I've only seen the first episode of Sherlock (and that was before this fic was written) so the likelihood of OOC-ness is very high. However, I am canon continuity obsessed (unless the fic dictates otherwise) so if there are any mistakes in either Hogan's Heroes or Sherlock canon, let me know and I'll correct it.
Sherlock and John sat in the back of the truck, handcuffed. Their captors had ordered them in German not to escape and they'd agreed that was best for now. They didn't know anything about the terrain or even where they were.
"World War II." John was not happy. "We're stuck. In Nazi Germany. During World. War. II. I'm going to kill Doctor Smith, as soon as he gets us back home in our time. 'Fun trip to meet Winston Churchill' he says. 'Wear RAF uniforms to fit in' he says."
He probably would've continued for much longer in a similar vein but the Luftwaffe guard watching them barked a "Silence!" which they obeyed, except for Sherlock's muttered, "Thank you."
They rode in silence the rest of the way, with none of the determination or resignation usual to captured soldiers. They were scared. They had ended up here by mistake, with none of the preparation.
John gulped as he saw the wire gate close behind the truck. They were trapped even more now. Trapped in the wrong year and trapped in the POW camp.
The guard ordered them out and they trudged out, trying not to fall with their wrists handcuffed.
A bald, soft-looking man with a monocle and riding crop stood pompously waiting for them. "Welcome to Stalag 13, the most secure POW camp in all of Germany! Now, follow me into my office for questioning."
As Sherlock walked, he took in the guards, the fence, and the few guard towers. In front of one of the cabins, five prisoners gathered. The man in the front of the group wrapped his arms around himself as he eyed Sherlock and John.
As he was prodded to the door, Sherlock glanced at the group for the last time. At a nod from the front man, the other four walked into a cabin and the remaining one started walking towards the office.
The bald man was waiting for them in his office, his hands steepled in an attempt to look impressive. "I am Colonel Klink, your Kommandant. For you, the war is over. There has never been a successful escape from Stalag 13, and I intend to keep it that way. Now, gentlemen-"
An obese man burst into the room, panting with the exertion of running ten feet. "Herr Kommandant, Colonel Hogan is demanding to see you."
"Schultz! Tell him I'm busy."
"He is talking about the Geneva Convention, sir."
Klink threw his hands up. "But I had all the copies destroyed."
A man barged in behind Schultz. "Oh, don't worry. I have it memorized."
"Hogan," Klink protested as they saluted each other, the American's salute curiously casual. "What are you doing here?"
"The Geneva Convention states that the senior prisoner-of-war is to be present at all interrogations."
"You call this an interrogation? We haven't even gotten to the name, rank, and serial number yet."
"Let's do it then." Hogan turned to Sherlock and John, an American colonel's eagle visible on his jacket. "You heard him, gentlemen. Name, rank, serial number, and not a bit more."
"Holmes, Sherlock. Corporal in the RAF. Serial number 34623023."
"Watson, John. Sergeant in the RAF. Serial number 31488206." John's opinion of Doctor Smith went slightly up as he used the backstory he was forced to memorize.
Klink huffed. "Very well, Sergeant Watson. Corporal Holmes. We'll have to assign you to a barracks. Hogan? Any suggestions?"
"Well, we're all full up in Barrack 4. We couldn't possibly have them there."
"Barracks 4 is not full. I know what you're planning. There's a tunnel in Barracks 4 and you don't want the new men there. But you can't fool me. They will be put in Barracks 4."
Hogan sighed. "Can't get anything past you, can I?"
"And yet, after two years, you keep trying."
The American's face switched from bitterest disappointment to a cheeky smile at blinding speed. "It's an officer's duty to escape, sir."
Looking vindictive, Klink smirked. "But not in your case, Hogan, am I correct? Or perhaps you plan to sacrifice the men here in the name of your duty?"
Hogan stiffened and drew himself to his full and impressive height. His dark eyes and brows completed the threatening picture.
"My duty is to my men. And my men are here."
With that, he turned crisply on his heel and marched out, with nods of acknowledgment to John and Sherlock.
The two men glanced at each other. Something was going on here. Something very unusual.
"Schultz, take these men to the delousing station, then get them situated in Barracks 4."
