Chapter 11

The Ruined Christmas

It was Christmas eve and Harry Potter couldn't be happier. He was home for Christmas, at Baker Street, getting ready for the party. John and his daughter had more or less moved back in. 221C had been acquired, much to Mrs Hudson's delight. A cleaning crew (hired by Mycroft, of course) and Emrys' spells did wonders for the dingy flat, and the magnificent Christmas tree made it just perfect for celebration. Harry, Emrys, Arthur and John had spent hours decorating it.

Hermione and Ron would be arriving any minute now; Sirius and Remus had been sent to fetch them. Billy, Molly and Greg were already downstairs, chatting with John and cooing over Emma. Emrys and Arthur were helping Mrs Husdon in the kitchen. Sherlock had gone to pick up his parents from Paddington. Mycroft had attempted to get away, but the combined puppy-eyes of Harry and Emrys had broken the British Government. He would probably be the last to arrive, but Harry had no doubt he would come. After all, Mycroft had been the one to take Harry Christmas shopping.

Harry looked out of the window and saw his friends approaching. He flew down the stairs to meet them.

"My, you look dapper, young man," Remus said, smiling warmly at Harry and giving him a hug.

Sirius scooped him up and twirled. Harry laughed at his godfather; Sirius sometimes behaved as if Harry was three instead of thirteen. When Sirius finally put him down, Hermione and Ron hugged him as well.

"Muggle London is wicked!" Ron exclaimed, staring at the decorations with wide eyes. "Dad would love to see this!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and Harry laughed. This would probably be the best Christmas he'd ever had.

Harry led his friends to the basement flat and introduced them to Mrs Hudson, Arthur, Billy, Molly, Greg and Emma. Sirius and Remus knew of Billy's role in Harry's rescue, and immediately went over to him to chat. Hermione was thrilled to meet Greg and Molly, and began a discussion on criminology and forensics. Harry had warned Greg and Molly in advance, so the policeman and the pathologist were quite happy to speak to her. Ron made a beeline for Mrs Hudson, having heard tales of her baking. The old lady was quite pleased to have the attention of the boy, and plied him with food. Ron was in heaven.

Mr and Mrs Holmes came in a few minutes later. Harry and not met them yet, and he was a little nervous, even though John assured him that they were very nice, normal people and nothing like the three brothers.

"Sherlock! Where's your boy?" Mrs Holmes asked as soon as she stepped into the room.

Sherlock winced and beckoned Harry over. Harry smiled nervously at the Holmes parents.

Mrs Holmes swept him up in a hug. "I can't tell you how pleased I am to finally have a grandchild!" she declared. "How are you, Harry dear? Is Sherlock looking after you properly?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry replied dutifully.

"Oh, call me Grandma, Harry dear," she said happily, patting his hair. "And this is your Grandpa."

Mr Holmes smiled warmly at Harry and pulled him into a hug.

"One grandchild and they forget the children," Emrys complained.

"Oh, hush, you," Mrs Holmes chided, hugging him as well. "If the three of you hadn't been hiding Harry away, we wouldn't have needed to wait this long to see him!"

Sherlock was sent upstairs to fetch his violin as Mrs Holmes mooned over Emma Rose.

By the time Mycroft appeared, the party was in full swing. Even Sherlock had an indulgent smile on his face as he watched his ward attempt to dance with his mother, both of them laughing too hard to be able to.

Mycroft tolerated being hugged by his family with only a slight wince. He drew the line at dancing, however, when Harry attempted to pull him up.

"I have two left feet, I'm afraid," Mycroft told Harry, smirking. "Sherlock, however, is an excellent dancer."

Sherlock glared at his older brother, but nothing would dissuade Harry from dragging his guardian to dance. By midnight, Sherlock had been made to dance with all the women in the room at least twice, much to his consternation, and much to the amusement of his ward.

At the stroke of midnight, Sirius called for presents. The children were so excited at the prospect that no one dared to mention bedtime. Harry was assigned the duty of handing out gifts from under the Christmas tree. The first present he picked up was a square box, wrapped in black, with 'Merry Christmas' printed in gold lettering. He passed it on to the detective to examine.

Sherlock frowned at the gift in his hands. He had no idea who sent it…it was definitely not one of the people in the room. He unwrapped the package to find a wooden box with exquisite carving and Celtic symbols.

"Sherlock, no!" Emrys cried and sprang from his seat, snatching the box from his brother, just as Sherlock opened the latch. There was a hissing sound as a snake with multiple heads slipped out and bit Emrys. Arthur caught the sorcerer as he fell.

Harry hissed at the snake in Parseltongue and the snake returned to the box reluctantly.

John examined Emrys. "It's a fairly potent poison," he told Sherlock. "We need an antidote." He turned to Sirius and Remus. "Get Snape."

"What snake is that?" Greg asked. "I've never seen one like it."

"I'm calling an ambulance," Molly said.

"Thank you, Dr Hooper, but that would not be required. I have a unit on its way," Mycroft said. He turned to Arthur. "Take him upstairs."

Arthur carried Merlin upstairs to 221B while Sherlock fetched his bezoar. The stone, however, only slowed the poison; it didn't absorb the venom completely. John ran a diagnostic spell again.

Sherlock drew a sample of blood from his younger brother's arm and handed it to Molly. "Run a tox screen," he said. "Call me the moment you are able to either identify or isolate a toxin."

Greg offered to accompany Molly to Barts. Mrs Hudson took Mr and Mrs Holmes to her own flat, and Ron went with them to help out.

John frowned at the result of his diagnostic spell.

"What is it?" Mycroft asked.

"I know of no poison which can have these effects."

"Five venoms, John," Sherlock snapped. "The snake has five heads."

"Is that why the bezoar is not working?" Sirius asked.

"A bezoar only works on poisons of magical origin," Hermione said timidly. "If one or more of the poisons are of muggle origin…"

"Excellent, Ms Granger," Sherlock said. "Molly is running the tests," he told Mycroft.

Harry opened the box and hissed at the snake. What are you? What have you poisoned my uncle with?

The snake stared at the boy.

Tell me. Harry commanded in the steeliest voice he could manage.

We do not know, young speaker, the snake heads hissed. We were commanded to bite when the box opened.

Sherlock stepped close to Harry. "Those are five different snakes," he said. "Dendroaspis polylepis, Oxyuranus scutellatus scutellatus, Acanthophis antarcticus, Naja naja and Corallus caninus."

"Black mamba, Papuan taipan, death adder, Indian cobra and emerald tree boa," Remus translated for the others, just as Severus Apparated with a sharp 'pop'.

"Corallus caninus is not poisonous," Mycroft said, frowning.

"No," Sherlock said. "But look at its fangs. Those are not natural, and whatever venom it contains can't be natural, either."

Severus administered antidotes for the poisonous snakes one by one, while Harry attempted to talk to the green head to figure out what kind of poison it had been given.

Sherlock's phone rang. "Molly," he said curtly. "What have you found?"

"Four snake venoms," she said shakily. "And Marburg Marburgvirus. It looks like Ravn. I don't know how it's possible, Sherlock. I'm sorry. I'm running the tests again."

All colour drained from Sherlock's face. "Don't bother with the snake venoms; we are administering antidotes," Sherlock told her. "Check again for Ravn."

John and Mycroft had gone white at the mention of Ravn.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded.

"It's a virus," John whispered. "An untreatable one."

"There must be something we can do," Arthur insisted.

"Let's clear out the poison first," John suggested as he helped Severus administer the antidotes.

Mycroft's phone buzzed. He saw the text and handed his phone to Sherlock.

Dear me, Mr Holmes, dear me.

Sherlock's phone rang again.

"Hello, sexy," came the much-despised voice of his nemesis.

"What do you want, Jim?" Sherlock asked tiredly.

"Did the little lamb take the hit for you?" Moriarty sang. "Poor little lamb."

Sherlock and Mycroft moved away to Sherlock's bedroom and Sherlock turned the speaker on.

"It is me you want," Sherlock said. "Leave him out of this."

"Will you beg me?" Moriarty asked eagerly.

"Please," Sherlock said, his voice nearly breaking.

"Say my name, say my NAME!"

"Please, Jim. Let him live. I beg you." Sherlock blinked rapidly to stem his tears. Mycroft passed him a cigarette silently.

"Dear Sherlock, sweet Sherlock, crying for his little lamb…" Jim Moriarty warbled. "You've become boring in my absence, Sherlock darling."

Sherlock remained silent.

"Anyway, sexy, it wasn't me that wants your little lamb dead. I just want you," Jim continued. "Your little lamb is wanted dead by someone I owe."

Shelock and Mycroft exchanged a dark look.

"How the mighty have fallen," Sherlock drawled. "I would never have believed you would answer to someone, Jim. How does it feel to be enslaved? No longer Mr Sex, are you?"

Jim howled. John had been right. The man had completely lost any semblance of sanity.

"Who is it that you answer to now? Perhaps I should go to them instead," Sherlock goaded.

"No, you're MINE!" Jim yelled.

"Why would I bother with you when there is someone better?" Sherlock asked.

"She's not better! She's just a witch!" Jim shouted. "You're ME! You're MINE!"

"The real Jim would never said that," Sherlock told him. "But you're just a shadow of yourself, aren't you, Jimmy? A shadow resurrected by your Mistress, the Necromancer."

Moriarty laughed heartily. "Oh, look at you, Sherlock, struggling to understand! Dolly isn't the Necromancer; she just made a deal with him to get me out so she could get to your little lamb. And I am so much more now. What would you know, you filthy muggle-lover?" Jim's voice had changed to the soft cadence of the menacing voice Harry knew as Lord Voldemort.

Jim paused for a moment. "Shut up, Snake-face," he hissed, as if to himself. "I'm in control when I speak to Sherlock! You can have your turn later!"

Sherlock and Mycroft stared at each other in horror.

"Tell me, Sherlock Holmes, how does the boy fare? Is he dead yet?" Voldemort laughed. "What a headline it shall be – The-Boy-Who-Lived Dead at Christmas!"

"Tom Riddle, isn't it?" Sherlock asked. "How terrible it must be for you to share a body with a muggle. I am not sure who I pity more – you or Jim."

"Do not take me for a fool, Sherlock Holmes," Voldemort hissed. "James has told me many interesting stories of your adventures. Now, I believe you were ready to strike a deal with James to save the boy's life."

"Yes."

"Bring the boy to me, then. The address will be sent to you." The line was disconnected.

Sherlock and Mycroft turned at the sound of a choked sob from the doorway. Harry stood there, trembling.

"How long have you been eavesdropping?" Sherlock asked angrily.

Harry stepped in. "The poison was meant for me," he said shakily. "You have to take me to Voldemort! It's our only chance of saving Emrys!"

"No," Sherlock said firmly.

"It's my fault!" Harry shouted. "Please, we have to save Emrys!"

"You will do as you are told!" Sherlock yelled. "Go to your room and stay there!"

Harry shook his head stubbornly. Sherlock looked ready to yell some more, but Mycroft held up a hand to silence him.

Mycroft knelt on the floor and grasped the boy's shoulders.

"Harry," he said quietly. "Do you have faith in me?"

Harry nodded.

"Then let me handle this, please." Mycroft took a deep breath. "I give you my word, Harry, that Emrys will survive this ordeal. Sherlock and I will find a way to save him."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Harry nodded tearfully, apparently satisfied.

Mycroft patted him and stood up. "I will need your help," he told the boy.

Harry looked up at his uncle.

"I need you to take charge of the snakes. You are the only one that can talk to them. Find out how the green head received the virus in as much detail as you can gather. Convey the information to John and Professor Snape. Perhaps Ms Granger can help you."

Harry nodded eagerly and left.

"Thank you, Mycroft," Sherlock murmured.

Mycroft simply nodded and led his brother out.

"Sherlock and I must depart," Mycroft announced.

Arthur stood up. "I'll come with you."

Mycroft shook his head. "You must look after my brother," he said to Arthur. He turned to Sirius and Remus. "You must look after Harry." He turned to John. "Coordinate with Dr Hooper as well and attempt a cure. Keep in touch with us on Sherlock's phone."

John nodded.

Sherlock's phone pinged. The detective nodded at his older brother.

The two brothers stepped out together. At the bottom of the stairs, Mycroft held out a hand to stall his brother.

"Forgive me, brother," he said quietly. His eyes flashed a brilliant blue.

Sherlock Holmes fell to the floor, mercurial eyes widened in shock.