Potterlock

The Game Was Never Over

"Mum said his name was Jim," Seamus replied, somewhat nervous about all the curiosity regarding his dead dad.

"Jim is short for James," Harry said.

"Right, well, did he have a last name?" Lestrade was getting a bit testy. He didn't like the feel of this manor and would much rather be back in his office.

They knew the name was coming, but they didn't want to hear it fall from Seamus's lips, "Moriarty."

Harry grimaced and Lestrade turned away, rubbing his face with his hands. This was complicated. In the Muggle World, he'd take Seamus in for questioning, but that wasn't protocol in the Wizarding World.

The man looked stricken at their responses, "Is something wrong, Harry?"

"No, Seamus, don't worry yourself over it. Probably just a coincidence," Harry assured Seamus, who looked somewhat relieved.

"The universe is rarely so lazy," Sherlock strode up to their little group with John hot on his heels.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock! What are you doing here?" Lestrade cried.

"Helping with the case, Gavin," Sherlock said.

"Do you mean-" Harry began, wondering why the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor just called Greg 'Gavin'.

"Yes, he does." John cut in, knowing exactly what Harry was going to ask. Lestrade just scowled.

"Though, judging by the appearance of this man," Sherlock gestured at Seamus, "it seems that you have already reached the conclusions I had. Let's see, similar height, dark hair, build probably from your mother's side, same determined set of the jaw and the eyes. Definitely Jim's son." Sherlock said in a breath.

"You knew me dad?" Seamus said, surprised.

"Yes," Sherlock held the syllable for emphasis as he remembered the game. "I knew him rather well."

"What was he like? I-"

"Never met him? Doesn't surprise me. You look like a Momma's boy. Single parent household. Oh! Spoiled little bastard, weren't you? You still can't fend for yourself as much as she wishes you could, but she doesn't mind your company at home." Sherlock continued with his rapid analysis of Seamus, who's face turned beet red.

Harry's jaw dropped at the arrogance of the man. How dare he speak to someone like that! With his blood boiling, Harry reached for his wand.

"And you must be my replacement, Mr. Potter. 'The Chose One'. How fascinating. I see you still have the trademark scar. And marriage has treated you well, you show the signs of a contented man: well fed and well groomed, like a house pet. But your eyes betray the hatred you're feeling towards me and the grip of your wand shows the stress you've felt at work and earlier in life when you battled against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Still, they are the green that everyone said Lily's were." Sherlock paused, somewhat puzzled by something in Harry's appearance.

Harry, now rather irritated with the slightly older man, had reached his tipping point, "And who are you to tell me who I am? You think I don't know already? Are you trying to amuse your friends? Or is it just something you can hide behind, like a coward?"

John looked taken aback, and Lestrade was very close to bursting out laughing, Sherlock, however, was for once, speechless.

"It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Potter." Sherlock eventually extended a hand.

Harry shook it grudgingly. Sherlock Holmes truly was an odd bloke. John turned to Harry, "I'm Dr. John Watson. I teach Potions at Hogwarts."

"Nice to meet you," Harry said.

"Your friend is gone," Sherlock said.

"What?" Harry whipped around. Lestrade frantically looked too, and cursed under his breath when he found nothing.

But that was not all. In addition to Seamus, the entire rest of the people who had come from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were also missing. The fog had lifted a little, but it had started to drizzle. With the new visibility, they saw the expanse of moor that they stood on clearly for the first time. It was empty for miles. The ruins of the manor itself were now slick with rain, but encompassed a larger area than they had first believed. There was something written on the wall, but it couldn't be seen from where they stood. Sherlock took off for the manor at a furious pace, followed closely by Lestrade and Harry, with John bringing up the rear.

"Stupid!" Sherlock muttered, "He was right here! So close to us, the last piece, and then he's gone! He's so much like his father! Why didn't I think of this sooner?"

They reached the wall. The writing was dark red, and fresh: blood.

"The game was never over, as I'm sure you've realized.
I see you didn't kill yourself, but as you now know, neither did I, myself die.
You really aren't that boring, Sherlock, so please do dry your eyes.
Daddy's come home to play again, but the stakes are oh-so-high."