Chapter Text
1st of September, 200, London, England
It had been two years since the close of the second wizard war. Two years since Harry Potter had sacrificed himself for the entire world and two years since he was last seen in the wizarding world.
He has been living all over the county but stayed close to London for the most part. He had just been evicted for the fourth time. His job didn’t pay enough for London rent. But he had hope as he found an ad for an apartment on Baker Street. So now here he was standing in front of the washed-out building.
He hesitantly knocked on 221 b. He was greeted with a grumpy looking blonde.
“Um…sorry to bother you but I’m looking for Mrs. Hudson at 221 a?”
Harry asked nervously as the man looked at him.
“I’ll take you to her. I need to step out anyways, my name is John by the way” he said, holding his hand out for a handshake that Harry politely returned.
Harry had gotten the apartment easily. Now came moving in and finding a better paying job. He soon applied to be an office aide in some newspaper company. It paid £16.6 an hour. Harry now believes he found his forever home.
It was around 12 when Harry came home for lunch when he heard four loud bangs and shouting. The young war hero decided to go and check on his neighbours in 221 b. He grabbed his wand (carefully tucking it up his sleeve), climbed the stairs and silently opened the ajar door. What he saw was almost comical. There was a man with curly brown hair in a blue dressing gown holding a gun aimed at a yellow smiley face. The blonde, John, Harry recalled, was shouting at him.
“Um sorry to interrupt, but would you two mind not shooting guns in your flat?” Harry asked pointedly at the one holding the offending weapon.
The man with curly hair glared at him as he lowered the gun. He then got, what Harry presumed to be a pained and forced smile “Well you’re interesting, let’s see, you’re obviously haunted by something traumatic in your past possibly it’s connected to that scar on your forehead or the abuse and neglect you experienced as a child or the odd number of deaths you’ve seen?"
“How the hell do you know that?” Harry asked, outraged that the man read him like a book, he felt violated. The tall man simply smirked.
“Sherlock, stop antagonising the poor kid,” John snapped, already done with his annoying flatmate. Harry sent a small ‘thank you’ smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and carelessly threw the gun onto the coffee table with a loud bang. This made Harry flinch slightly, but he tried to cover it.
Sherlock just smirked “So I was right, you must have been abused.” Harry’s face went red, with what Harry couldn’t tell. But all he wanted was to strangle the tall man. John quickly stepped between the two.
“Hey kid, calm down, giving him a reaction will only feed his ego. Let’s take a walk, okay?” John whispered, guiding Harry out of the flat.
Harry’s new neighbours were…. odd, to say the least. They ran up and down the stairs at odd hours of night, and over the few months Harry has lived on Baker Street, he’s noticed people coming in and out of the flat. A queue has even formed once! Harry was determined to figure out what his neighbours were up to.
Sherlock also found Harry very odd. The boy was only nineteen but showed clear signs of PTSD and anxiety all in his eyes, he clearly tried to mask his behaviour so as to not let anyone know. Sherlock wanted to know why he had PTSD as he was too young to see any significant battlefield combat for that to be the source. So it must have come from his abusive household. The other odd thing was that whenever he went out, he wore a long coat with the collar turned up and a big, puffy scarf tied to cover more of his face. It was like he didn’t want someone to see him.
Over the past three months Harry has lived on Baker Street Mrs. Hudson has insisted on Harry coming up and eating dinner with Sherlock and John. So now it was 5:30 on a Saturday night, Harry had just gotten off work and was beat. But Mrs. Hudson caught him and dragged him up to 221 b for dinner. “Hello Harry” John mumbled as he set another plate onto the crowded coffee table. Harry waved and awkwardly sat down. He then noticed that Sherlock wasn’t there. Weird.
“Where’s Sherlock?” Was the simple question Harry asked out of pure unadulterated spite. He was also curious but more relieved he wouldn’t be subjected to more ‘deductions’ Harry simply hated them.
“Oh, he’s out on a case, should be back soon actually” The blonde simply muttered.
“A case? Is he a police officer?” Harry asked in disbelief.
“No, he’s a consulting detective. He created the job actually.” John then looked up as he heard the door open.
This set Harry on edge, and he immediately went silent ready to defend. Then Sherlock Holmes stepped in making Harry roll his eyes. He then got up and set his plate on the counter.
“Well, I should head out, goodnight Mrs. Hudson” The wizard mumbled as he walked to the door. “But Harry you barely ate your dinner.”
“I’ll be fine don’t worry; besides I have to work tomorrow and it’s getting late.” Then he heard a deep silky voice that irritated him.
“Not eating now, Hm you were also starved as a child, weren’t you?” Sherlock chuckled. The boy simply ignored him and walked to his flat.
When Harry entered, something felt off. The natural magic that inhabited his flat was disrupted. Harry immediately pulled out his wand and flicked on the lights. He was greeted with the sight of a Smokey grey owl with a letter sitting on his kitchen counter. Harry tilted his head in confusion. Who’s owl could this be? He gently grabbed the letter. The owl looked at him expectantly.
“Erm sorry I don’t have any treats for you” the owl gave an offended hoot and flew out the front door. Harry got comfy in his favourite chair to look at this mysterious letter that only had his name on the envelope. It read:
“Dear, Potter the Wizengamont has decided to host trials for all the death eaters and those who got the mark. I am scared that my mother and I may face Azkaban. I know the wizarding world hasn’t seen you since the war and you have made it a point to hide yourself from it, but please my mother is innocent. Don’t let her face the same fate as my father.
—D. M”
The letter dropped from Harry’s hands in shock. Draco Malfoy wanted him to come back into the wizarding world to defend him and his mother. Harry then looked over to where the owl had sat and saw a thick stack of papers. It was the goddamned Prophet. Harry’s curiosity got the best of him, and he walked over to the paper and picked it up. On the cover was an old photo of him from the Triwizard tournament. The headline read:
“Harry Potter: Dead or alive?”
Harry needed a drink. Harry roughly picked up a bottle of bourbon and threw the cap across the room. He didn’t even bother getting a glass; he immediately started drinking from the bottle. It was half past one in the morning when Harry awoke from his drunken sleep. Everything seemed normal but Harry felt off. Shrugging this feeling off, he put his now empty bottle on the counter. He needed food.
“So that’s why you never answered my letter, too busy drinking yourself to sleep eh Potter?” Draco said as soon as Harry got up making the war hero grimace at him.
“The fuck are you doing in my flat? Stalking me now too?” Harry shot back quickly. Harry then started rummaging in his cupboards for food.
“No, I just needed a response. The trial is in less than a month and nobody will defend me, so I need you to defend me.” Draco pleaded desperately. Harry simply glared.
“No! Leave me the fuck alone I left the wizarding world for a reason and I’m not coming back for some school bully!” Harry shouted as he slammed a bag of crisps onto the counter.
It was one am, and Sherlock was still up. He couldn’t get Harry Potter out of his head; the boy was just odd. Sherlock was just about to go to bed when he heard shouting from 221 C, curiosity got the better of him, he quickly cast a glance at the sleeping form of john before he threw his dressing gown on and rushed down to the flat.
The door was strangely unlocked, he pushed the door open and saw a tall blonde shouting at Harry, a very disheveled looking Harry, a bottle of bourbon, and scattered papers. He was incredibly confused as to who the blonde was or why Harry was so disheveled. Sherlock was so preoccupied with these questions he didn’t even realise that the pair had stopped fighting and were now staring at him.
“One of your muggle neighbours Potter?” the blonde spat after a beat of silence, pulling Sherlock back to reality.
Harry looked absolutely mortified as he looked at Sherlock. “Holmes get out.” the 19-year-old seethed with embarrassment and anger. Sherlock simply stepped further into the flat, which smelled strongly of alcohol, confirming Harry’s state of sobriety. “No, I don’t think I will, you’re obviously drunk Potter and this man is distressing you and you shouting makes it incredibly difficult to sleep” Sherlock stated smugly, looking Harry up and down with scornful eyes.
“I’m fine. Leave me alone, both of you please” Harry pleaded with tears brimming his eyes, he then turned towards Draco, looking utterly defeated. “I’m sorry Malfoy, I really can’t, I just want to have a quiet life now, I can’t go back to that world.”
Malfoy just squared his shoulders and looked at Harry with a blank expression “You’re not the man we thought you were Potter” and with that he walked out and disappeared into the night. Harry simply sunk down into one of his kitchen chairs, Sherlock just stood there looking at the boy. He stepped closer but Harry quickly snapped his head towards Sherlock with a glare.
“You can leave now, I just want to be alone, I don’t need your lecture.”
“Harry–”
“Shut up! I said leave me the hell alone!” Harry shouted as he threw the empty bottle across the small room. He was breathing heavily and looked extremely agitated, so Sherlock took a step back before speaking again.
“I know what it’s like Harry.”
“What do you mean you know what it’s like?” Harry seethed with rising shame in his voice. His shoulders shook as he slowly raised from his chair. He looked so tired, the bags under his eyes being a deep purple.
“How many nights have you drinken yourself to sleep? How many empty bottles have you smashed out of shame? Do you drink at your job? Slip a little into your afternoon tea?” Sherlock berated as Harry looked away with shame. “Just leave, please” Harry whispered faintly before disappearing into his bedroom. Sherlock stared at the empty sitting room for a few seconds before he headed back to his flat. When he went into his bedroom, he saw John sitting up in their shared bed.
“Where were you Sher?” the blonde asked tiredly. Sherlock’s frowning mouth morphed into a small smile. He gently sank down into the bed before speaking.
“I was at Harry’s flat. I was having trouble sleeping and then I heard him yelling with someone, so I went down to check on him. His door was open and he was fighting with a blonde. His flat reeked of alcohol, I think he was drunk, he threw an empty bourbon bottle across the room. Maybe you could try talking to him tomorrow? He seems to like you more” The detective rambled as he laid his head onto his pillow. John’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
“Do you know if he’s going to call off work tomorrow?”
“No, I don’t think this is the first time he’s drinken heavily before going to work. I know he goes to work at nine-thirty, so maybe you could have a little look around his flat.”
John just looked at him with a scowl. “Fine, but you’re doing the dishes then, now, go to sleep.”