Chapter 10
The Once and Future King
"What the hell are you doing here?" John asked the mystery intruder.
Sherlock, meanwhile, attempted to revive his younger brother.
Mycroft frowned at John and the intruder. "I was unaware you two knew each other."
The man – blond and blue-eyed – smirked. "John Watson, as I live and breathe! How have you been, Three-Continents Watson?"
John blushed and punched the man's arm. "Arthur Penn – what the hell are you doing back in the country? Thought you had sworn never to return? Is it even safe for you to be here?" John glanced at Mycroft.
"The British Government beckoned, and here I am," Arthur replied, giving Mycroft a mock salute.
Mycroft fell back in his seat, exhausted. "It has taken me a long time to track you down, Arthur Pendragon, and even longer to restore your memories."
Emrys stirred.
John felt his jaw hit the floor. "Wait, what?! You are King Arthur?! You?!"
Arthur frowned. "Why is that so unbelievable, John?"
"It's just…you." John could scarcely believe it.
Emrys woke up. "Is it really you?" he whispered.
Arthur's face softened and he made his way to the youngest Holmes. He held out his hand, and pulled Emrys into a hug when he grasped his.
"I'm sorry I'm late," Arthur said softly. "I didn't remember until your brother made me. But I'm here now. I'll make it up to you. We're still best friends, yes?" He eyed Emrys apprehensively.
"Where have you been?"
"Afghanistan. I was thrown out of the army for insubordination." He grinned sheepishly. "I had no intention of coming back to the UK."
Emrys glared at Mycroft. "How long have you known?"
"A few months."
"Why didn't you tell me, Mycroft?"
"He had no memory of his past life, Emrys. You would have been unnecessarily hurt."
"How did you know he had been reborn in this age?" Emrys asked. "I have been looking for him for centuries."
"I have been looking since the day I learnt who you were, baby brother." Mycroft sighed. "I should have been able to find him sooner for you."
"Well, I'm here now, and I finally remember everything, so it's fine, eh?" Arthur spoke up.
Emrys paled. "What have you done, Mycroft?"
Mycroft smiled slightly. "The same thing that I have been doing all my life – looking after my little brothers."
"Is that why you have been so exhausted lately? Not fighting the necromancy?" John asked. "You drained yourself trying to restore his memory?"
Mycroft waved a dismissive hand.
"You sentimental fool," Sherlock spat at his older brother. "Why didn't you tell me? I could have helped you!"
"You were otherwise occupied, brother mine," Mycroft told him, and Sherlock looked away guiltily.
Mycroft regarded everyone in the room with narrowed eyes. "We need one more person."
"Arthur is a muggle, Mycroft," Emrys said quietly.
"Oi, who are you calling a muggle?" Arthur punched Emrys' arm.
"Gryffindor's Lion," John said, smiling at his old friend. He turned to Mycroft. "How did you do that?"
Emrys, Sherlock and Harry looked at John enquiringly.
"Arthur was a Hit Wizard. He lost his memory in a Death Eater raid. St Mungo's kept him for months, but they couldn't fix it. He'd forgotten he had magic, about Hogwarts, about everything. They sent him to the muggle world and he got drafted into the army." John stared at the British Government. "You're a bloody miracle worker, Mycroft."
Emrys ran to Mycroft and hugged him. "Thank you, Myc," he whispered.
Sherlock approached his brothers. "Practice what you preach, brother mine," he told Mycroft.
Mycroft smirked.
Emrys and Sherlock exchanged a look. Then they grabbed Mycroft's hands, eyes flashing gold and silver. The three brothers glowed, enveloped in blue flames. John quickly grabbed Harry and dragged him back. Arthur stepped back as well.
"What's happening?" Arthur asked.
John shrugged.
Harry stared at his new family in wonder. "They are healing Uncle Mycroft," the boy said, mesmerised by the sight. "I can see his magic repair."
Arthur and John squinted, but neither of them could see anything. Arthur turned to John, question in his eyes.
"Harry is Sherlock's ward. They are magically bonded," John replied.
"I've never seen magic like this before," Arthur muttered. "They certainly never tell us these things at Hogwarts."
"I doubt whether they learnt it at school," John retorted. "Heaven forbid a Holmes ever be normal."
"But what the hell are they doing?" Arthur asked. "What does it look like to you, Harry?"
Harry blinked, looking away from the Holmes brothers. "Er…it kind of looks like they are pooling their magic together and repairing the damage caused to Uncle Mycroft. Uncle Emrys is gold, Sherlock is silver and Uncle Mycroft is brilliant blue. The blue was in tatters, but it is being pulled together with gold and silver now."
There was a flash of lightning and the three brothers fell back, no longer aglow. The three spectators rushed to them. John checked their vitals.
"Just unconscious," he told Arthur and Harry. "They should be fine when they wake up."
XXX
John and Harry updated Arthur on their current predicament. Arthur pursed his lips. John frowned.
"Do you know who it could be?" the doctor asked.
"Morgana resurrected Lancelot once," he said softly. "I hope to God it's not her this time. Merlin – Emrys – killed her just before I died…so if I have been reborn, perhaps she has, as well."
"Morgana Le Fay?" Harry asked.
"Morgana Pendragon, actually. She's my sister."
XXX
Emrys was the first to wake up. He found John and Arthur chatting, and Harry playing with Emma.
"How long?" he asked groggily.
John glanced at his watch. "About six hours. How do you feel?"
"Been better," Emrys replied, rubbing his eyes.
"Hungry?" Arthur asked.
Emrys glanced at his brothers.
"Sherlock hardly eats, and Mycroft is always on a diet. Let's get some greasy takeaway," John suggested.
Arthur jumped up. "Let's go, Three-Continents."
John blushed, but didn't protest. The two ex-soldiers left.
Emrys turned to Harry and Emma. The infant was almost asleep. He hummed a lullaby and Emma fell asleep immediately. Harry placed her in the crib gingerly.
"All right, kid?" Emrys asked gently.
Harry nodded. "Does this mean you and Uncle Mycroft are not dying anymore?"
Emrys laughed and ruffled the boy's hair. "Probably. I'd have done my best to keep Mycroft from dying, though."
Harry hesitated. "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course. You're my favourite nephew."
"I'm your only nephew," Harry retorted, smiling. He had become used to the playful teasing of Mycroft and Emrys…and he was surprised how easily – almost unconsciously – he'd started referring to them as 'uncle'. He hadn't yet called Sherlock 'dad' yet, though. Sherlock wasn't the 'dad' type. Father, perhaps? Papa? Either way, Harry wouldn't dare. Sherlock would probably scoff at his sentimentality.
Emrys regarded him with sympathetic eyes.
Harry hastily gathered his thoughts and returned to the original question he'd wanted to ask. "What you do – you and Sherlock and Uncle Mycroft – healing each other, sharing your magic…is that usual for magical families?"
Emrys shook his head. "Not at all, Harry. Most witches and wizards would be incapable of even conjuring the blue flames."
"Really? My friend Hermione has been conjuring those flames since first year," Harry said, surprised. "Of course, she's the cleverest witch in our class."
"Interesting," Emrys said, frowning. "Anyway, even for those powerful enough, a bond that deep – or the desire for such a sacrifice – is almost impossible. My brothers are extremely powerful wizards, even though they don't use magic much. Also, Mycroft and Sherlock, despite their cold exterior, love with a single-minded focus, with an all-encompassing passion. When they care, they care fiercely – so much so that they will gladly give up their own life and soul to protect the ones they love. What we do wouldn't work for anyone else. The genetic similarity helps, too."
"Then how did Sherlock save me?" Harry asked.
Emrys smiled fondly. "Sherlock is more reckless than Mycroft or I. And he always did have a bit of a hero complex, just like Mycroft has a god complex." He sobered. "We don't know why it worked, Harry. It was a huge risk for Sherlock. He could have died, he could have lost his magic. Something about you must have caused him to feel as strongly as he did for the magic to work. I have never known the spell to work outside of family – and even in families, it is very, very rare to find such devotion. Know this, Harry – you were on the brink of death, and Sherlock was willing, in that moment, to give up his own life to save you. I doubt if he knows the reason himself – but whatever it was, your magic and Sherlock's bonded over it. Maybe he recognised a kindred soul. Your magic recognised him as your guardian and let him heal you. It drained him, yes, but Mycroft was able to fix that pretty soon."
Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. "So, if Sherlock is in trouble, I'd be able to heal him, too?"
"That depends on how much you love him, Harry. I wouldn't recommend testing it – though Sherlock loves me to death, I know he'll kill me if something happened to you." Emrys smiled. "Don't worry, Harry. You will grow up to be an extremely powerful wizard."
Harry nodded, not convinced in the least.
"I hear you have managed the Patronus spell?" Emrys asked.
"Just silvery mist, barely enough to drive away a boggart," Harry replied.
"That's quite an achievement at thirteen," Emrys said. "But I am reasonably sure you can do better. Think of a powerful memory, Harry. It does not need to be 100% happiness, just generally happy – but it needs to be powerful. Human emotions aren't that simple, after all."
Harry closed his eyes and concentrated.
"Let your feelings wash over you. Feel as you felt when it actually happened."
Harry let his tears flow.
"Cast the spell."
"Expecto patronum," Harry said, his voice soft but steady.
"Brilliant! Look, Harry, look!"
Harry opened his eyes to see Emrys pointing at a glowing stag. The stag stood tall and proud, bigger in size than Harry.
"Prongs," Harry whispered, reaching out a hand towards the beautiful animal.
The stag winked…and faded away.
Sherlock stood staring at Harry, his face shining with pride. "Very well done, Harry," he said quietly.
"Indeed," came Mycroft's voice, no longer exhausted. "Very impressive, nephew mine."
"Harry has also found us the seventh person to complete our circle," Emrys announced.
Mycroft and Sherlock raised an eyebrow each.
"His friend, Hermione Granger. She's been conjuring blue flames since their first year," Emrys said.
"I don't think she knows it's a big deal," Harry mumbled.
Emrys ruffled his hair. "The great ones never do, kid. Look at yourself."
John and Arthur appeared with the food.
"Seriously?" Arthur whined. "Six hours we keep vigil, and then we step out for twenty minutes and all of you are awake?"
"I was awake before you left," Emrys retorted.
Arthur punched his arm. Emrys winced.
"Kindly refrain from manhandling my brother, Captain Pendragon," Mycroft reprimanded. "He is no longer your servant."
"Oh, shut it, Mycroft," Sherlock said, rolling his eyes. He turned to Arthur. "Though, if you do harm Emrys in any manner, you would lose the latter adjective of your title."
Arthur frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Harry giggled. John rolled his eyes, all traces of his earlier misery now gone.
"It's the standard if-you-hurt-my-little-brother speech," John said.
"What title?' Arthur demanded.
"You don't know?" John was surprised. "You're supposed to be the Once and Future King."
Arthur snorted. "Of what? Camelot doesn't exist anymore." He nodded in the direction of the Holmes brothers. "This lot is more posh and kingly than me – I'm just a regular bloke this time."
