A/N: Okay, so I'm a Sherlock fan, and when reading some Sherlock/HP crossovers I stumbled across a work by Esama on Archive of our own named 'Business' that heavily intrigued me (which is well worth a read, and is probably better than anything I'm going to put out). So yeah, admittedly the basic idea and inspiration was theirs and I'm sort of stealing it and trying to work it into one story rather than a twelve thousand word one-shot, and giving it my own little twist and ideas. Beware, gender bending and majorly OOC characters ahead.

Also, I will cite Wesley from Daredevil (Netflix series) as another inspiration, I really loved him as a charismatic, cultured villain, and I was sad when he died as I felt he made a better villain than the Kingpin himself. There is a lot to be said for the quiet malice of the elegant, cultured villain in an immaculate suit threatening you in a totally calm voice. (To be fair, I feel they did that whole thing wrong, and that they shouldn't have revealed Kingpin's face until the penultimate episode or so, and shouldn't have attempted to humanise him with the romance and tragic backstory. I like my villains to be villainous, but I digress.)

07/11/15: As of currently, there are four and a half chapters of this, and I've kinda run out of steam. I'll definitely be posting the first four, and maybe the unfinished or finished fifth at some point.

Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING, property of respective owners etc.

Call Me Moriarty

"Stupid, idiotic, pathetic, cringe worthy," the ravenette muttered as she flicked through a book, its leather bound exterior creaking on each page turn.

"What are you mumbling about?" came a high toned, cold voice from across the room. The girl looked up to see her 'aunt' standing by the doorway, her nose upturned as she spied the distinctly magical looking book the girl held.

"Oh, just reading about how the wizarding world is full of racist, bigoted, oh, and sexist arseholes," she replied with an innocent smile that glinted with something else. The woman in front of her scowled at the mention of the Wizarding world, and then lightened slightly as it was described in such a way.

"Yes, well, don't slouch, girl!" she commanded for lack of anything better to say.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," the black haired girl replied, looking back down at her book. "And the name, is Jasmine," she added under her breath.

Honestly, though her life at the Dursley's had improved greatly since she had discovered a book on laws in the library at school and black-mailed her extended family into treating her better and mainly leaving her alone, they still weren't exactly on cordial terms. That hadn't been helped when Jasmine had received a letter, to a school of magic of all things. The huge, bumbling gamekeeper Rubeus Hagrid had come over a few days later to introduce her to the wizarding world, and thus far she was not that impressed.

They were decades, perhaps even a century behind as far as technology was concerned, their system of governing was practically ancient, the blatant racism in their society was overwhelmingly clear, and their population was tiny. Added to all of that, it seemed like the majority of wizards were idiots.

And Jasmine couldn't be happier, as it stood as a ripe and golden opportunity. The magical world was a consortium of opportunities, and on top of it all, she had the most important thing in the world; a great big pile of cash to exploit them with. When first she had looked upon her vault, her emerald green eyes had sparkled as she overlooked the piles of shining gold, silver and bronze.

Now, it should be stressed, Jasmine was not a normal eleven year old. No, years of neglect and hatred for her 'family' had twisted her into quite a cold and opportunistic person who used her natural intelligence to achieve her goals. She, of course, knew this very well, and cared not one jot.

'The time has come, to move on, to many other things, the playground's done, its queen soon gone, and a world's new options bring,' she thought to herself as she curled up on the sofa. 'The time to plan, the time to begin, to let the madness of revolution in.'

Upon that thought, the girl stepped up off the sofa. 'No time like the present, after all. So much to do, so little time.' She quickly strolled out of the house, and stepped down the driveway of Number Four, Privet Drive. Palming her wand-a beautifully artful piece made of ebony, thirteen inches long and curved to a slightly rounded end, etched with silver in Celtic knots up its length, and with a thestral hair core. It was of course, her second wand, and purchased when she doubled back to Knockturn after leaving Hagrid at the Leaky Cauldron for a drink after the Gringotts ride, her first wand, and the one registered to her, was holly with a phoenix feather core, bought from Ollivander's. She paused at the pavement; looking around the street for any witnesses before flicking the ebony stick high up in the air.

All of a sudden, there was a bang, and she resisted the urge to flinch as a tall, midnight purple bus flashed into existence.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," drawled a slack jawed youth leaning from the doorway, who yawned before continuing, "emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard, where would you like to go?"

"Diagon Alley, please," she replied simply.

"Three sickles, or for five you can go for our luxury-."

"Here's three, plus a little extra to forget I was ever here," she interrupted, handing over eight silver coins. The man blinked, looking up at her, and then back down at the coins for a few moments before what she said finally reached his brain.

"Right, please have a seat, Miss Smith," he said, putting three coins inside the pouch on his belt, while slipping the other five into his pocket.

Jasmine nodded once, and moved to sit in the corner of the bus behind the stairs going up, where she was most shrouded in shadow.

###################################################################################################

Jasmine smiled with satisfaction as she stepped out of Twilfitt and Tattings'. Those within had at first looked at her disapprovingly, what with her second hand muggle clothing, but their attitude had quickly changed at the first glitter of gold. Now of course, she cut quite the figure.

Starting from her feet, she had simple, smart black shoes with an inch of heel, shined to a sheen, and her legs were clad in opaque, black tights. A simple, pencil skirt came down to just above her knees, in black of course. Her shirt was white however, but naturally the long tie and suit jacket were as midnight dark as her hair, although the latter was lined in a jade green on the inside. Finally, it was all overlaid in a long, black trench coat dipping to below her knees, and with silver buttons along the front, and under her wrists.

With her long, matching dark hair, thin stance, pale face, high cheekbones and piercing eyes of emerald green, she cut quite the figure, despite her age and stature. Indeed, to any onlooker, she looked a few years older than her actual age. Looking around, she made a beeline for the entrance to Knockturn Alley, ignoring the shady persons clamouring around the area, and moving too quickly for them to get a good view of her and get any ideas.

She paused only once, before the entrance to an enchanter's, to don an unadorned, plain white mask she had picked up nearby in muggle London at a fancy dress shop. The bell rang above the door as she stepped inside, idly perusing the glass cabinets in the dingy shop and the jewellery and such held within.

"'Ere, what'chu want?" came the voice of the beefy man behind the counter, "you're a bit young to be in 'ere."

"I'm here," she replied calmly, examining a black metal dagger, with a hilt made to look like wrapping ivy with Celtic Knots, "to get some items enchanted, and I suppose whatever else you might be able to interest me in."

"I don't deal with kids," he said gruffly.

"Ah, my dear Mr Wreath, gold is still gold, is it not?" she smiled under her mask as the man shifted, frowning a little. Ignoring his discomfort, she withdrew two separate cases from her pockets, and opened them side by side on the counter to reveal two pairs of reflective aviators, one with black lenses, the other dark green, and both with silver frames. "I need these enchanted, with glamours, notice-me-not charms, obscuration charms, voice alteration, night vision, forgetfulness charms, etcetera. The works. I do not want my face to be visible to any degree, and I want anyone looking at it to immediately forget any details. And of course, my voice to be obscured to that of….say a young adult aristocrat, maybe around eighteen to twenty." With exaggerated care, she withdrew a pouch from one of her many pockets which she opened to show the shimmer of gold within, "how much?"

The shopkeeper licked his lips, obviously eyeing the gold hungrily, his thoughts as to her age long since out the window.

"Hundred galleons," he said after a moment, and Jasmine gave a grin, knowing it was likely an extortionately high price.

"Seventy," she said in return.

"You kidding me? That kind of enchantment on those tiny things, ninety," he countered.

"Alright then, you throw in that dagger over there, and you forget I was ever here, and we'll call it eighty. Otherwise, I walk out that door right now," her mask helped now as he scrutinised her visage, trying to determine how serious she was. She knew the deal was still likely massively overpriced, but much like earlier today, such expenses were worthwhile. In the short term anyway.

"Deal," he eventually, grudgingly stated.

###################################################################################################

As Jasmine stepped from the enchantment shop, she removed her mask and slipped on her black pair of aviators with no small sense of satisfaction once again. She had even, for an extra twenty galleons, been able to get a few extra items. Firstly, her buttons on the her coat and suit jacket were enchanted to make her appear taller, and with a slightly pronounced bust, making her appear older, and so with her face obscured, she now could pass for an-if small-adult. Secondly, she had acquired a silver necklace inset with a green gem, which enshrouded her face in shadows if at all possible, and obscured it in light if not, and changed her voice to that of a cultured, middle aged man. Ideas were already building in her head of exactly how she would be doing things, and all the pieces were falling into place. She even had a little idea of how she could add a bit of theatrics to things, but that would have to wait.

For now, she made her way to the next stop on her list; the infamous Borgin and Burke's. Once again, on her entrance an old fashioned bell chimed, and once again she took to browsing the numerous mildly dark artefacts on display while allowing the store-owner-a grubby, weasel looking man-to gauge her for himself.

"Ah, you have a good eye, madam," he said eventually as she was looking at a wizened, practically skeletal hand, "the Hand of Glory. Put a candle in it, and it gives light only to the holder. Best friend of plunderers and thieves."

"An interesting item, for sure," Jasmine replied, picking it up as she walked over to the counter. Borgin frowned as he tried to concentrate on her face in an attempt to pick out the details. "However that would be a purchase for myself, and I'm here on business for my employer."

"And who would that be?" he replied with a frown.

"His name is…best not spoken lightly, he takes anonymity as a powerful tool, hence my own visage," she gestured to her obscured face.

"What is it he needs then?" Borgin inquired curiously, a tentative look in his eye.

"Several things…" Jasmine began, moving slowly to keep him attentive, "firstly books of a certain nature not found in your average bookshop, and would not be put on display due to certain…shall we say narrow minded ideals towards them. My employer believes in the freedom of all knowledge, not merely that which others would presume to be proper."

"If I did have any books of that sort, which I'm not saying I do," the man was cautious to cover his tracks she noted, likely due to the possibility of her being from the Ministry. "Then I would perhaps have standing orders with, ah, illustrious clients who have a tendency to desire similar things."

"Well, I would say my employer is illustrious himself, and fully capable of paying for the privilege of being at the top of that list, I'm sure. Not to mention that there are...benefits to being on his good side," she flashed him a smile, and he nodded slowly.

"I may be open to something of that nature," he relented.

"Excellent. Now then, the other things I require are the services of two people. Someone capable of acquiring things, discretely. And another who can, ah, shall we say, deal with problems. Permanently," She looked hard at the wiry man for a moment before continuing, "are you capable of contacting persons such as these?"

"I may be able to," Borgin said slowly, hesitantly. After all, she had just asked him about getting ahold of a dodgy dealer and a killer.

"Perfect, he requires that they receive these," from her voluminous pockets, she retrieved two slim wooden boxes, of fine quality wood lined in silver on the edges, and a stylised 'M' present on the top face. Borgin eyed them appraisingly as she slid them across the counter, noting the fine craftsmanship. "Of course, you will be duly compensated a finder's fee."

"Let's talk business," he replied, leaning across the counter.

###################################################################################################

All in all, Jasmine felt, her day had been incredibly successful. Of course, her aunt and uncle had been none too happy about her disappearance for several hours, and the clothes she turned up in; in fact Vernon had done his prune impression, something she had seen many times in her life. Usually accompanied by pain.

'I wonder if there are any magical methods to remove scars?' she mused for a moment, before busying herself once again with her clothing in preparation for her first appointment of the night. As opposed to her fashionable, female clothing of earlier in the day, she was now garbed in a long, black wizarding cloak lined in dark green along the edges, and keeping her face enshrouded in shadow. Around her neck, hung the silver pendant to change her voice, and she made sure the only light in the room would be from behind her.

Finally deciding all was ready at a few minutes before nine o'clock, she sat down in a chair by her desk, setting a small rectangular mirror on said desk, angled so it caught her mainly on a side profile.

"Perfect," she said aloud, still finding it odd to hear the aristocratic, male and adult voice emerging from her mouth. The other one wasn't so bad, it was just a slightly older version of herself, but this was disconcerting.

Settling herself down, she looked at the mirror and waited. An exact duplicate of the mirror was present in one of the boxes she had given Borgin, along with a pouch containing fifty galleons.

At approximately nine, the image in the mirror changed, shifting to show a grizzled, scarred and weathered face, with flinty, black eyes, yellowed teeth and gun-metal grey hair.

"Ah, Mr Greyback, I presume?" she stated, inclining her head slightly,

"Yeah, and who am I speaking to exactly? I don't normally work with all this cloak and dagger stuff," he replied gruffly.

"Ah, well, I find it conductive to not be recognised lest I be betrayed. In time, perhaps, you will have earned more trust, but for the moment you may call me 'M,'" she stated. "Now," she continued before he could protest to anything, "I presume you are aware as to why I sought your services?"

"Yeah, and if you think fifty pieces of gold is enough to buy that, you're off your rocker," Greyback said with a scowl.

"The fifty gold? Oh, that isn't your payment, that was merely to persuade you that I was serious and to agree to this conversation," she assured, and he leaned back seemingly a bit more calm at her words. "No, no. I-and let's not beat about the bush here-I wish to hire you to murder a man. A muggle specifically. His name is unimportant, but his address is Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, and I need his death to seem accidental to the muggle authorities. You will be paid a sum of seven hundred and fifty galleons when the job is done. Do you understand?"

"How will I be paid?" he questioned, "that can't be done through a mirror."

"You will be paid in gold by another person under my employ, you will be informed of a time and date to meet her after the man is dead," she answered.

"But not you."

"I don't conduct business that way, Mr Greyback."

###################################################################################################

"Ah, Mr Scabior. I am told you are capable of…procuring things?" Jasmine greeted her second mirror caller of the night, on a separate mirror of course.

"Yeah, that's right. Who are you exactly?" the long haired man inquired curiously, leaning around to try and get a better look through the mirror. He had scraggly brown hair, and a pierced ear, while his appearance looked like an old-fashioned pirate's attempt at cleaning up.

"You may call me 'M' for now, you may be worthy of more at a later date."

"Okay, I can deal with anonymous, not got a problem with that as long as the gold's good," he replied, a Londoner accent showing through a little in his words.

"Naturally."

"So what's the job then?"

"Well, to start I require some items that are…difficult to get ahold of. Firstly, a supply of arsenic," Jasmine already had the rings to put the poison into, she really felt like a good old fashioned villain. "Secondly, and you may need to go to America for this; I require two, Kahr PM45 pistols, in silver with a wooden handle."

"Okay, I have a contact in the colonies, I can handle that," Scabior replied.

"Good. And finally," she paused a moment before continuing, "I require information; about Albus Dumbledore, and Lord Voldemort."

###################################################################################################

The next morning, Jasmine Potter disappeared from Privet Drive, and Eleanor Jarvis checked in to a room at the Leaky Cauldron.

After a day of acquiring items and ordering others, the ravenette stood with a black umbrella clasped in hand, staring at the lights of Covent Garden at this time of night. The heavy rain pattered on her fabric screen, but her green-lensed gaze never faltered. A green tie, too, she wore, playing up the Slytherin theme. After all, that was what magicals associated cunning and ambition with.

Finally, after a long period of waiting, the crack of apparition sounded, she turned her head to the side alley from which it emerged. Carefully, the feral looking man known as Fenrir Greyback emerged, looking around before bee lining towards her.

"Mr Greyback, I presume?" she stated as he approached, his worn, slightly tattered clothes soaked by rain.

"Yeah, guessing you're his go-between then," he replied gruffly.

"After a fashion," she replied, "my name is Irene Adler."

"You're lying," Greyback said after a moment, and Jasmine smiled in return.

"My birth name isn't important, I abandoned it when I came to work for our employer, and he gave me a new one, suited to my position," she replied quickly.

"And what position is that exactly?"

"I'm his…Jarvis for lack of a better term. In-house staff who deals with everything he need not bother with or cannot do personally. I am whatever he needs me to be," she reached into one of her many pockets at this point, drawing a small sack from within, "and right now, that is the person responsible for paying you, Mr Greyback. This contains twelve-hundred and fifty galleons."

"Twelve fifty? I thought the job was for seven-fifty," Greyback said confusedly, taking the sack and hefting it a little as if to gauge the weight of gold within.

"The five hundred is an advance on the next job, which," she produced an envelope with a flourish, sealed in green wax with her stylised 'M' logo. "the details of, are within here." The man took the envelope carefully, turning it over to look at the seal.

"Who's the target?" he questioned.

"Mr Greyback, I have no idea," Fenrir raised an eyebrow at that comment, and Jasmine shrugged before explaining, "he believes in…'compartmentalisation,' I believe he called it. No one can betray or ruin his plans as no-one knows all of them, aside from him of course."

"Of course," he echoed, putting the envelope carefully in the pocket of his weathered coat. "Could you perhaps tell him, that I have several…friends, in a similar situation to myself, and with similar skills who would appreciate some work." He smiled, nastily, his crooked and yellowed teeth showing.

"I am sure he will be interested," Jasmine returned the smile, her perfect, white teeth showing. Though most features were obscured by the various charms on her clothing, she had specified that her predatory smile be untouched. That would be the only feature anyone she met like this would ever recall. She was fond of theatrics, after all.

###################################################################################################

"Well done, Mr Scabior, well done indeed," Jasmine praised the man as she looked down the sights of one of the pair of pistols he had acquired. Carefully, she placed it back down in the black foam of the aluminium case beside its twin, snapping it decisively shut.

"I had to get 'em through a wizarding dealer, so they're also slightly enchanted," the long haired man added.

"Oh?" Jasmine said, her interest peaking, "what enchants?"

"Reduce recoil, silencin', never need cleanin', and for lightness," he rattled off in return, "I have to admit, I didn't expect a pretty lil' lady like you to be needing something like that."

"Oh, and how do you know they're for me?"

"It's small, a ladies' gun, and it matches your coat," he pointed at her silver adornments.

"Well done, Mr Scabior, he requested that I carry them. The arsenic, too, is for me," she was even wearing a few silver rings on her left hand, with a fake green gem ready to be filled with powder, "however the information contained within here is not for my eyes." She slid the large, brown envelopes over to herself, noting that they were unmarked apart from the initials 'A.D' and 'L.V'.

"I could tell you, darling," Scabior leaned over the table a little, "we could perhaps catch a drink and I'd tell you all about it, and how I managed to get ahold of that info."

"Mr Scabior," Jasmine began drily as she stood up, looking down at him through her green lenses, "I am a woman to whom you have just given a supply of deadly poison and two concealed weapons. Do I really seem the kind of lady to proposition?" He looked slightly ill at that revelation, and Jasmine allowed herself to laugh as she walked away.

##########################################################################################

"You're late, Mr Scabior," Jasmine stated as the man approached their table. She was seated in the corner, at the most shadow-covered table in 'The Hag's Eye,' a pub at the disreputable end of Knockturn alley.

A couple of Greyback's 'friends,' read, fellow werewolves-that had been an interesting revelation; that she had a werewolf pack under her command-were scattered around the bar, inconspicuously providing protection. Fenrir himself was sat opposite her, with a glass of fire whiskey from the bottle on the table in hand. Her own glass was, naturally, untouched on the table. She was still eleven after all.

"Sorry, got held up bartering with a fence," the man apologised, quickly sitting down.

"No matter, now we're all here, we can begin," she replied, pulling the black leather briefcase from beside her chair onto the table. With a crack, she opened the silver clasps, and spun the case so her fellows could see what was within. Three individual letters with their names written in green ink rested on top of three, square, lacquered wooden boxes. "Interesting…" Jasmine murmured, snagging the envelope with 'Irene Adler' written upon it.

From her left sleeve, she pulled her artful, Celtic dagger with its black blade, and used it to open the letter, leaving the customary green seal intact. Intently, she set about reading the instructions on the parchment, even though she knew exactly what they said, since they were written by her own hand after all. Signed at the bottom was the name of the mastermind villain that the magical world would soon come to fear… 'James Moriarty.'

"At least we finally get to know who we're working for," Greyback muttered, "Moriarty…"

"Is still not a name to be bandied about or spoken of too publically," Jasmine reprimanded. "Secrecy is a powerful spell, but can all too easily be broken."

"Yeah, but these plans seem a bit public," Scabior commented, eyes skimming his parchment.

"Well, we do require some kind of public front, though it seems we three will be the face of it, not our employer," Jasmine agreed.

"The Diogenes Club? And Madame Rosa's bathhouse? He's trying to appeal to the posh and the rough," Scabior said. He was right of course.

Her plans for the Diogenes Club were for a place where the rich could socialise, and be seen as the cream of society, all without saying a word, for silence would be mandatory. And naturally, there would be certain services available from the club's staff, making allowances for illicit substances or carnal needs to be sated, all from a respectable place of business. And of course, contact to the wider applications of Moriarty's growing network, be it an assassin required, or perhaps an item to be acquired, all would be available. For a price. And the membership for the club, would of course be at a hefty fee. It needed to be to make up for the chunk of the Potter fortune she was investing in it.

Madame Rosa's bathhouse would serve a similar function in the opposite environment. By day, functioning as a legitimate bathhouse, not that that part mattered much. Behind the baths, private rooms and private entertainment of a sexual nature would be available, and below in the expansive basement, a fully functioning bar where shady persons could meet, be hired, and such and so forth. She even had plans for perhaps a few gambling rings downstairs, since there was little of that nature in the wizarding world, she'd have to start small with gambling ventures. But, smaller things could grow and make a tidy profit one day.

"So it would seem," she eventually said, drawn from the reverie of her plans. "I'll be running business administration and financial backing for the projects apparently. He also says there are gifts of some sort in the boxes." She lifted the box her envelope had rested under from the briefcase, and opened it to reveal the treasure within. "Aren't you a beauty…" she muttered, holding the silver pocket watch on its long chain. It was artfully intricate in design, and of course had an 'M' engraved into the top in lustrous gold. Upon flicking it open, the watch face itself was simplistic, marked with Roman numerals instead of numbers, and with a mirror on the interior of the top. A small note fell out as it was opened, reading in green script 'Simply say a name.'

Scabior and Greyback opened their own boxes to be greeted by a similar sight. The rogue-ish fence took his in hand, marvelling at the design, but the werewolf didn't touch his, scowling slightly.

"Don't worry, Mr Greyback, I believe this is white gold, or perhaps platinum," Jasmine remarked. Both were true of course, the main body being white gold, while the chain was platinum. "My question would be as to the meaning of the note."

"Irene Adler," said Scabior, who was looking at his watch intently. Immediately, Jasmine's own heated up in her hands. She pressed a finger against the mirror on the interior, glad that one of the others had figured it out rather than her having to explain it. A few moments after her digit had touched the surface, the image of the rogue-ish man appeared, and of course her own face was displayed on his. "It's for communication."

"How ingenious," Jasmine added, looking intently at Scabior through the watch before tapping the mirror and closing the piece of jewellery, which ended the connection. "Well, this has been interesting, but I must go. I have things to do, and these new commands add to them. I shall see you two anon, since we now have a discrete method of communication. Until then." With that, she stood and made for the door of the dingy bar.

Of course, the watches were more for her benefit than theirs, as today was August 31st, and tomorrow she would be on the train to Hogwarts. Being separated by the space of half the length of Britain would be a pain, but she was certain she could surmise a solution soon. After all, with magic to help, the possibilities were simply endless.

A/N: And here I decided to end it, five thousand words for a chapter is nice and rounded and at the top bracket of what I normally upload. Anyway, please review and let me know if you like the idea, or if you have a suggestion, or something you think should/could be improved. I appreciate both encouragement and criticism equally.