Author's Note:

I don't know how often I will update this or how long it is going to end up being, but I just can't get this pairing out my head so I made this. I know it isn't a popular pairing but oh well, hopefully someone will find this and enjoy it? Also, feedback would be awesome.

Being in exile had led Sherlock Holmes to America. He was still busy taking down Moriarty's elaborate web, mostly single-handedly. He didn't trust anyone else to do it. He had been away from London a long time. Away from John. Stop it. Stop thinking about John. He has been eating and sleeping less than usual. He picked up smoking again. John would not be happy. Damn it. Stop. He sighed and walked into some shitty bar. To keep his cover he would have to drink at least one thing, so he sat down at the bar and ordered a beer in his best American accent. Not really his choice of drink but nothing since he had faked his own death had been of his own choosing. He had never wanted any of this.

Dean Winchester needed a fucking drink. Having just barely escaped Purgatory he deserved one. He could track down Sammy in the morning. One more day a part wouldn't be the end of the world. The thought made him grin wryly, or in their case it probably would be. It'd be just his luck. Well, he was going to push his luck anyway because a beer sounded awesome right about now. So did pie. And a burger. Beer first. Food next. He briefly glanced at the man next to him at the bar. "You aren't fooling anyone with that fake accent Dude."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. It worked on most people that he could tell. He glanced over at the man who had spoken to him to glean any information he could with just one look. Quite simply the American looked like hell at first sight but he saw beyond that. This man was: A fighter. A killer. Battle hardened and weary. Not a murderer, not someone in Moriarty's intricate network. No one to worry about then. He turned his attention away from the other man, no longer interested in him and certainly not in making small talk.

"Oh so you are the silent and mysterious type, got it Dude. Sorry won't bother you again." Dean gave a small smirk, even though the taller man wasn't looking at him. He was just trying to make some conversation because the only interaction he'd had lately was Benny and Cas. Cas...oh Cas, why? It shouldn't have come as a surprise. He should have seen it coming. It was only a matter of time before his taint would get Cas. His curse of everyone he knew and loved dying around him. If he was going to be thinking about this shit, he was going to need a stronger drink. He ordered a whiskey straight up.

Sherlock sighed. Twice now this Yankee had called him 'dude' and he found it infuriatingly annoying. He was going to set this uneducated American straight. He was the great Sherlock Holmes, except he wasn't...not anymore at least. He had even changed his appearance, along with his name. A necessary precaution. Lives were on the line and one of the was John's. He sighed again, this time at himself. He needed to focus. He had come in here for a reason and he couldn't let himself get sidetracked. He took out a cigarette and lit up, only to be told he couldn't smoke inside by the bartender. Right, stupid American laws. Right now though, he didn't care and kept smoking.

"Sir, seriously. You can't smoke in here. I can get in a lot of trouble. I am going to have to ask you leave and take your gay date with you." The bartender looked pointedly at Dean.

Dean didn't get to enjoy his whiskey because he did a spit take all over the bar. "Wha-? No. He and I aren't together. I've never even met this Dude."

Having finally had enough Sherlock spun around and glared at Dean. "Would you please stop calling me that. I have a name for God's sake."

The bartender glanced between the two and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, look I just want you both to get the hell out of my bar."

Dean bumped into Sherlock's shoulder purposefully before leaving. "Sorry about that man," he muttered bitterly. All he had wanted was to enjoy a drink or two after getting out of Purgatory but like usual the world was against him. He didn't even know why he bothered trying anymore.

"Sir, that will be fifteen bucks." The bartender looked expectantly at Sherlock.

"Fifteen dollars? All I ordered was a beer. I refuse to let you overcharge me, just because you think you are entitled to do whatever you want because you own this place." So much for keeping a low profile. Sherlock was drawing stares and the place had fallen quiet.

"For your lover." The bartender motioned his head towards Dean's now empty stool. "He didn't pay, so it falls on you."

Sherlock rolled his eyes threw down a twenty and just walked away because he didn't care about the change. He needed to get out of the bar before anymore people saw him and got too good of a look. As he left, he continued to smoke his cigarette defiantly. He saw Dean pacing the parking lot agitatedly. "Hey, dude," the word almost made him cringe when he said it. "You owe me twenty dollars."

This guy again. Awesome. "Look buddy. I've had a really shitty year, so just leave me alone all right. And what do you mean I owe you? If anything, you owe me a drink for getting me kicked out of a bar." Dean took a few steps forward confrontationally.

"You didn't pay your tab and I got stuck with the bill." Sherlock wasn't intimidated by Dean in the least and stepped forward as well, until they were was barely an inch between them. He had to tilt his head down a little, to look the American in the eye. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke right in the face in front of him.

Dean couldn't help but cough. Now that was just downright rude. He shoved the taller man in the chest with both hands roughly. "Fine, you paid for my shit that I didn't get to finish. So, I say that makes us even." He took a couple of steps back, so he could circle Sherlock.

A thin smirk etched his lips at getting shoved. Sherlock had expected the shove but he let himself tumble back a few paces. Just push a few more buttons and the first punch would be thrown. It was obvious they both needed to let off some frustration, so might as well continue to incite a fight. He flicked the cigarette at Dean, watching as it bounced off the other man's chest. That should do it. He braced himself.

Oh hell no. This snobby bastard was going to learn a lesson. Dean closed his fingers, drew back his arm and swung for the man's face. He was surprised to see that it missed. He hadn't taken the lanky form in front of him as fighter. The guy was skinny and wiry and well...he had sorely misjudged Sherlock.

Sherlock moved deftly to one side, that same small, strange smirk on his lips. He caught the arm and bent it backwards...well, tried to, the smaller man had twisted out of it. A fighter indeed.

"Hey! If you two love birds are going to fight, get out off my property or I am calling the cops! It's bad for business!" The bartender was yelling at them again.

They both halted, Sherlock holding onto Dean's shirt while the other man had his hand back for another swing. They turned to look at the bartender and back at each other. Then it happened. Dean kissed Sherlock.

Sherlock jerked away, sputtering out incoherent words. What the hell? He released Dean's shirt, his mind still processing what had just happened.

Dean smirked as he dropped his arm and let himself relax a little. "Not bad...for a Dude. Look, that was nothing. I just don't feel like going to jail." He turned the bartender and gave the man two thumbs up with a grin.

Sherlock wasn't listening to anything Dean was saying, his mind was still in shock. It wasn't a state he was used to being in. He felt confused, even a little flustered. These weren't normal emotions for him and he was having a hard time understanding them. Well, emotions period were hard for him to sift through.

Dean turned his attention back to Sherlock. "You okay man? You look...lost. Haven't you ever been kissed before?"

Sherlock finally paid attention to the man talking to him. "What? Uh, no actually. It...isn't really my area..." He was still having trouble forming coherent sentences. Get it together. He was Sherlock Holmes damn it. Quick witted. Genius. Yet here he was still struggling to understand what exactly had happened.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Really? You are kidding, right? Not that I'm into guys or anything, but you aren't too bad looking. I'm sure someone must have caught your eye."

Finally Sherlock recovered. "There was the prospect of someone but it...didn't work out." He shrugged. "In a way, you remind me of him a little."

"Him? So, you're gay. Awesome. I kissed a gay dude." Dean was never telling this story to anyone, ever.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "I guess so. It isn't something I have ever really thought about." He shrugged again.

"Well, I am sure you two can work things out." Dean was getting uncomfortable with this conversation. Talking about emotions was for stupid chick-flicks.

"Probably not, he thinks I'm dead." Sherlock waved a dismissive hand. "Long story," he muttered. Why was he still talking about John? About his old life? A life he may never be able to go back to and to a stranger nonetheless?

Well, that was something Dean could relate to...all to well, really. He was done talking though. "All right. Dude, that about exceeds my quota on this kind of talk so how about we both go find another bar and get fuckin' drunk?"

While getting drunk didn't sound appealing to Sherlock, ceasing the conversation did. He merely nodded and the two began to walk down the street in comfortable silence.