Chapter 7: Reading the Private Life is Fundamental
Detective Inspector Lestrade grimly put down the receiver and looked at Sherlock. The consulting detective nodded. Based on the location revealed in the chapters the police had succeeded in finding Mr. and Mrs Doyle. Sherlock didn't need to say a word. He knew what state the author was in. The case, if one could even call it that anymore, had greatly annoyed him. That some minor biblical knowledge had been the key also rubbed the detective the wrong way. Obnoxiously, it was the Americans who had figured that part out.
He gave Lestrade a parting gesture and turned sharply to the exit. His flat was waiting and he had some sulking to do before his next case.
All too cheerfully the newscaster called the mystery resolved, but it was Sherlock Holmes who got all the credit. Arthur Conan Doyle had been found in a hotel, dead. His wife knew because she was the one who helped with the plan. Doyle wanted to test Sherlock's aptitude (as if his bout with Moriarty hadn't been proof enough for the nation) to see if the detective read his work and could find the clues before time ran out. The time keeper was the cancer cells slowly taking over the author's body. His daughter hadn't known, but after the case was solved she decided to continue her father's series in his honor.
Sam was understandably disappointed because they were no closer to solving their own problem. Dean didn't want to admit, but they needed help. He refused to admit it. Instead he kept fighting the whole drive over, but it had been a losing battle. A short while later Sam, the Doctor and reluctant Dean were enjoying a cup of tea on the sofas at 221 B Baker Street while the detective and side kick studied them carefully.
"So," Sherlock sat down across from them with his hands folded and a pretentious smirk gracing his expression. "Why have my competitors come to seek my services?"
"We're not detectives," Sam explained. "We're hunters."
"You could say," Dean said cautiously. "We handled the 'whatever remains however improbable' side of the investigation spectrum."
"You're con-men and hit men," Sherlock waved his hand to dismiss them. He pointed at the Doctor, "An he's ADHD. I suggest you stop wasting my time."
Dean stood up, "Listen here, jackass!"
"Dean!"
"Sam," Dean shot back. "There's no way we can explain this and not sound crazy! This douche bag is not going to help us."
"You come into my home and insult me and you wonder why I won't help you," Sherlock muttered. "Americans are so slow."
"Sherlock," John warned.
Dean glared at the detective, "First of all, it's the U.S. of A, asshole. You can't just lump two whole continents together. I am not Canadian and we do not have the queen on our money."
Sam rubbed this forehead and tried to think of a way to set the conversation back on track. Dean had a point. They were better off in an asylum with what they were trying sell. He looked over at the Doctor for help. The time lord took a breath and launched into the full explanation very quickly without giving Sherlock the chance to interrupt.
"Highly improbably," Sherlock told them when the Doctor finished. "The odds of you lot being crazy and suffering the same delusion is statistically more likely than being from another dimension."
"I can prove it." Sam said. "In our world, you're one of the most influential fictional characters of all time."
"Same," the Doctor agreed. "Therefore, we know things that nobody else knows. We can't all three be crazy and genius masterminds. Mathematically impossible."
"Hey!" Dean exclaimed indignantly.
Sherlock leaned back and crossed his arms. "Try me."
"You're parents were originally going to name you Sherrinford." The Doctor started.
John covered a snicker with a cough and tried not to look amused. Sherlock didn't try to deny it.
"Don't you have a job to get to, John?" Sherlock deflected irritably.
"Sherlock," John responded in all seriousness. "I make more money off my blog now than I would at a clinic. Looking out for you is pretty much my job now."
"You have an IQ of 190 points." Sam offered.
Sherlock struggled, "I wouldn't know. The tests were too boring for me to bother to finish. You're going to have to do better than that."
"You use baritsu as your preferred fighting style," the Doctor said. The alien snapped his finger. "Oh, and…" he motioned Sherlock to lean forward and whispered in his ear.
"How did you know that?" Sherlock demanded.
"Nerds!" Dean scoffed. "Believe it or not buddy, but we're telling the truth here."
"This isn't exactly my area gentlemen," Sherlock told them calmly, but they could see traces of uneasiness in his posture. "What do want me to do?"
Dean stretched as they walked back to the Impala illegally parked by the curb. The older Winchester grinned. "The geniuses do all the work while I kick back with a beer. Maybe this job isn't so bad after all." He looked at Sam meaningfully. "Doc said it would take them a few hours to work out the 'weirdness detector'. Wanna come with?"
"No thanks." Sam declined. "I'm going to a café. Research, Dean."
"Suit yourself." Dean shrugged and they parted ways.
To Sam's delight the lady from before as sitting at the same table enjoying a cup of tea like is was a religious experience. Sam sat down in front of her and the woman's eyes shined with recognition.
"Hello," she said politely. "Did you finish Arthur Doyle's work? What did you think?"
"Oh," Sam had been so focused on finding clues that he had ignored the stories themselves. "They were, um, interesting at least."
"His daughter is a talented writer herself," the woman explained and pulled out another book. "This one is my favorite. It's a teen novel, but I like it." She handed over the book for Sam to examine. The slender novella looked well read, but none of the pages were dog-eared. He read the back cover carefully. Like her father's stories, Ms. Doyle had a thing for the supernatural. "The story was about a college student who had an imaginary friend who wasn't so imaginary. Finn (meaning 'light haired') had always been able to see the supernatural and Blake (meaning 'dark hair') had always been with him. It just took Finn a while to figure out not everyone could see Blake. After years of ineffective treatment for schizophrenia Finn is 18 and finally free to figure out what he and Blake really are. However, the supernatural world isn't just going to sit around quietly."
"Guilty pleasure," Sam guessed.
The woman smiled in response, but her expression fell in apprehension when a young man in a white lab coat approached. Sam didn't think he looked old enough to be a doctor, but could possibly have been an intern at least. The young man was unshaven with brown hair and a distinctly pointed chin. His name badge said, "Riku Makoto" and he wore a cautious expression as he sized up Sam.
"A new friend?" he asked the woman.
The woman hid her face behind her tea cup and said grimly, "I'm allowed to have friends."
"Hi," Sam stood up to shake the man's hand, "I'm Sam. I'm on a family vacation and bumped into our mutual friend here." Sam said and prided himself on implying a past relationship with the woman without actually lying.
"Riku," the man returned the greeting. "Friend and doctor to said mutual acquaintance."
"Doctor?" Sam probed. The woman took in a loud, nervous breath and answered.
"I haven't mentioned it yet," she said. "Riku is interning at the hospital where I'm staying as a psychiatric patent. They think a walk now an again will help."
"You've made excellent progress," Riku confirmed.
"Oh, I see." Sam nodded sympathetically. "There's nothing to be ashamed about. I had a… rough patch a while back myself."
Riku studied him a moment and then hazarded a guess. "Addiction related?"
"Partly," Sam admitted. "The majority of it had to do with family history."
Riku gave him a sympathetic look and the woman seemed eager to change the subject. She tugged on her friend's sleeve and said, "Tell me what we're celebrating. You've been absolutely glowing for the past week."
The young doctor blushed and the woman raised a knowing eyebrow.
"Is it Kathy," she asked. She contemplated for a second and said, "You two aren't the type to get married unless…oh." She came to a grin worthy realization and patted her friend on the back. "Congratulations."
"I should be going," Sam said awkwardly and gathered his things. He tried not to feel disappointed by the woman's obvious elation to her friend's news. "I'll leave you two to celebrate."
The woman waved, "Bye, Sam. You should come see me again soon."
"Will do."
Much later Dean and Sam got a call the the Doctor's Weirdness Detector was ready. John had already taken the first prototype and hit the streets when the brother's arrived. When they got there, however, the Doctor realized there were a few slight modifications he needed to make before they could divide and make progress.
"What's taking so long," Dean complained as the Doctor fiddled with the EMF reader. Sam rolled his eyes and Sherlock just fiddled. The detective had already voiced several times the holes in their plan. First of all there were over 8 million people in London. There was noway on absent-god's green earth that they could find one supernatural creature among that many people.
The brother's merely retorted that they had bested worst odd before. They maintained the illusion that whatever it was they were looking for would make itself known to them one way or another. It wasn't about statistics; that was just how things happened. There were no such things as coincidences and Sherlock could at least agree with them on that point.
"I didn't account for our wavelengths." The Doctor explained as he tightened a screw with intense concentration. "We're not from this universe either. It's causing interference."
"Right, whatever doc," Dean sat down with a huff.
Sherlock set down his violin and addressed the older Winchester. "I don't see you doing anything useful. Frankly I still think you're all nutters and I can just ask John to drop you off. Psychology isn't is thing, but I'm sure he can make a recommendation."
"Yeah," Dean taunted. "I've met some psychopaths in my day, dude. You ain't the least bit scary with your posturing."
"Sociopath," Sherlock corrected and pulled out a laptop and at that moment John walked in with the Doctor's first prototype.
"I think I found him," John said. He set the device down and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through a couple pictures and showed them to Sherlock who began muttering observations. The brothers glanced over John's shoulder and saw a picture of a young man in a white lab coat.
"Hey, that guy looks familiar," Dean said.
"Riku Makoto?" Sam's voice pitched up slight surprise.
"Coincidence my ass." Dean quipped.
