A/N: Hello all! I come with a new story. I gave myself a few months to recoup from the adventure that was 'A Wise Girl', but now I am back with a new plot bunny! I hope you all like it. SO! HP, SH, JW, MW, MH, GL, Mrs. Hudson, and maybe others? JW/SH, SH/HP (NOT LIKE THAT! You dirty people ~snicker~).

Disclaimer: I own nothing concerning Sherlock, Harry Potter, or any other random fandom I may bring into my writing. If I use any lyrics in my chapters, I will credit the artist/band at the end of the chapter.

Summary: It was just his need to stop the crime that spurred his actions. It was not an emotional response. His actions following the incident had nothing to do with the body currently resting against him…

He was watching the figure across the street with a deep concern/anger that he hadn't felt since John was inside the Guy Fawkes bonfire; the teen was far too skinny for his own benefit, walked with a defined limp that screamed ankle injury, bruising along his arms and shoulders that was peeking out of the clothing far too big for the lithe frame it graced, & a wariness of anybody passing too close to his person, especially the two portly figures that walked behind the boy. Anyone with a brain could see that the boy was abused and neglected: in fact, Sherlock could see his blogger tense when he followed the detective's line of sight. The urge to automatically dismantle the corpulent man was aligned with the knowledge that this was the same person Scotland Yard was investigating in several charges of fraud and racketeering that were being placed on several members of Grunnings drill factory; Lestrade had been asked to recruit Sherlock & John to assist in the investigation to make sure that the case would be air tight. Several higher ups were already being arrested, but this man, one Vernon Dursley, had several charges that needed to be brought together in order to properly detain him.

The teen was hauling several bags of what looked like food and clothing, obviously not being bought for him, failing to keep up with the two obese men and lone female, Petunia Dursley, as they passed the youth. John twitched next to him as the boy stumbled, his tan fingers curling into a fist when the trio only stopped to watch the overburdened teen struggle to stand again. They had been ordered to not interact with the obese man through their investigation, but Sherlock found himself racing across the street the second his recognized the anger building in Dursley's face after the teen failed to stand. John was on his heels as the detective reached the small group, the podgy man hissing at the boy, his fist raised.

"I'll teach you, freak!" There was so much venom in the man's words, that Sherlock was surprised that none dribbled down his many chins.

It was John who caught the man's wrist before it could connect with the teen's head, so Sherlock focused on the boy, finding him bracing for what could only be a routine strike.

"It's alright." He whispered, kneeling down in front of the boy, ignoring the shrill yells coming from the woman towards John, who was giving it back to the horse face woman. "He won't touch you again."

The teen's arms slowly moved away from his face until brilliant emerald orbs connected with his and Sherlock could see the fear and confusion dominating any other reaction the boy was having. Then the eyes looked behind him, causing the detective to turn in time to see John knocking Dursley to the ground, Lestrade suddenly appearing to take over. John began to explain what had happened while Mrs. Dursley was silenced by the detective inspector after she tried to verbally assault John. When Sherlock turned back to the teen, the boy's arms were wrapped around his torso, despite the pain it caused; the detective could see the flinches of pain flashing over the youth's face every time his arms moved.

"What's your name?" He asked, slowly removing his scarf as he watched the boy shiver as the cool fall air passed over both of them. The teen remained silent, withdrawing into himself when asked the simple question.

Now that he was closer, Sherlock could see that not only were the clothes significantly larger than the boy, but they were thread bare and years old; no doubt they had once belonged to Dursley's son, judging by the other teen's bulk. He was far more emaciated then previously noted and there were layers of scars underneath the bruises that were in in varying stages of healing; something inside of Sherlock twisted as he memorized the injuries he could see.

"Here," he spoke softly, holding out the hand that held his dark blue scarf "take this. It should at least keep your neck and shoulders warm."

The boy watched him carefully, his emerald orbs moving back and forth between Sherlock's hand and face, looking for any sign that the offer was false or something that would lead to harm towards him. After what seemed like eternity, the teen's thin arm reached out, allowing his fingers to gently grip the soft fabric before pulling it back towards his chest. The youth gazed at the item in awe before wrapping it around his neck, his fingers now wrapped up in the ends. Just as the detective was moving to call John over to tend the teen's wounds, a soft voice stopped him

"Harry."

Turning back to the teen, Sherlock found his emerald eyes lightened a bit and the smallest of smiles on his pale lips. The detective could not stop the quirk of his eyebrow while watching the boy's fingers fiddle the hem of his thin, patchwork shirt.

The youth's smile dropped at what he must have assumed to be a negative response from Sherlock. "M-my name is Har-Harry." Sherlock could see his chest moving faster along with the quickening breaths coming from the teen's mouth; only an idiot would miss the panic attack about to overtake the boy.

"Well Harry, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Sherlock."

Sherlock placed his hand out, hoping the boy would accept the invitation or, at the very least, see him as a minimal threat. Imagine the surprise that detective received when the boy's thin fingers gripped his; the small amount of trust already instilled into him from Harry makes something twist inside Sherlock that he couldn't quite understand.

'So, he's not completely shut off from human contact.' The thought passed through his mind as the teen shook his hand & John's presence made itself known behind his shoulder. Harry tensed as he noticed the other's presence, but did not move away, only watched the doctor with trepidation.

"Harry, I would like you to meet John. John, this is Harry." Sherlock interjected, effectively drawing the boy's eyes back to his while John kneeled down next to the detective.

"Pleasure to meet you Harry." John whispered, his pale blue eyes lit up with the calm demeanor he used with his younger patients at the clinic. "I see you've managed to obtain the precious Sherlock Scarf."

Harry's cheeks lit up in a small blush, his remaining fingers griping the blue fabric; Sherlock still held the other hand, his own warmth seeping into the teens. "I like it a lot." Again his voice was soft, but the achievement Sherlock counted was the absence of fear in the emerald eyes as John moved closer to the detective.

"It looks well on you. Harry, may I ask a favor?" John asked, trying to phrase his request carefully in his head. Harry watched him carefully before giving a small nod. "I'm actually doctor and I was hoping that you'll let me examine you: I want to make sure your ankle injury can be reset, among other things. It would make me less anxious about your injuries."

Panic bloomed across the teen's face, but Sherlock quickly spoke up. "We don't want to shove you into some random hospital, Harry. John has his own practice, our friend Mary runs it with him and I can guarantee that your…relatives will never be able to touch you again. You will be safe, I swear."

"And if I want to leave? Can I just go if I want to?" Harry's voice was now cracking with held back tears.

"I would never force a patient to stay in my office, only when I am legally bound to does that occur."

Emerald eyes switched back and forth between the detective and his blogger, lit up with both fear and curiosity; Sherlock could see the wheels running in the teen's mind, processing everything he had encountered already.

'He would be wonderful to work with. Young minds are still open and willing to expand, unlike the adults that surround me.' Again, the twisting deep inside him confused him, but he voiced none of these thoughts, waiting for the teen to answer.

Eventually, Harry nodded, letting John place his jacket over his shoulders while Sherlock moved to explain to Lestrade what would be occurring before a sleek black car pulled up next to him; and here he thought Mycroft was ignoring him for once. John noticed the vehicle at once, directing Harry to it, the teen eying the idling car before sliding in, Sherlock after him with John closing door once he joined the duo. The car took off a second later, the teen watching the city move by while John and Sherlock shared a whispered conversation about their new… 'charge.'

A/N: Here we are! I had this plot bunny run through my mind and it would not let me do anything until I wrote this down. Please tell me what you think!