Harry gasped for breath as Sherlock let go of him, having forgotten to breathe whilst, apparating. He spun round disorientated, trying to get a bearing of his surroundings.
He appeared to be in a flat, just like Sherlock had said. Unbelievable, mused Harry. Apparating anywhere you want would open up so many possibilities. You could travel anywhere and nobody would know where you were: you could be anywhere in the entire world. You could go anywhere, see anything. And nobody could stop you. He wasn't sure he liked the sensation of actually apparating though but he was sure he could get past that.
"If you don't like apparating, you could always use brooms" Sherlock shouted from across the room, shaking Harry out of his thoughts.
He laughed at the thought of flying on broomsticks, only to immediately quieten after. Harry was unsure of drawing attention to himself and his deep rooted fears hadn't vanished over the course of a morning.
Unfortunately, Sherlock being the omniscient person he was, noticed too. Showing great tact however, he didn't comment upon it. Instead, he directed Harry's gaze around the room, causing Harry to stare around in alarm.
Aunt Petunia would have a fit if she saw this: the flat was an absolute mess. Books were stacked haphazardly everywhere, in large stooping piles, like pieces of jenga that were about to topple over. There were chemicals stacked around, glass containers with bubbling liquids that looked as if they were about to spew and was that a human skull on the mantelpiece?
Harry stepped back, instinctively. It was an actual skull. A skull. A real, genuine, bloody skull. And, it was on display. Like Sherlock was proud of it. Parading it to the world. Irrationally, Harry's thought process immediately leapt to the idea that Sherlock was a murderer. A killer. And, this time Harry would refuse to be the victim.
Reflecting quickly, he realised it should have been obvious to spot. Of course Sherlock would be dangerous. What on earth had made him think that he wasn't going to be lured here and killed? Harry berated himself angrily. He'd been so intrigued by the prospect of this man explaining magic to him, that he'd let his defences down. What a stupid, stupid mistake.
Nobody had seen him either, according to that spell, Sherlock had cast earlier. So, nobody knew where he was or even who he was with. And, the Dursley's wouldn't file a missing report for a few days at least. They might not even be bothered to file one at all.
He started hyperventilating, in confusion and was so consumed by his irrational thoughts; he failed to notice Sherlock walk over to him, stepping right into his personal space.
Harry did notice however, when the man began shaking his shoulders briskly.
Unfortunately, what happened next were two things: Harry immediately lashed out in surprise at the physical contact and reached blindly for some sort of weapon which sadly, happened to be the knife embedded in the mantelpiece. Secondly, Doctor John Watson had come back to the flat and arrived just in time to see Harry plunge the knife wildly at Sherlock.
In hindsight, it was all Sherlock's fault. However, this didn't stop Harry's stomach from twisting uneasily at the bandage Sherlock was now sporting. Luckily, the knife had only grazed Sherlock's arm.
As he stared over at Sherlock, he noticed the lack of anger, the man seemed to be feeling or not feeling in this case, which only intensified his feelings of guilt. If anything, Sherlock seemed to be disappointed.
His ears could just about hear Sherlock muttering the words: "I cannot believe that old fool was planning to let you enter this world so woefully unprepared! If he's not careful, history's going to repeat itself."
History? What old fool? Harry didn't understand and got distracted as he noticed the other man – John, brought him a cup of tea.
He squirmed on the sofa, watching this new man stare at him with distrust. He didn't blame the man though; he probably thought Harry tried to stab people on a regular basis. The irony of this thought made him chuckle slightly.
"Can you please tell me why I'm not calling Lestrade, Sherlock? And, why you're letting this boy just sit there after attempting to stab you? He's not an angered client is he, Sherlock? I'm absolutely refusing to come with you to court again."
Harry stared at the man - John with surprise. He seemed so loyal to Sherlock, a trait Harry had not often seen. Glancing at him, he covertly scrutinised his appearance. Shorter than Sherlock by far, but with sandy blonde hair and with very deep blue eyes. He also appeared to have done some sorts of martial arts training as he had knocked the knife out of his hand earlier with what seemed like practised ease.
Who knows though? Maybe the reason he knew how to disable Harry so effectively was because he did it to other people. I mean, he was still partially convinced that Sherlock was trying to murder him.
"Ahh yes." Sherlock began with a sense of collected ease.
Gesturing grandly he said: "Harry this is, Doctor John Watson, ex-solider, doctor and… friend". He said the last word gingerly like he hadn't used it often and judging the pleasantly surprised look on John's face, he didn't.
Harry understood that. He didn't have any friends. He suddenly felt embarrassed of this, and didn't want Sherlock and those all-seeing-eyes to notice so he tried to cover this by reaching for his cup of tea. He took a long gulp of the tea, thirsty after not having drunk all day.
He glanced back over as Sherlock walked behind the sofa and placed his hands on Harry's shoulders lightly, making Harry go tense. He took another sip of tea to compensate for this anxiety, thinking he could always throw the tea in his face and run for the door if he needed to.
"John, this is Harry Potter and... he is my son".
Harry promptly spat out his tea, spraying it in a fine mist over the floor.
John's reaction however, was one of abject horror and complete and utter surprise.
Sherlock merely proceeded to grip Harry's shoulders tightly and to stare at John with faint amusement.
What the hell?
