Disclaimer: I own none of the following characters. If I did, I would be at the bank, counting my royalties.

James Sirius Potter opens the door of 221B Baker Street. He pauses, not because he is hesitant, but because the doorknob tells him that Dr Watson is out- probably for grocery shopping. An idea occurs to him and he quickly types in his Blackberry a text to his PA.

He opens the door, noting the mat that is slightly askew. Even better. Mrs Hudson is not here, gone out to replenish her herbal soothers which are actually not herbal soothers. He takes out his wand (acacia with unicorn tail, twelve and a quarter inches, reasonably bendy) and casts a spell. "Muffliato," he says. By now, he is certain Albus would have heard him, but the silence tells him that he (as usual) is choosing to ignore him.

James treads up the stairs and looks at his younger brother. Albus is curled up on the sofa, violin a metre away, staring up at the ceiling with a bored expression. Already suffering from John-withdrawal when he has gone out a mere three minutes ago.

"You falling in love with a Muggle," James- or rather Mycroft, as he is called in this world- says. "Grandpa Arthur would be proud."

Albus Severus Potter- though we must call him Sherlock for now- says nothing- which Mycroft knows it is because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He notes the spark in Sherlock's eyes, ones that last for a fraction of a second but screams, "Yes, it's true, I'm in love with John." In other words, Sherlock loves John but won't admit it. At least never to Mycroft.

Instead, what Sherlock does in response to Mycroft's statement is to point his wand (pine with dragon heartstring, 10 and a half inches, unyielding) at the violin, which immediately starts to shriek, the bow twanging away in defiance. John and Mrs Hudson are both out, and Mycroft has cast the Muffliato charm, so nobody can hear them. But its intended audience is only Mycroft, so the violin serves its purpose well.

Mycroft says, "Diffindo", flicking his wand at the violin. It immediately breaks apart with a soft sigh, the banshee shriek fading into silence.

Sherlock glowers, "That was my favourite violin." Of course, they know he could easily repair it, so Mycroft ignores the comment.

"Stop cursing me, Albus." The word 'Albus' is said with particular vengence, and it works: Mycroft sees Sherlock wince.

"Yes, James, you were never good at the non-verbal spells, were you?" The word 'never' is said with some venom, and Mycroft has to work to keep his face straight. It doesn't quite do- he knows Sherlock notices his eyebrow turning down just the slightest.

But Mycroft knows he has the upper hand. He smirks and says, "I'm heading back to Grimmauld Place. I'm sure Mummy would be happy to know of your latest- interest. Dad, too."

Sherlock glares. "What is it you want?" he asks, stowing the wand away. Mycroft notices it is the front pocket- he means to use it again. Surprise jinx? Mycroft does the same, taking extra care to put it in his front pocket too- I know what you are planning.

Sherlock notices and scowls, but Mycroft carries on, unheeding. "Nothing, dear Albus. I simply want to invite you to the Christmas dinner."

"I won't go." Sherlock says petulantly, pouting. Which is pointless- Sherlock always goes, if only because of that one time he didn't go and Mummy spent Christmas dinner in tears, something the Potter family sees very, very, very rarely.

"Really? Do you remember what happened the last time?" Mycroft asks, and Sherlock's mouth quirks, that reaction a giveaway to how badly Mummy's crying had affected him.

"Go away. Don't you have important Minister of Magic things to do?" Sherlock asks, and Mycroft knows he has won.

"I'll expect you at 3pm at Grimmauld Place, 25th December." Mycroft calls as he turns to leave, the umbrella swinging from his hand. "Now I really must hurry, I underestimated the time it took for you tobehave.", referring to the little confrontation with the violin.

In a flash Sherlock has grabbed his wand and pointed it at Mycroft, but Mycroft lazily flicks his umbrella and the Shield Charm nicely deflects the Bat-Bogey Hex. In a swift motion, Mycroft has grabbed his own wand and shouted, "Expelliarmus!" The wand nearly goes flying from Sherlock's hand, but he manages to hang on tight and glare at Mycroft at the same time.

"The umbrella had the fir wand I broke in 3rd year." he says. "I should have known you'll keep it with you, just like Hagrid."

"So long, Albus. I'll be seeing you." Mycroft says, not bothering to dignify that with a comment, turning down the stairs- to see John, who is looking up with a stunned expression, holding two grocery bags. Just back from Tesco.

Mycroft smiles. His plan has gone perfectly well. Anthea has really proven her worth.

He raises his wand, knowing perfectly well that Sherlock would stop him. "Obliv-" he shouts, while Sherlock, anticipating this, shouts "Expelliarmus!" and both wand and umbrella goes flying out of Mycroft's hands, into Sherlock's hand.

"You are not changing his memory-" Sherlock accuses, then stops. Something gave Mycroft away. His pocket seams, perhaps? "You planned this. You planned for John to see this, didn't you?"

Mycroft smiles. "I expect to see John at Christmas dinner as well. Or else Mummy would be hearing all kinds of stories from me about you two."

"I'll put Veritaserum into your pumpkin juice." Sherlock threatens.

"It would be true stories." Mycroft says, and Sherlock blanches.

"Which bug did I miss in this flat- oh, very smart, you used Rita Skeeter!"

"Correct." Mycroft nods, and walks down the stairs. "I'll be seeing you at Christmas, Dr Watson." He smiles at John, who looks even more confused.

Then, with a final thud, the door of 221B Baker Street closes, leaving a very puzzled Muggle and the son of Harry Potter.

A/N: Not sure if I should continue this. Please review and tell me whether I should invest more time in this. :)

Acacia (Mycroft's wand): A very unusual wand wood, which I (Ollivander) have found creates tricky wands that often refuse to produce magic for any but their owner, and also withhold their best effects from all but those most gifted. This sensitivity renders them difficult to place, and I keep only a small stock for those witches or wizards of sufficient subtlety, for acacia is not suited to what is commonly known as 'bangs-and-smells' magic. When well-matched, an acacia wand matches any for power, though it is often underrated due to the peculiarity of its temperament.

Fir (Mycroft's old wand): My august grandfather, Gerbold Octavius Ollivander, always called wands of this wood 'the survivor's wand,' because he had sold it to three wizards who subsequently passed through mortal peril unscathed. There is no doubt that this wood, coming as it does from the most resilient of trees, produces wands that demand staying power and strength of purpose in their true owners, and that they are poor tools in the hands of the changeable and indecisive. Fir wands are particularly suited to Transfiguration, and favour owners of focused, strong-minded and, occasionally, intimidating demeanour.

Pine (Sherlock's wand): The straight-grained pine wand always chooses an independent, individual master who may be perceived as a loner, intriguing and perhaps mysterious. Pine wands enjoy being used creatively, and unlike some others, will adapt unprotestingly to new methods and spells. Many wandmakers insist that pine wands are able to detect, and perform best for, owners who are destined for long lives, and I can confirm this in as much as I have never personally known the master of a pine wand to die young. The pine wand is one of those that is most sensitive to non-verbal magic.

-From Pottermore.