Location: 221B Baker Street. The fire crackles as the snow falls outside the windows. Sherlock Holmes, the world’s one and only consulting detective, stands by the darkened glass, brooding as he always does. No one is quite sure what happens inside his head. The only people who can even come remotely close are John Watson, former army doctor turned blogger and consulting assistant, and the Doctor.
The Doctor sits at the desk wondering why humans have so many strange habits. Though Sherlock never really qualified as human, exactly. Oh, sure, the man has a heart, of course he does. But he is a no-nonsense type of person, one who doesn’t let emotions get in the way. This is why the Doctor enjoys his company sometimes- he doesn’t babble on like those two Americans in the room.
Sam and Dean Winchester are arguing… again. The Doctor isn’t sure about what, exactly, but then again he never is. Sherlock has become most adept at ignoring their constant squabbling. What the Doctor can make of it, Sam didn’t get the right food for Dean. Trivial things to argue over, it’s so… human of them, which is amazing considering what they’d been through.
The Doctor hadn’t been sure that taking Sam and Dean to meet Sherlock and John was a good idea. It’s like putting two atomic bombs in a room and telling them to buddy up. It had gone better than he expected, though, even if Sherlock immediately knew everything about them.
The Doctor went back to three days ago, remembering…
“Doctor, seriously, where are we going?” Sam asked, leaning against the bronze railings next to the TARDIS’ console. He was always the curious one. Dean never really asked questions that often, just sulked in a corner somewhere.
“I’ve got a friend back in London,” the Doctor said, pulling a few levers and pressing a button or two. “I think he can help you find the Leviathan.”
“’Think’ isn’t good enough,” Dean grumbled. “I don’t want to waste more time than we already have!”
“Okay, then I am positive that this man can help you two,” the Doctor said, grinning in spite of himself. Dean tried so hard to be tough and uncaring, but really, he cared so much it caused him physical pain. His life revolved around two things: keeping Sam safe, and above all, keeping Castiel alive. And he’d failed in both aspects.
“Who is he?” Sam walked around the main console to stand next to the Doctor, looking at the screen. He couldn’t read Gallifreyan, of course, but he really tried to understand what the symbols meant.
Sherlock, still standing by the old windows, ponders what brought him here. The Winchesters had a family dynamic almost more strange than his own with Mycroft. Of course, they didn’t cause national security issues, but fighting and killing demons… It’s similar to dealing with Parliament.
Sherlock grins at his own joke, listening to the brothers snapping at each other’s throats. Yes, most Parliamental debates went something like this. Sherlock recalled what he could deduce about them. Mother dead in an accident when they were young, most likely violent. Trained as fighters by a single father. Looking at Samuel, the younger one, it was quite easy to deduce him. Pursued education in lieu of taking up the “family business”. Left his education behind to find his father… why, though?
When he had met the boys two days ago, he told them all this. Samuel had gaped open-mouthed at him, though when he touched on the subject of the search for their father, he closed his mouth and became very shielded and closed. Someone close must have died. Possibly a friend, more likely a girlfriend. Samuel had moved forward, as if to hit Sherlock across the face, but the Doctor had stopped him.
Sherlock had looked closer at the elder brother Dean. Very loyal to friends and family. He had lost someone recently, who had apparently been the owner of the long coat he held clenched in his right hand. Why keep the coat? This person had left him, then- he wouldn’t have kept it otherwise. Humans are sentimental that way.
But something was wrong. There was still something he couldn’t figure out. What was the family business?
Ah, of course…
The Winchesters had looked surprised that he knew about demons, but, well, it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had dealt with the “sons of bitches”, as Dean would put it. Jim Moriarty had been possessed for a time, and he’d had far too much fun exorcising that one, once he’d found out how. Ever since, there had been a demon trap on the underside of the welcome mat, and salt and holy water in a hidden compartment under the desk. Within reach, but not obviously so.
Sherlock is shaken back to the present by a text alert on his cell phone. He opens the text with a button and reads it out.
I found the Leviathan’s leader. You’re not going to like it. –Crowley
He flips open the phone and texts back.
Tell me everything. –SH
Instead of a reply text, the phone begins ringing. Sherlock answers it. “Sherlock Holmes.”
And Crowley is right. The answer is not at all what he expected, and he doesn’t like it at all.