Pieces of a chess game [Sherlock x Harry Potter Crossover] [COMPLETE]

Chapter 4: Many Happy Returns

John's bedroom had the feeling of one of the many army barracks Hermione had seen throughout her career. With minimal decoration and sparse contents, it could have belonged to any random soldier who was just using that room for sleeping and little else. Hermione had searched around the room, inside every drawer and under the bed, and the only personal effects were the laptop on the small desk, the crutch

tucked behind the wardrobe and the gun hidden in the bedside table. On the small shelf hanging next to the door, there were a few medical books, covered in dust, and a single self-help book with an uncracked spine. She had opened them one by one, looking for something stuck between the pages, but only found a receipt from three years ago marking a page about musculoskeletal disorders. She huffed, and sat on the floor, with her back against the side of the bed, contemplating her options. On a whim, she turned around, lifted the side of the mattress, and dragged her other hand under it and over the bed base. She dropped the mattress with a thud and sat back again, listening for noises of either John or Mrs Hudson returning home.

She was one of the best assets the British Government had, she had brought to justice whole organisations - her brains had defeated dark lords and mobsters alike. For Heaven's sake, she had found a millennia-old magical creature where everyone else had failed.

How difficult could it be to find John Watson a present for his birthday?

She had discarded the stereotypical gifts almost as soon as she thought about them: the ties, scarves, cufflinks. The bottle of Ogden she normally gave Sirius would have been an encouragement John did not need, and a book seemed too impersonal given she had no idea of John's preferences.

Maybe she didn't have to buy him anything.

Hermione-the-agent had known, of course, that his birthday was coming up, and had already in mind an around-the-clock surveillance rota just in case John decided to imitate some of Sherlock's worst habits, but no present was included in that plan. But Hermione-the-writer had just been told about his birthday earlier in the week by Mrs Hudson, John wouldn't be expecting anything from her anyway.

Hermione heard someone opening the front door, followed by the noise of keys and the rustle of feet. A faint paper-ripping sound of a letter being opened and a cough. John.

Hermione left John's bedroom leaving the door ajar as she had found it, and tiptoed downstairs. John's steps on the stairs made Hermione skip the last two steps and launch herself into the black armchair taking the book resting on the coffee table with her.

She tiptoed downstairs and jumped the last steps to reach the chair in front of her laptop before John could make his way up.

"I hope you're hungry," John said as she entered the kitchen. From the white bags he was carrying overflew the small of war spices and herbs. "There is this new Indian place near the practice, and I thought it might be nice to have something not reheated for once."

"You're a gem, John, I was starving," Hermione grabbed the closest bag and took a styrofoam container from it.

"Have you forgotten to eat again?"

She looked at him and shrugged, dismissing his expression of disbelief as she took a bite of a crunchy samosa. "My research project is proving to be more difficult than expected."

They sat down to eat, enjoying the food and sharing meaningless chatter. Hermione, though, could almost hear the engines spinning inside John's brain. He had a very expressive face; with the last bite of korma chicken, John stood up to begin making tea for them. "So Mrs Hudson told you that my birthday is this month?"

"That she did," Hermione replied. "But I think it was because she wanted to recruit me to bake your cake until she realised how little I know about baking."