Five Detectives and Five Criminals that Never Met Sherlock

Or, Sherlock sees the world. The world copes with Sherlock.

Author's note: I have a confession to make. The number five is a blatant lie.

(Way too many different crossovers to categorize as a crossover)

Sherlock x Detective Conan (Detective 1)

"The way you hid in the museum—trespassing—stole the inspector's wallet—pickpocketing—and convinced me you were my double—art of disguise—magnificent! You are no mere 'critic' of a detective, but an artist like myself!" Kaito Kid, phantom thief extraordinaire, gazed worshipfully at Sherlock, his cheer quite unaffected by the handcuffs on his wrists.

Sherlock said irritably, "Stop interrupting, I was explaining how the true value of the necklace was not the jewels but the capsule hidden inside the clasp. Which I took the liberty of removing for safe keeping, and I also believe I have decoded the contents-"

"You should be a thief! No, a magician!"

"Yes, and judging from your build and the timbre of your voice you should be in high school."

Conan had the pleasure of finally seeing Kaito Kid look nervous. Having his disguise-skills cracked couldn't be pleasant for him.

"And you," Sherlock said, pointing a figure at Conan, "You are most certainly not 10 years old. Even if I accept that you are ridiculously precocious, your heightened pulse and perspiration upon the sight of Miss Mori in her bath towel was not the physiological reaction of a pre-puberty humanoid. Why, next you'll expect me to believe that Kogoro "Sleeping Detective" Mori could actually solve a crime on his own. Yet your body structure does not match the perimeters for dwarfism, nor does your height appear to be a disguise. This leaves me with seven possibilities, which can be narrowed down to three once Shinichi Kudo's disappearance is also added-"

Shinichi Kudo, aka Conan Edogawa, had never been so happy to see Kaito Kid throw a smoke bomb and disappear in his entire life.

Sherlock x Artemis Fowl (Criminal 1)

Sherlock stared at Artemis.

Artemis stared back.

Sherlock was the first to break the silence. "Now you are, in fact, 12 years old."

Artemis sneered, "And you are but one of many to underestimate me for that. Butler, take this arrogant detective and throw him in the death trap." (Artemis didn't actually have a death trap. He'd just always wanted to say that.)

However, not everyone appreciated Artemis' cultural references. No sooner had he spoken then John Watson pulled the trigger on the tranquilizer gun.

Unfortunately, John probably should have used a real gun—Butler had developed immunity to most narcotics. The massive bodyguard took the time to yank out the dart and toss it aside before hurling a chair at John's previously hidden spot on the balcony.

"I told you to keep yourself quiet no matter what happened, John," Sherlock sighed. "And I also told you that you'd pay for refusing to bring a real firearm around children. Luckily we have already progressed past the point where your interruption could have been disastrous—my file has finished uploading."

Artemis refused to ask "what do you mean?" but he had a bad feeling as a smirking Sherlock pulled out his cell phone.

The detective said, "You thought you were being so clever, seeming to take revenge on my preventing the theft of the diamonds you always intended to lose while distracting me from the bond forgery by uploading certain personal contents of my notebook onto John's blog and my brother's email. But how will you like having the Fowl family tax records posted on the world wide web? I see you were too clever to evade taxes, that's how they caught Al Capone, but revealing your most personal financial information would be a great-"

There was a loud crash. Sherlock shouted, "John, a little more quietly please?"

"Sherlock, he's bloody enormous! A little help here?"

"I still have the bonds. I win," Artemis declared.

"Oh, but not for long. You see, I have the numbers-"

Bash crash slam. "Sherlock!"

"Oh, would you call off your hound for a few seconds?"

Artemis crossed his arms. "I don't think so."

"Now you're just being petty."

"And the tax records weren't petty?"

"You started it."

"I'll have you know that my bodyguard is much better than yours."

"Don't be so sure. John is a genuine combat veteran. He also has the advantage of superior speed, reflexes, and a mind that is at least average, unlike your bruiser."

"Sherlock, if you start taking bets down there, then when we get home I am burning your goddamn violinnnnnnnnnnnnnn!"

Sherlock x Psych (Detective 2); Bonus if you catch the Grimm reference

"You are not a psychic," Sherlock Holmes said.

Shawn Spencer replied, "Prove it."

"That's easy enough. You knew that woman was having an affair by the way her blouse was buttoned, and the location of the buried box was easy to deduct from the quality of the ground, not to mention your 'seeing the future' was nothing more than reading a train schedule. Shall I continue?"

"That's nothing except an alternate explanation. You can't prove a negative," Shawn said.

"Oh yes I most certainly can. Psychics do not exist, therefore you are not one of them. Quod Erat Demonstrandum."

John couldn't resist commenting, "That's not what you were saying about Detective Nick Burkhardt."

"That wasn't ESP, that was magic. Two completely different things, and I'm not prepared to admit that magical beings exist outside of Portland, Oregon."

"I'm not sure I appreciate the distinction." Admittedly, John didn't think for a second that the overly dramatic Shawn Spencer was actually telling the truth. And he wasn't quite sure what to make of the sympathetic glances that Shawn's friend Gus kept sending him—clearly he'd been labeled a kindred spirit, but Sherlock wasn't quite as much of a loon as Shawn, okay he was a loon but he was a different kind of loon.

"Neither of you two posturers have actually solved the case," Detective Lassiter sneered.

"Your local police aren't very competent either, are they?" Sherlock said in a voice that was a little too loud.

Shawn shook his head. "Nah, they're not. That's why I keep trying to see what whoppers I can get them to swallow next time."

"I mean, clearly the murderer was the janitor."

"The proof is in the vacuum bag."

"It became perfectly clear as soon as I saw his boots."

"The red mud, right?"

"And his cell phone password was his secret daughter's name."

"Which was obvious once you looked at the hole in his jacket."

"See, look! I knew you weren't solving those cases with psychic abilities!" Sherlock said triumphantly.

Shawn shrugged. "Oh, right. Time for another vision. Gus, could you call the reporter in here?"

Sherlock sulked for a week afterwards, probably because the Santa Barbara News-Press splashed a front-page headline on Shawn Spencer's "dramatic vision" and only quoted him on the second page.

Sherlock x John Doe x New Amsterdam x The Dead Zone (Detective 3…and 4 and 5)

John called, "Sherlock, a hand with the door, here? My hands are full of groceries."

There was a pause, then the sound of footsteps. John gave up trying to kick the door open (a stack of papers was getting in his way) and waited.

When Sherlock finally made his way over and uncovered enough of the floor to get the door open, John said, "I give up on you making a mess of a the living room, I swear. Just try to at least leave the hallway open."

Ignoring this reasonable request, Sherlock said, "John, you were supposed to be here five minutes ago. See, it's on my calendar."

John frowned. "What do you mean? It's not like we have an appointment."

Sherlock mused, "Now why would we have an appointment? How peculiar."

Seeing the distracted look on Sherlock's face, John bolted for the kitchen. Past experience told him that look signaled Sherlock might have stumbled on something he found interesting, which probably meant that John had maybe five minutes to get everything perishable into the fridge before events spiraled out of control. John shoved aside a jar of insects and a finger-shaped package to get the eggs in, and closed the door.

Not a moment too soon. There was a loud knock on the door.

John poked his head out of the kitchen to see that Sherlock had gotten to the door first. Standing in the hallway was a young, dark-haired man. Peering up hopefully, he said, "Mrs. Hudson said I was to come straight up because I didn't look like a hitman or something like that."

Sherlock stared in blank incomprehension. "And you are?"

"John Doe. We have a three o' clock appointment?"

"I'll take your word for it. You can come in," Sherlock said ungraciously. He kicked aside a few papers and a dead komodo dragon.

Smiling politely, John Doe stepped into the room. His foot brushed against a book lying on the ground, and he commented, "Did you know there are only five hundred and sixty two copies of that book in existence? And you have on lying on the floor. An un-catalogued copy too."

"Excuse me, is this the right room?"

Another face appeared behind John Doe—a square jaw with a shaggy head of sandy brown hair.

"Amsterdam, John Amsterdam. Is there a reason why your landlady made me show identification before letting me up here, and wanted me to tell you that maybe the first one was a fake? Oh, and I'm here for my three o' clock."

"Then come in," Sherlock said, waving him inside.

From the bottom of the stairs, Mrs. Hudson called. "Oh dear, we have another one. One of them is probably a hitman in disguise—Sherlock, should I call the police?"

A voice protested, "No, it's not John, it's Johnny. Johnny Smith. And I'm not a hitman, I have an appointment." A scrawny clean-shaven blond poked his head up the stairs, waving frantically. "You remember me, don't you, Mr. Holmes? We talked on the phone."

"Three o' clock appointment?" John asked.

"Yes. You must be Mr. Watson. I've read your blog."

John turned to Sherlock, hands on his hips. "Sherlock, did you make an appointment with three people named John because you couldn't tell them apart?"

Sherlock said, "What, are they all named John? How coincidental."

"Mrs. Hudson, you can put down the phone. All of you, come inside."

XXX

After moving piles of junk off of three chairs, John Watson said, "I'm sorry about the inconvenience. We might need to ask you to come back later, Sherlock seems to have triple-booked."

Sherlock said, "Stop making a fuss about this, I'm sure I can take care of all of them quickly. Now that I've found my notes I think I remember which problems we were dealing with. We've got the detective dealing with the missing memory and enhanced brain power; the detective trying to break a spell by finding his true love; and the detective who sees disturbing visions. Can you blame me for getting them confused?"

John looked over Sherlock's shoulder at his notebook. "Sherlock, you had better not tell me that you find keeping people with the same name separate too much bother the way keeping track of the location of the sun relative to the earth was 'too much bother.' John is the most common name out there!" He looked over at Doe, Smith, and Amsterdam. "And why are all of you detectives with mysterious supernatural powers?"

The three John(ny)s looked miffed.

John added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that, mind. And I for one think that John is a great name."

The first John shot him a grin. "Thank you, I made it up myself."

"Well, you got here first, so why don't you begin."

"My name is John Doe, and I'm an amnesiac. I also have an enhanced memory, which doesn't make any sense, but-"

Sherlock cut him off, "Nonsense, it's very easy to diagnose. I'm fairly certain that your enhanced encyclopedic knowledge was a by-product of your near death experience. Hm, near death experience. If that could be replicated…go away, I need to take some notes."

John said with deep concern, "Sherlock, no experimenting with near death experiences!"

John number one exclaimed, "Wait a minute! I have more questions! When did I almost die? What is this mark on my chest? Why are people chasing after me?"

Sherlock said impatiently, "The scar is from a boating accident. I mean, look at that shape, what else could it be? That was probably when you almost died too. And following usual human behavioral patterns, I give it a seventy percent chance the nuts chasing you think you're the Messiah. The bad news is, people like you usually pick up a couple difference groups of nutcases, you'll want to be careful with them. Hire a bodyguard. Now give me a minute to find my notebook."

Eager to distract Sherlock from his plans to replicate dying (again) John turned to the next visitor. I'm sure you have a problem to share as well, John number two."

The sandy haired John looked irked. "John number two?"

John winced. He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud—people would start to think Sherlock's manners were rubbing off on him. "Sorry, Mr.…Amsterdam…

"Yes, I'm trying to find someone. I have this picture here, taken off of a security camera." John number two leaned forward, holding out his picture.

Sherlock ignored the gesture. "I'm estimating…385 to 420 years old. Right century?"

John asked, "What are you talking about, that guy's shoes?"

"No, how old he is."

The sandy-haired man said coldly, "No point in asking how you knew that. That kind of knowledge is why I'm here. So let's get down to business. Have you also guessed what will reverse my condition?"

Sherlock blinked owlishly. "Native American curses are not admittedly my specially."

"I'm immortal until I find my true love."

Sherlock said, "That is terribly illogical."

"And immortality isn't?" John number one asked dryly.

John said, "To Sherlock, yes."

Sherlock pouted. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Find her? It would make me feel like I hadn't spent all of this time waiting for nothing."

"No, why wouldn't you want to be immortal? Everyone wants to be immortal. People pay lots of money to live longer when odds of success are miniscule."

John number two said, "They should try it, see if they like it then."

Sherlock said, "If you plan to lose the immortality you're going to have to be careful. That mended rip in your shirt looks like a bullet hole, and not one you tried very hard to dodge judging from the angle of impact."

John number two smiled wanly. "Since you're so observant, any advice identifying whether someone is your true love?"

Sherlock said, "Love is 'a strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties, or attraction based on sexual desire.' Truth is 'the state of being the case.' Putting the two together does not make sense."

John said, "I'm actually with Sherlock on this one. Look, you've been around for centuries, right? But you haven't met your true love yet?"

"Obviously not. Do I look dead to you?"

"But it doesn't make any sense to me for someone to cast a spell on you to find your true love when your true love hasn't been born yet. Maybe it's not that you haven't found your true love, it's just that you haven't fallen in love."

"Romantic, are you. May I ask how successful your own love life is? Because you don't look like a guy with a steady girlfriend."

John said, "Sure, laugh all you want. But after a few centuries I imagine you've had quite a few unsuccessful loves. And it was completely all their fault for not being your true love? Never occur to you that there was something wrong on your end? You want to fall in love, grow up. The only person who can decide whether your love is true or not or you. Deductive reasoning won't cut it, particularly if the reasoner is Sherlock."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"I was agreeing with you, Sherlock."

John number two said, "I'll settle for an address and work out the true love question myself."

Sherlock said, "Let me take a closer look at that photo. She's a trained doctor, judging by her skill in giving you chest compressions. Oh, and the course to true love never did run smooth—that's a very recent wedding band tan line."

John number two looked discouraged. "Might be worth a try anyway."

Sherlock said, "I have it narrowed down to three neighborhoods. Give me a call tomorrow and I can give you an address."

John said, "What do you plan to do with this address? We're not in the business of encouraging stalking, Sherlock."

John number two looked indignant. "I'm not a stalker."

Resolving to discuss this with Sherlock more later, John turned to other John number three. "I'm sure you have a problem too, John?"

"It's Johnny. Before you diagnose me, may I shake your hand?"

Looking curious, Sherlock offered his hand.

Johnny closed his eyes, and then released the hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Two days from now, watch out for the man in the black T-shirt with a bear on the front—he has a knife hidden in his left hand. You dodged but he gave you a scratch on the arm."

Sherlock said to John (Johnny), "It's obvious you've got psychometry, mixture of precognition and postcognition. Only the extreme stupidity of the people around you could have prevented them from diagnosing you shortly after you awoke from your coma. Next?"

"I think we're out of Johns," John said. "And didn't you tell Shawn Spencer that psychic abilities didn't exist?"

"That was there, this is here. Stop abusing the fourth wall, John."

"The wall?"

John number three cleared his throat. "Actually, I was here because I have a few questions congressional candidate Greg Stillson."

"I don't follow American politics."

With quiet intensity, John(ny) said, "Then give them a try. I have some very disturbing suspicions and I could use a second expert opinion."

Being called an expert was occasionally a way to get Sherlock's interest. "I'll do some research—and if it's interesting I'll take the case."

John number two looked annoyed, John number one almost amused.

"I see our cases have been regulated to the back burner," John Doe said with a smile.

John Amsterdam said, "Just give me the neighborhoods, I'll do the leg work myself."

John showed them to the door. "Before you leave, is there anything that you don't want me to post on my blog?"

The two Johns exchanged looks. "Everything, if you don't mind," John Doe said.

John sighed. "I thought as much. No one would believe me, anyway."

Sherlock x Leverage (Criminal 2)

Sherlock pointed a triumphant finger at Nate. "The pencil is all I need to connect you to your criminal record associates. You alibi is moot and the correct medical files, I have on a back-up. The case is solved."

Nate said between clenched teeth, "And a seven year old girl won't get treated for her lung cancer."

Sherlock frowned. "Ah, yes, this is one of those situations where I am supposed to show 'empathy' correct? I am sorry to hear that?"

John suggested, "A little more empathy, Sherlock." With the great detective unwilling to take the hint, he elaborated, "We're going to have to let them get away with it."

Sherlock sputtered, "But...my case..."

"I looked at the medical records. That girl is still treatable, but if she doesn't get surgery in the space of a few months she won't be. It's not her fault her parents are illegal immigrants."

The finer points of morality were usually lost on Sherlock, but he was reluctantly nodding. "I do hate to let that horrible insurance agent think that I lost our little contest."

Because he wasn't too thrilled about that prospect either, Nate volunteered, "We can make it look like you solved the case. I have a few ideas..."

XXX

Sophie put down the binoculars. "I think Nate is talking his way out of it. You can put the liquid nitrogen away, Parker."

Parker pouted. "But I wanted to use the coolant tubes! I'm always blowing doors up, I've never tried to freeze one shut before."

Hardison said, "Your tube has a hole in it—oh god! My finger!"

Eliot looked disgusted. "And this is why we let Nate make the plans. I don't think it would have gone too well, either. That short guy down there has spotted us, and he moves like ex-military."

Sucking on his finger, Hardison commented, "The detective spotted us too, because he's waving us over."

Sotto voce, Sophie said to Eliot, "You still could have taken him, of course."

Eliot rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, of course, but it might have gotten messy. Cooling liquid everywhere. And then Nate would have shouted."

Nate called, "Guys, get down here! We're going to need that liquid nitrogen for some fake weather. You know, a Berlin."

Sherlock asked, "East Berlin or West Berlin?"

"Do I look like an idiot to you?"

"West Berlin it is, then."

Eliot said, "Now there's another guy who looks like to might be tempted over to our side one of these days."

John Watson shook his head. "Sherlock? He was never a white knight to begin with."

Sherlock x Encyclopedia Brown (Detective 4, or 6 depending on how you count, but we're going to pretend it's 4 okay?)

"My case. Has been solved. By another. Twelve year old."

"Yes, deal with it, Sherlock," John said unsympathetically. "You were the one who delayed our trip here so you could finish some ridiculous experiment with a dead ant."

Encyclopedia Brown said, "I'm glad I could be of a help, Mr. Holmes. I'm a big fan! Power of observation, right? Anyone can do it!"

Sherlock glared. "I did not come all the way out here for nothing. I am going to walk around this ridiculously provincial yankee town until I find another crime. Then I am going to solve it. In five minutes."

"Can I come too?" the boy detective asked hopefully.

XXX

One month later:

John said, "We've received a post card from Idaville."

"Really?" Sherlock said, not looking up from his breakfast.

"It's from police Chief Brown. Dear Mr. Holmes: I am pleased to inform you that since your visit our crime rate has dropped to zero for 29 days in a row. We also do appreciate being able to close every unsolved crime in the last fifty years. My son was also greatly influenced by your example and has taken to breaking into buildings, hacking into the bank accounts of organized crime, and leaving dead things in our refrigerator. Please never come back again."

Sherlock said, "Actually, on closer acquaintance that boy wasn't so bad. Very fast learner."

John looked at his cell phone. "Oh, look, Mycroft texted wanting to know why your visa to the United States has been revoked."

Sherlock x Avengers (Detective 5/Criminal 3)

Robbing a bank was generally below Loki's dignity, but the Avengers had been very close behind him for the past week, and he needed some resources to give himself some breathing room. And besides, why would humans stick all of their money in one place if they weren't asking someone to steal it?

"Hey! Over here!" Loki looked up to see a short stocky blond human waving at him. He didn't look like SHIELD, and thus could be ignored.

But the human did not pick up on this hint. "Sherlock, I've been waiting for you. Why did you want me to meet you here? Something about Irene Adler?"

"I don't know who you are referring to, but you seem to have the wrong person," Loki said coldly. The man was standing a little too close in his personal space.

The human said, "Yes, very funny Sherlock, you're a master of disguise, but I can still tell it's you. Where are you going? Wait, it's not polite to cut in front of people in line like that. Get back here!"

XXX

Meanwhile, on the SHIELD's plane:

Thor said, "I have great experience in seeing through my brother's disguises, and this is not him. I am sorry, Tony."

Tony Stark scowled. "But he was standing outside that bank! And his face is different, but he moves just the way Loki does!"

Clint said, "Yeah, and he had trouble figuring out about human things, like asking what Facebook was."

"I don't really understand Facebook either," Steve admitted.

Sherlock said, "Not surprising, you originate from a different time, don't you? I peg the forties or so. And you shouldn't be prancing around in a metal suit with that heart condition" he pointed at Tony, "and you are one to talk about not being human" he pointed at Thor, "And you," he said to Clint, "are clearly harboring some deep trauma concerning me or the person you think I am, connected to whenever I move my arm it this way—look at you twitch. It's rather amusing."

Bruce said what they were all thinking, "Are you sure he isn't Loki, Thor?"

Thor frowned. "Almost sure. Probably."

XXX

Loki shoved his way in front of the teller's counter. "You can skip the cash, I'm interested in bank account numbers."

The human following him yammered, "That's not funny, Sherlock, you're scaring the poor woman."

Loki pulled out is scepter and pointed it at the shocked woman.

"Sherlock, what have I told you about the first rule of weapon safety? Don't point it if you won't use it!" To Loki's astonishment, the human's hand shot out with incredible speed and slapped the specter out of his hands. "Bad Sherlock! Sorry about that, ma'am, he suffers from an antisocial behavioral disorder. And he's an ass."

Snarling, Loki raised a frost covered hand.

But before the human turned into a popsicle, his ice smashed into a giant hammer. The ice and hammer when flying in Loki's direction, hitting him in the chest.

XXX

Thor's hand went to his side, where his hammer was no longer at his belt. "Pardon me for a moment, friends, my hammer has disappeared again."

"Again?" Clint asked.

"Yes, ever since Father declared that anyone worthy of the power of Thor could have it, it appears that there are a number of people in this world besides myself who are sometimes worthy of that power. Mjolnir often leaves on its own to go to them."

"That sounds very annoying. In the middle of a battle, and wham, there goes your hammer. Performance failure," Tony said, sounding more amused than sympathetic. "Can't you do something about that?"

"I appreciate your desire to help, but it is not necessary. The last person to receive my hammer was a fifteen year old boy trying to protect his sister from some marauding Syrian soldiers. If Mjolnir is occasionally more dearly needed in another place, who am I stand in its way?"

"That's very noble of you, Thor," Steve said.

"Also, I am told by Jane that by doing this I demonstrate new depths of emotional maturity, which is frigid."

"You mean cool," Bruce said.

"As Darcy Lewis says, positively below freezing. Now I must go to see if the person who has my hammer requires rescuing."

XXX

Sherlock said, "I can tell from the way you're holding the paper that you have a case file. Bring it over here so I can look at it. I could help you solve the case, you know."

Clint glared as he moved the report further away. "Shut up, Loki."

"I'm not Loki. And if I wanted to get out of this glass case, I could do it easily."

"Sure, you think you're such a mastermind."

"I'm serious. The keypad comes out when you touch the bottom of the right corner, right here." The front of the cage slid open. Sherlock said, "The password was 'thorisawesome.'"

Clint sighed. "I knew we shouldn't have let Thor install an emergency escape door, not even after the third time Loki locked him in there."

Thor flung to door open as he shouted, "Wait! He's not Loki!" The Norse god entered the room in a flat run, followed by a short blond man.

"I'd kind of got that," Clint admitted. "Loki would never have been able to type in that password without projectile vomiting."

Thor said, "We have the real Loki in custody, and Fury is helping me arrange transportation."

"I see you have your hammer back," Clint said.

Thor patted Mjolnir. "Yes, but the heroic John Watson had already taken down the bad guy when I arrived."

John said, "I'm sorry for taking your hammer again. I don't know why it keeps popping up around me."

"Mjolnir likes you, John Watson."

Sherlock waved. "Oh, hello John. Do you know who these people are?"

"They're the Avengers."

"The what-now?"

"Don't tell me you've never heard of superheroes? SHIELD? Aliens invaded New York, is any of this ringing a bell?"

"That sounds like the sort of useless fact I would have deleted from my memory."

"Of course it is."

"At the moment they seem to be kidnappers, and badly dressed ones too."

Moving closer to Sherlock, John hissed, "I don't think you should complain too loudly, Sherlock, did you forget that you're in this country illegally?"

"What, Mycroft still hasn't straightened out that ridiculous thing with my visa being revoked?"

"No, that's why you came here under a false name. I think you should leave while everyone is still being nice and apologetic."

On cue, Thor said, "We are extremely sorry for the inconvenience we have caused you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Tony has these free gift certificates that he wants me to give you." Clint, who had overheard the whispered conversation but didn't particularly care, merely smirked.

Accepting the gift certificates to a few thousand dollars' worth of Stark products and some free shawarma, John said, "Thanks for babysitting Sherlock while I was gone."

Thor said, "It is not a problem, John Watson. I hope we might have an opportunity to meet again, now that I have learned we have mutual friends."

Mutual friends? Who? John thought, but was quickly distracted by trying to stop Sherlock from stealing Clint's case files.

XXX

Meanwhile, down a back alley in New York:

"Long time no see, Rene!"

"Darling cousin!" Irene Adler kissed Natasha on both cheeks.

"So what happened to your dear old abusive alcoholic of an uncle?"

"He sold me to a brainwashing assassination program as a child. I tracked him down to a rundown bar with one of my current colleagues and we roughed him up a bit before handing him over to the CIA."

"The CIA? Oh, you certainly have reformed, Nat. I almost didn't believe it."

"Let's just say it's best I have no official knowledge of what happened to my uncle on your side of the family. Although I will say that I think bottom of Morecambe Bay is too good for your father; they do horrible things to child molesters in prison these days."

"Sure, but mother dearest would have gotten off with a sob story."

"Point taken, point taken. I'm not about to judge you; I couldn't bring myself to hand my least favorite trainer over to justice—he had to 'resist arrest'. So, met any terrorist leaders recently I should know about?"

"Only for you, cuz, will I tell you, didn't-hear-it-from-me, that someone on your no-fly list might be trying to sneak into New York this weekend under a fake ID reading 'Theodore Bahar.' I only let trade secrets slip for family. That and the disgusting fool spilled barbeque sauce on my veil when he tried to kiss me."

"Mm, I've found that lime juice works wonders on red stains. The best part is, if you carry it around in your purse you can also use it as an interrogation device."

"I'm more fond of electricity myself. A girl likes to sparkle. Now, on to the more personal business of catching up."

"You do understand that where I live, what name I'm under, and my current job are all off limits."

"Yes, of course darling, but I have more important questions. Have you gotten anywhere with that muscular archer with the bright blue eyes?"

"Relationships between coworkers are always messy, Irene."

"Oh, but don't tell me you haven't looked. Even I have looked, and I'm not usually inclined that way."

"Really? But word on the street has it that a gentleman with the last name H-O-L-M-E-S might have made you reconsider."

"Mycroft? He's too short."

"Don't play dumb, cousin, spill. Or would you rather let the rumor mill have its way?"

"I think I need a few drinks in me before we start talking about this. Is there a bar in town which hasn't banned one of us?"

"I have some dirt on the owner of the One-Legged Lady, which is close enough."

"Then to the nearest taxi! Buy me enough drinks and maybe I'll tell you about some private funding parties held by a politician whose been giving SHIELD grief. Oh, and don't think you've successfully distracted me from Hawkeye either."

"It's good to see you again, cousin."

"You too, Nat."

Sherlock x X-men (Criminal 4)

Magneto smiled. "Clever deduction, detective. But I fear you have overlooked one small detail." He called Sherlock's gun to his hand.

Sherlock smirked. "Did you really think I'd fail to notice that every single one of your crimes was committed using some improbable contortion of metal? That wasn't loaded, by the way." He pulled out a gun made of plastic. "This is."

Magneto said, "Well-played, detective. But I have another card in my hand. I've taken hostage someone you care about deeply."

Sherlock managed to disguise his flinch, but couldn't stop himself from glancing at his cell phone.

The mutant called, "Anathea?"

Mycroft's lovely assistant emerged into the room, with knife against her boss' throat.

Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, that was your trump card? What a waste, you can't kill him, his blood is made of liquid nitrogen and he has a clone growing beneath the Buckingham Palace. By the way, blue girl, I think you look far more interesting in your natural form."

Raven snarled in frustration, "How does he always know it's me every time?"

"In this case, I noticed you walked with your right foot first-"

Magneto interrupted, "What do you mean you don't care? That's your brother!"

Looking remarkably unconcerned despite the blade against his skin, Mycroft said, "Did I miss that brief look of relief on your face? Who did you think I might be, the illustrious John Watson?"

"Oh, wipe that smirk off your face, brother. And stop hacking into John's phone and email, he really hates it."

"Of course, we can't upset John," Mycroft said. "Not that you ever cared what happened to any of your other roommates. By the way, mother wants to meet him."

"What did you tell her? Mycroft, I swear I will spill your political schemes across John's blog!"

Magneto futilely held up a hand. "There's a bomb rigged to blow up this building in five minutes? I'm still holding your brother hostage?"

"I replaced the bomb with a fake," The Holmes brothers said together.

They exchanged glances. "Then who got the real bomb?"

"Well, my fake will set off a large display of smoke."

"Always the melodrama."

"You're one to talk, you didn't even notice you took a decoy!"

"I'll have you know I have a team of trained professionals. You were the one who swapped a decoy!"

"Care to wager on it?"

"You are on. Five minutes to go."

"Hostage?" Magneto said.

"Oh, shut up," the Holmes brothers said to the world's most notorious mutant criminal.

XXX

Meanwhile, in another room...

Charles said, "More tea, John?"

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Xavier."

"I usually go by professor, I'd almost forgotten about that title."

"Be that as it may, I'm a huge fan of your work with telepathy and mental illnesses."

"You're too kind. Would you be interested in looking at my lab later?"

"I would love to."

Charles said, "So, I hope I'm not being presumptuous, but Mycroft Holmes tells me you've been a great influence on his brother, who was previously diagnosed as a sociopath. I'm tempted to ask for advice."

John leaned back. "Oh, I had a much easier time with Sherlock, at least he doesn't have any genocidal impulses..."

Sherlock x James Bond: could be any Bond, really, but probably not Craig because this guy is suave (Criminal 5) (Also, Miss Marple. And One Piece. Yes, One Piece. Thus making this the second One Piece-Sherlock crossover in existence.)

"At first glance, yes, the criminal might seem to be a reindeer, due to the incriminating hoofmarks. But a closer look reveals the residue of latex, a substance which is not easily produced in a pre-industrial world, which leaves me with only one option—the criminal has eaten the Latex Latex fruit. Since no one can eat two devil fruits, this proves the reindeer innocent, and clearly implicates the only person without an alibi and without a known devil fruit power, Captain Morgan!" Sherlock crossed his arms. "Case closed."

A dark haired boy in a straw hat pounded him on the back. "Awesome! Now we can drop him off with the marines, get my doctor, and continue on our adventure!"

Sherlock attempted to shake loose the hand around his shoulders. "Who are you, and why does your arm get longer the more I try to shove it off?"

"I'm Monkey D. Luffy, and I'm going to be King of the Pirates!"

"Like bloody hell you are," Sherlock mumbled. "It was my childhood dream to be a pirate, and if anyone is going to be king it's going to be me." His mouth felt fuzzy. He tried to blink and realized his eyes were shut. "Whaz?"

"We've been drugged, Sherlock." The voice was John's. Sherlock forced his eyes open.

"Where are we?"

A rich British voice drawled, "A five-by-five room in need of some structural repairs." Sherlock recognized the voice as belonging to the man who had introduced himself at the party as "Mr. Black," right before Sherlock realized that his drink had a funny aftertaste. "They would like us to believe that we're in an isolated location outside of London, but I'm pretty sure they just stuck us in the basement."

"And who, pray tell, are 'they'?" Sherlock attempted to struggle to a sitting position despite his hands being tied behind his back. In the dark he heard John move over and begin working at untying the knots—he must have managed to get loose on his own. No surprise, since these incompetents hadn't even noticed that Sherlock had handcuffs in his hidden jacket pocket.

Their fellow captive said, "It's the Chinese mafia, obviously. I assumed you were also here because the infamous Hao Lin has started to deal in secrets as well as black market goods."

"No, actually, we were just looking for-"

Sherlock was interrupted when the door was flung open and Hao Lin strode in, flanked by five Chinese thugs.

John clocked the first one over the head with a stray block of cement. Mr. Black brought another down with an elegant neck-chop, while kicking the man sneaking up behind him in the shins (no surprise that he'd gotten loose too). Sherlock threw a well-aimed punch to bring him down while he was reeling from the kick, but he hardly need to have bothered, since John's efficient actions with the block of cement had the remaining mafia on the ground and unconscious.

The gentleman in the suit clapped him on the back. "Excellent work. Help me tie up Hao Lin, he's the only one we need."

"We?" Sherlock said, "The only reason we're here is because taking a drink off the same tray as you got us knocked unconscious. This Chinese thing was not my case."

"The name is Bond, James Bond. The British government thanks you for your services, or surely will once the arrest of Hao Lin gets me my job back."

"Isn't this the second time you've lost your job and gotten in back in the space of a few months? Maybe they don't want you around," John quipped.

Bond frowned. "How do you know that?"

Sherlock said, "Despite our inadvertent entanglement in your problems, it's you we came here looking, on behalf of an acquaintance. Mr. 'Black', it appears that the secretary you seduced in Sussex has become pregnant. Didn't take proper care with the protection? Her grandmother knows a woman named Miss Marple, who in turn asked me to look for your location. I confess that when I first took the job I did not realize what a colossal pain it would be."

John said, "Oh, stop complaining Sherlock. Miss Marple, Ivy Malone, Beatrice Adela Lestrange Bradley, the Snoop Sisters, and Sister Mary Helen have all been very helpful to you at no cost. You were the one who thought it was brilliant to start an information network of little old lady detectives. You might have accepted that at some point they would expect some favors in return. Forcing me to help them move furniture and drive them places does not count."

Sherlock said, "Messy details aside, at least this has turned into a decent case. I've captured two criminals of international fame."

"Two?

"The other one would be you yourself, Mr. Bond. Consider yourself under citizen's arrest on the charges of trespassing. Nice handy charge, trespassing, and it will keep you in place long enough for some child support to be taken out of your bank account."

"I work for the British government!"

"Not at the moment, do you? You're off the radar. Which makes you a common criminal. John, handcuffs."

"You could get them yourself," John grumbled, while nevertheless slipping a hand into the secret pouch on the back of the detective's coat and handing them to Sherlock, who slapped them on James Bond's wrists. Admittedly, Bond easily elbowed Sherlock in the forehead and twisted free so that John had to kick his legs under him and sit on him, but Sherlock was still technically the one who locked the handcuffs.

Nursing an egg-sized bruise with a handkerchief, Sherlock mumbled, "Spies are one step away from being criminals anyway. And I never wanted to be a spy, that was Mycroft. My childhood criminal fantasy was being a pirate."

He ignored the odd look John was giving him.

The End

Author's note: If there's anyone who recognizes every single series I've crossed over with, please let me know! I mean, I've done books, movies, TV shows, and manga—I'm genuinely curious if anyone besides me has read or watched every single one of these.