A/N: Trigger warning for a brief mild description of a suicide attempt.
Mycroft Holmes let himself into his town house in the early hours of the morning. He had just returned from a several weeks long tour of several countries. Being the British Government had its perks, but some days or weeks in this case, it was simply exhausting. As he made his way into his modern chrome and granite kitchen to start the kettle, he booted up his personal laptop and began going over e-mails and updates from his staff. The first few e-mails were simple questions that his staff should have been able to answer for themselves. He quickly responded and paused to fix his cup. Settling in once again, he opened the e-mail from the head of the security detail assigned to 221B.
The first e-mail was information about how the the audio bugs and cameras hidden around the flat suddenly stopped working the day before a child had appeared, along with three unknown adults. The replacements for those devices also did not work. His security team had had to rely on old fashioned window peeping and following the doctor and child when they left the flat. There was also reports of a snowy white owl that had arrived the day after the adults and child, it was spotted arriving and leaving through the window in the sitting room, often with a roll of paper tied to it's leg or in it's beak. When the owl was in residence, she seemed to stay in a large white cage in the sitting room.
He began to skim the following e-mails quickly, until he came to the description and photo of a small boy who was never seen entering the flat, leaving it with Mrs. Hudson and Dr. Watson. The photo that was provided caused a small frown. This child seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Sherlock, but surely he would know if his younger brother had sired a child? No, he was confident that this was not Sherlock's child, he had none of the trademark Holmes qualities, but the resemblance was slightly uncanny.
As he pulled up the next picture, which provided a closer view, thanks to the telephoto lense it was shot with, he became even more confused. He could see the bruises on the child's skinny arms and he seemed to be very small for his age. Mycroft was almost assured the child could only be around four or five at most. How had this child ended up with John Watson and Elizabeth Hudson? He was too dissimilar to John to be his progeny. What was happening on Baker Street?
He continued to read the rest of the report and the ones that had been sent in the following days. Apparently three adults had left the flat, each wearing colorful robes, had proceeded to a nearby alley and then had apparently disappeared between one blink of the eye and the next. He looked at the photos of the three adults who had exited baker street and was surprised to find he recognized one of the men in the picture. Kingsley Shacklebolt was an important member of the Ministry of Magic. His position was not quite as high as Mycroft's, but it was very close. He had met with the man on a number of occasions and found that he quite enjoyed his company, something he could not say about many people he worked with. Politicians really could be quite tedious.
As he studied the picture further, he theorized that the other two people with Shacklebolt would also belong to the magical world based on their clothing and seeming familiarity with Shacklebolt. The fact they had disappeared mid-blink only furthered his theory. It took only moments for Mycroft to recall that this form of transportation was called apparating. Two wizards and and a witch had visited Baker Street, an owl was apparently being kept as a pet, and now there was suddenly a small child in residence as well.
He texted his assistant, Aubrey, as she chose to be called this week to try to set up a meeting with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Checking the CCTV cameras around Baker Street and asking for an immediate update from the security detail posted there, he was able to ascertain that the residents of the house were tucked in for the night and had been home since early evening. It seemed that he was due for a visit to Baker Street at the earliest possible time.
John groaned as his alarm blared the next morning. Though he was sleeping much better than he had since Sherlock's fall, he still found it a chore to get out of bed. Forcing himself up, he exited the room, pulling on one of Sherlock's old dressing gowns. It engulfed him from head to toe and he had to roll up the sleeves, which Mrs. Hudson had tacked for him, to be able to do anything while wearing it, but he could now see why Sherlock had loved it so much, it really was unbelievably comfortable.
He sat the kettle and turned to the cupboard while giving in to a yawn. He stopped suddenly and looked back to his left. Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his chair, umbrella propped against the side, reading the paper. Groaning and rubbing his hands over his face, he preceded into the sitting room. He allowed himself to flop gracelessly down onto the couch.
"I could have sworn that I told you very explicitly to leave me alone. You have no business here anymore, Mycroft and I don't particularly like you very much, so why would you think it okay to be sitting in my flat before I've had my first cuppa of the day?"
Folding the paper neatly and placing it to the side, Mycroft took in his first look at John in weeks. He could see that he had regained some of the weight that had been lost immediately following Sherlock's suicide. He looked less drawn and tired, even with sleep still clinging to him. The dark circles were still present, but vastly improved from the last time they had met. If his hair had a bit more gray and if there were a few more lines on his face, well Mycroft knew better than to comment on it.
"Ah, Dr. Watson, how have you been lately?" John rolled his eyes and sat forward placing his elbows on his knees.
"What do you want Mycroft? I'm really not in the mood for social niceties." Mycroft's face never changed from the falsely pleasant expression that he wore.
"I have been out of the country for the last few weeks and upon arriving home last night, I became aware that there is a new resident at 221B. I simply came to meet the young man." John rolled his eyes. He figured this was about Harry. Mycroft's boundary issues were just as bad as his brother's used to be, even if they were presented with a more polite facade.
"It really not any of your business anymore who lives here. He has nothing to do with Sherlock. Why are you so interested, Mycroft?" A small quirk of the lips that passed for a Mycroft smile appeared.
"I'm simply concerned about you Dr. Watson. I do worry you know. You were my brothers best friend. I feel it is my duty to look after you since he is no longer able to do so himself." Another eye roll from John greeted his statement.
"Right. Or it could be that you're just a nosy overbearing git who can't stand it when he doesn't know what's going on. Careful, Mycroft, some might mistake your worry for caring. We wouldn't want that now would we. After all, I believe it was you who told Sherlock that caring was not an advantage." John hated how bitter he sounded, but he knew that if he let Mycroft have his way on this, he would continue to expect to get his way in everything.
Mycroft let out a small sigh. At the time he told Sherlock that, he really had believed it. It had been drilled into him his whole life and it had never proved wrong, until a madman named James Moriarty had dismantled the most important thing in his life. Caring may not be an advantage, but it didn't stop him from caring about his brother, and by extension Dr. Watson. He had never seen his brother so settled and content as he was in the short time that he and John were flatmates.
"Dr. Watson, John...I know I made mistakes with Sherlock, you do not need to point them out to me. I am well aware of their number and I recall them in vivid detail. I am simply trying to fulfill a promise I made to him. It is one that I do not wish to break, as I have broken so many before."
John regarded Mycroft closely. He still had on his usual blank mask, but John had learned to read the very few minute tells that a Holmes gave away. He could see the fatigue in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His suit was impeccable as usual, even if it fit a slight bit looser than it should. He knew that Mycroft had just given him the Holmes version of an apology or at least as close to one as he would get.
Giving in to the inevitable John stood and walked toward the kitchen. He prepared two cups of tea, still remembering how Mycroft preferred his. He returned to the sitting room and handed Mycroft his tea before settling back down on the sofa. He took a couple of fortifying sips before placing his cup down and addressing Mycroft.
"Harry is my first cousin's son. She and her husband were killed and he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle. This happened while I was still in Afghanistan. It was recently found out that they had been abusing him, so I was asked as the next closest family member to take him in. I did so and I do not regret it."
Frowning, Mycroft filled in the blanks of what John did not tell him. He would need to look into this aunt and uncle. It did not sit well with him to allow child abusers to go free.
"I see. I thought at first, he might be Sherlock's child due to the resemblance, but quickly dismissed that idea. I knew he could not be yours as there were no common traits. It pains me to say that no one in my office was aware that you had first cousins. I'll be having words with my staff about that, but it does not matter at the moment."
John had picked up his tea and was sipping again while Mycroft spoke. He was amused at the thought that heads would roll because of such a small oversight. He hadn't spoken to either of his cousins in years and they had different last names, so it wasn't surprising that they had never discovered a connection.
"It's fine Mycroft, not their fault. No one needs to get fired over me having cousins no one knew about." Mycroft sipped his tea.
"So the boy then, how is he settling in?" John finished his tea and placed the cup down once again.
"I'm sure you know that we are all fine Mycroft. Harry's doing great, coming along in leaps and bounds. He goes to a school which he loves, he just found his first best friend, and he's crazy about Dr. Who. Mrs. Hudson might be his favorite person in the world because she lets him have biscuits before dinner, but I like to think I run a close second. He is a unique little boy and I'm enjoying having him here. He's as good for me as I am for him."
"Yes, I would have to agree with you on that. You are looking in better spirits since our last visit."
Now that he understood what the boy was doing living with John, he felt a little knot of tension release from him. He had never mentioned that he knew of the night John had almost given in to the grief and loneliness. Mycroft was seconds away from giving the order to the security detail to go in and prevent him from taking his own life by whatever means necessary, when the doctor had suddenly thrown the handful of pills on the floor and curled up on his bed sobbing. He had upped the security risk on the doctor after the incident, though he had never gotten so close to the edge again. If it could be helped, he would never mention that night to anyone, it would not do to upset the accord they had reached, however temporary it may be.
"Well, ta, for that. I'm afraid I have to work the early shift so I need to get our day started." Knowing when he was being dismissed. Mycroft rose and collected his umbrella. He walked to the door and opened it, but turned before stepping through.
"John, you never told me the boy's name." John stood up straight from where he had been collecting teacups and turned towards the door.
"His name's Harry. Harry Potter." With that John walked into the kitchen to deposit the dishes into the sink and begin making their breakfast. He heard the door close with a soft click and could hear footsteps on the stairs, accompanied by the tapping caused by the tip of the umbrella.
Settling into his car, Mycroft allowed the shock of learning that the most famous little boy in the magical world was living with Dr. John Watson. Even he, a muggle with only occasional contact with the magical world knew who Harry Potter was and how important he was in the history of magical world. The Boy Who Lived was being raised by an ex-army surgeon turned blogger and detective, turned Mr. Mom. He lay his head back against the seat and let out the groan he had been holding in for hours. This would definitely not be boring.
A/N: So what do you think my lovelies? I hope you all got a chuckle. This chapter was written in response to the review from Raychaell Dionzeros who asked for confused Mycroft and for roobug21301 who wondered where he had run off to and why he wasn't jumping into John's business the minute the Albus, Minerva, and Kingsley left.
Don't worry, we haven't seen the last of Uncle Mycroft yet, he hasn't even met Harry after all! We've got a quite a few chapters to go before Sherlock puts in his appearance, but I'm interested to know who you would like to see next. PM or leave me a review!
As always I love hearing from you. Your ideas and encouragement have made my first writing adventure absolutely delightful. Thank you for the favs and follows! I'm currently a couple of chapters ahead of what I have posted, so if I can get another two chapters written, I'll post the chapter after this one for you later on today!
Still not brit-picked, beta'd, or mine. Any mistakes are my own, so if you see one let me know! I was re-reading previous chapters and it's likely that I'll re-write chapter three. None of the overall plot will be changed, but I realized that I contradicted some of the things stated in that chapter with later chapters. Till the next chapter, gentle viewers, enjoy!