Like said in the summary I'll dump here all the unfinished plot bunnies that usually hit me in the face right when I should be doing something like oh I don't know, studying maybe? XD

Then again, depending on my own level of determination and the response they encounter, some of these might be picked up later and updated as separate stories.

Anyway, this one is an OS but it might change if I have the strength and faith to actually continue…

Sherlock BBC Crossover with… well it's easily guessed, just read it 8D

A Gift

Sherlock let his eyes trail on the illuminated street, looking despondently at the houses.

The only distinction between which were either the cars (though most were suburban vans and family cars of similar models and years – hm the accountant at number three recently had a raise… Newest model of car in the street, expensive looking one too, a clear amelioration on the state of the garden in the last three weeks, probably went and hired a gardener finally, rather than let his wife take care of it anymore) or the ornaments in their neatly trimmed and impeccably maintained gardens (oh missus at number seven would have to change lovers again soon by the look of her gardenia flowerbeds…).

"So this is what the average person aspires to… 'normality'… How incredibly dull…" The young man mused out loud.

He was brought out of the strings of deductions his mind had been going through while observing the quiet neighbourhood, when a soft wailing sound attracted his attention to the porch of number four's doorway.

The dark haired man frowned slightly when he realized that he'd completely missed the small wiggling package sitting innocently on the steps.

Mentally berating himself, he drew closer, trying to get a better look at its contents.

Now, Sherlock was, for better and, in most of his acquaintances' point of view, for worse, a self-diagnosed high-functioning sociopath. As such, most inane, implied and unvoiced rules of society that one learnt at their parents' knee, just left him bemused and most of the time irritated to no end.

Even so, the presence of the small, wiggling and sniffling, red faced and very distressed looking baby (wrapped in some navy blue blankets and not much else, in the middle of a definitely frisky autumnal night - comfortable looking but not really made to protect the fragile lungs of a 16 to 18 months old baby); there on someone's doorstep. This did seem peculiar, even to him.

Especially when you took into consideration the fact that from the slightly irritated wound (interesting shape, almost a perfect reproduction of a stylised lightening bolt, edges also too smooth to result from any type of accidental injury, looking more like a brand really) on its forehead and the brownish specks of drying blood on the blankets; the infant should probably be attended to by a doctor as soon as possible.

His eyes quickly zeroed in on an envelope half-hidden in the folds of the meagre blanket. Arching an eyebrow, he bent down and, taking care not to ruffle the child who had finally settled in again and whose eyes were dropping heavily into a slumber, he retrieved the envelope.

With just as much care, he unsealed it (an old dusty scroll-like paper, wih an authentic wax-based seal presenting some coat of arms and the letter "H" standing out in the middle, very Victorian type of writing style, done with an actual feather pen rather than an imitating fountain pen, the rate and rhythm of the lettering denoted an ease with the archaic scripture) and let his mind analyse the format of the letter before even trying to understand it.

A frown developed again as he really took in what was written as well as what he'd deduced from the letter in itself. This was odd. A sheer contradiction… something that actually did surprise him and looked interesting. Unable to stop himself, Sherlock chuckled mirthfully and after reading the letter once again, he tucked it back in the folds of the blanket and finally looked back at the still slumbering toddler.

"Well, Harry Potter, you and I shall have a lot of things to discuss…" He said in a breath, brushing the bang of hair out of the way to stare a bit longer at the lightening bolt wound.

Without another word, he took off his long scarf and placed it around the baby's body to induce a bit more heat before standing back up, leaving number 4 Privet Drive with nary a look back.