'I still think you should phone him,' John's mother insisted fussily as they watched John's owl, Imogene, fly out through the kitchen window.

'Mum, I don't even think Sherlock's brother owns a phone,' John said, sighing. 'They'll send an answer with an owl. It happens everyday in the wizarding world.'

'Bit old-fashioned, isn't it?' John gave her a look and she smiled. 'Well, let's hope he's allowed to come and stay.' John's mother thought for a moment. 'It's just him and his brother, then?'

John shrugged. 'As far as I know. He never mentions his family if he can help it, and he doesn't like being asked…'

The next day, Sherlock's reply came with Mycroft's proud brown owl.

    John-

    Don't worry; I'm doing fine.

    I can definitely come on Friday. Mycroft says he'll send me over in a car, and I'll be there about 3.00pm—if that's alright. It'll be nice to be away from him for a bit—he's been annoying since he found out I was in the hospital wing so much last year. He works with Madam Pomfrey's friend—must've been a nice girl's gossip corner. You can expect more 'Please spy on my brother for me' letters this year.

    If you've seen the Prophet, that Sergeant Lestrade's been in it a lot. There was an article on him yesterday.

    See you Friday-
    Sherlock

John's mother was pleased when he told her.

'But he doesn't like too many questions…or being touched,' John said hastily. 'And sometimes he keeps to himself for a while—he gets into these moods and doesn't talk for days on end…and he doesn't eat much…'

'John calm down!' His mother shook her head. 'If you can live with him, so can we.'



'Sherlock!'

Sherlock smiled a little at seeing John open the door. 'Hey. Good summer so far?' he asked as he came in.

'Not bad.' John helped Sherlock bring his things upstairs. 'You?'

'Er…' Sherlock looked at John. 'Better now.'

John smiled slightly and then stopped in the hall at the top of the stairs. 'Well, um, we used to have a guest bedroom, but it's all filled with stuff now…so we pulled a mattress in my room so you can share with me.' He led Sherlock into his bedroom.

'It's not much,' he muttered, opening the door. 'Sorry about the mess; my mum keeps asking me to clean…'

Sherlock stepped in and looked around, taking in the spell books and muggle comics littering the floor and the rugby and football posters on the walls. He looked at the few posters with moving images-England Quidditch.

'This is great,' Sherlock said smiling.

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Watson poked her head in. 'Hello, you must be Sherlock. I'm John's mother.' She smiled. 'John, your father rang and said he won't be home until 8.00 tonight, so it'll just be the four of us.'

'Fine.' Mrs. Watson smiled warmly as she left.