Hi everyone, here's the fourth chapter !

-Spoiler for Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-

Enjoy !

Chapter 4 - Never giving up

Castiel was sure the cabbie was wrong. He had dropped him obviously not in the said place, and when the angel had said him it wasn't even near Baker Street, the man had just left.

Cass headed to the nearest shop, searching for informations. He pushed the door, and saw a woman sitting behind a counter. She was in her late fifties, her dirty grey hair around her face like a spider nest. Her small eyes were slowly reading a magazine. She looked like she had only eaten chicken bones for the past forty years, after a diet with which she'd have lost about a hundred pounds. In fact, her too large skin hanged from her chin. The sixth volume of Harry Potter was opened just next to her, and judging by its state it was the first time she was reading it. Castiel approached her, but she didn't even dignify him with look.

"Hello," he said, trying to be polite even if she wasn't.

"Hullo,", she mumbled. Wow, Cass thought. There is progress. "I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes."

"Yeah, he lives in this street, just a bit further... Go ahead, you can't miss his flat." She practically spat the words at his face.

"Okay, thank you," Cass said, definitely decided to stay polite whatever happened, or whoever happened to him. She snorted. He gave up."Dumbledore dies, killed by Rogue, but in fact Rogue is one of the good ones, he's a spy of Dumbledore because he was in love with Harry's mother," he said quickly before exiting the shop.

Secretly happy, he briefly felt ashamed. I'm an angel of the Lord, for God's sake ! Well, maybe this wasn't the wisest blaspheme to choose.

He shook his head and tried to find the 221B.

The street was large enough to walk comfortably, even if there was a lot of people walking in it. Cass hated when people walked over his personal bubble. He knew Dean hated it too, (he constantly reminded him of materializing further of him), but it just wasn't the same. Being close to Dean never had been a problem, because he absolutely felt he could trust the hunter, with his life of he had to.

Sam too, he could trust, but their relationship just wasn't the same. Pulling Dean out of Hell had drawn them closer than he thought he could ever be with any other human.

Speedy's Cafe, he thought, seeing a cafe. It sounds like a dog name. It was opened, but what interested the angel was just behind him ; a great green door with the number 221B displayed on it.

He knocked four times and waited for a response, which didn't come too fast ; after a few minutes, he was raising his hand again, when the door opened on a short old lady, who smiled at his sight. A distant violin was playing a heart-wrenching melody.

"Hi, what can I do for you ?"

Castiel tried to smile too. He knew that old ladies were always impressed with smiles and politeness. "Hi, I'm Castiel, I'm very honored to meet you ; I'd want to see Sherlock Holmes. Can you call him please ? It would be very nice of you."

Her smile faded. Apparently, it was a bit too much.

"He... doesn't want to seen anyone. He's... busy." She had closed her eyes a fraction of second, looked annoyed and her right feet couldn't stop tapping on the ground.

Liar.

He dropped the conveniences. "Well, it's very important that I talk to him, so if you could just..." he tried to get in, but the lady wasn't born from the last rain. She closed the door on his foot, rather brutally. He didn't feel anything, since he was an angel, and opened the door while pushing her away. "Sorry, it's a question of life and death."

Seeing the doors noted "221A and "221C" in the corridor, he headed to the stairs and climbed them easily while the lady was pursuing him. But she soon slowed down and shouted in the stairs : " Sherlock, there's a visitor for you ! I tried to stop him, but he wouldn't listen !"

The violin didn't stop, but it accelerated then changed to a mozart's concerto, full of rapid notes. Castiel arrived on the second floor, and knocked on the door again.

"It's open," a low voice responded, sounding bored.

Castiel pushed the door and stopped. A tall man with black curly hair was standing just in front of him, his violin in his arms, scanning the angels with careful eyes. His pale face was full of cheekbones. In fact, the man entirely looked only made of bones. He soon looked perplex, and seeing the strange face he made, he wasn't used to it. Cass assumed he was Sherlock Holmes, since he responded to every description ; tall, weird.

"Who are you ?" he asked.

"Hi, I'm Castiel, I'm an angel of the Lord, and you have to stop investigating on the series of murders that are actually happening."

"I'm not giving up."

Cass was disturbed. Was he aware about the supernatural ? Holmes hadn't even flinched at the mention of "angel of the Lord".

"Do you know about the supernatural ?"

"What "supernatural" ?"

"You didn't ask any questions about my angeliness."

"Well, you're wearing a cheap suit, a trench that must be about... two sizes too big for you, I assume either you're, as you say, an angel of the Lord (but his voice was sarcastic), either you're a loony."

"I'm not a loony. Well, not anymore. It has been a problem, for a time, but then I went to Purgatory, then came back, and finally everything's arranged."

Holmes blinked. "I've got no time for this. Get out, I've got important things to do."

Cass sighed. He would have to convince him. "No, listen. I'm not a fool, and the supernatural exists. Haven't you ever been blocked on a case, because no one is guilty ? Because the murder is too strange, people getting killed with incommensurable savagery, accidents just too strange to just be accidents ?"

He knew he had hit a good point when he saw Holmes putting his violin back on a couch. The detective sat on his armchair, while inviting the angel to do the same.

"Mrs. Hudson !" he shouted to the door. "Tea !"

"Not your housekeeper, dear, just your landlady !" a distant voice responded.

Sherlock didn't know what to think. The stranger, Castiel - what a strange name, but well, himself was called Sherlock he couldn't say a thing about names - seemed genuinely sincere. While thinking, the great detective scanned the man again.

He was sitting on the couch, his hands resting on his knees. He looked thin in his trench coat, maybe because of its too large size. His dark brown hair were a bit messed up, as if it had never seen a brush, and his bright blue eyes were looking at him, like they were trying to see what was happening in his mind. He looked tired, too ; big black circles under his eyes indicated he hadn't been sleeping a lot lately.

But that was everything. He couldn't deduce anything else. The man he was examining looked like a sort of tax accountant, but the man he was talking to was different. Inexplicably different. No rational explanation could explain the way he spoke, the way he moved, the way he thought. The only explanation Sherlock could think of, was that the man was saying the truth. Which was... Strange.

Sherlock sighed. What had he said to John ? When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

Okay.

"What do you say it is ? The first one, bitten to death."

"Vampire," Castiel said.

"Okay. I'm not going to stop investigate. I know I... don't have enough knowledge to be on my own, so I want to investigate with you."

Acknowledging he didn't know something was very rare for Sherlock. But Castiel seemed good enough to be trusted.

"It's... dangerous," the angel said.

"Not important," the detective replied. "I'm... clever. I can help you. And if you don't want me, well, I'll do it on my own."

Castiel looked absent-minded for a second. "Okay,", he finally said. "I'll call Dean and Sam."

The detective was perplex (again, he thought ; that wasn't good for his image), but let the angel do a phone call.

"We were pursuing a vampire, but he got away," Dean said. "We're coming."

Castiel hung up the phone and put it back in his trench coat pocket. He was about to speak when a loud bang interrupted him.