Disclaimer
Hi everyone!
Welcome to my very first submission.
First things first: neither Neverwhere nor Sherlock are mine, I just let their characters do whatever I please because I desperately needed another crossover!
Second: I don't get any money out of this!
Third: Thanks to my wonderful Beta cautiousAlbatross! Any remaining errors are mine and mine alone.
I can't promise regular uploads, because I will be off to work again in a week, but I am a few chapter into the story already.
Plus I will try and finish as long as I have the free time on my hands.
Well, have fun!
A single Day and Night of Misfortune
Chapter 01 - Lambeth's other Assignment
9583 B.C. – Somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean
Islington stood alone on a rock protruding from the deep waters surrounding him. His face was covered in silent tears as he watched his dominion, and with it his wards, being swallowed by hungry waves.
Only moments before the ground far beneath the waters had suddenly shaken, a long tear breaking open the aged stone. The water, disturbed in its usual movements, rebelled and started to devour everything in its reach.
He could still hear their terrified screams, their pleas to help them, to save them from their demise. But Islington had not known how.
So he had left.
Now all that remained for him to do was watch, helpless, as the island, his home, his Atlantis sank under the ocean's assault.
He didn't know what to do next. He was a young Angel, only a few millennia old. Atlantis had been his first city to govern. His brother had warned him to watch closely over these humans.
'They are trying to reach too far,' his brother had said.
And Islington had watched. He had looked out for his children, had tried to guide them, to protect them from the dangerous path they had trod upon. But to no avail.
A hand touched his shoulder and Islington turned around. Westminster, his older brother, was standing next to him, his face stricken with grief and worry.
'Islington,' he said, 'What have you done...?'
2009 A.D. – London Above, City of Westminster, Spring
Lambeth was bored.
Really bored.
Who would've thought that the metropolis of London was so easy to protect? There wasn't much more to do than to scoop up a nearly-drowning child from the Thames now and then or to guide the odd junkie close to their next OD to the nearest hospital.
Quite simple.
The blond Angel sighed.
He would rather be back in Afghanistan fighting Demons in the burning desert, preventing them from taking over the warring humans, than sitting here doing nothing and being miserable.
The Angel stood up, reached for his cane and limped towards the kitchen. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder he switched on the kettle and prepared a cup of tea.
Lambeth understood why he had been assigned to guard this city. It was perfectly reasonable.
Only a few years ago he had been attacked by a group of Nigrum Diaboli and had narrowly escaped their assault, injured but alive. But the injury to his left shoulder had festered and although he had been one of the best healers in his unit, the high fever and the delusions had prevented him from treating himself. The treatment of the attending healer had cost him his ability to wield a sword and left him with unyielding pain in his right leg.
Unfit to fight a war.
But he was well known for his reason, his endurance under pressure and his ability to lead and guide those under his command.
And so he was given the new task to govern this city, which was always teetering on a knife's edge. One wrong step and it would be overrun by chaos and terror.
That should have been a consoling thought for Lambeth.
And it would have been if it were still the 18th century - or maybe even the 19th, or just a city Below. Humans Above believed differently about their creator now, if at all. Angels guiding a city Above used to live out in the open, among their wards, and had been involved with every aspect of their religion, their politics and their culture. But these days humans from Above could no longer see Angels, and those few who could didn't believe in what they saw.
Now only Below was an Angel's council truly valued.
So Angels Above lived in hiding, biding their time in their citadels and keeping an eye on their city from afar.
Lambeth stepped, his tea in hand, over to the window, sat down on the sill and regarded his citadel with a fond look.
He liked his home.
The Angel Westminster had done a good job finding this spot for him, even though it was a bit big for only one person. He had seen bigger citadels, more grandiose and divine than some of Heaven's halls but he detested those cold, large and empty places. His place was a nice flat with two bedrooms, a bath, a kitchen and a large sitting room. Especially nice were the walls, which were adorned with many different types of wallpaper. This flat had character, something Lambeth appreciated in a home.
Lambeth turned around and looked down to the street.
He watched humans going about their business and thought about taking a walk. He could walk to Regent's Park, sit on a bench and watch over the children on the playground, protecting them from the recently increasing number of kidnappers and paedophiles.
Or he could go and visit Old Bailey, that old birdbrain, and ask him what was going on Below.
A grin split Lambeth's lips.
Maybe he would visit one of the smaller Boroughs like Kensington and get up to some mischief.
Ever since Lambeth had come to London Above he would go outside once he got too riled up at home and play pranks on the humans. Not dangerous pranks, but with enough malicious intent to keep them on their toes.
Little things like hiding car keys or unplugging the telly helped him through his darker moods.
On those little trips around London Above he often encountered situations more fitting to his imagination of a guardian.
One night he had stopped the mugging of a woman by impelling the mugger to go back home. On another night he had found a young boy who'd gotten lost in the dark after playing for too long with his friends. It had been one of the rare nights he had let a human see him in his real form. He had picked the boy up, had shielded him with his wings from the rain and had given him one of his white feathers after he had brought him home.
Lambeth yawned.
'What to do, what to do?' he whispered to himself.
'How about a quick visit to London Below?' a voice behind him said.
'Jesus!'
Lambeth's body jerked in sudden surprise, spilling his remaining - and thankfully only lukewarm - tea over his hands. He looked up and saw the Angel Westminster sitting in one of the two chairs near the fireplace, a smug grin on his face. He was, as usual, dressed in his favourite brown three-piece suit and twirling an umbrella in his hand.
'Good day, Lambeth. I trust I find you in good spirits?'
'Well,' Lambeth grabbed a nearby handkerchief and dried his hands, 'I would be in good spirits, but since you're here...'
Lambeth didn't like Westminster, and never had. The Angel Westminster was younger than Lambeth but held a far higher position in Heaven than him - and enjoyed reminding him about it, repeatedly. It was Westminster who had assigned him to guard London Above.
Every now and then the younger Angel would just pop up in his home unannounced and interrogate Lambeth about his days and duties.
Lambeth couldn't help but scowl at that thought.
Westminster sighed and shook his head.
'Oh Lambeth, don't be so boring. You know I only have the best in mind for you. Of all the places you could have ended up in, London was the most logical choice. You do have a good life here, from what I've heard. And you do know that you can spend the money we provide you with, don't you?'
Westminster eyed Lambeth's attire with a disdainful look.
Lambeth hated it when Westminster judged his style of clothing. He felt comfortable in his jeans and woolly jumpers. After hundreds of years in the deserts of the world London was constantly too cold for him. Only the summer heat gave Lambeth some relief and, even then, he wore long-sleeved shirts.
The blond Angel rolled his eyes stood up to walk into the kitchen.
'Yeah, whatever, Westminster. Do you want some tea? I'm sure you're here for a reason, aren't you?'
'Yes, actually,' Westminster crossed his legs and leaned back, cleaning his trousers of imaginary lint, 'Lambeth, I have another assignment for you.'
2009 A.D. – London Below, The Citadel of the Angel Islington
Why was his life so dull again? Oh right - he was in hell!
Islington groaned, rolled around the mattress of his spacious bed and pulled desperately on his dark curls.
And here he had thought life in London Below would be exciting and challenging. It had been at first: the new order of things, the uniqueness of the people and the unwritten rules of old magic running deep through the watery ways of the sewers. Islington hadn't felt so alive since he had lost his first city.
But now...
He let go of his hair and stared up to the invisible ceiling.
His citadel was really worthy of its name. The room around him resembled the nave of a Gothic church. High white stone walls interrupted by half round wall pillars supporting a ceiling so far up that neither human nor angelic eye could catch a glimpse of it. Embedded into the walls were strong wooden bookshelves filled with the knowledge of the world.
At the far end of the room, beneath stained glass windows showing biblical scenes of the Holy Mary and God's only human son, stood Islington's bed.
A broad flight of stairs led to a gallery filled with more books, a table and chairs.
Islington sighed. His rooms really resembled his current situation rather well.
Quite empty.
After he first took residence in London Below his mind had been ablaze with the new experiences. He had talked with the rats and pigeons for days, followed the Rat-Speakers and the Sewer-Folk down to the deepest tunnels and had learned not to get too close to the great Beast of London.
The excitement lasted for a couple of millennia but now he was bored out of his ever-working mind. He had read all the books he could find, had established a network of animals and people to provide him with a steady flow of information about his wards.
Now there was nothing to do.
Now the Beast drove him wild with its antics down in the maze.
Wasn't there anything not dull around?
He missed his Atlantic children.
A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered that night in the middle of the ocean. He could still hear the screams of the women and children, the men's curses, his brother's disappointed voice.
He wouldn't make the same mistake twice. His love for his Atlantic children had made him blind to their warring nature and their greed to reach the realm of God. And he had been punished. Punished by the constant feeling of failure, by the disdainful looks of his fellow Angels.
So he had withdrawn himself from them, had grown to hate them and their disdainful looks and their simple minds. When his brother Westminster had suggested he take residence in London Below, on Earth, Islington had gladly accepted.
He stood and walked over to the nearest bookshelf, grabbed the first book he could find and turned the pages.
Hmm, bee-keeping. He hadn't read this book for quite a while.
Islington turned around, climbed the stairs to the gallery and sat down on one of the heavy chairs.
He was up to the third chapter about the proper care of beehives when he heard a knock.
Black curls jumped as Islington jerked up his head.
Was that a knock?
He had definitely heard a knock.
He seldom received visitors these days. The urgent matters of Below were few and usually well taken care of after Islington's own instructions left with the leaders of the different fiefdoms.
And who would enter through the Angelus?
Islington stepped to the banister and saw the heavy wooden doors open.
In stepped a short middle aged man with blond hair wearing blue washed out jeans, a red checked shirt and a truly hideous oatmeal coloured jumper covered with a black jacked.
His right hand held a cane.
He looked like a man from Above.
How could someone from Above know about the Angelus?
'Hello? Anybody home?' the visitor called.
No, the man was not human. He was an Angel, like Islington.
A scowl made his way on Islington's face.
'What is your business here?' Islington asked, his voice loud and angry.
For what purpose would an Angel set foot in another Angel's domain?
Blue eyes caught his gaze and a smile bloomed on the visitor's face.
'Ah, there you are! You must be Islington. Nice to meet you. It has been quite a while since I last saw anything of London Below. And your citadel is...well...impressive. Yes, really impressive.'
The visitor looked around and stepped further into the room.
Islington grew impatient.
'Who are you and what do you want?'
The blond Angel turned back to him, his left hand in the pocket of his trousers.
'Oh, right! You don't know yet. Westminster warned me about your attitude.'
Islington felt the feathers of his hidden wings bristle upon hearing his brother's name.
'By all that is holy, what is it you want? I hate repeating myself!'
The visitor tilted his head to the left and looked up to Islington with a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
'My name is Lambeth, Guardian of London Above, and I am you new keeper.'
Well, that was the first chapter.
I hope you enjoyed it!
Like every writer here, I appreciate reviews.
Until next time!
Moehre89