"What the hell?" Dean said.
"I—I don't—" Sam said.
"Dean. Sam."
The Winchester boys turned around to see Castiel, the angel, standing behind them.
"Cas? Did you bring us here? Where are we?" Dean asked.
Someone in the front of the room cleared their throat, and the Winchester brothers turned around.
There were three men sitting around a very large desk. There were huge bookshelves against the walls, and several statues placed around the room. The man behind the wooden desk sat with his hands on the flat surface, his eyes narrow and eyebrows furrowed. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit, and there was an umbrella, laying closed on the desk.
He gave a slight smirk at the Winchesters, but he did not say anything.
The two men sitting in front of the desk appeared to be just as confused as the Winchesters were.
"Mycroft—" the taller, dark-haired man in front of the desk said. He was wearing a dark overcoat, complete with a scarf, and spoke in a clear British accent.
"Hold on," Dean said. "We're in England?"
"London, actually," Mycroft interrupted.
Dean turned to face Castiel once more. "Did you zap us here?"
"I was asked to bring you here," Castiel said solemnly, looking up at Dean with an empty look. "I apologize for not informing you beforehand."
"Why are we here?" Sam asked, looking at Castiel and then turning to face Mycroft. "Who are you?"
"I am Mycroft Holmes. This is my younger brother, Sherlock, and this is Dr. John Watson."
"Mycroft?" Dean blurted out, clearly bewildered at his name.
If Mycroft was miffed, he did not show it. His expression did not change at all. He stood there, as stone-faced as ever.
"I need your help."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"I hope this wasn't an inconvenient time," Mycroft started to say.
"It was, indeed, inconvenient," Sherlock interrupted.
"Sherlock," John said, warning him to tread cautiously.
"Well, he appeared to be in the middle of a meal, when—Cas, is it?—er, brought them here. You can tell by the slight smudge of pie filling on his shirt—cherry, if I'm correct. But this leads me to my next question—how did you bring them here?" Sherlock turned to Castiel.
"I am an angel," Castiel replied. "I do not understand, Mycroft. I thought your brother knew about me."
At this, everyone in the room turned to face Mycroft.
"Mycroft, what's going on?" John asked.
Mycroft sighed. "I called you all here for a reason."
Mycroft went on to explain why he needed the Winchester brothers' help. He told them about a deal he made with a demon—he did not define what the deal was, but he didn't have to; the Winchesters knew right away what he was talking about. It was a crossroads demon. A deal with a crossroads demon, essentially, exchanged one's life to save another. Mycroft had been given five years, and this year was his last. He prayed for help—and Castiel had come to him.
"So, let me get this straight," Dean said. "You made a deal with a crossroads demon?"
Mycroft nodded slowly, as Sherlock and John looked on, confused beyond belief.
"And now you're chickening out?"
"It's not that—"
"Really? Well, what is it then? Because that's what it sounds like to me."
"I hate to interrupt this charade that is going on," Sherlock said, "but Mycroft, would you care to explain what is going on?"
"They don't know about it," Sam said quietly to Dean, as Mycroft began explaining.
"It?" Dean asked.
"Monsters, demons, supernatural creatures—those two have no idea," Sam looked pointedly at Sherlock and John. "This guy's trying to deal cards he doesn't have, that's why he called us in to help him."
"Yeah, but we can't help him," Dean interjected. "Deals with crossroads demons can't be canceled. We, of all people, should know that."
"We never proved that," Sam persisted.
"None of that is real!" came a cry. Dean and Sam looked at the front of the room to see John looking exasperated, and Sherlock with absolutely no expression at all.
"Actually," Dean said, "after about, oh, I don't know, our entire lives of being hunters, I'd have to say that yeah, all of that is very, very real."
"I can show you my wings," Castiel said. Although he was being serious, his tone was distant and aloof.
"This is all nonsense," Sherlock said. "Mycroft, I hope you—"
Before Sherlock could finish telling Mycroft what he hoped, there was a very loud and dramatic whoosh, a gust of wind, and suddenly, in the very back of the office, a blue police box had appeared.
Mycroft's office was fairly large as it was, but the box made it seem even larger. Then, as they all stared, dumbfounded, the door in the front of the box opened and a girl came out, coughing and stumbling as smoke poured out behind her. The men kept staring, except Sherlock, who rolled his eyes in contempt, and Castiel, who was now humming and staring at an abstract statue.
"Really!" she said, to no one in particular. She had dark brown curly hair and green eyes behind thick framed glasses. She waved her hands around through the smoke and did a false English accent. "'Oh, look at me! I'm a bloody Time Lord with a blimey TARDIS! I'm just going to crash—'" she shouted directly into the box as a man came into view in the smoke, and clenched her fists. "'—with no care as to where we land! Oh, planet with people made of ice and no source of electricity or means of sustaining life! What the hell!'" She dropped the fake accent and yelled, "Let's go!"
"Elaine—"
"No! You fix that damn box or I swear to God I'll—"
He stepped out briefly, and grabbed her arm. He kept his eyes focused on the men. "It seems as though we've stumbled upon some sort of…meeting. Back into the TARDIS, Elaine!"
"What?" the girl snapped, turning around to see what he had been staring at. Her eyebrows raised over the rim of her glasses. "Oh. Oops."
"Ahem." Mycroft cleared his throat and stood up. The man from the box lifted his head up and his eyes widened.
"Ah!" he said, and pushed past Elaine, sending her spinning out of the way. She lost her footing and collided into Sam, who caught her before she fell.
"Mycroft Holmes!" the man said, and walked around the desk. Mycroft cleared his throat again.
"Can I help you?"
The man grabbed his hand, shaking it earnestly.
"Oh, it is absolutely wonderful to meet you!" his eyes searched the room, watching Sherlock and John separately for a moment, but brought his attention immediately back to Mycroft.
"Who are you, exactly?" Mycroft shook his head.
"I'm The Doctor."
Behind them, Sam and Elaine were striking up a conversation.
"I'm Elaine," she said, looking up at him.
"I'm Sam," he replied. "That's my brother Dean. That's Castiel, back there." Castiel had now begun to twirl and dance freely while humming. "He's a little out of it today."
"Who are those two?" she asked, looking at Sherlock and John.
"The little one's John, I think," Sam replied.
"Elaine!" The Doctor called. "Look! It's Mycroft Holmes."
Elaine didn't pay attention to The Doctor. Instead, she watched as Dean, Sherlock and John all walked to the back of the room, inspecting the TARDIS. Sherlock walked around a few times until he stopped, sniffed the pungent smoke, and put a hand on the blue wood.
"Er—" John started to say. "What is that?" he quietly asked.
"John Watson!" Elaine suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands over her mouth.
John looked around, then pointed to himself. "Me?"
"You're John Watson!" she was doubled over slightly, completely ecstatic. Her hair was falling in her face but she didn't seem to notice. "You—you write the blog! The blog—Doctor, he writes the blog!"
"I think the man who has access to absolutely anything and everything in England at just a snap of his fingers a little bit more important, Elaine." The Doctor said. She ignored him.
"John. Watson." Elaine breathed, her voice becoming dramatically quiet. "Sherlock Holmes's sidekick."
"Oi!" the blond man said in protest. "I'm nobody's sidekick."
"Yes you are." Mycroft interjected. Sherlock simply smirked.
"I love your blog!" Elaine gushed, and began walking towards him. John smiled at her and shook her extended hand.
Elaine turned around to look at Sherlock. "Wait. If he's John Watson, then—then you're—"
"Yes, I am." he droned, not looking at her.
"Oh, this is amazing!"
"Okay, I'm sorry to interrupt—whatever this is," Dean said, pointing to Elaine, Sherlock and John, and the TARDIS, "but we weren't exactly finished talking about the little deal you made."
"What deal?" The Doctor asked Mycroft.
"Excuse me—"
"Wait a minute," The Doctor said.
"Oh, no," Elaine said to herself.
"There's something."
"Doctor—Doctor, calm down—"
"No, no, no, no, no, no," The Doctor looked at the brunette girl. No, looking at her wouldn't give him the answer. He scanned everyone in the room, until his eyes landed on Sherlock. The man didn't blink. The shorter blonde man beside him did, though, looking back and forth between them.
The Doctor turned to the Winchesters. They exchanged a glance. Their friend—the dark haired one in the trench coat—was inspecting a peculiar statue of a cat licking its paw. He was nonchalantly muttering to himself about something, and the shorter Winchester glanced at him curiously, but did not say anything.
"Doctor, what is it?" Elaine asked.
"Something—something is wrong. Something is wrong. But what is it?" The Doctor muttered to himself.
"This is nonsense." Sherlock exhaled sharply, and turned to leave.
"Sherlock!" John called after him with a sigh.
"Oh, Sherlock," a gray haired man said as he entered the room. "I didn't think I'd see you—" he stopped talking as he realized that Mycroft was not alone in the room. "Oh…I guess I'd better come back at a better time," he said, turned around on his heel, and exited.
At that moment, Sherlock suddenly realized something.
"Excuse me," he said, turning to the older Winchester. "Could you explain to me what kind of deal a crossroads demon makes?"
Dean looked a bit confused, but he answered the question.
Sherlock processed this information. "Mycroft, how long ago did you make this deal?"
Mycroft hesitated. "Four years ago," he finally answered.
"Four years ago, DI Lestrade was in a terrible car accident, the doctors didn't see much hope for him, but after a few hours he was completely well enough to be discharged from the hospital. Your deal saved his life, didn't it?"
"Whoa, whoa—who's Lestrade?" Dean asked.
"The detective inspector who was just in here," John filled him in.
Sherlock's expression fell. "You have a year left." He said quietly.
Mycroft looked uncomfortable. He turned to the Winchester brothers. "You need to find a way to get me out of it."
"There is no way, buddy," Dean said, half laughing. "You can't do it. It's not gonna happen."
"Dean, you don't know that. We can at least try—" Sam argued.
"No, Sammy, we can't!" Dean said, angrily. "It would be fighting a losing battle. I'm sorry, Mycroft, or whatever your name is, but we can't help you."
"But you must," Sherlock interrupted. "I don't entirely understand this entire witchcraft business, but if any of it is real, you must help my brother." John shot him a look of surprise, to which Sherlock responded with, "I can be caring."
"Look, I wish we could help, I really do," Dean said.
Mycroft cleared his throat once again. Everyone fell silent. Castiel was still humming in the back of the room, Elaine, John and Sherlock stood next to the TARDIS, and Dean and Sam were standing on the opposite side of them. The Doctor stood in front of Mycroft's desk, and looked on curiously.
"I don't know who you are," Mycroft started, looking directly at The Doctor. "But at this point I don't know what to expect anymore. I don't care. I am asking you boys for your help. I will pay you any amount—but you need to help me."
Everyone looked at Dean. Elaine felt the tension in the room. Sam was urging Dean to agree, Sherlock was ready to plead with the Winchesters, given the chance that they refused to help, and John was wondering what would happen next. Castiel was the only one in the room who was detached from the situation.
"Fine."
Sam and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you," Mycroft looked grateful.
"Don't get your hopes up," Dean said. "We have a tendency of screwing things up."
A/N: Thanks for reading! Feel free to review if you liked it, loved it, hated it, or whatever-it's all appreciated!