A/N: Hope you enjoy this little crossover! Idea came from the awesome Hannah (eochsattel).
Summary: One day in King's Cross station Sherlock comes across a strange object.
Just one of those days.
Sherlock Holmes walked briskly through King's Cross station. He hated taking the train; it was too crowded and germ filled for his taste. His lip curled slightly as a youth spat their chewing gum on the floor, which an unsuspecting gentlemen then trod on, leaving sticky white marks where he stepped.
'Disgusting,' he murmured, as children coughed and spluttered repeatedly, their bacteria landing on poles and railings, which people grasped onto, unknowingly taking the disease with them.
Sherlock sighed loudly, shaking back his sleeve to check the time. 8.56am. His train was to arrive at 9.00am, what was he to do until then? He slowed down his pace, glancing up at the signs to check his platform was correct, he needed platform 10 and to his disappointment saw he was on 12. Groaning at his own stupidity he swivelled on his heel and knocked over the tourist family who were behind him. Not bothering to apologize he stalked back in the direction of platform 10. The surroundings were putting him off; there was constantly something happening, someone stealing, someone shouting, someone crying. He wished the train would hurry up.
His foot suddenly lodged on something solid on the ground, causing him to trip forwards slightly. Immediately he straightened up. Double checking that no-one had seen his fall, he decided to inspect what had tripped him – maybe it could ease his patience for a few moments. He bent down slightly, glancing around at foot level. Nothing remotely interesting or life threatening lay there, he began to straighten until he spotted a long thin stick lying on the ground. His eyes narrowed in confusion, why would a stick be here? The only tree he knew did not even reside in London. He snatched it up quickly and moved out of the herd of people. On closer inspection he could see this was no ordinary stick that had fallen from a tree. It was shaped in a certain way, thicker at one end running thinner to the other. It was lighter and smoother than any branch you would have seen. As if it had been shaped for a purpose. But it had no carvings or engravings to reveal who exactly it belonged to. He spun it agilely round his fingers, he jumped violently when he felt a shock jolt through him. No-one around him seemed to have noticed his antics. So, intrigued, he shook it slightly and he could have sworn he saw blue stars burst from the stick's end. Sherlock gave a short brief laugh as if he did not believe what he was seeing. But stopped himself instantly, he rolled his sleeve back until he revealed the crook of his elbow.
No nicotine patch.
He shook his head, placing the stick back on the ground he looked for his platform. He was currently standing in between platform's 9 and 10.. three quarters of the way to be exact. There was a loud hiss that signalled the sound of his train arriving, thrilled, he rushed into the first carriage. Not daring to look back at the station.
It was the fact I had no nicotine patch, he told himself, working his way into an empty seat by the window, anyone could hallucinate a strange electrical stick if they had no nicotine patch! Slightly convinced he ordered a coffee and checked his phone messages.
Sherlock did not see the panic-stricken teen running out of the wall of Platform 9 ¾. He did not see them scramble on the floor looking desperately for something. He did not see the look of joy on their face when they picked up the strange piece of wood, before darting back inside the wall. He sighed once more, his attention fully-focused on his phone,
'For more free phone calls then top-up by £30 at the end of the week,' he read aloud, 'Sorry,' he muttered, putting the phone back in his pocket, 'I prefer to text.'