July 19th excerpt:
“We both will,” came a deeper voice, and Sam gave a start, looking up to find just the corner of Dean’s eye looking towards them. It was difficult for Dean to interact with them on his shoulder, but not impossible.
Dean smirked at Sam’s surprise. “Do you really think I can’t hear you there, pint-size?” He shook his head mournfully, a joke sparkling in his eye. “I thought you knew better.”
Sam huffed with frustration, and Walt had to stifle a chuckle at his expense.
July 18th excerpt:
Dean growled. “Sam’s not facing them without me,” he said darkly, unconsciously putting his hand back down next to Sam and Walt. Almost protectively, despite his disagreement with Sam. Nothing had changed between them. “Where he goes, I go.”
Rufus smiled. “Then I think we have a plan.” He clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “Now refresh my memory. Where’s the grub in this place?”
Bobby sighed.
July 17th excerpt:
Dean, it seemed, was on the same track. “No,” he growled, the power of that growl reverberating through his throat and straight through Walt and Sam. “I don’t like it, it’s not happening.”
Sam sighed loud enough to be heard throughout the room, no small feat for someone under the size of a hand. “Dean. Table, now.”
The reluctance from Dean was almost tangible in the air, a thick feeling that permeated the room. Yet he shifted, resting the arm that was attached to the shoulder Sam and Walt were sitting on so it lay on the table.
Sam wasted no time scaling down to the table. “Dean, this isn’t your choice. We’ve been over this, remember? I’m the one who gets to decide if the risk is worth it, and I’m willing to hear them out.”
July 15th excerpt:
A distant “Come in!” made its way to where they stood, and Sam and Dean both frowned in unison, a silent look passing between them.
“What is it?” Walt asked warily, disliking the way the air filled with tension.
“Might be nothing,” Dean muttered, his voice staying low for them.
“Might be something,” Sam interjected, one hand tight on Dean’s collar while the other rested against his brother’s neck.
July 14th excerpt:
“Riiiight,” Walt said slowly, pulling away from Dean’s neck once they were clear. “I… don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
“The crazy’s only just begun,” Dean muttered under his breath, and received an instant jab in the neck from Sam for his troubles.
July 13th excerpt:
Lunch took half an hour, and Dean spent most of that time patiently scanning the world outside the Impala. He couldn’t stomach the thought of food, so he fiddled with the paper bag the sandwich had come from, hoping maybe Sam would think he’d eaten a second sandwich. Maybe he’d been too distracted to listen to Dean order, or–
“Really?”
Dean lost all hope of sliding this one past Sam when he heard the disapproving tone in the soft voice down on the seat. He turned his eyes down to where Sam was standing with his arms crossed, right next to the parted foil wrapper of the sandwich. Clearly, he knew Dean had never ordered more food. Not that Dean had held out much hope of slipping it by Sam. He never could.
With a wan smile, Dean gave it his best shot. “I just figured you might want seconds,” he said in a half-hearted protest, waving the food off.
July 12th excerpt:
Dean glanced to the side to see where they were sitting, the visible corner of his mouth quirking up into a grin, familiar even from that angle. “Found us some grub,” he said, sounding proud. “You two should get some cover.”
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.”
July 11th excerpt:
“You know he doesn’t mind, right?” Sam asked in a hush. “Really. I’ve sat here pretty much every day since I left.”
Walt couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering to Dean’s again. Dean didn’t even twitch at Sam’s words. Maybe he really couldn’t hear them like this.
“It’s just…” Walt kept his voice just as soft as Sam. “You’re used to this. And him. How?”
Sam grinned and couldn’t stop a slight laugh at that. “We make our own normal, Dad. If I can’t ride shotgun like a regular human can, I’ll do it here.”
July 9th excerpt:
Cupping his hands around his mouth, Dean practiced one of his least-used abilities due to living most of his life in hiding, and threw his voice to the right. “Who ya gonna call?!”
Stan was practically flattened to the floor, one eye squinted closed to peer under the couch. He regretted allowing himself to get sidetracked long enough to let Dean find cover down there. It was much darker under there than it was under the chair, and nearly impossible to distinguish the shadows toward the back. He was hesitant to reach in when he couldn’t see Dean, but he also didn’t want to let him get away that easily.
Brothers Apart 