Hello guys! I know I haven't worked on this in a while, but I'd like to believe that I am a better writer than I was when I started this piece. So in that spirit, I revamped the first chapter to be longer and a bit better for the plot to unfold. Sadly, I'm not sure how fast I can update since I am also working on Hogwarts And The Last Defense (a Supernatural/Harry Potter story) at the same time. But anyways, here's Wonderwall!
London, England- An Old Alley Way Near Carnaby Street
The sky was a depressing grey as a crowd of police officers looked down to the street. Some wore faces of disgust; others looked like they were genuinely upset at the scene. After several minutes of silence with everyone avoiding glances at each other, the head investigator on scene took in a deep breath. "Come on everyone! Let's get a body bag and cleanup crew here." He then looked to his assistant and nodded. "It's time to call in Mr. Holmes."
Westminster Public Mortuary
Sherlock Holmes, an exceptionally brilliant consulting detective based in London, opened the body bag and smiled as he peered in. The body was a mangled mess of bones and muscles, difficult to decipher one from the other. Blood covered the table like a blanket, the only interruption being the bright overhead light illuminating the rough edges of split bone.
"Cause of death?" He asks, his monotone voice displacing as much excitement as he could muster.
"Difficult to tell, really. The body's just...torn apart." Sherlock stared at the young woman expectantly. She took a deep breath and continued. "It's all self inflicted." The coroner replied grimly.
"Excellant."
Memory Garden Mortuary, Medford, Oregon- United States
"This is Agent Duff, and I'm Agent Axel, from the FBI."
Dean Winchester and his younger brother Sam punctuated this lie with a flash of their fake ID's to the small town coroner. It had been a long day, and Jones was too tired to bring up the fact that their names were the names of the founding members of the rock band Guns N Roses. Honestly, he just wanted to go home and sleep.
"Is that the vic?" Dean inquired as he glanced at the covered body on the medical table. He tried to hold back the uneasy feeling creeping into his mind, and Dean idly wondered why the sight before him would unearve him to his degree. He finally deciding to just look down at the floor.
"Well, at least all the parts we could find. I know someone's probably already told you, but this sort of stuff really doesn't happen here. It's Oregon, for god's sake, we don't get serial killers here." He explains as he pulled back the white sheet to uncover a rather disturbing sight. The body beneath revealed a woman's corpse, what looked like scratch marks covering every inch of her skin, with most going all the way down to the bone.
"We found her own DNA under her fingernails, which means-" Jones's voice trailed off as he tried not to imagine someone ripping open their flesh. The cops had been over earlier to identify her, but Jones already knew. He had gone to high school with her, and they had dated for two years before Jones left for med school. Her name was Alexia Ortiz, and she was only 26 years old.
"She did this herself," Sam finished with a grave voice as the coroner nodded.
When the two "FBI" agents left, Jones covered up Alexia's body, but left her face uncovered. He eventually said his goodbyes and left the morgue. On his way home, he stopped by to grab a couple large bottles of liquor and drank them all in the darkest room in his home.
221B Baker Street, London, England.
"There's been three bodies here so far, and it looks like two in America that fit the description as well," John Watson said distractedly as he typed furiously on his computer. "And I think-"
"Five. There's been five in America," Sherlock corrected as he drew his bow across the shiny violin, producing a hauntingly beautiful melody that filled the flat.
"Uh, no. only two fit the criteria-" John's confusion was cut off by a long sigh from Sherlock, accompanied by a rolling of his eyes. Even though John knew that Sherlock was brilliant, he also knew how much of an arse he was. The ex-soldier started rubbing his temples before taking a sip of tea, trying to let the warm drink keep his temper even.
"Broaden the search to include rural animal attacks." Sherlock offered patronizingly, "And you will find five. Book us two tickets to Oregon, America." He called over his shoulder as he left the room.
Royal Crest Motel, Medford, Oregon- United States
"It looks like there's been several cases around the world of this sort of thing happening." Sam noted as he searched on his laptop for any correlation. He silently thanked the motel for it's free wifi. "I mean, some places think it's a serial killer, others think it's from an animal."
"Well, what do you think it is?" Dean asked before taking a large bite of his double bacon cheeseburger as he relaxed on the motel's scratchy, stained couch. "There's no trace of sulfur at the site, so that cuts out demons."
"But even if it was a demon, why would they rip their "meat suit" apart?" Sam asked as he stared sadly into his bowl of salad. He found that he had lost his appetite after their visit at the morgue. He felt like he could still smell the decaying flesh of the victim burning in his nose.
Castiel was sitting patiently on the floor with his legs crossed and his back to the couch that Dean was on. Surrounding him were some of Bobby's old books along with some reading material from the local library. Feeling the need to contribute, he added, "I do not believe I have seen anything like this before. It's quite unusual."
51 Janney Ln, Medford, Oregon- United States
On the drive over, the brothers decided that they would say that Cas was another FBI agent from the Springfield office and had been assigned to help investigate. Sam made him a fake ID badge that bore the name "Thomas Hobbes". Sam thought it was funny, considering the real Thomas Hobbes wrote a book called "The Leviathan", but the joke fell silent on Castiel.
The Winchesters and Castiel entered the victim's house, only to be introduced to two British detectives.
"This is Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Watson. They're here from London," The simple sheriff offered after several seconds of tense silence, before backing out of the room and leaving the awkward situation behind. He was not getting paid enough to deal with international cases, and he really didn't like that "Sherlock" man, who informed him that his wife was cheating on him with a woman.
'Watson looks kind enough, an older man with a short but rugged posture,' Sam thought as he offered his hand to the man. 'But this Sherlock guy is a bit strange. His eyes are wide, as though always in a state of shock. And they keep darting around, like they're looking for every possible detail.'
"Since when did this become an international case?" Dean asked gruffly, his eyes narrowing towards the tall, uncomfortable looking man in the long jacket. He didn't like the height on "Sherlock" or the way his eyes kept sliding to look at him and Cas.
"Since a body showed up in Carnaby Street back in England with similar circumstances; We're just here to help, agents, if we can." Watson explained.
"They're not agents." Sherlock cut in shortly as he bent down and turned his attention to the clotted blood pool covering the floor.
"Sherlock," John chastised as Sam and Dean looked on with alarmed eyes. The guy hadn't even looked at their credentials, and somehow he knew that they weren't really feds?
"Of course we are-" Sam began, only to be cut off by an exasperated Sherlock Holmes.
"Your suits are cheap and thinly made, obviously put on in a hurry, to appear sophisticated. Your knuckles are scarred from a significant amount of trauma. You," He said as he turned to face Dean, "Have the bearing of a military man, but too good for army. No offense, John, My guess is the Navy, or Marines. You have a high moral code and are very protective of your friends, judging by the way you tensed up when I started speaking and moved as if to protect your long haired friend there. Your body language suggests that you are in a relationship with this man," Sherlock nodded to Castiel before shifting his attention to Sam, "But obviously you didn't know that by the look on your fac-" Sherlock's rambling was cut off suddenly by Dean punching him square in the face and rendering him unconscious.
"I know he's a bit rude." John looked up at the Americans with apologetic eyes. "I apologize on his behalf."
Choosing to ignore what had just happened, Sam turned to face his brother, his eyes accusing.
"Are you guys seriously together? And you didn't tell me?" He asked with a hurt expression. Dean remained quiet, angry that this stranger just had the nerve to say that. He would have kept going, but just one punch seemed to knock him out.
"Dean thought it was best if we didn't yet." Castiel explained as he bent down to tend to Sherlock's wounds.
"So I take it you guys are not from the FBI, then?" John asked as he glanced from one man to the other.
"Not exactly," Dean answered cryptically as Castiel touched two fingers to Sherlock's head and healed him. The black eye that was already beginning to form blended out and disappeared as Sherlock bolted up from the floor. His hand felt his cheekbone and noticed that the pain was fading fast.
"Did you just-you healed him-what are you?" John questioned frantically as he helped Sherlock up.
"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord." Castiel responded simply as Sherlock got his footings. John looked to Dean and Sam, searching for reassurance that this all was just a lie, a joke. When neither came from the boy's solemn faces, he sucked in a deep breath.
"So either this is a very elaborate joke or you guys are serious?" Sam nodded and John's eyes went wide. "Does that make you two...angels?" He asked in a tired and disbelieving voice, tasting the odd word in his dry mouth.
"No, not even close." Dean snickered. Them? Angels? Yeah, right.
"I'm Sam, and this is my brother, Dean; We're hunters. We search out the supernatural and take care of them so they don't hurt anybody else," Sam assured them. He caught sight of Dean glaring at Sherlock, who was silently watching with feigned interest.
"Dean." Castiel called as he continued to face Sherlock. When Dean glanced over, Cas raised his eyebrows and silently gestured towards the tall dark-haired man. Dean could tell from Castiel's posture that he wanted him to apologize.
"Alright, fine;" Dean sighed grudgingly with downcast eyes. "I'm sorry for punching you,"
"You should be-" Sherlock started before Watson cleared his throat and nudged him with his arm in disapproval.
"Er, I believe I am supposed to express my apologies as well, though I did nothing wrong. I was just stating the obvious facts-" Another look from Watson made Sherlock break. "I'm sorry as well."
Sam internally laughed at the whole scene. Here was his stubborn brother being forced by his angel lover to apologize to an equally pigheaded English brainiac whom he just knocked unconscious. If he wasn't here to see it with his own eyes, he would have written it off as a farce.
"So, back to the case then, yeah?" Sam suggested, the smirk taking permanent residence on his face.
Although Sherlock didn't believe the brothers and the jobs they claimed to have, he didn't bother to correct them. He decided the best thing would be to let them humor themselves while him and John while they did the real work.
Suddenly, a loud, peculiar noise filled the small room, turning all the occupant's attentions outside. It sounded like a loud groaning, almost wheezing noise coming from the street.
The five men filed outside in time to watch a strange blue box appear on the corner of the street. The outside of the box said that it was a police public call box, but it looked like it would be more at home in 1960's Britain than in Oregon. A door opened, and a man and a woman emerged from the inside.
The man was tall and thin, clad in a brown pinstripe suit with a tie around his neck. He had short brown hair that looked wild, almost untamable. He was smiling widely at the small woman, who had wavy blonde hair with blue jeans and a union jack shirt, standing next to him.
"Hm…definitely Earth...21st century...but this isn't Greece." He said with a thick Scottish accent as he frowned slightly. Only then did he notice the small group assembled several feet away. "Oh, hello! I'm the Doctor, and this is my companion Rose," He nodded to the blonde woman as they approached the surprised faces. "Sorry to ask this-ridiculous question really- but where exactly are we?"
"Uh, Oregon? In the United States?" Sam replied with audible uncertainty.
"Hello, Rose; Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you," Dean gave his famous smile to Rose, who in turn blushed profusely.
"And you are?" The Doctor asked the remained men as he tried to ignore the glances Dean was sending to Rose.
"I'm John, and this is Sherlock." The older man offered towards the strange man. "And you are a doctor? Is that correct?"
"The Doctor, not a doctor. Ooh wait, are you John Watson and Sherlock Holmes?" He received a nod for an answer. "Britain's greatest detective duo! You fellows changed police work forever with that infamous Dolhing murder case, in 2020. Who knew the butler actually did do it?" The Doctor chuckled with delight as he turned excitedly to Sam and Castiel.
"And you?"
"I'm Sam, and that's my brother Dean. We're hunters. This is Castiel-"
"The angel! But of course, you're the Winchesters! I've read all the Supernatural books…" His grin faded a little as the statement elicited a groan from the brothers. Those books had gotten them into some trouble, not to mention they were annoying. Scrambling to fix the situation, the Doctor added, "The fourth book was complete rubbish, though. The show, however, does very well on Venus as well as Mars, bit of a shocker there."
"It's 2015." Sherlock, who had remained quiet for sometime, announced with apprehension.
"Pardon?" The Doctor asked distractedly, only half paying attention. This was very exciting, being entangled with all of these great characters like this. This was real history, going on right in front of him!
"You said you loved our case in 2020. It's only 2015." The tall, dark haired detective's face was calm and unwavering. "We haven't solved it yet. So now I ask-who are you?"
"We're time travelers," Rose answered quickly as she cast a look at Dean, who winked. This prompted Cas to nudge Dean hard in the ribs while the Doctor glared at the handsome hunter.
Slowly, looking around at everyone, Sam reached into his pocket for his flask of Holy Water, and proceeded to splash it's contents on everyone around him.