Title: A Meeting of Destiny

Author: Felicia Angel

Characters: Holmes, Watson, Lestrade

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: alternate universe, aliens, mild reference to a manga/anime series, violence, discrimination

Summary: Sherlock Holmes is a freelance consulting detective, solving the problems of both the aliens who currently run Earth, and the humans still under them. When he's called in on a strange case involving murder and revenge, can he save someone and avoid his past?

Author's Note: There's a series called Gintama that I base this off slightly…an alternate universe Japan where, instead of the Americans coming by and blasting their canons, aliens do instead, and years later they are integrated into the culture, as the Westerners kinda were (think The Last Samurai with Tom Cruise as an alien instead of an American Army guy…). Also, I did a slightly different version for Challenge 010 on Watson's Woes LJ...but disliked the ending so...yeah, it's been changed. A lot.

Inspector Giles Lestrade was the one credited with introducing New Scotland Yard to Sherlock Holmes. The way he met him, as well as the events afterwards, had caused him to be able to pull some strings both between Holmes and his immediate Denebolan counterpart, Gregson.

Lestrade, oddly enough, had the idea that despite his continual fight with Gregson, the odd Humanoid alien Investigator who handled the Denebolan side of things, that he got along with Lestrade simply because he treated him like everyone else, though Holmes treated him with the same disdain he gave to everyone else.

Which was probably why Gregson was glaring at him as Holmes went through the virtual recreation of the murder scene, moving over to hiss at Lestrade, "Who pulled the strings to let him in, Giles? I can't allow him to join this investigation."

Lestrade sighed, removing his hat to rub his head a little, as if he was getting a headache. "Gregson, he doesn't want to have anyone know he's in this, you know that. He's helped me on two cases and solved five of them, but never asks that I give him fame for it, only some money for it. It's a sliding scale."

Gregson frowned at this reminder of Holmes' odd dislike of fame before looking at Lestrade again. "Giles…"

"They were high up and one was in charge of the Army. Plus what we found out about Drebber and Stagerson is conflicting, and I hate conflicting reports about Denebolans like them."

Gregson nodded, glaring at the body that no longer was there as Holmes slowly stood, calling up a suspect-creation sketcher and putting in his observations, the computer calculating it and agreeing on each matter, as far as the evidence was concerned. It was one part of the tall Human that Lestrade enjoyed: he was always right, and often got even surprised reactions from the various machines that the Denebolans had brought with them and integrated into the new, combined society.

Holmes turned to the two before shaking his head. "It was a Human, that much I know, but why is beyond me currently." He cast a glance at Lestrade as the room disappeared, now showing brick wall that had once been an extra storage or something similar, if Lestrade remembered from his mentor's story, "I take it that was why you brought me in, however."

Lestrade sighed again as they left the room. "Possibly… Drebber was supposedly searching for someone, a man named Watson." Lestrade pulled out his notebook to ensure he didn't get anything wrong, for getting things wrong in front of Holmes was just a welcoming to being reminded of it for months, "All we could find out about him is classified, save a few of the most normal things: Born to a well-off Scottish lawyer, spent a few years in Australia, went through the University of London, St. Bart's and Netly to get a M.D, which is quite odd, and put up a thesis on neuropathology. He joined the Army after Netly and was attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, but things get…odd…during the Second Afghan War."

Holmes paused, his gray eyes intent as he listened and obviously noticing a few things that Lestrade or Gregson hadn't. "Why was it odd that he got an M.D, Lestrade? I understand that one needs at least an M.B to be a practicing doctor, and an M.D is so one can also teach."

"He went in as an Army surgeon," Lestrade pointed out, "That makes getting an M.D odd in his case…unless he wanted to learn or show off, and he did it in a relatively new if unheard of realm of medicine, which he got a good amount of scholarships to other schools to start looking into neuropathy, including some Denebolan-run schools here. Instead, he joined the Army, took the course at Netly, then headed to India without giving the rest of them any notice."

Holmes obviously was much more interested now, which Lestrade was glad about because an interested Holmes meant that, no matter what else came up, he'd see the case through. "So what about his time in the Army was so 'odd', as you put it?"

Lestrade looked back at his notes as a new voice came in, causing the three to turn towards it, "During the battle of Maiwand, he was wounded, and did a feat he shouldn't have been able to do." The Denebolan standing before them, his head more of a cat's then a human's, and his eyes fixed on Holmes, was dressed as one of the high-ranking members that helped the humans and Humaniod Denebolans run New Scotland Yard, though by speaking for them through the government rather than be in the actual area and handle the judges, solicitors, and policemen affairs. "As well, Drebber's search for a Watson was for this one's uncle, who studied the properties of Titan genetic makeup and how it interacts with other species."

Holmes frowned. "So Drebber was here searching for it. Why would it get him killed?"

The Denebolan frowned as Gregson said, "Sir, the evidence does suggest that something from Drebber's past may be the cause for his murder, not the interest in the other Watson's research."

Lestrade also spoke up, "As for Watson, he's listed as 'Human', so it falls under my territory to search for him, as does the killer, who was labeled as Human by both Mr. Holmes and the crime computer. As well, if this about revenge, then Drebber's friend Stagerson is in danger, and therefore Gregson or I must find him and get him into either custody or at least ensure he's safe in case there must be a case brought up or more information must be gained."

The official sighed. "I would like Mr. Holmes to focus on searching for Watson," he finally said, "for double his usual fee. I want you both to find the man who killed Drebber and to see if you can't find Stagerson as well…or if you can find anything else on the two. The reports from America are not quite…as detailed as they should be. Rumors of what happened over in Utah and the area claimed by Joseph Smith's cult do not bring up anything pleasant either, and I would rather have the full answers, even if from the man doing the killing, then leave that part unknown. And if the information about Titan genetics is involved, then we must assume it had to do with what the Army suspects of Watson after the battle of Maiwand, and which I must warn you about, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes frowned then nodded, though Lestrade could guess that Holmes either had guessed or already knew what was about to be said. "What is it?"

"We believe that Watson's uncle experimented with Titan genetics, and the result was one who could appear, outwardly and genetically, Human until a time of great stress, when some of that ancestry comes out…such as the vicious rock storm that came up after Watson was hurt by a Jezail bullet and which resulted in the defeat of the Afghans there, but also has given us questions about his true heritage."

Sherlock Holmes, currently of Montague and the only freelance consulting detective in this city, stretched as he left Scotland Yard, glaring at the sound of a passing ship overhead and taking a slower and somewhat old-fashioned horse-and-carriage to Bart's, the first of his stops in the search for the first and possibly only half-Human in current existence.

It had been some forty odd years since the Denebolans had appeared in various points all over the world, some requiring the firing of laser canons or the like before they would allow them to land. As they created treaties or simply took over some of the more hostile areas (such as the aforementioned Afghanistan), Humans grew into three categories on the new species that appeared: one, like Lestrade, worked well with them and accepted it, doing what had to be done because the Law (or, in some cases, crime) was just that and it didn't matter who your bedfellows were, so long as the job was done; two, like many others, were indifferent, seeing them as just one thing or another; and finally, the last group wanted them gone. Various rebellions had appeared, with few being long-lasting and fewer being successful as more and more Humans fell into the last two categories or simply appeared to dislike or distrust the motives of the rebelling Humans.

Holmes lit a cigarette and sighed, recalling why he was at Lestrade's beck and call, and that Gregson tolerated him because he tolerated Gregson. Appearing Human among the Denebolans was as much cause for him to be on Earth instead of elsewhere as being part of another race had once been (and still was to some) among Humans.

To be sent to find a half-Human…that official knows of my past. It's a test, to see what I will do, and if I really am reformed, as Lestrade has put forth before on my defense. I wonder what they expect me to do, or even what will happen if I pass this particular test.

He had no doubt that with this technology and their wish to clear up the record, Lestrade and Gregson would find the killer. His main worry was if finding the killer would be before or after he'd killed Doctor John H. Watson, M.D, former of Her Majesty's Army Medical Division and having run away on the same day of his discharge.

It was some two days into the case that Holmes began to actually worry. His talk to Watson's former dresser, an infuriatingly talkative busy-body named Stamford, had ended with little information. Stamford had seen Watson once near Bart's: a thin, nut-browned and shattered former version of his old self that only asked for some money, intent on leaving England. Holmes had thanked Stamford and left, uncertain why Stamford would say such a lie when Holmes was not known for his social graces and called people on lies very often, loudly, and in public if he could. However, Stamford's lie would only hurt an investigation if they didn't realize how horrible he was at lying, even by omission. Watson had needed something else besides money: The older end of the trail said that he'd been a stowaway and only escaped notice by saving the life of a few crewmembers aboard the ship he'd been on. He did not want to leave England…if he had, he might have picked another ship.

The final end had lead Holmes to the front of a cab-stand, and finally to the home of one of their men, a tall man with a red-flushed face, dark hair, and a full beard, his whole feel that of the American West suddenly transplanted to London and driving people around as if he'd lived there his whole life. Still, he also locked his door with a few more heavy locks then such a place should have, but ones which Holmes could easily get through, as they were quite old-fashioned.

The man's name was Jefferson Hope, and Holmes had to guess he was off to find Stagerson, or hopefully to a trap laid by Lestrade and Gregson after they found Stagerson. The Denebolan and Human had been hard to track, but their movements spoke of a strange cat-and-mouse game that was going on between the two, and which would possibly end up with Stagerson dead and Hope on his way or living out his life in peace, not haunted by the taking of two lives.

A test of the door confirmed having to use his antiqued lockpicks in order to unlock the door and enter the small apartment.

He knew such a place…all of this screamed that his own past had been discussed, and he'd been chosen to prove Lestrade right, that he was a reformed man and wouldn't do something stupid. As much as he might hate that idea, it also meant his liberty, and that he would continue to at least solve cases, to do what he had to in order to make a living.

Before had hardly been living: it had been holding onto a drowned man and hoping to revive him when you had no knowledge of what would come next. That life was behind him, and on top of that, a man's life was in danger, if what he'd found was correct. He would never forgive himself if he let the man be killed for such a trivial thing as having been the end result of an experiment he had no say in.

The room was obviously only there for show, or sleep when the man became too exhausted. Holmes saw enough tell-tale signs on his first glance to confirm the man had murdered Drebber, as well as had left to find and murder Stagerson. The fact that the bed was moved into the main room while there was at least one connecting door also made Holmes worried, slowly and quietly making his way to the door and testing the handle, slightly surprised to find it unlocked but not quite, considering how much Hope must have put into the front door and windows.

The man inside the room was unconscious, his arms tied up to a low beam, dirty soot-covered hair that had grown out of the military length hiding his face. His clothing spoke of having been picked up from the streets, and before that of having gotten most of them from a charity shop. Holmes had to get one of the shaky chairs to free him, the man moaning slightly as Holmes got him down. His cheek showed a dark purple bruise where he'd been hit, possibly by a fist, and the bottom half of his face was wrapped in what had once been clean bandages. He moaned again as Holmes got him to the ground, starting to undo the wrap, and slowly opened his eyes, the color a little too blue to be fully Human, and slightly unfocused, meaning either drugs or just pain. The man gasped as Holmes helped him sit up, leaning more towards the latter then the former, as there sounded like a carriage passing them by.

Holmes held up a hand for silence, listening intently to make sure it wasn't Hope before leaning to whisper quietly, "Can you stand on your own?"

The man shook his head slowly, closing his eyes against a wave of dizziness, or so Holmes had to guess as he helped him to a chair, what little he did know of medicine saying the man had a concussion, exposure, malnutrition, dehydration, and a laundry list of other problems that required a doctor.

"He…" the man's voice was rough from disuse and Holmes waited as he coughed slightly, "He went…to kill…"

Holmes nodded quickly as he helped the man into a standing position from the chair, silently wishing for some water. "I know. The police should be waiting for him, or at least be on his trail." He paused for a moment before saying, "I'm Sherlock Holmes."

"J-John Watson…"

Holmes smiled as he all but carried the half-conscious man out of the room. "Capitol. There are a few people worried about your sudden disappearance, John Watson."

The police doctor was quick to heal Watson's wounds as Holmes watched, deciding it would be best to not leave the shaken man's side for the moment. His nerves, already badly shaken from the war that he'd effectively won, was near broken due to the recent and he seemed more inclined to stay with his savior then with strangers, even if it was within Scotland Yard.

Lestrade and Gregson came in, both obviously annoyed and casting only grateful glances at Watson when they saw him in the Yard's hospital bed. "Well, we have him, but he got to Stagerson," Gregson informed Holmes, "He's crazy, that one, I have to guess it…fought like a cornered tiger then just gave up."

Lestrade rubbed his arm and shoulder before adding, "The medical scanners say he has a weak heart, aeortic something or other…basically that he's not got long to live." Lestrade cast another glance at Watson. "You know why he came after you, by the way?"

Watson sighed, nodding slowly from his prone position in bed. "He seemed eager to outline what I was to him and what would be done to me before I died." He closed his eyes briefly, "It's odd…Father always said I might have experiments, but after a while, I suppose he only wished for me to think positively."

Gregson sighed, going to sit in a nearby chair. "I heard you had your uncle's papers, or at least the information. I hope it's not all in your head or whatever…"

Holmes chuckled, holding up the disk. "Hope had it in his room where he kept Watson. I don't know why he didn't burn it." He held up a small picture, giving Watson an apologetic smile, "I went back while you were resting and being cared for…I wanted to know more about this odd man."

Lestrade took a seat as well. "So what did you find out? I know most Denebolans keep together but even they don't like rumors and half-truths. No offense, Gregson, but some of them are just too much and completely blue-haired jerks."

Gregson sighed. "No offense, but it was that group of Humans that helped keep it secret. No offense, Lestrade, but for a group who spends more time killing one another over an idea, you're a bunch of weirdoes."

Watson glanced at Holmes, who was shaking his head. "If you two are done attempting to insult one another, I was going to tell you what I found and why only some of Smith's followers were involved?"

The two suddenly gave him his full attention, and Holmes smiled slightly. "Thank you. So," he held up the picture of a young woman, "There was once a woman who was very beautiful, and who's adoptive father and her were saved by the Mormons, followers of Joseph Smith who traveled to and lived in the American West. Hope fell in love with this girl, and they were planning to marry. However, the Denebolans had already arrived to that area, specifically Drebber and Staggerson. Some twenty to thirty years ago, a man named Watson found that he could combine Titan genetics with Human, creating a new type of being, a Half-Human. This was huge because then, those Human and Denebolans that actually did fall in love could, if they wished, be married and have children. Of course, Titans are not the same as Denebolans…Titan holds Humanoid aliens but they are from this same system, and breathe a different atmosphere. On top of that, they want nothing to do with anyone, and have been able to repel any contact with others, though there was enough to get one sample. That sample was enough for Watson to create one live embryo, and said embryo allowed one live birth…which is the Watson here. That news, however, was enough to get Drebber and Staggerson to look into it. They wanted Human wives as well, and to be the first to have Half-Denebolan children. They chose Hope's love to experiment on, and considering that he wished revenge, the experiment must have failed."

Both Lestrade and Gregson blinked at the news. "So…Hope tracked them down and killed them? But why go through the extra trouble of finding Watson? And how did they know about his uncle's work? No one else did!" Lestrade pointed out.

Gregson looked up. "That official did…so his uncle must have told someone. And he was killed, wasn't he?"

Watson nodded slowly. "He was in London to show part of his work and disappeared…he was found in the Thames later. Father moved us all to Australia…my mother had died before then…she was sick, but wanted to give Father one more son, because there's always two Watson sons, and she couldn't have another naturally…"

Holmes sighed. "Hope found something or overheard something to implicate Watson's uncle, and therefore Watson. He got word help from one of the many Resistance groups, and possibly was to be paid a good deal to deliver Watson to them. Such a person, created from Denebolan technology by a Human, would be considered something to be killed and shown as an example…Watson escaped them in India and almost did so here."

Watson smiled slightly. "Don't make me sound so intelligent…I'm very average, aside from my eyes. It took a jezail bullet to my shoulder to make me go mad, and another to my leg to make me stop. I should be dead."

Lestrade let out a breath. "Holmes…you know what I'm going to ask."

"I do. I guessed when that official came in. And I'll take care of him."

Watson blinked. "Wait…what?"

Gregson and Lestrade both stood, Lestrade smiling as he said, "You're the world's only half-human, and a national hero. Because of you, a region that humanity couldn't tame on its own has stability, and what should've been a massacre ended with more men coming back to happy wives and children and lovers. Holmes here must be watched, to determine that he's not falling back to his old ways, and also needs unconventional ways to protect you from people like Hope. He knows their trade secrets, so he'll be able to keep you safe."

The two were able to get outside before Gregson said, "So, what was the over-under on this 'partnership' lasting?"

"A month, and I have the over."

Gregson blinked at that. "On what grounds? Holmes couldn't be friends with anyone to save his own life, and Watson's been on the run and streets for a good--."

"Yes, but Holmes also has a soft-spot for strays," Lestrade pointed out, "and Watson knows a good deal when he sees one. Call him average, but that one is intelligent. I read his paper…it's well written and very well-researched for a new area. Mark my words, they'll be at least around each other for over a month."

Gregson considered this for a long moment before saying, "Bradley took the under, didn't he?"

"It has nothing to do with that."

"The idiot took the under, then?"

"I said it had nothing to do with that!"

Holmes had taken a seat and began smoking nearby, watching Watson as he examined the ceiling as the obviously most interesting item in the area before saying, "I take it you're not quite happy about this change of events?"

Watson didn't bother to look at him as he answered. "Not really, no. I've been caring for myself since I was thirteen. I don't see why I must have a caretaker this late in life."

Holmes chuckled. "I don't see why I need someone to look after for so long…but I do know why they want us in the same area." At that, Watson looked over at him, his cool blue eyes now far more Human-like, at least from this distance, and Holmes gave a smile before continuing, "I am not the most sainted of people. I have…I am indebted to Lestrade, for not putting me in the docks when he caught me. I told him that I wanted to be caught, that I tired of what I was doing, and wished to solve crimes, not commit them. I don't quite know why he believed me…I wouldn't have believed that no matter who said it. And I am an arrogant man who can't come across as humble unless I'm acting, and even then, I can't fool some people. Even so, he helped me how he could, and with the end of this case, I've enough money for a new apartment." Holmes pulled out a newspaper, showing him a circled advertisement for a room to rent in Baker Street. "My own are in a deplorable state, and I only have enough for a downpayment and the first month or two, until I take on another high-paying client, which most of those have either pedestrian cases or ones that they require me for because police would cause too many problems. Therefore, I need a person to share digs with. As I must also take care of you because not doing so will possibly result in me in the docks and you far worse off then you are now."

Watson sighed, turning his attention back to the ceiling. "I'm a deserter…they don't exactly give me a wound pension, now do they?"

Holmes smirked, holding up a checkbook. "Which is why I checked for you…don't look so angry, Hope had it, along with your wallet." He paused in thought and opened his mouth to ask Watson something.

"I didn't sell my watch, if that's what you want to ask. I was lucky enough with it to win some money back with it, so I wouldn't sell it."

Holmes nodded. "I'll see if I can find it. As I was saying, I checked with your bank. You've been getting the Pension, and some extra as well. Despite the flashy and scary display, you did win a war for them, and you saved a good amount of lives." He paused, looking back at Watson. "I'd rather you come with me to Baker Street as a new friend, rather than someone who has to be protected. If we do that, you know they'll push us to some government safe-house and--."

"I do know what's involved. I was told at least that much for truth." Holmes only had to wait a minute before a hand moved out from the covers, held up before him. "A normal lease…and then we can see where it goes."

Holmes smiled and nodded, taking the hand firmly. "I see no reason why not." After releasing it, Holmes took another long drag of his cigarette before asking, "You don't mind strong tobacco, do you?"