"How is Thomas?" Mycroft dismissed the house elf and took a seat at the breakfast table. He had been away a week, involved in meetings regarding intercontinental magic and no one had been allowed contact with home. Stupid really, the meetings had been boring and unnecessary. On his arrival home he found Greg already in bed and in no mood for late night conversation.

"Damn it," growled Greg and dropped the spoon back in the bowl. "Sherlock's gone and dragged Thomas to another healer. The child was sick for three days but Sherlock insisted Thomas still drink the damn potions. This needs to stop Mycroft. Thomas is suffering and for no good reason. For goodness sake, make some decisions regarding the child's schooling now not next month."

Mycroft placed a hand on Greg's shoulder and gently stroked. "I agree, this family needs to face the truth no matter how bitter. My parents and I had such hopes that Irene and Sherlock would produce an exceptional child." Mycroft paused as he felt the weight of generations past. "I made enquiries. I was told Cambridge or Oxford were excellent places of learning. I thought you could investigate and choose which one you think would best suit Thomas. The family will pay."

"Mycroft, he's eleven. He needs a high school not a university. But thanks anyway, you know, for caring."

"Gregory, did you think I could love my nephew any less for not being a wizard."

Greg leaned over and squeezed Mycroft's hand. "I...," but he didn't know what to say. It wasn't his place to interfere in family business. "Thanks."

Mycroft took a sip of his tea and stole a bite of toast from his lover's plate. "You'll be late for your appointment if you don't hurry and don't forget to remind Sherlock to present himself for dinner. I think a united front will do wonders for the boy's confidence. A muggle in the Holmes family tree," Mycroft gave a secretive smile. "Yes, if handled correctly there may be political advantage to be gained after all."

"Mycroft, you are nothing but a big softie."

"Such insults my love and so early in the morning. Now do hurry up or I shall be late to work." Mycroft leaned over and gave Greg a quick kiss. The ring on Greg's finger glowed bright and after checking his pockets Greg walked towards the fireplace. A flash of blue powder thrown by Mycroft and Greg found himself standing in front of Thomas. Dressed in jeans and sweatshirt the young boy looked like any other normal child found on the streets of London.

"You're late Uncle Gregory. If we don't leave now we'll miss the opening."

A small hand grabbed onto Greg's and dragged him towards the fireplace but Greg shifted his weight and brought them both to a halt. The boy was growing fast, thin but tall like his father. "Not so fast. I need to speak to your father before we leave."

"Why?"

"You've been invited to our place this weekend and Mycroft wants to arrange a family dinner at the Blue Hawk to celebrate your birthday. He insists your father attends."

"OK, but it's not as though he needs to be there or even wants to be there," said Thomas as he sat back down and picked up a book.

Greg removed a child's back pack from his shoulder and placed it next to Thomas. "Your father needs to be there because you are eleven and eleven is a big deal in any magic family."

"But I'm not," said Thomas turning a page of his book.

"Not what?"

"Not a wizard, everybody says so. Mum thinks I'm a squib and she's never wrong." It was safe to use the word with Uncle Greg because the muggle didn't understand the deep levels of meaning like a wizard or witch would. Thomas may have whispered the word to himself under the bed covers but this was the first time he felt brave enough to say the word out loud.

"Oh," Greg's face fell. "And what does your dad say?"

"He says he doesn't care, that he loves me anyway. I really do think we should be leaving now," said Thomas closing his book again.

Greg automatically took a step towards the fireplace.

"Does Master Greg need assistance?"

Greg jumped at the sudden appearance of Mink in the open doorway. For a moment he felt slightly dizzy and sick. The feeling passed as he rubbed his head and lightly scratched his hand where the ring felt warm. Mycroft had explained how the ring reacted to magic and of course the whole bloody house was full of dark magic. "Ahh, Sherlock. I need to speak to Sherlock. Yeah that was it," he said.

"I'll stay here and wait," said Thomas reaching for his book again. "You won't be long will you?"

Greg shook his head and walked towards the door. "Now be a good boy and wait here. I won't be long." The most likely place to find Sherlock would be the cellar.

"Master Sherlock is in the cellar if Sir would like to come this way," said Mink opened the door to the hallway and bowed.

Greg shook his head wondering why everything seemed to be repeating in his head. That bloody blue magic powder had got up his nose again, Greg had told Mycroft it wasn't healthy. He followed Mink thru the corridors and down the stairs. Personally he hated the cellars, they were like something out of a creepy movie.

If Sherlock was going to play with chemicals and potions what was wrong with a well ventilated sunny area, thought Greg. Somewhere modern with lots of glass walls, security doors and petree dishes.

"What," Sherlock looked up at the interruption as Greg and Mink entered the room. "Oh it's you, do go away I'm busy."

"Sherlock..."

"Yes," said Sherlock his attention drifting back to a large book propped up on the table in front of him. "Thomas can stay with you and Mycroft. That was the agreement wasn't it. I don't know why you continue to trot down here to ask?"

"Because it's polite Sherlock to inform the parent of the child in case you worry."

"Worry, why would I worry? You don't intend to harm Thomas do you?"

"Of course not."

"I state my case," said Sherlock and stirred his potion in a figure eight. "Why are you still here? What else, there must be something else you aren't usually this... Why is your ring glowing?"

Greg glanced down, he couldn't help it. "It repels magic, and you know magic." Greg waved his hand around the room at all the potions and herbs sitting on the selves.

Sherlock reached out grabbed Greg's hand and peered at the ring. "Marvellous work, Mycroft's of course, it's never glowed before. Your hands are cold and your eyes are glazed, are you sure you are well enough to take Thomas on an outing?"

Greg snatched his hand back. "It's just that bloody power Sherlock. It got up my nose again. Now concentrate, dinner at the Blue Hawk, you will be there or I will be very annoyed."

"Of course, Mink, remind me," commanded Sherlock and the little elf nodded. "Also I've decided to purchase a house in old London. I'm thinking Whitechapel, not any of those modern areas. I can't stand these new age witches. Do take it into consideration when you choose a school. I'll need a fireplace of course, maybe three."

"But you can't do magic in London, it's forbidden."

"Only if you get caught and I'm sure Mycroft will assist, after all you do wear his magic ring."

"But..." But Sherlock was right, thought Greg, the ring was charmed to protect Greg from rogue magic while he worked in the real world as a detective. And to keep in contact with Mycroft during the day. And assist with travel between the two realms and God knew what else. Sometimes Greg suspected it contained a credit line straight to Gringots bank. "So you want me to find you one house with three fireplaces, in an old area of London and near a good school for Thomas."

"Too complicated for you Detective?"

"No of course not." Greg started to leave but paused. "Just don't miss the dinner, OK."

"Do run along, Thomas is waiting." Sherlock turned back to his work after waving in the general direction of the door.

Greg knew he had lost the man's attention.

"Mink will remind the master," said Mink waiting like a good house elf in the corridor ready to lead Greg back to Thomas.

"A house, now his royal highness wants me to find a bloody house. What did his last slave die of?" Greg muttered to himself.

On hearing the words Mink threw himself against the wall and banged his head repeatedly. "Mink very loyal. Mink would never betray the Master. Sir should not think such evil things."

Greg crouched down and hugged the little elf to his body. "Mink I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. Of course you are loyal. Sherlock is proud to have you as his house elf."

"Last slave did very bad thing. Last slave was ripped apart. Very messy, much cleaning involved. Master was very angry. Sir not slave, Sir has Master Mycroft for protection."

"Sorry, it was a joke Mink. I didn't mean any harm."

"Sir should never joke about death near the Master." Mink blew his nose with a handkerchief, wiped his eyes and started once more walking down the hallway and up the stairs with Greg following along.

"Thank you Mink. Well I guess we should be off then," said Greg as they entered the room where Thomas was waiting. Greg frowned, "are you feeling alright Thomas. You look a bit flushed in the face."

Thomas giggled, "Fresh air and sunlight will make me feel heaps better Uncle Greg, please hurry up." In a flash of blue they were back at Mycroft's house then out the front door and onto the streets of London.