The Labyrinth of London

A Sherlock/Labyrinth Crossover

Of Nightmares and Kinsmen

Inspired By

"The Thin White Sleuth…"

By

Pika-la-Cynique

Summary: Jareth just wants a case. A little jaunt to Baskerville with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson to check up on a rumor of a monstrous hound shouldn't cause too much trouble, could it?

The Almighty Disclaimer

Oh Moffat and Gatiss,

Henson and Doyle,

To you belongs all the characters

And none so for me!

A/N: This story was inspired by "The Thin White Sleuth…" by Pika-la-Cynique of Girls Next Door fame.

The transcript is by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan on live journal.

This is the first time I am going to say this, but do read "Bosom Companions? Friends?" before reading this story. There are aspects of that story that will come into play with this one. Also, (though it does not apply to this story) I made a slight change of the time line in "The Babe with the Power" so that between New Year's and Irene showing up at 221b it only a few days later, not a few weeks later. I messed up the time line of Sherlock.

Chapter I: Fix

&%&%&%

Some days it was difficult being the flatmate to the world's only actively working consulting detective. Other days, it was quite nice. On this particular day, it was just odd.

Jareth came into the 221b in a dress shirt and trousers. His outfit was odd since he generally always went out with at a suit jacket as well. The pig's blood that was staining his clothes was also an anomaly. That and the harpoon was not an accessory Jareth usually carried.

"Well, that was tedious," Jareth said.

"You went on the Tube like that?" Sarah asked, taking a sip of tea.

Jareth made a face. "None of the cabs would take me AND I ruined an Armani shirt."

Sarah covered her mouth and tried not to laugh. "But you solved the case?"

"Yes," Jareth huffed, "I am showering."

"You need it rat," Hoggle said, coming out of the kitchen with a sandwich.

"Why does Hedgewart keep stealing our food?" Jareth asked.

"It's Hoggle!"

"So you confess!" Jareth said, pointing his harpoon at the dwarf.

"Jareth, what did we discuss about my friends?" Sarah asked.

"You only said I could not threaten death against any boys who would have the audacity to ask you for your time. You did not specify for male friends," Jareth said.

Sarah face palmed. "Jareth, shower, now. You're dripping on the floor. Mrs. Hudson will stop giving me tea if the blood stains."

&%&%&%

A little later, Jareth was clean and wearing a different suit. He was barefoot and pacing the apartment with the harpoon. Sarah flipped through the newspapers. The goblins and Hoggle sat around the apartment, waiting for something to happen. (Well, Hoggle was waiting. The goblins were deciding if they should attempt juggling Sarah's VHS collection for the fifth time.)

"Nothing?" Jareth asked.

"Military coup in Uganda," Sarah said.

Jareth shrugged.

Sarah smiled. "Another photo of you with the fedora."

"I do not understand the fascination people have of that hat," Jareth said.

"I am not going into that discussion with you again," Sarah said, "Cabinet reshuffle."

"There is nothing of importance?" Jareth said. He slammed the end of the harpoon into the ground and let out a cry of boredom (which is similar to a cry of anguish, only much more whiney). "Sarah, I need some. Get me some."

"No," Sarah said calmly. She tucked a lock of hair that got loose from her barrette behind her ear.

"Get me some," Jareth said.

"Goblins, get out your money!" one of the goblins said. There was a rush of activity as goblins got out scraps of paper with "I.O.U."s and chicken deeds as well as pouches with bits of buttons and copper pieces.

Sarah spoke louder, but still calmly. "No. Cold turkey, we agreed, no matter what."

Jareth put the harpoon against the "dining room" table. (It was actually a card table in front of the piano.) He gripped the table, obviously agitated.

"Anyway, you've paid everyone off, remember? No one within a two mile radius will sell you any," Sarah said.

"Whose stupid idea was that?" Jareth asked. He saw Sarah give him "the look" and he changed his focus. "Mrs. Hudson!" He began throwing paperwork off the table.

"Jareth, you're doing really well. Don't give up now."

Jareth continued tossing papers. "Tell me where they are. Please. Tell me."

Sarah could see the perverted hamster in Jareth's mind begin to turn the wheel. Jareth gave his best "I can make your wildest dreams come true" smile. He leaned over Sarah and whispered in her ear, "Please. I can give you anything you want. Absolutely anything."

Sarah smiled politely. "Sorry, I can't help. I am not interested in what you could give me."

Jareth went back to moping. "It was worth a try." The deranged hamster took control again. Jareth dove for the fireplace and started searching under newspapers.

Mrs. Hudson came up and made a noise of disapproval.

"My secret supply: what have you done with my secret supply?" Jareth asked.

"Eh?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"Cigarettes! What have you done with them? Where are they?" Jareth said.

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips. "You know you never let me touch your things! A chance to clean would be a fine thing."

Jareth stood up quickly and faced Mrs. Hudson. "I thought you weren't my housekeeper."

"I'm not," Mrs. Hudson said in a tone that made Sarah want to run away very quickly.

Jareth went back to pick up his harpoon. Sarah made a motion of exasperation before going to get her computer.

"How about a nice cuppa, and perhaps you could put away your harpoon?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"I need something stronger than tea. Seven per cent stronger," Jareth said. He pointed the harpoon at Mrs. Hudson, causing her to flinch. "You've been to see Mr. Chatterjee again." Jareth noticed the flinch and put back the harpoon. He paced around Mrs. Hudson.

"Pardon?" Mrs. Hudson said.

"Sandwich shop. That's a new dress, but there's flour on the sleeve. You wouldn't dress like that for baking," Jareth said.

"Jareth," Sarah groaned.

"Thumbnail: tiny traces of foil. Been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads don't we?" Jareth paused and smelled Mrs. Hudson. "Kasbah Nights. Pretty racy for first thing on a Monday morning, wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog on the identification of perfumes. It's on the website – you should look it up. Well, I wrote it. Sarah posted it."

Mrs. Hudson rubbed her forehead. "Please."

"I wouldn't pin your hopes on that cruise with Mr. Chatterjee. He's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about," Jareth said.

"Jareth!" Sarah said.

"Well, nobody except me," Jareth said.

Mrs. Hudson became visibly upset. "I don't know what you're talking about, I really don't." Mrs. Hudson left 221b and slammed the door behind her.

Jareth leapt over the back of his chair and perched on the seat. He wrapped his arms around his knees and began to rock and back and forth. Sarah tossed a newspaper at the former owl.

"What was that all that about?" Sarah asked.

"You don't understand," Jareth said.

"Go after her and apologize," Sarah said.

Jareth looked over to Sarah. "Apologize?"

"Yes. That's what you do when you hurt someone's feelings. Don't they teach that in goblin school or something?" Sarah asked.

"Yes!" was the response from the goblins.

"Oh, Sarah, I envy you so much."

"Why would you envy me?" Sarah asked.

"Your mind: it's so placid, straightforward, barely used. Mine is like an engine, racing out of control; a rocket tearing itself to pieces trapped on the launch pad. I need a case!" Jareth shouted the last part.

Sarah shouted back. "You've just solved one! By harpooning a dead pig, apparently!"

Jareth jumped out of the chair and back into it in his normal seating position. He was tapping a strange beat with his fingers. "That was this morning!" Jareth said in a strained voice. "When is the next one?"

Sarah brought up a message on the blog and read it out loud. "Dear Mr. Jareth King, I can't find Bluebell anywhere. Please, please, please can you help? I like to look at your stories and the stories that Sarah Williams has put on here. Is she a real nurse? I know that you try and help people and try to find things that have got lost. Bluebell is not a person so it might not seem important but she is very important. Not like a person but a rabbit. I don't know what happened but it was funny. Bluebell started to glow at night time. Like a fairy. I went down to the garden and locked her hutch for the night, but when I got there the next morning before went to school she had gone. The hutch was still shut and locked up. Please, please, please say you'll help me. Lots of love Kirsty Stapleton aged 8."

"A rabbit! A missing rabbit!" Jareth shouted.

"I thought it might cheer you up," Sarah said.

"Ah! What am I saying? This is brilliant! Phone Lestrade. Tell him there's an escaped rabbit."

"Are you serious?" one of the goblins asked.

Jareth had a dark look cross his face. "It's this or Cluedo."

There was a moment of silence and then screams of terror from the goblins. Hoggle looked concerned. Sarah quickly stood up and put up her laptop.

"We are never playing that again!" Sarah said.

Jareth leaned against the table, a self-satisfied smirk making an appearance. "Why not, precious?"

"Because it's not actually possible for the victim to have done it unless it is the movie but there were a lot more plot twists in-between," Sarah said.

"Well, it was the only possible solution," Jareth said.

Sarah sat down again. "It's not in the rules."

Jareth rolled his eyes. "Then the rules are wrong."

The doorbell rang. Sarah held up her hand for a moment and Jareth looked towards the door.

"Single ring," Sarah said.

"Maximum pressure just under the half second," Jareth said.

The duo said at the same time, "Client."

"Everyone, out! We have found a way to amuse Jareth!" Sarah said, shooing the goblins away.

&%&%&%

The client's name was Henry Knight. Before he was willing to speak, he demanded that they watch a documentary on Dartmoor. It was one of those documentaries that might end up late at night on cable. He held an old journal close to himself. Jareth was properly dressed and watching the client. Sarah watched the documentary.

A presenter gave a voice over as the movie showed pictures of the moors and of a military base known as Baskerville. Nasty place from what I know. "Dartmoor. It's always been a place of myth and legend, but is there something else lurking out here – something very real? Because Dartmoor's also home to one of the government's most secret of operations the chemical and biological weapons research center which is said to be even more sensitive than Porton Down. Since the end of the Second World War, there have been persistent stories about the Baskerville experiments: genetic mutations, animals grown for the battlefield. There are many who believe that within this compound, in the heart of this ancient wilderness, there are horrors beyond imagining. But the real question is: are all of them still inside?"

The footage switched to an indoor scene where Henry was talking. "I was just a kid. It-it was on the moor." There was a cutaway to a child's drawing of a huge snarling dog with red eyes. "It was dark, but I know what I saw. I know what killed my father."

With a dramatic sigh, Jareth picked up the remote and shut off the television. "What did you see?" Jareth asked.

"Oh. I... I was just about to say," Henry said.

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing," Jareth said.

Henry looked embarrassed. "Yes. Sorry, yes, of course. 'Scuse me." He reached into his jacket pocket for a paper napkin to wipe his nose.

"In your own time," Sarah said, trying to put Mr. Knight at ease.

"But quite quickly," Jareth said.

"Do you know Dartmoor, Mr. King?" Henry asked.

"It was a very long time ago. I can barely remember it," Jareth said.

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else. It's sort of... bleak but beautiful," Henry said.

"Not interested. Moving on," Jareth said.

"We used to go for walks, after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes, good. Family bonding. Skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed. Where did that happen?" Jareth said. He was promptly smacked with a pillow by Sarah.

"There's a place it's... it's a sort of local landmark called Dewer's Hollow," Henry said.

"That's an ancient name for the Devil, if I remember correctly," Jareth said.

"Did you see the Devil that night?" Sarah asked.

Henry whispered, "Yes. It was huge. Coal-black fur, with red eyes. It got him, tore at him, tore him apart. I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning, just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

"Red eyes, coal-black fur, enormous: dog? Wolf?" Sarah offered.

"Or a genetic experiment," Jareth said in mock horror.

"Are you laughing at me, Mr. King?" Henry asked.

"Why, are you joking?" Jareth asked.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville; about the type of monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously," Henry said.

"And, I assume, it did wonders for Devon tourism," Jareth said.

Sarah glared at Jareth briefly before turning her attention to the client. "Henry, whatever did happen to your father, it was twenty years ago. Why come to us now?"

"I'm not sure you can help me, Mr. King, since you find it all so funny," Henry said. He stood up and made his way to the door.

"Because of what happened last night," Jareth said.

"What happened last night?" Sarah asked.

Henry turned to face them. "How... how do you know?"

"I did not know; I noticed. You came up from Devon on the first available train this morning. You had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee. The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are, however, extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down, Mr. Knight, and do please smoke. I would be delighted."

"How on earth did you notice all that?" Henry asked, sitting down again.

Sarah said quickly, "It's not important..."

"Punched-out holes where your ticket's been checked..."

"Not now, Jareth," Sarah sighed.

"Oh please. I've been cooped up in here for ages," Jareth whined.

"You're just showing off," Sarah said.

"Of course. I am a show-off. That is what we do," Jareth said, surprised that Sarah has somehow missed that over the past year. "The train napkin that you used to mop up the spilled coffee: the strength of the stain shows that you did not take milk. There are traces of ketchup on it and around your lips and on your sleeve. Cooked breakfast or the nearest thing those trains can manage. Probably a sandwich."

"How did you know it was disappointing?" Henry asked.

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train? The girl – the female handwriting is quite distinctive. You wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she was sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later (after she got off, I imagine) you used the napkin to mop up your spilled coffee, accidentally smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now, though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you are not that interested in her after all. Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers ... your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No chance to smoke one on the train; no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It is just after nine fifteen. You're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at five forty-six a.m. You got the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am I wrong?

"No. You're right. You're completely, exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick," Henry said.

"It's my job," Jareth leaned forward and said, "Now shut up and smoke."

Henry rolled up a cigarette and lit it.

"It is going to take forever to get that smell out. Henry, your parents both died and you were, what, seven years old?" Sarah asked.

Henry took a drag before speaking. "I know. That... my..."

Jareth inhaled all of the smoke that Henry expelled before sitting back down. Sarah tried to ignore her flatmate. "That must be a quite a trauma. Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story, this..." Jareth sucked up the smoke again. "...to account for it?"

"That's what Doctor Mortimer says," Henry said, "My therapist. Louise Mortimer. She's the reason I came back to Dartmoor. She thinks I have to face my demons."

"And what happened when you went back to Dewer's Hollow last night, Henry? You went there on the advice of your therapist and now you are consulting a detective. What did you see that changed everything?" Jareth asked.

Henry had a far-off look as he remembered. "It's a strange place, the Hollow. Makes you feel so cold inside, so afraid"

"What did you see?" Jareth asked.

"Footprints on the exact spot where I saw my father torn apart," Henry said.

"Man's or a woman's?" Sarah asked.

Henry said, "Neither. They were..."

Jareth interrupted. "Is that it? Nothing else. Footprints. Is that all?"

Henry tried to speak again. "Yes, but they were..."

"No, sorry, Doctor Mortimer wins. Childhood trauma masked by an invented memory. Boring! Goodbye, Mr. Knight. Thank you for smoking," Jareth said.

Sarah shot a "you were King of the Goblins, you won't take a look at a Hell Hound?" look.

"No, but what about the footprints?" Henry asked.

"Oh, they are probably paw prints but those could be anything, therefore nothing. Off to Devon with you; have a cream tea on me," Jareth said with venom. He went to the kitchen.

"Goblin King, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!" Henry said.

Jareth froze. "Say that again."

Henry pulled out the journal he brought with him. "My great-grandmother said that when she was small, she was taken away by the goblins and their king. Now, your website says that you were a king but it doesn't say of what and…"

"It says it is entirely fictional," Jareth said, smiling insincerely.

"Then how do you show up in my great-grandmother's journal?" Henry asked, "She drew you every year, the picture becoming clearer and clearer until the year she died. When I saw your picture in the papers, I knew that you were him."

"I also look like Jeremy Eden. I am certainly not him," Jareth said.

"The coincidence is too great," Henry said.

"I am not the Goblin King," Jareth said.

Henry sighed. "I will leave you be then."

"I do want you to say it again though. What type of footprints you found."

"They were the footprints of a gigantic... hound," Henry said clearly.

"I'll take the case," Jareth said with a smirk.

"Sorry, what?" Sarah said.

Jareth began to pace. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It is very promising."

"What? A minute ago, footprints were boring; now they're very promising?" Sarah asked.

Jareth stopped in front of Sarah. "It has nothing to do with footprints. As ever, precious, you were not listening. Baskerville: ever heard of it?"

"Some unpleasant mutterings here and there," Sarah said.

"Sounds like a good place to start," Jareth said.

"Ah! You'll come down, then?" Henry asked hopefully.

"No. Far too busy," Jareth said, "I'll send Sarah."

Sarah slumped in her chair and rubbed her face in frustration. "What are you talking about, you're busy? You don't have a case! A minute ago you were complaining."

"Bluebell, Sarah! I've got Bluebell! The case of the vanishing, glow-in-the-dark rabbit!" Jareth exclaimed.

"Oh, sorry, no, you're not coming, then?" Henry said.

Sarah threw her hands in the air in defeat. She went over to her VHS collection and grabbed The Rocketeer, pulling out a package of cigarettes. She tossed it to Jareth who immediately tossed the package aside with glee.

"I don't need those any more. I'm going to Dartmoor," Jareth said. He walked towards his room. "You go on ahead, Mr. Knight. We will follow later."

"Er, sorry, so you are coming?" Henry asked.

Jareth stuck his head back into the living room. "Twenty year old disappearance; a monstrous hound? I wouldn't miss this for the world!"

Sarah went over to Henry and patted him on the shoulder. "He does this. I would try to catch the next train. We will be there soon."

"Sarah! What does one wear when chasing a Hell Hound?" Jareth asked from his bedroom.

Sarah bit her lip before responding. "I don't know Jareth. Something you would not mind getting dirty."

"Sarah!"

"Yes, Jareth?"

"I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR!"

"YOU JUST RUINED AN ARMANI SUIT WITH PIG'S BLOOD THIS MORNING! BRING THAT!"

&%&%&%

A/N: Confession time: This is my least favorite of the Sherlock episodes and among my least favorite Sherlock Holmes' stories. I actually am enjoying writing this, fortunately. There are some parts I am really looking forward to writing and we have some special visitors in this story. Some of them you have met, some of them you have not.

I did a little research on Dartmoor, Devon, etc. and found out there is a history of stories about pixies, etc. haunting the place. This is what inspired Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and many other writers (including Agatha Christie). There are three military bases in Dartmoor. Huzzah for research!

If you have not seen the movie Clue, do. It has been and still is one of my favorite movies. (Why my parents let me watch it as a kid, I have no idea. It is not appropriate for children, at all.) And just as a reminder, The Rocketeer stars Jennifer Connelly.