Holmes or Weasley?

The day was, in the best possible way, miserable. Dark grey clouds hung morbidly over the city of London, the city's skyscrapers clawing upwards as if seeking salvation from the bustling streets. People marching to their destinations, most clutching umbrellas in their hands and glancing upwards in apprehension.

A man looked at out the scene of people, it looked like something out of the start of a film. The man held a baby to his chest, small and dressed in pink, a little girl then. A shattering of glass resounded from within the kitchen of the flat, and the man at the window turned with a sigh.

"Sherlock?" he called out. "What have you done this time?

"Nothing, John!" The man, now identified as John, glanced down at the baby within his arms, a small smile creeping onto his face.

Shaking his head slightly, John gently placed his daughter within her bassinet and strode into the kitchen. Looking around the kitchen, he couldn't help but to let out a startled laugh at the sight before him.

The walls of the kitchen was splattered, with a green slime but that wasn't what forced the laugh from his, no, it was the fact that Sherlock stood in his pyjamas in the middle of the room, his hair plastered to his forehead by the the slime, an intense look on his face as he studied a tube an orange substance.

"Sherlock," John began, "What are you doing? Mycroft is going to be here in an hour to drag us off to wherever and you're not even dressed!"

Sherlock lifted his eyes to John, before refocusing on his experiment. "An hour? What are you talking about he's not meant to be here until Monday."

Setting his face in an endulging smile John returned, "It is Monday, when was the last time you slept?"

"Sleep, John? Sleep is boring - I don't need sleep."

Shaking his head slightly at his friends self-destructive tendencies, John couldn't help but to recall that his friend had been like this for as long as he had known him -and longer if Mycroft were to be trusted. Despite all of Sherlock's destructive acts (not eating, smoking, not sleeping, etc.) only two of the times that Sherlock had been even more self-destructive than usual really stuck with him; when Sherlock was on drugs. John didn't think that he would ever be able to rid his mind of his friend on drugs, standing before him with pale skin, cheek bones protruding out from his face, skin drawn taut over them, what little fat he had was gone and his limbs trembling.

Inhaling deeply he responded, "Well, I forget that you don't need sleep, apparently. Get dressed Sherlock."

With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock retreated into his room, presumably to get dressed. Feeling a smile of amusement creep back onto his face, he moved back into the living room and double checked that he had everything packed in Rosamund's back.

It seemed so unfair that Mary would never get to-

"John."

"Mycroft, you're early."

"Never, I'm exactly on time. Now, where is that brother of mine?"

As if he was summoned, Sherlock entered the room, tugging at the cuffs of his shirt. "Ah," he began. "I thought I heard your mass blundering up the stairs."

Mycroft shot him a completely unimpressed look, "Always a pleasure, brother mine. Come, the car is waiting for us outside." And with that he turned on his heel and departed 221b.

John shrugged and collected Rosamund, glancing briefly at Sherlock's annoyed expression and then following Mycroft down the flat's stairs. He could hear Sherlock following him a moment later.

-0-0-0-0-

Sitting in a small space, such as the car they were currently in, with both of the Holmes brothers, John realised, was entirely too awkward. Both Mycroft and Sherlock seemed to be trying their hardest to ignore one another.

Almost as if he had sensed his thoughts, Mycroft spoke. "Sherlock," he paused momentarily, waiting to see if he had gotten his brother's attention. "After you have found out about our sister Euros, I feel that I am required to inform you of other information which others and I had planned on keeping from you."

Immediately, all of Sherlock's attention snapped to Mycroft, sharp grey eyes pinning him with an intense look. "What?" he lowly, his voice going montone.

And with that, John couldn't help but to realise how much of an intruder he felt, he shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes," said Mycroft. "And in order to inform you of any of this, I want forget everything that you think you know about our childhood because it's not real."

Sherlock stared uncomprehendingly at Mycroft and John felt a horrible twisting feeling in his gut -he felt sick.

"This is the reason that we are going where we are today. I wish to re-introduce you to what your life was originally, what it was like before you caused yourself to forget."

"How," began Sherlock. "Do I know that you are telling the truth?"

"I'll explain when we get there."

John found his voice, "Where exactly?" He sure as hell wasn't about to let Sherlock go into an unknown situation by himself.

"To Harry's." Was the simple reply.

"And, who, exactly is Harry?"

Mycroft smirked, "My best mate."

John couldn't help but to be taken aback, this was the most normal thing that he had ever heard Mycroft say and it was just too common a term for Mycroft to use. But then again, before that moment, it had never even occurred to John that the British Government had things like friends.

The car once again fell back into a stifling silence that was occasionally broken up by sniffles from Rosamund, the only difference this time being the fact that Sherlock sat with attention focused entirely on Mycroft.

-0-0-0-0-

For the next twenty minutes or so, they traveled in silence, moving further away from the centre of London until they came down a street of old victorian-style houses. The car then slowed down, eventually rolling to a stop outside two of the houses and John observed that number twelve appeared to be missing.

Mycroft spoke, "The address is Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."

And there, before John's eyes, a house seemed to unfold from between houses eleven and thirteen, before finally unfolding completely, a gleaming '12' on its door. John stared, and could only assume that Sherlock was doing the same because a house just unfolded from nowhere.

Mycroft, just opened the car door and strode right up to the gate at the bottom of the house's garden and then paused, turning to face the car, he waved impatiently for them to join him. Sherlock clamoured out of the car with an unreadable expression on his face, leaving John to remove Rosamund from her chair. Breathing deeply, he joined the brothers at the gate.

Striding up to the front door, Mycroft removed some keys from his pocket, unlocking the front door, he strode into the house. Before John even had a chance to examine his surroundings, his attention was brought to the shouting of a man on one of the upper stories if the house.

"JAMES SIRIUS POTTER WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT PUTTING DUNGBOMBS IN YOUR SISTER'S ROOM?" The exclamation was then followed by the laughter of a child. "EDWARD REMUS LUPIN DON'T LAUGH YOU'LL ONLY ENCOURAGE HIM!"

"Who is...?" John began, only to be interrupted by a small voice.

"That's dad, James is in trouble - again." Turning in the direction of the voice, John saw a boy (he looked around the age of nine) sitting on the stairs reading a book. "Hi, I'm Albus." He looked up then and John's eyes were immediately drawn to the boys -Albus'- eyes, they were green, almost unnaturally so and had a hidden intelligence to them.

"Ah," said Mycroft. "It's good to see you again Albus."

The boy's eyes lit up then and he exclaimed, "Uncle Ron!" before rushing over to Mycroft and hugging his legs. Despite the strangeness of a child hugging Mycroft's legs, John's mind seemed to freeze on the fact that Albus had just called Mycroft 'Uncle Ron'.

However , before John could question the boy on why he had called Mycroft the wrong name, Albus had dashed off up the stairs after exclaiming that he needed to tell his dad that they were there.

As soon as Albus had left, Sherlock turned on Mycroft, "Uncle Ron?" he questioned skeptically, raising an eyebrow. Mycroft shot him an unimpressed look and then returning;

"It'll all be explained in a moment. Follow me."

Mycroft then walked down the hall and entered one of the rooms. Looking around the room, John noticed a large fireplace that had a fire burning away in, a TV was on one of the walls and another wall was dominated by books. In the room there were dark leather sofas, which looked ridiculously comfortable. Sitting down, Mycroft gestured for them to do the same.

Looking around briefly Sherlock spoke, "This is obviously a family's home, even an idiot could work that one out, however, what remains unclear is why you brought us here."

Before Mycroft could respond, Albus came bounding into the room and sitting himself next to Mycroft, he was then followed by an older boy with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, who was then followed by another older boy with blue hair, whom held a girl who appeared younger than all of the boys, she had auburn coloured hair and the same startling green eyes as Albus. Finally, the man who could only be enigmatic Harry followed his children into the room.

"Ron," he smiled endearingly and John noticed the fact that he appeared rather tired. "What have I told you about just walking in? A little warning would be nice."

The man then turned to face John and Sherlock, a welcoming smile on his face, a smile which seemed to freeze when he took in Sherlock's appearance. "Oh." he exhaled.

"Yes," Mycroft agreed. "Oh."

"Teddy, James, Albus and Lily, go upstairs please."

"But-"

"No 'but's. Upstairs, now."

John watch as the children marched from the room. "I said upstairs," Harry spoke with a slightly raised voiced. "Not to stand in the hallway."

They sat in silence until they heard feet thundering up the stairs.

"Why," Sherlock began, his voice slightly irritated. "Did you bring me here? I could be doing more interesting then sitting in the living room of a stranger."

Mycroft answered, "Remember what I told you in the car? That is the reason you are here. I thought that it might help jog your memories slightly, however you do not recognise anything." he inhaled deeply. "Before you were Sherlock Holmes, you were known as George Weasley and I as Ron Weasley. You also used to have a twin brother, Sherlock, his name was Fred and he was killed." John stared at Mycroft disbelievingly, and then turned to look at Sherlock -or was it George now? He didn't know, he decided not to think too deeply about it- and noticed the fact that he had a pained look on his face.

"You were both inseparable, near impossible to tell apart. When Fred died you just kind of, well, died with him. You were a shell of your former self, you then disappeared for a week and came back looking like you do now, you hated the fact that you saw him whenever you looked in the mirror. That was when the substance abuse started, for ages nobody realised that you were using, you hid it too well, but then you overdosed for the first time. It was horrible, everyone thought that you were going to die.

"Then you moved in with me and you just seemed to forget that everyone else existed, you seemed to create and entire new life for yourself. A new name, a new personality, a new look. You began to call yourself Sherlock and me, Mycroft. I indulged your delusions and then they just began to become more and more real. So, I took up the role of Mycroft Holmes, and eventually Mycroft and I were the same person. Just like how you are Sherlock Holmes."

"Eurus?" Sherlock questions, his face set in an unreadable expression. "Is she even my sister?"

"Yes," it was Harry that answered the question, and if his eyes were to be trusted, John thought that Mycroft looked rather relieved. "She was your sister, but her name is actually Ginevra or Ginny for short. She, um, used to be my wife. We're not entirely sure what happened but shortly after the birth of our youngest, Lily, she just seemed to go mad. She attacked me and our sons in the night with a knife -Albus still has a scar. She was then arrested, but after her many, many escapes from prison, she was moved to Sherrinford."

Sherlock stared at Harry and questioned rather harshly, "Who are you?"

Harry smiled at him, "Harry Potter, the unwilling other half of the British government."

"Unwilling?" John asked.

"By the time I realised what I was, it was too late, I couldn't back back out."

"Everyone," Sherlock intervened. "You sad everyone. Who is everyone?"

Mycroft chuckled, "The rest of the Weasleys of course. I believe the best way to name them all would be to work backwards. There's Ginny, and then me, you, Percy, Charlie and then Bill."

Sherlock stared at Mycroft, "You're lying." he hissed. "There is no way that it's true. YOU'RE LYING!"

And with that, he rose from his seat and left. "If it's true, he'll come around."

Mycroft hummed and Harry said, "I'm sure he will but is he more Holmes or Weasley."

Staring at Harry oddly, John rose from his seat and followed Sherlock out of the room.

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Hello, it appears that I am the first of the WitsWrackspursts trio to upload! Anywho, this will be a gathering of Sherlock and Harry Potter Crossovers. I hope you enjoyed this one, I'm rather disappointed about the ending.

Favorite, Follow and Review!

~Basilisk.