Sherlock glanced down at Dean, sitting relaxed atop his sternum, and hummed thoughtfully at the insinuation that he scared off the previous small tenants of Baker Street. It certainly wasn’t improbable, though he did wonder if Sam and Dean shared the same sentiments when moving in, and if so, how deeply they believed them.
Interesting to think that they would stay, or even choose to move in with that in mind.
With #eotm the only remaining title to guess (along with the new excerpts that will be posting), #a:asocs is unlocked for everyone to enjoy!
Aftermath: A Series of Consulted Shorts
(This is why we didn’t think it would be guessed XD Definitely a different style)
Short stories and small occurrences are an important part of Sherlock Holmes, and Brothers Consulted is no different! Enjoy a sneak peek at our favorite short story from within, The Borrower and the Baker!
Stan’s brow went up when a small older woman with an apron and cleaning gloves on her hands answered the door, and he put on his most charming smile, shoving his hands casually into the pockets of his dark wool coat. Unlike the black suits he and his team were encouraged to wear under Mycroft’s direct instruction, Stan was on his own time today and decided to make this visit in his street clothes.
“Afternoon,” he amicably greeted the woman he knew to be the landlady, Mrs. Hudson, even though they had never formally met. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything, I was just hoping to speak with Mr. Holmes.”
Mrs. Hudson understood right away and let him inside, pointing him toward the stairs. He thanked her for her trouble and followed her directions, coming upon another door on the landing. It was closed, so he knocked and waited.
Sherlock Holmes answered the door after a moment, looking Stan up and down. Despite the hour, he was still in a dressing gown over an odd combination of a dress shirt and pyjama trousers. Recognizing him from their most recent adventure, the detective’s brow pinched.
“What is it?” he demanded bluntly, under the assumption that something must have happened or changed to cause Agent Baker to visit.
Stan made a move to unfasten his coat. “May I come in?”
Sherlock stepped aside, holding the door open for Stan as he entered and closing it behind him.
“Sorry for sort of barging in on you like this,” said Stan, shedding his coat and draping it over one arm, “but my team and I are in a bit of a bind and we need some advice.”
“Yes, yes, get to the point,” Sherlock grumbled impatiently.
Stan scratched at the back of his neck, a little hesitant. “Actually, sir, I was rather hoping to discuss this with Dean as well–”
“Dean! ” Sherlock called to the seemingly empty room, knowing the smaller man would hear. Then he snatched a chair from the end table against the wall and placed it across from the fireplace, indicating that Stan should sit as he dropped into his own chair. Bemused, Stan did just that, laying his coat over the back of it before taking a seat, folding his hands in his lap while he waited.
They weren’t left waiting for long; it was only moments before there was movement deep in the bookshelf by John’s empty armchair.
There was very little dust left on the shelf from the time Sherlock removed all the books. This meant Dean didn’t get as messy when he passed through the crack that lead to their home. The old spiderwebs that had once draped over the area were gone as well, leaving him a clear path.
In annoyance, the little guy stormed out into plain sight. His leather jacket was hastily thrown on and his duffel bag hung askew, and he was glaring right at Sherlock when he came out into the light.
“You know, I’m right there, like two feet away,” Dean complained. “You’re gonna wake the dead one of these days, and the last thing we need to deal with is any vengeful spirits knocking on our doors along with all the rest of the problems going on.”
The sight of Stan sitting across from where Dean was standing brought him up short, not expecting anyone else in the flat. Dean scanned him up and down, evidently remembering the man from the late-night case two weeks ago. “Stan!” he called, his voice warmer than during his scolding of Sherlock. “Didn’t expect to see you droppin’ in!”
A smile broke through Stan’s bemusement regarding the situation as a whole. As strange as it was to watch the tiny man appear from the bookshelf and chastise someone so much larger than himself, it was good to see Dean again. He was the first and only tiny person Stan had ever met, and he would not forget their meeting anytime soon.
“Been a while,” Stan mused with a grin. “My team and I have been working round the clock the past few week, figured I’d stop in and give you an update.”
It wasn’t odd to hear movement from upstairs when John returned to Baker Street. It had been ages since Sherlock took a case, it was a miracle he’d lasted this long without breaking into one of his antsy episodes. What did catch his attention was a voice he didn’t recognize, giving a grunted exclamation every now and then.
“Get back here, you li’l–! ” rang out when John reached the door, and it set every single one of his nerves on edge.
Timeline: Right after moving into 221B Baker Street
Dean shoved Sam out of the way, his younger brother stumbling backwards from the unexpected danger. Moira yelped, grabbing Sam’s arm to haul him back, leaving Dean to face the threat on his own.
Dean didn’t budge an inch, his silver knife in hand as he faced down the cat to give Sam and Moira time to escape. This was supposed to be a quick trip to grab some supplies, stock up Sam and Dean’s new home a few flats away from Moira’s family. They’d only had enough extra food for one meal, and having Moira’s help was welcome.
Of course, no one ever consulted them when getting a new pet, and not knowing that a cat now lived in the flat Moira’s family called home meant that they’d stumbled right into it.
It wasn’t quite the hiss of anger Dean had expected to hear before the deadly paw descended on him. In fact, it was exactly the opposite. He squinted his eyes open just as he realized he’d closed them as he prepared for the inevitable.
The cat still sat in the same spot, its tail swishing from side to side. Now that the element of surprise was gone, Dean could see it was only a kitten, nose twitching as it looked over the three tiny people it had cornered. Its head moved closer and Dean stiffened, expecting at any second to feel the crushing fangs close around his chest.
Instead, a wet nose pressed into Dean’s side. He jolted away in surprise, almost flailing off balance. The kitten blinked at him, then mrowwed again.
Sam and Moira, standing against the wall, stared at the odd scene. Slowly, it all began to sink into Sam, and he snickered.
Dean sent him a wounded look over his shoulder.
“It wants you to pet it!” Sam called, almost doubling over with laughter.
Dean tore his gaze from Sam and looked back at the kitten just as a headbutt from the animal knocked him from his feet. He went sprawling, rolling a few times until he landed at Sam and Moira’s feet, staring up at them in a daze.
Moira joined Sam in laughing as they hauled Dean to his feet. “Go on!” she said, shoving him towards the kitten. “Pet her!”
Dean reached up a hesitant hand as the kitten cocked her head at him, ear flicking the moment his hand brushed against the fur. He scratched behind the ear like it was the most important task he’d ever performed, considering that if she wanted to, the kitten could turn the three of them into her playthings.
Nothing like that happened, aside from a rumbling purr from deep in the cat’s chest. She stretched out her front legs, each toe extending as she flopped down at Dean’s feet and looked up at him.
“I think you have a new best friend,” Sam said in a laughing attempt at a hush as he slipped past Dean, leading Moira towards the wall entrance they’d left behind.
“You’re not so bad, are ya?” Dean mused as he rubbed behind the ear again, thinking everything was going to work out fine.
Just as Sam and Moira made it to the wall, it happened.
Dean’s sneeze was so violent he was knocked off his feet, landing on his butt an inch away from a curious ear flick. The kitten picked up her head, nosing worriedly at Dean when the scritches didn’t resume. He barely noticed the large wet spot left on his leather jacket this time, too concerned with holding back another sneeze.
Sam had to come back to grab Dean with Moira safely in the walls, hauling his older brother up and giving him a shove at the entrance while distracting the kitten with a scritch. Sam, who didn’t have any allergies to cats, did much better than his older brother, and escaped the moment the kitten’s eyes fluttered shut.
They parted ways with Moira at the fork in the path, her returning to her home with her parents while Sam propelled Dean towards their new home in the hopes that dunking his head in water might help the sneezes.
Otherwise, they might lose their ninja titles.
All through the walls, Dean sneezed.
Passing a kitchen with wonderful aromas wafting through the walls. “Ah-choo!”
Hearing a toilet flush. “Ah– ACHOO!”
Sam let out a sigh as they finally got home, hurrying to their water supplies while Dean morosely picked at a long, ginger-colored hair that clung to him even after leaving the kitten behind.
“Ah– CHOO! ”
The humans living in the flat were usually more observant than most. They were also quite busy and happened to be lost in their own worlds.
Sherlock Holmes was wrapped up in an experiment, subjecting disembodied fingers– specifically the fingernails– to the flame of a blowtorch at gradually lengthened intervals. It was a relatively quiet experiment, but the smell of it had John Watson slamming the sliding kitchen doors shut to keep the odor out of the main room.
John sat at the small table against the wall in the middle of the living room, typing away at his blog. Sherlock’s most recent case had been a convoluted one, and he wanted to be sure to get the details right. Or at least to a point where they made sense to the layman.
A muffled sneeze briefly broke his concentration.
“Gesundheit,” John muttered, under the assumption that the fingernail-fumes were finally starting to get to Sherlock. For his part, the detective hadn’t even heard the small noise from the kitchen, and so he and the doctor remained blissfully ignorant of the smaller residents of 221B Baker Street as the brothers stared at each other in shock, the human’s response to Dean’s sneeze completely unexpected.
Before Dean could sneeze again, Sam dunked his head into the cap of water. Dean resurfaced, gasping and wiping at his eyes before burying his head in the nest of fabric he called a bed. A muffled sneeze could be heard as Dean slumped in place.
“No more cats,” Sam said grimly, wondering at their close call with Sherlock and John.
For anyone that missed it, during the original guessing game for the AU and a few of the excerpts, in Brothers Consulted, Sam and Dean did not escape from Celeste. John never found her, Walt never rescued them. The brothers woke up together in a hexbag a week later.
Taking the first chance he gets, Dean cuts them free and they scale down the nightstand she left the bag on, getting away. Problem is, they’re still thinking like humans, so they go looking for help. And the people they find don’t help them find their father like they’d hoped.
Captured just like the others littles in Taken, Sam and Dean are shipped off to England (Much like Mina Chandler would have done with Bree, Mikael and Christian if given the chance). Once there, Dean contrives an escape using a paperclip left near their cage, getting himself and his little brother out of there. They aren’t about to make the same mistake twice, and are found huddled together by an older couple, standing the same size as Sam and Dean. They take the two children in, sheltering them until the brothers decide to move out.
And of course, they pick 221B Baker Street to move into.