Number 4 Privet Drive—more precisely, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
It was a quiet place, one that seemed completely untouched by magic. And yet, it was where Harry Potter had lived for most of his life.
Sherlock's family home, by contrast, was located in Kensington and Chelsea—right in central London.
Surrey lay to the southeast of England, adjacent to Greater London. The distance between the two places was only a bit over twenty miles—not exactly far.
"Okay… but why are we going there?" Harry asked.
As always, Harry trusted Sherlock implicitly. So when Sherlock proposed a visit to Privet Drive, Harry had agreed first—and only afterward asked the obvious question.
After all, the Dursleys had never welcomed him.
"There are a few things I need to confirm with your aunt," Sherlock replied, then smoothly shifted the subject. "By the way, Harry—have you thought about what to get our professors for Christmas?"
"Not really," Harry admitted.
He truly hadn't given it a single thought.
Which only made things more confusing.
What does that have to do with visiting Privet Drive?
Harry didn't get an answer—until they actually arrived at Number 4.
---
The next morning, Mrs. Holmes drove Sherlock and Harry north out of London.
It wasn't Christmas yet, but the towns they passed were already decorated with festive cheer.
When they reached Privet Drive, Harry saw that nothing had changed since he'd left.
At Sherlock's urging, he walked slowly and reluctantly to the front door and knocked.
Moments later, a thin, blonde woman appeared in the doorway.
The second she saw Harry, her horse-like face paled visibly.
"What are you doing here?"
Harry felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and leave on the spot.
A hand came down gently on his shoulder—it was Sherlock's.
Sherlock shook his head slightly, then turned toward the woman.
"Good day, Mrs. Dursley."
At the same time, Mrs. Holmes stepped forward and offered a graceful smile.
"Pleased to meet you."
"And who might you be?" Petunia asked warily, eyeing the strange adult woman who had appeared out of nowhere.
She looked calm and refined on the surface, but the fact that she'd arrived with Harry was enough to raise every red flag Petunia had.
"I'm Valetta Holmes. My son Sherlock and Harry are classmates at Hogwarts. I apologize for the sudden visit."
So it's just as I feared!
Even though Mrs. Holmes was polite and impeccably well-mannered, the moment she mentioned Hogwarts, Petunia's expression twisted into one of disgust.
She opened her mouth to respond, but just then, a voice called from inside the house.
"What is it, darling?"
"Shampoo salespeople! They're leaving now!" she shouted back before quickly turning again.
Dropping her voice to a hiss, she snapped at Mrs. Holmes, "You're not welcome here. I suggest you leave before my husband loses his temper."
Harry didn't need to be told twice.
This was the reaction he expected—and he was more than ready to go.
But Mrs. Holmes simply smiled, unbothered. "Harry often speaks fondly of you at school, Mrs. Dursley. Says you take excellent care of him."
Petunia: (￣_￣)
Who do you think you're fooling?
Sure, she and Vernon had raised Harry for the past ten years—but "excellent care" was a laughable exaggeration.
In Petunia's mind, what they'd done was more than enough already.
She was just about to kick the whole group out when Sherlock suddenly spoke up:
"Madam, you wouldn't want your husband to lose his job, would you?"
Petunia: Σ(｀д′*ノ)ノ
Before she could respond, Sherlock continued calmly,
"I believe Mr. Dursley is expecting two very important guests for dinner tonight, yes?"
Her pale blue eyes narrowed to slits.
"If I'm not mistaken, this is the biggest business deal Mr. Dursley's landed in years, isn't it?"
Petunia's face went deathly white.
"I can see you've prepared quite thoroughly for it. But if those guests were to find out about—"
Sherlock paused, reaching into his coat and pulling out his wand.
He hadn't meant to threaten her with magic—just make a point using his words and gestures.
But to his surprise, that one simple motion had an overwhelming effect.
Petunia shrieked and immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.
Right then, a red-faced, heavyset man burst out from the living room, eyes bulging with rage.
His face—already crimson—was rapidly turning purple.
Sherlock took in the reaction and instantly realized: this family's fear of magic ran far deeper than he'd anticipated.
He adjusted his approach accordingly.
"So…" he said lightly, stroking his wand with one hand. "Not going to invite us in?"
Mrs. Holmes quietly shook her head as she watched.
She'd tried the polite way—but clearly, her son's strategy worked better.
Five minutes later, Sherlock, Mrs. Holmes, and a completely stunned Harry were sitting in the Dursleys' living room.
For the first time in his life, Harry was being treated like a guest in his aunt and uncle's home.
It felt… surreal.
Vernon Dursley glowered at them.
"Right then," he barked. "What is it you want?"
Sherlock's gaze swept across the Dursley family.
Though he'd heard Harry describe his relatives many times, and had formed a mental picture of them, seeing them in person offered far more clarity.
Despite being Harry's blood relatives, the three of them looked nothing like him.
Vernon was a large, broad-shouldered man with a huge, bristling mustache and almost no neck.
Petunia was thin and bony with a long neck—nearly twice as long as normal—and a horse-like face.
Their son Dudley had inherited his mother's blonde hair and his father's bulk. His face was so pudgy it seemed squashed together.
Harry, by contrast, was small and skinny, with striking green eyes. The difference was stark.
"There's no need to be so tense," Mrs. Holmes said, still smiling.
She looked at Sherlock, who gave a slight nod and turned to Petunia.
"I just have a few questions. About Harry's mother. From my observations, I believe you may know more than you let on."
"No! Absolutely not!" Petunia shrieked before he could finish.
Harry spread his hands in resignation.
He'd expected that answer.
Ever since Hagrid had first told him about the wizarding world, Harry had asked Aunt Petunia several times about his mother.
She'd always refused to say a word.
But maybe today…
Harry turned to Sherlock, hopeful.
If anyone could get the truth out of her—it would be Sherlock Holmes.
---
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