So I wrote this crossover thing for fun :D
I'm not exactly sure where I'm going with this or whether I will finish it or not but I'm posting it anyways XP
It was strangely fun to write and it's essentially a sort of warm up for writing a pure Supernatural fanfic and not a crossover lol
ANyways, if you like and want me to continue, review and fav :D I'll only add a new chapter if this gets 4 reviews minimum ;P
The plane descended through the thick ceiling of grey clouds and London could finally be seen for the first time by those boarding it. Sam sat next to the window, his face pressed against it as he marvelled at the sight bellow and slowly began recognizing some famous monuments. A smile slowly spread on his face, excited that he finally had the chance to travel and to England no less. Dean, who sat next to him, was far less enthusiastic. He had downed sleeping pills in order to sleep for most of the ride but they had failed and so he had remained seated, clutching at the arm rests, gaze fixated on the small screen on the bench before him, eagerly waiting to arrive to destination. Now that the plane had begun its descent, his edginess was all the more apparent as he gasped and swore beneath his breath every time there was an unexpected shift.
Sam tore his gaze away from the aerial sight of London to check on his older brother. His smile partially faded, feeling sympathetic and sorry for his brother's suffering but also amused. They had had a different travelling option which Dean had immediately refused and would not be swayed to use – claiming the mode of transportation had a bizarre effect on his body or something of the like. Castiel had nonetheless insisted repeatedly until the day of departure came, he asked one last time, receiving the same answer and vanished. Sam almost felt like rubbing it in Dean's face, but his brother seemed to be suffering enough and the brotherly taunting could wait for a moment.
"You should look outside." Sam suggested, "Now that the clouds are gone there's a really nice view."
"No offence Sammy," Dean gritted out, glaring at the screen before him, "But please shut the hell up."
Sam nearly smiled but resisted the temptation, "I'm serious," he insisted, "It's pretty amazing. You can even see the London Eye from this angle—"
Suddenly there was turbulence and Dean yelped, pressing himself further against his seat as he groaned and cursed all the more. "Can't this goddamn plane just land!?" he growled, smacking the seat.
Almost on cue, the pilot cued his microphone and addressed the passengers in the plane. "Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen," he said with a relaxed tone, "We are just about to touch down at London's International Airport in about fifteen minutes and we are running a bit early. The weather in London is warm yet cloudy and we are looking at an easy descent. We hope you've had an enjoyable flight and hope to see you again on your next journey."
"See, Dean?" Sam said with a small smile, "Just fifteen minutes and you can walk off."
"Oh fuck me…" Dean groaned, gripping the armrests tighter.
Getting their passports checked as well as picking up their bags had been a rather long task. The airport was so crowded and by the time they found a cab and were finally able to relax, their bodies began giving in to the time change. They were utterly exhausted and nodding off as their driver babbled randomly about many things, mainly the recent local news and something about a famous consulting detective. And just when Sam and Dean thought they were going to close their eyes for good and fall asleep, Castiel happened.
"I see you've finally made it." He said meekly and as monotone as ever.
Sam and Dean jolted at the random appearance whereas the driver nearly got them killed by swerving into oncoming traffic and then back into their respective lane.
"Blimey!" he hissed, glaring at Castiel through the rear-view mirror. "How the bloody hell did you get in? I don't remember seeing you—"
"He was here the entire time." Dean interjected smoothly.
"But I didn't—" the driver insisted, though he was beginning to doubt his early assumptions.
"Yeah, he helped you pack our bags in the trunk." Sam added with a grin, "Don't you remember?"
The charade they had quickly constructed seemed convincing enough and the driver began mumbling an apology before resuming his earlier rant. The rest of the drive from that point on was relatively quiet, Castiel shifting awkwardly in the middle while both Sam and Dean began to doze off again. Things only livened up slightly once they got to their motel and paid the cab driver, finally allowing themselves to discuss privately.
"So why was it we had to come here, Cas?" Dean asked, stopping just next to the door. "Don't you have other people who can take care of whatever problem there is here? I mean, there have to be other hunters—"
"Ironically, there are no hunters in England." Castiel responded, his bleak tone indicating no actual sign of jest.
"What do you mean ironically?" Dean asked.
"Well," Sam answered instead, "The UK is known for its faery tales and myths. Europe is generally home to most of the things we hunt though they're specifically concentrated in England." He then turned to Castiel, "But how are there no hunters?"
"Most hunters inherit the task from their fathers and so on," he explained, "It is a profession older than you can imagine and when the Europeans began to colonise North America, a lot of creatures left and so did hunters to stop them. This eventually resulted in a feeble amount of hunters remaining and they so happened to become prey to the most powerful of beings that decided to remain. It wasn't long before they were all slaughtered."
"So why didn't they just come back?" Dean asked.
"Communication wasn't as easy and fluent as it is now," Castiel said, "Reaching someone so far away could take a year or more and hunters are always on the move. Most didn't know whereas others didn't have the means or will to return. Eventually, the chaos in England slowly steadied and quieted only to be forgotten for years, until now."
"What happened now?" Sam asked.
"Nothing. Yet." Castiel answered gravely, "But I can feel something big coming. The evil creatures inhabiting this country have remained quiet for so long and though we thought nothing of it at first, we now know they were planning something and reaching full capacity of their strength."
"I don't mean to be a downer here," Dean said, "But that's a bit too vague to work with here, Cas. We need more detail than that."
"I wish I could provide them to you," he said regretfully, "But I'm afraid I don't have them."
"Would you happen to have a lead on someone would?" Sam asked.
"There's been a murder, recently." Castiel said and handed them a newspaper which had seemingly just appeared in his hand. "There was a savage murder of a family." He explained as the brothers skimmed through the article. "The bodies were drained of their blood and no drop of it could be found anywhere in the vicinity."
"Vampires?" Dean suggested.
"No," Sam said, pointing at a paragraph, "Says here that other than their sliced wrists, no other markings were found on their bodies."
"Couldn't it have just been a mass suicide then?" Dean said, unconvinced it was something they should handle.
"Seeing as the family was incredibly religious and didn't have any modern ideologies," Castiel said, "It was initially ruled as such."
"What made them change their minds?" Sam asked.
The newspaper's page suddenly turned and half of the page was covered in a large picture of a man wearing an odd hat. He had high cheekbones, a small mouth and pale eyes with a sharp ferocity to them. If Sam hadn't known any better, he would have assumed that he was one of the things meant to be hunted what with the ethereal look of him.
Dean whistled, "Who's the hotshot?" he asked.
"Sherlock Holmes." Sam read beneath the picture, "And the man in the back is his partner, John Watson."
"That man," Castiel said, "reopened the case and, within a month, solved it."
"What? So he knew what monster went after the family and killed it?" Dean asked.
"No." Castiel corrected, "The creature was a goblin that had taken the appearance of a human. He found him and arrested him, but he escaped from prison a few days ago. I believe he is in danger and you must save him."
Dean glanced at the image and then back at the angel, "Why do you want us to save him?" he asked, "I know it's something we do but we would have done it without you demanding it. Is he important?"
"We don't know what's happening here." Castiel reminded, "The most information we have is that the creatures of this country are rallying together for something big and have been saving their forces. This is the first manifestation in hundreds of years of their presence and malice. That man is a genius sleuth and can help us understand what is happening. All you need to do is convince him to help you."
"Do you feel that, John?" Sherlock asked, his eyes scanning the surroundings of their apartment.
John lifted his eyes from the computer screen and looked around as well, "No…" he said slowly, "Should I? Did you—"
"Oh hush now, John." Sherlock sighed and strutted to the other side of the room, almost excited by something, "I didn't mean physically, I meant emotionally—spiritually."
"Spiritually?" John repeated, raising an eyebrow. It wasn't the first time he thought his flatmate had gone completely mad but he had learned by then that he would never be so lucky.
"I feel a good case coming our way." Sherlock said, taking in a deep breath and grinning as he peered out the window, "It'll be one to remember."
John stared wordlessly at his best friend, pondering Sherlock's behaviour for a brief moment but ultimately deciding that there was no way he would ever understand it. And so he did what he always did, he brushed it off with a sigh, sat back in his chair and agreed. "Of course." He said.