Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Marvel, all rights to their respective owners
The Case of the Missing Tacos
The incessant knocking had put Sherlock in a foul mood. It had been the umpteenth time in the last several days that he had to have his concentration and experiments interrupted. He couldn't take it anymore. Ever since the request was made they had refused to take no for an answer. Sherlock had explained more than once that no, he was not interested, because yes, the case was boring.
"He's back," John said, having confirmed it from the da-dadada-da-da that echoed from their brass knocker.
"Really John," Sherlock looked up and rolled his eyes, "I couldn't tell."
"This is becoming unbearable," John frowned adding, "What happens if he starts stalking your crime scenes."
Sherlock frowned at this thought. He had not had a case for the past week which seemed like an impossibility in a metropolitan like London. He had assumed that the troglodytes at the police station assumed so stupidly that it was the butler who did it. It pained Sherlock to think about his crime scenes being interrupted by such a dull-brained moron.
"He wouldn't dare," Sherlock frowned as looked upon his dissection, and groaned, "He would, wouldn't he."
"Yes, utterly and completely," John said matter-of-factly, "remember he's already ambushed us at the Italian restaurant we go to."
When the owner treated Sherlock so well, it was an easy choice. Sherlock looked up and stared. He zoned in at the door whose brass knocker that was tapping the entire time.
"He's getting worse," Sherlock said unamused, "he's going to hound us thoroughly until he gets what he wants."
"That seems to be plan," John said in Sherlock's isn't-obvious-tone.
"Don't do that John," Sherlock rebutted, "it doesn't work on you even if you're cleverer for most people."
"Coming from you," John said smirking, "that's a compliment."
The knocking continued and now the man had started singing. It was not any real song more like words being sung horribly off-key. They begged, and begged for Sherlock to take their case. The case that was breaking their heart, ripping their soul apart, and making their stomach grumble.
Sherlock ignored their song and tried to concentrate on his experiments. He was extremely worried what the lack of cases was going to do. The idleness was clawing away at Sherlock's sanity –he needed something to do. This meant experiments in the kitchen much to John's lack of surprise.
John had set up ground rules. One shelf in the freezer and one shelf in refrigerator where not be used by Sherlock's experiments. He also demanded that they were the top shelves. A rather nasty surprise one Monday morning had soured his leftover dinner. He never did want to find out what exactly that green goo was.
Then John had demanded that two shelves in the far cabinet was his. When he said his, he really meant theirs. It contained some nonperishable foods, tea, and coffee along with one plate, glass, mug, and bowl for the each of them. John placed the two forks, knives and spoons into one of the glasses. Sherlock had fought about the fact that they didn't really need much food because it slowed him down. John immediately shot that argument down with a you-don't-have-a-choice and a I-need-to-eat.
There sat Sherlock frowning that the person could not take a hint that he was not interested. Sherlock knew what they were trying to do. It didn't take much of a genius to see their ploy. They hoped by the constant bothering he would be worn down to help this rather odd, deranged young man.
"He says he won't go away," John told Sherlock, "and that he knows how he can sweeten the deal."
"For me to take a case like finding missing tacos," Sherlock gritted out, "means it's going to have be very sweet."
One week later
"John! John!" Sherlock said almost too happily, "Who knew missing tacos could be such an interesting case?"
John's mouth thinned as he looked at the disaster zone that was the kitchen. Gone was the top shelves in the refrigerator and freezer, gone was the cabinet, and gone was the lovely jam and tea he had purchased at the local farmer's market. No, they were all gone. It was this blasted client's fault. John could feel his temper rise at the scene in front of him.
John really had quite enough with this nonsense. "Missing tacos, indeed!" John thought hotly. Sherlock had taken the case. He had actually taken a case as mundane as missing tacos. This had to have been one of the top ten silliest cases, if not the top silliest cases, Sherlock had ever taken.
John had tried desperately to accept this. He had accepted enough as it was. The experiments that took over most of the apartment, the violin playing, Sherlock shooting at the apartment wall, the smiley face. Most he easily accepted knowing that Sherlock thought differently, acted differently and needed constant stimulation.
He looked at the various jars that held different body parts. Several hands, some feet, and even an entire arm. John could only guess where Sherlock found a jar big enough to hold a male's arm as long and muscular as that.
The line had been crossed when John had found a jar of pickles. He thought it odd that there had been a jar of food found anywhere in the apartment. He had been overjoyed that at least one food, even if it had been pickles, had been overlooked. At least he could have a snack without going to the convenient store down the street.
His happiness had clouded his judgment. It had also lasted for as quickly as he opened the jar. He had been distracted by Sherlock's odd, but not so odd when given the context of the situation, happy mewls. His brain had registered enough sense to wonder why the pickle had felt a little bit off. However, the prospect of finding enough food made him not listen to his brain. He turned to face what he had taken out, his face was immediately stricken pale, his eyes widening in disgust. More disgust churned when his hand had not yet caught up with his realization and kept squeezing. It made it seem as if the client's penis had been blinking up at him. He could feel a yell bubbling from the pit of his stomach.
"WHY IS THERE A "PICKLE", IN THE PICKLE JAR?"
Sherlock looked up with a very brief shrug as the shenanigans did not bother Sherlock so long as he had access to the body parts, "Well he thought it was funny."
John stared and frowned. Ever since Sherlock had chosen this man as his client the apartment exploded into so many different experiments, so many different body parts that John had taken it all in. Sherlock was his best friend after all. Best friends accept each other.
This was simply too much.
"Pickle in the pickle jar," John said frowning, "Oh very mature, the both of you, are nothing more than adolescent boys."
"I think we've upset him," Sherlock's client said to him.
"He'll get over it," Sherlock said not bothering to look up, "besides missing tacos is an interesting case."
"Missing tacos?" John exclaimed, "Since you've taken on the case you've hardly done anything about missing tacos."
"John has a point," the client frowned, "you really haven't done anything about missing tacos."
"Well," Sherlock said, cataloging some ears, "you did say you'd sweeten the deal, and didn't specify the amount. Thus I am choosing how far you have to sweeten the deal."
"But I am rather hungry," the client muttered unhappily.
John stared at the head on a silver platter on the table. It was unbelievable. When everything had been explained Sherlock and John had thought the man utterly insane. Well, that was actually true. He was insane but what was even more insane was that he was actually telling the truth.
"That's it," John pointed to head, "Deadpool I will bloody buy three dozen tacos if you will stop letting Sherlock cut you up! I've about had it with the extra body parts!"
"SWEEET!" Deadpool exclaimed happily, his head jiggling a "I'm going to get tacos" dance the best he could.
Sherlock stuck a scalpel into Deadpool's head like a child who was about to have their favorite toy taken away. John swore he saw Sherlock pout for the briefest moment.
"This is my case, John," Sherlock said with a hint of a whine that John had heard before which meant Sherlock later would close his robe dramatically and lie down petulantly lying facing away from John, "and I say he hasn't sweeten the deal enough."
"But tacos!" Deadpool frowned, "Besides now all I can taste are chimichangas and I don't want chimichangas. Be a pal and stick that pen into my eye. That way I can at least taste tacos while waiting for John to bring my tacos."
"Fine," Sherlock frowned and stuck a pen into Deadpool's eye.
"Ugh," Deadpool groaned, "I forgot it was the right eye. Now all I taste is Wolverine's meat pie. He never did get the memo that it called for hare and not hair. Be a doll and stick that pencil into my left ear that way I can in the very least taste Bea. My sweet, succulent Bea."
While Deadpool dozed into a euphoric state Sherlock followed John down the hallway. He was pleading that John not buy the tacos. They walked down the road where John bought the three dozen tacos.
"Four weeks," John said calmly, "four weeks of this nonsense. That's gone far enough."
Sherlock stared at John who stared back. After several moments Sherlock muttered a fine. They returned to Deadpool drooling, having a very disturbing smile on his face.
"Your tacos," John said, "so grow your limbs back and go away."
Funnily enough, the case of the missing tacos did turn out to be a very interesting case if not in the way John or Sherlock had planned.
The End - Complete
Author's notes: I just decided to write it for the pure crack of it all :) Don't take it too seriously (from Marvel and Sherlock fans). Hope you at least find it somewhat funny. :D And I am apparently the first to write this crossover :P Edited 10/22: There were some story parts that I think needed some work :)