Author's Note: This is based on the characters in BBC's Sherlock and the TV show, Hannibal. Set after Season 1, Episode 6 of Hannibal, and before the Season 2 finale of Sherlock. Disclaimer: I own none of the characters used, or the Chesapeake Ripper story line.
The cover image (recently added) is part of an amazing piece of fan-art by Barrocco (I asked for permission to use it and you can find her on tumblr).
Will is still looking for the Chesapeake Ripper, but seems to have hit a dead end. Two mysterious British strangers, Sherlock and John show up, uninvited and unexpected. Will Sherlock and John provide a fresh perspective and lead Will to finding out who the ripper is, or are they after something else? And will Sherlock be a challenge for Hannibal...or just a bit of fun?
Chapter 1: Motives
Will closed his eyes, blocking out the sounds of rustling leaves around his feet and over his head, and the quiet muffled noise of the forensics muttering in the background, until they dulled to a low, barely audible hum. Time reversed. The scene shifted, the sun sinking beneath the shedding trees, and darkness setting in. Damp lifted off the ground and into the air, forming raindrops and then thunderous grey clouds above the forest. The body, slumped at the foot of the tree started to show hints of life, the cheeks beginning to flush pink, the blood stain retreating, forming a smaller and smaller circle on her chest. Will felt himself moving outside of himself, back through the trees. The woman's hair fell back in front of her face, in wet coils, from where it had been neatly tucked behind the ears. The body moved from the tree, dragged across the ground – lightly, carefully, not recklessly – until it lay on the floor, across a pile of leaves. The blood which was now pooled around the body withdrew back towards the body, into the wounds. The woman stood up, a look of horror in her eyes –
"Two shots!" Will jumped at the loud exclamation, his eyes snapping open, abruptly. His arms were outstretched in front of him, pointing his fingers like a child pretending to be wielding a gun. He dropped his arms hastily back to his side. "The blood amassed on the floor, here; you can see it drying, beneath these leaves, diluted by the rain, mind you, but the body was moved several meters after the shots were fired. Two shots!"
The voice was immediately disturbing, dragging Will from his own mind immediately, clear, drawling, annoyingly and stereo-typically…British. The voice continued, from Will's right. Will faced the speaker, who stood tall and with dark curly hair, sharp features, gloved hands behind his back, wearing a long, black coat, with a wide collar. "Two shots were fired, not one. The first too low, and the second a little too high; of course she would have bled out from the first in a matter of time. But our culprit didn't want that…he didn't want her to suffer…or he didn't want to hear her suffer." The speaker slowed towards the end of his sentence, as though waiting for Will to respond, but while he spoke he did not turn to look at Will.
"What?" Will asked. He was still disorientated.
"Her coat was stained with blood, but not in the location where she was shot." The tall stranger finished. He'd maintained his disinterested expression throughout. When he'd finished, he turned to look at Will, piercing blue eyes, looking, unblinking, straight into, or perhaps even through, Will. For a moment, Will was paralyzed, mouth slightly open ready to speak, but completely unable to articulate words.
"This is a crime scene, you're not supposed to be in here. I'm supposed to be alone." Will said, his ability to speak coming back to him, in agitated sounding punches of words. He was angry; his expression was stern and what he thought – hoped – was authoritative. "I'm working, no one's meant to be around, so could you – "
"But I have just solved the case. It was her boyfriend." He said. "Sherlock Holmes" The tall man snapped, interrupting Will for the second time. He smiled. The smile was far from a reassuring one; it was a dangerous smile, one that knew people didn't like it, and more importantly, didn't care. "Rather dull, don't you think?"
Of course it was "dull". Will had only taken this case in the hope that doing something a little more mundane would help him to think about the Chesapeake Ripper case in a different way. He'd heard that scientists did it all the time; when they were working on a particularly difficult problem, they'd distract themselves with something lighter, and then the answer would just appear to them. Or it was supposed to, anyway. He was also hoping that thinking about the way "ordinary" homicides occurred, it would work in a similar way to the Garrett Jacob Hobbs copycat. If he couldn't figure out what the ripper was doing, maybe he could see what he was not doing. If he could find the negatives, then maybe it would lead him closer to a motive, and then to an identity. But so far, nothing had cleared his mind like the copycat cannibal had before.
The man looked Will up and down swiftly. If there was one thing Will disliked more than he disliked eye contact, it was being analyzed by strangers. He stepped closer to the man, glaring at him as he spoke.
"Listen, I don't know who you are, but I am the one who is working here, and I am asking you to leave, before I make you. I'm with the FBI; if you won't leave now, they will make you." Will threatened. The man smirked.
"I'm a consulting detective. Sherlock Holmes. Surely you've heard of me?" The man said, a hint of amused surprise in his voice. Sherlock Holmes, Will thought. When the man had said it the first time, Will hadn't thought it sounded like a name. More like one of those weird British sayings or a new curse word, maybe even a sneeze. The man, Sherlock Holmes, still didn't offer a hand to shake, neither did he ask Will's own name. He didn't move either. The corner of his mouth twitched. Sherlock Holmes was taller than Will Graham, and Will now was beginning to realize his threat maybe didn't seem as aggressive as he had hoped, although, thinking about it, this man didn't look particularly physically intimidating, himself; underneath that coat Will could only guess the man was slim-built, not particularly muscular, maybe a little definition around the arms; he was certainly strong in wit and intellect, but other than that...
"Sherlock!" A voice exclaimed from behind Will. Will turned around, quickly. The man jogging towards Will was short, wearing a sweater that looked like they should only be worn at Christmas time; his hair was fair and he had this concerned expression on his face, as though he didn't quite know where he was, and didn't know what to say or do about it. "Oh. Who's this?" The man asked, eyes darting between Will and Sherlock, like a rabbit caught in two separate sets of headlights, not knowing which one to run from. He too, was British.
"This," Sherlock Holmes said, slowly, "Is Will Graham. He's a special investigator for the FBI, he's working on the Chesapeake Ripper case –"Sherlock stopped abruptly, almost as though he had more to say, but had cut himself off.
"John Watson," the Christmas sweater wearing man said, holding out a hand for Will to shake. Will looked at him for a moment, his face still tensed angrily. John Watson opened and then closed his mouth awkwardly, before retracting his hand. "Am I – Are we intruding on something?" The man, John Watson said, apologetically, with a pained expression.
"No, no, not at all." Sherlock said, before Will could get a word in.
"Oh. Right. Well," John said, still sounding strangely flustered, "It looks like someone tried to stop the bleeding, and they used her coat. And the man who called us here said it wasn't him, so, Sherlock, I think the killer tried to stop her dying?" Sherlock looked at John, a smile spreading across his face; Will almost thought he looked proud, like a father who'd just watched his son score at a soccer game.
"Precisely, John. So, now that we've solved this case, Mr Graham, you can tell us about the real case you're working on."
"They just walked onto the crime scene, started asking me questions, analyzing me, and then trying to find out about the Chesapeake Ripper case!" Will said, indignantly, and through gritted teeth, as he stood up from his seat, ready to start pacing the room. "And Jack Crawford just let them."
"What is it about these two men that concerns you, Will?" Hannibal asked. They were in Hannibal's office. Hannibal was sitting on one seat, while Will stood just in front, opposite, stuck between pacing away from Hannibal and sitting back down.
"They were just –" Will started, but realized he couldn't quite put his finger on it. It wasn't simply the fact that they had disturbed him; the forensics had done that before, and it hadn't bothered him half this much. "He just walked in there. Like it was his case, his crime."
"Did you feel threatened by them?" Hannibal asked. Will sat down.
"I wasn't threatened. He seemed to be studying me. And he was quick to analyze the crime scene, too."
"You're worried that he could be a better profiler than you?" Hannibal asked. Will sighed. "It is perfectly natural to feel threatened when seeing an outsider do the same job as you. Was the second man an investigator too?"
"I don't know." Will replied, suddenly realizing he hadn't asked about the second man. "I think they were partners – work partners – they were working together, that's all I know."
"Perhaps you won't have to see them again. If they found the case so dull, maybe they did not wish to stay to see another." Hannibal said, taking a sip from his red wine.
"No," mumbled Will, "They mentioned the Chesapeake Ripper. That's what they're here for."
"You think they are going to catch him?" Hannibal asked, sounding entertained by the prospect. "They wouldn't be very familiar with the history. If they are from England – "
"This guy was smart. He seemed to make connections quickly. He was almost scientific about it. It was like he could see all the connections, all at once." Will announced, exasperated. "I mean, it's not like I don't need help with the case, I'm just…" Will looked down at his hands, which were interlocked tensely.
"You're worried they're not here just to find the ripper." Hannibal said slowly, leaning back into his seat. "You are worried Jack may have brought them here for you. You think that when he analyzes you, he will look into your mind and see your fear of the darkness, ready to consume you, that he will see your empathy as an extension of yourself, as you do. That he will find your motives, your secrets; he will see the times when you have put yourself in the killer's shoes. You don't like feeling exposed. You think he will see the nights when you lie awake, thinking about how you killed Garrett Jacob Hobbs, and the nights when you see him in front of you. You're afraid he will see you as a killer." Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"I can assure you, if Jack Crawford wanted you profiled, I would be the first to know." Hannibal said, in an attempt to reassure. Hannibal leaned forwards. His eyes looked from Will's hands to Will's eyes. Will looked up at him, making eye contact for just a moment before leaning away, retreating into his seat, slouched. Hannibal followed suit, reluctantly moving back and sitting upright.
"I'm still not convinced that's not why you're here." Will muttered, under his breath.
"When they were analyzing you, how did you know?" Hannibal asked.
Will was silent for a moment.
"It was that look. The look you give me. The same look as you did when we first met." Will muttered, sheepishly, smiling slightly out of the corner of his mouth.
"When you told me I won't like you when you're psychoanalyzed?" Hannibal smirked. Will laughed, slightly. Will took off his glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "And you said you don't find me that interesting." Hannibal added, smiling. "Have I proven you wrong yet?"
"We'll see." Will replied, the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Hannibal stood up.
"I'll make you dinner." Hannibal said.