The Wrath of Cyntax
A Sherlock/Star Trek/OC crossover
Chapter#1
June.2.2011

A thin layer of smoke clouds Cyntax's vision as she stumbles about the hull of her cluttered time machine. An alarm blares throughout the cabin, warning that she is about to crash.

'Oh shut up!' her metallic hand comes down on a button, disabling the alarm, 'blasted thing.'

The landing function has broken so many times that she has given up on fixing it. It's not like a crash landing will injure her, anyway. She is made of titanium after all.

Moments later, the metal box is yanked from the time vortex and sent plummeting toward Earth. London, to be exact. Having been a pirate for a good 400 years of her existence, she has developed a certain fondness of material objects. This can be quite inconvenient whilst hurtling through space, seeing as those objects go tumbling about and, quite often, hit her in the face. After being smacked by a microscope, a waffle iron, and a plastic flamingo, her ship finally makes contact with land.

'Here we go,' the robot braces herself for a bumpy landing.

After one... Two... Three ricochets, the box finally skids to a halt. Cyntax+ unburies herself, kicking open that door that is now positioned on the ceiling. She barely pokes her head out of the machine when she hears a voice.

'Dear lord!'

Cyntax+ turns to see a wide-eyed blonde. He gawks at the fallen ship, yet to notice what is peeking out of it.

'Sherlock!' cries the distressed man, 'Sherlock, get down here!'

The robot watches intently as another set of shoes steps on to the pavement. This man is the walking definition of "tall dark and handsome". His black, wool, trench coat gives a gentle swish as he walks. His shirt is wrinkle-free, though his boots have a hint of dirt. He cares about appearance but on his feet much too often to keep his shoes clean. This isn't even mentioning his looks. He far exceeds six feet, towering over the5 ½ foot bot. His lean build gives the illusion that he is even taller. His face is incredibly angular. Someone could cut themselves on those cheekbones.

'Look what's landed in the street!' exclaims the blonde.

'I see it, John,' comes the low, rolling voice of the mysterious man.

'Oh joy,' Cyntax+ speaks up, 'the British'.

The bot pokes her head out of the machine, leaning on an agitated elbow.

'Wait,' John marks her sarcastic tone and London accent, 'aren't you British?'

'No, you blasted fool,' she hurls herself over the edge of the box, landing on her feet with grace, 'I'm just meant to sound that way. I'm Canadian, me.' He multi-coloured fringe falls in her face, masking the entire right side. Sherlock's eyes flicker back and forth, taking everything in.

'Enjoying the view?' Cyntax asks, giving him a wink.

There is no physical shift in his posture or facial expression, but the green of his eyes blankets her in warmth. 'You're a fascinating creation,' his voice smiles, though his mouth does not.

'I take great pride in that fact,' Cyntax smirks. He said it so matter-of-factly, but she knew it was a compliment.

The faintest hint of a smile touches his lips for only a moment before vanishing without a trace. 'You act so human. You fooled Watson.'

'Oi!' complains the blonde,' do you mean to say she's not human?' he mutters quietly to his partner. He had been fooled, not that he would admit that to a stranger.

'A robot,' Sherlock answers at full volume, a confident smirk finding its way on to his lips, 'obviously.'

'It's only obvious to you, mate.'

'Metal plating,' Sherlock proceeds to slowly circle the crash, 'Copper and Brass, is it? Though your actual build is made of Titanium, judging by your footsteps,' he pauses just behind Cyntax, 'which war?'

'Do you ask that to everyone you meet?' John interjects. This had, in fact, been one of the first questions Sherlock has asked him when they first met.

'World War III,' her fists clench, making a metallic cracking noise. She hates talking about the war, especially to strangers.

'World war III hasn't happened,' John protests.

'Time travel,' Sherlock snaps, 'honestly, John.'

'Time travel?!' he mutters to himself.

Sherlock presses his fingertips together, his white smile poking out behind them, 'who wins?' he teases.

Cyntax+ turns to face him, her smile returning, 'that information is classified.'

'Worth a try,' the words come out in a whisper, as if they are a secret to be kept only between them. They are standing so close together that Cyntax can feel the man's breath on her synthetic skin. Everything about him is rigid, cold, calculating, yet he has this air to him. Something about him draws her in. Cyntax leans closer, compelled to kiss him.

'You can stay with us,' says Sherlock, stepping backward.

'What?' John rushes over to his flat mate, 'we didn't discuss this.'

'Her ship has crashed. She'll need a place to stay until it's fixed.'

Cyntax+ shakes her head, 'I can manage on my own, thanks.'

'Tea then?' Sherlock's eyes are wide, begging her not to leave.

The robot sighs, her eyes wondering down to her ship, 'Fine. Tea. Let me take care of this first,' she slams the door shut, lifting the box over her head with inhuman ease, 'don't wait on me,' she says, walking off.

'How are you so calm?'

'Check,' Sherlock sets down his Knight with a clack.

'I mean, we've just met a robot from the future, and we're sitting here playing chess,' John slides his Queen forward, sacrificing it.

'I'm playing chess,' says Sherlock, adding the Queen to his collection, 'you're moving pieces around.'

'I'm not in the mood,' John leans back in his chair, ' you've already won anyway.'

'So I have,' says Sherlock, leaning back in his own chair. Each elbow rests on an arm, his slender fingers joining at the tips in his infamous thinking pose. He presses his thumbs to his lips, lightly, a sign that his is deep in contemplation. John knows this gesture well.

'She won't come.'

Sherlock's eyes snap to John, 'I know.'

'Then why are you waiting?'

'I'm not waiting,' he scoffs, 'I'm thinking.'

'What about?'

'How long it would take for someone to bleed out if they cut off their finger and the blood didn't clot.'

'Eight to nine minutes, untreated. You know that. Now, what's really on your mind?'

Sherlock stands up, turning toward the kitchen, 'what kind of tea would you like?'

John follows him in to the kitchen, standing behind him as he rummages through the teas cupboard, 'you fancy her.'

'Nonsense,' says Sherlock, to the tea.

'Of all the people to fancy, it's a robot!'

Sherlock whirls around, a box of chamomile placed in his delicate hands. His body is relaxed but his face is rigid; eyebrows furrowed, lips tight, eyes piercing, ' she is to me like a dead body: a mystery. Though I can deduce some things, she is a virtual stranger. Would I like to get to know her? Yes. Dissect her? Very much. But "fancy'" is not the word I would use.'

'No, I take that back. I am definitely seeing the similarities now.'

'Implying the superior intellect puts me at the same level as a machine,' it is more of a statement than a question.

'More that you're as emotionless as one.'

'Thank you,' says Sherlock with a nod.

'Only you would take that as a compliment.'

'I'll take that tea now, Watson,' he turns to leave, 'you know how I like it.'

'Where are you off to, then?'

'I'm scheduled for an upgrade,' he calls from the stairs.

'Here is your feline, miss,' says an annoyed Cyntax, handing a kitten to an elderly lady.

The woman showers her in thanks for "saving her poor kitty cat."

'It's really nothing. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a previous engagement.'

The robot lets out a sigh of relief as she sets off down the street. She can't stand cats. They remind her of the freak experiments created in the war. The Humans were so keen on killing each other that they were constantly coming up with new ways of warfare. After World War II, they developed ways of reviving land after a bombing. Realizing that bombing was becoming less and less effective, the governments starting creating new kinds of weapons, including mutant animals and advanced war machines. Cyntax+ is one of those machines. Model CybotGX97_014, designed to look Human.

As the war raged on, the war bots got stronger and stronger. They were eventually so powerful that they completely wiped out the Human race. Cyntax+ witnessed this extermination and has since passed them off as blood-thirsty savages.

She has come to prove herself wrong in the meeting of the mysterious Brits. John and... Sherlock was it? Something about them seems almost inhuman; like they rise above the rest. Something about these men tells her they see the Human race for what it is. Especially the tall one.

Humans have a bad habit of looking too closely; so closely that everything is out of focus. Not this man. He can see the world in 20/20, and that is extraordinary. Cyntax+ is very intrigued by him. So she heads back down Baker street. Toward a cup of tea she can't drink, two complete strangers and 221B.

John pours hot water in to two cups, placing them on a tray beside a small plate of biscuits. He blows the stream away before setting it down on the tea table. The same table where they read mail in the mornings and play chess in the afternoons. He is about to call for Sherlock when the very man comes racing down the stairs.

'I'll take that tea to go, Watson. We've got a case.'

John groans, shuffling the tray back in to the kitchen. Sherlock snags his coat off the hook and waits impatiently in front of the door, ' how long does it take to pour it in a thermos?'

'Longer than thirty seconds,' John calls back.

He closes the lids on both thermoses, tucking them under one arm and his coat on the other. He quickly pops a biscuit in his mouth before rushing down the stairs.

'Why are we in such a hurry?' asks John, following his partner on to the street.

'I'm bored,' answered Sherlock, 'and you know what happens when I get bored.'

Watson has very vivid memories of Sherlock shooting walls, beating cadavers, microwaving Human eyeballs, and many other things under the pretences of "bored". This is enough to keep him from protesting.

The doctor shrugs his coat on, trying to keep up with the taller man's pace. Cyntax+ spots the pair from across the way and jogs over to meet them. In doing so, her hair falls out of place, exposing the metal plating that makes up her face. John can see now that her skin has been torn away. That must be how Sherlock knew she was in a war. A closer look reveals the same metal plating making up her right hand and poking out between her warn pantaloons and distressed leather boots. The damage is quite extensive. Similar to that ob bomb victims he serviced in Afghanistan. She is lucky to be made of the metal she is. Most left with out limbs.

'Where are you two off to?' greets the automaton.

'Good question,' comments John, 'where are we off to?'

'Eight blocks south,' answers Sherlock, 'Cumberland Gate.'

'Cumberland Gate?' John questions, 'why?'

'A man's been hung underneath the Marble Arch'.

'in the middle of the day?' asks Cyntax.

'Precisely why it intrigues me,' answers Sherlock.

'We haven't properly met,' Cyntax+ comments after a while of walking, 'My name is Cyntax+, though most people find it easier to call me Cyntax.'

'Well then,' answers Sherlock, 'I'll call you Plus.'

The robot smiles,' no one's ever called me that before.'

He looks down at her, dark curls bouncing as he walks, 'is that a problem?'

'No,' she answers, 'I like it.'

'What's that on your face?' John questions, speaking of the intricate goggle placed over her right eye.

'Safety protocol. If I'm ever kidnapped, I can remove it. Then if I shut down, everything that has happened in the time since my last manual shut down will be erased from my memory bank. Came in handy a bit more in the war, but it's still useful considering-' the robot stops walking suddenly, her face going blank and body going limp. The sudden shut down makes John realize just how inhuman she is. Seconds later, her systems reboot and she begins to speak again, ''Safety protocol. If I'm ever kidnapped, I can remove it. Then if I shut down, everything that has happened in the time since my last manual shut down will be erased from my memory bank. Came in handy a bit more in the war, but it's still useful considering my unfortunate glitch of random shut down.

'How'd that start?'

'Took a swim in the ocean ages ago. Apparently water doesn't agree with my circuitry.'

'It tends not to,' Sherlock comments.

'And you can't fix it?' asks John.

'I'm specifically designed not to be able to access my power core. I was build to serve as an engineer. If I got access to my power core, I could programmed myself to do anything. Not good for the big guys in charge.'

'Why not have someone do it for you?'

'If you find someone who can reprogramme a highly advanced war machine from 2297, give me a call.'

'I guess you have a point,' John trails off.

A few moments later they arrive at Cumberland Gate. Low and behold, there is a man hanging from the Marble Arch. A small crowd surrounds the sight, chatting and murmuring. Cyntax's goggle flashes, saving the image to her memory bank. Wait a minute, this image is already saved. She is suddenly flooded with realization. John, Sherlock, Murder, 221B Baker street.

'Oh my goodness!' she exclaims,' You're Sherlock Holmes! The Sherlock Holmes!' she whips around to face the other man, 'and you! You're John Watson! And here I am, at a crime scene, with the pair of you! Oh this is rich!'

John looks at her in confusion, 'how do you know our names?'

'You're all over the history books! The famous detectives. They never mentioned how good looking you are. That's the thing about history books: no pictures.'

Sherlock stares strait ahead for a long time, every now and then taking a sip of tea.

'I've got it,' he says finally, ' There were three men. One to carry the body, one to drive the car, and the other to break in to that convenient store,' he points to a shop across the way.

'How do you figure that?' asks John, half in speculation, half in anticipation.

'The window in recently broken but not recent enough that there are still bobbies about. So, this morning. Not many people about at that time, but just to make sure that no one saw them, they created a diversion. Then the other two set up a latter, hung the man, collected their partner, and all escaped in less than five minutes. Quite simple really.'

John grins, 'That's brilliant, Sherlock. Really. Some of your best work. I don't think I've ever seen you solve one that quick.'

The detective looks down at Cyntax, ' will this be covered in the papers?'

She nods.

'Good. I suppose I found the killers?'

'Yes sir. Fred Denson, George Derman, and Steve Carwell. Three of the craziest wanks you've ever bagged. Never found out why they did it. Said they were on a job but never said for who.'

'Perfect,' Sherlock pulls out his mobile. He dials and number and brings it to his ear as he walks away.

'What are you doing?' asks John, following his partner. Cyntax+ walks next to him as they all walk back toward the flat.

'Calling Lestrade. This is a six at best. It doesn't deserve my time.'

Cyntax+ looks to John, 'six?'

The doctor shakes his head, 'Yeah, he's got this whole scale. Says he won't leave the house for anything less than a seven. Rubbish if you ask me. It's just an excuse to get other people to do his dirty work.'

'Yes, I'm positive those are the three. What ever you do, find out who they are working for. Do not let them go until you do,' Sherlock ends the call, sliding his mobile back in to the pocket of his coat, 'Now, how about that tea, Plus?'