The Personal Blog of Doctor John H. Watson

July 24, 2013

The day started normal enough. Sherlock spent the morning groaning about the fact that he hadn't solved a case in weeks, and I, having lost another surgery job, was forced to sit and listen. After all, what are friends for?

I thought the day would go smoothly there on out; I had only planned on going to get some groceries, seeing as we were once again out of milk and any other edible substance in the flat, but apparently fate had other ideas, and the two men that walked into the flat lead by Mrs. Hudson were just the beginning of a very interesting case …


Two men stepped into the first floor flat of 221b Baker Street. They looked to be in their thirties, American, and had signs of sleep deprivation and slight alcohol abuse upon their features.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, slightly upset that a client had interrupted his internal monologue.

"My name's Sam, Sam Winchester. My brother, Dean ... I emailed you the other day; we need some help," the taller of the two Americans said.

John looked up at the two men who were standing about in the middle of the living room, ignoring whatever he had been writing on his computer. The guests had the aura of men who had seen battle, and although John didn't have Sherlock's abilities, he would have guessed they were military men like he had once been.

Sherlock only nodded and stepped from his desk, holding a hand out to Sam. "Pleasure to meet you," he smiled slightly. "What exactly is it? You weren't all that thorough in your email."

"Uh, yeah," Sam mumbled, relaxing a bit but trying to put his words together. "It's kind of hard to explain without sounding crazy …"

"No matter how you put it, it very well might be," Sherlock interjected.

Dean chuckled silently. "Any weird cases lately?"

"Weird?" John asked. "Weird how?"

"As in unexplainable," Sam answered.

Sherlock laughed as he got comfortable in one of the desk chairs, crossing his legs and folding his hands. "Unexplainable?" he asked, but didn't wait for any sort of reply from the brothers. "The only case I've been working on is a simple - well, intriguing - murder case."

Sam smirked, pulling out a small notebook from his pocket. "Body turned up in the middle of the city of a person who had been missing for a while … that case?"

Sherlock eyed him, before nodding. "That's it; how'd you know?"

"I've been following your cases," Sam answered, receiving a look from his older brother at the small hint of excitement behind his voice. He sighed, "We ran into a very similar case last week in Texas. A friend of ours said you'd be able to help us and vice versa."

"A friend? What person thinks I'll help a pair of want-to-be serial killers who, by the grease stains on your clothes, and the smell of leather, sit in a car eight hours a day?" Sherlock asked, eyeing the brothers each before turning his attention back to Sam with a slight smirk.

"Sherlock," John groaned, but made no other attempt to stop his friend from 'showing off'.

Sherlock stood from the chair. "Sam and Dean Winchester … read a small article a couple years ago about the two of you. Story from the Federal Government about how the two of you died …" He chuckled, stepping up to Sam. "The two of you are very dangerous men, and you think one perplexingly different murder case I'm working will make me want to help you? Why?"

Dean stepped around Sam, coy smirk lighting his face. "Because the Doctor said you'd want to hear what we have to say."

Sherlock stepped back as Dean's words registered with him. He glanced down at John, before turning back to the brothers, who looked somewhat happy that they had stumped the infamous Sherlock Holmes. "A mad man in a box … says a lot," he mumbled.

"You said the case was perplexing?" Sam asked.

Sherlock didn't answer, just turned back to the desk before stepping to the window. John sighed and spoke up, "Uh, the case … originally thought it was a heart attack," he trailed off. "There's practically no evidence. He's been trying to figure it out all week."

Sam nodded, stepping closer to the desk, "Did you check out the crime scene?"

John nodded, and then was hit with an idea of changing the subject to something else he wanted cleared up. "This 'Doctor' bloke, who is he?"

"No idea," Dean answered, over his shoulder as the skull and other knick knacks on the mantelpiece caught his attention.