Not exactly a crossover, but my first and last attempt to write Sherlock in a fantasy AU. I'm afraid it turned pretty crack – blame the prompt.

Prompt : Of all the boys in the gang, Sherlock is the only one who can tame a unicorn. Guess why ?

Pairing : S/J-ish

Rating: PG

Two Of a Kind

"Right, guys." Lestrade clipped his radio back and addressed the large oak tree on his right, careful to speak from the corner of his mouth. "Back-up in a ten, and the Wildlife Crime unit will take over from there. Meanwhile, we are to keep the evidence grounded."

Unfortunately, the evidence was showing no sign of willingness to be grounded. In fact, it was ambling off towards the further side of the glade, where it had its eye on a patch of wild strawberries.

Behind the oak, John took in a gulp of breath. "Give me your coat," he instructed Sherlock sternly. "I'll run a half-circle and beat it back to you. If it charges, break up the line and — what, now?" Sherlock was sporting Scowl number 3, aka "if-brains-could-kill-yours-might-disable-a-hummingbird".

"Really, John. I don't expect Lestrade or even Dimmock to be versed in the fundamentals of European lore—"

A double "Oi!" interrupted the tirade. "Who's an officer of the lore here, ye great twat?" Lestrade replied in somewhat heated tones. The unicorn, having received notice that there was after-dinner entertainment, was tossing a curious head in their direction.

"Sherlock, there's no reason to make a fuss. I've wrestled a desert sphinx in Helmand, I can do this."

Sherlock merely huffed. "And that, among other factors, is precisely why you can't do this." He turned to Anderson and wrinkled his nose. "Nor he, for reasons germane to the uncensored version of "A Study in Pink". Nor Lestrade, unless the missus was more than justified to look elsewhere."

Lestrade opened and closed his mouth. Sherlock turned to Dimmock.

"You, on the other hand —" He tilted his head, inspecting the younger man's tie knot, and sighed. "Eton or Harrow? No, don't answer. You're no use whatsoever; in fact, none of you are. Plus ça change... Ah, there she is." The unicorn had geared into a dainty trot and was heading back in their direction, its head lowered in a graceful salutation. Four out of the five men instinctly cupped their hands over their groin area.

"Don't!" John and Lestrade bellowed together, but Sherlock was already stepping out toward the animal, his coat tossed dismissively to the ground. The unicorn paused at once and remained stock still as he ran a light-handed caress down its back. It whinnied, a short contented arpeggio, and returned the courtesy by nuzzling the detective's cheek. Sherlock's back was turned to them, but something in the way he patted the white mane told John that Scowl number 1 - "I'll-consent-to-walk-a-tad-longer-through-the-Valley-of-Dumbness" – had carried off the day.

The pastoral idyl would have been complete if a loud rumble had not signaled the arrival of the Wildlife Crime unit.

"Right." Lestrade cleared his throat. "If our loreboy would just tie his scarf round the neck of the evidence... some of us have actual work to do."

"Along with a spot of research," Anderson added with hardly concealed glee.

John didn't say anything. He watched the two haughty, lanky, milky-hued figures trading hieratic cuddles in the middle of the glade, and wondered which of them he truly envied.