[Discontinued] When Shadows Collide, The Game Begins

Chapter Four

The flat of Sherlock Holmes was a messy one. Why bother tidying when it was almost impossible to forget where everything was? There were clothes and papers strewn across the floor. What little carpet could be seen was stained with chemicals. Some parts of it had been burnt through entirely, revealing the cheap wooden flooring beneath. There were clear paths that lead from the front door to the kitchen and to the small bed. 

Sherlock sighed. If a child was going to live there, it would need to be cleaned up. He began tidying and soon found a rhythm.  Only an hour later, the flat was cleaner than he'd ever seen it. Sherlock sat cross-legged on the bed, pleased with his work. He had never been a huge fan of children but raising one of his own excited him. He would teach Harry everything he knew. New experiences were rare, and life was short.

After ordering some furniture from IKEA, Sherlock made a new room in his mind palace and began to fill it with information about raising children. It seemed that it would be fairly straightforward, but also quite time-consuming. It also looked as if his current living arrangements were inadequate. Perhaps it was time to move. He quickly went through all of his contacts, trying to decide who might be of assistance, and settled on an old lady known as Mrs Hudson. 

He had met her a few years ago while working on a case. After discovering that her husband was a drug lord and a crime boss, Sherlock had worked with Mrs Hudson to assure that the correct punishment was given. It had been quite easy to give him the death penalty with the extensive evidence that they provided. Since then, the woman had owed him a favour, and it seemed the right time to come collecting. 

*   *   *

"Good morning, Harry," said Sherlock as the young boy woke. There was a flicker of panic in the boy's face when he couldn't recognize anything, then he looked at Sherlock and relaxed.

"Hello," said Harry. He seemed quite a bit happier than he had yesterday. Sherlock smiled at him and handed him a tray of food. The boy looked shocked and Sherlock's smile faltered.

"Is this all for me?" asked Harry, incredulous. The plate had a piece of jam toast, a couple slices of apple, and a glass of orange juice. Not a lot of food, but to Harry, it seemed like a feast. Sherlock cursed the Dursleys under his breath. Who could let a child live like this and still sleep at night? It was disgusting. 

Harry finished the meal quickly and sighed happily. 

"How long until I can go home with you?" He asked. Sherlock picked up the diagnostics sheet and read over it. While Harry was still malnourished, there was no reason for him to stay in the hospital much longer. Sherlock was planning to pick up the stuff from IKEA later that day, but he saw no reason why he couldn't go earlier.

"How about I take a small trip to grab some stuff, then pick you up this afternoon and you come home then?" he asked Harry. Harry smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Sherlock laughed and told one of the nurses he would be back soon. Then he walked out of the hospital and hailed a taxi. Though not overly happy at the prospect of going all the way to IKEA and waiting around, the cabbie soon obliged when Sherlock shoved a hundred quid into his hand.

*  *  *

A few hours later, Harry was sitting on Sherlock's bed playing with his new glasses as Sherlock put together a bed. He had been trying for quite some time and had almost achieved his goal when he dropped a plank onto his toe. He swore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry shrink back into a ball, covering his head with his arms. Sherlock immediately felt guilty.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Harry," he said. The boy looked up, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"That's what Uncle said." The boy's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Well, I am not your uncle," said Sherlock as he slowly approached Harry. The boy flinched again, then relaxed as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Harry hugged back and sighed. 

"If you're not an uncle, then what should I call you?" asked Harry. Sherlock thought for a moment, then said,

"You can call me whatever you want."

"Okay... Dad," said Harry.