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Chapter 1: So alone
Anything you recgonize doesn't belong to me. A lot of this isn't mine, pretty much everything. Sherlock belongs to BBC and Harry Potter belongs to JKR.
“Please, just give me one more thing, tell me you’re alive,” Oliver swallowed, and glanced at the ground that covered the rectangle patch, under that patch was supposedly his best friend’s body, now to be nothing more than fodder for the worms.
“One last miracle,” said Oliver, he looked at ground expectantly and then at the sky, a sound came from the bushes, but it was just a stray cat.
So he left.
The leg, the accident, it wasn’t even a quidditch accident, it was just a fan who didn’t like the fact that he let in a goal and attacked him in the middle of the night.
Now Oliver was out of a job and soon to be out of an apartment. Plus he had a cane. His grandfather didn’t even have a cane and now he was stuck using the stupid thing.
Even worse was the look of pity that he could already see on George’s face as he limped towards him at the pub, he could ignore all the strangers, but this was an old teammate.
“I’m almost out of my apartment, I have maybe one month left,” Oliver said as he sat down at the booth in the pub, George passed him a half empty glass of whiskey.
“You’re the second person to tell me that today,” said George.
“Who’s the first?”
“The name’s Percy Weasley and I’ve already found an apartment,” a man was hunched over a corpse with a small magnifying glass, the corpse was speckled all over. “Snake bites,” he said turning to the girl beside him. “The father owns the snake, I’d arrest him.”
“I thought you worked in the Ministry,” I said, Percy rushed around the corpse looking at it from all ends and didn’t seem too interested in me.
“I thought you worked for Puddlemere, things change, now please stop talking for one second,” the man took out a small pocketknife and made a cut around one of the bite marks, and placed the bite mark on a Petri dish.
“Why did you quit?”
“Boredom,” The woman took the dish from him. “--Check the DNA and size on that, it’ll tell you what kind of snake it is, I’m suspecting rattlesnake though—so are you going to move in with me?”
“What’s the address?” I asked.
“221B, Baker Street, I’ve made all the arrangements.”
“Good luck,” said the woman who was inspecting the skin on the dish. “You’ll need it.”
“Oh, you’re Percy’s friend,” said an elderly woman who was currently looking for the key to their new apartment, she was looking in the oddest of places though and was probably just keeping Oliver around to pry. “You know, I do have a lovely one bedroom for rent.”
“We’ll need both rooms,” Oliver said stiffly.
“Not to worry dear, everyone here is very modern,” she passed him the key and gave him a kind glance. “I’ll pop up sometime and see how you’re doing.”
There was a jar of eyeballs, each a different color, right next to a container of spaghetti. The land lady had told me that Percy was a freelance forensic scientist for the muggle London police force and the woman that worked with him had warned Oliver.
But nothing in his years of training had prepared him for a roommate who apparently had a hobby of collecting eyeballs. And keeping them in a jar. Oliver tried not to touch the jar as he took the container of spaghetti out.
Now he noticed the fact there was no real place to eat, the kitchen table was taken up by some kind of long shaped lump under a blanket. Oliver was starting to wonder whether or not he even wanted to know what it was.
Then he saw a hand sticking out from underneath the cloth and dangling over the table and decided that he really didn’t want to eat or use the kitchen table ever again.
Tea. Tea sounded good, unless there was tongue in the teapot.
“Why did you quit?” Oliver asked Percy later that night—Oliver as a young boy had been taught all about polite small talk and he had tried all the usual ‘weather’s nice’ (which it wasn’t) topics. Percy on the other hand didn’t even know what the weather outside was and was currently looking over the corpse that was placed on the kitchen table.
“It’s his wife, but how?” Oliver could hear him muttering. “Oh, I quit because I was bored,” he said, louder.
“Bored? But you loved it, I remember you in school.”
“I was told to love it, I was told that that was the best job I could ever get, and in the wizarding world it is, but it’s so boring.”
“So you became a forensic scientist for muggle police?” Oliver asked, scoffing at that idea.
“Yes, and let me say that muggle psychopaths are so much more interesting, just yesterday—well, you probably don’t want to hear about it.”
“I do actually,” Oliver said, putting down the Prophet which was still on the front page and probably wasn’t keeping his interest much anyway.
Percy stopped for just a minute, and Oliver got the feeling that Percy was surprised. A lot of Percy’s family probably didn’t understand the science and so didn’t ask, and Oliver got the feeling that other than some of people he worked with, Percy didn’t have any friends. “Well,” he began. “The body was found on the Thames with a pattern on the person’s chest.”
“It’s etched on the back of your chair.” Oliver barely had enough time to turn over his chair and look at the coverings before Percy began rattling off clues and more bodies.
You don’t use magic?’
It makes it less fun.
“That’s amazing Percy.”
“Wood wake up.”
Oliver opened one sleepy eye to see Percy standing above him half dressed in a shirt and scarf with his bottom half covered by a sheet. When he saw Oliver open his eye he started going on about all sorts of dead bodies and things that was going on.
“Just got the letter. There are three different types of blood on one body, which means there should be more. This is a serial Wood!”
“I’m going to sleep,” said Oliver rolling back over. “Are you even wearing pants?”
“I’ll be waiting for you downstairs. Please don’t take more than five minutes to get dressed.”
“I’m not getting up to go help you find bodies!” Oliver said.
“Might be dangerous,” said Percy, arched at eyebrow and watched him expectantly.
“Give me ten minutes.”
“That was obnoxious, can’t people keep their eyes to themselves?” “
“You went on the tube like that?”
Percy was covered with blood and holding a harpoon. “I had a case, we didn’t have many materials and the local fisherman were kind enough to lend us this thing so I could do surgery.”
“Why did you bring it here?”
“To learn what it was, also I figured it’ll look nice to use in that blank space above the couch.”
“By the way, I have a bone to pick with you Weasley, you drank all the tea and didn’t even bother making a new pot,” Oliver called after him, but it was too late Percy had already left for the kitchen, or as they called it, his office.
“What are you doing?” Oliver asked, he was used to Percy’s eccentric behavior—or as used to it as anyone could be—and was now interested in what Percy was doing, currently Percy was looking over test tubes.
“Trying to find out which one of these viruses will get me sick the fastest,” he barely looked over as Oliver poured himself tea, he found myself needing more of the relaxing brew now that he lived with Weasely.
“Why?” Oliver asked. “Didn’t you have a meeting with the muggle police? They were supposed to come over here and to talk about the serial killer.”
“That’s what I’m trying to get out of. I need more time, because I think I can solve this.”
“Really? That’s amazing Percy.”
“But I need to be sick,” he fell back into his chair. “Unfortunately all the quick acting viruses keep me sick for too long. Wait.” He turned to me with a mad glint in his eyes. “Oh this is genius.”
“You’ve got that look on. That look that says that we both know what’s going on.”
“But we do.”
“No. You do. I, on the other hand don’t have a clue.”
“You punch me in the face.”
“Punch me in the face.”
“Why?” now Percy was wearing a look that told Oliver that he was being thick.
“I can pretend that we had a spat and that I need time to get over your physical abuse.”
“I could go to jail!”
“Not unless I press charges, which I won’t unless-”
“Unless what?” Oliver asked suspiciously.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Percy.
“I’m not gay,” Oliver protested, lately that seemed to fall all on deaf ears. His landlady had even taken up a habit of trying to discuss his sex life with him.
“I am,” said Percy nonchalantly. “Or at least that’s what some woman said when I didn’t sleep with her.”
I didn’t know. There was a long pause. “Are you attracted to me?”
“No,” said Percy. “Now are you going to punch me or not?”
“Let’s go Wood, there are bodies to inspect and a serial killer that I am making very uncomfortable,” Percy was wearing his blue scarf and a very self satisfied looking smirk on his face, he placed on his coat and stopped by the door, he gave me an odd look.
“I can’t go, I said, from my desk. I have a date.”
“Your police chief, Clearwater, she stopped by to see how your mental state was while you were searching through London’s trashcans looking for body parts.”
“And I found some!” Percy sang triumphantly.
“And we talked, and I asked her out.”
“Oh,” Percy looked disappointed. “Well, if you do change your mind, pop by.”
“And for Merlin’s sake throw out that ridiculous cane, it’s obvious that this physical disability is all in your mind,” said Percy snappily.
“What?” I asked.
“Get. Rid. Of. That. Ridiculas. Cane.” Percy pronounced every word slowly, as if I was the stupid one. “Have fun with Clearwater,” he then slammed the door.
“You know, if you want to have friends over I’ll move my stuff,” said Percy, who probably felt bad about the other night but was not going to apologize to Oliver, who honestly didn’t care.
“Sure. I’ll ask them,” truth be told that other than George popping over to see his brother on occasion Oliver never actually saw any of his old teammates, it was as if they just moved on. Maybe he would have felt alone if it hadn’t been for Percy and his tendency to leave dead body parts in the refrigerator.
“I’m making the killer uncomfortable,” said Percy suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was almost run over today and I’m getting close, very close. Haven’t you noticed the lack of deaths lately?”
“That’s because of you?” Oliver asked, Percy nodded. “That’s really…that’s really amazing Percy.”
Percy didn’t say anything and continued on. “I’m going to try something, I’m calling it the Reichenbach Fall.”
“What is it? Are you collaborating with the police?”
“No, I’m not collaborating with your girlfriend’s lap dogs,” said Percy distastefully. “I’m surprised any of them can tie their shoes they’re that stupid.”
Percy cut me off and showed Oliver a piece of muggle technology. “No matter what happens to me, I need you to get this to your girlfriend, she’ll know what to do with it. “
“What do you mean, nothing’s going to happen to you?” Oliver said who was worried at this point.
“No, nothing is going to happen to me,” said Percy. “But just in case—”
This time Oliver cut him off. “Don’t go throwing yourself off of rooftops Weasley, you have people in your life who care about you, family, friends—”
“I don’t have friends,” said Percy, Oliver didn’t say anything.
“I’ve just got one, now please promise me.”
On the day of the Fall, Oliver’s leg—the one that was supposedly injured—shook, he didn’t like this, so he went to the police station, sucked up his pride and asked Clearwater to please let him borrow her muggle piece to call Percy, she had to show him how to use it first.
“Percy? Are you okay?” Oliver asked, when he picked up.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I’m fine, do you remember what I said about the cellphone?”
“I’m leaving it for you, it’s in my right coat pocket.”
No. Oh god no.
It was in his coat pocket, I handed the bloody thing to Clearwater who had run over with me, I didn’t care what that was.
Percy’s body lay under his hands. And Oliver’s whole world went crashing.
At the expense of Percy the police caught their man, Percy had told Oliver earlier that Clearwater had had no clue about what was going on, but she seemed to take the whole thing personally.
“Percy Weasley was good at his job, maybe someday he would have been a good man,” said Clearwater.
“He was a good man,” Oliver said, she patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
“I was so alone, and I owe you so much Percy Weasley. So if nothing else, just one more miracle, please don’t be dead.”
He still lives in their flat, and sometimes at night he can hear him talking, he can hear him mutter about bodies and cases.
Then he wakes up, and Percy’s not there.
The bed is cold, and the house is silent. But still at the dead of night, he can hear you talking.