Title: Name Confused
Author: enchanted nightingale
Beta Reader: pussycatadamah
Summary: What if Mycroft's name confused assistant was male? Harry Potter tries to shed his name and his past, taking a rare offer of anonymity while still getting to play the hero.
Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock and I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from the tv series and the books respectively. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Stitched up
He was at the grocers, early Saturday morning ( Since the magicals migrated he had been doing the outside work, he could not just send the house elf out) when his phone rang. The green eyed wizard paused to consider. It was not Mycroft, his boss was at home currently, preparing to have brunch with his mother. It was not from the office either, no major catastrophe or glitch in his planning. That left one option really, he realised before he even spared the caller id a glance.
"How can I be of help Detective?" he asked Gregory Lestrade.
From the other end of the line the man appeared tired and exasperated and just a bit worried.
"I'm on my way," he said as soon as he heard what the detective had to say already abandoning his groceries and leaving the store.
He arrived at London Bridge Hospital on Tooley Street as soon as he was able to Apparate there. Lestrade was waiting for him at the reception.
"He's the greatest idiot I know," were Lestrade's first words.
"What happened?" the wizard demanded.
"I told you, he was on a case with me, don't ask me why, he just showed up there, took one look at the body and looked like my daughter when facing her birthday present. That said, what should I call you?"
"For today? John will do," the green eyed man replied. "I want to see Sherlock."
"They had to sedate him a bit to pull the glass out."
"Glass?" John asked.
"He insulted the widow when he accused her of murder. What's worse is that he was might as well. We nearly lost her when she smashed a vase to his head," Lestrade admitted. "Sherlock tackled her despite the pain he was in."
"You sound impressed."
"I am, for a lanky guy he's quite fast."
As they neared the ward where Sherlock Holmes was being treated they heard the bickering. Simultaneously they groaned when they realised that the young genius was being his usual unbearable self.
"He sounds fine to me," Lestrade muttered silently under his breath but the wizard heard him quite well. Just as well he saw how the DI relaxed when he realised that Sherlock was going to be just fine. Whether the genius knew it or not, much less if he decided to acknowledge it, he had a friend in the DI.
"Lets us enter then," John told Lestrade.
"He'll be furious I called you," Lestrade warned.
The wizard's lips quirked. "That's half the fun with him."
Lestrade sighed. "You are a weird one, you know?"
"I do, thank you," John replied and walked into the ward.
Immediately Sherlock focused on him, disregarding the haggard doctor that had been treating him and the nurse that was there, looking exasperated at him.
"You called Mycroft dog?" Sherlock shot the DI a wounded look. It was gone the next second as he rounded a glare at the doctor. The wizard saw that the man was done applying stitches. The gash was not dip and it was on Sherlock's arm, not his head, as he had originally feared. Mycroft's younger sibling was bare chested as he sat waiting for the medic personnel to finish and the green eyed man had to frown.
"You're too thin," he commented.
"Food is boring," was the fast reply to his observation. "And you're wearing jeans instead of your usual three piece tailored suits. Having to baby-sit on your day off? Shame on you Detective for bothering this man," Sherlock said in one breath.
The wizard found the skill impressive but he had more pressing matters to attend to. He faced the doctor.
"Are you done?" he asked the man more sharply than he intended.
The man replied positively and handed him a prescription for antibiotics, just in case there was an infection and some pain killers.
"I don't need them," Sherlock said, shooting the prescription an odd look.
"The antibiotics or the pain relief?" Lestrade asked.
John though realised what Sherlock was afraid of. Pain killers like the new the good doctor had prescribed were low level narcotics and Sherlock was really, honestly trying to stay clean.
"You won't be getting them , then," the green eyed man replied. "Now get dressed. I'm buying brunch, to both of you."
"No need," Sherlock said as he stood.
"I can't let you do that," Lestrade argued.
But the wizard would have none of it.