Disclaimer: Usually I write out this very specific disclaimer explaining exactly what it is I don't own but I find myself not really interested in doing so as it is very tedious. Suffice it to say I own nothing that was created by anyone else and I am making no money whatsoever from the writing of this FanFiction.

Warnings: Alternate Universe (ie: kiss canon goodbye), mentions of child abuse/neglect (nothing physical), reasonable corporeal punishment (ie: light spanking), some violence and blood, mild language, and hinted references to consensual sexual activities (there will be no descriptions or lemons within the story).

AN: This story is self-beta'd; so there may be occasional grammatical or spelling errors that crop up every now and then and for those I apologize in advance.

Chapter Two: Disturbing Discovery

Saturday, November 04, 1989 3:13 P.M.
No. 113 Nine Ashes Lane, Blackmore, Essex
England

Harry tensed the moment that the Namelessness slipped in through the open front door of Mr. Roberts's house; part of him still terrified at what he might see. He almost withdrew from the house at that point; only for his attention to be snagged by the sight of an unfamiliar trio of men walking through Mr. Roberts's house. They were strangers, to be sure, but they were not the strangers that had been in the house when Mrs. Roberts had been killed. Their presence caught hold of Harry's curiosity and he tentatively urged the Namelessness to paint him a clearer picture of them.

Soon their faces were painted in exquisite detail even as the wind carried the words that the Namelessness caught for him to hear. Awe filled Harry as the tallest of the three men told the other two exactly how Mrs. Roberts died; it was almost as if the man had been there when it had happened but Harry knew he hadn't been. He then frowned when the man got the number of people involved wrong; he hadn't counted Mrs. Smyth. Still, he was right about almost everything else.

He nearly giggled when the trio stepped outside and the tall man made several disparaging remarks about the Dursleys' immaculate lawn. He liked the tall man; it took a special kind of person to see the Dursleys for what they were and this man hadn't even met them yet (at least Harry didn't think he had) and already he knew there was something wrong with them. That thought terrified Harry for a moment; if the Dursleys should find out he was thinking uncharitable thoughts about them, then he'd be in big, big trouble.

Over the course of the next hour, Harry followed the trio exclusively; the nine year far too fascinated by the tall man and the way the man knew things that no one else knew but Harry. That thought made the blind child wonder if the man also had a part of the Namelessness inside of him that helped him to see what everyone else missed. The more he listened, the more he began to believe that he'd found another person just like him. One of the other strangers that joined the group later on even called the man Freak; just like Harry's family called him Freak when they were particularly angry with him. Harry would keep a careful eye on that mean stranger from that point forward as well because of the resemblance he had to the Dursleys.

Several more hours passed and before Harry knew it, night had fallen and the men he'd been watching all afternoon returned to Mr. Roberts's house and prepared to leave. Harry felt sad when he realized that the tall man, who he'd learned was named Sherlock Holmes, would be leaving and that he would probably never come back. He didn't want Mr. Homes to leave. He wanted the man to stay long enough to tell everyone the Dursleys' secrets just like he'd told other people's secrets all day long.

But most of all, he wanted to be found.

Harry was tired of living in darkness on top of being trapped within The Darkness; he longed to feel the sun on his skin once more and feel the grass beneath his feet. More importantly, he wanted to tell Mr. Holmes that he was wrong, that he forgot to count one person. He needed to tell someone, anyone, what had happened to Mrs. Roberts in the hopes that telling someone would make the nightmares stop.

The Namelessness within Harry responded to his deep seated desire for Mr. Holmes to stay and immediately took hold of the man's blue scarf and pulled it free from the man's neck. Harry was so startled by the incident that he immediately lost his connection to the Namelessness and abruptly gagged on the sickening feeling of the backlash that always hit him when he was cut off so abruptly. He daren't make another mess on the closet floor though; least his aunt have his uncle paddle his behind for making more messes for her to clean up. So he swallowed repeatedly and fought down the feeling as best he could.

By the time his stomach calmed down, Harry was certain that Mr. Holmes had left Blackmore and that his only chance to tell someone (someone who would believe him anyway) about Mrs. Roberts was gone. Silent tears soaked the bandages wrapped round his eyes and made the thin cotton fabric stick to his face. Caught up in his inner turmoil, Harry missed the sound of someone knocking on the door and probably would have missed the fact that someone had come calling at the Dursleys' if not for someone pressing the door buzzer multiple times in rapid succession. It was something that the Namelessness had seen Dudley do often when he was impatient or just wanted to annoy someone.

Tilting his head, Harry listened to sound of voices drifting up the stairs.

"I'm coming already!" Aunt Petunia's voice shrilly called as she hurried to the front door; the high pitch of her voice a clear sign that she was irritated with whomever it was that was repeatedly ringing the bell. "What do you…? Oh, good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade; I wasn't expecting to see you again. Was there something more that I could help you with?"

Harry couldn't help but softly snicker over how quickly Aunt Petunia had changed her tune (and her tone) the moment she knew who was on the other side of the door. His breath hitched a moment later as he recalled that the Detective Inspector was one of the two companions that had been with Mr. Holmes all day long. Hope and eagerness rose in his chest as he immediately realized that there was a good chance that Mr. Holmes was still there if the Inspector was still there.

"Yes, Mrs. Dursley; my companions were hoping they might ask you and your family a few of more questions," Detective Lestrade replied politely.

"Now…? We were just sitting down to supper," Aunt Petunia replied in a flustered tone.

"I apologize for the late intrusion but we're only in town for today and I assure you that it won't take us but a few minutes to ask you our questions before we leave you to go back to your meal," the third and final member of the trio disarmingly assured Aunt Petunia. It took Harry a moment to remember that his name was Doctor John Watson.

"Well, if you must," Aunt Petunia grudgingly relented. "Please come in and have a seat while I go fetch my husband and my son."

"There's no need to stand on ceremony, Mrs. Dursley, we've seen plenty of kitchens and dining rooms; you won't offend our sensibilities if you lead us right to your family. It will also save time," Mr. Holmes pointed out in a bored tone that said he really didn't want to be there and Harry had to slap his hand over his mouth in order to hold back the giggle that rose to the back of his throat as he just imagined what his aunt would think of his rudeness.

He didn't hear it but he knew Aunt Petunia must have either sniffed in disdain or let out a huff of exasperation (a couple of reactions that Harry often garnered from the woman) before complying with the order. He then listened as four sets of footsteps made their way to the dining room where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were currently dishing up seconds; neither of them had waited for Aunt Petunia to return before starting on their food (something they did frequently enough for Harry to know that was what they'd done even without using the Namelessness to look).

"Now see here, why are you here bothering us during our meal when you should be out there hunting down the murderer that did in poor Mr. Roberts's mother?" Uncle Vernon demanded the moment the group reached the dining room; the corpulent man could only tolerate so much and intruding upon his meals was one thing that was always sure to get his dander up.

"We apologize for interrupting your meal but we had a few more questions that we needed to ask you and since this is the only day we will be in town, we thought it best to get it over with so as not to drag the matter out for too much longer," Detective Lestrade soothingly explained.

"Of course, the sooner the culprit is behind bars, the easier we'll rest," Uncle Vernon blustered in order to not appear too uncooperative.

"Where is your bathroom?" Mr. Holmes suddenly demanded.

"It's upstairs… let me show you," Aunt Petunia insisted only to be cut off by Mr. Holmes.

"No need, Mrs. Dursley, I'm sure that I can find it fairly easily since most of the houses in this small town all have the same basic layout. Inspector Lestrade and Dr. Watson still need to speak with you, after all, and I wouldn't want to be the cause of your meal being delayed further."

Aunt Petunia's protests fell on deaf ears as the man undoubtedly exited the dining room and firmly closed the door behind him. Harry thought Mr. Holmes was awfully brave to risk earning the Dursleys' ire. Curious as to why the man was so desperate to ditch his companions and his relatives, Harry tentatively brought up the Namelessness once more and tracked the man's progress through the house. He was more than a little shocked to learn that the man was actually systematically searching through the Dursleys' house as if he expected to find something instead of going straight to the bathroom as he'd claimed he would be doing.

It didn't take long before the man was climbing up the stairs and Harry held his breath as long ingrained habits based upon the Dursleys' rules kicked in; his fear of punishment if his presence should be discovered far outweighing his wish to correct Mr. Holmes's mistake.

"Ah-ha," Mr. Holmes declared as he headed straight for the linen closet. "Let us see what kind of skeletons Mr. and Mrs. Disgustingly-Perfect-House-and-Yard are hiding in an out of place locked closet."

Harry gasped softly and slapped both hands over his mouth as immediately realized that the man was going to open his closet. Even now, he could hear the man fiddling with the locks that his aunt and uncle had attached to the door in order to prevent him from sneaking out. Panic and hope blossomed and warred within his chest as the locks were opened in rapid succession; his mixed emotions freezing him in place and allowing his connection to the Namelessness to unravel as he lost the concentration necessary to maintain the connection.

"Oh, bloody hell, you have got to be kidding me," Mr. Holmes muttered the moment he opened the door and Harry shrank back into the corner as the enormity of what being found would mean struck him. The man cursed under his breath for a long minute before he raised his voice and yelled, "John, get up here. NOW!"

There was a commotion downstairs that sounded like the Dursleys arguing with the other two men that had come with Mr. Holmes but Harry didn't pay it any attention. He was far too busy wrapping his arms protectively around his head after he'd flinched in response to Mr. Holmes raising his voice so unexpectedly; the loud sound hurting his sensitive ears.

"Sherlock, what in the world are you doing? I thought you wanted to question the Dursleys; not go snooping through their house?" Dr. Watson demanded as he came rushing up the staircase.

"John, stop talking; you have a patient," Mr. Holmes snapped in an emotionless tone as he shifted away from the open door of the linen closet. "I will go advise Inspector Lestrade to have the Not-So-Perfect-Now couple taken into custody."

"Yeah, you do that… and if Mr. Dursley resists arrest; punch him twice for me," Dr. Watson growled in an angry tone and Harry couldn't stop the soft whimper that escaped from his mouth. The man bit off a curse and took a deep breath that he let out real slow just before he addressed Harry, "I'm sorry if I frightened you, kid; I'm not angry at you. My name is John Watson and I'm a doctor. I'd like to take a look at you; if you'll let me."

Harry trembled as long ingrained habits warred with his need to tell Mr. Holmes of his mistake and his desire to escape the prison he'd been kept in for the last five years. He was just lowering his arms away from his head so he could better track Dr. Watson's movements by sound when an explosion of sound erupted from downstairs. Uncle Vernon's loud voice coupled with Aunt Petunia's shrill tones and Dudley's wails eventually coalesced into words that were interspersed with Mr. Holmes's cutting remarks and Inspector Lestrade's firm orders.

"How dare that man go snooping!?"
"You can't arrest me! I know my rights! You had no right to search our house!"
"Let go of my mummy and daddy!"
"Mr. Dursley, contain yourself! Anderson, don't just stand there!"
"Oh please, your meticulousness was an open calling card stating there was something rotten with your entire family."
"Sherlock, you aren't helping!"
"I'll have your badge for this! I demand to talk to my lawyer!"
"We've done nothing wrong!"
"I didn't think anyone could be a bigger idiot than Anderson here but you've just gone and proved me wrong."
"This is all the Freak's fault! He always ruins everything! You should take the Freak away and leave my mummy and daddy alone!"

"Freak? Oh how pitiful you two are for ruining a perfectly impressionable mind with your twaddle to say nothing of the wretched state you've allowed your offspring to fall into by following your rather poor examples. The knowledge that you two imbeciles were allowed to even procreate let alone be responsible for someone else's progeny just boggles the mind," Mr. Holmes retorted before the commotion moved from the dining room to the front yard where it was a little harder to hear without calling upon the Namelessness inside of him to carry the words on the wind.

"Ignore them," Dr. Watson urged as he knelt down and half entered the closet. "They can't harm you now; we won't let them hurt you anymore. I promise; you're safe now."

"Promise…?" Harry parroted in a soft whisper as he uncurled just enough to uncover his bandaged wrapped face.

"Yes, I promise."

"Will… will I have to stay here…?"

"No. You will not."

"You'll let me out? You won't lock me back in again? Promise?"

"I promise."

"Where will I go…?"

"To the hospital first… and from there we'll find you a temporary place to stay while things are sorted out."

"Can I… will you let me talk to Mr. Holmes before you send me away?"

"You want to talk to Sherlock? Well, I'm sure there will be plenty of time for you to tell Sherlock whatever it is you want to tell him. I'll even make certain that he stands still long enough to hear what it is you have to say," Dr. Watson replied and Harry could almost hear the smile in the man's voice alongside the uncertainty. The man then dropped his voice to a quiet mutter as he added, "Even if I have to nail his shoes to the floor to keep him from fleeing from you in terror the moment he learns a child wishes to speak to him."

Harry didn't think he was supposed to hear that last bit but he couldn't help but feel slightly less frightened by the idea that Mr. Holmes would be frightened of him (especially after hearing the man bravely yelling insults at Uncle Vernon). Uncurling further, Harry slowly scooted forward so that he was perched on the very edge of the cot mattress that masqueraded as his bed and canted his head to one side as he waited expectantly.

When the silence began growing uncomfortable, Harry asked, "What happens now?"

"Well, I need to examine you so I can inform Inspector Lestrade if it turns out that we need to call upon the emergency services to treat any injuries you might have before they take you to the hospital for a more thorough check up."

"Will it hurt…?"

"Normally, I would say no; but I don't know if you are hurt yet and I might accidentally cause you some pain. I will try to be very careful though and if you can tell me where it hurts now, I'll have a better idea of what not to do so as to not cause you unnecessary pain."

"Oh, I guess that's okay. I'm not hurt. Does that mean you don't have to look at me now?"

"Er, no, I'd still like to give you a quick exam; just in case. Is it alright if I turn on the light so I can better see you? The bright light won't bother your eyes if I turn it on, will it?"

"Go ahead, Dr. Watson; the light won't bother me. The Darkness never lets me see the light anymore."

"The darkness…?" Dr. Watson repeated even as he pulled on the cord of the small light that Uncle Vernon had installed on the ceiling of the small closest so Aunt Petunia could see inside the small room when she had to clean it out. "Are you blind, child?"

"Yes."

"Have you always been blind?" Dr. Watson asked once he collected himself. "And please don't be startled, I'm going to place my hands on your head so that I can check for head injuries and take a look at your ears."

"No, The Darkness came for me five years ago. Your hands are cold."

"You aren't the only one to complain about my hands being cold; all of my patients tell me the same thing. I always tell them that I carry around bags of ice in my pockets just to keep them that way so they always have something to complain about and focus on aside from their aches and pains. Can you tell me how you lost your eyesight?"

Harry giggled over the sheer silliness of the idea that someone would carry around ice in their pockets just to keep their hands cold before he grew tense at the question. He'd been told to never speak about that day. He didn't even know what had really happened that day and he knew better than to ask his relatives; they hated it whenever he dared ask questions.

"I'm not supposed to say."

"Who told you that?"

"Aunt Petunia."

"Did your aunt have anything to do with how you ended up blind?"

"N-n-o-o," Harry drawled out in an uncertain tone.

"Was it your cousin or uncle then?"

"I don't know," Harry finally admitted in a small voice. "I was washing the window and the sun was so bright that I couldn't see anything but the light on the glass and then there was pain before everything went dark. The Darkness has stayed ever since then."

"Do you remember what the doctor told you happened?"

"You're the only doctor that has ever looked at me as far as I know."

"The only…?" Dr. Watson began only to cut off as he let out a few choice curse words that Harry filed away for later use because of how interesting they sounded. "Okay, next question… how old are you?"

"Nine… I think."

"Do you know when your birthday is?"

"No, I don't have one… well I do, since I was born, but I don't because the Dursleys told me I didn't so I don't know."

"And you said Petunia Dursley was your aunt, correct?" Dr. Watson inquired as he checked Harry's pulse before he tested the nine year old's reflexes.

"Yes."

"How long have you lived with the Dursleys? Where are your parents?"

"Are you going to keep asking lots of questions? I'm not… that is I don't… talking lots is hard."

"My apologies, I did not realize I was making things difficult for you. Is your throat sore?"

"Just tired… I think. My aunt never wants me to talk to her so I don't really talk to anyone," Harry murmured around a yawn.

"Ah, alright, last question for now then; will you let take off the bandages around your eyes so that I can look at them?"

"Aunt Petunia told me I wasn't supposed to take them off. She said my eyes disgusted her."

"Your aunt is a small minded dullard," Mr. Holmes declared; his unexpected interjection making Harry jump in surprise as he had not heard the man return.

"She is a dreadful gossip too," Harry added before he clapped his hands over his mouth and attempted to retreat back to the corner of his bed only to be halted by Dr. Watson's hand on his knees.

"Easy, lad; you're not in any trouble," Dr. Watson assured him. "That's it; just relax. Sherlock, are they still here or have they been taken away?"

"The overly self-inflated talking blimp and his petty bean-pole wife were carted off ten minutes ago. The mini-blimp is still here; Lestrade is waiting on the brat's aunt to fetch him."

"Aunt Marge," Harry whimpered as he curled in on himself as best he could with Dr. Watson still keeping a lose hold on him. "Are you going to send me with her too?"

"No; you're bound for the hospital first," Dr. Watson reminded him. "Now, about that blindfold… may I please remove it? I'd really like to take a look at your eyes. If it would make you feel more comfortable, I will promise to put it back on once I've finished checking them."

"Okay."

Harry held himself extra still as he felt Dr. Watson slowly unravel the layers of gauze that hid his eyes. Out of habit, he closed his eyes just before the final layer was removed and he flinched a bit when the doctor's cold hands reached up to touch his face.

"Oh, sorry about that; I had forgot that I refroze my hands just now," Dr. Watson murmured and Harry couldn't help but snicker when he heard Mr. Holmes snort a soft 'how absurd' in response. "Can you open your eyes for me now?" Harry reluctantly obeyed the request and tensed up as he waited for the doctor to verbally comment on how horrid his eyes looked. He was more than a little puzzled when he got an absentminded assessment of his eyes instead, "Odd, there is absolutely no residual scarring or clouding present within either orb to indicate the cause of blindness. The pupils also failed to react to an increase in light after being unbandaged; that could be an indication of nerve damage but I'm hardly an expert on the anatomy of an eye."

"That's because you're a military surgeon, not an ophthalmologist, John," Sherlock unhelpfully pointed out.

"Thank you for the reminder, Sherlock; I'm happy to know that I didn't suddenly forget all of the non-existent classes I took to not become an eye surgeon," Dr. Watson huffed in exasperation. "Alright, lad; I'm done looking at your eyes. Do you want me to replace the bandages or would you like me to leave them off?"

"Will I make you sick if I leave them off…? I know I'm not supposed to… but the gauze is itchy."

"Yes, I noticed the obvious signs of irritation along where your skin had prolonged contact with the bandages; it is probably best that we leave them off for now to allow the skin to breathe. If it bothers you to have them uncovered, we can find an alternate means of covering them that will be less irritating. And no; your eyes will not make us sick."

"Okay."

"Good. We're all finished here now and it's about time for you to go as I believe I just heard the ambulance pull up. Is there anything in here that you'd like to take with you?"

"Does that mean I'll be allowed to keep my treasures?"

"Yes," Dr. Watson promptly replied and Harry felt a wave of relief knowing that he wouldn't have to leave his purloined treasures behind to be destroyed.

Twisting free of Dr. Watson's hold, Harry crawled to the far edge of his bed where the mattress butted up against the wall and stuffed his hand down beneath the flimsy mattress to fetch his treasures. There was the broken music box, a jagged piece of quartz, three half melted army men, a battered old toy motorcycle, and a dozen broken crayons. He was just sitting up with his treasures in hand when the pin that held the gears on the music box in place slipped free and the notes of Die Moldau filled his closet.

Harry froze as the tune he once loved filled the air and then the terror from the other day came rushing back and he couldn't breathe as he was forced to relive his memory of Mrs. Roberts's death again and again as the music continued to play. His treasures tumbled from his hands as what was left of his lunch that afternoon made a reappearance. He choked on bile for a moment before the feel of hands had him scrambling back and away; his mind automatically thinking his aunt had come to punish him for being sick in his closet again.

And still the music played and all he could see in his mind's eye was the blood pooling on the floor as the knife sliced through Mrs. Roberts's back, stomach, and chest.

"Stop it…" Harry finally choked out as he twisted and flailed about trying to escape the music. "Please make it stop! No more! I don't want to see it any more! Please, make it go away!"

"Calm down, child; we can't help you if you keep fighting us. Now, hold still and tell us what it is you want us to stop," Mr. Holmes firmly ordered in a tone that cut straight through Harry's panic and inspired instant cooperation.

"Please make the music stop," Harry begged. "Please… I don't want to see her blood any more."

Notes:

* Die Moldau (or The Moldau) was composed by Bedřich Smetana in 1874 as part of Má vlast (My Country or My Homeland) which was comprised of six symphonic poems.

AN: Okay, before I get any flames over Harry's breakdown at the end of the chapter; please keep in mind that Harry is a nine year old child at this point, that he just witnessed a brutal murder, and that he's been tormented by nightmares for the past several days because of it. He's also more than a little unbalanced emotionally, mentally, and socially due to his near complete isolation for the past five years. The time he spent watching the town through his magic did not help him cope with what he witnessed because he's never before seen anything so horrific before.

He is also fighting his aunt and uncle's rules, his ingrained responses to breaking those rules, and his burning desire to be free from his prison (because even he knows that there's something wrong with the Dursleys keeping him locked in a closet). He's opening up to Dr. Watson because he's the first friendly person that has approached him in at least five years and the good doctor is doing his best not to frighten him. His thoughts on Sherlock were posted in-chapter and therefore his reactions to the man should be obvious.