AN: Warnings for this chapter include mentions of underage sex, mentions/implications of abortions, mentions/implication of miscarriage, mentions of drug use.
John decided that he did not, in any way shape or form, enjoy moving. It wasn't like he had a lot of stuff to move, a few shrinking spells here, a feather-light charm there and all of his belongings fit into his old Hogwarts trunk. It was the process itself that was so exhausting.
After hours upon hours of sorting through what he wanted to keep, and what he wanted to give away (honestly, where did most of this stuff come from?), shrinking, storing and cleaning, he was finally ready to pocket his shrunken trunk and go to 221B.
He had taken a cab, too tired to apparate, and Mrs. Hudson had met him at the front door.
"Oh, hello John, dear." She said sweetly, albeit tiredly.
"Hello Mrs. Hudson. Everything alright?"
The older woman shook her head. "Sadly, no. Harry and Sherlock are having another domestic."
Oh…that couldn't be good. "I'll go see if I can get them to calm down." John said with a smile. As he started going up the stairs, Mrs. Hudson called out to him: "Oh, I wouldn't go up there, dear. It's dangerous when they fight."
John should have listened.
"What do you have against Teddy, Sherlock?!" John heard Harry yell.
"SHERLOCK! He's just a baby! He's our son now and-"
"HE IS NOT MY SON! STOP MAKING ME PRETEND HE IS!" Something in the room, something glass, exploded. Cautiously, John hurried up the last few steps.
When John had first seen the flat, it had been a mess. This…this was insanity. Papers were lying everywhere, glass shards littered the floor, wood splinters were imbedded in the walls, there were scorch marks on the ceiling, and a chair was on fire.
…A chair…on fire…
Like he said before, insanity.
The only good thing was that Teddy was nowhere to be seen. John assumed that he was tucked away in his nursery, silencing charms protecting him from listening to his parents (as if Sherlock would even want to be called that) arguing.
Harry's eyes hardened and John could see the warrior that was hidden inside him. Honestly, he was a little terrified. "Sherlock Holmes," Harry said in a low, eerily calm voice. "If this has anything to do with Teddy being a werewolf, you need to tell me. Now. In fact, you should have told me when I first brought Teddy home!"
"Oh sweet Merlin!" Sherlock groaned. "This has nothing to do with Theodore being a werewolf!"
"THEN WHAT IS THIS ABOUT SHERLOCK?!" The older wizard didn't say anything. He was determined to have a staring contest (read: glare at each other until one of them gives up) with Harry.
"Are you going to stand there all day, John?" Sherlock asked without breaking eye contact.
John shouldn't have been surprised. He really shouldn't have, but when Sherlock's eyes flicked in his direction and Harry turned around to face him he was completely shocked. He didn't think that he would ever understand how Sherlock did the things that he did.
"Hello John." Harry said in a tense voice.
"Umm. Hi Harry. Hello Sherlock. I umm…"
"Oh please John. If you say that you didn't hear anything I will hex you. You've been standing in the doorway for at least five minutes." John's face flushed. He had been caught staring since he had gotten up the stairs and it made him feel extremely awkward about himself. Like he was a mix between a voyeur and a kid who's hand was caught in the cookie jar. Awkward.
"John, can you go downstairs or to your room while Sherlock and I finish up?" Harry asked.
"Now dear, John is a grown wizard. I'm sure he's seen couples fight before. Stay, John."
"The only reason you want him to stay is because you know that I won't argue with you in front of him." Harry glared accusingly at his lover.
Sherlock mumbled something along the lines of them crossing the argument/mortal combat line once wands were drawn which earned him another glare. "All the more reason for John to stay."
"SHERLOCK! We are not putting this off again because you don't want to talk about it!"
John shifted uncomfortably. "I can go…"
"Please, John. We won't be long."
"Don't worry, John. I'll save you the trouble." They spoke at the same time, but when they finished speaking, Sherlock apparated out of the flat. Harry stood there looking so angry and hurt that John had to restrain himself from running over to him and comforting him.
Big, watery green eyes turned to John and Harry asked him in a broken voice: "Why? Why does he hate Teddy? Why, John?" That was the breaking point. John rushed over and wrapped an arm around the young wizard's shoulder as he silently wept.
Harry dropped his wand, it made a small clunking noise as it hit the floor, and pressed his hands to his eyes. Briefly John's eyes went to the fallen wand and it wouldn't be until later, when he would be alone in his room that he would contemplate the four small notches that went around the handle.
Harry stayed up in his room all day. No matter how long John or Mrs. Hudson stayed outside the door, asking him to come out and eat, he stayed inside. Eventually, they gave up. Mrs. Hudson made him tea and a bowl of soup ('Because Harry's locked away, dear. So, just this once. I'm not your housekeeper!") for an early dinner.
Now, hours later, John was sprawled out on his bed typing away on his laptop. He wasn't typing anything important, just writing a few poems to pass the time.
Honestly? He was completely bored. So he stopped and thought about everything that had happened during the day. Moving, Sherlock and Harry's fight, Sherlock leaving, Harry crying. It had been an emotionally taxing day.
It was so utterly random that it made John freeze. He remembered seeing the notches on Harry's wand and, though he had pushed them to the back of his mind, he had been curious. The notches weren't simple scratches that come from being dropped or constant use. They were deliberate. Deep enough to differentiate them from the other scratches, shallow enough to stay away from the core.
What did they mean though?
"He tends to forget that I notice everything, John."
John jumped, nearly falling off the side of his bed. "OH SWEET MERLIN! SHERLOCK!" In the corner of his room, Sherlock stood. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed at his chest and head looking up at the ceiling. He looked…tired. He hadn't been there all day, had he? "Sorry, but what the hell are you doing in here and what are you talking about?"
Sherlock looked at him and glared. "You know exactly what I'm talking about John, don't ask stupid questions."
"Still doesn't answer my first question." John said under his breath.
Disregarding the comment, the younger wizard crossed the room and laid down next to John on the bed, hands clasped together underneath his head. "Oh sure Sherlock, sit down why don't you? Make yourself comfortable."
The sarcasm didn't phase Sherlock. He rolled his eyes, but never looked anywhere other than the ceiling. "You want to know about the notches, don't you?" John nodded. How Sherlock could see it, he would never know, but he did and started a very long-and slightly disturbing story.
"Harry and I have been together for years. It started with Mycroft working to switch his magical guardian, but it changed into something completely different…" He went on explaining how they had starting having intercourse (with FAR too much detail, in John's opinion. He wouldn't be able to look at Harry the same way for a long time) right before Harry started his fourth year at school. "At the time, my judgment had been slightly impaired due to certain recreational drugs I was using, and the sounds that came from the bathroom were just so-"
"-SHERLOCK! RELEVANCE?!" John's face was redder than a tomato. Honestly! Didn't this man have any dignity?! John did not want to hear about his sexual escapades with a fourteen year old!
"Yes, actually, it is extremely relevant. Oh stop looking at me like that. Fine, I'll spare you the details. It only happened once; before you delude yourself into thinking that I had somehow turned Harry into my personal sex-slave. Three weeks into the school year I received a letter from Harry that said that he was constantly nauseated. I told him ginger tea and crackers should fix that. One week later, I received another letter that said while the tea and crackers helped, he was still nauseated and so what do you think I told him?"
"To go to the infirmary." John stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He wasn't a complete idiot, regardless of what the other wizard might have thought.
"Exactly. Two days later he owled me, telling me that the matron gave him a potion and that he was better within hours." John frowned. "Ah, so you've caught on."
"Legally, she shouldn't have been allowed to give Harry anything unless you, his magical guardian, allowed her to. Did you fill out the paperwork?" Sherlock shook his head 'no'. "The she should have contacted you before she gave him anything."
"But she didn't. Mycroft and I looked into it and we found out that she was under a very heavy memory charm. She didn't even remember Harry coming in to see her." Sherlock went on with the story, explaining that-at first, because Sherlock Holmes always solves his cases- they couldn't find what potion had been given to Harry and the only thing Harry remembered was that the potion made him want to throw up…but a lot of potions did that. Add onto that the fact that Harry hates every potion and it gets more complicated.
And then Sherlock went back to talking about sex. Really?! John did not want to hear about this! Granted, Sherlock did not go into as much detail as he did before, but he john the amount of times they had sex after Harry's fifteenth birthday and the various…places. Why-WHY was this important?!
Then Sherlock said something that made 'Dr. John Watson' take over. "He said his food tasted funny?" Perhaps he should have been paying attention.
The taller man shook his head. "No John, weren't you listening? I said it was his drink. Honestly John, think about it logically. In a house filled with a dozen people, how do you drug one person's food without a) drugging all of the food, or b) pre-serving the food so it's already on said person's plate?"
"So how did his drink get drugged? Wasn't it just an empty cup sitting at the table?" Sherlock groaned, muttering: 'muggleborns.'
"No, John, it wasn't just an empty glass at the table. There was a house-elf in charge of the drinks. And the house elf was obviously under orders."
"So the house elf drugged Harry's drink…did you get samples?"
John watched as Sherlock tugged at his hair, groaning. "No! The morons banished his cup and got him a new one before I could do anything! But one sip was enough, apparently."
"So, what, every time he took the potion he put a notch on his wand? That makes no sense."
"It makes no sense because that is an idiotic suggestion. No he did not put a notch on his wand because of the potion. He was only administered the potion once more."
That didn't make sense. "But there were four notches."
"Exactly." Sherlock told him that the third notch came from an incident that happened right after the Yule break in Harry's fifth year. It was potions class. The fumes were toxic to him in his condition and he passed out. By the time he had been taken to the infirmary, the damage had been done. "That school was filled with incompetent idiots!" There was something about Sherlock's tone, not quite painful, but not his usual tone of arrogance or boredom either.
John was about to ask if the notches were all correlated with potions incidents when he-unfortunately-remembered Sherlock's descriptions of his sexual encounters with Harry. The nausea, the potion fumes, the potion that made the nausea stop after a few hours…"Oh sweet Merlin, you mean...?" He breathed, realizing with no small amount of horror what those four tiny notches meant.
The other man nodded, silently confirming John's fears. "Severus Snape was one of the few people that Mycroft called friend. During the potions incident, he performed the procedural medical scan. Harry was almost three weeks pregnant with my child John. Severus told Mycroft, who later told me-and I must say, my brother was absolutely delighted to slander the dear headmaster's name, but that's a wonderful story for another day-and less than I day later I received a letter from Harry. He didn't tell me about the baby, just said that he was in an accident, but he was fine."
John had yet to see Sherlock get so…emotional about anything. He claimed to be a sociopath, and John could definitely see that, but he could also see that the man genuinely cared for Harry and their lost children. The med-wizard wonder what must have been running through Sherlock's head when Harry didn't tell him about the child.
For almost an hour they talked. Sherlock explained that had found the potion-Dumbledore had been behind it, unsurprisingly-and Mycroft had gotten almost eight three percent of the Ministry against Dumbledore. Harry had never outright told Sherlock that he was ever pregnant, but the final time that it happened, Sherlock had just known. "Spells, charms, special potions, and it was all ruined because of his dim-witted Weasley friend!" He shouted angrily. John wondered if there was a silencing charm around his room. He wasn't sure how Harry would react to overhearing them.
Actually, now that he thought about it, they probably shouldn't be having this conversation at all!
"It's too late to go back now, John. If you were uncomfortable having this conversation you would have stopped me before." How did he…? "Oh please, your face says it all." Sherlock said with a roll of his eyes.
Clearing his throat, John shifted on the bed. "Well, regardless, I think we should stop having this conversation."
Though he obviously didn't agree, Sherlock nodded nonetheless and stood up. "Very well John. Good night. Oh, and I trust our conversation will remain between us." There was a small nod of acknowledgement, even though they both understood that neither party would say anything about their conversation.
Just moments before Sherlock's hand touched the doorknob, John spoke up. "Sherlock, why do you hate Teddy? I mean this is your chance to finally have a family. A family with Harry." The wizard froze for no more than a second. John was disappointed to watch him leave the room like he had not even heard the question.
John would not be able to sleep that night.
The next morning, John would walk into the kitchen with dark purple circles under his eyes. Harry's back would be to him as he cooked breakfast at the stove. He sits near Teddy-the baby happily sucking on a dummy in his swing as he watches his father's back-and say his good mornings to him and to Harry. Teddy will look at him and his hair will flicker to the same sandy shade of blonde as John, but his eyes will remain bright green.
Harry would turn around and the food will be forgotten. He will fret over John, asking if he's alright and if he needs anything but John will only smile and tell him: 'no thank you, Harry. I'm fine.' in a tired voice. Harry won't believe him, but won't pressure him either. He will take the seat next to John and they will sit in silence. John wants to wrap him in another hug (purely platonic), tell him he's so-so sorry and that everything will be alright, even if he doesn't believe his own words. He doesn't.
Sherlock will rush into the kitchen-hair and clothes from yesterday in disarray after spending the night on the couch-shortly after because whatever was on the stove has burned. He will banish it with a flick of his wrist. He will bitch and moan about the loss of good food and John and Harry will laugh at him, even thought Harry's laugh is obviously strained.
Teddy will see Sherlock and his hair goes black. The baby's eyes turn the same blue/gray as Sherlock and he will wiggle and fuss for the man to pick him up. Sherlock doesn't, but for the first time he walks over and smoothes his hand over soft hair.
It's not perfect, in fact it's completely awkward because Sherlock doesn't know if he's applying too much pressure, but it's a start.