Chapter 6

There was a woman standing at the door, professional, small statured but with the bearing of one determined to overcome their size with the fierceness of a bulldog. She was holding a couple of folders and was poised to knock when Sherlock strode up the street and to the door.

"Ah," she managed to say as he unlocked the door, "Do you live here?" It wasn't really a question; the woman was not that stupid, or perhaps simply not imaginative enough, to think that a man opening a door with a key didn't live there. Sherlock didn't answer and in any case she didn't seem to expect him to because she was already speaking, "My name is Amalthea Forest and I'm here to see…"

And that was all she got out before Sherlock had opened the door, stepped inside, and then shut it behind himself again with her firmly on the other side. The lock clicked.

Sherlock, not caring in the least that he was being what most people would consider extremely rude, or perhaps truly not realizing it as he was caught up in his own discoveries, bounded up the stairs and threw open the door to the flat.

"John!" he shouted, his eyes alight with excitement, "John, come and see!" And he swung a peculiar bag from its place thrown over his shoulder onto the kitchen table. It was a cloth bag, of a material that was both heavier and less resilient than modern bags usually go for, and it fastened with ties and buttons without a single zipper to be seen. It didn't look at all the sort of bag Sherlock would seek out for himself and definitely wasn't one he would normally find excitement in sharing.

"John!" he called again when no evidence of his flat mate and sort of husband appeared. Before he could shout again a person did respond at last by running into the room and colliding with his knees.

"Ah, Sherrinford," Sherlock proclaimed with a delighted grin.

"Yip yip!" Harry answered, holding his hands in the manner of a dog sitting up on its hind legs and sticking out his tongue while panting. Sherlock obligingly patted him on the head. Then he continued to completely ignore John's list of rules by lifting the boy up and setting him down on the edge of the table next to the bag.

"Now Sherry, where do you think I've been?"

"Yip!"

"Yes…in English, Sherry, I don't speak dog."

"Yip yip!"

"He's been doing that all day," John remarked, coming into the kitchen. He wasn't alone.

"Hello, Sherlock," DI Lestrade said, briefly attracting Sherlock's attention as he pushed aside a pile of books with an assortment of titles from a copy of Moby Dick to books on PTSD. Those that threatened to fall on the floor Sherlock scooped up and transferred to a nearby counter, sweeping aside take out boxes into the sink to make room.

"Detective Inspector," Sherlock said as he moved things around, "What brings you here? Any new murders?"

"Just a social visit," Lestrade answered, "I was just talking to John about bringing over my niece…"

"Why?"

"She's about Harry's age."

"Right. Social interaction, important for childhood development…" Sherlock mumbled, making a note in his head before dismissing it altogether in favor of what he had come to share. He was nearly hopping with excitement, clapping his hands together as he said, "John, we must prepare an outing with young Sherrinford, this place is simply fantastic…which is to say completely backwards, superstitious, and suspicious, but still fantastic!"

"Sorry," John said, with a slight twitch in his eyes as he looked towards Lestrade and back again, "But are you talking about…you know…"

"Glutinic Society, of course, yes…what? You seem to have developed a twitch, John, are you alright?"

"It's just, I'm not sure Greg…"

"Who?" Everyone stared at Sherlock. Harry yipped.

"My first name," Lestrade managed to say, his tone exhibiting complete disbelief.

"Oh, right, yes…carry on, what is it you wanted to say, John?" And Sherlock began to pull some books from the bag.

"Ah, Sherlock!" John exclaimed; the books themselves seemed innocuous but the titles were rather occult in nature and who knew what else had been put in the bag? "Don't you think this can wait?"

"Why?" Sherlock stared, studying the eye twitch in confusion, until it suddenly clicked. "Oh, don't tell me, you want to keep their secret," he said, his tone implying how ridiculous he thought that, "I see no reason why we should succumb to their cultish secretive hysteria surrounding a perfectly natural scientific phenomenon just because 'Greg' is not genetically gifted."

"It's not a matter of succumbing, Sherlock, it's a matter of being thought utter nutters."

"Excuse me, but what exactly is this about?" Lestrade picked up the topmost book which was titled The Squib Effect, a Study in Blood Dilution and the Decline in Wizardry. Below that was Appellation Vibrations, the power in names or Why I Was Destined to Write This Book by Schuyler D. Moniker. Not that Lestrade was looking too closely at the titles. He had been a bit distracted by the picture on the first.

"What is this, holograms?" he asked, studying it. The picture was simple enough, just a droplet of blood falling. Except most pictures of that sort only showed a single moment of the fall rather than the entire sequence.

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what it is," Sherlock answered, "Very good." His tone was that he reserved for imbeciles when they came to exactly the wrong conclusion. Lestrade had known Sherlock long enough to not bother with being offended.

"Seriously, that's a bit…" he said, frowning. Whatever he thought it was never said as that was right when Mrs. Hudson came in.

"Sherlock, there's a woman come to see you," she said, "She said she tried to talk to you before and you swept past her."

"What? Oh yes, professional type, thought she might be another Mary, but she called herself something different." People were staring at him again. Except for Harry, who was interestedly examining a book with people zooming over the cover on broomsticks.

"You're sure she isn't another Mary?" John asked, hesitant between berating yet another example of Sherlock's complete lack of social skills and congratulating him on stalling the woman if it did turn out to be yet another nanny applicant sent by Mycroft. That man was turning out to be as bad as Sherlock when it came to determining suitability in people meant to help rear children. Most of them had been about as maternal as the marines. And they all said their name was Mary.

"A what?" Lestrade asked, though his attention was still arrested upon the book in his hands. Mrs. Hudson was still waiting, frowning with disapproval.

"Really, Sherlock, it isn't nice to leave people on the doorstep," She scolded.

"Where exactly is she now?" John thought to ask.

"Waiting at the bottom of the stairs; I told her I'd fetch you."

"Alright, we better bring her up and see what she wants," John decided, "Er…do you mind…"

"I'll just go and make some tea," Mrs. Hudson said agreeably, "Just this once. I'm not your…"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said swiftly. His enthusiasm in his find was beginning to dim in light of all these interruptions.

"Yes, right," John said, and he began to swiftly sweep the books back into the bag, grabbing them out of the hands of Lestrade and Harry. Harry frowned when it was taken but didn't protest in the way most children his age might.

"Perhaps I should go…" Lestrade said, in a manner that suggested he'd rather not but thought it polite to suggest it.

"Alright," Sherlock said but at the same moment John's voice overrode his with, "Perhaps you could take Harry to his room?"

Harry did not look happy with this arrangement but he had yet to actually protest when giving a command. John was both dreading and hoping for the first incident when he did, but it didn't look like it would be today.

The woman was shown up the stairs just as Lestrade and Harry disappeared into Harry's room. John and Sherlock barely noticed as they were having a silent but heated battle when Sherlock still wanted to pull out his new finds and John was equally determined that they stay hidden.

"Excuse me," the woman announced herself, "My name is Amalthea Forest and I'm here to see Sherlock Holmes and John Watson concerning their new ward, Harry Potter."

Both men froze. There was another moment in which John attempted to instruct Sherlock to behave with his eyes alone, and then they both finally turned to acknowledge the woman's existence.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Forest, I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my husband John Watson. Social Services, I presume? Please, allow me to take your coat."

John let out a slow breath as Sherlock did indeed take the woman's coat to drape it over a nearby chair. So Sherlock was going to go along with him and play at being charming.

"I'm from both the Muggle organization and the Magical Social Services, a sub-branch to Muggle Relations and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," the woman confirmed, "We like to check on intermixed families and I'm sure you're aware of the circumstances surrounding Harry."

"Yes, yes, of course," John answered, "You have, erm, questions?"

"I need to assess his living environment, yes, and I would like to question each member of the household individually. Where is Harry at the moment?"

"In his room, with a friend of ours," John answered. His own eyes followed hers about the room and he cringed at the mess. Take out containers and assorted books and journals littered the room as well as a virtual storm of newspaper clippings. She wandered into the kitchen and her eyes fell upon the large poster hung on the wall titled 'Things Not Allowed with Four Year Olds'.

"What's this?" she asked, her eyes reading down the list, "1. Four year olds are not to have access to chemicals, body parts, glass, or flames." Added on afterwards as an aside were the words 'No, not even if you are present and it is a good learning experience.'

"John made it for me," Sherlock answered candidly and somewhat proudly before John could come up with anything, "He's a doctor. He knows about these things."

"Hmm," she said, marking something on a paper as she read over the rest of the rules. John, in the mean time, tried to nudge the room into some kind of order while she wasn't looking. Then Mrs. Hudson appeared with the tea.

"Mrs. Hudson, this is Amalthea Forest. With social services," John told her, after thanking her for the tea. Mrs. Hudson got the hint at once.

"Oh…oh! I should tell you, you wouldn't find a nicer couple to take in young Harry," Mrs. Hudson said, and then, "Perhaps I should bring up the good biscuits." And she darted off again. Miss Forest was mostly ignoring the tea in favor of looking through the titles of books and journals strewn about.

"I take it you are not taking Mr. Potter's former circumstances lightly," she remarked, her tone neutral as she held up a copy of Dealing with Childhood Trauma and PTSD.

"No, of course not," John answered, "We take him to his therapist every Tuesday and Thursday."

"Hmm, I will want to talk to him, of course. Is he of the magical world?"

"He came highly recommended," John answered, which of course wasn't an answer at all. She made another hmming noise and marked something down. She went on to look in the bedrooms. The room Sherlock and John were sleeping in was surprisingly neat and clean compared to the rest of the flat. The clothes were put away or in the hamper, the bed was made, and no newspaper clipping or case notes had been allowed to intrude.

"Yes, this is our room. That we share. Because we're married," Sherlock announced. He put his arm around John's shoulder. Which was, oddly enough, perfectly true, even if it did imply certain intimacies that they most assuredly did not share. John couldn't help but think that if it had been a complete lie, Sherlock would have been much better at making it sound true. As it was, he managed to smile blandly when she stared at the two of them and didn't shake off the arm. She made another note.

"And this must be Mr. Potter's room?" she asked, after a brief look in at the toilet.

"Yes, I…I'll let them know you're here," John answered, and he went in. Harry was coloring again and Lestrade was sitting on the floor with him, talking softly. Harry looked up when the door opened.

"Uncle John!" he exclaimed, just as excited as though he hadn't seen him in ages, and he jumped up to throw his arms around his legs. John smiled and kneeled awkwardly to talk to him.

"Harry, a woman has come to see you. She wants to make sure you are happy here." Harry looked uncertain about this and didn't answer. "Can you come say hello?" Harry considered. "Please? I really want you to talk to her." Slowly, Harry nodded. John smiled at him and Harry slowly, carefully smiled back. He stood and nodded towards the woman that she could enter.

"So, this is Harry's bedroom," Sherlock remarked. It was slightly less sparse as a children's room than it had been when Harry had first arrived. He had a child's bed now, and two shelves filled with children's books and toys. The wallpaper was still a bit dull, in John's opinion, the monotony only broken by yet another list posted to the wall. It was more colorful than Sherlock's list of rules, including pictures which had different numbers of stickers next to them. Amalthea Forest looked around briefly but made no notes, choosing instead to acknowledge the people in the room.

"Hello, my name is Amalthea Forest," she annunciated carefully, as though she were afraid Harry might have difficulty with the English language, "What's your name?" Harry looked towards John and Sherlock before answering.

"Sherry." John had to work very hard not to react negatively. Sherlock looked pleased. Miss Forest looked taken aback.

"Did you say Sherry?"

"It's short for Sherrinford. I'm a puppy."

"Oh, I see," she said, smiling kindly at him. It looked far more genuine than any reaction she had given John or Sherlock, and John began to slightly revise his first impression of her.

"And I'm DI Lestrade," Lestrade said suddenly, "We're pleased to meet you, aren't we, Harry?"

"Pleased to meet you," Harry repeated obediently, and then he apparently lost interest in all of them because he went back to his drawing. Amalthea Forest didn't look put out from this; she took the opportunity to inspect the room more closely and take notes.

"What's this?" she asked when she reached the 'Harry's Rules' list posted to the wall.

"A list of rules for Harry," Sherlock answered, staring at her as though she were a moron. Suddenly Harry wandered over again when he saw what they were looking at.

"I get stars if I'm good," he announced, "And then I get a treat. See, I have 1, 2, 3, 4…" and he counted out the stars in each row. John slowly relaxed slightly as it seemed he wouldn't have to explain it after all. Perhaps he still needed to explain to Sherlock why he shouldn't imply people were stupid to ask a question.

"Can you tell me what these pictures mean?" Amalthea asked, as there wasn't a written explanation with the rules.

"This means I pick up my toys," he announced, pointing to the first picture, "This means I not clean other rooms, this mean I eat all my food and say when I'm hungry, this mean I sleep in bed, not closet, and this mean I talk to people and play and not hide."

"I see," she answered, though from her expression she obviously didn't, "And what happens if you're bad. Do you take away a star?" Harry frowned, then suddenly ran away again to hide behind Sherlock's legs.

"Not bad," he said in a small voice, clinging tightly. Sherlock frowned at the woman. John and Lestrade both moved to intervene quickly before he could react.

"She means naughty," Lestrade said at the same time John said, "We say naughty, and he keeps his stars. There's no punishment if he doesn't meet one of the goals. If he doesn't do what he's told, he gets a warning and then a time out."

Then there was an awkward moment of silence. Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to arrive with the biscuits.

By the time Amalthea Forest finally left, John felt a nervous wreck. She had spoken to all of them individually, except for Harry because Sherlock put his foot down and said he was not going to allow a stranger be alone with him, even a stranger claiming to be part of social services. They finally settled on a compromise of having Lestrade present for the interview.

"I can't believe you told her you put blankets in the closet so Harry would be more comfortable when he slept there," John groaned after she had left.

"I did put them in there so he would be more comfortable."

"But the point is, we aren't making him sleep in the closet. You did say that, at least?"

"I thought it was obvious. We give him stars when he sleeps in the bed."

"Did she ask either of you some…odd questions?" Lestrade asked, sipping his own cup of tea that Mrs. Hudson had kindly laced with something a bit stronger for him. John and Sherlock looked at each other.

"Odd how?" John asked.

"It's just…she was asking something about magic…well, I suppose it was some effort to relate to children."

"Right," John agreed.

"Obviously," Sherlock said, and then ruined any relief John might have felt by continuing with, "I suppose she thought him too infantile to understand the proper scientific terms. She even insisted upon asking me how I felt looking after a 'magical' child who had abilities we did not."

"Right. Er…what exactly did you answer?" John asked.

"That I am surpassed in skill in many areas. You, for instance, are a much better shot…"

"Oh, God, tell me you didn't tell her that!"

"…that both you and Greg are more skilled in social interactions, John, do stop making that face, it's distracting, and that I'm quite pleased to know someone who is glutinium sensitive as well as those who are not, including myself, because it allows for more variables and impartial viewpoints in my experiments…what is it?"

"Glutinium sensitive? What are you talking about? What…are you texting someone?"

"Mycroft. If you are going to insist upon these visits, I refuse to censor myself. He should be sending someone shortly to enlighten you…better do Mrs. Hudson as well."

They had to wait an entire week before Mycroft thought to inform them that social services was definitely not going to come and take his nephew away. And that he was pleased they had managed her well enough that he didn't actually need to interfere.

Lestrade looked a bit dazed for a while afterwards. Mrs. Hudson was only disappointed when she was told she could not tell anyone about it.