. When he felt the doctor moving for his wand, he cracked his eyes minutely open. It was harder than it should have been; his eyelashes were glued together with dried secretions.

The wounds on his face pulled and throbbed as Sherlock opened his eyes. "For God's sake, get that ridiculous chopstick out of my face."

The room resolved into focus at last. Sherlock blinked in the soft lighting beside the bed. He lay in an old-fashioned but otherwise
unremarkable hospital room, not too different from the patient floors of St. Bart's.

Beside the bed stood a man in a long green robe. (Mycroft had almost never donned a robe in Sherlock's presence.) His brownish-blond hair was cut shorter than Sherlock's curls but grew shaggy along the top and sides. There was no excuse for a wizard not to trim his own hair once in a while; all he needed was a wand.

As his vision cleared further, Sherlock scrutinized the doctor's capable hands. He examined the blunt yet polished wooden instrument held lightly between his fingers.

Ten inches, sturdy. Oak and unicorn hair: strength and purity of purpose.

"You were in my brother's war."

"A great many were."

Watson stepped forward and lifted his brow in a question. The resulting crinkles across his forehead made something in Sherlock's stomach fold in upon itself. "May I check your eyes?"

Sherlock nodded. Watson peered closer. "What color are they, anyway?"

Sherlock replied flippantly. "I've got a condition we Muggles call heterochromia. You may not have heard of it."

The doctor frowned again. Sherlock took advantage of his irritation to look him over carefully. John Watson's eyes were blue without question or subtext, dark indigo blue without needing a footnote to explain them.

His face is attractive, symmetrical enough... He has a rather appealing frown. Broad shoulders for his height... Sturdy, reliable. Yes, I shall consider this man as a sexual partner. All the rest is sentiment.

---

John huffed at the patient's supercilious attitude. "If you're here at all, Sherlock Holmes, you're no Muggle."

"Squib, Muggle, it's immaterial. Whichever derogatory term you choose to employ, the fact remains that unlike my elder brother, I have never exhibited any paranormal abilities. Most of your Healers don't dare touch genetics. It's too controversial."

Sherlock's expressive face twisted in contempt, pulling on his stitches. He betrayed a momentary flicker of discomfort and then went on lecturing.

"Recent advances in gene sequencing would have been a valuable aid to your You-Know-Who." He pronounced the once-fearful appellation with a sneer. "Sixty years ago, Grindelwald would have killed for the same knowledge."

Sherlock twisted his cuffed wrist and slumped backward, crossing his long legs at the ankles. "Honestly, John, your criminals have got to get better names before I could possibly take them seriously. Grindelwald: a cow-ridden Swiss tourist trap, nothing to fear there but cheese. And that other one, a silly anagram in French. "Vol de mort... Death stolen away. How romantic."

John couldn't help snickering. This was surely the oddest conversation he'd ever had with a patient. "Wizards haven't got the monopoly on stupid villain names. How 'bout The Boston Strangler? Jack the Ripper?"

Sherlock tipped his face to one side. Dark curls fell away from his forehead. "Those are simple names, devoid of ego, and most importantly, to the point." Slowly, he rotated the restrained wrist. "No wizard I've ever known possesses the ability to be so succinct. As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me..." Sherlock flicked his eyes with disdain.

At the sight, something hot blossomed in John's stomach and trickled downward into his groin. John wasn't gay, but God save him, he couldn't take his eyes off this bloke.

You're a terrible Healer, John Watson, wanting into a patient's pants... a male patient's pants. As if that's not enough, he's a suspect in a case that's bad enough to have Hit Wizards lurking all over my ward, scaring the shit out of my staff.

Sherlock was still talking. "Genetically, I possess one-third of the alleles needed to manifest telepathic ability. For telekinesis, I've only got about a quarter.

"Judging by your profession in the Wizarding world, you should have at least ninety percent telepathic ability and fifty percent
telekinesis." John heard the longing behind the clinical words. "And teleportation?"

"I can Apparate, yes."

"I'm tired. I wish to rest." Sherlock draped his free elbow over his eyes. John couldn't help smiling at the gesture. If it weren't for the powder-blue hospital gown and the cuffed wrist, he could be lounging on the beach.

"We've got to get those wounds cleaned properly this time and bandage them up. You can have a kip while we get ready."

John reached down to brush his fingertips near the livid marks left by broken glass. He told himself he was only searching for the telltale heat of infection, but his hand slowed just before he reached the skin. God, he was a terrible person. It was so wrong to want to touch a patient purely for his own pleasure.

Auror Wright snuffled and woke herself from dozing upright in the hard-backed chair. "All right, Healer?"

"I'm going to need assistance cleaning some of these scratches, they're getting infected. I'll just pop out and round up some help. You need anything? A cuppa?" Wright smiled back at him.

This time, John passed the waiting Hit Wizards without a friendly greeting.

Damn it, John, Sherlock's not just your patient; that would be bad enough by itself. He's a criminal in both worlds: his own and yours. For God's sake, there are Hit Wizards waiting outside the room, scaring the shit out of your staff. Magical Law Enforcement isn't fucking around with this one. His brother might be the most powerful bloke in the damn United Kingdom. Stop this, before you get in over your head.

It was too late for the sensible Healer John Watson. He was already falling for Sherlock Holmes.

Comments

[nox-candida.livejournal.com]

Oh wow, I really enjoyed this! You have a tremendous grasp of humor, which was used to great effect throughout the story, but especially when Ron and John were bantering back and forth. This was a fantastic look at what John would be like in the Harry Potter world and there were so many tantalizing details that you incorporated beautifully. The mention of Mycroft as a scary tale that parents tell their children was wonderful, as was the inclusion of the St. Mungo's Volunteer Auxiliary being in charge of the Christmas decorations. I also loved the way you included Harry and Ron--nice cameos in and of themselves but also as a way to illustrate John's place in the world--and the little glimpse we got of John's role in the big battle (because of course he would have been there). I would have loved to have seen more of that, but probably for the best that it wasn't included here. If you do continue this story and universe (and I hope that you do, because there are so many things I want to know!), then I'd be really interested to know more about his background and school years.

I really liked seeing your interpretation of what a Healer would do, and I liked your characterization of John in particular. The moment that really comes to mind that I truly enjoyed was seeing John's bedside manner with the Charley. That was a lovely moment.

Of course, I loved how you built up the mystery of what is going on with Sherlock. What was he doing? How did he catch the attention of a couple of aurors? How is this version of Sherlock different from what we've seen in the series? I'm really, really curious to find out more about what's going on with him and what his and John's relationship would look like, given this different introduction. I did really love Sherlock and John's interactions and I really want to see more of that. Ultimately, I thoroughly enjoyed reading this and I'm incredibly curious to know where you may go from here. Thank you so much for such a wonderful gift and I hope you'll continue this soon!

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

You are so welcome. I am glad you enjoyed your present. :)

I've had loads of fun imagining how Sherlock got into this mess, and how canon characters from both fandoms (as well as my stable of OCs from my Harry Potter post-Hogwarts works :D ) will be involved in the fun and games. It seems there's often a power imbalance of some kind between Sherlock and John, and my main interest in starting this piece was to flip that dynamic around. John has the "power" in terms of magical ability but my ever-romantic shippers' heart hopes for a happy ending nevertheless. (jeepers, I was never a fervent 'shipper' of anything other than Snape and Lily before my sister-in-law made me watch Sherlock last summer -- thanks Sis! ;) )

In some ways, magic represents the "normal" human world that Sherlock has so much trouble fitting into... in this AU he's always been cut off from his family because he can't exist on the same plane. It's a tragedy until John comes along.

Hope you had a holiday season full of peace and joy and wishing you all the best in 2014 :)

[billiethepoet.livejournal.com]

Oh man, I do love Potter!lock.

First: "I thought Mycroft Holmes was a story mums use to scare their kids into behaving."

Can't lie. I cackled.

Also, please, please continue this after the reveals go up!

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

Teehee! Thank you! I'm glad you got a kick out of it. I am continuing the story, pecking away at my phone in Notes :) Thank you for letting me play even though I missed that first email, LOL, stupid spam blocker!

[swissmarg]

I love Sherlock/Harry Potter crossovers, and this has all the makings of a great one! I love how you've set up the mystery of what Sherlock is doing there, and how he straddles the Muggle-magical worlds. Strangely, I never thought of magic in terms of the three tele- abilities. That casts a whole new light on things and is perfect for Sherlock's analytical way of sorting things. I found it really cool how you connected John to the Weasleys, and had him present at the Battle of Hogwarts. As others have already said, I also hope this finds a continuation some day, but even if not, it's a wonderful little glimpse of this world.

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

Many thanks! I grew up on Anne McCaffrey and when the three T's popped into my head I knew I had to run with it. I am glad you had fun with it and hope I can produce updates faster than I typically do :)

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

That was fun! I like Sherlock's way of understanding magic through the lens of genetics and science, the terrifying presence of Mycroft Holmes, and I'd love to see what Sherlock did to cause such an uproar!

(I hope you don't mind a bit of Brit-picking. "John Doe" is an American term. "Joe Bloggs" is the British equivalent, if you are interested in editing after reveals.)

Thanks again, and I hope you continue this!

[moonluck.livejournal.com]

From what I understand the term "John Doe" originates in the UK it is just an anachronistic term now. The wizarding world is very old fashioned though and would defiantly use a term that was popular in the 1500s.

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

Thank you so much -- I am always open to Britpicking, as I'm hopeless in that area! :D I will be doing some editing as I continue the story. I am so glad you had fun with it.

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I will definitely look that up and consider the edit carefully. I'm glad you had fun with the story :)

[mundungus42.livejournal.com]

This is an outstanding crossover, with enough of what's familiar in both worlds to be recognizable and comfortable, and enough changes to be absolutely riveting. I adore your central conceit of Sherlock being a Squib with an axe to grind and resentment to share, and his opinions about kindness and sentiment are heartbreaking- how fortunate that he should end up in the ward of someone as kind and fundamentally decent as John, and yet Sherlock knows instinctively that he's not a man to cross. I love the way the two are drawn to one another, perhaps against their better judgment, and I very much like Harry's and Ron's supporting roles (and how Ron is still a prat). I love the depth you've given the wizarding world (I do love perspective beyond Harry's) and I love seeing magic through a Squib's eyes (and his wonderful scientific snobbery). You've given us a delicious, satisfying beginning and leave us with tantalizing questions- I would love to see more of this story when you have time to continue (please please please please???). Thank you for this thoughtfully characterized, beautifully rendered piece, Mystery Author! Bravaaaaa!!!!!!

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm hard at work on Chapter 3. In my version John and Sherlock have fallen hard for each other at first sight but it may take a while to get past significant looks. LOL. I had the best time writing Sherlock's Squibby snobbishness so I'm glad you commented on that. :)

[ariadnechan.livejournal.com]

I want MOAR!!!!!!

[mmc12.livejournal.com]

I hope to have more for you soon! :) I'm so glad you enjoyed it.

[saki101.livejournal.com]

An intriguing set-up! A perfect position for Mycroft to occupy, powerful in both realms. Sherlock's disdain possibly a cover for something else. Can we hope for more of this?

[quirkies.livejournal.com]

This was toe-curlingly delicious!

[mildred-bobbin.livejournal.com]

oh this was fun! I'd love to see what happens next actually!

[what-alchemy.livejournal.com]

Wonderful! I really liked this, especially Mycroft the boogie man, and Sherlock's disdain for all things magical.

[cathedralcarver.livejournal.com]

Accio Awesome Review. This is glorious! Two of my favourite fandoms fused together. Beautifully done, lots of fun, and with totally accurate characterizations, and what a great final line. Wonderful.