November 28th excerpt:
Blinking harshly, Dean forced his eyes to adjust faster, until he could see the inside of the vent as good as he saw the room outside. He had to admit, out of all the perks of his size, being able to see in a near darkness was one of the better ones. The vent came into sharp clarity, and he set off, quickly jogging down the few feet to the bend in the vent.
Once Dean was close enough to make out more of the silhouette, he let out a low whistle, impressed by his findings.
November 27th excerpt:
“And they found nothing?” Sherlock pressed.
“Not a speck,” Lestrade sighed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. “We might as well be dealing with a killer ghost on this one.”
Sherlock rolled his eyes, just barely holding in an exasperated sigh. Of course this was the case he brought Dean along on, only to have that thrown back in his face.
November 25th excerpt:
Hailing a cab, Sherlock kept in contact with Lestrade, informing him that he was on his way. He neglected to mention his passenger, of course. Dean was very clear that no one should ever find out about him or Sam unless they gave their express permission. Given the events a little over a month prior, neither John nor Sherlock offered any arguments to that rule.
November 24th excerpt:
Sherlock glanced down at Dean, sitting relaxed atop his sternum, and hummed thoughtfully at the insinuation that he scared off the previous small tenants of Baker Street. It certainly wasn’t improbable, though he did wonder if Sam and Dean shared the same sentiments when moving in, and if so, how deeply they believed them.
Interesting to think that they would stay, or even choose to move in with that in mind.
November 23rd excerpt:
As the light increased around him, Dean sent a flat look towards where he assumed Sherlock’s face was. It wasn’t hard to figure that Sherlock was effectively ‘inviting’ him out. With the pen as bait, Dean had been herded right to where Sherlock wanted him, a captive audience.
Thankfully, not literally captive, as Dean knew Sherlock wouldn’t dare trap him. They had, against all odds, become a team.
That meant that first off– Dean wasn’t going to stab Sherlock with his knife.
And second off– that Sherlock allowed Dean to come and go as he pleased, ‘invitations’ aside.
November 22nd excerpt:
Sherlock wondered for a moment about Dean’s perspective in there, enshrouded by hands over twice his height in length. All his attempts to envision such an environment were rendered to be quite alien. Fingers were pillars, palms platforms, yet they were attached to an immense living thing with complete control over them and anyone in them.
November 21st excerpt:
Rather than taking the pen and letting Dean carry on, the great pale hand reached out just a little further, knocking the smaller man off his feet and into Sherlock’s palm. Long fingers curled around Dean and the pen, lifting them both up to join him on the couch.
His grip was loose, far from crushing his passengers together, and it loosened even further as Sherlock tucked the hand under his chin, let his other hand fold lazily over it, and went back to thinking.
November 20th excerpt:
“This better have been worth it,” Dean grumped as he reached the edge of the couch, wandering along as he looked for a place to climb. “Otherwise I’m keeping the pen and taking it apart.”
November 19th excerpt:
It took five minutes to get to the top of the table, kick the pen angrily off the surface, then drop back down. With Dean at a bare three and eight tenths inches tall, the pen was nearly two times his length. All those times hauling water around paid off as he hoisted it up, and started the long trek to the couch.
“One of these days,” Dean grumbled, “I’ll be the one having you bring me things. One of these days.”
November 18th excerpt:
Up. Down. Up again. Why does everything require climbing.
Resigned, Dean started his climb down, griping all the way.
“Y’know, I have half a mind to go back and grab one of Sam’s pencil tips,” Dean complained to the open air of the flat. “He’d notice in a second that it was gone, but it would be worth the look on your face when you either have to use a scrap of pencil to write with or get up and get your own damn pen that’s like five feet away.”
Brothers Apart 