According to the note, Adam Cushing was murdered by one Logan Cook. Cook wrote it all down on several loose leaf pages, apparently an explanation of his actions.
Cook had been married to Cushing's sister, Ashley Cushing, once, but it was all a lie. He got with her to get close to the true subject of his obsession: Adam. It was hard to glean from the note alone, but for some reason he was fixated on him. Perhaps it was some kind of hysterical love, or one of those situations where a person becomes so consumed by another person that they want to become them. Either way, this bloke was all kinds of loony, it sounded to Lestrade.
After he professed his obsession, Adam rejected him, and soon Ashley ended things with Cook. He continued to stalk Adam from afar, confronting him when Adam started showing displeasure about Ashley becoming romantic with Adam's lifelong best friend, Rodger Hope. Their short conversation ended seemingly harmlessly, but then six months passed.
Ashley and Rodger had long since married, and Adam had come to terms with it. That's when the parcel was sent to him, containing an ear from Ashley and Rodger each. Cook thought of this as some kind of show of his commitment and affection, how far he was willing to go for Adam.
Then Adam fled (understandably so), and while Cook was trying to find him, he was arrested and convicted for an unrelated misdemeanor and sentenced to two years in prison.
For a year and a half, Adam Cushing was safe. Until Cook was released early on good behavior and came right for Adam.
After the murder, Cook fled. Reports came back from Scotland Yard indicating that Cook had committed suicide by jumping off a roof a block away. A helpful text from Sherlock explained UP the window, not DOWN. Upon checking, they found that it would be incredibly easy to reach the roof from the window of Cushing's bedroom.
Another case closed, thanks to Sherlock Holmes. And now, Lestrade knew, because of this Dean who was with him.
Lestrade hoped he could get to the bottom of all this as he drove down to Baker Street, striding in and up the stairs after a quick "Hello" and "Everything's fine" to Mrs. Hudson.
He waited a good long while before Sherlock would answer his knock. The look the detective gave him was simply flat rather than the scathing glare he'd been given earlier.
"Nice to see you again, too," Lestrade quipped, allowing Sherlock to usher him in. Clearly he was on unsteady ground here, and he was trying to make some kind of peace here as well as find out just what was going on.
"Just sit and don't move," Sherlock snipped, showing Lestrade to the kitchen table. The whiskey was already on the table, but Sherlock had yet to find glasses in the mess. Lestrade put his hands up in surrender and sank into a chair.
Waiting down on the table, Dean was mostly patient while Sherlock fetched glasses to drink from (he already had a cup of his own made of foil waiting in his duffel bag). He had spent the time reading over the bottle of whiskey, approving the choice. He'd seen it sitting forgotten in the cabinets many times while grabbing supplies, wishing there was a way to get into it. Sam had naturally frowned on any ideas to try and pry the cork out, insisting that they were more likely to end up in the bottle, and getting back out again would be no treat.
Now, looking forward to getting to try the drink at last, Dean glanced up at Lestrade as he sat down. He couldn't resist wandering towards him. With Sherlock's assurance he'd be safe, Dean was curious about the man. This was his first chance to see Greg Lestrade while not either hiding in Sherlock's scarf, or stuck flash-blinded by a careless motion from the detective.
"I see you made it out of the case," Dean said guardedly, sizing up the DI.
"Er… Yeah, suppose I did," Lestrade replied, still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he was talking to someone standing centimeters high. He glanced over at Sherlock as he rummaged around, in a hurry to find at least one glass so they could get this over with. "The killer? Logan Cook?" he intoned to catch Sherlock's attention. "Committed suicide straightaway after he did it. Climbed up the window and jumped to his death down the block. No one could have known the two were connected if it weren't for you two."
Sherlock scoffed, cutting his eyes at Lestrade. "My contribution in this particular case was meretricious, at the least. Dean's the one who did the heavy lifting here. Quite literally." He sent an infinitesimal smirk Dean's way before continuing his search.
"Fair point," Lestrade conceded.
Dean raked his hands through his hair, ensuring his front spike wasn't crooked from all the time spent in Sherlock's scarf. "Because none of ya can match my skills," he said smugly, hooking his hands behind his head as he stretched out his arms. With Sherlock's appraisal of his contribution to the case, all Dean's confidence came flooding back, even with the new human around.
Taking a few more steps, Dean had an eye on Sherlock as he dug around in the cabinets, wondering if he should tell the guy where they kept the spare glasses. The brothers had plenty of experience rooting around for supplies, and while the glasses were of no use to them, they still saw them while searching out useful items.
Dean held his chin out. "Though I'd pay to see you trying to fit in that vent to get to the weapons," he joked with a grin.
Lestrade, admittedly, lost himself in thought as he watched a person he thought he knew fairly well interacting with someone who, by all rights and laws of nature, shouldn't exist. It was certainly a sight he never thought he'd see, and he couldn't stop staring at Dean while the little fella's attention was elsewhere.
Dean seemed American, which was definitely noteworthy, and fairly young. Lestrade couldn't tell for sure, but he couldn't be older than his mid-twenties. Everything about him was scaled down perfectly, from his boots to his jeans and jacket.
Curiosity got the better of Lestrade, and without putting much thought to it, he reached forward slowly to place his hand next to Dean, a few inches away. He stood his hand on its side, shifting his gaze between it and the tiny man to see how he measured up next to his palm.
Whatever else Dean was about to say flew out of his mind the second Lestrade reached for him. Teasing Sherlock meant nothing if he was about to be snatched up by a mostly-unknown human, one that he'd crossed, in a way, by sneaking into crime scenes on a regular basis with Sherlock to help out.
When the hand didn't finish the grab, merely resting on the table close by, Dean took a wary step back, his eyes flashing from the hand to Lestrade's face, trying to gauge the man's intentions. His hand edged into his leather jacket, closing around the hilt of the silver knife in preparation. He didn't want to strike at the DI, not when Sherlock thought they could explain things to him in a way that would keep Dean off the official radar, but he also wasn't going to let just anyone pick him up.
Hell, he barely let Sherlock pick him up on a good day.
Dean spared one quick glance for Sherlock and what he was doing, but his attention stayed focused on Lestrade, prepared for that hand to move. After training with Stan, he was more than aware of how quick the grab could come, and there was no way to know if it would be friendly.
Caught up in his awe, Lestrade hardly noticed Dean's nerves. He marveled at the sudden reality of a person the size of his palm, if not smaller, existing and functioning in the world. Despite seeing it before his own eyes, Lestrade could hardly believe it.
As his hand relaxed against the table, the ends of Lestrade's fingers curled in. Not particularly reaching for Dean, though that did nothing to help appearances.
The second Dean saw the fingers moving in a facsimile of a grab, every instinct in his body leapt out of hibernation and he jumped back in turn. "Whoa!"
Clearing two inches, Dean braced a hand against the table while his other hand was thrown out in a 'Stop!' gesture, palm out, fingers held together, legs primed to run, though while on the table there was very little space for him to try escaping from Lestrade. He lacked Sam's quick skills at climbing down and the walls were now out of reach.
On Sam's cue, John slowly lifted his hand off the table, watching his passengers with a keen eye.
"If at any time you need to tell me something, if you're in pain, just let Sam know. He'll let me know, and we'll see what we can do," John promised to Elyssa as he moved to pocket his hand once again. He was mindful to jostle them as little as possible, hoping to avoid upsetting the girl's injury.
John made his way out when he was satisfied that Sam and Elyssa were secure. "Alright, here come the stairs again," he warned, gently pressing the side of his hand to his hip for stability as he descended. He did his best to keep each step smooth, one after the other.
The pair in John's hand stayed close together as he moved, Sam keeping his arm tight around her. Keeping balance was a breeze while sitting down, and when a step jarred them, the furthest they were knocked was against the wall of fabric right next to them.
"There we go," Sam murmured, idly patting the surface of John's hand while rubbing Elyssa's arm. It was an unconscious move, reassuring the others he was with. Instinctive for the younger Winchester.
John smiled at the light gesture from Sam, not pointed enough to be Morse yet enough for John to understand.
He paused for only a second as he stepped outside to take a deep breath, letting out any residual tension he'd felt since essentially whisking this poor girl off the street to someplace she didn't know, by a strange human and his suspiciously friendly borrower companion. Now they were taking her home, and hopefully she wouldn't be afraid anymore.
The trip back to the alley felt much shorter than the trip from it to Baker Street. John's steps certainly felt lighter, carrying him swiftly to the spot where they found Elyssa. Once he reached the alley, he went ahead and withdrew Sam and Elyssa, cupping them close as he carefully approached and lowered them smoothly to the exact place his hands had once been.
Despite her injury, Elyssa was quick to step down. Sam took his time gathering up the supplies John had provided, packing them tightly together and following after her.
"Are we close or did you want John to give us a lift again?" Sam asked, looking uncertainly around at the looming alley. It was far from welcoming or friendly. Not a place he'd want to be if he didn't have John backing them up.
"It's not far," she said, holding her arms out for the supplies he had.
Between them, they divvied up the gauze and extras, and Sam tucked the tea bag under his arms before having her lean against him. She directed him away from John, a path that took them past the place she'd hidden in before. A bloody shard of glass remained untouched since her accident.
Skirting around the glass, it took a moment for Sam to see their destination. Hidden in a shadow was an entrance cleverly disguised so that a human's eyes would slide right off it. Against the wall, a few strange symbols adorned the walls. Sam only recognized one, which their adopted mother had placed on the entrance to their home, in the walls a few flats down from 221B Baker Street.
Welcome.
Elyssa visibly relaxed as they stepped into the shadows. She pivoted on her heel, this time giving Sam a warm smile. "Thank you. I couldn't have gotten myself out of that place without the risk of being seen without your help."
"Just doing our job," Sam murmured, unpacking the supplies and stacking them up against the wall, the tea bag on top.
Elyssa caught him off guard before he could stand, wrapping her arms around his shoulders while he was still leaning down at her level. Before he could jerk away, he found himself in a brief kiss before she pulled away.
Grinning at him and his flustered blush, Elyssa turned and waved at John. "Thank you, John Watson!" she called, waving at the human guarding the alley for them.
Eyes wide and brow nearly vanishing into his hairline from that unexpected sight, the corner of John's lip tugged upward into a bewildered smile. He lifted a hand in a wave of his own.
"You're welcome," he replied softly, knowing he didn't need to raise his voice like Elyssa did. "Keep that wound clean, and if it gets any worse, feel free to come find me down at Baker Street. 221B."
John was certain the chances of her condition worsening were slim as long as they kept using the supplies he provided, but he wanted her and anyone she lived with to feel comfortable coming back around for extra help if they needed it.
Elyssa only stayed around a moment more before vanishing into the dark, the supplies tucked safely under her arms.
A/N:
TW: Alcohol and drinking will be involved with the rest of the story, including drunken behavior.
Well, Dean's still a little jumpy and just kinda got over blindness, so I really can't blame him for being startled!
Next: October 26th, 2022 at 9PM
Leave a review to let us know what you think!
Adding in this author's note for all my followers here, and will keep it on all chapters going forward:
If the worst happens and fanfiction shuts down, you can find all my stories on both archive of our own and deviantart, posted under the nightmares06 account. You can also find our story tumblr, which contains a ton of information and answers that are only posted on that site, along with artwork for the stories and future plans we have. That can be found under the brothersapart tumblr account. I can't put links in chapters, but googling "Brothersapart tumblr" should bring it right up!
