Chapter 1: A Rather Simple Deduction

'Pokémon- boring? Idiot!'

Mycroft sat in solitude at the head of the dining table, scanning the morning paper for something of interest. He exhaled nasally as he tried to take his mind off the most recent argument he'd had with his younger brother, Sherlock. He clenched his fits, crumpling the margins of the paper. Sherlock had surpassed himself this time.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock's eyes shot open. He gazed coldly at his sibling who stood at the doorway to his room. The young sleuth reclined further into his armchair. He held his glare as he softly slid a bow back and forth across his violin, creating a vibrant melody.

Mycroft held his pointed nose high in the air with authority. "What on earth are you doing?" he asked in a monotonous, yet judgemental tone.

Sherlock brought the harmonic melody to a swift close with an ear-piercing screech. "I can see your basic deduction skills are a bit rusty. I'm playing the violin."

"You haven't even packed yet." Mycroft glanced around the dimly lit room, ignoring Sherlock's sly jibe. He was well accustomed to his brother's insults.

"Packed for what?" Sherlock asked innocently with a raised eyebrow.

He knew too well.

"Don't play stupid with me, Sherlock. I promised Mummy I would have you on your way to Professor Rowan's lab on time."

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," the younger Holmes replied smugly.

"Why can't you be normal for once?" Mycroft grumbled, growing steadily more impatient. "It's every child's dream to turn eighteen just so they can begin their great Pokémon adventure, but you- oh no! You have to be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult; I'm being logical." Sherlock glared at his brother as he caressed his violin. "Why would I waste my time training mindless, filthy creatures when humans are currently plotting a deliciously complicated mystery or murder for me to solve? You see, this is the problem with Pokémon. Their sole purpose is either to survive in the wild or follow instructions from their trainers. Pokémon are boring."

…

The drumming of footsteps down the wooden staircase snatched Mycroft away from his thoughts. Knowing Sherlock was fast approaching; he regained his posture and held the newspaper at a more plausible reading distance.

Sauntering into the dining room, Sherlock immediately deduced that Mycroft was still pissed off with him. Distinct crease marks around the edges of the newspaper were a result of passive anger. A half-eaten slice of burned toast with unevenly spread jam had not been touched in the past five minutes. The intensified smell of coffee was unmistakably due to an added third spoon in comparison to the normal two. The real give away however, was the use of actual sugar instead of artificial sweeteners.

Satisfied with the displeasure he had already caused his brother, Sherlock cleared his throat and spoke in an unnaturally cheerful tone. "Tell Mummy I said goodbye, Mycroft."

"Where are you going?" Mycroft asked. His voice was low and droning, like he was asking out of obligation rather than interest. Still hidden behind the wall of newsprint as he extended a make free hand to blindly grasp his cup of coffee.

Sherlock adjusted the strap on his leather satchel and tightened the collar of his tweed jacket around his silky, lilac shirt. "I'm going to Professor Rowan's lab to get my Pokémon so I can start my great adventure," he chimed in an overly eager voice.

"Pfff," Mycroft coughed and spluttered out a mouthful of coffee over his paper. It took him a moment before he could recompose himself. Laying his cup back down on the saucer, he reluctantly folded the newspaper and stared wearily at his younger sibling with his arms crossed. "Very funny. Now tell me where you are really going?"

Sherlock chortled. "I told you; I'm going to Professor Rowan's lab to retrieve my first ever Pokémon."

"Twenty minutes ago you were about as open to the idea as an Amish shop on a Sunday. Now you're actually eager to get a Pokémon, or one of those 'boring creatures' you despise so much and actually go on a journey with one? Are you ill?" Mycroft's face was crumpled in confusion.

"I guess you could say I had a change of heart. And sorry for what I said earlier. No hard feelings?" Sherlock offered a reconciling hand and forced a smile which almost pushed his high cheekbones through his eyes.

Mycroft grimaced, unsure which he was more frightened of: the Sherlock Holmes actually apologising to someone- him of all people, or his crazed smile which would even make the anti-Christ cringe. Still suspicious, he stood up and slowly met Sherlock's grip with his own. They shook firmly. "Well, Mummy will be pleased to know you made the correct decision. Good luck, Sherlock."

"Thank you." Suddenly, Sherlock's smile became more sinister. He unexpectedly drew Mycroft closer so that his lips were right beside his brother's ear. He squeezed Mycroft's hand forcefully. "And by the way, our little wager still stands," he whispered tauntingly.

Before Mycroft could even utter a syllable, Sherlock had pulled away from him and dashed through the entrance hall.

"Sherlock, wait! That wasn't- Sherlock!?"

Mycroft's words were cut short as Sherlock slammed the door behind him. A cool breeze met his face, ruffling his dark wisps of hair. He sniffed at the overcast September sky before walking briskly down the drive way and out the front gate.

Sandgem was a quiet town, nestled in the heart of a forest landscape, close to the mysterious Lake Verity. Flourishing hills of green laced the landscape for miles around. The town was mainly populated with gothic style houses, where a mix of young and old families had come to settle. Naturally, it was custom that everyone in the neighbourhood knew everyone else's business. This was considered the 'social norm'.

Sherlock considered this a waste of time. He did not need to consult with others. What they inaccurately passed through word of mouth, he deduced with a mere passing glance.

As he ambled down the street, he observed the townsfolk playing with their Pokémon or gardening in their front lawns. Although some of the people noticed his presence, they quickly averted their eyes, intentionally not acknowledging his existence. Sherlock was well known among the residents of Sandgem Town, but for all the wrong reasons. He had earned himself the title of the town's social outcast, an asexual being married to his incredible ability of deduction.

Sherlock did not have a particular detest for Pokémon, but rather a high disregard for their unjustified popularity and status in the world.

Although most people befriended or worked with Pokémon from an early age, everyone was entitled to receive a Pokémon at the age of eighteen from the regional professor. It was not mandatory to become a Pokémon trainer or have a Pokémon orientated profession, but more of a social standard- an expectation.

Illogical.

Sherlock still had doubts about his spontaneous decision to undertake this new adventure. Then again, the majority of decisions he made were spontaneous and outrageous to most people. Besides, training Pokémon was only a minor factor. His true motives for leaving were just too tempting.

As he ventured towards the outskirts of the town, he passed an overweight man in a navy jumper and matching sweatpants. A small, fox Pokémon skipped gleefully around the man's feet. It probably had ADD.

Resisting the urge to kick the Pokémon as it strutted over to him and sniffed his leg, Sherlock instead decided to distract himself by analysing the owner. 'Mid-forties. His bitten fingernails and thinning bald patch indicate signs of anxiety and stress. A lighter skin tone on his wedding finger- recently divorced or separated. Out of breath, flushed cheeks, over weight and injection marks on his fingertips- diabetic; the man is a ticking time bomb and could keel over from a stroke at any second,' Sherlock thought to himself, but said nothing and continued on.

Despite what others thought of him, Sherlock knew that he was a genius. It was not his fault that everyone else was too incompetent to realise it.

Deducing the flaws and secrets of other passers-by from the smallest of details, Sherlock managed to keep himself occupied on his journey to Professor Rowan's lab.

The laboratory lay on the outskirts of Sandgem town, enclosed in a red brick wall. Within its boundaries also towered a windmill, constantly turning in the valley breeze. A vast Pokémon preserve area sprawled behind the lab, stretching out as far as Lake Verity. Sherlock had remembered Mycroft babbling on about it when he began his own journey six years ago. Even at that stage, Sherlock had found more interest in collecting tobacco for 'research purposes' rather than going on a Pokémon adventure, but alas, there he was, within minutes of receiving his first Pokémon.

'I wonder if these things have been toilet trained,' Sherlock pondered to himself. Not a fucking chance would he be cleaning up after them.

"Well, if it isn't the freak," a conceited female voice called out.

Sherlock looked up, apathetic to the insult. A young woman- eighteen to be precise, stood at the gate entrance to Professor Rowan's estate. Her fuzzy hazelnut hair was tied back with a blue tassel. She wore a white tank top and cream pants, contrasting her dark skin tone. Sherlock knew her well… unfortunately. Her name was Sally Donovan and she held the title of Sinnoh's most obnoxious cow and the runner- up award for the world's greatest imbecile, second only to Anderson.

A tubby, green Pokémon, knee height, stood on all fours by her side. It was an ugly creature that had a small stalk with two leafs- possibly its brain- sprouting from the crown of its head.

"Hello Sally," said Sherlock in his usual dry, baritone voice as he approached the woman. Glancing down at her idle Pokémon, he leaned over to have a closer look. Extending one of his pale, bony fingers, he prodded repeatedly at its beak-like mouth. "Oh, Anderson, I almost didn't see you there. You sure have grown a lot since I last saw you. Looks like you've put on a bit of weight too."

"Twig!" the Pokémon suddenly snapped back and nicked his finger.

"Little bastard," Sherlock hissed and quickly withdrew his hand, shaking off the pain.

"This here is my new Pokémon, Turtwig," said Donovan. "Although we've just met I can tell we're going to get along very well. Any Pokémon that recognises a freak when it sees one deserves a place on my team."

"At least it doesn't have a sensitive nose to bitchiness or else the thing would have suffocated by now," Sherlock remarked with a slight smirk, his fabulous eyes catching Donovan's in a glare battle.

"What are you doing here, freak?" she asked, disregarding his insult.

"I'm here to receive my starter Pokémon from Professor Rowan," Sherlock said in a manner that suggested it was not a big deal.

And in a sense it wasn't; It was a burden.

Sally suddenly broke out into a snort of laughter. "You… with a P-Pokémon?" She struggled to speak as she hugged her chest tightly, now chuckling uncontrollably. "Professor Rowan would never give you a Pokémon. You'd probably condemn it as a murderer for catching a butterfly."

Sherlock's forked tongue was ready to strike back with a venomous remark about a touchy school incident when a deep, coarse voice boomed through the air. "Sherlock, I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up."

Both Sherlock and Sally glanced over to the entrance of the laboratory where a tall, stocky man with a lab coat and a scruffy, white moustache stood intimidatingly, his hands clasped behind his back. He was the most well-known man, not just in Sandgem Town, but all of Sinnoh. Even Sherlock recognised his powerful position and appearance, despite a lack of knowledge of anything to do with Pokémon.

It was the famous Professor Rowan.

Sherlock shot a quick smirk at Sally before abruptly shouldering passed her. "If you'll excuse me, Donovan, I have a Pokémon to collect."

"I pity the poor thing that's stuck with a freak as its trainer," Sally spat after the young Holmes boy. "You'll kill it, presuming it doesn't kill you first."

"Sorry, can't hear you," Sherlock called out, raising a hand to his ear, but never turning around to face her as he strolled towards the lab entrance. "The next time you speak, try taking Anderson's balls out of your mouth first."

Donovan was left momentarily speechless. Sherlock grinned in satisfaction as she shrieked furiously before storming off in the opposite direction, leaving her Turtwig to chase after her.

Sherlock made his way to the front door of the rising building and curiously stepped inside. Stacks of storage units lined the left wall of the laboratory. A red leather sofa rested against the side of a short staircase, leading to an upper wooden decking. Three arching windows stretching across the back wall provided the large room with natural light.

Two teenage boys in lab coats stood nervously behind the central stainless steel table. Both boys wore glasses and looked almost identical in appearance. Their dimpled faces blushed a shade of scarlet as Sherlock and Professor Rowan approached them.

"Ian. Cian," Professor Rowan addressed his young apprentices. "Have all the Pokémon been fed?"

"Y-yes, Professor!"

"Of course, P-Professor!"

Their voices were high-pitched and stuttered. They both stood statue still, almost as if they were afraid to move. Even Sherlock had a certain amount of admiration for the professor's intimidating demeanour.

"Good. You can have a break while I sort Sherlock out with a Pokémon. And if you see Dr. Hooper, tell her that I need a Pokédex as soon as it's ready."

"Yes, Professor!"

"Right away, Professor!"

The twin assistants bowed respectfully before scurrying out the electronic door.

The professor turned to Sherlock, his hands still clasped behind his back. "So, Sherlock, are you ready to receive your first Pokémon?"

Sherlock forced a smile. "Yes, Professor."

"Excellent! Now, just so you know, since the other trainers arrived earlier they had preference in their choice of Pokémon. Hence, I only have one left."

"I'll take it. Whatever it is," Sherlock insisted, desperate to get going.

"Hmm… Well, if you're sure." Professor Rowan walked around to the opposite side of the metal counter top so that he was facing Sherlock. He dug his hand into his long coat pocket and pulled out a miniature sphere which nestled in the palm of his hand. The ball was red on the top half and white on the bottom. A small white button was centred on the black dividing line which separated both halves. Sherlock stared attentively as the professor pressed the button, seemly causing the ball to drastically expand to the size of his open fist. Suddenly, the sphere burst open with a flash of white light.

Sherlock grimaced as a Pokémon materialised on the metal counter top. Its most striking features were its large ears and the fluidity of flames which seeped out of its ass. The rest of its body looked so scrawny and malnourished; he was surprised that it could support its abnormally large head which had an uncanny resemblance to a peanut butter squash. The Pokémon gazed up at Sherlock with curiosity.

"Allow me to introduce you to your new Pokémon, Chimchar," Professor Rowan said as he gestured towards the chimp Pokémon.

Sherlock pulled a face of utter disbelief and disgust. Without a hint of consideration, he disdainfully blurted out his immediate deduction in a more abrupt manner than he realised.

"It's a fire shitting monkey."

Long winded Author's Note:

First and foremost, thank you so much for reading! Really appreciate it. I've been working on this story for quite a while and now it has finally come to fruition. In case you haven't noticed, this is an AU. It takes elements from the anime, games, manga and modern day London, but mainly my own madness.

I will try to release chapters as frequently as I can, but as always I'm useless with that sort of stuff. This is a huge project and there may be some lulls, but please bare with me. So yeah...

The rating will most likely change in the future. NOTHING IS SAFE! Expect some violence, gore, adult themes, drug abuse, cringe/inappropriate references, badass-ery and innuendo, all sugarcoated with infrequent profanity. You have been warned...

If I were to add a third genre it would probably be "adventure", but I think mystery/drama are probably the 2 main elements. I think there's a bit of everything though...

For a disclaimer, I obviously don't own either Pokemon or Sherlock. Trust me, I wouldn't be here if I did! All rights go to respective owners: Nintendo, Gamefreak, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and the two geniuses, Mr. Moffat and Mr. Gatiss. There will, however, be minor characters, most of whom will be my OC's and maybe even some cameos/Easter egg characters.

Finally, I would like to thank my Beta, Queensborough for his advise and criticism. But as always, we are only human so if you do happen to spot a mistake please tell me in a review or pm. Also, if there are any questions concerning anything to do with this fanfic don't be afraid to ask.

Thanks again for reading.

Yours truly,

Pan Hatta.

Next Chapter: Some awkward moments, trainer-Pokemon bonding time and a realisation that when it comes to Pokemon, Sherlock it totally clueless...