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Thank you, I don’t need to see a psychiatrist

Author: Sectumsempra

Beta: Xenya-m
Rating: G

Characters: Mycroft, Sherlock, John, Minerva, Snape, Weasley Sr.

Genre: Humor

Fandom: Harry Potter, Sherlock

A/N: The secrets of the Holmes family. Crossover with HP, humor, crack.

Timeline: Post-Hogwarts

Originally posted in Russian on snapetales.com: June 19, 2014 (http://www.snapetales.com/index.php?fic_id=30861)

Translator: med_cat
Translation beta: capt_facepalm

He opened the wardrobe and took a box from the bottom shelf. The box contained an old set of wizard’s robes--three sizes bigger than he needed. Putting the box on the table in front of him, he sat down, took out a pack of cigarettes, and after counting them, lit one. Having lost himself in thought, he completely forgot to use an ashtray and dropped the whitish column of ash onto the dully gleaming tabletop. That made him decide that this was a good opportunity to recall the old days. The cleaning spell was fairly successful the first time. Then he took up the robes and, after a second attempt, reduced them to the right width.

The car his job provided  transported the gentleman to an inconspicuous alley with an old telephone booth. Putting on the robes over his business suit, he entered the booth and dialed a number.

“Ministry of Magic”, a pleasant female voice whispered, “please state your name and the purpose of your visit, sir.”

He stated them and the floor of the booth started to glide downwards. Soon he beheld a huge atrium with a fountain in the middle. After the war, the golden statues were remade, taking into account the current fashion. The figures of the witch and wizard were surrounded by the statues of the elf, goblin, and centaur, and the entire group was looking in the direction, so to say, of the common goal.

Our gentlemen looked askance at the fountain and continued walking towards the lift. Passing witches and wizards were glancing at him curiously--despite his wizard’s robes, he looked very Mugglish.

Mycroft aimed the tip of the umbrella at the puddle and drew a curve in the air. The wet spot left by the whiskey immediately vanished. John fell to his knees and started feeling the carpet, and then lifted his head and looked at Mycroft, horrified.

“But that’s...not possible…”

“Not a bad trick,” said Sherlock, mostly out of habit.

“But it cannot be possible!” John continued pleading.

“Alas, John, that’s the truth.”

“And that’s where...you...went to school?” John’s voice lowered to an ominous whisper.

Mycroft nodded.

“Which House?”

“Slytherin.”