Chapter 5

"When you said we should take Harry on a walk, this isn't quite what I thought you meant."

"Should I have taken him to the park, then?" Sherlock demanded, his voice filled with scorn at the very idea.

"Dr. Sundberg thinks it's good for him," John reminded him, though there was no real annoyance behind his words. More like bemusement. In fact, he was happy that Sherlock had taken any interest in fresh air at all, though this wasn't the way he would have gone about it.

"Well, if Dr. Sundberg says," Sherlock answers, his voice laced with sarcasm. Harry giggled from his position on Sherlock's shoulders where Sherlock had put him after it became apparent the young child would never keep up with Sherlock's long legs. "Now, Sherry…"

"Rule five," John interrupted, and Sherlock frowned at him.

"Fine, now, Harry, where are we?"

"Oxford Street!" the child exclaimed enthusiastically, his small hands drumming against the top of Sherlock's head.

"And where is home?"

"Baker Street!"

"Very good. Where on Baker Street?"

"221B," Harry announced with authority and beamed when Sherlock told him he got it right.

"And what street goes in-between Oxford Street and Baker Street?" Here, Harry paused, but only for a moment.

"Lots trees?"

"Very good, it does mean a lot of trees in a garden. Do you remember the word?"

"Old churn?" He was pulling lightly at Sherlock's hair now, a bit distressed as though he knew he was wrong.

"Very close, it's 'orchard'. Orchard Street. What else is in-between?"

"Square," Harry said, more confident now, though his fingers were still entangled in Sherlock's hair in a manner John was almost certain had to be hurting. If it did, Sherlock gave no sign and he didn't make the child let go. John had been poised, several times, to put an end to the quizzing, afraid that Sherlock would take it too far, but so far Harry still seemed to be enjoying it. Besides, John agreed with the concept that Harry learn his way around the neighborhood, if not to the near psychotic extent Sherlock tended to take it.

"Good, and what's the square's name?"

"Um…uh…P..poor...poor…Play-man?"

"Very close. John?"

"What? Oh, uh…Portman Square."

"Very good, John."

John managed to swallow his reply when Harry laughed again.

"Now, pay attention, young Sh…"

"Rule five."

"…Harry. Before us are three streets. To the left, we have Tottenham Court Road, ahead, Oxford Street becomes…guess?"

"Oxford Street?" Harry asked. Sherlock had asked him this question at every crossing and 'Still Oxford Street' had been the correct answer every time. Not this time, though.

"Not quite…it's New Oxford Street! And to the right, we have Charing Cross Road. Shall we cross here, John?"

"I think we have done quite a lot of walking already," John suggested pointedly. It had been over half an hour to get there, after all. Sherlock, of course, willfully missed the point entirely.

"Let's try Charing Cross Road next. What road is this, Sh-Harry?"

"Char-across Road?"

"Almost," Sherlock answered, and continued the lesson as he led the way across the street. With a sigh, John gave in and followed. The walk itself was certainly not unpleasant, even if it didn't include the playground or one of the nearby parks that John had first suggested. Though John did have a passing thought that it would be nice if he could be hoisted onto Sherlock's shoulders as well; keeping up with the man's long legs was nearly as troublesome for John as it was for Harry.

When Harry had first arrived, John never would have guessed that, if the three of them went out together, it would be Sherlock who carried most of the conversation with the boy, never mind carrying the boy himself. Not only that, but Sherlock had yet to call the boy stupid when he forgot something or failed to observe whatever Sherlock's sharp eyes had picked up. John had mentioned this once, to Sherlock, to which Sherlock had replied, "Don't be ridiculous, John. I don't need his therapist to tell me calling him 'stupid' would be detrimental to his development. Besides, at least he tries, which is more than can be said for most of the imbeciles I have to put up with."

At that moment, his conversation mostly consisted of leading Harry to decide that a building that had a lot of books in it and a cash register was probably a bookstore. John smiled back when Harry beamed down at him when he got it right, and wondered how long Sherlock would be able to resist the 'no taking Harry on cases' rule.

"Are you hungry, Harry?" John said then, before Sherlock could come up with another quiz. Harry fidgeted at the question anxiously, obviously as disturbed at answering it as he had been when he couldn't remember the answer to one of Sherlock's questions.

"Don't know?" he said at last, peering down at John to try and see what the right answer was. John managed a small smile.

"Hmm, well, how about you, Sherlock, are you hungry?" Sherlock stared at him quizzically, and for a moment John was afraid this was one of those times Sherlock wasn't going to understand him.

"Yes," Sherlock said in the end, "I am rather hungry." And John breathed a silent sigh of relief. Looking more pleased with himself, Sherlock asked, "What about you, John, are you hungry?"

"Yes I am, thanks for asking. Do you know if you're hungry now, Harry?"

"…yes?"

"Well then," John declared, "I think we should look for someplace to eat. What do you want to eat, Harry?"

"…"

"Do you want to eat…a book?" Harry's smile slowly returned as he recognized that Uncle John was being silly, and he shook his head violently.

"No? Then, do you want to eat…a bus?"

"No!" More giggling and head shaking. Sherlock's expression warred between being amused and being utterly disdainful of the two of them.

"Well then, do you want to eat…" John cast his eyes about for something equally silly.

"Here." Sherlock stopped suddenly, staring hard at a decrepit building placed between a bookshop and a shop advertising CDs, records, and books. John stared in confusion.

"A pub? This place doesn't look that…clean," John answered, frowning.

"John," Sherlock hissed, "Look, really look. There's something very strange here."

"And you want to take Harry to see it?" Nonetheless, John tried to see what Sherlock was talking about. Besides the odd name, and John had certainly seen stranger when it came to pubs, there was nothing in particular that stood out about it.

"Oh, not dangerous-strange. Besides, I suspect this is just exactly the sort of place to take Harry."

"An old, leaky pub is the sort of place to take Harry?"

"Look! John, just look, can't you see it?" John continued to stare at him incomprehensively while Harry's fist tightened around Sherlock's hair again in distress that Sherlock sounded a bit angry. When John obviously couldn't see what Sherlock did, Sherlock made a noise of frustration and attempted to explain, almost too fast for John to follow. "Look, people are walking right past us, they go in that shop, or that one, they look at those shops. No one is looking here."

"So, it's an ugly old building," John pointed out, and then, "Sherlock, I think you're scaring…"

"They don't look because they can't look. I used to be like them, even me, don't you see? I have walked every street, memorized every road, byway, alleyway, shortcuts and long ways around, I've seen it all, and what's more, I remember it all; I could name every shop on this street, every cross street, every pub or café or restaurant, and you know what? I have never, in all my time on this road, seen that pub!"

"Never?" John asked, taking another look and trying to see the world the way Sherlock did, "It doesn't look that new."

"I didn't say it was new, I said it wasn't there. There is no building in-between those shops, just an empty alleyway, a quite short one that ended in a solid wall. Odd, now that I think; I noted the alley but never tried to walk down it. The more I try to picture it, the more the dimensions never fit, but I never noticed before. Me, I never noticed. Do you know what this means?"

"That you missed something?"

"Of course not. It means that these talismans work perfectly! It means this pub was hidden using glutinium, it means, John, Harry, that this pub's clientele consists of glutinic sensitives. In short, there is magic afoot!"

And that said, Sherlock marched up to the door and entered the Leaky Cauldron, Harry still clutching tightly to his hair. John was forced to follow, swearing softly under his breath and knowing he would need to have words with Sherlock later, to yet again explain why going into a mysterious pub that they knew nothing about with Harry in tow was not done.

Inside the place felt just as grubby as John had feared, but not nearly as unpleasant as the outside conveyed. It was old but mostly clean, and Harry was certainly not the only child present in the room. Whether the people were really magical, well, John still had a hard time convincing himself that magic was real, even after the demonstration Mycroft had arranged. He was still half convinced that it was a joke the Holmes brothers were playing on him.

While John was still assessing the pub's suitability for their lunch, Sherlock had already taken over a table and was in the process of disentangling Harry from his hair as he attempted to set him down. He did finally manage it with only a few winces of pain, and Harry immediately crawled into his lap. Sherlock frowned as John sat across from them, grateful at least for the chance to sit down.

"The boy seems to be upset," Sherlock announced, looking at John expectantly to explain the mysteries of childhood.

"He thinks you're angry," John answered, "I did try to say you were scaring him. He doesn't understand the difference between shouting because you are excited or frustrated, and shouting because you are angry." His tone wasn't accusatory and Sherlock accepted the explanation, storing the information for the future.

"Ah. Young Sherrinford…"

"Harry."

"Yes, that…I am not angry at you or Uncle John. Sometimes I see more than other people, and I get…unhappy when no one else can see it, too. Do you understand?"

"Yes?" Harry answered in a small voice, attempting to twist his head up enough to see Sherlock's expression while he fussed nervously with Sherlock's scarf.

"There, you see, John? He understands." John sighed, but didn't bother to contradict him. Harry wasn't crying and he was managing verbal answers, so John supposed the boy was alright in any case.

They did end up eating in the pub, even Sherlock, much to John's delight. Sherlock had been making more of an effort when it had been pointed out to him, from multiple people, that his eating habits were a bad influence on Harry, who they had a hard enough time as it was convincing him it was alright to admit he was hungry. The food was slightly better than what John had feared, and the drinks the bartender had suggested, upon learning that the three of them were new to the 'wizarding world', were quite good, though they only let Harry have a couple sips of the butterbeer since he was a bit young for it. Sherlock didn't seem to care for the warmed beverage or for the cold pumpkin juice Harry had been given, and seemed somewhat less pleased with his tea.

"John," Sherlock said, halfway through their meal during which Harry had somehow migrated to John's lap rather than Sherlock's, "What have you observed?"

"The chips are a bit salty?" he asked and Sherlock gave him an exasperated look.

"About the room, John. The people. What have you observed?"

"Alright," John answered, feeling more agreeable after eating and getting to rest his legs a bit, "There are two other families present and three people sitting alone. The families tell me this is safe, friendly environment despite the state of the building, but the people sitting alone tell me it is also a place that attracts an unsociable crowd, regulars likely. The families consist of a grandmother and a boy around Harry's age, and a mother and father with their two school aged children. Of the three loners, two appear to be drinking, and the third has a tea."

"Coffee, actually, but not too bad. Harry, what do you see?" Harry fidgeted nervously, his eyes looking around the room. He locked eyes, briefly, with the other little boy but both looked away shyly.

"They dress funny," he said at last, "And they have funny drinks."

"Perfectly said," Sherlock answered, delighted, "John notices everything but what he doesn't want to see, and you see exactly what is most important; that this is, indeed, not a typical English pub."

"Because it's magical?" John asked, trying hard to keep back the skepticism. He looked again. The people were, in fact, dressed a bit funny. Not all of them; the closest family in fact was dressed in perfectly normal clothes, and what he could see of the grandmother and her grandson did not look that odd. But the other three patrons were obviously wearing robes.

"And have you observed the coming and going?" Sherlock asked.

"No. Because we came to eat."

"Don't you see? I think this place is a gateway to a glutinic location which has been hidden by their society. I believe, in fact, that it is through there." His eyes gleamed with excitement and the desire to explore. When John failed to react, Sherlock turned his attention towards Harry.

"Come now, Sherry…"

"Rule…"

"Fine, fine, Harry!" Sherlock exclaimed with annoyance, "Now, don't you want to…"

"Harry? Like Harry Potter?" One of the individuals sitting at a nearby table was craning their head for a closer look at the child. There was a sudden, intense silence throughout the room and all eyes were turned to look at them.

Some weren't just looking. They were standing, edging closer for a better look. Harry hid his face in John's jumper.

"Is it Harry Potter?" the little girl of the nearby family whispered through the silence to her mum, "Does he have the scar?"

"Tell me, sir, is it Harry Potter?" an old woman asked, crowding far too close in an attempt to see the boy's face, "I would like to shake his hand!"

"It's not, I'm afraid," John answered tensely, his instincts screaming for him to fight back, despite there being no real conflict present.

"He's my son, Harry Sherrinford Holmes," Sherlock announced, his voice cold as he glared at the person who dared enter their space, "And you're scaring him. Leave."

"Please," John added, though he actually appreciated Sherlock's lack of social graces in this instance. The woman didn't seem to be convinced but she did back off under the power of their combined glares. She didn't go far though.

"Are you sure? Just let us see his forehead…"

"Enough, Gladys," the bartender barked, suddenly appearing behind her, "This family doesn't need you antagonizing them and scaring the boy." Reluctantly, Gladys slowly slunk back to her seat. The bartender continued to glare at everyone until they turned away and the low hum of talk slowly resumed. He turned back to them. "Sorry about that. Will you have another drink, perhaps more juice for the boy? On the house."

"No thank you," John said firmly, "We really must be leaving."

"Alright then, I hope you return soon," the bartender answered, and then leaning in close in conspiratorial manner, he said, "If I might make a suggestion, perhaps you could invest in a hat? Very helpful things, hats, for keeping warm…for concealment…very helpful things."

"Er, yes. Thank you," John answered, "Perhaps we shall." The bartender gave them a nod and sent Harry one last friendly smile before he left again. Harry missed all of this as his face was still buried in John's jumper.

"Come, John," Sherlock said, casting his voice much lower than he had before, "We should seek out the door in the back to…"

"No. We shouldn't." Sherlock frowned. "Look at H…Sherry, Sherlock. He's tired, he's scared…his head is cold. It's time to go home."

"But, John, we need to explore…"

"How long has this magical world existed?"

"What? Centuries, I suppose. For millennia. Perhaps from the dawn of mankind, weren't you listening when it was explained?"

"So it's unlikely to be gone by tomorrow, then?" Sherlock's answer to that was to pout. "Look at him, Sherlock, really look. Use that intellect of yours. And then tell me you really think dragging H-Sherry to explore this 'magical gateway' right now is a good idea. Do you even know it's safe?"

"There are other children…"

"100 percent. Do you know it's safe?" Sherlock was silent. "We are going home." And John gathered Harry into his arms where Harry clung back with all his might. He walked out of the pub. Around them, the world went on. People walked by, their eyes sliding away from John, Harry, and the pub behind them as they went intently on their way or strolled leisurely by. He waited, counting in his head, hoping. He got to twelve before the door opened behind them.

"Perhaps some dark glasses should be used in this disguise as well."

"Well, you are the master at disguises, Sherlock." Sherlock mused out loud over wigs and make up as they started back towards Oxford Street.

By the time they reached their flat, Harry was smiling again as he quite proudly listed every road, street, and square they had walked. Sherlock gave him a biscuit and patted him on the head. John gave Sherlock a biscuit as well.