Hope you like the chapter. Please read the following announcement... if you are a beta-reader - and you like Sherlock/Harry crossovers, and you sorta like this story... please send me a pm! Thank you! I really urgently need a beta-reader.

Mycroft sighed deeply, frustrated. He rarely got frustrated, and if he did, it was usually because of Sherlock... or something his actions caused. The reason for his frustration, was the several-inch-folder lying on his mahogany desk, which was for once in his life messy - mainly because he hadn't been at his office for several days. He'd been up in Wales, investigating a newly reformed research intelligence association called Torchwood.

He rarely travelled out of London, hating the fact that his influence up north wasn't as large as down in London. Besides, he hated unfamiliar surroundings.

Glancing down at his desk, he sighed once more at seeing the large amount of documents which had accumulated there over the days. He'd have to clear that up later.

Sherlock often told him he had OCD - obsessive cleaning disorder - and Sherlock seemed to be trying to prove that he was the exact opposite by being as messy as he could possibly be.

Finally settling down in his steely armchair, he picked up the thick file and started to read.

The first few reports didn't really say anything - mostly that Sherlock had been behaving normally. Well... Normally for Sherlock. 'Normal' for Sherlock was usually Sherlock staying in the whole day - lying on his couch, staring at nothing in particular.

The pattern changed however, when Mycroft reached the report for Thrusday. Sherlock had left early in the morning and had, strangely enough, taken a train to Surrey. Surrey - of all places in England, he'd gone to Surrey. A further report from one of his agents was a photocopy of a local newspaper in Surrey - a man had been murdered brutally at the local pub. Sherlock had then returned three days later - on Sunday... and not alone.

Tagging along behind him, had been a child. A child.

Raising the photograph closer to his eyes (alas - they weren't as good as they had once been), he examined the paparazzi-like picture. It was grainy - obviously it had been taken from a distance and on it, Mycroft could see a tired looking Sherlock looking around nervously, and guiding a boy - about nine or ten by the shoulder.

He was wearing a slightly dull blue T-shirt, and a pair of baggy worn trousers. Fastened on his feet were a pair of dark blue converse shoes - something that was currently popular with the teens, at least, that's what Mycroft had learned from his cousin thrice removed (who just given birth to her fourth child).

Unfortunately, Mycroft couldn't see much else of the boy, only his profile - which was remarkably similar to Sherlock's. He frowned as an idea popped into his head.

Surely not... Sherlock couldn't have possibly... No - it wasn't possible. Ignoring the little voice inside his head telling him that he was being an idiot, Mycroft picked up the telephone and dailing a number, he was instantly connected to his assistant. "Get a car. We're going to Baker Street."

...

Several days ago...

Then, to his surprise, a hand appeared in front of his face and slightly nervously, Harry took it. Glancing up, he noticed the man's cupids bow tilt up a little on either side.

"The name's Holmes, Sherlock Holmes,"

Harry smirked at the man, "Pleasure to meet you 007." Sherlock didn't seem to get the reference and he cocked his head slightly, strangely reminding Harry of an otter.

"Uh... James Bond? They're comics... Uncle Vernon never let me watch the films thou-" He was broken off by a sudden tightening in his chest and a flashing pain in his head. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe, his legs turned to jelly and he felt like puking anything he'd eaten in the last couple of days - which to be fair wasn't much.

He barely heard Sherlock's shout of surprise as he collapsed down on the pavement, head in agony as he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

.

Harry felt his senses slowly return to him - each one of them... one by one. It was torture, waking up this way... and he had a few times in the past, whenever his uncle had made him go a few days without food. As finally, all his senses returned to him - and the smell of disinfectant (which always seemed to be present at the school nurse's office) assaulted him, he opened his eyes.

It was sort of anticlimatic really - he was somewhere surrounded by white - white walls, white ceiling, even a white bed... Wait - bed? Wriggling his fingers, he slowly made his hands and arms move - trying to make them to respond to him. They had oddly fallen asleep - probably because he'd been in a lying position for some time.

His blanket, he soon discovered, was soft, not dreamy soft, but softer than his blanket at home... not that that was very hard to beat. It was the type of soft the nice ladies on TV ads always seemed to be advertising.

An odd, rhythmic beeping sound suddenly assaulted his ears and he realised quickly that it was his heart rate - and glancing to the right, he saw a monitor displaying what he hoped was a normal sinus rhythm. Gently tracing the back of his right hand with his left, he found some sort of needle injected into it - and attached to that needle was a tube. Even with his blurred vision, Harry could see the IV transparent bag containing some sort of liquid and slowly but steadily dripping the liquid into the tube.

So he was in a hospital... The question was how?

The last thing he remembered was Sherlock Holmes introducing himself and then Harry explaining what 007 meant. After that, he had felt some sort of pain bolt up his head and then... nothing.

Reaching out with his left hand once more - the one free from any IV needles - he felt for a bed side table, which without his glasses was just a blob, which was a slightly darker shade of white than the rest of the room. His hand connected with the top of the blob and felt around until he managed to grasp a pair of glasses.

Finally slipping them on, he sighed in relief as the room came into focus.

It was a small room - and frankly very depressing. Somehow he had ended up in a private ward - which was odd, seeing as the Dursley's had never insured him... not in any way. Technically as an uninsured person he should have been thrown out of the hospital as soon as they healed whatever he had.

As his eyes wandered to his right, they widened in shock. Seated in a chair (but still somehow half-lying on the bed) was Sherlock Holmes. His hair was messy - messier than earlier and his eyes were shut - obviously he was asleep. There were bags under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for a long time, making Harry wonder how long he'd been at the hospital. The last time he'd seen Sherlock, the man had looked completely fine.

The door opened suddenly, making Harry jump slightly in surprise, and resulting in Sherlock's head falling of the bed and hitting the metallic edge. The man's eyes flew open and he instantly clutched his head, wincing slightly at the abrupt way he'd been woken.

Massaging the side of his head, Sherlock slowly straightened, finally sitting upright in his chair.

Harry grimaced himself and let out a meek 'sorry'. Sherlock glanced up at him expressionlessly, and then turned to the other person who had just entered the hotel room.

A nurse was standing there - blinking in shock - before her face transformed into that of a scolding mother and she tutted. "We already have one patient in this room with a head injury. Let's not make it two!" She exclaimed, rushing forwards to examine the monitor hooked up to Harry and shooting Sherlock a glare.

Her face softened when her eyes laid upon Harry, her glare melting away in an instant. She picked up a clipboard which had been laying on the monitor and scanned the page. "How are you feeling Mr Holmes?" She said with a sort of warmth Harry had never encountered within a person. Petunia and Vernon certainly didn't talk to him that way.

He was about to answer her when he registered what she'd said. Holmes. She'd said Holmes. Holmes not Potter. Glancing back at Sherlock, more than just a little confused and shook his head, which shot a flash of pain through it. Ignoring the pain - he'd had worse, he spoke to her in a small voice, "It's Potter, not Holmes."

It was her turn to look confused and she looked between Sherlock (who was rolling his eyes) and Harry with a raised eyebrow. A flicker of understanding flashed in her eyes and she smiled brightly. "Oh. Oh." She continued grinning and placed the clipboard back on the monitor. "He hasn't told you yet." She muttered.

Eyes brightly examining Sherlock, she winked at him in an almost sadistic way (wow.. She seemed to really hate him), "Have fun explaining everything."

Then she disappeared through the door she had just come through.

Harry turned to Sherlock who suddenly looked uncomfortable and cleared his throat.

"Uh... You see Harry, you fainted in front of me. I called the ambulance and you were taken into the hospital. It turned out that you'd lost a lot of blood when you hit your head..."

Flashback

Sherlock massaged his temples, trying to ease the headache coming on. He was in the Royal Surrey County Hospital, currently waiting for news about the boy - Harry Potter- who a day ago, had fainted right in front of him.

He had instantly called the ambulance, which had arrived within the next ten minutes and then for some inexplicable reason, Sherlock had jumped inside, just as one of the medics was about to close the door.

The boy was somehow familiar, in some odd way. He had reminded Sherlock of himself when he had been younger... but not as closed off. The boy was obviously neglected by his family but somehow that inner innocence all small children had when they were small had stayed with him. All that optimism was still there - something Sherlock had lost at a very young age when his older brother, Sherrinford, had died.

He'd been sitting there - in front of the ER-Department - when a doctor, had come out of the room, with a grave expression on his face. He had then explained that Harry had a concussion and that he'd lost a lot of blood, resulting in him fainting. The next part had been horrifying too... if not more. The doctor had explained to him that Harry needed a blood transfusion and after a quick test of his blood, they had found out that he was an AB negative blood type - the rarest out there.

Sherlock had then (still in shock) explained to the Doctor that he was a type AB negative, and that he would be willing to do the blood transfusion. After that he'd suddenly felt responsible (something that didn't happen all that often) for the boy and had decided to stay till the kid was well again... and removed from his negletctful family.

And now he was waiting... Waiting for any results to come... waiting to be allowed into the room... He'd been waiting for about a day now, and was starting to get impatient. He'd been so bored he'd already solved the case.

It was then, just as he was about to go and ask for a doctor to explain to him the progress being done, one charged down from the research labs... straight at him. "Sherlock Holmes?" The doctor - a thin blond woman with dark hair and huge bags under her eyes - said as she nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

Sherlock nodded once, slightly confused... was something wrong with his blood? But no - they had already tested it, and Harry had already gotten the transfusion... so that couldn't be it.

"Well, uhm. Mr Holmes, one of my students - as you know this is a teaching hospital - was doing DNA tests for his examination. His practical genetics examination was made up two parts. In one part he had to compare two pairs of genes with each other and decide whether the two people were related or not. As yours and Mr Potter's genes were already there anyway, we decided to use them... You see..." She paused, blinking furiously from lack of sleep, "We thought you two weren't related but had the same blood type, and that would make it more difficult for the student to decide whether or not you are related. You stated to Dr Fredericks that you didn't know his patient. Anyway," She paused again, and Sherlock suddenly felt a little queasy... He had a feeling he knew where this was heading... and didn't exactly knew what it meant for him and Harry, "The student was then shocked to find that your DNA matched Harry's. So, congratulations... You are a father Mr. Holmes." *1 (AN)

With a nervous smile she tried to hand him the folder, but when he made no move to accept the folder, she placed it on the seat next to him, then muttered something about 'having to catch some late lunch'.

Sherlock sat there in shocked silence, staring ahead at nothing in particular. His mind was racing... thoughts were flying here and there, and couldn't really concentrate on anything other than those last words the research doctor had uttered. 'You are a father, Mr Holmes.'

After a while - he wasn't exactly sure how long... maybe it had been ten minutes, perhaps it had been an hour, Sherlock had the sudden urge to have it confirmed and with a shaky hand he grabbed the blue innocent-looking folder lying on the seat next to his.

With slight trepidation, he flipped it open and scanned the first page. At the bottom, it said: Relation : Confirmed. The second page, was a paternity test. He read this page carefully, and slowly, he lowered his eyes to the last sentence which said: Paternity: Confirmed.

He stared at the page with shock. He was a father.

...

When he finished his short recount of the last two days, Harry stared at him in shock - much like how Sherlock had done himself the day before when he'd received the results.

"You're my father?" Harry finally asked in a small voice and Sherlock glanced him over, marvelling how similar they actually looked. Now that he knew what to search for, he could see it, plain as day. He finally nodded when Harry gave him an expectant look.

"Yes, I am."

They then fell into a sort of awkward silence in which neither party really knew what to say. It was then, when Sherlock saw that Harry was dying to ask some questions that he spoke.

"You have questions, I assume?"

Harry cracked a small smile, and nodded, ducking his head in embarrassment. It suddenly stroke Sherlock how timid and shy the boy actually was... probably because of all of the neglect. Sherlock made a mental note to make sure that the Dursleys got a proper punishment. He knew that the hospital had already called child services the day before when they had found out from Sherlock how he had found Harry.

"Is Lily Potter my mother?"

Sherlock sighed. He had known that that question would come up, but he hadn't expected it to come up that quickly. He nodded once and placed his hands under his chin, resting his elbows agains his knees.

"Yes, she is. We met at Cambridge. She was doing a biology degree... Lily told me she had broken up with her boyfriend. She was smart, and funny... and beautiful... so we.. uh -" He broke of and scratched the back of his head, feeling the awkwardness in the room raise to such a level that he was sure that he he had a knife he would able to slice it. "Anyway, one day, she just disappeared and... Well, I never saw her again. I never knew that she had a son."

Harry fiddled with the IV tube but Sherlock didn't have the heart to tell him off.

"She's dead now. She and my father died in a car-crash." He said as he gazed into the distance. Sherlock winced inwardly, he hadn't missed the way Harry had referred to his step-father... The boy saw a dead man as his father... and not him.

"Am I going to live with you now?" Harry asked after a moment with an unreadable expression on his face which then suddenly - after a few moments - morphed into nervousness as he continued fiddling with the tube.

Sherlock was momentairly shocked by the question. Indeed... what would he do with his child? He'd never expected to have one in the first place - he had always thought he'd remain a lonely detective till he died. Not that he minded being lonely. Actually, he sort of enjoyed it.

Well... technically, John had moved out. He sometimes still stayed over when he and Sherlock got caught up in a case, but... John could sleep in the couch...

He couldn't exactly leave his son with child services. He'd either get placed in a children's home or with a foster family. If Harry stayed with him... Sherlock would be able to teach him so much... The thought of that almost brought a smile to his face.

He nodded once and smirked, "Of course."

Harry ducked his head once more, and as he did, Sherlock saw the corners of his lips raise slightly, obviously already anticipating living in a good enviornment, with a family and... well not with the Dursleys.

Strangely enough, Sherlock found himself excited too.

I hope you liked that. So far... I've been trying to make Harry not too much like Sherlock. I dislike fics in which Harry is a replica of Sherlock... I want Sherlock to slowly teach him everything about the science of deduction.

I'm sorry if Sherlock is a little ooc, but I suppose if you've just received then news that you have a nine year old son - you'd be pretty ooc too. I'm going to make him more of an asshole though... not as bad as in canon (cause Harry's there) but... yeah. I don't want it to be all soap opera-y.

*1: I did some research about the DNA subject and I found out that if a hospital is a Teaching Hospital then they're allowed to use DNA from patients for examinations, practice etc. Technically though, it should be kept confidential.

Anonymous Reviews:

Guest #1: ahah thanks for the review... hmmm... I actually never really thought about which timeline to set it in... I think I'll be setting it in the HP time-line... I'm not really sure though... It depends on whether I decide that the plot needs some advanced tech or not.

Sarah: Thank you!

Guest #2: No sorry... If Hermione comes in, then it'll be later on, when they're at Hogwarts. I'm not that fond of her

Me: Thank you! And yes! I am continuing it!

Marion: Merci!

Elizabeth: Thank you for your review! I hope your question is answered!

Kat: Hahah thanks for the review... and yes, I have continued it!

branchkk: Thank you!

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For my German-speaking readers: I am translating this story into German to improve it - my friend and beta reader Emil von Sinclair is correcting the mistakes... I have uploaded the story and if you want to... glance into it XD It would be greatly appreciated.

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Kudos to everyone who noticed the Doctor Who/Torchwood reference.

Reviews are welcome XD