Collisions & Compromises

Chapter 3

by ~chicadoodle

"I— I don't want anything from you, if that's what you think." Harry hastened to assure the man. "I only just found my mum journal, and I wanted … I guess I just wanted to meet you. Everybody always told me my father was James Potter, y'know." Harry paused, considering saying more, but decided against it. Pursing his lips together, Harry regarded his father uneasily, ignoring for the moment the thrill that raced through his system once again at the thought that he could interact with his father.

"I — Maybe this was a mistake." Harry hedged, stuffing the journal back into his backpack. As he did so, John couldn't help but notice the clothes he had carefully folded inside of the bag. Worn clothes, just like the ones he was wearing. The oversized sweater and baggy jeans were disconcerting on one so skinny; the types of clothes that one would expect from a runaway teen living on the streets. Was he living on the streets? Was that why he had come here? But if that was true, where had he found the journal?

"You are underfed." Sherlock observed, and John closed his eyes. He knew what was coming - and he also knew that there was nothing he could do to stop the other man. "Your attire reflects a lack of the monetary means to dress appropriately. You have not showered in several days. You are not uncomfortable with this arrangement, however; this is a situation you have faced before."

All evidence that the boy was living on the streets was suddenly bared for all the world to see, contrary to his claim that he lived with his aunt and uncle. "You claimed when you came in that you lived with your aunt and uncle. You also claimed that they would be concerned with your whereabouts, You are unwanted by the relatives you were left in the care of." Sherlock continued, and with every word Harry seemed to wilt even further, slumping down in his chair and casting his eyes to the side, away from both Sherlock and John.

Sherlock said nothing more, falling silent as he scrutinized the young man before him. Harry, for his part, stayed silent for several moments before changing a glance up at Sherlock. He was less than reassured by the look of scrutiny on Sherlock's face, however, or by the way his eyes were so intense as he stared back.

Sherlock suddenly smirked, and something in Harry rose up in response. Straightening suddenly in his chair, Harry shot to his feet. "You're one to talk." He fired back, though he hadn't raised his voice. He rarely did. He simply became more intense, more focused, and perhaps his Slytherin side was let out to play with a bit more force than was strictly necessary.

"You live alone, save for a man who won't even speak to his pregnant wife." Outside of Harry's line of vision, John stiffened visibly. Harry, however, wasn't one to stop once he got started. His interactions with his Aunt Marge since becoming a wizard had certainly shown that. It took a lot to get the dark-haired teenager fired up, but once it happened it was quite the sight the behold. "You're grossly underweight yourself; the state of your kitchen shows your utter lack of concern when it comes to your own health, or that of your companions. You're so obsessed with the results of your scientific experiments that you fail to pay attention to the sanitary conditions required for those same experiments!" Harry finished this sentence with a sharp swipe of his hand in the directino of the kitchen, where those same 'experiments' could be seen, in all their glory. "You are a glory hound - even an idiot can see that. More than half of your antics are done for the sake of your public image; why else would you have worn that idiotic hat for your first confrontation with the press after your 'return from the dead'?" Harry questioned.

He would have gone on, except that Sherlock's smirk had blossomed into a smile and he had even let out a sharp laugh. Dumbfounded, Harry watched as Sherlock rose from his seat and came to stand in front of him, though the man made no attempt at initiating contact.

"Very good, Mr. Holmes." Sherlock congratulated him, shocking Harry with his sudden use of the man's own last name. Laying claim to him, Harry suddenly realized - he was laying claim to Harry as a member of his family. He was given little time to mull over such details, however, as John spoke up.

"As far as paternity tests go, I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that one was particularly traumatizing." There was humor in the man's voice, however, and Harry spun around to face him with wide eyes.

"What?" He asked, dumbfounded, and John shook his head with a smile. He was obviously amused, but Harry was too confused to decide whether he should be insulted or not.

"Why don't you sit down, Harry." John gestured to the seat Harry had only recently vacated, and the teen did as instructed, dumbfounded. What, exactly, had just happened?

"You reacted according to expectations for my biological offspring." Sherlock commented, stepping past where Harry had previously been standing to move toward the door. "Come with me. The sooner we get you to Molly, the sooner we can get the matter of your paternity hashed out." Sherlock instructed, causing John to sigh loudly.

"Give the boy a minute to adjust, Sherlock. You weren't exactly ... delicate with your earlier statements."

Sherlock turned to face the two - Harry, still reeling from whatever that had just been, and John, standing over him and glaring at Sherlock, though not with any particular strength behind it.

"No, I - you were waiting to see how I would react. You wanted to see if I was anything like you." Harry spoke up from behind John, before standing to his feet and grabbing his bag. "It's fine. I'm ready."

"Leave the bag." Sherlock commanded, gesturing dismissively at the bag held loosely in Harry's right hand.

Harry hesitated, causing Sherlock to sigh loudly. "It will be fine. John will make sure no harm comes to your precious journal."

John winced, but Harry simply nodded and carefully set the bag back down, tucked slightly underneat the seat he had just vacated.

...

By the time they left St. Bart's, Harry was in no better shape than he had been at 221B Baker Street. To say that Molly Hooper had been confused as to why Sherlock Holmes had wanted her to complete a paternity test would be an understatement - her shock when she had finally understood was almost comical. Not that Harry particularly felt like laughing at the moment.

Aside from Molly's lively chatter, the entire affair had been depressingly silent. Sherlock had remained largely silent through out the entire ordeal, paying more attention to his phone than he did Harry.

Probably because he isn't showing off, Harry reflected morosely. As soon as Harry's blood and saliva had been drawn, Sherlock had been quick to brush Molly off and herd Harry back into the nearest available cab, and the trip back to the flat had been just as quiet.

By the time they entered into the flat, Harry was exhausted both physically and mentally, and was not particularly looking forward to the trip back to his aunt and uncle's house. They would be less than pleased to see him after an entire day of missed chores, he was sure - he could only hope that his uncle wasn't in one of his moods, and that he was able to make it out without any physical bruises to show for it - even if they did double his chores for tomorrow as punishment.

John was at the table with his laptop when they entered into the flat, and Harry didn't even bother with polite pleasantries before he made a grab for his backpack, turning around to leave the flat. Sherlock stopped him quite effectively by blocking the only exit, however, making Harry frown.

"Look, I really need to get going. My aunt and uncle -"

"Abuse you." The words were so sudden that it took Harry a moment to puzzle through what, exactly, Sherlock was attempting to say. When he did, however, his eyes widened and he opened his mouth to spew forward the normal protests. It was automatic by now, after all.

"Oh, don't be an idiot." Sherlock sneered, causing Harry to start in surprise - and shock. Sherlock rose one dark eyebrow, causing Harry to flush guiltily. "Save us both some time and do away with the normal pleasantries you feed to the authorities." Sherlock stepped around Harry, closing the door behind him. He had little doubt that he could stop the boy from leaving, if he still attempted to do so.

"Obviously, staying here is out of the question in the long term. You can keep John company until the tests come back."

"I don't need - my school starts up soon, so I'll be off to Scotland soon." Harry blurted, flushing when he realized that he wasn't being particularly articulate at the moment. "I'll be fine until then - I've learned how to ... deal with my relatives."

"No, you have not. You wouldn't be returning to their care looking the way you do, if you had." Sherlock fired back, moving into the kitchen. "Go take a shower - I expect my house guests to remain well groomed."

Harry was left to stare after the older man, dumbfounded, He turned dazed green eyes to John, who simply nodded his head once in the direction of the shower, and Harry moved in that direaction as if on auto pilot.

. . .

After Harry had made his way into the shower, John moved to join Sherlock in the kitchen. "Sherlock, was that really necessary?"

"Yes." Sherlock said shortly, gathering up the remnants of his most recent experiment in what, John realized with a jolt, was an attempt to clean.

Sherlock didn't clean. Ever. Truth be told, John hadn't been certain that Sherlock knew how to clean up after himself. Sherlock had always seemed disconnected from most polite actions that other people took for granted - and that was not only confined to conversation. Keeping a clean house was certainly among them, as were any actions that did not immediately benefit him in some way. (And for a man who saw his body as merely transport for his intellect, that invariably included doing the grocery shopping.)

When it became apparent that Sherlock had no intention of continuing to speak, John bowed his head slightly and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, sighing heavily. "Sherlock ..."

Sherlock proceeded to ignore him, and John leaned against the doorway to watch his friend move around the room, albeit a bit more slowly than he normally would. John had the sinking suspicion that this was not because Sherlock was being careful, but because his injuries had left him more fragile and winded than normal.

. . .

When Harry emerged from the shower some time later, he discovered that his backpack had been emptied of all but the journal from his mother and his wand, which he had hidden in a side pocket in case he was searched by the muggle authorities - or worse yet, the magical ones. He knew how he dressed, and knew fully well that it was easy to mistake him for a delinquent. There really wasn't much he could do about it, though - if he dared to show up at his aunt and uncle's house with new clothes, he knew fully well that they would go out of their way to gain access to the money his parents had left behind - even if it was tained in their eyes.

The words from his father earlier still stung, But Harry steadfastly ignored the hurt as he flung the bathroom door open, a scowl on his features. He must have looked like an idiot - he certainly felt like one, standing there in naught but a towel wrapped around his waist.

The first person he caught sight of was John, walking from the kitchen to the sitting room carrying a plate of biscuits, and Harry rounded on the man, furious. "Where are my clothes?" He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest in an effort to hide just how uncomfortable his current situation made him. Hell, he was uncomfortable enough without the added strain of being essentially naked in front of a man he barely knew.

John was pulled up short by the sight that Harry made, and he blinked in surprise for only a second before he sighed. "Sherlock happened, I assume." The older man seemed anything but amused at fisrst glance, save for the small twist to his lips. He seemed more annoyed than anything, however - or, perhaps a better term would have been exasperated.

Harry allowed himself to relax slightly at that realization, though he kept his arms crossed over his chest.

John shook his head, setting the biscuits down on a bit of clean space on the coffee table before moving toward the stiars. "Just give me a second - I'll find you something to wear until we can get this sorted."

Five minutes later found Harry huddled under the man's too-large bath robe, curled up in Sherlock's chair John was tapping furiously at his mobile phone, and Harry frowned as he watched the man. "What are you doing?"

John glanced up, that small twist to his lips back. "Texting your f- . . . Sherlock." Obivously flustered, John turned his attention back to his mobile.

"Texting?" Harry asked, trying the unfamiliar word out on his tongue. As John finally turned an incredulous expression his way, however, Harry immediately knew that he had said something wrong.

"Really? I thought all kids your age had mobiles by now." John queried, and Harry flushed hotly. Was this one of those things he would have known if he had remained in the muggle world, ignorant of the wizarding one?

Flushing hotly, Harry slumped down in his seat - taking a moment to frantically make certain that the robe was still covering him, but steadfastly refusing to meet the other man's eyes.

John felt a thrill of alarm race through his system, as he considered another prospect that he hadn't even entered into his mind until now. Though there had been no obvious bruising on the boy's torso when he had come out of the bathroom, there still existed the possibility that Harry's relatives had abused him in another way.

"Harry, who is the current Prime Minister?"

Harry glanced up in surprise, opening his mouth to answer - only to realize that he had no idea what the answer to that particular question was. John seemed to have expected this, if the look on his face was anything to go by.

John said nothing more, however, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he really had dodged a catastrophe this time around.

For his part, however, John was quietly reviewing everything that he had learned about the boy since he had appeared at their door earlier that day.

Harry was a teenager, which meant she should have been enrolled in highschool - whether locally or a boarding school. Though Harry had mentioned a school, he hadn't mentioned whether he lived with his relatives or elsewhere while he was attending said school. But he did attend a school.

Sherlock had insisted that Harry was unwanted by his relatives, had insisted that he was abused - and Harry hadn't refuted that claim. Many sufferers of abuse would have, but there was no quantifying answer, no tell-all sign to tell whether an individual suffered from abuse. There were common signs, however, and John was finding far too many of those in the boy before him.

One couldn't live in close quarters with Sherlock Holmes and dno pick up a trick or two. Over the course of their time together, John had become far more observant than he had previously been. He could certainly not rival the Holmes brothers, of course, but it was enough to form a hypothesis or two about the boy before him.

On top of that, however, as a doctor John had been trained in detecting signs of abuse and sexual trauma - especially the latter. He had come across more than one victim of sexual abuse during his time as a doctor, both before and after the war. It was impossible not to, working in the emergency department of a hospital.

Harry's concern with keeping himself covered was one sign of possible abuse, as was the way he had been careful to keep distance between himself and the two other men in the room. The disgust with which he spoke of his relatives spoke volumes, as did the way he seemed to curl up on himself now; protecting his vital organs but keeping his arms mobile, in case he had to use them to defend himself.

Whether the abuse was sexual or not, John couldn't be certain. It wasn't an easy diagnosis to make, especailly if the victim of such an assault refused to come forward or admit to being harmed in such a way. But there other signs that concerned John, perhaps even more than the ones he had already reviewed.

His lack of knowledge as to what a text was, to start with. Even if the boy was not allowed a mobile phone of his own, his classmates certainly would have had them. They were incredibly easy to get your hands on, these days - a child with enough pocket money could simply pick one up at the local store, without the permission of their parents if they were particularly adept at hiding such a thing from prying eyes. The other students at his school certainly would have had them.

He didn't know who the Prime Minister was - and he should have. It was part of the curriculum of every school, and even if it hadn't been, the man's name was constantly splashed across the news and on the television. Only an isolationist would have a chance of not knowing who the man was.

John had been silent for nearly ten minutes when he finally spoke up once again, breaking the silence quite suddenly and making Harry jump in surprise. "Harry, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Harry shifted uneasily, fidgeting with the robe that was his only barrier between a man he had only known for a handful of hours and his own nakedness. "Okay, I guess."

"What do you normally do during the summer?"

Harry relaxed at the seemingly innocent question. "Not much aside from chores. My aunt - she likes me to help out around the house."

John nodded. Though Harry didn't seem to hold the same amount of disdain for chores as other teenagers might, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. A sense of responsibility never hurt anybody, after all.

"What kind of chores?"

Harry fidgeted once again, and John smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "I've known Sherlock for several years now, you know. I can't help but be curious about his son." And didn't that sound strange? Sherlock's son. It made his mind reel, just thinking it.

Harry seemed to relax at that. "Oh, well, you know. Chores. Weeding the garden, cooking the meals, cleaning the house. Washing the car. That kind of stuff."

Contrary to the tone of voice Harry had used, John was less than convinced that these were 'normal chores'. "You cook all the meals? You must be very good at it."

"I've had a lot of practice." Harry laughed easily. Truth be told, he had no reason to be careful with his words. Though Harry was unaware of it, the reason he had never been q uestioned as to his family life was because his uncle had bribed or bullied anybody who had shown an interest in his welfare until there was nobody left with an ounce of concern for little Harry as he ha dbeen growing up - or at least nobody who was willing to do anything about it.

Greed and fear were two of the great motivators known to man, after all.