Harry Potter, Sherlock 1. Saviour

Sherlock determinedly raised the handgun to the German's head. Aiming for the middle of the forehead, Sherlock looked into Magnussen's dead, shark-like eyes and saw emotion. A feeling of triumph momentarily washed through him at the sight of unbridled surprise and fear in those eyes, but it was fleeting as he focused on his next action. He made to pull the trigger. A shot rang out. It took Sherlock a moment to realise as he lay on the ground with John's solid, protective hand on his back, that the shot fired wasn't his. He dimly remembered ducking as soon as he registered an unknown bullet emerging from the head he was aiming at, John only two seconds ahead of him in reaction time. As he lay on the ground beside John, surrounded by special ops and staring at the cooling body in front of him, there was a moment of pause before the whole area descended into a chaos that even Mycroft was hard pressed to control. He couldn't help the smirk that spread over his face at the scene before him. There was only one man he knew that had perfected the art of chaos to the point where he didn't even have to be present to create it. Not even Moriarty was that good, though Sherlock would grudgingly admit his nemesis had come close. Even as they were being led away in handcuffs, the look Mycroft send Sherlock had his smirk widening into a grin.

Miles away, sitting in a fairly sturdy tree, Harry Potter slipped back on his glasses. He'd had his eyes magically healed as soon as he was legally able, but had kept his glasses to avoid unwanted attention and unnecessary headaches while he was still in the wizarding world. Learning his eyesight would deteriorate to the point of blindness had been a very good incentive to get the procedure done, but the extra enhancements, which improved his eyesight to a vampiric standard, he had paid only fifteen galleons extra for had increased his less than exuberant attitude towards it. Harry took a moment to gaze in the direction of the erupting chaos. He saw the helicopter circling above the building and dark spots of movement on the ground below it. Relaxing against the trunk of the tree he was sitting on, Harry couldn't but think that his actions were worth it, even if it meant killing a man.

Truthfully, Harry would've offered to assassinate Magnussen himself, as he found the man more morally inept than even Rita Skeeter. Even then, not only did Skeeter have slightly more morals, she was infinitely more tolerable to be around. Harry had only spent five minutes within the man's presence and in that time had used every trick in every book known to man, to hold himself back from breaking the shark's nose. He was still thanking every deity he knew of for not being recognised at the time. Regrettable as it was, killing Magnussen the way he did had saved the Holmes brothers a bit of trouble and served the purpose of sending a message to both Sherlock and Mycroft that he was still around. He was sure he wouldn't be connected to this incident. Even if he was, he was confident in his ability to disappear. He wouldn't be found if he didn't want to be. The Wizarding World was a good example of that, as they had yet to find him. _That could be because I made my last "death" seem very permanent, though, _he thought drily.

Harry had known he wouldn't live happily in the Wizarding World and he had issues with people and social norms in it that he would have to work through before he would even consider returning to that world again. As it was, he didn't really have the motivation to work through such issues, so he generally kept his distance unless absolutely necessary. Glancing down at the gun resting in his lap, Harry remembered promising himself the day he "died" that he would never again fight for anyone else but himself. Never again would he let strangers push him to the front lines and cower behind him. Gazing at the sleek black and hard lines of the weapon, he told himself this was different. He might not fight for the world, but he would kill for his family. Because his family was all he had left.

Disassembling the stolen and magically modified sniper rifle, though the scope was unnecessary, Harry checked for any noticeable evidence that it was him who been in the area. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose and while roughly pushing them back into place he decided to get rid of them as soon as was viably possible. Not only had they become more annoying since the correction but they were far too recognisable. While that was helping him set up some meetings with people who could help him stay anonymous in future, it would make staying inconspicuous awkward. Shaking his head to physically clear his thoughts, he took another glance around to be sure he hadn't missed anything in his moment of distraction. Then, after gathering up any leaves that had fallen during his time in the tree to make the investigation extra difficult, he disapparited without a sound.

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><p><strong>This is just a little piece I was inspired to write after Sherlock finished once again.<strong> **It's very short in comparison to some of my other work but when I attempted to make it longer it just... didn't seem to flow as well or something. Anyway, I have a couple of other ideas I'd like to add to this but for now I'll leave it there. Hope you enjoyed it!**

**(19/07/2015)****Just made a small adjustment to explain a detail or two relevent in later chapters. Thanks to HarnGin for pointing it out!  
><strong>


	2. Babysitter

John was grumbling again, Sherlock noted as they walked side by side down a crowded London street, heading for home. Sherlock knew, of course, why John was grumbling. From what he could deduce, it was a mixture of Moriarty's return and Sherlock's own cheerful demeanour. Sherlock didn't see what was wrong with being cheerful, but when he asked John in his usual blunt way, what was wrong with being cheerful, he was pleasantly amused by the answer. John explained that there was nothing wrong with Sherlock being cheerful but the demented grin he had been sporting since Magnussen had been killed was starting to worry a lot of people, including Mary. This explanation only made Sherlock grin wider, which in turn made John grumble more, which continued to amuse Sherlock to no end.

The pair walked passed a quaint café that had an equal amount of people sitting outside to the amount of people sitting inside, though it seemed all the patrons were enjoy some kind of hot beverage or another. As they sauntered passed, Sherlock collecting information with a glance and discarding it just as quickly, while John eyed an abandoned cup of tea longingly, the two men suddenly got the feeling that came with being watched. This wasn't an unusual feeling for either John or Sherlock, what with Mycroft being their acquaintance and brother respectively. But while John turned to find the nearest street camera, Sherlock felt a warm tingle run up his spine. Time seemed to slow and the world blurred as Sherlock came to a stop in the middle of the path. He could vaguely hear John's worried call, hazy and sluggish as it was, but he ignored it to focus on the feeling that was slowly filling his veins. It was a sense of excitement that he hadn't felt in years. The kind that left his hands trembling for something to do and had his eyes searching for the next surprise. Sherlock turned slowly back towards the café, still ignoring John's call, and examined the patrons sitting outside more carefully.

It took him a moment to pick out Harry's pale features and shaggy raven hair in the small crowd, but it didn't surprise Sherlock very much when he saw the glowing emerald eyes that were sparkling with mischief. Harry had perfected the art of blending in when he was very young after all. Noticing that John had stopped trying to get his attention and was now following his gaze to the lithe man's reclined position in the corner of the café's patio, Sherlock took a firm hold of John's sleeve and dragged him towards the little table Harry was sitting at. He stopped in front of the table and let go of John's sleeve to resist the childish urge to cling to it in reassurance. Sherlock wanted to introduce the two people whose company he favoured most in this world. However, he was at a loss at how to do that without admitting to both John and Harry, quite awkwardly if his emotional track record held true, that they were his two favourite people in the entire world. As a result, John and Sherlock stood awkwardly for a moment or two in front of a very amused Harry, who seemed to know what Sherlock was thinking but also seemed quite happy to let him flounder. Sherlock scowled petulantly and Harry chuckled before gesturing to the other men to sit down. The two obediently pulled out the chairs, if a little hesitantly on John's part, and as Sherlock flopped into his, Harry got the conversation going.

"Hello Locksie," he said with a fond smile, "you're looking much better than when I last saw you. Then again, when I last saw you, you were being led away in hand cuffs, so it can't really get much worse than that."

"You'd be surprised" John muttered mutinously. Harry grinned in response as he turned to look at him.

"You must be Dr John Watson. Sherlock's new glorified babysitter."

John looked like he didn't know whether to be amused or annoyed, while Sherlock just looked insulted. Harry laughed at their expressions and, choosing to rile Sherlock up just a little bit more, he continued addressing John.

"I don't envy you, mate. You have your work cut out for you. I should know, I was his last babysitter" Harry grinned impishly. "My name's Harry Potter, if you were wondering."

"I was," John replied, finally giving into his grin of amusement at Sherlock's deepening scowl.

"You weren't my babysitter then, Harry, and I don't need John to be one now," he huffed.

Harry smiled in a pacifying manner, and stated in a soothing tone, "of course not, Locksie."

Sherlock scoffed and looked away. John took his chance to speak.

"He's never mentioned you" he stated bluntly, tilting his toward Sherlock briefly. Harry smiled sadly in response and nodded.

"I'd be surprised if he did. I'm not really supposed to be talked about. Rather an unmentionable being in the Holmes family, I am" he laughed quietly, a little morose. Sherlock kept silent.

"Though to be fair, I'll bet he didn't mention Mycroft either, did he?" Harry continued with a sly smile.

"No, no he didn't" John chuckled slightly at the truth.

"After all, why would he mention the evil enemy that is his brother? You'd find out about him eventually."

John laughed openly at this with Harry while Sherlock glared darkly at both of them. He didn't see what was funny about his thought process and didn't really like the two laughing at his expense. He was secretly pleased however, that the two seemed to be getting on so well. Though he wasn't sure he'd want them to be so well acquainted if they kept joking at his expense.

"Don't pout, Sherlock. It doesn't become one of your IQ levels" Harry admonished sweetly. John smiled faintly at the patience in Harry's tone that Mycroft's seemed to lack every time he spoke to his brother.

"I'm not pouting" Sherlock snapped and then did a complete one eighty on the topic of discussion. "Nice work with that cover up for Magnussen by the way, I hear his murderer had a lot of motive."

"I don't know what you're talking about" Harry dodged lightly, looking at his nails. Sherlock grinned triumphantly at the action.

"Wait," John paused, putting the pieces together, his guard rising as he did so. "You're the one that shot Magnussen?"

Harry smiled blandly, "Come now, John. You know as well as I do, that would be telling."

His answer did nothing to sooth John's growing suspicions. Sherlock, however, scoffed loudly at John's reaction.

"Come now, John. It's not like you haven't done the same thing."

John blinked, not only at the truth of Sherlock's words, thinking back to their first case together made John acknowledge that fact that he really couldn't judge Harry, but also at the similar speech pattern between Harry and Sherlock. Glancing between the two briefly, he wondered who picked what up from who.

Harry's eyes took an interested gleam upon hearing this titbit of information and he also glanced between his two companions, waiting for one of them to elaborate. Sherlock smirked deviously at Harry's interest.

"You can find the details of the case on John's blog under the title 'A Study In Pink', if you're curious" Sherlock explained smoothly. Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow with a disbelieving tilt to his lips.

"A Study in…Pink?"

Sherlock turned to send a smug look at a, once again, grumbling John. The disbelieving tilt to Harry's lips turned amused when he realised this was a popular topic of debate for the two friends. Before the discussion was rehashed again, as Harry was sure it would be by the challenging glint in Sherlock's eyes and the hard frown on John's face that was rising to meet that challenge, Harry spoke softly.

"I'll have to see this blog for myself, I think."

This time both John and Sherlock blinked, surprised at the abrupt statement, and they both turned to look at a serenely smiling Harry. While John took this statement at face value, Sherlock's expression fell into a calculating expression.

"If you're going to be looking at John's stories, I should show you my blog on the science of deduction. I'd rather do that back at the flat."

"What?" John asked, confusion spread across his face, clearly not following Sherlock's train of thought. Harry, on the hand, had practise and experience on his side, so he quickly caught onto not only Sherlock's train of thought but also the real reason behind it.

"Honestly John" Sherlock huffed, exasperated, "Do you really think I want Mycroft knowing I was explaining my blog to Harry? You are free, aren't you Harry? Good. It's decided. Let's go."

Sherlock hopped up and marched off, leaving John and Harry to stand and push in the vacated chairs at a more sedated pace. John's face was still a mask of frustrated confusion, so Harry decided to have a little mercy.

"I'm sure Mycroft teases him about his blog. By the sounds of it, he must be quite proud of it."

John's confusion didn't clear. If anything, he got more frustrated at the explanation.

"Yes, but why bring us back to the flat? Not that, you aren't welcome. You are. But if he wanted you to see the flat, why not just come out and ask?"

"This is Sherlock we're talking about," Harry stated dryly, a dull look on his face. John's ears and cheeks turned a slight pink hue. Harry sighed.

"Besides the fact that it's Sherlock, I'm not really supposed to be seen with Sherlock or even in public. I hope that will change soon, but for the moment, that's the way it is."

John, still a little confused, nodded at the explanation anyway. There was an awkward moment of pause. John shuffled his feet, oddly nervous in Harry's presence before turning to catch sight of Sherlock's disgruntled expression at their slow movement.

"John?"

John turned again, at the sound of his name, giving Harry his full attention as the pair started walking after Sherlock.

"Thank you for looking after him when I couldn't."

"You're welcome" was John's automatic response. But hearing the sincerity in Harry's words gave John momentary pause. Turning to look at the man walking beside him and couldn't help but verify the obvious.

"You really care for him, don't you?"

Harry smiled softly as he told John how he'd met a young boy who was far too intelligent to make friends with his peers because they just didn't understand. And when they caught up to Sherlock, he scoffed at Harry's story and told John how he'd taken pity on a skinny, bespectacled boy who was far too stubborn and kind for his own good. John laughed and told Harry about how he'd met an arrogant but brilliant man who whether he'd fought in Afghanistan or Iraq and whether or not he wanted to see a flat in the space of five minutes. When they reached 221B Baker Street, Mrs Hudson made them tea and they continued to swap stories well into the night. The blogs were forgotten and left for another time.

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><p><strong>I wanted to get this up last Saturday, but I just didn't get the time to finish it. I don't think I'll have the next chapter up by next weekend but that's when I'll try and aim for. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Happy Reading!<strong>


	3. Avenger

**To Sarah and Guests for not only reviewing and supporting this fic, but also for asking quite the interesting question. Unfortunately, you are going to have to decide the answer for yourself.**

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><p>Mycroft Holmes had been having a fairly normal day in the offices of the British Government up until sometime after lunch. Having just come back to his private office in the Diogenes Club, he left his trusted assistant to her duties; usually this meant she'd sit at small table outside said office and have tea, while tapping away on her phone.<p>

Today, however, when he sat down in his leather chair behind his ornate mahogany desk he felt a shiver run up his spine. Like Sherlock, a sense of excitement that he hadn't felt in years was slowly filling his veins. Alas, because Mycroft was the lazy fellow that he was, this feeling was tinted with a sense of apprehension and resignation. Mycroft closed his eyes to mentally prepare himself for an inevitable conversation. No sooner had he done so, than a silky amused voice spread throughout the elegant office.

"Hello, Mikey. You're looking well. Lost weight, have you?"

Mycroft's eyes did not fly open in surprise, much to his relief, but his posture became stiffer and when his eyes did open, still too quickly for his liking, they retained a slightly wider shape than normal upon seeing one Harry Potter lounging in one of the hunter green leather chairs in front of his desk. The man looked as if he had been there for a while, which he probably had been if Mycroft was honest. Unfortunately, that meant that Mycroft had walked straight passed him, looked straight at him even, when he entered his office and hadn't seen him. Harry's amused smile became a little bit sharper, as if he knew what kind of frightening thoughts were running through Mycroft's head. With the fleeting thought that he shouldn't and wouldn't be surprised by that, Mycroft looked imploringly at his unexpected guest.

"Harry, Mycroft is the name mummy gave me. If you could refrain from shortening it and possibly struggle all the way to the end."

Harry smiled sweetly; "And where would the fun in that be, Mikey dear?"

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh as Harry chuckled quietly at Mycroft's annoyance.

"Don't worry Mycroft, for the purposes of the following conversation; you will not be called by my beloved nickname for you." Mycroft's eyes sharpened but he smiled benignly despite it.

"Have you been to see mummy?" he asked lightly. Harry's smile was a little more forced.

"I have, actually."

"And?"

"She seems to be doing well," he answered vaguely and Mycroft almost smiled triumphantly at having caught Harry lying about such a visit until he continued.

"In fact, it was from her that I heard Sherlock was shot." Mycroft resisted an uncultured sneer.

"Is this the part where you tell me off for bad behaviour? Put me over your knee and pretend I'm a disobedient child?" he asked sardonically.

"I don't know, Mycroft. Is it?" Harry asked with a pacifying tone and a sarcastic smile. Mycroft huffed.

"You should be aware that Sherlock volunteered to fake his death and spend the next two years chasing around after Moriarty's men, the shooting incident had nothing to do with me" he defended.

"Only because you asked him," Harry stated face turning slated, "but that's not really why I'm here. He had good reasons for going underground as he did and I've already told him off for letting good, loyal and trustworthy people like John and Lestrade think he was dead. No, I'm here because your ambition and sense of duty combined and at odds with Sherlock's reckless nature make for a rather bad headache on my part. Case in point, it pushed Sherlock towards drugs again in the aid of a case, that you had information on. An action you could have prevented. So, yes, it does have something to do with you". There was only a momentary beat of silence.

"Good God, you really are here to scold me" Mycroft glared incredulous and insulted. The hard set of Harry's facial expression did not soften.

"I'll bet a large sum of money that John wasn't in the room when you 'said' all of this to Sherlock" Mycroft stated dryly with an unimpressed air. Harry raised an equally unimpressed eyebrow.

"Of course not, but then why do you think your dear PA is sitting outside at this very moment? I can assure you she won't be hearing a thing. This is because I'm neither cruel enough, nor stupid enough to rip into either you or Sherlock, or anyone else I care about for that matter, while anyone else is within hearing distance" Harry explained with decided bite, his patience finally wearing thin.

"Harry-"

"Don't you dare 'Harry' me, Mycroft Holmes!"

"He would've shot Magnussen. You know that. He could've ruined everything!" Mycroft snapped, frustrated that Harry couldn't see what he did.

"And I would've been damn proud, if he did. But laws don't apply the same way to me as they do to him, so I took the shot instead. I took the shot because I knew, Mycroft, that you would've sat there and done nothing as he ruined his life for the thrice damned "greater good". I knew you would put 'the people' over your own family." Harry growled.

"Harry, the needs of many-"

"He is your brother!"

There was a pause as Harry glared at Mycroft. As Mycroft carefully removed all emotion from his face, Harry's glare intensified.

"I trusted you to look after him," Mycroft scoffed very much like his brother, "I trusted you both, to look after each other while I was away and so far it is your 'idiot' of a younger brother that is the only one to keep that trust."

"Harry, please-"Mycroft began, but Harry waved his hand in a single, firm dismissive gesture.

"You told me when you were young why you wanted to be in government. I'll admit, you had many reasons, but one stood out from the rest. Remind me again, what that reason was" Harry asked calmly. Silence greeted Harry's request and at this point, Harry's expression was just as blank as Mycroft's. The only give away to how seriously Harry would take Mycroft's answer, was how hard he was staring into Mycroft's eyes. The silence continued until finally Harry closed his eyes in a defeated sigh. He stood up gracefully and walked towards the door and had just gripped the handle when Mycroft decided to speak.

"I worked my way into the higher ranks British government for my Queen and country with the minor goal of avoiding or manipulating those of a lesser intelligence than mine."

In a matter of moments, as these words left Mycroft's mouth, his office became a whirlwind of destruction. Glass shattered, wood cracked, papers were blown around the room and the door knob melted into Harry's hand. The two men stood in the mist of the chaos, untouched but not unaffected. Harry turned back to what Sherlock dubbed as the "British Government", his eyes glowing an eerie raging green and his raven hair was blown about in the magical wind. His jaw was clenched tight as he looked at Mycroft, who by now had a look of slight apprehension and uncertainty on his face, though he seemed to have by passed the carnage that had become his office in favour of watching the angry wizard.

"Fine," Harry hissed, his anger drawing on the parselmagic that had stayed with him through Voldemort's demise, "lie to yourself all you like. But don't you dare lie to me!"

"Harry, be reasonable"

"Why did you do it?"

"Harry-"

"Why?"

"Ha-"

"WHY?"

"TO PROTECT MY FAMILY!" Mycroft finally shouted, giving in to Harry's demands and showing more emotion than he had in years. The magic stopped and the room stilled. The two men stood in the ruin, muted.

"It's good to know you haven't forgotten that, at least" Harry glared scornfully.

"Harry, please, let me explain" Mycroft implored, not quite pleading.

"No. You had your chance, Mycroft. You knew why I came here today and what I was looking for. I was angry before I came but willing to listen to what you had to say. You chose instead to avoid the topic and play a deplorable political game, for which I had no patience. Now I'm beyond the realms of anger and am in no mood to show you mercy" Harry's voice was steely but it sounded more human than it had previously. He waved a hand and, with his emotions still fuelling his magic, the room righted itself. Mycroft's office looked as if the heated discussion had never taken place. The same could not be said for either Harry or Mycroft, both of whom were high strung with emotion. Harry turned on his heel and marched towards the door. This time when his hand gripped the newly repaired door knob, he did not turn to look at Mycroft, choosing instead to speak to the wooden door in an attempt to keep his temper in check.

"Mycroft, you looked out for Sherlock and his loved ones the best way you knew how and I commend you for that. However, you sacrificed your own brother's happiness and life for government plans and other people and I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive you for that."

Harry stood glaring darkly at the door for another minute, then turned the handle and let himself out without another word. Only when he had shut the door with a sharp and resounding chick, did Mycroft allow himself to slump against his desk and close his eyes in shame.

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><p><strong>Finally finished this! It took a while to type out the start and I ended up beginning in the middle and typing the introduction last again. And now I'm right back to where I started with nothing written to guarantee an update for next week. I'll see what I can do, though. Hope you enjoyed it!<strong>

**(19/07/2015) - Fixed a few gramatical errors, missing words, letters that kind of thing. If anyone sees anymore please let me know because I'm pretty sure I've forgotten a couple I had seen previously.**


	4. Inspector

**This chapter... It was like pulling teeth! Or blood from a stone! Except more painful! When I said within the next week on my profile, this is not what I meant. Anyway, I hope to reply to all of you who reviewed the last chapter because you guys really do deserve the individual gratitude I'm feeling for each of you for keep the motivation going. There's one that stood out from the rest though. **

**Because it always makes me smile to think Harry has "emotional authority", this chapter is for teedub!**

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><p>When Harry Potter performed his 'final death' for the Wizarding World, he hadn't really been thinking anything more complicated than, "Let's get the hell out of Dodge!" Unfortunately, that made his later desired task of staying in England, close to Sherlock and Mycroft, all the more difficult. Luckily, saving Wizarding Britain from Voldemort also meant saving Muggle Britain from the dark wizard as well. Or rather, <em>Mundane<em> Britain, as the Queen preferred it to be called. Presently, the Queen was someone whom Harry was more than willing to listen to, as aforementioned royalty was currently organising the multitude of opportunities Harry was receiving to stay out of sight but close to London. It helped that Her Majesty was also rather fond of the Holmes brothers. Indeed, she found his reasons and relations to the Holmes' rather amusing, but he couldn't really fault her for that, even he found it amusing when he took a moment to think about it.

As it was, the Queen, in collaboration with the mundane Prime Minister, was creating an entirely new division in Scotland Yard, with the added benefit of accommodating to Harry's unusual circumstances. Harry suspected the Minister of Magic may also be partially involved, if only as a consultant. This new division would primarily be made up of squibs and muggleborns who desired and were capable of living in the mundane society. They would take the unusual cases, cold or otherwise, and with their knowledge of magic decide whether the case was magical, whether it should be brought to the attention of the Aurors, or whether they were capable of handling it themselves. The aim of the division was to have an official position in the Yard to cut down on the number of oblivations that occurred to the police force and the general public. The division would be the official liaison between the Aurors and the Yard, but would be situated in the mundane world unlike the Department of Muggle Affairs in the Ministry, who, despite well-meaning folk such as Arthur Weasley and only in Harry's opinion, had no idea as to how to do their jobs.

'Well, the new division will hopefully be the end result,' thought Harry as DI Lestrade continued his tour of Scotland Yard. 'For now, it's just me working the usual case to get experience.'

Harry grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that he would probably end up only partially working for the Yard, while also working for Mycroft in the near future. After all the trouble he'd gone to, to fake his final death, he wasn't going to mess it up by becoming a liaison to the Aurors. Though he had the Queen's protection, it would be more trouble than it was worth to be discovered. However, after his recent discussion with Mycroft, the "minor government employee", he rather hoped the 'near future' was not within the next year or two. Harry found comfort in reminding himself of the fact that he'd agreed to entertain the rare favour for the Queen, should she ever ask it of him. It was an odd comfort, but comfort none the less.

"So, any questions?" Lestrade asked cheerfully, once they'd reached his office. Truthfully, Lestrade had no idea what to make of the new Inspector, who seemed to be of a similar age to Sherlock but carried himself in a way Lestrade imagined John Watson did after he came home from his military tour. He quietly wondered how well the new recruit would get along with the retired army surgeon if the two met.

"Much field work?"

"Enough," was Lestrade's hesitant reply, the question having brought him back to the present.

Harry smirked, "Much paperwork?"

"Too much," the DI sighed tiredly just thinking about it. Harry chuckled; amused by the anticipated reaction he received.

"Anyone I should look out for or avoid, maybe?" Harry asked curiously, gazing around Lestrade's office, not really expecting anything other than a negative reply. Lestrade, slightly thrown by the question, shuffled uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say.

"Well…" he trailed off hesitantly.

Harry's eyes stopped their exploration of the office and focused on Lestrade. He turned giving his full attention to the fidgeting form of the DI, beginning to genuinely dread hearing the answer to his question. Upon seeing the look he was getting, Lestrade sighed heavily. New recruits were often territorial of any cases they received. Usually feeling the need to prove themselves capable and worthy, they sometimes went about it the wrong way, excepting little to no help and getting offended when observations were pointed out. DI Dimmock was the perfect example of that for a time. Hoping for the best, but mentally preparing for the worst, he explained.

"There's a man who comes in every now and then, when a case is particularly difficult and he takes an interest in it" Lestrade began, "He's a consultant of sorts, I suppose, and he's brilliant. Truly brilliant, but he's-"

"He's a freak," another voice cut in.

Lestrade would have closed his eyes in frustration and disappointment at the sound of Sgt Donavan's voice, had he not seen the twitch in the young man's eyebrow, miniscule though it was. He felt some worry when a cold but polite smile was plastered onto the pale face, which did nothing to hide the sharpened glint his eyes took. Lestrade felt momentarily concerned for his Sergeant as the other man turned to the mocha skinned woman. Seeing the sardonic, bittersweet smile on her face, a stray thought whispered that she might deserve whatever happened next. He just hoped he wouldn't have to clean up the mess. He was surprised when the voice he'd been expecting had a smooth and seductive, if slightly chilling, quality to it.

"Inspector Harry Black, at your service," Harry intoned with a short nod. Donavan's smile turned a little more sweet than bitter.

"Sergeant Sally Donavan at yours".

"Charmed," the polite smile turned slightly more charismatic and Lestrade felt like he was watching a particularly cruel cat play lazily with a mouse. "Forgive me Sgt Donavan, but I don't quite understand the meaning to your initial statement. Could you elaborate, please?"

Donavan was only too happy to do so and seemed oblivious to the warning signs that Lestrade was seeing; "The man Inspector Lestrade is telling you about is intelligent, no question, but he's a nut. He gets his kicks from seeing dead bodies. He's an arrogant ass too, that guesses your life story from the clothes you're wearing. In essence, he's a creep".

Harry frowned, but Lestrade felt it was more for performance than anything else; "So he's likes the challenge of solving someone's murder and likes to point out observations he notices about others?"

"That's what he says, but it's only a matter of time before solving crimes isn't enough for him," Donavan scoffed. Harry hummed, unimpressed.

"Does he show his emotions?" he asked, subdued.

Donavan scoffed again, "He doesn't have any".

"Does he adhere to social norms? Like know what is appropriate to say and when?"

"Not at all. He just blurts it out, regardless of who is listening," she scowled, not liking this line of questioning but not knowing entirely why. Lestrade stayed silent.

"Then, in the opinions of most psychiatrists and the more observative and patient, the man is what some would call, mentally handicapped. In my opinion, however, he is an observational genius whose increased IQ has left him unable to connect with other people as they have trouble keeping up with his mental capabilities. As such, because he couldn't connect, he couldn't develop on an emotional level. This leaves him with the emotional understanding of, say, a five year old," Harry stated drily, his face now slated. Donavan's scowl deepened but Lestrade was suppressing a smile, because it did kind of sound like Sherlock, both in description and tone. Harry continued;

"Considering he helps solve crimes, I highly doubt he'll turn into a serial killer, purely because, if for nothing else, he wouldn't find the challenge in it if he dislikes the way the Yard solve cases. Though, I now have a better idea as to why you seem to hate him so much, particularly if it has anything to with a supply closest, which I suspect it does".

Donavan's mouth dropped open in stunned offense, while Lestrade frowned at the implied lack of profession though he wasn't entirely sure from whom. He didn't like Harry throwing accusations around like Sherlock, with observations rather than evidence the majority could follow. However, if there was evidence, something would eventually have to be done about Donavan and her work ethic. A fine sergeant she may be, but there was a time and place for everything, including social niceties.

"You're just like him, aren't you?" she accused scathingly, "You're a freak, who gets his kicks from airing everyone's dirty laundry in their-"

"Actually, Sgt Donavan, I am not," Harry interrupted, with ice in his eyes and hard steel in his tongue; he stilled the other occupants in the room. "While my observational skills are above average, I am nowhere near a level where I can tell what you had for dinner last night by the clothes you are wearing today. I do, however, have a perfectly working set of ears, which had the misfortune to pick up your malodorous tones through the door of a supply closest."

Donavan had the grace to lower her eyes in mortified shame as her cheeks heated. Lestrade however, had to cover his eyes with his hand and grip the desk he was leaning against with the other. Hearing the deed through a door was a little different to seeing fibres of the carpet on Donavan's knees. Harry didn't stop there though;

"I will admit to having been called a freak by my maternal guardians for seventeen years of my life at least" the other occupants in the room looked up in shock, "I would bet a large sum of money that if they ever do mention my existence in passing, they still call me a freak. However, they still have the good grace and _sense _not to say within my presence and I would hope that if animals like them can have the tact to do so, then a _sergeant_ of Scotland Yard, one the most well-known police forces in the world, would have the tact to do so as well."

There was a beat of silence before Donavan opened her mouth. To argue, to apologise or to question, Harry didn't know and he didn't really care. He waved a dismissive hand, silencing her before she could speak.

"I don't want to hear it," he said flatly. "I don't care what you do in your spare time but don't do it here. I also don't care what you think of me, of our supposed consultant or anyone else for that matter. So long as you keep your opinions to yourself. Do those two things and we will have no issues with working together in future, got it?"

She nodded mutely, still gazing down at the floor; "Good".

Seeming to take that as a dismissal, the sergeant walked into the room, placed a slim case folder on the desk behind Lestrade and walked out without so much as a nod. Lestrade watched her with a raised eyebrow, and then sent a small quirk of the lips towards Harry who was gazing stoically at the empty doorway.

"Wow," he said, drawing Harry's attention from the door, "If I could get that reaction every time I have to reprimand my sergeants that would be half my work done. I'm impressed."

Harry seemed to sag as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "I would say sorry, but I'm not feeling particularly apologetic at the moment. I might later though."

"Well you're honest, I'll give you that. Don't worry about it," Lestrade waved a hand, "I was being serious. Just don't alienate yourself from these people. We are your co-workers after all. And if you don't have patience with them, you'll have no chance with our resident consultant."

Harry smiled, "Considering how much experience I have with the company of Sherlock Holmes, I think I'll be fine on that front."

Lestrade couldn't really say he was surprised but he felt the need to ask; "You know Sherlock?"

Harry smiled with a bit more warmth, "Indeed I do. Quite well actually and I have no problem with him helping me out whenever he feels the motivation to."

Lestrade snorted, "Well, you'll be one of the first, though that does explain your reaction to Donavan a bit better."

Both detectives frowned at the recent interaction, though it was for different reasons.

"You weren't lying about your relatives though, were you?" Lestrade clarified after a momentary pause. Harry's posture straightened and his expression distant.

"No."

"You called them animals."

Once again, Harry sagged out a sigh and sat in a chair in front of Lestrade, who was still leaning against the front of his desk. He reclined in his chair so he could look at the elder inspector comfortably as he spoke; "Look, I'm not saying I want to talk about it because I don't. I'm also not saying I'm over it, because that would probably be lying and I'm not really a fan of self-denial. However, I will say this. It has taken me a long time to accept this, and sometimes I still have my doubts but… I'm," he paused, indecisive, "grateful, I'm a freak in my relatives' eyes. People like my relatives, people like Donavan, they're not good people. They're not healthy. They are bitter and twisted and ugly on the inside and hold a lot of hatred. And if being normal means being like them then I'm glad I'm a freak. I'm better this way."

They sat in silence a while as they digested what was said. For Lestrade, it was an insightful look into how Harry's perception of the world worked and while he wasn't sure whether or not it was healthy or even if he agreed with it, he couldn't really argue with the other inspector's reasons. For Harry, it was the first time he had admitted those thoughts out loud, never mind to another person and the admission seemed to add to the acceptance in and of his thoughts.

"You still called them animals though," Lestrade stated with a pointed look.

Harry rolled his eyes, "The general consensus of anyone who's been asked to describe my relatives is that my uncle is a walrus, my aunt is a giraffe and my cousin is a baby whale. I'm pretty sure even the neighbours would agree with that if you asked them directly."

Lestrade raised a sceptical eyebrow but decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Shifting his weight to his feet, he rounded his desk to sit in the chair behind it. He opened one of his drawers and after a moment of shuffling pulled out an ID badge that he slid across the table to Harry.

"Well, there's your badge. I suggest you carry it with you everywhere, regardless of whether you're on duty or not," Lestrade began explaining while opening the case file on his desk, "For the first couple of cases, you'll be working exclusively with me and after that, depending on your performance, you'll be working on your own cases. I think the higher ups have a few cold cases they want you to look at, something about a test run for the new department, but you don't need to worry about that yet" Lestrade frowned for a moment at a thought, but continued on with a shake of his head.

"As senior officer, you answer to me, and only me, on any cases we're working on together. I was told something about unique circumstances and that other than me you really only have to answer to one or two other people. It didn't really make a lot of sense to me, but I presume that was the idea behind the explanation. Still, as a personal favour, I ask you to at least be civil to the Chief Superintendent whenever he comes knocking" Harry chuckled at the Inspector's slightly pleading look and nodded.

"If he's civil, I'll be civil," Harry promised.

"Great," Lestrade whooshed a sigh of relief, and began to skim the open case file in front of him," well, that's really it for the moment. According to this there's a body in the morgue though, which is somewhere else we spend time. I'll take you to see it now, if you like, and you can help with the case? I know you're not starting until next week but-"

"I've got nothing else planned until this weekend," Harry interrupted with a smile.

"Well, let's get going then," Lestrade chirped with a responding smile, gathering his necessities and leading the way out to his car.

Harry followed him, feeling the weight of his badge in his hand. Legally, Harry had the right to call himself a Black, through his inheritance from Sirius which included the Lordship. On paper, he had the double barrel name, Potter-Black, which he found tediously long but an odd comfort. In general, he would be known as Detective Inspector Black or just Harry Black while off duty. It was just another way to keep his death permanent. There were plenty of Potter's in England, plenty of Black's too, but while the name Potter would make a wizard turn and look, the name Black wouldn't. If anything, it would make said wizard run in the other direction. Added with the fact that he no longer wore his glasses out of the house and that his scar was faded and hidden he no longer looked like the iconic Harry Potter.

Well, it would take some people a moment to realise it at least.

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><p><strong>So, I apologise for the long wait but I hope you enjoyed this chapter regardless. If you see any grammar mistakes, please let me know so I can change them. I won't give a time for the next one because I've got nothing written and only a little planned. I will tell you that there will only be 2 more chapters by my estimations. Again, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!<strong>


	5. Survivor

**There is no excuse good enough to give. I do humbly apologise.**

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><p>The ride to the morgue past swiftly, filled with bouts of silence but mostly small talk and comments on the current radio station that was quietly making background noise. It was calm and relaxing for Harry, who had become quite uncomfortable in cities and was only slightly better in suburbs. A remnant of his fame, of war or his own paranoia, Harry didn't know and didn't particularly care to put a name on it. All he knew was that the crowded areas made it that much harder to see the wandering wizard before they recognised him.<p>

Still, the two detectives arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital with no trouble and in quick time, despite the London traffic. Standing next to Lestrade in the lift, Harry couldn't help but ask; "Will there be anyone there to meet us? I didn't see you call anyone and it is almost lunch."

Lestrade gave Harry a smile with his reply; "I tend to work with a doctor called Molly Hooper. She's not a workaholic, per say, but she is almost always around when you need her. And if she isn't, she's usually on call."

"Oh no, not a workaholic at all," Harry retorted dryly. Ignoring the amused grin he got for his sarcasm, Harry continued; "Still doesn't quite explain why she would be here on her lunch break. Unless she really is a workaholic?"

Grinning a little wider at the faux wonder in the new detective's voice, Lestrade explained; "The report of a body in the morgue wouldn't have come in unless it was signed in by a doctor. The name on the report is the aforementioned Dr. Molly Hooper, who tends to start autopsy immediately after the signing in of the body, regardless of the time. With the time it took for the initial report to get to us and for us to traipse across London, she should be ready to tell us something at least."

Harry stared blankly at him for a moment before asking incredulously; "You couldn't have just said that in the first place?"

"Well, I could've but you're supposed to be a detective."

"And you're supposed to be a professional. You're spending far too much time with Sherlock, you are."

"Oi!" Lestrade exclaimed in mock outrage, "I resent that remark."

"I'm sure you do," Harry soothed with a patronising smile, which quickly turned impish; "I'm sure Sherlock would too. Never mind the fact that you both resemble the remark as well."

Lestrade spluttered in indignation.

In the time it had taken for the two gentleman to have this conversation, they had exited the lift, walked the length of the white corridor and had stopped in front of a set of grey doors leading to what Harry assumed was the autopsy room. The journey from the moment they had stepped onto the lift had been incredibly quiet, with no sound other than that of their own voices and the world outside of the hospital. There were no signs of life in any of the rooms they passed along the corridor and had Harry been anyone else, he probably would've found it a bit creepy considering where they were. As it was, he was trying to ignore the paranoia that whispered his own personal boggart, whoever or whatever it might be today, was going to jump out him from one of the seemingly unoccupied labs, by immersing himself in the conversation. As engrossed in their conversation as they were, they were suitably surprised into jumping when a hesitant voice called from the doors, "Um, Greg?"

"Ah, Molly," Lestrade cleared his throat, shaking himself of his own surprise; he gestured to the man standing beside him, whom had already forcibly relaxed upon seeing the source of his surprise. "Molly Hooper, this is our new Detective Inspector Harry Black. Harry Black, meet Doctor Molly Hooper."

Simultaneously reaching to shake hands, they gave each other awkward but welcoming smiles to accompany the usual niceties.

"Hi, call me Harry."

"Molly. It's nice to meet you."

Not giving them a moment to truly succumb to their awkward personalities, not to say that Harry was awkward in his experience but more that he didn't do small talk, Lestrade got straight to the point; "So, the body that was found in a side alley off Newport Place, can you tell us anything?"

Gladly taking his cue to get down to business, Molly lead the two detectives into the room and over to the metal slab which had the corpse of an average looking man lying on it. While Molly grabbed the clipboard with her current notes on the body, the two men took the time to observe the body. It was naked, of course, with only a white sheet spread over his lower body to preserve his modesty. It also had yet to be thoroughly cleaned as there were still bits of dirt and grime on his hands and down the side of his face. With brown hair cut and styled neatly, a straight nose and lips that looked as though they never knew what it was to frown, the man could've been considered charming if he had a personality to match his looks. Unfortunately his lifelessness accentuated his common physic and for some reason that gave Harry a slightly disheartened feeling. He promptly shook it off as Molly began to speak.

"As you can see, I've only just finished prepping for invasive autopsy. The doctor on site reported there to be defensive wounds, which I can concur, and he also speculated that the victim may have been poisoned through the stab wound on his shoulder," she explained, indicating to the circular wound just below the collar bone and beside the shoulder joint that had been carefully cleaned of dry blood. "The weapon wasn't a knife, but a relatively sharp cone-like shape and though I have to confirm it, I'm inclined to agree he was poisoned. Disregarding any hereditary traits like a heart problem, he seems to have been a relatively healthy male in his mid to late twenties. Both the Doctor on site and I believe the wound to be cause of death but I'm going to run tests to be sure."

Lestrade sighed as he nodded;" Right. He was listed as a John Doe in the report with nothing on him at all save a few seemingly gold coins. Did you find any identifying marks?"

"He has no tattoos or piercings and my prep showed no unusual birthmarks or anything" she shuffled anxiously for a moment before continuing, "I did find an arm guard on him while I was cleaning off the excess blood. I'm only mentioning it because it wasn't mentioned in the clothing listed and I found it odd considering even I didn't notice it until I was working right next to it. That and it seems to be made out of some kind of hide, but I don't recognise what."

Lestrade looked up confused; "Leather?"

Molly shook her head; "I thought that originally but closer inspection made me think of really thick snake skin. I sent it on with the other clothes to get it tested."

Lestrade nodded with a completive frown glancing at Harry who seemed to be nonchalantly switching his gaze between Molly and the dead man, his eyes taking in every detail of both. Had Lestrade not worked closely with Sherlock, he may have been tempted to talk to the new Inspector later about listening with more than half an ear. Deciding to quiz him subtly on it later, Lestrade turned back to the good doctor with a question on the initial report;

"The earlier report said the time of death was undetermined. The doctor on site didn't even give an estimation. Can you give us an idea of when he died?"

This time Molly's hesitant shuffle was accompanied by a nervous roaming of her eyes, "The doctor talked to me when the body came in. He told me his suspicions for both the time and cause of death because he wanted me to be sure of both before I released the information. He didn't want to cause a panic. He wanted me to double check and triple check his results. I'm only telling you because you asked; I haven't managed to begin the autopsy, as I've said, and triple check the results. He estimated the time of death as being around thirty minutes to an hour before the body was found. He didn't mention it to the Inspector on duty because he estimates that the poison shut down all the victim's internal organs within two to five minutes."

Lestrade looked at Molly in wide eyed, horrified wonder going a bit pale as the information sank in, but it was Harry's reaction that startled the Doctor. Upon hearing the information, his attention had snapped to her with a sharp turn of his head. Green, green eyes narrowed as he gazed at her in momentary distrust before staring through her, seeming to roll the information around in his mind and slowly, curiously turning his head back towards the body; more specifically, the circular wound on the shoulder of the dead man. Turning questioningly to Lestrade, she found him still a little pale but gazing curiously at his current partner. Seeing he had no answers, Molly shook herself and continued her explanation.

"The doctor on site thought it best to keep both pieces of information as quiet as possible at the time. He feared that a manhunt would start then and there and that some of the officers would die because they were poisoned by a weapon that no one has knowledge of, never mind the antidote for. I happen to agree with him" she finished, defending her colleague for his actions though there seemed to be no need as both detectives were nodding along appreciatively with her explanation.

Seeing that she was finished, Harry decided to speak up; "Do you mind if I have a closer look at that shoulder?"

Looking a little perplexed, Molly nodded and watched curiously along with Lestrade as Harry put on a pair of vinyl gloves and started to thoroughly examine the wound, poking and prodding and getting closer to look at it. Then he stood straight and took off the gloves before unbuttoning one of the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeve up past his elbow. The movement was so brisk and fluid that Molly just had to ask.

"Are you related to Sherlock Holmes?"

All movement stopped as the two men in the room turned to blink, somewhat stupidly, at the woman, completely blindsided by the question. Molly blushed and rushed to explain; "It's just you move like him. Like Sherlock, I mean, when you were rolling up your sleeve, I thought you looked exactly like Sherlock when you did it."

Lestrade swallowed a snort and coughed into his hand to hide an incriminating smile. Harry ignored him in favour of looking at the blushing red head with a bemused sort of smile, as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of her but accepted it at face value.

"What a connection to make from a movement," he mused and then turned his attention to the crease of his elbow. He didn't answer her question and she wasn't sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Then she and Lestrade watched bewildered as he brought his arm closer to the corpse's shoulder and compared the two. Looking up and ignoring the looks on their faces, Harry motioned them closer and looked at Molly as she stepped up beside him.

"In your professional opinion, is what wounded this man the same or a similar instrument to what gave me this scar on my arm?" he asked holding out his arm to her. Surprise was smothered by duty and something else as Molly took the offered arm and tried to ignore the flush at the feeling of his warm skin under her clammy hands while she examined the faded silvery scar. Nodding she looked up at the two men and gave her assessment;

"Aside from the size which could be different due to depth and angle anyway, I'd say it was the same weapon."

Upon seeing Lestrade's face slacken in shock at the information, they turned to look at the dark haired man who wore a grimly satisfied expression on his face. Gently removing his arm from Molly's hold and politely ignoring her blush as he readjusted his sleeve, he let slip the comment; "I thought as much."

Lestrade looked at him shrewdly, "You know what happened?"

"I have no idea what happened, I wasn't there after all" he replied sardonically, his lips giving a cheeky twitch. "What I can tell you is what caused the wound, and yes, the poisoning."

"Well, what was it?" Lestrade demanded.

"The weapon was a very large tooth of a monstrous species of snake" Harry began, not at all bothered by the aggressive tone, "I'm talking dinosaur monstrous. Dinosaur era too, this creature is probably the ancestor of all venomous snakes. There's even less skeletons of this thing than there are of the rarest dinosaur you can think of. All of which means these teeth are extremely rare. Which is a good thing, you'll be glad to hear, because even in death the teeth are still venomous and, as you can see, highly dangerous."

Lestrade was stunned; "That's crazy".

"Crazy it may be, but it's true none the less" Harry said calmly.

"So" Molly began hesitantly, "how did you end up being poisoned by it?"

"Better yet, how did you survive?" Lestrade asked.

"I was, incredibly, both very unlucky and very lucky" he stated flatly, he didn't want to lie to his new colleagues but this was a topic of discussion that he had never wanted to speak about in his previous 'life' never mind now. "I won't go into details, because it's not a nice story and I don't really want to talk about it. The short version is that a guerrilla warfare terrorist found my very existence insulting to the extreme and tried to have me killed. This was the method used and after a momentary feeling of liquid fire in my veins, everything started to slow and stop, exactly as you guessed, Doctor."

"Molly" she reminded him faintly, horrified by what she was hearing she didn't even realise she had corrected him.

"Molly" he agreed all the same, and continued before they could ask the obvious, "I'm not entirely sure what I was given. I never asked. But I know it was an experimental solution and there was a fifty-fifty chance as to whether or not it would work and that it was a very close call. In fact there are several people, myself grudgingly included, that think had it been anyone else in that position, they probably wouldn't have survived."

"What do you mean by that?" Lestrade asked suspiciously.

Harry shrugged; "I'm known for having the horrible luck of getting into seriously bad situations but the polar opposite good luck in getting out of them."

"What kind of situations?" Molly asked curious despite the fact that she might not want to know if some of the situations he'd been in were on par with being marked by a terrorist.

"Now, that would just be telling!" he exclaimed with a sly grin, "you'd know all my secrets and I'd become boring and that would just be no fun!"

"I highly doubt you could in anyway be boring" Lestrade stated with a grudging smile before frown seriously, "but I would like to know if this 'bad luck' is going to be a problem."

Harry tried not to be offend by the lack of faith and disbelief that were belied in the physical quotation marks Lestrade used, after all the man had only just met him recently; "I'd like to think I've developed a sense for when my luck is about to turn that bad and it seems to work around eighty percent of the time."

"Only eighty percent?" was the dry sceptical question.

"I'm a realist."

"Right."

Lestrade's gaze on Harry looked incredibly worried and while Harry returned his stare somewhat coolly he couldn't for the life of him figure out what exactly the other man was worried about. Whether it was his physical or mental health he was worried about or whether it was about how suitable he was for the job. Molly intervened before he could decide to question it.

"What was this experimental solution you were given?"

"Like I said, I never asked, but I was lead to believe it was experimental in the sense that it was a cure-all solution. It had never been used on poison of this calibre before. Again, like I said, I was extremely lucky it worked," Harry realised the relatively large hole he had dug himself by even mentioning the words "cure-all" in front of a Doctor, but if the conversation continued like he thought it would, he hoped to be able to shock the other two in to leaving him alone in terms of this line of questioning.

"How could you not ask?" Lestrade asked in disbelief.

"Easily. I'd just being stabbed and poisoned by someone who wanted to kill me, then had all my organs working overtime to help whatever I was given to clear out the poison. I was sore, tired and emotionally drained and more than willing to let those supposedly more responsible than me at the time deal with everything else."

Hearing what he didn't say, Lestrade asked shrewdly; "What do you mean at the time? When was this?"

"I was twelve when it happened," Harry replied, not missing a beat. While it would no doubt lead to a less appealing line of questioning, it would be easier to say he wouldn't talk for this subject, rather than say he couldn't talk, or outright lie, on the cure-all subject.

The silence following his statement stilled everything. Even the noise of the outside world seemed to dim in shock at his words. An age seemed to pass before Lestrade was able to gather himself enough to think clearly, never mind speak.

"A terrorist decided a kid's existence was an insult?"

"Well I never said he was either sane or rational" Harry shrugged.

Lestrade didn't comment and while desperately wanted to ask questions and demand answers, he suspected that Molly was of a similar mind and was also biting her tongue to hold her questions but it just wasn't their place. They had both just met the man recently after all, Molly a mere few minutes ago. Harry sighed and decided not to let the silence linger.

"I'm sure, at some point in the not too distant future, I will tell you all about it. But right now, we are standing around the body of a man who was murdered in cold blood. I don't know about you two but I'd like to find some justice for the poor sod" he rambled and as one, the three people looked at the body they were surrounding. Lestrade seemed to shake himself and nodded decisively;

"Let's get to work."

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><p>Now, quite obviously when a non-magical person is working on a magical case, it's never going to be quite as simple as that. Harry while the only magical person in the force to speak of, wasn't actually on the case. He didn't even officially start working at the Yard until the following Monday. This meant that the case would more than likely be transferred to the Aurors as soon as they got wind of it, which did not take very long at all. As it was, Harry spoke to a few people anonymously about both transferring the case and some head hunting about who the victim was to get the ball rolling. By Friday evening, he was sitting with Lestrade in the other man's office helping to write up a final report on all that was done on their part. It wasn't as tedious as it could've been as there was only that one report to finish off and Lestrade got along well with Harry making an effort not to let the shocks the other man tended to unknowingly spring bother him too much. In return, Harry tried not to do or say too many shocking things at one time or in tandem. A difficult task when his definition of 'shocking' was, in the politest of terms, skewed to say the least.<p>

By five o' clock, they had finished the write up and had lodged it to the right person. Feeling somewhat hard done by at the case transfer but grateful for all the help Harry had given, Lestrade asked his new partner to join him with the other officers for a celebratory drink at the pub. Highly tempted by the liquid courage that his felt he may need for what he had planned for that evening, Harry eventually declined and asked for a rain check the following Friday after his first official week. It wouldn't do to show up at his destination with even the hint of alcohol on him. His potential company would not appreciate it. A bit of ribbing from Lestrade and a few of the other officers he'd got to know while he was in the building on the case and a solid promise to go out the following week and eventually he was let go on his way. Walking to the nearest apparition point, he turned on his heel and landed just outside a gated pathway to a homey cottage with a crack.

He reached for the latch on the gate and froze as he touched it. He honestly didn't know what to expect if he walked up to that front door and it was answered by one of the two people inside. There might not even be anyone home. After all, he hadn't told anyone he was coming. Or, even worse, only one half of the couple could be home and he'd only get one half of the reaction to his visit. He blanched as he thought about all the horrible things that could happen. But Mycroft's half mocking, half legitimate question as to whether he had visited or not had haunted his mind since he left that office. His hand began to tremble and he brought it back to his side and clenched it in a white knuckle fist. This was why he hadn't told anyone he was coming, so he could chicken out and leave if he wanted to. The sound of the door opening and a man stepping out quickly put paid to that plan. Harry may as well have been a deer in headlights as an elderly gentleman with neatly styled white hair, deep brown eyes and a somewhat vacant smile sauntered down to meet him.

"Hello there, young man, what can I do for you?" he asked cheerily, his expression never changing.

Harry drank the man in, from the reading glasses hanging around his neck to the worn grey slacks draped over his slippers, before clearing his throat and croaking out a greeting in return;

"Good evening, Mr. Holmes," his mind went blank as to what to say next.

The newly labelled Mr. Holmes widened his eyes and unlatched the gate with a hopeful; "Harry?"

Reaching up, only slightly, to grasp Harry's face gently in his hands, the elder man turned it this way and that, examining it from all angles before turning it to look him straight in the eye;

"When did the event happen?" he asked suspiciously.

Harry flinched minutely, swallowed and answered; "In the second week of August of my ninth year."

Where before the smile was vacant, Mr. Holmes smile was now joyously sincere as he pulled the young man into a rib cracking hug. Harry didn't mind however. In fact, he hugged back with equal measure, sinking into the comforting warmth of the man in front of him. When they pulled away they would be unable to deny the sheen that glazed their eyes. Mr. Holmes coughed as he stepped back but left his hands on top of Harry's shoulders as he took in his entire form. He sighed happily as he looked back at Harry's face;

"Come on in. The better half was just making tea when we heard the crack. Thought it was those pesky magicals again," he scowled at the air to Harry's left before smiling at him again, "come in, come in, she'll be wanting a word with you."

Harry ignored the warning as warmth once again filled him when he followed the elder gentleman into the cosy cottage. He'd spend the entire weekend there and walk into Scotland Yard on Monday relaxed, happy and at peace.

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><p><strong>I feel the need to explain Harry's answer to ; when you celebrate your first birthday, you are celebrating that you have lived one year of life. Harry's answer means that he just turned eight and was in his ninth year of life. Their security Q&amp;A is not only about what you say but how you say it. <strong>

**As usual, left me know if anyone sees any errors of any kind as I've once again just finished it and posted it.**

**I hope you enjoyed it! (and that maybe it was worth the wait?...)**


	6. Sorcerer

**Dear zeynel, your review on muggles inspired the section on muggles, which I quite like. I hope you like it too.**

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><p>Time passed like it always does, quickly and without consideration for busy beings, and Harry found his life falling into something similar to a routine. Both he and Mycroft avoided each other similarly to how one avoids a plague and were civil to the point of backache in their stiffness when a meeting could not be avoided. Molly contrasted greatly to Mycroft in that she was always friendly, helpful and welcoming, to the point that Harry was starting to become a little suspicious and wary of her motives. She also tended to give him these little considering looks when his focus was elsewhere, which Greg found absolutely hilarious when he asked about it. Despite his mentor's amusement, he found Greg Lestrade gradually became a close friend and confidante, as well as a reliable co-worker. John Watson was also becoming something of a good friend in their many meetings in conjunction with entertainingbabysitting Sherlock, having Sherlock and war zone experiences in common. Though Harry often found this friendship slightly straining as he often felt a little guilty and annoyed at how little he could tell John about his experiences. John seemed to understand Harry's inability to speak about it, generally assuming that Harry was ex-secret service or something similar. While he wasn't entirely wrong, Harry was still frustrated by his necessary silence on the subject, being unaccustomed to keeping secrets that he truly wanted to share with someone. It had frustrated him to the point that he decided to do something about it.

Harry sighed tiredly as he stopped in front of the door to 221B Baker Street. Glancing down at the papers that had yet to leave his white knuckled grip since he had picked them up, Harry felt a little bit lighter. Briefly re-reading the clear script again, he felt less surprised by the decision he had made to inform his small group of friends and family about his previous life and more by how long it had taken him to make it. Admiring the Queen's signature, he smiled bemusedly at the thought that he had the means to make this happen long ago if he really wanted to. All he needed was their word in the form of their signature that they would keep the information to themselves and he was free to tell them as much or as little about his life as he wanted to. Not because he had to, which was a surprisingly constricting feeling that he had never had to deal with before.

Folding the papers up and gazing up at the building in front of him, Harry contemplated the gathering that was about to occur in it. It seemed to be a variety of celebrations, Mrs. Hudson's early birthday, Harry's tenth successfully closed cold case, the latest murder solved by Sherlock, John and Greg with help from Harry and Mycroft, John and Mary's little one's first tooth, his birthday may have been mentioned somewhere in there too, but he couldn't be sure, all of it being rolled into one gathering at 221B. Harry, Mycroft and Sherlock were varying degrees of unimpressed at the announcement of the small party, uncomfortable with people as they were but they weren't really been given much of a say. Though Harry had to admit it gave him an extra reason to show them the papers tonight while they were together, rather than some other time individually, even if that would have been his preferred way to do it.

Nodding absently to himself, Harry pocketed the papers, opened the door with a spare key Sherlock had given him and trotted inside to greet Mrs. Hudson and help her with any remaining preparation there was left to do. Having come early to brace himself for the next few hours, however they may go; Harry felt it would be only right to help the elder woman out. It would keep him distracted and he would be doing something menially productive. After all, as she kept reminding everyone, she was the Landlady, not the housekeeper and this gathering was just as much for her as it was for anyone else who was coming…. He thought so anyway.

While Harry had greeted Mrs. Hudson briefly upon that first evening of catching up with Sherlock and John, there were many more memorable exchanges and meetings with the cheerful landlady that had happened since. One such meeting, which involved Mrs. Hudson's missing glasses, the baker next door, a banana and a frying pan, was particularly easy to recall. Harry would often rather forget various details about that particular day, as regardless of age, background and acquaintances it had been …..an experience for all involved. He could never regret its occurrence though as he had not only helped the woman Sherlock seemed to value as much as his own mother, but he had also gotten to know her a bit better. This lead to Mrs. Hudson treating Harry as a more responsible mix of Sherlock and John which Harry saw as an added bonus. As such, the two worked together and around each other companionably right up until the rest of the guests began to arrive.

It turned out to be a pleasant evening, with Sherlock playing Happy Birthday for Mrs. Hudson and a myriad of other songs requested by the woman and one or two others, Molly gushing over the teething baby Watson and Greg, John and Mary having a quiet drink discussing everything but work. Even Harry and Mycroft were being pleasant to one another. Though that may have had more to do with the tentative truce that was discussed over text as the party date grew closer and enforced upon eye contact with each other having entered the same room. Even Sherlock seemed relieved when they greeted each other warmly. That's not to say the truce was going to last and everything was fixed between them. No, the two men were just very good at playing pretend.

The evening was going so well in fact, Harry began waiting expectantly for something to happen. He was rewarded when Mycroft straightened minutely from the relaxed posture he had taken standing beside Harry, the two of them nursing a glass of their respective poisons in silence. Looking at Harry, he unknowingly drew the attention of the entire room when he announced;

"Oh yes, it seems as though I have been delegated messenger for you Harry."

The look on Mycroft's face told everyone exactly what he thought of being 'delegated messenger' and Harry hummed in amusement before deciding to answer verbally when Mycroft glared at him.

"Oh, right? Who's sending me messages?"

"Mummy. She sends her love and would like you over for tea next Tuesday as neither of them can make it tonight. I, of course, assured her you were free at that time", Mycroft demurred. Harry didn't believe it for a second.

"Of course you did," he stated flatly. Mycroft smiled a bland, genial smile.

"Um, Harry?" John began in confusion, "How well do you know Mrs. Holmes? She seems to ask after you a lot for a friend of her sons."

Three pairs of eyes blinked blankly at John, before glancing around the room to see varying degrees of confusion but a consistent amount of interest in Harry's answer. Harry looked at Mycroft in bewilderment.

"I assumed they knew," he stated, though it seemed more like a question.

"I assumed you told them," Mycroft seemed just as incredulous. They turned in unison to look at Sherlock who was staring at the people around the room in fascination. Sensing their gaze, he turned to them, his expression unchanged.

"I assumed they would figure it out."

In an identical movement of exasperation, Harry and Mycroft rolled their eyes skywards and pinched the bridge of their nose in a frustrated plea for patience. Harry's plea was answered first it seemed, when he lifted his head and said with a sigh.

"So, let me get this straight," he began," months of friendship, daily dealings with each other and a healthy, if somewhat grudging on some people's parts, respect between all of us here, and they have no clue about our actual relationship?"

He ignored the alarmed and uncomfortable looks spreading over the other guests faces. He did not want to acknowledge where their minds had gone upon his last question.

"Obviously," Mycroft drawled, looking unconcerned now that his incredulousness had passed.

"So," Lestrade ventured as he shifted uncomfortably. He coughed and tried again, "so, you three are together, then?"

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at the fidgeting man in unmuted horror and disgust before glancing at each other and cringing or shivering in revulsion respectively. Harry, meanwhile, was determinedly gazing up at the ceiling, not acknowledging anything going on around him. Lestrade felt the sudden and urgent need to backtrack.

"Well, i-it _is a _personal preference, a-and-"

"He's our brother!" Mycroft and Sherlock barked simultaneously.

That proclamation was followed by a bout of stunned silence.

"Oh," Lestrade blinked. "Well, that's…nice."

This proclamation was promptly followed by another silence, of the more awkward variety.

"I knew it," Molly stated with the utmost conviction, bringing the surprised gazes of the entire room to her form. She shifted under the attention, then defended her statement accordingly; "Well, I did."

Harry sighed and pulled the papers he'd been given from his pocket; "Well, I guess now is as good a time as any I was waiting for."

Handing them around to all but his newly revealed siblings he explained; "There are some things about my past and my relationship to the Holmes family that is highly confidential and that I have been unable to tell you all about, as some of you may have noticed. By signing these papers, you are not only receiving the allowance to learn of this information but also agreeing to keep it a secret."

"Is this the Queen's signature?" John asked perplexed in a similar way to when Sherlock skipped a few steps in an explanation and expected John to keep up before calling him something just short of an idiot.

"Yes. Yes, it is. She is the one who organised these papers at my request. Normally you'd have to go through different channels, but her signature lets us skip that" Harry clarified nonchalantly.

"So your past is a National Secret?" Greg asked bewildered.

"Well, eh, no, not really. But the reason I've met and am on good terms with the Queen is yes," Harry stumbled over his reply while Sherlock and Mycroft smirked at him; "And it's less of a National Secret and more of a Worldwide Secret."

Greg did not look comforted.

"You know the Queen? As in, 'have a chat over tea and cucumber sandwiches' know the Queen?" Mary questioned dubiously, looking over the papers with John before glancing up at Harry.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Sign the papers and I can tell you in detail."

There was a flurry of movement as everyone read through the papers, found some working biros and hummed and hawed over whether or not to sign the dotted line. Harry somewhat expected this given what they'd been through with Sherlock and Mycroft.

"Nothing harmful will happen to you if you sign the papers. No one will come after you for any information you receive from me about this. At least, no more than anyone would come after you for info on Sherlock. It probably won't change a thing in your daily lives. It's just a bit of extra information about me, my past and what I do."

"And why aren't they signing papers?" Mary questioned again lightly, feigning calm curiosity.

"Because as my brothers by blood relation, technically they are allowed to know. They're a bit of a grey area which I will explain but on top of being family they are both in positions to know so they have already been pardoned officially. I've made sure" Harry responded quickly, sensing the warning in Mary's voice.

Everyone signed the papers. As each person finished writing their name the papers glowed brightly, first blue, then gold before dulling back to normal. The signees gazed at their papers in awe for a moment before looking at Harry in askance.

"The documents have been copied and filed in the appropriate places," he answered gently. "Though there is nothing particularly sensitive written on those documents, you should keep your copies in a safe place where no one is likely to find them."

The silence lasted another few moments before Harry, nominated by a series of silent glares, pleading eyes and exasperated facial expressions from the other Holmes, tried to coax them out of their continued shocked awe; "So, where do I begin?"

Mary looked around the room at the somewhat lost expressions on the faces of the other guests, finishing on her beloved husband who seemed to be distracting himself by playing peek-a-boo with their baby, making over exaggerated expressions of what were most likely, legitimate emotions. Admittedly, Mary was feeling a little like the rest of the apparently non-Holmes members of their little group but she also understood why Harry had asked the question, most likely to get any already formed curious questions about an odd event out of the way. This would undoubtedly lead to more questions and confusion if Harry didn't explain it right however and Mary would rather like to avoid confusion from Harry as much as possible. She got enough of it from Sherlock and Mycroft as it was. Deciding to take the initiative and sighing as she did so, Mary took her baby from John so he wouldn't have any reason not to focus on the conversation and stated; "Well, the beginning is usually a good place."

Harry smiled gratefully at her practicality and took a breath; "Right."

Then he deflated in a great gusty sigh, drawing a few chuckles as he smiled ruefully and completely ignoring Mycroft and Sherlock's exasperation. He laughed a little at his own ridiculousness and drew his shoulders back to stand straight; "You all know me as Harry Black and you'll be happy to know that is actually and legally my name. However, my full name is Harry James Potter-Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. I'm a Knight of the Realm for services to Queen and Country and I am also a wizard."

He then cupped his hand and whispered a soft _'Lumos' _into them, letting a ball of pure white light grow in his palms before nudging it off to float around the room and the gathered guests, letting them poke and prod at it searching for hidden strings and such. He even made it dance around Mycroft's head, who batted it irritably to Sherlock who, in contrast, let the light play around his fingers as if he was playing the piano. He then flicked it back to Harry, who guided it up to the ceiling were it burst into a shimmering cloud of golden dust. He smiled softly as the golden specks floated down gently on the people in the room. Transfiguring furniture into animals was great for shock factor and near instant proof of magic as force but Harry had always preferred the simple things. A simple display of what amounted to a wandless parlour trick always brought such joy and wonder to those that saw it. Even those that lived with magic all their lives, though that may have been because it was wandless. And Harry didn't need them to believe him. They would eventually, but right now he was happy with just being able to tell them.

The silence was deafening.

It also lasted a long and drawn out moment.

Molly finally whispered absently, still staring at the ceiling; "I don't know what to focus on most. That you're a Lord, a Knight or a Wizard."

"Let's all focus on the wizard bit for now," Harry replied sheepishly, and like that the moment of residual awe was gone, "It is the reason you signed those pieces of paper after all."

"Oh yeah? What were they?" Lestrade asked and received incredulous disbelieving stares from Mycroft and Sherlock, who seemed to be reaching the end of their self-restraint in their ability to keep quiet. "Well, I know what they were, I did read them! But it didn't actually explain what information we weren't supposed to be disclosing."

Harry jumped in to save his friend and colleague and answer his question before anyone else could; "You are keeping the fact that you are aware of magic and that I am a wizard a secret."

He turned to the rest of the of the room to continue speak; "Wizards and witches live in a secret and separate world of their own away from muggles. They have done so for centuries out of fear and as such are well behind the times in terms of technology in comparison to the muggle world-"

"Muggles?"

Harry paused in his explanation to turn back to Lestrade; "Muggles are what the people of the wizarding world term the non-magical population as," he elaborated.

Some of the occupants in the room frowned, and Lestrade voiced their collective thoughts; "I'm not sure I like that".

Harry shrugged; "I could call you "mundane" if you like. That's the Queen's preferred term."

Mary scowled; "I don't like _that_ at all."

"Couldn't we just be normal?" asked glancing worriedly at his wife's darkening features. As it was just a glance, he didn't miss the three Holmes brothers blanching grimace. Sherlock scoffed in disgust, unable to keep his silence at such an idea.

"Oh course not, John, don't be absurd," he snapped.

"Well, why not?" Lestrade questioned aggressively.

Mycroft rolled his eyes skyward, while Harry and Sherlock smirked sharply at each other. In unison, the trio recited a statement in an unusual mix of tones, including but not limited to, exasperation, amusement, and matter-of-fact; "Because being normal is disgustingly overrated."

Lestrade blinked at the sound and the rather united front the three men showed, "Right."

Harry chuckled at his bewilderment, choosing to put his friend and superior out of his misery; "Greg, you remember the conversation we had after I first met Sally Donavan? What I said about people like her?"

"You have yet to tell me about that encounter", Sherlock pitched in before Harry could continue, his eyes gleaming.

"Not currently the topic of conversation, Sherlock. I promise I'll tell you later," Harry glanced at Sherlock to see if he was mollified by the promise. Receiving a nod and look from Mycroft that said he wanted to know too, he turned back to Lestrade who was frowning in thought. Suddenly, his face cleared in remembrance and Harry smiled sadly.

"I'd like to think" he began looking at the close friends and family the Holmes brothers had gathered, "that I, _we_, hold you in significantly higher regard than either Sally Donavan or my maternal Aunt and Uncle, all of whom consider themselves to be 'normal'".

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><p><strong>And though I wanted to push a few more lines in to wrap that ending up in a bow as I have done in the past, I'm going to leave it there until next time. It's a better place to start the next chapter from. Please let me know if I have thrown you all for the loop, I think I will greatly enjoy your initial reactions. <strong>

**Be rest assured in the knowledge that the Holmes Brothers relationship will be explained further in the next chapter along with what Mr. Holmes dubbed "The Incident". Some of you probably won't believe it, but lets face it. This is fanfiction. It may have to make sense (unlike reality) but that doesn't mean it should. **

**To erik, your idea is intriguing and I wish I hadn't planned it out as I had so I could incorporate it in here. Its a wonderfully original idea! But alas, it was not meant to be.**

**To Sarah, you wonderful being you! Thank you for sticking with me and leaving your thoughts for me to read. I greatly appreciate it.**

**To Guests, those of you who would remain anonomous, thank you for also leaving your reviews. I thoroughly enjoyed reading them!**

**Once again, I hope you all enjoyed it and let me know if you see any mistakes I need to recitfy.**


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