Disclaimer: I do not believe that my name is currently on any of the Supernatural or Sherlock credits and therefore, I cannot take ownership of either.
Sherlock was thinking.
John had come and gone again, back to his latest love interest, but Sherlock had not moved from his position on the couch. Now Mycroft was here, telling him of a stolen masterpiece, taken from the Home Secretary.
"I will tell you once again, Mycroft, I am not interested in finding a painting, it really is pathetic. No, I am thinking of something much bigger than your stupid case." He said, his fingertips resting against each other, just under his nose. Truth be told, he, the mighty and formidable Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, was stuck. He had been enlisted by the mayor of a small town in New Orleans. The story was that people had been going missing, that they simply vanished into thin air. He had been given all the information that they had about the town, it's inhabitants and, the most importantly, as much evidence as the police force could find. He had been baffled by the case, usually, however strange the case may be, there was always some sort of pattern. However, this case was different.
Although he did not like to admit it, he suspected it was something else entirely.
He had briefly worked with one Dean Winchester half a decade ago, when Dean had suspected that a serial killer was possessed. However, Sherlock had proved that he wasn't, although Dean had found some demonic activity in the area. Having had his ear to the ground, Sherlock had heard many strange tales about the Winchester family since that time and believed that they were quite successful at their unusual jobs. Sherlock knew a thing or two about old myths, although believing them to be utterly useless, his brief encounters with Moriarty had taught him that not all seemingly useless information was unusable. He had once kidnapped children and left a fairytale as the only clue.
Bowing his head so that his dark curls fell into his eyes, he pushed all the realistic, factual knowledge of the killings out of his 'mind-palace' and ushered in all the unbelievable myths, legends, religious and secular histories and the fairytales. Suddenly his eyes flew open as he grabbed his African spear and flung it at the wall, piercing one side of Mycroft's tailored dinner jacket to the wall that was frequently shot at. Having barely flinched, Mycroft sniffed disapprovingly at Sherlock, "Was that necessary, Sherlock?" He said, extracting the spear from the wall, freeing his jacket. Sherlock held a hand up, "I need to contact a family. They are called Winchester and come from..." He shut his eyes and frowned briefly, "Lawrence, Kansas. They drive a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the number plate of which is KAZ 2Y5. Find them for me, Mycroft." He ordered, stretching his long legs in front of him.
Mycroft looked sharply at his younger brother, "Does this mean that you will help find the painting?" A humourless smile spread over Sherlock's face, "If it means that you will get their details, yes, I am." He said, not returning his brother's gaze. Mycroft lost all hope for Sherlock's help and turned to leave, "If you change your mind, which I doubt, you will be able to contact me via-"
"Oh, do be quiet, Mycroft, you're worse than Watson." And the door promptly clicked shut.
Dean Winchester was not a man known to pass up an opportunity for pleasure when it arose and was currently situated in a bar in the outskirts of Austin, Texas. Him and his younger brother, Sam, had decided to relax for a day or two after getting rid of a poltergeist in a nearby town. For Dean, relaxing meant flirting and getting drunk and for Sammy, it meant trying to find a new case. Since Jessica's death, Sam had never let himself relax, always trying to look for answers, clues to his many questions and suspicions. There were girls who came along that Sam was obviously attracted to, but he never let his concentration stray from his work for too long. Dean had just been trying to goad Sam into chatting to a brunette who had been staring at Same for the past half hour, while giggling to her friend about 'how adorable his hair was'.
"Dean, just leave me alone, go enjoy yourself, but don't force me to enjoy this with you." He said, trying to shrug his brother off, who had placed one manly hand on Sam's leanly muscular shoulder. Dean's green eyes glittered with amusement at his brother's expense, "Aw, come on, Sammy, you gotta-" Sam was spared the rest of his brother's half-drunken pleads when Dean's mobile rang. Dean sighed, still smiling as he answered, "Yello?" He said, waving to his lady friend who was still waiting for him to come back. A look of sudden confusion came over his face as he heard a distinctly British voice answered him back, "Dean Winchester, it has been half a decade since I last saw you." Sam perked up when he saw his brother's confusion, it might be another case. Something to do.
"Who is this?" Dean demanded, holding his phone in one hand and his beer bottle in the other.
"Oh, I think you know exactly who it is. I never thought I would have to ask you for your help, but I have a proposition to make."
Dean caught Sam's eyes, "Go on."
Okay, it's short and probably really OOC, so forgive me- it's my first Superlock fic. Hope you liked it and it WILL get longer, I just want to gauge your reactions to the first chapter. Please tell me if I'm doing anything wrong- don't just say you don't like it, because that is not helpful and I'll never progress- SO PLEASE GIVE ME CONSTRUCTOVE CRITICISM :D Thank y'all so much for reading, let me know in the reviews if you liked it or not (O u O)