Title: A Study in Mint
Characters/Pairings: Arthur Kirkland, Alfred F. Jones, Francis Bonnefois, Ludwig, Kiku Honda, Nataliya Arlovskaya, Seychelles, Roderich Edelstein, Elisabeta Héderváry, Toris Laurinatis, Flying Mint Bunny. Semi-USUK, semi-Asakiku, FrSey, hints of GerAus.
Genre: Humour, Parody
Ratings/Warnings: PG-13 for stupidity and mild nudity
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is Sherlock Holmes. Alfred F. Jones is John Watson. Together, they solve murders.
Disclaimer: Axis Power Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya; Sherlock belongs to ACD and the BBC
Notes: This is crack fic. Expect a bit of OOC, mild confusion, and the faintest vestiges of a plot. I wrote it as personal medicine for the dramallama going on in Bled Stained Days right now.

A Study in Mint

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

Alfred F. Jones stares over at Arthur Kirkland with wide blue eyes.

"What?" he demands.

"Afghanistan or Iraq, stupid; it's not that hard to answer," Arthur replies. Alfred racks his brains through current events to figure out why Arthur asked the question and sighs when he finds nothing relevant.

"Well, um, we're still fighting in Afghanistan…" he mutters, but Arthur nods and looks down at Alfred's mobile. "What the hell are you doing, Arthur?"

"Humour me, Alfred; your PBS is airing the second season of Sherlock in a week." The Briton smirks, raking his eyes up and down Alfred's form before nodding. "You've recently been to McDonald's to eat out your sorrows because all the Republican candidates are idiots but your people are also losing faith in your current boss because said Republicans are cockblocking him at every turn. Meanwhile there's been a spate of tornadoes in the South that's affected you somewhat and you're also miffed that my actors are so much better than yours and –"

"For godssakes, Artie, you're just making this up now," complains Alfred.

"I'm not making it up –"

"Fine, you're just taking current events and –"

There's a knock at the door and moments later Inspector Ludwig is running into the room, nodding at Arthur.

"Another murder?" Arthur demands, green eyes glinting with manic glee. Inspector Ludwig rolls his eyes but nods. "There's something different, though, or you wouldn't be here."

"There's a note this time."

"Who's on forensics?"

"Bonnefois."

"Not the frog!"

Alfred groans. "Artie, really?"

Arthur turns to Alfred, snickering. "I'm only showing you what a real modern adaptation of Sherlock Holmes ought to look like –"

"What, do you have a problem with Joan Watson?"

"I have a problem with her not being an invalided Army doctor from Afghanistan, yes!"

"Can we not argue and just get to the bottom of the mystery?" Ludwig snaps.

"All right, fine!" Arthur grabs his coat and chequered deerstalker and prances out the door. "Come along, you ruddy Yank."

"Are we riding in the Mystery Machine?" Alfred squeals as he jumps up and races after Arthur.

"No, we're taking a taxi. Because there's absolutely nothing wrong or foreboding about taking a taxi."

"What, is the killer a Mormon cabbie?"

Ludwig facepalms as the duo continues to argue and exits stage right.

"Ah Bonnefois!" Arthur chuckles at the Frenchman as they reach the crime scene. "I see you've been up to no good again. And with Sergeant Seychelles, nonetheless!"

"What!" demands Sergeant Seychelles, eyes widening. "How –"

"Oh s'il vous plaît, rosbif," Francis Bonnefois scoffs. "Someone's been gossiping, n'est-ce pas?"

"No, no. Your cologne gave it away." Arthur laughs. "Surprisingly enough, it's for men. Yet Sergeant Seychelles is wearing it, too."

"What the hell are you trying to imply, freak?" Sergeant Seychelles demands, turning a rather odd shade of puce.

"Oh, only that Sergeant Seychelles seems to have come 'round for a cuppa tea that quickly turns into a glass of wine and then…" Arthur's smirk grows wider. "She must've scrubbed your floors, too, going by the state of her knees."

At that, Alfred bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, what are you implying, Artie?" he giggles. "That's so –"

"Shush! Deducing!" Arthur steps around the body and the accompanying note and bends down with a magnifier, looking about for clues. "Aha!" he exclaims, straightening up. "What's this woman's name?"

"Nataliya Arlovskaya," Inspector Ludwig says immediately.

"She likes making soup, apparently," adds Francis. "See, she was trying to write 'broth' –"

"Frogcis, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the entire planet." Arthur shakes his head and smirks. "Nataliya Arlovskaya was trying to write 'brother' before she was taken out very violently by a bite to the back of the head. However, the teeth marks are small which suggests that a small animal killed her. Her clothes are very childish, suggesting that she may still live with her family despite her physical age. And then there's the scarf –"

"The scarf!" Inspector Ludwig exclaims.

"Small light-coloured fibres around her neck and hands from a light-coloured scarf. She was trying to put on a scarf before she died, but that happened before she wrote the word 'brother' into the floor and died."

"That's brilliant!" Alfred exclaims.

"Also, there is only one creature I know that is capable of such cruelty!" concludes Arthur. "I've only encountered him once in my career. He tried to bite off my head like the Vorpal Rabbit of Caerbannog, but I managed to elude him by a mere brow's width! He is one of the most dangerous creatures you will ever meet!"

"Who?" everyone else choruses.

"FLYING MINT BUNNY!"

Dead. Silence.

"Don't you see? It's obvious! Flying Mint Bunny is the killer!"

Alfred frowns. "Um… Arthur… are you talking about your imaginary friend?"

"HE'S NOT IMAGINARY, YOU GIT!"

"We can't see him, though."

"He is real, though! Flying Mint Bunny, more commonly known as Professor Moriarty, is a bloodthirsty killer who will stop at nothing to become the Napoleon of crime and I will prove it! I will get to the bottom of this and have that notorious flying monster apprehended!" the miffed Briton turns about and storms away in a huff, leaving Alfred to rush after him like a good Watson.

"I hate not being the hero! Can I be the hero?"

"NO! I WEAR THE DEERSTALKER; I MAKE THE DEDUCTIONS!" Arthur screams, glaring at him.

"Fine! When I'm Batman, you're going to be Robin!"

"We must consult my brother Roderich!" Arthur declares as they knock on the door to the Austrian's house. Piano music can be heard from the downstairs window.

"He's not really your brother, though."

"Shut up! He's got Mycroft's attitude and he could be in a relationship with Inspector Ludwig –"

"I thought Feliciano –"

"No, no, no! I refuse to have Feliciano play Mycroft!" Arthur knocks a little harder. "Open up you pianosexual twat!"

The door slams open. "Ohh, lovely. It's you two," Roderich Edelstein groans, rolling his eyes. "I just ate the last torte –"

"How's the diet?" Arthur asks immediately.

Roderich grimaces. "Shouldn't you ask your date that?"

"I'm not his date!" Alfred snaps as Elisabeta Héderváry arrives, her eyes focused on a yaoi doujinshi.

"Oh yes you are," Elisabeta replies, not even looking up from what she's reading.

"Do you have any information on Flying Mint Bunny?" Arthur demands, crossing his arms.

Roderich frowns. "Why would I have information on your imaginary friend?"

"You're the British Government because you know everything about everyone! That's why your hair's so big; it's full of secrets!"

"…I thought you were the British Government," Roderich deadpans.

Arthur huffs in annoyance. "Right now, I am the brother of the British Government and I demand information from my dear brother on a notorious killer codenamed Professor Moriarty."

"And that notorious Professor Moriarty is your imaginary friend, Flying Mint Bunny."

"Yes! I mean, no! He's not imaginary!"

"You're a terrible Sherlock," Alfred notes as Roderich slams the door in Arthur's face. "Even Robert Downey Jr. is better than you and he's Tony Stark."

Arthur stomps away down the street in response, compelling Alfred to rush after him again. "Aw, cheer up, Artie! Don't be such a downer about it. Who are we visiting next?"

"Irene Adler, also known as Kiku Honda," Arthur replies, before veering off into an alleyway. "All right, now punch me in the face."

Alfred pauses. "…Why Kiku?" he demands.

"What?"

"Why is Kiku Irene Adler?"

"Because he's intelligent and ambitious and just like me –"

"Oh, I see. It's because he's the Bitch of the East and you're the Bitch of the West so it's a match made in heaven." Alfred rolls his eyes. "Good luck with that."

"Shut it, git, and do as I say!"

"Fine!" Alfred socks Arthur in the face; Arthur staggers back and Alfred advances, punching him again in the stomach.

"Okay, that's quite enough – ow! Not Wetwang!"

"I think you need to remember, Artie, that I'm a superpower! I can nuke you off the map!"

"You signed two SALTs!"

"I have bad days!"

Kiku Honda strides into the room with the grandmother of all poker faces. He's also wearing nothing at all, which is rather contrary to his usual prudish appearance. Arthur finds it a bit surreal and totally disconcerting. Alfred glares daggers at Kiku for no apparent reason.

"It's a bit hard to remember an alias, isn't it, Arthur-san, when you've had such a bad scare?" Kiku asks calmly, even though it doesn't take a deductive genius to know that secretly the Japanese man wants to run far, far, away and hide in a cave forever for this moment of compulsory indecent exposure. "You look taller in your photographs, though."

"I usually take the precaution of a good coat and a box so I can tower over Alfred." At that, the American snorts.

"Hahaha, yes. Napkin? To… uh, cover yourself?" he asks, slicing through the sexual tension even before it begins. Arthur rolls his eyes and gives Kiku his coat.

"What can you tell us, then, about this creature?" he asks, presenting a hastily-scribbled crayon doodle of Flying Mint Bunny. Kiku takes it, examines it, and frowns.

"Not much," he admits. "Gomen nasai, Arthur-san."

"Surely you ought to know something, since your country has a lot of unique mythology –"

"Not of this creature." Kiku replies calmly. "But have you checked Baskerville?"

"Isn't that where they let the dogs out? We never figured out who did it, though," Alfred remarked, still glowering at Kiku.

"Possibly, possibly." Kiku smiles cryptically. "Shall we have dinner, Arthur-san?"

"I'm not hungry," Arthur replies, but continues to stare at Kiku in a way that causes Alfred to bristle and yell:

"FREEDOM!"

The two turn to stare at him.

"Freedom. Alfred Freedom Jones. Just in case you were looking for biologically-impossible baby names."

"I think it's time we left." Arthur stands up and nods. "Thank you for your… lack of information –"

"And clothing," chips in Alfred.

"You've been very helpful," finishes Arthur.

"Not," adds Alfred.

Kiku scoffs. "Are you jealous, Alfred-san?"

"We're not a couple!" Alfred exclaims.

"Yes, you are."

The not-couple quickly exits stage left and return to 221B Bakery Street, which sports a downstairs café filled with the most radioactive scones this side of Chernobyl. Obviously Arthur takes those exemplary bits of baking and experiments on them in the kitchen, which usually ends in even less edible food and a miserably hungry Alfred resorting to Chinese takeaway or McDonalds. Naturally Arthur never gets the milk, and stashes his culinary "creations" in the fridge to disgust all visitors to their flat.

"Ah, boys, you've a visitor," Toris Laurinaitis, their landlord, tells them when they enter.

"I'd like some coffee, Toris," Alfred says as he removes his bomber jacket.

"I'll make you a cuppa just this once, Al, but remember – I'm not your housekeeper!"

"So are you Ivan's housekeeper?"

"Of course not!" Toris bustles off, leaving Alfred and Arthur to ascend the stairs only to come face to face with –

"You!" screams Arthur, dive-tackling Flying Mint Bunny to the floor. Alfred watches, frowning – all he's seeing is Arthur grappling with thin air.

"Admit it, you killed her! You killed Nataliya Arlovskaya, you fiend! Stop biting me! Stop it, I say! No!"

"Um… Artie… what the hell are you…"

"Alfred, help!"

"I'm… not seeing anything?" Alfred slowly backs away, nearly upsetting Toris and his coffee. "Ah, thank you, Toris –"

"Not your housekeeper," mutters the Lithuanian, but he smiles. "Did you manage to see Matthew?"

"Who?" Alfred asks, frowning.

"The Pathologist at Bart's."

"Oh, Mattie. Yeah, um, no. Not recently?"

"Shame, shame. He's a nice boy." Toris tilts his head at Arthur, who's still wrestling with thin air. "Unlike this one. But then again, Mr. Von Bock next door's got married ones, and they're always so loud at night –"

"Yeah, I really don't wanna hear about that," Alfred says loudly, but at that moment Arthur dives out the door, misses the upstairs landing quite beautifully, and clatters his way down the seventeen steps to the ground.

"I warned you about stairs, Arthur, I warned you!" Toris exclaims, clucking his tongue as he and Alfred rush down to tend to the dazed Briton lying in an ungraceful heap at the bottom of the stairwell.

"He was within my grasp!" complains Arthur as they haul him up into a sitting position. Toris runs off for the first-aid kit.

"Yeah, um, nice try, Artie." Alfred nods, snickering still. "Even though your Moriarty is imaginary."

"He's real, I tell you!" whines the big-browed detective. "Real!"

"Yes, and heroes don't exist."

"They don't," Arthur babbles, as Alfred tends to the cut above his right eye. "Don't make people into heroes, Al; they don't exist and even if they did I wouldn't be one of them."

"Yeah, that's pretty damn true. You usually play the villains in my films."

"Not recently."

"No, not recently." Alfred pauses. "But they do exist, Artie. Heroes, at least."

"Don't be daft. I don't believe in heroes. I just believe in one." The Briton smiles, patting Alfred's shoulder. The American's eyes widen; he grins stupidly.

"So that means I'm the hero of this story, right?"

"Excellent deduction, my dear Jones."