[Miss Jennifer]

I had this idea long, long before I read that blog article on the links between Young Sherlock Holmes and Harry Potter. In fact, I've had the idea since I learned from JKR's own lips that Albus Dumbledore was 150 years old at the time the Harry Potter series began.

It's not such a stretch to imagine that a younger Albus Dumbledore...with the permission of the Ministry...could have asked Holmes' help on a matter, isn't it?

The story would take place shortly after the Great Hiatus. It's early February, the worst part of that dreary blank stretch between the end of the Christmas holidays and spring. Pristine white snow has turned to gray slush, and nothing, but NOTHING, is going on mystery-wise. Looking out the window, Holmes quotes Hamlet, "How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world!" Watson is concerned...though he has managed to get Holmes to stop using cocaine, he knows only too well that boredom may lead Holmes back to it.

And then a man with shoulder-length auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard shows up, introducing himself as Albus Dumbledore.

He explains whatever matter that he's been led here on...and then proves to the shocked Holmes and Watson that he is a wizard and that magic exists. Holmes is thrown for a loop...he has always depended on logic and fact, but logic and fact can only lead him to the knowledge that his visitor is telling the truth.

So, the mystery would perhaps take them on a visit to Hogwarts (with Holmes and Watson under a special enchantment so they, as Muggles, are able to visit it), and, at one point, through the snow-covered Forbidden Forest, where Holmes is treated to quite a sight...

"Hold on," Dumbledore said, raising his arm. "Stand still. Don't make a sound."

"But what..." Holmes began in an undertone. Then, suddenly, he whispered, "...Oh." And again, "Oh."

It took a moment for me to register the sight.

The snow here was much whiter than it had been in London, but the unicorn's coat made the snow look as dingy as it did in Baker Street. Perhaps you have seen depictions of unicorns, but the popular image--that of a normal horned horse--cannot begin to encompass the grace and beauty of the animal itself. The creature's frame was that of a horse, but it moved as if it had the hollow, airy bones of a bird. Its silver hooves left only the faintest track on the snow.

I doubt that either of us could have moved a muscle if the forest had fallen in on us.

The unicorn lifted its head to look directly at us. Its eyes were far from horselike...in their combination of perfect innocence and ageless wisdom, they seemed almost human.

It regarded us mildly for several moments as we stood transfixed, then turned to make its way off through the snow-covered pines.

"...Oh, my..." was all I could manage.

Holmes remained stock-still, staring at the place where the creature had stood.

"...I have seen so much ugliness," he whispered brokenly. "The worst cruelty that human beings are capable of. And I don't think I'll remember any of that ugliness as long as I will remember that beauty."

So, Holmes manages to solve the matter, to the gratitude of Dumbledore and the Ministry. Back at Baker Street...

My friend glanced at Dumbledore.

"And, I suppose," he said, "that you will modify our memories so that we will remember none of this?"

"My dear Holmes!" I exclaimed.

"It is an easy conclusion to come to, Watson. You have said yourself, Mr. Dumbledore, that you wish to keep your world hidden from the majority of Muggles. But accidents happen. There are bound to be times when a Muggles glimpses aspects of your world. So, it stands to reason that you would have some sort of charm or spell to induce forgetfulness. The odds are that, having received our help, you will now erase our memory of the events of the past few days."

He made an effort to sound nonchalant, but there was something to his voice I had never heard before...a wistfulness.

"Do you want your memory altered, Mr. Holmes?" Dumbledore asked, the familiar twinkle in his eye.

"If you must do so, then you must...my desires have little to do with it," Holmes retorted, with that same show of nonchalance.

"But if you did have a say in the matter...would you want it so?"

Holmes ran his fingers up and down the strings of his violin. Then, abruptly, he looked up at our guest.

"If I can say anything to convince you not to...anything at all..."

I had never heard my friend plead like that before, nor had I ever seen such an appeal in his eyes.

"I don't want to forget what I've seen and learned about," Holmes continued. "And with all I've learned these past few days, I've only scratched the surface of what I can learn from your world...I...I don't want to forget that unicorn..."

He looked away. Albus Dumbledore set down his brandy glass.

"There are certain Muggles," he began, "that have full knowledge of our world, with the Ministry's permission. Muggle parents of our students. Members of governments. I dare say even a certain elder brother knows quite a bit more than he was ever allowed to let on to you. Drove him mad, you know...he didn't like having to keep secrets from you."

Holmes whirled around, startled.

"In any case, there are certain people who, for one reason or another, are permitted knowledge of our world. I have convinced the Ministry that you and Dr. Watson should be among those people."

Holmes and I exhaled in unison.

"After all, it's quite likely that we may need your help again. And I believe that Dr. Watson has proved himself trustworthy enough that, even if he writes the events of this case down (and I'm sure you won't be able to keep from doing that, Doctor!), he will keep it secret."

Dumbledore picked up his hat and walking stick. "And there's another reason...one I didn't give the Ministry. If anyone needs to know that there is magic in this world of ours, I believe it's you, Sherlock Holmes."

He turned to go. Holmes put a hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Dumbledore...I want to go on learning about your world and all it can offer. May I correspond with you? Perhaps borrow some of your books? If I can have this new world to discover...then I need never fear boredom again, and I don't think Watson need ever fear the...the consequences of that boredom."

"You most certainly may," Dumbledore laughed. "Now, good night, gentlemen...and pleasant dreams."

A moment later he was off down Baker Street. Holmes and I watched him out the window as he made his way to the end of the street. We lost sight of him as he ducked into an alley. A faint "crack" caused several passersby to turn around, puzzled, then shrug and go about their business.

*******
Dumbledore had wished "pleasant dreams" for both of us, and mine were pleasant, but they were so full of spells, dragons, centaurs, and unicorns that I could hardly keep my head still on the pillow. Awakening for the third or fourth time, I gave up on the idea of sleep for the present moment...it would be as futile as trying to sleep on Christmas Eve had been for me as a child.

Pulling on my dressing gown, I stepped out into the sitting room. Fresh snow was falling outside, and the room had taken on the pale light of the world outside. In the semidarkness, I saw Holmes' figure at the bow window.

He turned to me. "Couldn't sleep either, eh?"

I didn't need to answer.

He smiled ruefully. "Would it surprise you, Watson, to be reminded that I was a child once?"

"Most of us are at one point or another," I answered dryly.

"You know what I mean, Watson. You probably never thought of Sherlock Holmes, rational, logical Sherlock Holmes, as a child who walked carefully in forests so as not to disturb the Fair Folk, who left a pan of milk out for the Brownie, who looked at every tree and wondered if this were the one that imprisoned Merlin."

He turned back to the window. "Well...I was. And of course, as I grew up, I left those fancies behind. And if it ever occurred to me to miss the child I had been, I told myself that I was an adult now...that such beliefs were better left to childhood." I could see his eyes shining in his reflection in the window. "But Watson...it was all true. All of it. It's been true all along."

I couldn't speak. I silently joined him in the window seat and we looked out over the snow-muffled Baker Street.

We'd known this view for years, and yet it had all changed in the course of a few days.

This was a London where the right password or the touch of a certain brick could open a doorway to someplace you'd never known about. This was an England where owls carried messages, where children learned how to levitate, fly broomsticks, brew potions and change teacups into rats. This was a world where dragons lurked in caves and unicorns galloped through forests. This was a world that was more alive with possibilities than we could ever have comprehended.

Okay, so I've got those parts worked out. The part I haven't worked out? The darned MYSTERY.

So...what'd'ya think?

[Janey]

Interesting.

But I like to keep Holmes Victorian, and very much of this world. He and magic just don't do it for me.
But you are a talented writer!