Chapter 2: Conquered Thoughts

"When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago."
―Friedrich Nietzsche

~Sherlock~

There was a veritable pharmacy spread out on the floor beside him and Sherlock supposed that had he been a poetic man this might have been ironic. He was a man of science, a man of practicality, and right now he needed to get over withdrawal symptoms as quickly as possible. Sherlock picked up the first bottle, naproxen, for the aches and swallowed it quickly. He popped open another bottle, loperamide hydrochloride, to settle his digestive tracks and keep him from dehydrating.

He picked up another, clonidine, and swallowed it down. His mind was supplying him with an endless stream of information, clonidine a non-opiate, non-addictive blood pressure medication. It will inhibit his body's sympathetic response and help decrease the sweating, chills, irrational anxiety and restlessness. He hadn't had a hit in three days, Lily's sister had shown up at his door two days ago, and he was well into his detox cycle already.

Sherlock had done this before, of course, in the name of science. He had gotten it down to an art, ridding his body of the drugs and recovering within a week. Still, it was unpleasant and even more so since Mycroft had taken to texting him every thirty minutes. His phone chimed again and Sherlock didn't even bother checking it know it was his meddling older brother. Mycroft had never given him a moments peace growing up, it was always 'you cannot eat that substance', or 'no experimenting at the dinner table'.

Mycroft never gave him a moment's peace with his incessant worrying and molly coddling. It was beyond frustrating now that Mycroft had managed to build his partial web within the government. Sherlock knew Mycroft was still a ways away from his ultimate goal of becoming the British government but he was well on his way. Sherlock estimated that his dreary older brother would probably have it all under his power within the next three years or so…if there wasn't any unforeseen incidents. He was sure that as soon as Mycroft had the government under his full control he would be even more insufferable than he was now and that was saying something.

What are you doing?-MH

Leave me alone.-SH

You haven't left your flat in three days.-MH

Mind your own business.-SH

Have you at least eaten?-MH

What part of leave me alone do you not understand?-SH

I'm having food delivered.-MH

What makes you think I'll answer the door?-SH

Eat. I'll leave you be for the rest of the day if you do.-MH

Fine.-SH

The soup came and Sherlock managed to force himself to drink most of it even though he rather not. Sherlock knew that if he didn't it would just give Mycroft the excuse he needed to barge in and be a nuisance. Mycroft knew about Lily…at least knew of Lily…but he had never been able to find much on her much to Mycroft's annoyance. Lily was great at covering her tracks and there was no record of her out there that she didn't purposely put out there with careful crafting.

Mycroft didn't know about his son though, because Sherlock knew that if Mycroft had any suspicions about an illegitimate child that he would have swooped in on him long ago. Mycroft loved to be in control of things and it unsettled that Sherlock refused to be controlled. If Mycroft had known of the boy he would have taken him from that woman already and would have assumed custody of the boy before Sherlock ever knew he existed. No, Mycroft didn't know about the boy and Sherlock meant to keep it that way as long as possible.

Sherlock knew that if Mycroft found him out before everything was firmly in place that the man would take the boy from him. Probably say some rubbish about him not being able to take responsibility over a child. It was the same thing that had happened when mummy had gotten him that puppy, Mycroft had taken it within a week of Sherlock having it saying some rubbish about him not taking proper care of it. That was just Mycroft's way and Sherlock didn't want that to happen with his son as well.

The couch groaned as Sherlock stretched out on it melting into the cushions trying to ease some of the pain he was feeling. Sherlock began looking for a distraction and picked up his compilation of Shakespeare's works. He was easily distracted from that as Sherlock caught sight of the glaring blank space on the birth certificate glared up at him from the coffee table. The boy needed a name, and a good one. Lily had named the boy Harry but Sherlock found that name dreadfully dull.

Hamlet would be better; however Sherlock was reluctant to take the name Harry away from him completely since Lily had named him. Sherlock didn't have much left of Lily so he wanted some way to make sure she left a mark on the son they made together. Perhaps an anagram was in order. Hamlet…Amadeus…Ramsey…Roderick…Ylli (Albanian meant 'star' but also was an anagram for lily) and of course H.a.r.r.y. would be a Holmes. Then, just so he could make his mark on his son, Sherlock gave him one last name, Sherrinford, it was quite a long name Hamlet Amadeus Ramsey Roderick Ylli Sherrinford Holmes but Sherlock liked it.

Sherlock sat up and took his fountain pen and wrote in Harry's new name in elegant calligraphy. It was an added bonus that giving his son so many names would allow him to call him whatever name he felt like day by day and thus avoid boredom. A feverish chill racked his body and Sherlock curled into the couch with a groan, even with the medicine withdrawal was not easy.

~Petunia~

Petunia led a fairly simple life; she took care of her husband and darling son. She was sociable with other mothers that had children around Dudley's age and strove to be well respected if not liked. Petunia's life was simple, her life was normal, but she had a secret…a very unusual secret that she was so afraid someone would find out. The secret that her little sister was not normal, that she was a witch, and that Petunia had the same blood running in her veins.

That secret was gone now but it just got replaced by more…a little boy…her nephew. Now she had the shame of knowing and hiding the fact that her sister was an adulterer on her hands. Her perfect little sister had strayed from her perfect marriage to a rich and handsome man for a man who was obviously disturbed. It didn't make sense, at least not to Petunia, who would have devoted herself to her well off marriage had she been as lucky as Lily in her looks.

The boy was a terror all his own, he was just…creepy…there was something off about him. Lily had at least been somewhat normal as a child and had not shown many signs of her freakishness until that dreadful letter had come. Her son though…her son was a different story…he didn't talk but there was something about the look in his eyes that told her that he perceived far too much for a boy his age. He was a terror to feed, staring at his food like it was beneath him and only eating things that were steamed. He would eat steamed broccoli, carrots, and small pieces of delicate meat. However, every time she tried to feed him any of the things she fed to Dudley he would refused to open his mouth or sometimes he would go so far as to throw the food at the walls.

He was quiet at least, and he was easily handled as long as it wasn't meal time. Disturbingly enough Petunia had found him flipping through some of Dudley's story books as if he actually understood them! One time she had even found him mumbling under his breath as his tiny finger traced the words on a page…it was disquieting to see. Petunia wasn't so sure what she thought about her ill conceived nephew but she tried her best to ignore his oddities. It made things easier to pretend the boy was simply a doll she was taking care of like she had done as a girl with her dolls.

The boy was handsome and still enough to be mistaken for a doll sometimes. Vernon kept his distance from the boy, content to ignore him since the boy had brought with him an unexpected windfall of funds. Petunia wished she could ignore him as well but she was in charge of the boy's well being until the end of the week. That man had been clear and something told Petunia that if she shirked on her duties the man would know. A timer went off and Petunia sighed getting the ointment out and settling the boy on her lap, he stared at her with his unsettling eyes as she wiped more ointment over his forehead.

The angry red gash on the boy's forehead was only a small pink line now and Petunia thought that if it kept healing this well soon you wouldn't even be able to see that. She put the boy in a playpen with some books and headed to the kitchen to make some lunch for them all. Soon the boy would be gone and they would no longer have to deal with this mess. However, there was an idea pressing down on her that she had not been able to let go of yet…who else from that world knew where they lived? Perhaps it was time to consider moving somewhere else, because Petunia didn't like the idea of being disturbed by that world again.

Perhaps Manchester? Then again maybe moving abroad and changing their names would ensure that these freakish things would never darken their door again. Yes, Petunia nodded, perhaps she would bring it up to Vernon at dinner tonight and see what they would need to do to get their affairs in order. As she steamed some broccoli for the boy Petunia thought with some hope that soon she would never have to see that boy again.

~Sherlock~

There were three days left before that woman returned with his son and Sherlock wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was going mad laying about his flat but his body wasn't up to leaving without the threat of collapse. For now he was trapped here with nothing but his thoughts for company…thoughts that he had conquered long ago. He thought of Lily, of how different it all could have been had she had only chosen him over duty and propriety.

Sherlock hadn't having to put up with normal social interactions for this very reason…all it did was hurt people. People couldn't be honest because it was rude…how idiotic. If Lily had been a bit more honest with herself or her friends had been an honest with her when she expressed her desire for that half wit…well it was no use thinking about it now. All that remained of Lily was locked in the genetic code of their son and his memories of their time together.

Just as his thoughts began to pull him down into the depths of despair there was a knock at Sherlock's door. He managed to drag himself up to answer it with some difficulty and then blinked a bit at the man standing in his doorway. Expensive suit, but it was well worn. The cufflinks were old, heirloom then, ink spot on the palm, works with paper, scuffed shoes showed he was on his feet a lot, creases in his slacks, a lot of standing and sitting. Briefcase held close to his side, something valuable inside it then, a medium sized trunk at his feet, obviously from a woman, not someone close to this man, so a client then, and all this told him everything he needed to know within two seconds of viewing.

"What more could Lily have for me and why didn't you contact me sooner? Not that I expect much intelligence from a lawyer but still I find myself disappointed." Sherlock said snarkily as he leaned against his door for support.

"Fredrick Sullivan, Mr. Holmes," the lawyer said hand outstretched in greeting. Sherlock stared at it blankly before Sullivan finally pulled his hand back smiling uneasily. "I do apologize for the delay but I was under specific instructions from Mrs. Potter to come exactly four days after you had come in contact with your son." He said as he opened his briefcase handing Sherlock a thick envelop. "This letter and the trunk are for you from Mrs. Potter's estate. Here is my business card should anything else come up and feel free to contact me if you find yourself in need of legal counsel." He said as he handed him the card nodded politely before he left Sherlock there standing with an envelope and a trunk.

Sherlock blinked, grasped one end of the trunk and dragged it into this flat. It was at least twenty percent lighter than it should have been considering its mass, and the density of the woods. It was just another sign it had come from Lily. He collapsed onto the couch and opened the envelope wondering what more the woman wanted from him from beyond the grave. Inside was a letter addressed to their son and a key to the trunk in front of him. He opened the trunk and saw even more evidence that this trunk was from Lily.

Laid on top was a short note, Sherlock- here are some things for our son and a few books for you. Thank you for this Sherlock. Underneath the note was a stack of books that looked well worn and had several notes on the side columns. They were child care books with what looked specific instructions inside aimed at him from Lily and refused to acknowledge the wave of relief he felt upon seeing them. Sherlock knew he was a brilliant man but he had his reservations about how well he would be able to raise a child. Now that he had reference material he felt a little more secure in the thought of handling the little creature.

~Petunia~

She was glad to finally be rid of the boy when the day came, because being around him was disconcerting. Petunia approached the door with sure steps and not a thought of handing the boy over to a virtual stranger. She knocked at his door and waited. When he opened the door he looked like death warmed over and he threw the money at her like she was some cheap whore before he took the boy awkwardly into his arms. For a moment they stared at one another and in that moment looking at the ragged rude man Petunia had her first moment of hesitation.

Some part of Petunia Dursley that was buried under bitterness and wounded pride was a sister who had loved her sibling very much. Before magic had come into the picture, before she had let her bitterness warp into dislike and fester into hate. Before all that had happened Petunia had loved her sister dearly and had wanted to protect her as any older sibling did. In that rough man's arms was the last living piece of her sister in the entire world and so Petunia hesitated.

Petunia wasn't sure how she was supposed to proceed, for as much as that all but forgotten part of her railed against leaving the boy long years of bitterness kept her from wanting to take the boy into her own care. So there she stood, staring into the eyes of a stranger wondering what in the world had happened to her to make her feel this need to protect this boy. There was nothing she could do for this boy, and that was what settled the matter for her in her mind.

"I'm going to disappear, I would appreciate it if any contact between the two of us remained non-existent," Petunia said coolly. The man blinked at her and then said, "How droll," closing the door in her face. Petunia took that as a yes and nodded to the closed door. However, she paused as she moved to walk away from this forever…from the last of her sister forever and reached daintily into her purse with shaking hands. Petunia opened a hidden pocket inside her purse that was tucked out of sight from any who would look for it. She picked up an old worn picture with an unsteady hand and stared at it one last time.

It was of two girls, they smiled up at the camera wrapped up in a tight hug and Petunia felt an overwhelming wave of sadness looking at them. The small red head smiled gap toothed and for a moment Petunia wondered how different it might have been had they had more time. Then she knelt and slid the picture under the door. Petunia stood up, straightened her clothes and hardened her heart walking away without one glance back. Sometimes, it was too late to apologize and all there was left to do is walk away from it leaving the past where it belonged…in the past.

~Sherlock~

Sherlock sat on the couch with his son in his lap and stared at him as the boy stared right back. There was a rustle by the door as something slid under the door, a picture no doubt, and he ignored it in favor of continuing his staring contest. "You are perhaps the oddest baby, according to my books you should have started crying by now," Sherlock started conversationally. Hamlet stared at him and tilted his head a bit to the side.

"That reminds me, your new names are Hamlet Amadeus Ramsey Roderick Ylli Sherrinford Holmes." Sherlock said as he flopped down to lay on the couch while maintaining eye contact. "You shall call me father." Sherlock continued as they stared at one another. Hamlet nodded his head ever so slightly and Sherlock smirked, "I knew you would be intelligent, how could you not be with me as your father?" Sherlock asked rhetorically. "The books had clear instructions, are you hungry?" Sherlock asked. Hamlet seemed to consider it before he shook his little head negatively and Sherlock nodded, "Well I shall feed you within the hour anyway, the instructions were clear, and she put the feed schedule in bold."

"Is mommy gone?" said a small voice making Sherlock blink in surprise losing their contest.

Sherlock hesitated, he wasn't the best when it came to sentiment and so he was as brutally honest as always, "I'm afraid so, no one comes back from death as far as I am aware." Hamlet's face crumpled a little and for a terrifying moment Sherlock though he might cry before his face settled back down.

"I will miss her," Hamlet said simply before settling down onto his side to look at Sherlock.

"I suppose I shall have to warn you now that I am probably not the best choice for raising a child, I am likely to make a lot of mistakes," Sherlock said as he raised a hesitant hand to settle on Hamlet's soft mop of hair. Hamlet stared at him for a moment before he sighed, "That's alright," he scooted closer to Sherlock, "You're doing well enough so far."

A.N. And so it begins! Gahhh I am so frustrated I just recently moved and have been trying to get internet up for the last three weeks! XP Hasn't happened so far b/c of some BS with the internet company but it should all be fixed sometime in june which will allow me to start updating some fics! Lol Pray to the internet gods for me! lol