The Case of the Misplaced Satisfaction

Although he had been in the new flat for two weeks, Remus Lupin was finally getting around to unpacking the last of his boxes. It was discouraging work. Very few of Remus' possessions were of any value, but those that were meant a great deal to him. Only one box remained unchecked and two important items were still unaccounted for.

Remus grumbled. However, he found that grumbling did not properly express his ire, so he switched briefly to muttering instead. Eventually, he gave up on that as well, relaxed, and allowed a current of curses to flow effortlessly into his speech.

"That's all well and good, Moony," Sirius said from the doorway, "but if you're trying to bugger something that small, your todger's going to take some damage."

"Not me," Remus said darkly just before he opened the last box and started swearing again.

Sirius covered his tackle and made a show of backing away. "Who, then? You can't be pissed off at me already - you've just moved in!"

With an effort, Remus regained his normal calm. "No, Mr. Padfoot, I survived seven years in your company at school, and despite that, I am happy to be here and grateful for the kind offer to share your flat."

Sirius waved the speech away as though it were the faintest of distractions (which was fair enough, since distraction was the effect Remus had been trying to achieve).

From out of nowhere, Sirius produced a pipe and a magnifying glass and began studying the room in detail. Any attempts on Remus' part to speak were met with an extremely harsh and demanding, "Sssssh!" that sounded exactly as though it had come from Madame Pince.

Bemused, Remus was still trying to work out whether Madame Pince would be proud of Sirius' accomplishment in that area or not, when Sirius finally straightened up, looking extraordinarily smug.

"Elementary, my dear Lupin," Sirius drawled, gesturing with his pipe, "I have solved what to the less analytically minded would present itself as a deep and unfathomable mystery, but to one such as myself posed only the most basic of conundrums."

Remus bit his lip to keep from smiling. Of all the literature he and Sirius had passed back and forth over the years, he had never seen Sirius take to anything the way he recently had to Doyle's Holmes.

"Any luck yet in convincing Wormtail to set out a shingle in Diagon Alley?" Remus asked, referring to Sirius' desire to introduce the honorable profession of private detective to the wizarding world. Peter would make a brilliant partner, Sirius had insisted. He cited Dr. Watson as his example: plump, completely clueless without being at all stupid (or was it the other way 'round?), and most importantly, capable of doing any and all necessary paperwork.

Sirius flashed a hurt look at the interruption. Remus took that as an indication that Peter still retained enough sense of self-preservation to not quit his nice, safe, job at the Ministry for one of Sirius' schemes.

"My apologies, O Great One," Remus said apologetically. "Please continue to humble me with the depth of your knowledge."

Sirius' gaze turned piercing (or maybe just a little bit squinty). "It seems," he said at length, "that some of your possessions are Not Here."

"How does he do it?" Remus asked the ceiling, which did not respond.

"And once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the answer," Sirius announced loftily as he began pacing in what was probably meant to seem a thoughtful manner.

"You haven't eliminated anything, yet-"

"One fortnight ago, you packed all of your worldly goods and moved here. You had come to the very timely understanding that your romantic association with Sean Springwell, my most bitter rival, was best ended.

"However, being the unattractive and misbegotten git that he is, Sean helped himself to an item or two first." Sirius paused in his pacing and whirled around to face Remus. "Or am I mistaken?" he asked with the confidence of one who knows that he is not.

"No," Remus confirmed glumly. "I'm missing my father's brass watch and the antique chess set you bought for my seventeenth birthday. I don't know that he took them - I might have left them behind - but getting them back is going to be a nightmare."

"Don't despair, Lupin," Sirius said. "My formidable skills are on the case."

Remus shrugged. It would be almost impossible to get Sirius to back off now, and it wasn't as though Remus had been looking forward to having a heart-to-heart with Sean.

* * * * *

"I don't believe it," Remus said. "How did you get my stuff back?"

"Elementary, my dear Lupin. Aided by the superior senses of canis familiaris, I sniffed out the hidden lair of my arch-nemesis."

"He's on the Floo network, you know. You could've just looked him up," Remus pointed out.

"But then," Sirius said dramatically, "I would've lost the element of surprise."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Should I take that to mean that you didn't exactly knock on his door?"

"Of course not! Once I found his location, I remembered the old adage that says when in danger, a person will always rush to his or her most treasured possessions and was inspired. I set fire to Springwell's house, hid myself, and waited."

"And that worked?" Remus blinked in surprise.

"Sort of. A little. Well, no, not really," Sirius conceded. "He went for his wand, and used it to put out the fire."

"There, there," Remus consoled, patting Sirius on the back, "it was a brilliant plan. We can always try again, with a larger fire. But you have returned, and you do have my things, so I am guessing there is more to this story?"

"Brilliant deduction, Lupin. Have you ever thought of taking up Investigation? It's a new and very progressive field. We could work together; it'd be nice to have a partner capable of deductive reasoning. Peter's terrible at it."

"Sure, count me in. I'm sure the criminal underworld will agree not to commit any crimes three days per month."

"And being a werewolf is the perfect quirk!" Sirius apparently hadn't noticed Remus' sarcasm. Somehow.

"I know I'm going to regret asking, but quirk? Being a werewolf is now considered a quirk? Is that better or worse, I wonder, than having a 'furry little problem'?"

"All of the best P.I.s have at least one significant quirk, which can both help and hurt them in their crime-solving efforts." Sirius nodded. "I think the Americans have it the best. Their detectives get to drink a ton of Firewhisky, or whatever Muggles call it."

"Sirius, how many of those things have you read?" Obviously, Sirius' detective fixation was worse than any of them had thought.

"Anyway, as I was saying, Springwell put out the fire. I decided the best course of action at that point would be to reveal myself and demand satisfaction."

"If you were that frustrated, Padfoot, you could have come to me, you know," Remus meant it, too, every word.

The Great Canine Super-Sleuth remained oblivious. "Springwell looked quite nervous. Doubtless he'd heard of me already."

Remus tried to look innocent.

"I then intimated that unless your boyfriend handed over the goods in short order, he would soon be missing a treasured item of his own. He gave me your things without any fuss at all. Case closed."

"He's not my boyfriend anymore," Remus said automatically.

"And we will never speak of him again. Are you satisfied with the outcome?" Sirius asked Remus.

"Yes, thank you. Really, it is wonderful to have my things back." Remus smiled.

Sirius stripped down and became gratuitously naked. "Good - now to take you up on your offer. I would like it very much if you would satisfy me," he said, grinning.

Several heartbeats, and then Remus remembered his earlier comment and his smile grew impossibly wider. "My pleasure," he said. "Only, you have got to put that magnifying glass down first. I promise, you won't be needing it."