Tag: superlock

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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 23rd excerpt:

John reached toward Dean and tapped the counter with his knuckle, just outside of reach of the smaller man’s reach.

Contrary to John’s hopes, the light rap against the countertop did not yield the desired results. After living over a decade in the walls, Dean was used to the feeling of vibrations or booming voices in his sleep, though normally sound was more muffled.

Dean shifted in place, rolling on his side with a brief “Quit it, Sammy,” thrown over his shoulder before settling back down.

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December 22nd excerpt:

“Sit still and get better,” Moira snipped at him, quickly making the cup and scooping water into it. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by pushing it.”

“Thanks, mom,” Dean said tartly. “Who’s the oldest here again?”

“That’d be me,” John pointed out, easily drawing attention to himself. He was steadily learning how to control his voice around the smaller folk, especially at close proximity. However, John supposed he couldn’t prevent himself from being an overwhelming presence to them even at his quietest.

With a shrug, John went on. “And as a doctor, I have to agree with Moira. You need rest. And eat up, you’re gonna have to replenish your iron and vitamins to get your strength back.”

Dean gave John a flat glare. “You two,” he griped, pointing first at Moira then at John, “are not supposed to be on the same side!”

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December 21st excerpt:

Then John went to the freezer for a cold pack. After what Sam had gone through with the ice packs for his bruises, the doctor spent one of his days off scouring the internet for friendlier, less messy alternatives to ice. After finding something surprising, John went out and bought a bag of mini marshmallows to keep in the freezer. Apparently they absorbed the cold really well, and since they were soft they were easier to apply to sore or achy spots on the body. Dean wouldn’t have to deal with the wetness of melting ice, and he’d have something sweet to nibble on later if he liked.

As strange as it was, it was a better option, theoretically.

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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.

A New Flat

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( Not related to the prompts, but a short story that I came up with while writing them )

AU: Brothers Consulted

Timeline: A year before the first story will start

“See? What’d I tell ya? It’s perfect.”

Sam frowned, glancing from side to side in the newly-discovered ‘room’ they’d taken for themselves in the wall of one of the flats on Baker Street. It was cozy and dark, some scattered beams of light slipping through cracks in the wall. Sam brushed a hand against that wall, peering out into the flat beyond.

None of the humans that called 221B Baker Street their home were around at the moment, leaving the brothers on their own to check things out. And there was plenty to see.

So many rumors dogged this place that they’d nearly heeded their adopted family’s advice and gone elsewhere. But it was so tempting.

For two brothers, raised to make a difference, the last place they’d want to end up at was a dead end, unable to help anyone. Hell, unable to help themselves.

Dean had heard of the Consulting Detective and his doctor of a flatmate, two men who did what they wanted to do– helping others, whether they saw it that way or not.

It was an irresistible temptation, and once Dean had looked in on the events at the flat, his mind was made up. The chance to hear about cases? Solving murders? Sign him up, he’d take it. Though it might not be hunting monsters with his dad the way he’d thought he’d be doing years back before his curse, it would do.

“I suppose,” Sam said slowly, his voice lowered so any possible humans in the area would never be able to hear him. “It’s not the worst…”

Dean almost glowed at the assessment and jumped straight into his excited rambling, already prepared to make his case.

“If you check out over here, the wall’s nice and weak. We’ll be able to make a door just like at our old place. And back here,” Dean gestured, dragging Sam along with him, “there’s a straight shot to the kitchen counter. Whatever else they keep in there, they have to put food in the cabinets eventually, and that means we’ll be able to snitch it.” He waved over his head. “Old walls, plenty of passages and weak spots, lots of clutter in the main flat so anything we take goes unnoticed…”

Dean paused, and looked at Sam. “It’s perfect,” he reiterated hopefully.

Sam’s mouth thinned to a line as he considered it. “What about the ‘experiments?’ ” he asked quietly.

Dean’s eyes shot towards the kitchen with a slight wince. They both knew all about Sherlock Holmes and his ‘experiments.’ Far too much. Rumors abounded in the walls about the odd body parts Sherlock kept around, even going so far as to keep them in the fridge or microwave. It was right out of a horror movie, if the man got his hands on any people like that.

“We’re not gonna get caught,” Dean affirmed. “We’re some of the best around, and you know it. With your sense and my knack… we can make this work.”

Sam was caught off guard by the sudden pleading in Dean’s eyes. It wasn’t often that Dean tried turning his own puppy eyes on his younger brother, since they rarely worked so well but this time…

“Sure,” Sam sighed.

What could possibly go wrong?