"So why have you come to ask us, of all people, for help, cheekbones?" Dean asked, frustrated. It wasn't his, Cas and Sam's job to help too-smart-for-their-own-good detectives on their pathetic little murder cases.
The man sat opposite him rolled his eyes. "I thought we had already made this point clear, Dale. The case we were up against was being our … ah… usual field of expertise. So we came to - well, we came to who John believed were the experts."
Dean opened his mouth to retaliate, but Sam kicked him under the table.
"So, Mr Holmes," Sam began, shooting a warning look at Dean. "You believe your last case was not how a normal, human case should go, right?"
"Oh, I know more than it was 'not how my case should go'. I am smarter than you give me credit for, Sal. I have already deduced that the murderer was not who everyone believes it to be. In fact, I find the idea that Moriarty was the one who killed this man absurd. The victim was clearly not killed by Jim Moriarty - before he died, he told the police as much, but as the police are terrible at their jobs, well, it was ignored. I can tell you that the attacker was not human, and no weapon could achieve that amount of damage. So from that I can deduce that it must have been an animal that attacked the man, and as there are no wild animals on the lose in London, I can deduce that it was neither human nor animal that attacked. Happy?"
Sam looked impressed; Dean and the short man next to Sherlock - John - looked merely bored. Cas didn't seem to be following the conservation at all.
"So what do you think it was, then?" Dean asked, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, something supernatural, definitely," Sherlock continued. "The man's throat was slit, but it wasn't tidy enough to be a knife. No fingerprints about him at all. No signs of a, well, normal murder. Not like me and John usually deal with. We looked into the history of the place - well, John did - and found that a woman died in the same room it happened it 30 years ago. Her throat was slit, and there was a distinct smell of sulphur left behind, which is the same case we have now. The article didn't give the woman's name, though. We haven't found it."
Beside him, John muttered something that sounded like "you haven't tried", but Sherlock ignored him.
"You're dealing with a spirit then," Dean said, looking very bored. "Find her remains, salt and burn 'em, and she's gone."
"I'm not finished, Dave," Sherlock scowled. "The woman was cremated. There are no remains to find."
"What's keeping her here then?" Cas asked, frowning slightly.
"Something of hers that she wants," Dean responded, looking at Cas. "Probably a possession, like a toy, or something like that. Jesus Christ, it could be anything."
Cas looked confused. "What does Jesus Christ have to do with all of this?"
Sherlock stood, turning up his coat collar, and John followed. "I believe that is all the information we can give you. Are we done here?"
"How about you help us hunt this thing down, Sherlock? John?" Sam asked. "I mean, you seem smart, and Dean and Cas aren't, so we could do with some extra brains on a case wherever possible."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Shut up," Sherlock said. "I'll come on this case with you, but if you keep having your pointless arguments -"
"You won't," Sam said gratefully. "We can be mature about this. We'll meet tomorrow at the murder scene, alright? See if we can start there."
