AN: Oh, my gosh. Thank you guys so much for all of the support that you have given me, I never would have been able to make it this far without you. I included more plot-worthy stuff to make up for my shoddy updating skills. I really hope that you like it, I've put a lot of thought into how I wanted this to go and rewrote it quite a few times.
Disclaimer: All rights reserved to JK Rowling, Sir Aurthor Conan Doyal, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, and BBC. (Do I need to do one of these for every chapter, or no? I'm honestly not sure.)
Looking on as the taxi he hired drove off, Mycroft hoped that his life wouldn't remain as hectic as it had been thus far. After the car was out of sight he walked across the street and got into the black official-looking car that was waiting for him. The car automatically left to the office he had been neglecting for a week. He was going to a large indiscrete building that many other government officials worked. Although he was not has high up on the hierarchy as he would have liked, he estimated that it would only take roughly two years to get there; give or take a few months. He hated having to answer to those above him, but it had to be done if he wanted to go up.
As he walked down the hall leading to his office, passing numerous blithering goldfish on his way. His PA handed him a large stack of folders before leaving him, likely to get coffee in the break room, or spend a few hours texting her friends about how boring her job was. Mycroft had been working for only around three hours when he heard a small clanking sound. He opened one of the drawers of his desk, and noticed a bell ringing on its own. Sighing, Mycroft picked it up, making it stop, got up and locked the door to his office and rang the bell himself.
This was something he had been anticipating the entire week, and was quite ready for. Just as he sat back in his very comfortable chair, a pop resonated in the room, but not passing though the sound-proof walls or door. At the other side of his desk stood a very weary looking old man in brightly coloured robes. He wasted no time in taking the seat opposite Mycroft and calmly stated, "I need your help. Something has happened and you are possibly the only person that can help me."
Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "And what would that be, Professor?"
Dumbledore sighed, "Harry Potter has been kidnapped. I've been out of the country until earlier today, so any leads that there may have been are gone. I know only what my friend Arabella knew of what happened. What I have gathered is that his relatives were killed, Harry was kidnapped in blatant view of the muggle police force, and there are very talented wizards working for an unknown who Obliviated any and all witnesses there may have been. Any tracking spells I use won't work in locating him, and I have been unable to discover who the wizards are or who it is the were working for. As I have no way in the magical world of locating Mr Potter, I thought it best to go to you for help, as you have the most resources available in the muggle world than any other wizard I know."
Mycroft nodded, going over the information carefully in his head. It was a stroke of luck that the professor hadn't found out he was 'missing' even a day earlier. He wasn't sure if it was good or bad is Dumbledore had figured out as much as he had. On one hand, Mycroft could easily abate his fears and tell him where the newly named Slade was residing, or he could spin a half-lie and convince his old headmaster that Harry Potter was gone.
He rapidly weighed the pros and cons. Telling the truth: avoid obnoxious conversations in the future; slight chance of mass panic for the wizards (inevitable, really); Dumbledore might try to claim hold on the boy, against Sherlock and Slade's will; Dumbledore might help them keep the secret and let him stay with Sherlock; less control of the situation. Half-lies: slightly higher chance of mass panic; total control of what the magical world knew of the event; more control of the situation in general; prolonging the inevitable work he would eventually have to do; let Slade choose his own way in life, rather than being controlled by peers; less likely for other attacks made towards the boy.
The most practical choice would be to hide him away from others for at least until he starts school. Best to play along for now.
"This is a very severe occurrence. I will run a private search for him with my men, and owl you with any information that might come up next week. I advise not to tell the press of his disappearance until we have reached a solid conclusion about what happened to him."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly, "Yes, of course. I will commit a search of my own for the wizards that were present, and see if I can find who employed them."
A tense silence passed for a moment before Mycroft spoke again, tilting his head towards the stack of papers on his desk, "If that is all..."
The old man seemed to come to himself again and brought himself to his feet.
"Yes, of course. I apologise for keeping you from your work."
"Nonsense, I'm grateful that you trusted me with this. Though the past week has been somewhat more harrowing than usual."
Dumbledore stood and shook Mycroft's hand. "It was good to see you once more. How has Sherlock been, by the way?"
"He's been well. Much better than the last time you saw him."
"Good, good. Farewell, Mycroft."
Goodbye, Professor." Just like that, the old man disappeared just as quickly as he had appeared.
Sherlock payed the cabbie, and he and Slade got out of the car. The street was questionably empty, likely because Mycroft scared them away. He lead the way into building, and up a flight of stairs to the flat. When they entred flat, Slade looked around in apparent awe. "Well, I know that it's not as nice as Mycroft's place, but I do hope that you'll like it here."
Eyes roaming around the large room, Slade beamed, "Like it?! I love it!
"I get a home 'f my very own!" The small boy raced around the room, taking in everything that he could, as if each and every knick-nack was worth it's weight in gold. He stopped short when he got to the bookcase. "Whoah..."
Sherlock nervously stepped forwards, "Mycroft said that you liked to read; I could help teach you sometimes. If you'd like me to?"
When Slade didn't turn around right away, he thought that he had said something wrong, and opened his mouth to take back what he had said. But before he could, Slade spun around and have him a brief, but heartfelt hug, which left Sherlock speechless. "Thank you," Slade murmured before letting go.
Sherlock blinked back at the little boy. He was barely half his height, yet caused this odd feeling in his chest that made him want to swoop Slade up in his arms and hide him away from the world. He cleared his throat, "Achem. You're quite welcome. If you ever want anything from me, never hesitate to ask; I'd immensely enjoy helping you."
Slade's smile was so sincere it amazed Sherlock, "Okay."
Sherlock stood there, feeling slightly awkward as Slade bounded around, inspecting everything he could get his hands on, when he had an idea. "Hey, Slade?"
Slade turned away from the cool skull he had found, "Yeah?"
Smiling a little, Sherlock pulled something from under the bunk bed. "Have you ever heard of the game 'Operation?'"
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