Chapter 2

Mycroft Holmes could generally be displaced from his morning routine for only two reasons. The first was for his government, and even then it had to be a truly epic disaster that required a very personal touch. The second was his baby brother. Half-brother as it had turned out, though Mycroft had long suspected that, and their father had certainly been suspicious, behaving much colder to the younger Holmes than he had ever been with Mycroft. And of course his baby brother would turn out to be the cousin of one of the most famous inhabitants of the magical world.

Mycroft hated dealing with the magical world. To be fair, the magical world hated dealing with Mycroft. For one thing, he was protected. And because he was, it fell to him to sort out many annoyances which arose when a group of British citizens decided to hang onto a medieval outlook and, cult-like, attempt to separate themselves, their prejudices, and their problems from the rest of the country. In short, they behaved as though the majority of the rest of the world didn't exist and then were surprised when they created madmen who wanted to make it into a fact.

Mycroft had thought he was done with the drama of their latest insane creation three years ago when he was informed that Flight of Death, or whatever the megalomaniac deigned to call himself, had in fact succumbed to death. And then Albus Dumbledore, another of the magical world's madmen, but at least a madman who had never tried to test Mycroft's protection, had come to him with the child savior and informed him that it has come to his attention that the infant was kind of a relative…in a sideways sort of way if one took it that one's brother's cousin must also be one's own.

Mycroft had commiserated that the boy's aunt and uncle had turned out rather unsuitable, but pointed out that his brother was not the best candidate for a replacement. The old man explained, in detail, about blood wards and how Harry's mum saved him and could keep on saving him, and then asked quite pointedly if Sherlock would hate the child or purposefully abuse him. And Mycroft had to admit that, despite his brother's claim to being a sociopath, he had never known Sherlock to go out of his way to hurt anyone or anything. He was even known to be kind to animals when he thought no one was around to see.

So Harry Potter was brought to meet his cousin for the first time and Mycroft set about behind the scenes to make sure that both his brother and his new little dark lord target would be safe, blood wards or no blood wards. He knew the boy had been delivered when he received a somewhat frantic text from Sherlock, but he was far too busy to do anything about it. Sherlock had John to help, after all.

It had taken some finagling, and it involved breaking his morning routine, but as this involved both the government and his baby brother it was justified. The longer he left it off, the longer his brother was left with just some old man's assurance of magic and blood wards for protection.

He arrived at Baker Street quite early and rather hoped, but doubted, that there might be something reasonable for breakfast. At the very least, since John was sure to be there, there ought to be some serviceable tea.

Sherlock opened the door almost before he rang, something slightly desperate in his expression though most would probably read it as merely interested.

"Mycroft…" Sherlock began, his tone implying a greeting, but he was interrupted by a half panicked cry of, "Sherlock!" from above. Mycroft raised an eyebrow at his brother. Surely he hadn't already managed to kill the child? His concern was put to rest however, when John appeared at the top of the stairs. He held a pan of what smelled like bacon in one hand and with his other arm he held the boy, who in turn was holding a spatula in one hand and had an oven mitt on the other. The boy looked rather surprised.

"Sherlock, why was Harry cooking breakfast?" John demanded.

"He offered," Sherlock answered, his tone perfectly reasonable. Mycroft began to reassess Sherlock's ability to watch a child. Perhaps he should have told the old man that Harry would have a better chance being raised by another dark madman.

"He was standing on three stacked books on top of a chair just to reach the grill!" John exclaimed. Sherlock continued to look confused. John closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. Finally, in a stern voice, he said, "Four year olds are not allowed near the grill."

"Aren't they?" Sherlock asked, and he looked at Harry, "Are you not allowed to cook? You said you could." Harry looked like he was about to cry. With a sigh, John gave up on Sherlock for the moment and finally acknowledged Mycroft instead.

"I suppose you know what is going on, here?" he asked, "Well, come on up. We're having bacon, apparently." And he marched back into the upstairs room, frying pan and child in tow.

Breakfast turned out to be rather good in the end, if a bit tense. The bacon had not been ruined, despite its rather abrupt removal and then return to the fire, and there was toast with jam and tea as well. It was set out in the living room because the table was covered in chemicals and papers.

"Alright, brother mine," Sherlock said from his position half lounging in his chair, "What have you come to tell us about my young cousin?"

"Really, Sherlock, I don't think this is the conversation to have in front of the child." And he looked hopefully at John to take him away. John stared obstinately back and made no move to rise.

"I would like to know who thought Sherlock capable of watching a small child, yes," he said. Giving up on the doctor for the moment, Mycroft swiftly thought of a suitable alternative.

"You have an elderly landlady, do you not?"

"Away," John answered briefly. With a sigh, Mycroft pulled out his phone and sent a message. Within a minute, a young woman walked into the room.

"This is my brother's cousin, Harry Potter. Take him...take him shopping, I suppose. Away from here." She smiled blandly at him with a look that promised retribution and offered the child her hand.

"Go on, Harry," John encouraged him and Harry allowed himself to be led away. The three men sat in silence, one contemplating how to start, one contemplating whether ignoring the situation would improve it, and one still wondering if he might be dreaming the entire affair. Mycroft decided to start with the basics.

"What is your opinion on the subject of magic?" He received two blank stares in reply.

"What…like stage magic?" John asked, sounding slightly hopeful that that was exactly what Mycroft meant, rather than, perhaps, that Sherlock's brother was insane.

"Do you mean glutinium?" Sherlock asked, looking rather bored though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his interest, "Because calling it magic simply for its psionic properties is rather unscientific, don't you think?"

"The practitioners call it magic," Mycroft pointed out, frowning with what was most certainly not disappointment that his brother had, in fact, already somehow learned something of the magical world.

"The practitioners also insist upon using quills rather than ballpoints, let alone type," Sherlock pointed out in a bored tone, "What is the point to this? I suppose young Harry is one of those who are glutinium sensitive?"

"Sorry…glutinium? Magic? What exactly are we talking about here?" John demanded, and Mycroft felt what he would utterly deny to be glee that at least one of the two could be introduced to the secret lying just beneath the surface of regular society.

"We are speaking of a community of people who are capable of welding what they refer to as magic and what modern science knows as glutinium energy, or at least so it is known to those scientists who have knowledge of its existence in the first place," Mycroft said, a slight smile barely gracing his face, "Have you heard of the theory that all matter within the universe is connected? And of course you know the concept of an electrical field…glutinium comes from the Latin word glutinum, meaning glue. In essence, it is the energy that binds existence together. Some humans are sensitive to the energy and so able to guide it and perform acts which appear on the surface to be impossible. What's more, it is possible to create mnemonic pathways within the energy field, so that saying the same words to the same motions will create the expected effect with very little effort or even knowledge as to what one is attempting in the first place."

John stared at him. Really, it might be much easier to convince him if Mycroft could actually perform magic himself. Sherlock appeared uninterested.

"I am curious, brother, how you came to learn of magic," Mycroft said, and as expected Sherlock perked up at the chance to reveal his own brilliance.

"The 'magic' users hardly work to keep it a secret, do they?" Sherlock asked, "If anyone ever bothered to really look and pay attention, it's obvious that seemingly illogical occurrences take place regularly. But the day I truly took note was in the chemistry lab. I saw a man with a rather…unusual mixture and explored."

"Chemistry. Of course. Well, doctor, what do you think?"

"Alright…fine, yes. Magic…exists. What does this have to do with Harry?" Mycroft peered at John. He didn't look convinced, but perhaps he was right and it was time to get to the point.

The story behind Harry Potter was rather long and complex, starting with 'yes, magic exists, no really, no, really really, it does' and then gets a bit technical but it all boils down to genetic imprints. Sherlock Holmes's DNA is just close enough to that of Lily Potter's that something rather technical is able to use it to keep them all safe. Mycroft attempts to explain. At the end, John stares at him blankly. Mycroft waits for questions on legal issues or more probing questions into Sherlock's family or even how Sherlock was traced in the first place. John continues to stare at him blankly.

"So…this magic thing is real then?"

Mycroft finds himself hard put not to react by slamming his face into the palms of his hands.

"The old man explained all that," Sherlock said, still attempting to look bored even though Mycroft was quite sure he wasn't. "So why are you here?"

"I can't have come to visit my brother and see my new…nephew?" Mycroft asked, hesitating only a moment on what to call Harry's relation to himself. Sherlock didn't take the bait but only gave him a pointed look and waited. With a sigh, Mycroft passed a folder over towards John and then reached over while they were distracted and suddenly jabbed a syringe into each of their thighs.

John yelped and dropped the folder and Sherlock gave a very undignified squawk before sending him a vicious look, as though he had just been injected with a poison.

"What was that?"

"That was what essentially amounts to a small shaving from the talisman I am about to deliver to each of you." And a small tracking device, but they didn't need to know that. "Should you somehow lose the talisman, you should still have at least some of its protection."

"And what is this talisman?" Sherlock demanded. John glared suspiciously. Mycroft sighed and adopted his storytelling pose once more.

"Sometime in the annals of history, when those with magic and those without once lived side by side without secrets, it occurred to somebody that having a government which couldn't be swayed by the whim of any madman with a stick might be a good thing. According to the story, it was King Arthur with the help of Merlin who first created the idea and then, more Merlin than Arthur, the necessary talismans which could ensure such protection. Faeries were involved in this somewhere."

Both Sherlock and John looked at him skeptically. Mycroft pulled a small box from his pocket.

"I have my doubts as to the verity of their origins, but the talismans are very real. So to continue on, as the magical world removed itself into secrecy, those to whom the talismans were bequeathed also settled into a world of secrets. So the royal family had some, but the prime minister didn't. And various non-magical subjects who are deemed at risk to magical influences are allowed one as well."

"Which includes yourself, I suppose?" Sherlock said, "And now John and I? However did you manage that?"

"You are the guardian to the boy who lived," Mycroft pointed out.

"I am," Sherlock answered, "You said you got one for John as well, a person who is neither an agent of the government nor guardian to…ah."

"Ah what?" John asked though he wasn't truly paying attention to them anymore. He had opened the folder at last, perhaps hoping to find something to explain the madness, and was glancing through a few of the official documents such as Harry's birth certificate, more official papers, guardianship papers, a civic union certificate, more guardianship…he paused and went back. He looked up with an expression that was a bit too blank.

"This says we're married."

"Yes."

"Since a month ago. It has my signature on it."

"Yes. Congratulations."

"Why did you marry us?" John asked after a moment of tense silence, his voice sounding rather as though he were speaking through clinched teeth. Sherlock, somewhat surprisingly, hadn't said anything and was merely waiting to see how things played out. Interesting.

"It was the only way to procure a talisman for both of you," Mycroft said in his most reasonable tone. John stared at him. Sherlock looked thoughtful.

"Does this mean Horton…"

"Harry,"

"…Harry belongs to both of us?"

"You are both named as guardians, yes, though your blood is the important part. I suppose I can always acquire a nanny if you don't think you are up to it?"

"I like women." Mycroft looked at John, somewhat concerned about his blank expression. Somehow, Mycroft doubted he was stating his preference of a nanny. He considered how to reply to such a statement.

"Er…yes…congratulations?"

"I can't go out on dates if I'm essentially married to my flat mate. A man."

"It would certainly set a bad example for our son, don't you think?" Sherlock agreed in a perfectly reasonable tone. John made an inarticulate noise. Mycroft began to wonder if the man was truly stable enough for the task given, but allowed that perhaps suddenly becoming a father, and married, was cause enough to need time for adjustment. He made a mental note to look into nannies quite soon.

"Here are your talismans," Mycroft said, deciding that he had already covered the important basics, "With these no magical…"

"Glutinic."

"…magical force can touch you, either to cause harm or alter your thoughts or perceptions. Do not take them off, ever. And really, Sherlock, do try to leave them unharmed. They're antiques."

"Of course, dear brother," Sherlock answered, his hands twitching with eagerness as he took what appeared to be a small rune covered stone on a short chain. Obviously he intended to start experiments on his the moment Mycroft's back was turn.

"They should be generally unnoticeable once on, and unable to be removed except by yourself or upon your death." His stern glare forbade either of those events from happening. Sherlock smiled at him and gave him his best I'm-behaving-perfectly-like-a-little-angel look as he put his around his neck. While the chain had looked almost too short to allow it, once on the chain had lengthened to the point that Sherlock could easily tuck it away beneath his shirt. Mycroft made another mental note to up the surveillance in the house, and make sure the nanny had a background in treating injuries as well as basic battle training.

"So…this is magic?" John asked, studying his talisman. Mycroft made another mental note that someone be sent around for basic magical demonstrations soon so that John could get this belief system crisis over with and properly acknowledge the dangers his brother and cousin now faced. He continued to give the doctor a pointed look until the man sighed and slipped his own talisman around his neck. Then Mycroft stood.

"Well, I trust you have your questions answered. My assistant should return your ward to you soon with the shopping." John, contrary to custom, made no move to stand or show him out. Mycroft accepted the lapse in manners and hoped that his own brother wasn't rubbing off on him; he had rather hoped it would go the other way around. Sherlock, he noted, also made no move to either thank him or see him to the door. "I'll show myself out."

"Yes, see that you do," Sherlock said, his tone distracted. He was studying his talisman again. John was looking at the folder of papers, seeming preoccupied with the civic union certificate. Mycroft wasn't sure why the doctor insisted on obsessing over it, when there were bigger issues such as John's joint custody of a child and the revelations of a magical world. Still, he had done what he had come to do; Sherlock, the boy, and his flat mate would be protected, and the government would stop pestering him over the entire affair. He let himself out the door.

He hoped his assistant would not be too long with the boy; he did need her and the newlyweds really should get to know their son.

Author's Note: Normally, I would let my text speak for itself, but I feel it important to say at this time that there will be no Sherlock/John couple in this story. If you like, you can look at it through your slash goggles and think of it as pre-slash, and if you don't like you can rejoice that this will remain gen even if they are 'married'. Mostly because I find it much more amusing for them to be thrust into this situation while not being a couple. And there's no real reason they have to be; best friends is not necessarily less of a bond than lovers, with Sherlock being just as asexual as he is generally depicted in the books, and John completely heterosexual but putting his family first. The story isn't about any kind of shipping anyway, it's about family and the unexpected trials of becoming parents/guardians to a small boy.