Tag: sherlock holmes

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December 27th excerpt:

Moira stood and took a few steps towards the strangers on the table. Her family didn’t entertain guests very often, but she knew how to offer hospitality. And maybe she could help reassure them, considering the way Sherlock and John could loom. Sherlock especially with that focused look in his eyes.

Moira spared him one last glance before opening up her bag, a smaller version of Sam’s. “Is anyone hungry?” she asked in a small voice. “I don’t have much, but my mother made some cakes,” she offered shyly, pulling one out and unwrapping it from the fabric coiled around it.

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December 26th excerpt:

The detective frowned when he caught sight of the line leading from the opened cage to the floor, and the little shadow of what must have been Dean dashing from it.

Ignoring everything else, Sherlock closed the distance between himself and Dean easily, slamming down a hand like a barrier in front of him and scooping him up to eye level.

“What do you think you’re doing??” he demanded, more confused than anything else. Sherlock was not fond of the feeling.

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December 25th excerpt:

The detective groped blindly at a lock of some kind, and he focused on that. It was a combination lock, one he couldn’t simply pick open and would take far too long to figure out the code for.

“Dean,” he rumbled, eyes darting around the room. It was a wide space, nothing jumped out at him in the shapes he could make out, nothing important, anyway. “I need something to break this off.”

Dean scanned the room, all of his focus concentrated on the task. “Okay, there’s a box in the corner. It’s full of old tools, some wrenches, a pretty hefty hammer–” hefty being so big that Sam and Dean together would never budge it, “–and a drill that looks like it hasn’t been used since I lived in America. Turn right, about three steps. Watch out for the table, don’t want to go knocking that copy of Harry Potter onto the floor.”

“You’re improving,” Sherlock commented as he followed Dean’s directions. Whether it was the stress of the situation or the urgency, it certainly seemed like Dean was showing off at this point. Not that Sherlock was complaining.

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December 24th excerpt:

“Hang on,” Sherlock warned Dean, giving him a second to brace himself before jumping up to catch the lowest rung of the escape stairs and drag them down to ground level.

“Holy–!”

Dean’s cry of surprise went unheeded in the swift motion as Sherlock jumped and snagged the ladder. The sensation of freefall was unwelcome for the smaller man, his fear of flying hitting him all at once when he felt himself become airborne as Sherlock dropped back down.

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December 17th excerpt:

John couldn’t help but marvel at the amount of detail he was able to see through the small lens, if slightly distorted. The individual spikes of Dean’s hair which swayed as though in time with a breeze; it didn’t take John long to realize that the breeze was his breath, and he made a conscious effort to lessen the gust. Freckles across Dean’s cheeks and stubble on his chin, the tiniest things that John wouldn’t be able to make out ordinarily. Bloodstains on his black shirt, and… John squinted and looked closer, a little thrown by the sight of a necklace resting against Dean’s chest. Even with the magnifier, all he could really make out was an outline of a leather cord and a metallic gleam from a pendant.

“What is that? ” Sherlock piped up, leaning in close again. 

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December 16th excerpt:

Leaning on the slight incline of John’s fingers, some of which outsized him in length, Dean had never looked smaller and more vulnerable.

This was further accentuated when a longer, paler finger came from behind John to poke at Dean’s shoulder, flipping the tiny person onto his back.

“Stop that!” John hissed, slapping Sherlock’s hand out of the way. The hand supporting Dean wavered ever so slightly, causing his head to loll to the other side.

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December 14th excerpt:

John blinked at the sudden shift in Dean’s trajectory, concern mounting as the man fell silent. He glanced at Sherlock again, whose frown deepened. “Is this– Has he ever tracked a person? ”

“Not to my knowledge,” muttered the detective in reply. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest and his eyes darted between Dean and John. Sherlock wouldn’t say it aloud, but he was looking to John for answers as much as John was to him. As a doctor, his expertise was more expansive than Sherlock’s from a medical standpoint. There was no telling what sorts of limits Dean’s ability held, or the toll it would take.

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December 11th excerpt:

When nothing turned up there, Sherlock got up to repeat the process around the room. He paused, squinted and leaned over the worktop to scrutinize a minuscule smudge. There were a few tiny dots of blood, long since dried, a short distance from the book pile where the knife had been found, one of them spread thin in the vague impression of the toe of a minuscule boot.

A tiny foot kicks Sam’s knife across the surface, hard enough to cover several inches in distance.

Sherlock frowned at the image that flashed in his mind. If Sam was truly in danger from another human, why would he rid himself of his sole weapon? Unless he wasn’t alone…