PotterLock Down (A Crossover Fanfiction)

Chapter 19: Awakening

"John? John, are you all right?"

The small, matronly voice pulled him from the darkness. John Watson opened his eyes to behold Mrs. Hudson standing over him. His mind clung to anything for relief; perhaps the entire week had been a dream: Sherlock was not dying of some magical malady, he was back in London, they were ready to take another case, just like the old—

A young man with a singular scar and round glasses joined Mrs. Hudson.

"Ohhh god," John moaned, "it really happened, didn't it?" He covered his face with his hands. "Sherlock is—"

"The others are tending to him," Mrs. Hudson interrupted as John sat up on the bed. His head still swam, but it was more from all the questions that piled on him, not as much the neurological quagmire. John stared at the small but formidable landlady. For once the most normal thing in his life was now rendered strange and out-of-place in this setting.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded of her.

Martha Hudson opened her mouth to explain, but her eyes slid to Harry. He took the hint and withdrew to give them privacy.

She was still trying to decide on the best way to form a response, when John finally realized what she could not say.

He raised a finger. "No," he shook his head. "No, it can't be!"

Martha huffed, "Well, I certainly couldn't help it! I was born into it, you see; my father never knew my mother was—"

John silenced her with a wag of his head. "Unbelievable," he muttered. Squinting at her, he asked, "So all this time, you were actually a real, wand-waving—"

"Well, not really in a manner of speaking," Martha hedged. "By the time I was old enough to know what I wanted, I had already spent four years here at Hogwarts and I decided I didn't want to go back. I packed up my wand and all my books and trinkets... And then I met Frank and I knew it was the right thing for me."

John could not look at her anymore. That anyone he trusted so well could turn out to be a former witch was completely beyond anything.

"What about Moriarty?" John demanded shortly. "Did you know about him?"

Martha's smile dimmed, and a cold light flickered in her eyes. "I had heard James was a cousin of Tom Riddle, Sr., but there was no way of knowing whether he had inherited or knew about the use of magic or wizardry. I do keep my wand upstairs, you know, behind a loose board at the back of the big armoire. When Jim resurfaced, looking so young after all these years and bearing the name Moriarty, I promised myself I would take out my wand again if he ever used magic to hurt you or Sherlock." She fidgeted about, spreading a poultice over Sherlock's shoulder.

John stood up, still fighting to make sense of all that he had seen in the last day—not to mention the last week! "So," he fumbled, "is Sherlock magic at all?"

"Oh, lawd, no!" Martha chuckled softly. "He's as Muggle as they come, I am sure of it."

This answer did not satisfy John. "What about the cavern?" He asked.

Martha tilted her head. "What do you mean, dear?"

John had regained strength in his limbs, and the fog had lifted from his poor muddled head. He stood and hobbled his way over to Sherlock's side.

"Down in the cavern," he explained, "or wherever the hell it was Moriarty had him... I saw—" John gulped as the images came flooding back. "He-Sherlock, he..." He frowned and pinched his lips together, fighting too many emotions to get the words out, and yet too overcome with the desire for answers to stay silent. "He should have died!" He finally hollered.