This fanfic is set just after season 3 of Daredevil, and after season 4 of Sherlock. It is also set a couple of years before Infinity War. The timeline doesn't match perfectly, but is close enough. Rosie is probably a tad older than what she would have been, but only by a year or two.
Daredevil and Sherlock are my two favourite TV series. Having recently rewatched both series, I felt compelled to start a crossover fanfic! Although I've written several Sherlock fanfics this is my first for Daredevil. I hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated, thanks!
Deducing the Devil (of Hell's Kitchen)
Chapter 1
John Watson had temporarily pushed aside his laptop and was enjoying a quiet hour reading the newspaper with a nice cup of tea and plate of biscuits, courtesy of Mrs Hudson. It had been a busy month, crime-fighting wise, and while he always relished the thrill of the chase, he still appreciated these brief moments of downtime, when he could recharge, reflect, and share their adventures on his blog.
So when the front door of 221B Baker Street suddenly slammed shut and he heard Sherlock's familiar footsteps pounding up the stairs, he sighed beneath his breath. How long had it been? Barely three hours?
Sherlock burst dramatically into the flat, though that was nothing new given his drama queen tendencies, but there was something about his expression this time that made John bite back the witty remark he had mentally prepared. It wasn't often that Sherlock looked genuinely panicked but this was one of those rare occasions.
He frowned his concern as he stood up. "What is it? What's wrong?" His own panic bubbled up into his throat. "God, is it Rosie? Has something happened to Rosie?"
Sherlock raised his hands placatingly. "Rosie is fine. She's still with Molly." He took a deep breath. "It's Mycroft. He's gone missing."
"Isn't he in New York for the funeral of that CIA bigwig?"
"Well, that was his excuse to be there," Sherlock returned, somewhat evasively.
"What do you mean? What was he really there for?"
When his friend didn't answer, John sensed, much to his irritation, that this was going to be something the Mycroft brothers had decided to keep to themselves. "Sherlock?" he prompted impatiently.
Sherlock had the decency to look fractionally guilty. "He had set up a meeting with Wilson Fisk."
"Fisk? Isn't he back in prison?"
"Yes."
"Bloody hell. I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when that happened."
"It didn't happen. Mycroft's car never returned to his hotel after the funeral. They found the driver unconscious behind a tombstone. An hour later they found the car; abandoned; no sign of Mycroft."
John scrubbed a hand across his face. "Shit." After a beat he added. "Why was he going to see the most powerful criminal in America anyway?"
Sherlock's mouth twitched sheepishly. "It's complicated."
John's frown deepened, his hands dropping to his hips angrily. "Then un-complicate it."
Sherlock turned dismissively, heading towards his bedroom. "I'll fill you in on the way."
"To where?"
"Mycroft's jet. Hurry up and pack an overnight bag. Don't forget your passport."
John blinked after him, a little dazed. "Jet?"
"You always wanted to visit The Big Apple, John," Sherlock shouted enthusiastically from his bedroom. "Now's your chance."
"We're going to New York?" John smiled, despite himself, as images of The Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building…Stark Tower…flooded his mind.
"Though I can't guarantee much in the way of sight seeing," Sherlock added apologetically as he returned to the living room clutching a bulging holdall, though John didn't think he sounded the least bit disappointed. "Hell's Kitchen apparently took quite the battering during the Incident."
A shiver snaked down John's spine at the mention of the event. The fact that alien beings had almost conquered New York and what would have eventually been the whole world if not for the Avengers. What if they had targeted London first instead? He shook the alarming thought away.
"Hell's Kitchen? You've lost me."
"That's where they found Mycroft's abandoned car," Sherlock revealed as he started to rummage through his desk drawer. He fleetingly met John's bewildered gaze, his eyes glinting with that crime-fighting high John was all too familiar with. "Hell's Kitchen," he rolled excitedly upon his tongue. "What a name, John. It practically sizzles with corruption." He eventually whipped out his passport and rammed it into his coat pocket.
"You're forgetting one thing," John pointed out. "Rosie."
"She's coming too."
"Like hell she is!"
"Pun intended?" Sherlock grinned.
"My daughter is going nowhere near a place as ominously named as Hell's Kitchen!"
"Calm down, John. She won't have to. While we're investigating Mycroft's disappearance, Rosie will be staying with Molly and Mrs Hudson in the very respectable East Village, far from Hell's Kitchen."
John gaped at him in surprise. "Won't that be expensive?"
"Not when we'll be using the emergency credit card Mycroft gave me a few months ago. I think his disappearance counts as an emergency, don't you?"
John wasn't appeased. "I don't know, Sherlock. She's still far too young to be jetting half way across the world."
Sherlock shrugged. "The choice is yours. She can either remain in England and you can see her via Zoom, or she comes with us and you can spend time with her in the evenings. I think Molly and Mrs Hudson deserve a little holiday given the amount of time they have invested in her wellbeing since…" he faltered but John knew what he was going to say. Since Mary's death.
"Yeah, I know," he said quietly, his chest tightening.
It was true, he realised. He didn't know what he'd do without them both. They were family to Rosie now. Like a surrogate aunt and grandma. They loved her to bits and she adored them.
"Staying in a swish five star hotel for a few days would be a nice way to say thank you, don't you think?"
In the past, such sentiment coming from Sherlock would have taken him aback, but a lot had happened over that the past few years to thaw the brilliant detective's heart of ice. John wasn't naive enough to think it would ever melt completely, Sherlock could still be an arrogant infuriating git, but he was no longer afraid to care, or to show he cared, albeit in fastidiously measured doses.
"But if you do decide to leave her behind," Sherlock interrupted his thoughts, "then you'll have to give them the bad news."
"What are you talking about?"
Sherlock feigned a heavy sigh, shaking his head regretfully. "Molly and Rosie are already in the jet, barely able to contain their excitement. Mrs Hudson is waiting for us downstairs. They will all be so disappointed."
John squeezed his hands into fists. "Damn you, Sherlock! I've warned you before not to make decisions about Rosie without me. She is my daughter, not yours!"
Sherlock ignored him. "Rosie even has her little Iron Man figure with her."
John rolled his eyes. Damn Molly and her obsession with the Avengers. It was rubbing off on his daughter.
Sherlock smirked, knowing he had won this battle. "Oh, come now, John. Are you telling me that you aren't even a little bit excited about the prospect of seeing Stark Tower in the flesh. You are as bad as the girls when it comes to superheroes. Your toolbox is shaped like Thor's hammer for goodness sake!"
"You know full well that Molly bought it for me for Christmas!"
"Didn't stop you pretending to lift it a few times."
"I was entertaining Rosie!"
"Of course you were." Sherlock watched him calculatingly. "I could go alone, of course. I understand if you're not ready to leave Rosie."
That, John would never allow. And he was blatantly aware that Sherlock knew that. With a sigh, he admitted defeat, and went in search of his own passport.