"Excuse me?" Mrs. Hudson asked a stranger at the door to 221B Baker Street. He was a confused, young looking fellow, and seemed a bit serious. This man was asking for Sherlock Holmes, a man who lived in one of the flat rooms. She knew Sherlock cloud handle mostly anything, so she was going to let the man in. But just in case, she would keep a sharp ear.
"Alright, dear, one moment." Mrs. Hudson motioned inside as she called up to the tall, dark haired man upstairs.
"...is there a case? I've been in that bloody room rumaging around for cigarets for too long." His voice faded as Sherlock Holmes saw a non-familiar man standing down stairs. Narrowing his eyes at him, Sherlock adjusted his scarf.
"I'm called Castiel," the man said, staring up at the tall man, thinking back to a friend of his who's height was like a moose.
Sherlock nodded his head, still staring uneasily at this man. He noticed his clothes were a bit wrinkled and old, also were a size too large. He was probably staying with someone who gave him some clothes. Castiel didn't seem like he worked anywhere. Was he poor?
"Do I smell bad?" His hesitant voice broke into Mr. Holmes' thoughts. Castiel looked at his sleeve, sniffed it, then looked back up at Sherlock, a questioning look in his eyes.
"...No." Sherlock responded, already knowing something was off about this man. Or he could just be humorous. Then there was the question about why he was here. "Why did you come? If you have a case, I'd rather hear what it is rather than accept it before hand."
Castiel shifted his wight around on his legs, glancing back at the door. His friends had asked him to bring Sherlock, and if he could, get his colleage, John Watson. To do this, he needed to impersonate a police officer. Unfortunatley for Castiel, Sherlock only respected one person from the police force; Lestrade.
"I'm from... the force." He said quickly, trying his best to sound like he was from England. He held up a card that had his name on it. Dean had earlier gotten it for Castiel. The reason why it was Cas trying to get Sherlock Holmes was because Dean and Sam had jet lag. Apparently, angels didn't get that.
Sherlock had another good look at him. He seemed too tan to live here, and especially had a different accent. He believed that Castiel must be from somewhere in America and was trying to sound like he was English. As he examined the card, he noticed that the job he was supposedly working as was the position that Anderson was in.
"Tell me, how is Anderson doing?" Of course, he asked this just to mess the man up.
Castiel hesitated, narrowing his eyes in thought. What would Dean do? he asked himself in his head.
"Anderson... is doing great. Solving cases..." his voice faded just as Sherlock's did before, realizing he had the American accent back. He saw a smirk appear on Sherlock's face, and before the tall man could retort anything, Castiel rushed forward and gripped a knife to his neck.
"Listen, I need you and your colleage to come to a small city outside London. Two friends of mine are waiting there to talk to you."
Just then, there was the sound of a door opening and a short man - about the size of Castiel - walked in with grocery bags. "Sherlock, I-" he stopped where he was as he saw what was happening.