Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

Lukas waved good-bye to his brother Marvin as he walked out of the visiting room. Exiting the prison compound, he shook his head with an annoyed frown. How did Marv always get himself into these things? Of course, partnering up with Harry had been a new low in his spectacular career of less than bright ideas. Witness the name the duo gave themselves, the "Wet Bandits". Never mind that Lukas had suggested that in jest, trying to point out that they were both wet behind the ears and by no means ready for real crime.

And what had those two done? Thanked him and run with it.

Lukas very much wanted to bang his head off the walls of the bus he was riding back home. No way was he really related to this idiot, there had to have been a mistake, maybe the babies were switched at birth or something. Hey, it's been known to happen.

"Be sure to stay far away from little kids," Marv had told him, his wide eyes betraying his serious fear for his brother. "There's nothing worse than kids, you hear me?"

Lukas scoffed. Marv had been defeated by a child, why would Lukas take advice from that loser? Marv's story had given him some ideas, though. Obviously, Marv's mistake had been in dismissing the kid and going for valuable items in the house. But what if one focused on the kid in the first place?

Rich people would easily pay a few millions just to get back their spoilt brats. And as his brother had so nicely pointed out, not all of them kept their eyes on their kids as much as they should. This was going to be easy.

Chapter Text

Three weeks later, Lukas had identified the perfect victim and made a fool-proof plan. He waited until the butler had driven off in the limo and the kid, as always, dragged his heels on the way up to his school building. Driving up to the little black-haired boy, he pulled the mask down over his face, rapidly jumped out of the car and shoved the startled young teen into the back. Quickly locking the door from outside, he jumped back into the driver's seat and drove off with tires screeching.

He made it to his hide-out without being followed or noticed, drove the car into the garage and opened the back door.

That was where it all started to go horribly wrong.

"Oh wow, is that a 1916 Traub?" the kid gasped, completely ignoring the man who'd just kidnapped him in favor of uncle Joseph's junky old bike.

"'s not working," Lukas commented roughly. He was not prepared for the exasperated look the kid shot him.

"Well of course it isn't. But look at that beautiful rear brake! It really does have the internal and external - wait, how did you get this? I thought only one of these was ever made??"

Lukas had no idea. As far as he was concerned, the bike had never worked and only remained in his garage because he was too lazy to take it to the junk yard. Why did the kid seem so fascinated by it?

Bah, kids always liked motorbikes and trucks, didn't they? Not really what they were here for, though.

"Listen up, kid," he said, trying to sound stern and dangerous. "Forget about the bike. I kidnapped you to get some money from your dad, so you better-"

The kid burst out laughing. "This is a kidnapping? This?"

Lukas felt color rising in his cheeks. "Well yes, it is!" He pulled out his gun and pointed it at the boy's nose. "Think that's funny, Stark?"

"Well, at least you know my name," Tony Stark chuckled. "But I don't think you know what you got yourself into."

Lukas's eyes narrowed. "There was no video surveillance on the school building, no-one paid you any attention and your guardian had left. I'll have your dad drop the money off in an unmarked suitcase and I have a way to make it vanish without anyone noticing. What could possibly go wrong?"

The kid smirked at him, but the smirk seemed somehow bitter and wrong on the young face. "You are assuming my dad will actually pay."

Lukas startled. "Of course he will."

Stark leaned back against the car. "Of course he won't."

Lukas frowned. "Now you're just messing with me."

Stark's smirk widened while his eyes turned darker. "Go ahead, try your luck. I sure can't keep you from it." Then his face changed, both the smirk and the darkness momentarily chased away by earnest desire. "But while we wait for an answer, can I work on that bike?"

Two weeks later, Lukas resignedly opened the garage door to let the kid out. He went down the driveway to watch the thirteen-year old slowly purr down the lane on the newly repaired bike until he lost sight of him.

With a sigh, he returned to his house.

That hadn't gone the way he wanted. Tony had been the one to suggest, five days in, that he cut off Tony's ear if he actually wanted to get the boy's dad to notice. Lukas had recoiled in horror and Tony had just scoffed at him. They had eventually agreed on slicing off a tiny bit, just to get the message - and a DNA sample - across. Tony had seemed to enjoy the 'scientific test' of his father's disinterest enough that he barely even flinched at losing part of his earlobe.

Lukas hadn't liked doing it. He was alright with kidnapping a child, which would in the normal way of things be scary and maybe traumatic, but not physically damaging. He... disliked the sight of blood. He'd done it, though, mostly so as not to look like a complete loser in front of the kid.

Still, it had all been for naught. If the lack of an answer hadn't been daunting enough, one only had to watch Tony for a very short time to understand that Howard Stark was not a loving parent. Lukas had hesitantly asked after Tony's mother.

"Don't you dare involve her!" the boy had snarled at him, furious.

Once Lukas had promised that he wouldn't - he had already mostly given this kidnapping up as a lost cause by that time -, Tony had calmed down and admitted that his mother would care, but be unable to do anything about it. "We don't give in to the demands of criminals" was apparently Howard Stark's stance on ransom notes for his son. Which he stuck to even when the kidnappers sent video footage of Tony being tortured. The first time, Maria Stark had read the demands and seen the video and it had nearly been the end of their marriage. The police had found the kidnappers and retrieved Tony before it could come to that, though.

After that incident, Stark had apparently made a point of keeping his wife uninformed when their son went missing, making excuses like 'Tony is spending the week at a summer retreat' or 'he is staying with a friend' or some other lie until Tony was eventually retrieved by the police. Tony never told her either, wanting to spare her the worry.

To say Lukas was dismayed would be putting it lightly. "That is... I can't even..." He closed his eyes, pushing away the thought. Rich people were disgusting. He cocked his head. "But... how do they always find the kidnappers?"

Tony seemed to appreciate the outrage on his behalf; he actually explained. "It varies from case to case. Sometimes, the kidnappers make stupid mistakes when they grow impatient; sometimes, a neighbor tips off the police. Twice, I've even found a way to draw attention. You know, make the cell phones ring Abba's SOS on every passer-by down in the street, stuff like that."

Lukas stared at him in shock. "You can do that?!"

"Child's play," Tony shrugged it off, bending back over the machine. "Don't worry, though, I haven't tried anything since I got here. I'm not done with that bike yet!"

Lukas snorted in suppressed laughter. This was surreal. "Say... how many times have you been kidnapped?"

"This will be my sixth," Tony said happily, extracting something that looked like a bird's nest from the engine before patching it back up.

The moment the kid turned the corner, Lukas went back into his home and started packing. Tony was a good kid, if mighty eccentric, and Lukas hadn't wanted to harm him. It was clear he had enough to deal with just growing up with such a father. That meant he had to let the boy go, though, and he had nothing but Tony's word that he wouldn't tell on him.

He thought the kid was probably truthful, especially considering his glee at getting to keep the bike. Tony had even given Lukas the rest of his 'pocket money' - several thousand dollars! - in thanks. Lukas wanted to hit himself for not having even thought to go through the boy's pockets. But then, who gave a teenager that kind of money?

Rich, careless people, that was who. Maybe he should have expected it.

Still, the boy was gone and who knew how he might think about this kidnapping once he was safely back at home? Better to err on the side of caution.

Chapter Text

Five weeks later, Lukas had comfortably settled into his new home in England. He was staying in a small town in the countryside and there was a posh school up the hill where little rich kids from the surrounding manor houses were being carted by stiff-looking butlers and nursemaids in fancy uniforms.

Perfect.

After his experience with the jaded teenager, Lukas had decided to go for a younger target this time. The parents wouldn't be as used to kidnappings as the Stark family apparently was... and maybe a younger child would actually take him seriously.

He had singled out a boy of approximately eight years, an inquisitive loner who often strayed through the fields on his own rather than play with the other children during breaks. He was dressed in clothes that screamed money, and Lukas knew from following the car that always dropped him off that he lived in a lovely old mansion. Obviously, his family was filthy rich.

Catching the boy was easier than he had imagined. He just had to wait for the child to stray far enough from the school on one of his walks that they were out of sight. Then, while the boy appeared distracted by a bee going from flower to flower, he stepped up behind him and pulled out his gun. He'd had to get a new one after his move, unable to smuggle his trusty old Smith&Wesson on a transatlantic flight, but luckily his cousin Jerry had some good contacts here in the old country. Although, he thought sourly, "Lady Smith" didn't really have quite the same ring to it.

"Don't scream," he said quietly, "and come with me."

The boy calmly turned around to face him, one eyebrow raised. "You know, if you actually wanted to prevent me from screaming, putting a hand over my mouth would have been much more expedient. Considering the way you're holding that gun, I am willing to wager you only threaten with it, but have never actually fired one in your life. Did you know that the recoil from that calibre can be strong enough to break your wrist if you fire it with your grip all limp like that? I presume this is to be a kidnapping, but it looks to me like a fairly amateur attempt. Are you sure you want your first victim to be me? Because I have to tell you..." The boy's eyes widened. "You flinched. Something I said... This isn't your first kidnapping, is it?" He laughed gleefully. "Oh, you poor soul! You already failed once and then decided to come after me? Oh this is just priceless. Mycroft will surely love this."

The boy looked around curiously. "So where is the car?"

Lukas blinked. That... was not going the way he'd expected. Granted, after Tony, he had dialed down his expectations of what went for 'normal' amongst the high and mighty, but he had still thought most little children would not be this blasé about being kidnapped. Christ, the child even seamed eager!

"Uh, it's over here...," he said, flapping his free hand vaguely in the direction of the road.

The kid happily took hold of his hand and dragged him down the hill, saying: "Great! Then what are we waiting for?"

Really, really not going the way Lukas had expected.

That night, lying in bed, all Lukas could think about was how to get himself out of this kidnapping with minimal losses.

The boy, Sherlock - and who gave their little child a name like Sherlock?! - had not once stopped talking the entire trip to Lukas's house, informing Lukas at length about how he should have changed the license plates on his car if he actually wanted to evade capture, how stupid he had been to kidnap a boy without even knowing if his parents were just rich or also influential, how his getaway car was a sorry sight and his house entirely unacceptable as a hideaway, and good lord, did he really just forget to blindfold Sherlock before pulling up in his own bloody driveway, was he planning on murdering Sherlock or was the fact that Sherlock now knew exactly where his kidnapper lived not a concern?

Lukas wanted to scream.

Instead, he just told the boy to call his parents and tell them he had been kidnapped. He endured the scathing look Sherlock shot him at being presented with the house's landline - "These things can be traced back! For God's sakes, man , it's like you want to get caught!" - and urged the child to dial already. Sherlock did, though while they waited for the call to connect, he snappishly informed Lukas that his parents were highly unlikely to give in to the man's ransom demands.

"Mycroft, it's me," the boy said as soon as the call was accepted. "I've been kidnapped."

A voice at the other end said: "Very funny, Sherlock. Now, why are you not home yet?"

"Because," Sherlock repeated, teeth gnashing, "I have been kidnapped."

Lukas had thought the child had been condescending toward him - boy, had he been wrong. The scathing judgment of his locutionary partner's insufficient intelligence Sherlock was displaying now made Lukas wonder if the boy might actually like him. Certainly he seemed to like Lukas better than his own father.

Must be difficult having such a precocious child. And the man sounded young, too. Lukas did not envy him at all. Except maybe for his money, which he would really like a nice chunk of, but with the way this was going, he just hoped he'd get out of this farce of a kidnapping with his sanity intact.

Mycroft Holmes had not agreed to meet Lukas's demands. He also had scoffed at his son's claim that he would escape on his own terms before the man could find him. "Since I do not believe you have been kidnapped, escaping your imaginary kidnapper is not a feat of great cunning," the man primly informed his son. "Making it back home in time for dinner, however, would be a truly amazing display of your prowess."

"Very funny, Mycroft," Sherlock had growled darkly. "Well, fine. How about this: If you cannot find me by Sunday night, you meet the ransom demand."

Suddenly, there was some interest at the other end of the line. "It has been a while since we have played against each other... Very well, I accept. You stay hidden until Sunday, six p.m. sharp, and I shall make sure your... kidnapper" - ah, and there was that same disdain Sherlock was so good at - "gets what his little black heart desires." Then his voice got all smug. "But if I win, you will do what your teachers tell you, no matter how dumb you find it, for an entire week."

Then Mycroft Holmes hung up, leaving a thoroughly confused Lukas standing next to a small child dancing with joy at the promised "game".

It was five p.m. on Friday night. He had to keep the child for two entire days if he wanted a chance at getting any money out of Mycroft Holmes.

This was going to be a nightmare.

Forty-eight hours later, Lukas was patiently telling himself over and over again not to strangle the child, he was better than this, he must not commit murder, he could get through this … when the phone rang. The new cell phone Sherlock had gotten him from the large amounts of money the child carried around in his pockets which - again! - Lukas had failed to check.

Lukas suspiciously eyed the clock. It was five twenty, Mycroft Holmes had another forty minutes left to retrieve his wayward son free of charge.

That first night, Sherlock had slept soundly while Lukas lay awake, cursing fate for once again giving him such a stubborn boy who was too smart for his own good, with apparently callous, uncaring parents. That was the most rest he got all weekend, though. From the moment Sherlock woke, he began planning.

If Lukas tried to kidnap anyone ever again, he felt he was now fully prepared to impress with his new-found skills. Sherlock had poked holes in every single thing Lukas did, condescendingly told him how to do better and then made him do it. Lukas was never going to tell his brother about how an eight-year-old had ordered him about, and especially not that Lukas had obeyed.

But hell, if he wanted his money, he had to help the child win this messed-up "game" he was playing with his father. And who would know better how to evade the parent than the one who did so on a regular basis?

It was hard, though.

Sherlock had them covering their tracks, cursing all the while about how difficult Lukas had made that task. The boy then began planning how to plant red herrings, with Lukas being stuck doing the actually spreading of the metaphorical bread-crumbs. While Lukas was out there, trudging through the nastiest sleet England had to offer, Sherlock was sitting pretty in Lukas's nice, cozy rental apartment, thinking up more ways to confuse his father.

When night fell, all Lukas wanted to do was curl up in his nice, warm bed and forget all about the horrible day Sherlock had provided him with. But with a sarcastically uttered "No rest for the wicked!" the child had nixed that idea. Instead, Sherlock had them doing reconnaissance, creeping up on the Manor to see how the other side was doing. They didn't see much, the boy's parents never even entered their field of vision. But Sherlock seemed content to watch what must be an older brother pacing the length and breadth of the living room, snickering as he watched.

Lukas thought he maybe should not have taken his hostage within calling distance of his home; but he was under no delusions that Sherlock would have gone home even had Lukas ordered him to. The fiendish child was having way too much fun.

So here they were, two days later, with Sherlock bouncing around as though Lukas had pumped him full of caffeine - he had not! The child was enough of a menace without introducing coffee to his system - while Lukas, who had ingested copious amounts of coffee, had dark bags under his eyes and was barely able to keep his eyes open.

And his phone was ringing.

"'lo?" he said tiredly.

"Oh. Hello," a voice with an aristocratic British accent replied. It was the boy's father again, Mycroft. "I was expecting to be talking to Sherlock."

"Yeah, no," said Lukas, trying to sound like an actual tough kidnapper. "You won't get to talk to the boy again until you pay up."

He could literally hear the man's eye-roll in the sigh he sent down the line. "For heaven's sake, Sherlock! Was it really necessary to pull this poor tourist into the game?"

"But he wanted in on it," Sherlock piped up from beside Lukas. "Trust me, Mycroft, he did not mind at all." The boy had the gall to wink at Lukas. Lukas squeezed his eyes shut. You will not strangle him. You are not a child murderer. You will not strangle him.

"I shall trust you as far as I could throw you," the young aristocrat's voice pronounced darkly. "Now, as per the terms of our agreement, you will quietly come home and be a good boy for the entire next week."

"Hah!" Sherlock exclaimed. "The agreement was that I would do that if you found me before six tonight, but it's nearly six and you haven't..."

He trailed off and his face fell because right on cue, there was a knock at the door.

"Aw, drat," the child cursed.

No matter how much Lukas loathed the boy for having forced this nightmare of a weekend on him, that was kind of cute.

Before Lukas could think of a way to hide from Mycroft Holmes and the police the man had undoubtedly brought to Lukas's door, Sherlock had raced past him and ripped the door open.

A boy stood out there, dressed up in a pretentious three-piece suit and wearing the most condescending, aloof smile ever witnessed on a face this young and chubby, but a boy nonetheless. Aged maybe fourteen, fifteen at most.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock yelled in dismay. "How did you find me?"

Wait. What?

That was Mycroft Holmes??

"Did you really think you could outsmart me?" the... older brother, Lukas realized, told Sherlock. "Come on, Sherlock. When have you ever beat me at any game involving the mind? Besides," he added with a wince, "your accomplice didn't really make it much of a challenge."

Both boys turned to glare at Lukas, who found himself in the unlikely position of feeling inadequate because his kidnapping hadn't lived up to the standards of two blue-blooded, British adolescents.

What even was his life?

"Well," Mycroft Holmes said primly, "at any rate, as I have clearly won, you will now come home."

Sherlock grumpily lowered his eyes and trudged out the door without a backwards glance.

"As for you," the older boy said, turning his glare on Lukas, "I have half a mind to sic our family lawyer on you" - Lukas blanched - "for encouraging Sherlock."

Wait. What???

"You... your parents will not drag me to court over, you know, kidnapping him?" Lukas asked cautiously.

"Don't be daft," the boy waved off. "Our parents have not been home the entire weekend and I will make sure they never hear of this. And why would I want to get you into trouble for a kidnapping that was so obviously fake? Sadly, I am not at all surprised Sherlock would instigate something like that. I am, however, quite dismayed at the sloppy mistakes my little brother has made, especially in the beginning. Driving all the way across town with the license plates uncovered, really?"

Disbelief rang loud and clear in his voice.

Then Mycroft Holmes tried for a more conciliatory tone and only missed by about two miles. "I know how my brother gets, though. He can be quite convincing, especially toward, ah, shall we say, the less logic-driven half of the populace."

By the time Lukas figured out that no, Mycroft Holmes had really not taken his kidnapping seriously and yes, he had told him point blank that he though Lukas was a nitwit, the Holmes brothers had already left.

Lukas remained standing in his open doorway, looking at their chauffeured limousine's tail lights and clutching at several hundred pound bills Mycroft Holmes had pushed at him "as reparation for your troubles".

Infinitely tired, Lukas just turned on his heel, trudged up to his bedroom and gratefully sank into the welcoming embrace of his beloved, soft bed.

He slept for twenty hours straight and never suspected a word of the conversation the Holmes brothers had on their way back home.

"Was he really that incompetent or did you overplay that part?" Mycroft asked.

"Oh no, he really was," Sherlock admitted with a wince. "You do realize he meant it, don't you?"

"Of course," Mycroft sniffed. "Why else would I have suggested to him that I didn't? Just imagine, him actually thinking we took him seriously and he might pull off this pitiful attempt at extortion." He scoffed. "What a terrible mess that would have been."

"Indeed," Sherlock agreed solemnly. Then the corner of his mouth twitched up. "But it was good to play against each other again, was it not?"

"Indeed," Mycroft agreed, mirroring his brother's smile.

Chapter Text

This time, it would work.

Lukas had prepared everything meticulously as per Sherlock's instructions. He had rented a car using a fake name and made sure the saleslady failed to check his ID due to his exaggerated flirting. Admittedly, it had been out of disgust rather than because she'd been overcome by desire, but it was the end result that counted.

He had rented a room in a cheap motel that had a back entrance out of sight of the front desk and without any security cameras in a ten block radius.

He had put a blindfold, handcuffs and a cloth that could serve as a gag on the car's back seat.

And, above all, he had chosen a better target.

For one, this boy was younger. No way was a four year-old going to be as clever - nor as condescending - as Tony Stark and Sherlock Holmes had turned out to be. Secondly, this was no spoilt rich kid but the child of a well-to-do middle-class man, leading to a lower sum Lukas could call up for his ransom; but he figured the 100% decrease in likelihood that this child had been kidnapped so often in his young life that he had already been inured to the danger entirely made up for that. And, last but not least, this family seemed to actually give a damn about their children. Witness the way the mother doted on their older son when taking him out for ice-cream, despite the fact that the spoilt little brat weighed as much as a baby hippopotamus - and still seemed a few donuts short of a full set.

Lukas had further affirmed by eavesdropping on their neighbors that the mother didn't work and that no family vacation was coming up anytime soon, so when he called to make his demands, he would not be stuck talking to the baby killer-whale.

Lukas felt optimistic about this coup. After all, didn't people always say the third time was the charm?

Well, he thought a few hours later. Well.

The third time, beyond any doubt, really was the charm. As in, this tiny, cute little boy was ridiculously, heart-breakingly, impossibly charming. Also, apparently, magical?

It was not, however, a successful kidnapping.

At first, everything had seemed to go exactly according to plan.

Capitalizing on the fact that these people apparently thought their precious boy oh so competent and let him walk home from kindergarten all by himself, Lukas casually approached the child in a small alley flanked by the windowless side walls of some entirely interchangeable-looking suburban nightmares and started talking.

"Hey, kid," he said in his best friendly adult voice. "What's your name?"

"I'm Harry," the boy said, looking up at Lukas through a pair of sellotaped glasses that looked huge on his little face. "What's your name, mister?"

"Luke," he said, out of habit, then silently cursed himself. Sherlock would be rolling his eyes at him if the boy could see him just now. Giving his prospective kidnapping victim his real name! But then, it wasn't like Luke was the rarest of names. He'd be fine, Lukas figured.

"Luke?" the boy asked, apparently intrigued. "Like Luke Skywalker? Annie told Marisa about that film her older brother watched the other night, and it sounded really great!"

"Exactly like that," Lukas said in a conspiratorial voice.

Harry lowered his own voice. "Can you do Jedi tricks, like Luke can?" he asked eagerly.

"Sure," Lukas said. "Want me to show you?"

"Yes, please!" the boy said eagerly.

Lukas made his face fall a little as though he'd suddenly realized something. "Aw, no. You'd have to come with me so I could show you, but I'm sure you are expected back home very soon."

"Nobody is going to miss me," the boy hastened to reassure Lukas. He looked a little shifty as he said it, which was fine by Lukas as long as the boy still came.

"But won't you be late for dinner?"

The child looked even shiftier when he said: "Nobody is going to mind."

Curious, Lukas thought. But it did make things easier for him. "Well then," Lukas said, holding out his hand, "let's go."

The boy hesitantly took his hand, maybe not entirely sure of his decision after all. But once the tiny hand was in Lukas's, he held on tight - and so did the boy. Together, they walked down the alley and to the rental car parked at the end. Harry hesitated a while, but in the end decided to get in. Lukas took his place behind the wheel, told Harry to buckle up and engaged the child safety lock.

"Nobody ever tell you not to go with strangers, kid?" he asked curiously.

"Aunt Petunia always says that to Dudley," Harry said ponderously. "But I don't think it's the same for me."

"A rebel, huh?" Lukas asked, amused.

"Huh?" Harry said. "Oh, no. But I don't think my aunt would mind terribly if I went with a stranger and never came back, you know?"

Lukas froze.

He didn't just say that. Oh, come on!

“Do you mean… Your aunt doesn't like you so much, but it's fine because your parents love you?”

The little boy looked up at Lukas with big, serious eyes. “I don't know if my parents like me. They're dead.”

Aw man, no.

“So the people you live with are your aunt and uncle?”

The little boy nodded, nervously biting his lip. “Are you not showing me your magic tricks now? Because I'm not a real child, just an adopted?”

“No!” Luke protested immediately, intimidated by the boy's adorably sad puppy dog eyes. “I'll show you. I promised, didn't I?”

The boy brightened up immediately and Lukas heaved a silent sigh of heartfelt relief. Only to realize that he didn't actually have any magic tricks to offer, apart from making this little boy vanish right from this very alley. But suddenly he wasn't sure that one was going to impress anyone.

“Your uncle,” he tried one last time, “he loves you, doesn't he?”

The boy chewed on his lip some more. “I don't think Uncle Vernon loves anyone,” he proclaimed, all sad and earnest. “He spoils Dudley, so he must like him better than me, but he's not kind like other people's parents and I don't think he really knows how to be nice.”

Well, Lukas had had to try.

Now what?

While Lukas was still debating the merits of just walking away versus taking the boy anyway and finding out for himself how much the child's relatives did or didn't value him, the boy's face suddenly scrunched up in an anxious grimace. “You won't tell Uncle Vernon that I talked about magic, will you? He really doesn't like it when I do.”

“My lips are sealed,” Lukas promised, then frowned. “Why doesn't your uncle like magic, though? Everyone loves magic.”

“They do?” the boy asked, surprise writ large on his delicate features.

“Sure they do!” Lukas exclaimed. “There are shows on TV with magicians doing card tricks, and vanishing from a box or pulling a rabbit from a hat. People love that kind of sh- uh, shtuff.”

Little Harry didn't look convinced. “I once made a toy fly to my hand when Dudley was about to break it,” he offered, shyly ducking his head and glancing nervously at Lukas like he expected the man to hit him for this sin.

Lukas didn't know what to make of Harry's confession. Was this child seriously out of touch with reality or just blessed with an over-active imagination? He decided to go with the second option for now and play along. “So you're like Matilda, then?” he said, giving Harry a smile.

The child frowned. “Who is Matilda?”

Lukas acted all outraged. “What! You don't know Matilda? She's a little girl in a story, and she's just like you! She has a family who doesn't know how great she is, and she can do magic. Look, let's just go into town and get you that book, because you really need to read it. Uh, can you read?”

The child nodded, looking even more self-conscious.

“A real precocious one, huh?” It just figured. “You'd have liked the other two boys I met this year, they were really special, too, and really clever.”

“'m not clever at all,” the boy mumbled.

Screw the kidnapping. He still had a bunch of money left over from Sherlock's creepy older brother, anyway.

“You can read,” Lukas said firmly. “At your age, that's pretty d- pretty clever. And I bet you'll read through Matilda in no time! I am so getting you that book. Also, let me tell you about Tony and Sherlock. You know what? I should really give you Sherlock's number, I bet the two of you would get on like a house on fire...”

Harry trustingly got into the car with the stranger, which was not okay and Lukas decided to talk to the boy about that. Later. After the bookstore, and ice cream, the magic section of a toy store if they could find that, and maybe a second-hand clothing store that carried a good children's selection. Everything had to be better than that tent the tiny child was currently swimming in.

The afternoon turned out to be highly illuminating for both Lukas and Harry. Lukas found out that he really wasn't cut out to be a kidnapper. Harry found out that not all adults were mean and that there were actually people in the world who thought he wasn't a burden, wasn't a freak and, most importantly, who were willing to buy him ice cream. And give him books rather than take them from him.

...And then they found out that there was a pub Harry could see and Lukas couldn't, and down the rabbit hole they went.

A year later, when Lukas was visiting his brother again, he told him that he'd been right about crime involving children being a bad idea – and that he'd decided on strictly non-criminal dealings with children from now on. He was currently studying to become a social worker in England.

Marvin looked at him dumbly for a long moment, then burst into hysterical laughter.

Chapter Text

SH: Thank you for the computer, Stark.

TS: It's Tony, and that is a phone, and you're welcome.

SH: Sherlock then. If this is a phone, then what is a Nokia?

TS: A sad relic of the past. Once my dad agrees to take up my line of practical inventions instead of just making weapons, I'll revolutionize the field of inter-personal communication.

SH: Greetings from Harry. He says you should make a flying carpet. He believes that would be really useful.

TS: I like it. Get right on it.

SH: Harry would like to meet you.

TS: …

SH: So would I.

TS: …

TS: ...

TS: You know, I was going to enroll at CalTech, and I know for a fact they don't have a remote study program. Yet. But for a Stark? I think they can make that happen. Also, Dad would probably be thrilled to get me out of his hair.

SH: When will you be here?

TS: Let me just check… How does Sunday sound?

SH: As it happens, my social calendar is wide open on Sunday, and so is my brother Harry's. We look forward to seeing you, Stark. Tony.

SH: Harry says hi.

Twenty Years Later...

“NO! No, no, no, no, no! You can't just -”

“Be right back!” Harry gave a cheeky wink and vanished into thin air.

“That boy is going to be the death of me,” Tony groaned.

“He is rather aggravating, isn't he?” Sherlock agreed mildly, then bent back down to study the papers from child protective services some more. “Look, Luke writes here that Melinda's parents have been accused of abusive behaviour twice before, but for some reason, the state never followed up. Sound like someone we know?” He raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

Tony kind of envied him that ability. “Darn right it does. So you think we've got another neglected muggleborn with magical cover-up on our hands?”

Just then, a crack rang through the office of Patronus Inc. and Harry reappeared, a frightened looking nine year-old in his arms.

“Harry!” Tony scolded. “You can't just go around kidnapping children all the time!”

“The heck I can't! Her father was about to beat her. With a whiskey bottle. You really want to tell me I should have left her there?”

Tony scowled, but shut up. Sherlock eyed the shiner on the girl's left eye and decided to hold his peace, as well.

“Besides,” Harry smirked, “getting kidnapped has worked out pretty well for us, hasn't it?”

The three men looked at each other and smiled. Indeed, being kidnapped had worked out well for them.

Like a charm.

~ The End ~