A/N . . . I have honestly done a bunch of research on Martin Freeman's eyes, and they seem to change every time I find a new picture of him! So I'm sorry if I got the eye color wrong, but they seem to shift from blue, to green, to gray constantly.

I honestly hate how this chapter turned out, but I've been over it so many times now that I think it's as good as it's going to get. I have no idea why I find the interactions between John and Harry so difficult to write ... I hope y'all enjoy this chapter, and that it isn't as bad as I think it is.

As always, feel free to leave comments, suggestions ... REVIEWS! They are the life blood of any writer, I swear.

James Watson was the first to arrive, and Harry shook his hand uncomfortably when the man greeted him, peeting around his shoulder to look beyond.

"Your father will be along shortly." John was quick to assure him, but even John could see the way Harry deflated at the news that Sherlock was not there yet.

Truth be told, John was still in shock at the thought that Sherlock was a father - but that was mostly overshadowed by his anger at the man for leaving his son in the care of Mycroft while he went off galavanting to only God knew where.

They gravitated toward a spacious sitting room, and John took a moment to appreciate the house. For all his faults, Mycroft had a beautiful home.

It was a tense several minutes before Sherlock joined them, but he passed both of them without a word on his way to another room.

John glanced at Harry, light green eyes meeting their darker counterpart. The small smile he offered the younger boy didn't seem to help, however, as Harry rose from his seat with a huff and stormed out of the room.

It was some time later when John finally found his way to Harry's bedroom, after several false start and wrong doors opened. Luckily, all the rooms were empty, but it had taken John a good while to stumble across the correct door.

"Harry?"

The voice that uttered his name surprised the teenager - he had expected Mycroft to track him down with his usual air of annoyance tinged with disappointment. Still, his gaze was annoyed when it raised from his computer to meet John's.

John was surprised at the sight of the computer, but happy. He had been unsure what Harry's life with Mycroft would be like - he had only Sherlock to base his opinion of Mycroft on, really, and he hadn't been impressed with the man's ability to care for those younger and more vulnerable than himself.

But Harry's room was spacious, tastefully decorated, and the computer on which Harry had been engrossed when he had entered was obviously new.

In addition, seeing Harry using modern technology was a definite bonus. When they had first met, the teenager hadn't even known what a mobile phone was.

"Can I help you?"

John forced his attention back to the teen before him. "Your father had to leave, but I thought we could grab a bite to eat in town."

"Had to, or wanted to?"

John internally winced at the question. Truth be told, Sherlock hadn't even spoken to him, the entire time he had been in the house. And while John would certainly speak to his friend when he saw him again at the flat they shared, he couldn't in good conscience bring that up to the man's son.

"Had to, Harry. I know he wanted to talk to you. He's just been swamped with work, lately." It hurt, to lie to the boy like this, especially when Harry looked so much like a kicked puppy at the moment.

But it was also believable, so Harry simply nodded, eyes downcast toward his computer screen. His eyes weren't moving, however, so John highly doubted that the teen even noticed what he was looking at.

"But that doesn't mean we have to go hungry." John continued, refusing to be put off by the teenager's lack of response.

He was going to be af father, after all. He would ave to get used to being ignored.

John pushed that thought down and away, however, gritting his teeth at the emotions that brought to the surface. He couldn't think of Mary and the baby right now. The very idea of them make him sick to his stomach - and whether that was anger or guilt, he wasn't quite sure.

And he wasn't ready to find out.

"I was thinking burgers and chips, what do you think?" Harry didn't seem to notice just how false John's cheer had suddenly become, but his only response was still just a shrug. "Uncle Mycroft will probably have something for dinner anyway."

"Probably overly healthy, and light on the taste." John quipped, and that got a glance and a quick grin from Harry.

"I'm thinking greasy and bad for you is the way to go tonight. You can go back to Mycroft's terrible diet tomorrow. What do you think?"

The truth was, John had very little knowledge of Mycroft Holmes - and he rather thought that the man preferred it that way. This was, in fact, the first time that John had been in the home of the elder Holmes brother, and he couldn't help but this of it was cold - almost sterile. Certainly not the sort of home any teenage boy could enjoy.

And he might have sneaked a peek into the kitchen before her came up here. It had been practically barren, clean and sterile - not the a family kitchen, but more like a restaurant that hadn't been fully stocked yet, complete with the newest of appliances.

This wasn't the home of a teeanger - this wasn't a family. It was a boy secluded into a house with his uncle, no reprieve to be a child. Well, John was going to fix that - if Harry would let him.

He might not have been able to fix his own marriage as easily, but he could definitely fix this.

Harry finally nodded, swinging his legs off the bed and grabbing his jacket from where it had been thrown over the back of his desk chair. "Alright."

Would Harry have gone with John Watson without the aid of Mycroft's potions cocktail currently swimming through his system? Possibly. But the potions certainly made him more compliant, and Harry found himself following John Watson - a man he barely knew - out of his uncle's house and into a taxi.

Harry expected dinner to be just as quiet and uncomfortable as his lunch with the Malfoy's had been, but John refused to allow it. He kept up a steady stream of chatter, forcing Harry into the conversation with inane questions that Harry rather thought he wasn't actually interested in the answers to - they were simply a way to keep the conversation going.

Still, by the end of dinner, John had managed to glean not only the names of his best friends, but also that he was rather athletic. "I don't really follow any teams." Harry revealed as he picked up his burger. "But I enjoy playing."

As he took a bite out of the burger - stuffed with bacon, cheese, and all manner of juicy goodness in a way Harry had never been allowed with his maternal relatives - John nodded. "I guess I can see that. Watching isn't nearly as much fun as doing it yourself."

Harry nodded, surprised. Most of the boys his own age - and even his Uncle Vernon and other adult men - seemed rather obsessed with watching football, so it was surprising to hear somebody profess the opposite.

"But you play for your school team?"

The last time John Watson had spoken to Harry Potter, it had been stilted and uncomfortable - the boy obviously attempted to reveal as little information as possible. Now, however, the teenager was positively open with him, There was something about his expression, however, that put John ill at ease - something he recognized, though he couldn't for the life of him figure of why.

"Yeah, I'm on the Gryffindor team." Harry took another bite of his burger, munching away happily.

"Gryffindor?" The question grabbed Harry's attention this time, and his brow furrowed for a moment before it cleared. "Oh, my ... umm, my school. It's divided into four Houses - we compete in sports and academics for points, and the winner received the House Cup at the end of every year. I'm in Gryffindor - the house of the Lion."

John nodded, his interest clearly written across his face. "It sounds like competition is encouraged at your school - a good thing, as it doesn't get out of hand."

Harry shrugged, unsure what to say to that. "I guess. My House has won the past couple of years."

John noted the pride in Harry's voice at that proclamation, and couldn't help the smile that spread over his face - though he didn't try overly hard to hide it, either. "Definitely something to be proud of. I bet you have your friend Hermione to thank on the academic side."

Harry bit into his burger, hiding his smile behind his food. "Yeah, she's brilliant."

By the time the two returned to Mycroft's home nearly two hours later, the house was dark and silent. John walked Harry inside, glancing around the darkened halls with a sinking feeling his stomach.

Mycroft should have been waiting up. He should have been questioning John, angry that he had taken Harry out of the house without Mycroft's permission. But there was no sight of the man, only

A silent and dark house.

"Thanks for dinner, Mr. Watson." John sighed, eyeing Harry in consternation. He had asked the teenager several times to call him John, but while Harry had been unfailingly polite, he had also unfailingly continued to ignore the request.

"Any time, Harry. Really. If you ever need anything - please, don't hesitate to call me. Even if it's just to complain about your dad or uncle." Either uncle, John thought silently. He had not forgotten his earlier concerns around Harry's maternal relatives.

Harry simply nodded, though his smile seemed a bit strained, and John ushered him toward his room with a smile.