It's update time! Yay! I know my plot is moving along a little slow, but that's mostly because I can't fit more than 3k words in one chapter. *whispers* they're claustrophobic.

Still, it's only chapter two, and I'm shocked by the amount of attention this has gotten already :o Thank you all, and here's what you wanted, without much further ado ;)

Rate: T

Pairings: Past Sherlily(lol what), canon pairings otherwise.

Disclaimer: Same old same old - BBC Sherlock (c) Moffat & Gatiss, Sherlock Holmes and co. (c) Sir ACD, HP (c) Rowling

Chapter Two – The Guy from Telly

Harry was not having a good day.

The previous week, one of his best friends, Ron Weasley had held a telephone for the first time in his life and had attempted to contact him at his house, resulting in an enraged Uncle Vernon and radio silence on his friend's and also Hermione's – his other best friend – parts.

He was also feeling cranky because of the late nights he was keeping in order to do his holiday homework, which was the only time he could do so, since the Dursleys banned anything labelled magic in their household.

On top of it all, most of the days he was forced to keep Mrs Figg company, and although it was infinitely better than staying at home and listening to the Dursleys go on about their oh-so-very-ordinary lives, Mrs Figg was nonetheless an old cat lady who had old people hobbies and was interested in old people things.

So no, Harry was not in the best of moods the moment his Uncle appeared in Mrs Figg's doorway and barked at him to come home. Scowling, he obeyed, and although his curiosity burned, he resisted asking him the reason for the need for his presence.

Harry's patience was soon rewarded. The moment they were outside the house, Vernon pulled him harshly to a stop by the arm, his meaty fingers curling painfully tight around his skinny, almost non-existent bicep.

"Now you listen here, boy. There is a man here asking to meet you. So far, he doesn't seem like one of your lot," the last words were uttered venomously, spittle flying all over Harry's face and clothes. "He's a respectable sort so you'll do your very best and behave. No nonsense or freakishness while he's here, no talk about your weird school and that world. Just be quiet and speak only when asked to."

With a few good shakes, he was fortunately let go. Harry rubbed his aching arm but nodded in consent. A Muggle, wanting to meet him? He had no friends from primary school, had had little contact with adults over the years, not nearly enough to stir someone's interest. And as far as he knew, his parents had lived in a magical district up until their deaths, so all their acquaintances were wizards or witches as well.

Along the way, they came across Dudley, who was just parting with one of his friends. Uncle Vernon brought his son up to date with the situation and muttered something about presenting his son with not inconsiderable pride in his voice.

Before entering the house, the hulking uncle had stopped Harry once again to glare at him warningly for a few long moments, while Dudley entered first, not all that eager to meet 'a boring old man'. Vernon pushed him in and shut the door quickly, then announced their return.

Once Dudley had moved enough that Harry might be able to see at least a part of the living room, the young wizard became aware of a pair of uncomfortably piercing eyes offering him their full focus. The man sitting on the Dursleys' overly cozy couch looked greatly out of place, with his dark, tailor-made suit and stiff posture. He was a handsome man with his unique face and would most likely tower over everyone in the room, and although his pale, aristocratic features seemed ageless, the nearly invisible, but still there stress lines and wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth placed him around the age of forty. He also seemed rather familiar for some reason.

Harry was instantly intimidated by this elegant individual and he stood in place uneasily, unsure of how to proceed. The stranger, however, seemed equally frozen, for his intelligent eyes had widened the moment they met Harry's and he had not moved or breathed ever since.

The odd episode passed all too soon, though, as Dudley exclaimed, pointing rudely at their guest,

"Mum! That's that guy from telly, that fake, crazy detective who offed himself!"

The Dursleys were stunned by the revelation. Harry himself was astonished. A Muggle detective? Why would he want to meet Harry, though? Could it be that he'd been hired to investigate the Dursleys? But who in Merlin's name would ever be that concerned about little orphan Harry Potter?

The man snapped back into reality with a look of growing, tightly suppressed rage on his face. He put aside the teacup that his trembling fingers had mercifully held on to and placed his palms on his knees, seemingly completely unconcerned with his cover being blown.

"I should have known," his baritone voice murmured. "Lily had told me about her sister."

"Look here, I won't have no nonsense in this household, mister," Vernon Dursley started, his face growing red. "If you're here to stir up trouble-"

"You will restrain yourself, Mr Dursley, or I shall be forced to share with your wife the details of your… indiscretions," the man cut in coldly, the last word being drawled suggestively.

Uncle Vernon seemed to know what he was referring to, for he quickly grew quiet, despite his even ruddier cheeks.

"I am here on a personal matter. Lily Potter had informed me years ago about your treatment of her and her world, so it should not have come as a surprise that this would carry on to your care of her son. If 'care' is even the appropriate word for it."

The man rose from his seat and buttoned his jacket. His gaze found Harry's. "Go to your room and gather your belongings."

Harry gaped, taken aback. "Wh-"

"Now wait just a moment- what do you-!" Aunt Petunia protested weakly.

"Harry will be coming with me. Your guardianship does not benefit him by any means and should not be allowed to continue."

Uncle Vernon finally found his voice. "How dare you! We're his relatives, what makes you think you have any chance of gaining custody of the boy?"

Harry was slightly surprised that the Dursleys would make even the smallest attempt to keep him instead of eagerly throwing him out to the wolves, but he supposed that they might find themselves in trouble with the police if news ever reached them of his years in the cupboard under the stairs.

The man straightened to his full height and glared down at the man easily four times his width. "I assure you, Mr Dursley, that my custody of Harry Potter will come unchallenged," his low tone seemed both sincere and threatening at the same time. With that, he turned away to look pointedly at the bewildered wizard, who scrambled up the stairs to pack his things.

Harry was unsure what to make of this entire matter. The man, whose name he did not even know yet, seemed to have been acquainted with his mother. A friend? And if his words were anything to go by, he knew about magic, but was not a wizard himself. 'Her world', he said. A Muggle who knew about magic? Was it even legal? Maybe he was married to a witch himself, or something.

He also seemed to care about Harry's wellbeing, though it could also be a ploy to take him away from his home, unable to be found by his friends and the Wizarding World. The man seemed honest enough in his claims about custody and his fury over Harry's upbringing.

All in all, Harry was relieved to escape from the Hell that is his aunt and uncle's home but knew not whether he could really trust this stranger. He had always wanted a family of his own, somebody who truly cared about him… Could this be it? Was he a fool to raise his hopes?

He returned downstairs with the few meager possessions he had in terms of clothes and self-care items, as well as a sleeping Hedwig in her cage to find the strange man dressed in an imposing longcoat with an upturned collar. He scanned Harry for a split-second and asked, "What about your… special school equipment?"

Vernon grudgingly stepped forward and unlocked the hated cupboard which contained his broom, uniform, books, and all the other magic-related stuff while Harry still eyed the mind-reading man warily. Harry brightened at the sight of them all, while the man soured further as he analysed the cupboard.

Once Harry had shoved all that he could into his trunk, the man grabbed on to it and the small suitcase while Harry held his carefully wrapped broom and the covered cage. Without any last regard for the Dursleys, they hailed a cab and were off, Privet Drive soon fading from Harry's view.

Within the silence of the cab, Harry took a breath and thought back on the radical events of the day. It seemed surreal. He had finally left his relatives behind and with any luck, he'd never have to deal with them ever again. What in the world had just happened?

He snuck a hesitant glance at his companion. The detective seemed deep in thought, his brows slightly furrowed. Harry opened his mouth… then closed it. The process repeated itself for a few more seconds.

"While that is a very convincing impersonation of a goldfish, I'm afraid I have to ask you to speak up and be done with it."

Harry blushed in embarrassment. "Sorry. Well, I… I don't even know your name and I'm going to be staying with you. You already know mine, obviously…" he trailed off awkwardly.

The man stared at him unreadably. Then he rolled his eyes. "They were always so ignorant of the Muggle world. If you had ever read a newspaper you would have known my name, though I suppose this could be a blessing in disguise. Sherlock Holmes."

Harry shook his hand reluctantly. He'd not had the chance to shake someone's hand all that often. It seemed such an adult thing for him, slightly too serious.

"How… how did you know my mother? If you don't mind me asking, of course, sir," he mumbled the last part.

Mr Holmes turned to stare out the window and Harry almost thought he would not answer. "She was studying Chemistry at the University I conducted my research in at the time," he said. And he offered no more, the rest of the ride being spent in a deep silence.

…

Harry's first week as a tenant of 221B Baker Street was an odd one.

He had marveled at the sight of the quirky flat, with its Victorian wallpaper with a neon yellow smiley face graffitied onto in it and then shot at, the bison skull with headphones, the genuine human skull on the mantelpiece and the mismatched armchairs.

Harry had also been introduced to Mrs Hudson, who was a kind little old lady with a knack for baking sweets. He had been fussed over and cooed at and had gotten treated to a warm cuppa and some delightful biscuits, then Mrs Hudson had given her veteran tenant a good scolding for not 'feeding the boy something as soon as he was out of that horrible home'. He liked Mrs Hudson and how she was able to chastise the six feet tall, dark and daunting detective.

He'd been settled in the upstairs bedroom, which he had taken the time to decorate with his few belongings, placing each in its own, special place. Sometimes, Harry liked to just stand in his new bedroom and admire how it looked like it belonged to him, and take note with great relief of the lack of locks on his door.

Mr Holmes had been away for quite a few times during the week. This did not bother Harry, as he was used to entertaining himself and he was already quite unsure how to interact with the older man. He was at home for dinner without fail, however, and he always asked Harry whether he'd eaten breakfast and lunch at Mrs Hudson's.

Harry thought that maybe Mr Holmes was on a case, which would explain his long times away, but then he'd been able to witness him listening to quite a few clients during the week, most of whom he'd turned away after a mere two minutes of them explaining their case, which Harry found weird and extraordinary at the same time. If he'd thought the Wizarding World was weird before, Sherlock Holmes proved to be an even odder enigma.

What Harry found the most puzzling, though, was the fact that the detective seemed to be avoiding him. During the little time he was at home, he never spoke to Harry unless he was asked something or if it was related to Harry's eating and sleeping habits or other needs. Outside of meal time, he was most often deeply entrenched in an experiment and if Harry ever tried to catch his gaze, the man would avert his. At one time, though, he'd caught Mr Holmes staring at him with a pained and longing expression, lost deeply in thought. Once he'd realised he'd been noticed, though, his face smoothed over and he turned back to reading through cold cases.

Harry was brought out of his ruminations by the very man who was on his mind, however, as he stormed into the living room through the front door and stopped before him.

"Get dressed," Mr Holmes ordered swiftly. "We're going out."

Harry frowned at the lack of explanation but obeyed. After a characteristically silent cab ride, they were standing in front of a small clinic. He grew anxious, unsure of the purpose of this sudden visit, though he continued to follow his unofficial guardian in.

"I'm here to see John Watson," the older man said to the front desk clerk. Her eyes widened in recognition, but she soon smiled warmly.

"Mr Holmes! Of course, Dr Watson is on break right now, you can go right in."

He nodded and walked to a door with the letters 'DR. JOHN H. WATSON' plastered on it. He opened the door to the office and walked in without knocking, motioning Harry to follow and closing it after him.

A middle-aged man with greying blonde hair and kind dark blue eyes was sitting at the desk inside, currently focused on a file. His face was peppered with many lines which only served to soften his features, fact proven when the corners of his eyes wrinkled affectionately as they wandered over to a frame on his desk. The moment the door closed, he looked up from his work.

"Sherlock," he called in surprise. His lips curled in a small smile. "Didn't know you were stopping by. Who's this you've-" his words died in his throat as he noticed his friend's young companion. He remained frozen with his mouth open and his gaze pinned on the newcomer for a quite a few seconds.

The silence was broken when some sort of realisation set in the man's aged eyes and Dr Watson suddenly stood from his desk, his chair nearly being knocked down with the force of his movement. "What…" he stuttered, staring wide-eyed at Harry."What…"

"Don't hurt yourself, John," Mr Holmes drawled sardonically. He wasn't smirking though. If anything, he seemed slightly apprehensive.

The doctor gathered his wits, took a deep breath and locked his jaw tight before walking up to them. Mr Holmes grimaced but stood still, as if knowing what was to come.

Then Dr Watson socked him in the face.

To be continued…

Poor Sherlock. Always getting the wrong end of Jawn's fist. Is there even a right end to a fist, though...?

Anyway, thank you for reading! Now you can review - if you like - to let me know who you're looking forward to see, what confounds you, what outrages you, what you appreciated and what you'd like to have for dinner :) Well the last one's optional, but it's a free country, no? (at least I hope where you're coming from is a free country. if not, you have my condolences)

See you in two weeks, on Nov 27 :D

-Noxi