Son of Holmes

Where He's Going

Mycroft called his PA to his office and told her to cancel all of his meetings and appointments for the next two days, not that anything particularly important was planned. The most important thing happening isn't until Wednesday next week, so he had four days before he needed to get back to work.

Mycroft marched out of his office and strode to his car, quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. His car was solid black and looked ordinary, except for the fact that it likely cost a great deal more than most other cars. He drove to the hospital in Surrey as quickly as possible (while within the speed limit, of course) and arrived a little over an hour later.

He sauntered into the hospital and was granted the room number Mr Potter was in. He stopped outside the room however, and leaned against the wall next to the door.

Mycroft opened Mr Potter's file that was given to him upon entry. It was worryingly empty. No doctor's notes, no check-ups, no visits whatsoever. However, there were numerous injuries that had been accumulating over time, most notably the scores of small scars (presumably from cuts or scrapes) along his back and arms. Both arms had been broken and healed incorrectly previously (remarkable that it had healed at all, considering that he had not gotten a cast or splint), and currently had a broken left wrist and a sprained right radius. He had two dislocated ribs, and one fractured one. There were many bruises all along his torso. And had a slight concussion that would leave no lasting effects. The only long-term differences might be some minor irritation in his arms from the incorrect healing, but it would likely disappear with time.

His brother (surprisingly) stayed with Mr Potter the entire time, and was in the room currently waiting for the boy to wake.

Deciding there was no time like the present, Mycroft closed the file and pushed himself off from the wall. He walked the four two metres to the door and swung said object open. The moment he stepped foot inside, he stopped.

Mr Potter was awake (sitting up, no less), and his brother perched next to him. Both staring at him like he was a flying turtle with a snake for a head.

The three-year-old nervously broke the silence, "Mr Holmes?"

To say the least, Mycroft was severely taken aback. Incredulity was his main emotion, for how could the boy know who he is when they had never met?

Sherlock smirked at him, having found his brother surprised about something, and getting to observe the elder's reactions.

"It's alright Harry, that is my older brother, Mycroft Holmes."

Realization that Mr Potter had been speaking to his little brother and not him, nonetheless surprised him. Sherlock was only twenty years old, and he responded to someone calling him 'Mr Holmes' (even if it was a kid)? What was his life turning into? Sherlock smirked and turned to Mr Potter, catching the child's gaze, "Mycroft mostly goes by 'Mr Holmes' though, so you can just call me 'Sherlock'."

Mr Potter's face positively it up, "Thank you, Sir!" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I mean, Shuh-Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiled back. Mycroft was utterly thrown in loops. Since when did Sherlock smile at anyone? Much less someone he met only (most likely) a few minutes ago? If it wasn't for the conversation topic, and the fact that Sherlock had never met Lily's son, Mycroft would have guessed that they had known each other the entire time.

Not wanting to be the subject of verbal abuse, as he knew he was soon to be, Mycroft walked across the room to the end of Mr Potter's bed, and said what he was planning to from the beginning, "So what am I going to do with you?"

The boy stiffened at his words, though he only had a few theories as to why. It was Sherlock who responded, however, "We can't let the Ministry have him."

"Obviously. They'd likely have a war if they discovered what happened to their 'Savior'. We can't let what's occurred today become public knowledge."

"He can't go to a foster care, or orphanage, either. We wouldn't be able to keep track of him."

"We could give him to a trusted family, or friend."

Mycroft noticed that Mr Potter didn't appear to feel upset whatsoever about not being in the conversation, despite being the topic of interest.

"No."

Mycroft tilted his head at his brother, who was staring resolutely at the bedpost nearest him. "Well, where do you think he should go? With you?"

Mycroft had meant the last part as a joke, but Sherlock's lack of retort suggested that the latter was serious about taking the boy. Mycroft didn't think he could handle so many strange things in one day.

"You're a kid, Sherlock, you can't raise a child!"

"I'm not a kid, I'm nearly twenty-one, and why can't I?" Sherlock stood up, to look Mycroft in the eyes. Mr Potter watched the exchange in fascination.

"Why do you want to?" Mycroft voiced his confusion.

"He's Lily's son, Mycroft. You of all people know that what happened. I have to do this. For her and for Harry."

The last part was nearly whispered, and Mycroft suddenly knew why Sherlock was so adament about why he wanted to keep Harry.

"Caring isn't an advantage, Sherlock," Mycroft gave Sherlock a hard look.

"He'll be my disadvantage then!" Sherlock snapped, leaving Mycroft stunned.

After a minute of silence in which one brother nearly held his breath, and the other seethed, Mycroft breathed the awaited words, "I guess I'll get the paperwork then."