catpixels:

The Heart of a Wolf

Guess from the Brothers Apart discord! Feel free to join the conversation!


And another guess that comes right from the Brothers Apart chatroom! Dean might be the size of a mouse, but he has The Heart of a Wolf!


“What do you want?” Sherlock sighed. The last time the agent had set foot in Baker Street, he’d somehow gotten himself enrolled in a bizarre training with Dean.

Still, even Sherlock had to admit (at least to himself, and certainly not out loud) that he had the makings of an acceptable ally.

With their recent addition of Detective-Inspector Greg Lestrade to the list of people who knew about Sam and Dean, Sherlock was beginning to resign himself to this pattern.

Oh, er. Well, I was mostly wondering if Dean would be up for another training session.”

“I don’t see why not.” Sherlock’s blunt reply was strictly derived from Dean’s previous encounters with Agent Baker. They were quite easygoing with one another, the agent mindful of his movements around Dean, who was seemingly unafraid to tell it like it was to anyone no matter how tall. Objections to the opportunity to refine Agent Baker’s skills were likely to be rare, if existent.

Brilliant! ” After a slight pause, Agent Baker began a hesitant question. “Do you, ah, think he’ll mind–?

Sherlock rolled his eyes with a disinterested noise and hung up the phone on the spot.

March 28th excerpt:

Dean pushed himself back from John with his free hand, trying to inch backwards from the man and put some space between them. That is, until he ran up against the hand cupped behind and flinched away again.

“We don’t want your help,” Dean protested, clinging to Sam. “People can’t be trusted, what makes you any different?”

March 4th excerpt:

At 2 pm, the phone rang and Sherlock Holmes was the only one around to answer it.

Dr. John Watson had already left for his shift at a newly acquired job (evidently determined to make this one stick so they could “pay the damn rent”). Sam and Dean Winchester, the other flatmates standing at four inches tall at the most were hardly under obligation to answer the landline. That left the detective, who was too impatient to let it continue to ring any longer.

“Sherlock Holmes,” he answered curtly.

Sneak Peek

The story continues for the Consulted crew in A Day of Duality!


Sam shifted in place as John stopped, blinking at the world around him. “Somethin’ wrong?” he asked blearily, pulled out of a daydream he’d fallen into during the walk.

Then Sam heard it too. A faint cry in the air, something easily overlooked. His ears pricked up, and he paid close attention to the back of his neck, alert for anyone other than John around the alley. “Sounds like someone’s hurt,” Sam said, glancing around. That didn’t sound like the call of an injured animal, and out in London that was less likely to happen.

“Yeah,” John agreed, stepping gingerly into the alley. For a voice to be that soft, one of two things had to be true. On the one hand, it could be an injured human in the far distance, in which case John would have to be incredibly careful with Sam.

No one would speak of it, but since Sam’s kidnapping all those weeks ago there was an enhanced sense of responsibility between John and Sherlock to protect their friends. There was a much greater risk to anything that ran the chance of Sam or Dean being seen. Other humans were always a wild card, especially strangers.

Then again, on the other hand, the voice could seem distant because the person it belonged to was a borrower, closer to Sam and Dean’s size.

John didn’t know which he dreaded more. Even so, something in him wouldn’t let him turn his back on someone who needed help.

Sam was attentive as John went, his ears tuned to the voice they’d heard on the wind. There was no sense that they were being watched, no feeling of eyes on him, so he frowned, wondering who could have called for help.

“Do you think–” Sam started, then cut himself off.

Down on the ground of the alley, he’d caught sight of motion against the ground. Just a flicker, but there.

Sam might have passed it off as a mouse hiding from John if he hadn’t spotted color.

Nudging John in the neck, Sam motioned at the ground. “Watch it, I think someone’s here.”

December 16th excerpt: 

Dean smirked, not above the chance to brag on his accomplishments. “I’m a tracker,” he said proudly, jutting his chin out. “So long as Sherlock gives me some idea what we’re searching for, I can lead him right to it. Just like I coulda told him, if he asked me, that one of his missing glasses is in the back of that cupboard pushed behind everything else, the other is mixed into his lab equipment, and the last is right above our heads.”

Pointing in time with each of his declarations, Dean indicated where all the missing cups were in the flat, and on the last, with his arm pointing overhead, he nearly stumbled over, losing his balance when the room went sideways.

Lestrade and Sherlock followed Dean’s finger in each direction he pointed. While Lestrade was confused by the final location, Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the ceiling, knowing the glass hadn’t been left on the light overhead. That left the flat upstairs as the only remaining option, the place where John Watson slept. And evidently did more than sleep.

December 14th excerpt:

Lestrade couldn’t hold in a chuckle anymore, curling his fingers back to be out of reach of Dean’s little punch before relaxing them back down to the table. “Forgot about me, did ya?” he said knowingly, a little too entertained by Dean’s drunken movements and ready to catch him in case his balance gave out on him.

“Did not! ” Dean protested with his fists clenched by his sides. His shoulders bunched up, along with his leather jacket, as he stood there looking like a cat with its hair on end.

December 13th excerpt:

To say that Lestrade was bemused by all this would be an understatement. Now he was holding up two fingers. Evidently he couldn’t lift his middle finger as high as Dean wanted it independently, so the first one hovered just behind and above Dean. And while Lestrade was far from matching Dean’s level of drunk, his own whiskeys encouraged him to have a little fun.

Lestrade let his index finger curl in to gently settle on Dean’s head, mussing the teeny spike he’d styled it into.

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Artwork by @mogadeer!