Stricken Sneezes

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AU: Brothers Consulted

Timeline: Right after moving into 221B Baker Street


“Look out!”

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.

A cat.

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.

“Mrow?”

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.

Stalemate.

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.

“Ah– CHOO!”

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.

“ACHOO!”

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.


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@borrowedtimeandspace

One of my favorite Disney flicks! Boy, what an ‘Ember Island Players’ moment that would be, though. If the movie did exist, John would probably bring it home on an impulse buy and insist they all watch it, just for funsies.

Despite the different era and the mice, they can’t deny the uncanny resemblances between themselves and the characters in the movie. Sherlock immediately points out that Dawson is exactly John, while the poor doctor wouldn’t say exactly. (”I’m not that round…”) Sherlock, of course, is universally declared to be Basil by all, even hesitantly by the detective himself. I can hear the bros and John pointing at the screen at certain points of the movie and exclaiming, “That’s so you!” to Sherlock, to his bewilderment. 

@nightmares06

Aaa, it’s been so long since I saw that movie! I think Sam would be pretty amused, and definitely want Sherlock to get a basset hound. Clearly Sherlock needs a dog, right? And Dean is certainly going the hero of the story and save them all.

And, since this actually falls really close, I think you’ve earned a sneak peek of a future planned storyline– for Brothers Apart! Where Sam finds a mouse and Dean dubs him ‘Squeaklock Holmes’ (I wonder how Sherlock would take the name).


Sam couldn’t help a small scoff. “Don’t tell me. I’m not the one you almost killed just now.”

An expression of hurt flashed over Dean’s face at that, but he nodded in understanding. “What’s his name?” he asked gently. Dean had been told in the past how Sam had raised a mouse of his own. Sam had explained to him it was like having a dog, and mice could be just as loyal. The one he’d raised for a few weeks as a child had visited him many times, often bringing him small trinkets.

Sam shook his head, rubbing the russet mouse’s head behind him. “He doesn’t have a name. He’s the one that guided me to the hexbag. They knew it didn’t belong in the walls, and they wanted me to get it out for them.”

Dean’s hand lifted off the floor, reaching towards Sam and the mouse. “Hey, there, little guy,” Dean coaxed, trying to get the mouse out of hiding. “I won’t hurtcha, I promise.”

The mouse let out a little squeak of fear, trying to keep Sam as a barrier between him and the approaching hand. “It’s okay,” Sam said reassuringly, “he really won’t hurt you, now that he knows you’re not attacking me.” He knelt down, putting an arm over the mouse’s back for support and scratching behind a rounded ear.

The mouse relaxed slightly at Sam’s steady calm and twitched his nose hesitantly in the direction of Dean’s outstretched hand. Dean held his hand motionless as the mouse sniffed his finger, letting him familiarize himself with the hunter’s scent. Maybe he recognized Dean’s scent from Sam earlier, because with an approving squeak, the mouse lightly nuzzled his finger in return.

Dean gently ruffled the fur on the top of the mouse’s head. “Well, since Sammy hasn’t given you a name yet, how’s ‘Squeaklock Holmes’ sound?” he asked, eyes flashing briefly to Sam for approval. “After all, he’s quite the mouse detective, finding that hexbag for us.”

It is, the poor brothers!

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.

November 8th excerpt:

Sam looked towards the table, his eyes glancing over the newspaper clippings that covered it. In his mind’s eye, he could conjure up an image of Dean, who would pick through those articles any night he could, working through Sherlock’s cases on his own and occasionally coming up with separate lines of inquiry.

He was always so proud when his ideas helped solve the cases.

Could Dean’s curiosity have lured him out into the open near Sherlock?

November 6th excerpt:

With that obstacle overcome, Sherlock wasted no time in stepping out onto the street. His guard was immediately up, and he eyed each pedestrian that passed defensively. Perhaps this was what people referred to as having a chip on their shoulder.

In a way, Sherlock supposed he did have one.

November 4th excerpt:

Shocked didn’t adequately describe how Dean felt about Sherlock’s offer.

Stunned, aghast, flustered… None of them came close. Maybe appalled, at himself, for actually finding that he was considering it.

Sam would kill me!

And yet, his mind entertained the possibilities.

November 3rd excerpt:

Dean couldn’t stop himself from snorting at how obtuse the client was on the phone, likewise assured that he couldn’t be heard from his spot in the corner of the room. “She might flee from that attitude,” Dean muttered under his breath, rolling his own eyes in a tiny mimic of Sherlock’s, though he remained riveted on the details of the case.

November 2nd excerpt:

John got up and crept up on Sherlock’s room. The door was open, so John walked right in and frowned at the scene. The detective had stripped his bookshelves of their contents, carefully arranged them on his bed, and was running his fingers over every crevice and corner of the shelves. He froze when he heard John enter.

“Snooping around, are we?” asked John flatly, crossing his arms.

November 1st excerpt:

“You know, they warned us about moving into this flat, but we thought they were exaggerating about Sherlock.” Sam laughed. “There was so much space in the walls, and plenty of room to work with, we figured we’d make it work. And helping with his cases is fun. We get to help people, one way or the other, just like Dad.”

“Oh God,” John chortled, letting his hand drop. He could only imagine what kinds of things– factual and rumor alike– that could be spread about the smaller community. The fact that there was a smaller community that knew about them, or Sherlock at the very least, was equally thrilling and weird to think about.

October 30th excerpt:

Sherlock was absolutely fuming at this development, now fully assured that this was a personal jab at him. He spent nearly the entire day going back and forth between ranting and raving about it and silently stewing.

“What have I ever done to them?! ” he exploded that evening after nearly two hours of silence. He was curled into an angry ball in his armchair.

John shot him a look, tilting down his laptop screen. "It may have something to do with you trapping them in jars, Sherlock.”

“I meant LATELY!”