Crossover Fic--Sean Renard and Mycroft Holmes, Cousins
For a challenge at land_deduction to do a crossover with either Elementary or Sherlock BBC. This is part of an ongoing crossover of mine that started being Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Sherlock BBC, but has since incorporated Grimm since I see a strong resemblance between the actors who play Mycroft Holmes and Sean Renard.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock BBC, Grimm
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sean Renard
Rating: G, some mention of violence
Notes: Part of this crossover ‘verse I write in where Giles brings the Slayerettes to London after the fall of Sunnydale, and they get involved with the Sherlock crew. They're drawn into an investigation of a series of supposed serial killings which might be vampires, or might be something else entirely. Mycroft has come to the Watchers’ Council, as has his distant cousin, Sean Renard, lately of the Portland Police Department, currently in England following a lead-among other things.
Word count: 506 (not including background)
Background: Mycroft Holmes arose from his chair and surveyed the individuals assembled around the well-appointed room. Being summoned to the Watchers' Council (in Luton, of all places) was bad enough, but to be confronted with his own American Cousin only heightened both the absurdity and the gravity of the situation. Victims half-drained of their blood, vampire-slayers, his brother, wesen, Watchers, Californians, Royal families, American policemen, and the British Government. What more could they ask for?
"As we seem to have reached a natural breaking point, may I suggest we refresh ourselves, and resume in an hour?" he said smoothly. “And perhaps the rest of you will pardon us if my cousin and I take a moment to catch up?"
Mycroft and Sean settled into chairs in the windowed alcove and waited in silence while they were served drinks and a tray of comestibles. Once the staff had moved away, the two men checked the whereabouts of the others in the room, and, being assured that they were out of hearing distance, seemed to relax enough to look directly each other and essay half-smiles.
They’d barely exchanged words between them since they’d met a mere few hours ago, except that which made sense during the lengthy and frankly tedious deliberations on the situation. It was there that they started their conversation. “Can’t say we’ve gotten anywhere. But it is good to see you, Mycroft.” Mycroft looked at his cousin over the tops of his steepled fingers. “Indeed. There isn’t much likely to emerge when each party is determined to learn as much as possible while revealing as little as possible.” He contemplated a small cake on the tray, then looked away. “Rather fascinating though. Such disparate parties involved, each with our own idea of the truth behind these killings.”
Renard laughed lightly. “Unavoidable, isn’t it? What’s the old adage? ‘If all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail”? A trail of bloodless victims…the cops will think serial killer; the slayers,” he gestured briefly toward the group around the fireplace, “think ‘vampires.’ One such as I will think wesen-likely chupacabra, though there are other possibilities. The Royal in me thinks revenge rituals. I’d imagine your brother has some arcane, bizarre explanation based on human emotion. And you? What does one in your position posit? You seem to have a foot in every camp.”
Mycroft gave a haughty look. "Really. That makes it sound as if I have more than two feet, which is patently ridiculous.”
Renard took a sip of wine and looked appraisingly at the older man. “Is it? I think of you as one with many, many tentacles, in all manner of business and enterprise.”
Mycroft brushed his lapels. “You imagine a touch of the monster in me? Do remember, I don’t spring from that side of your family tree.”
“Ah, you claim to be fully human? Well, there is always some possibility of … shall we say, genetic crossover.” Renard passed his hand over his own cheek, as though feeling something beneath the skin.
Mycroft flashed a predatory grin that, if anything, gave credence to his cousin’s implication. “Perhaps that will have to remain my little secret,” he said smoothly. “And speaking of secrets, shall we resume our obfuscations?” As they rose and moved toward the rest of the party, Renard asked casually, “I forgot to ask-how are your parents?”
Mycroft grimaced dramatically. “Ah, my dear fellow. They are extremely well. But their cultural taste has not improved with age. Can you imagine, the last time they were in town, I was dragooned into taking them to Les Miz. I ask you, Les Miz?” The two exchanged a sympathetic look, and prepared to begin again the discussion of blood-letting, murder, and monsters.
.
.
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Sherlock BBC, Grimm
Characters: Mycroft Holmes, Sean Renard
Rating: G, some mention of violence
Notes: Part of this crossover ‘verse I write in where Giles brings the Slayerettes to London after the fall of Sunnydale, and they get involved with the Sherlock crew. They're drawn into an investigation of a series of supposed serial killings which might be vampires, or might be something else entirely. Mycroft has come to the Watchers’ Council, as has his distant cousin, Sean Renard, lately of the Portland Police Department, currently in England following a lead-among other things.
Word count: 506 (not including background)
Background: Mycroft Holmes arose from his chair and surveyed the individuals assembled around the well-appointed room. Being summoned to the Watchers' Council (in Luton, of all places) was bad enough, but to be confronted with his own American Cousin only heightened both the absurdity and the gravity of the situation. Victims half-drained of their blood, vampire-slayers, his brother, wesen, Watchers, Californians, Royal families, American policemen, and the British Government. What more could they ask for?
"As we seem to have reached a natural breaking point, may I suggest we refresh ourselves, and resume in an hour?" he said smoothly. “And perhaps the rest of you will pardon us if my cousin and I take a moment to catch up?"
Mycroft and Sean settled into chairs in the windowed alcove and waited in silence while they were served drinks and a tray of comestibles. Once the staff had moved away, the two men checked the whereabouts of the others in the room, and, being assured that they were out of hearing distance, seemed to relax enough to look directly each other and essay half-smiles.
They’d barely exchanged words between them since they’d met a mere few hours ago, except that which made sense during the lengthy and frankly tedious deliberations on the situation. It was there that they started their conversation. “Can’t say we’ve gotten anywhere. But it is good to see you, Mycroft.” Mycroft looked at his cousin over the tops of his steepled fingers. “Indeed. There isn’t much likely to emerge when each party is determined to learn as much as possible while revealing as little as possible.” He contemplated a small cake on the tray, then looked away. “Rather fascinating though. Such disparate parties involved, each with our own idea of the truth behind these killings.”
Renard laughed lightly. “Unavoidable, isn’t it? What’s the old adage? ‘If all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail”? A trail of bloodless victims…the cops will think serial killer; the slayers,” he gestured briefly toward the group around the fireplace, “think ‘vampires.’ One such as I will think wesen-likely chupacabra, though there are other possibilities. The Royal in me thinks revenge rituals. I’d imagine your brother has some arcane, bizarre explanation based on human emotion. And you? What does one in your position posit? You seem to have a foot in every camp.”
Mycroft gave a haughty look. "Really. That makes it sound as if I have more than two feet, which is patently ridiculous.”
Renard took a sip of wine and looked appraisingly at the older man. “Is it? I think of you as one with many, many tentacles, in all manner of business and enterprise.”
Mycroft brushed his lapels. “You imagine a touch of the monster in me? Do remember, I don’t spring from that side of your family tree.”
“Ah, you claim to be fully human? Well, there is always some possibility of … shall we say, genetic crossover.” Renard passed his hand over his own cheek, as though feeling something beneath the skin.
Mycroft flashed a predatory grin that, if anything, gave credence to his cousin’s implication. “Perhaps that will have to remain my little secret,” he said smoothly. “And speaking of secrets, shall we resume our obfuscations?” As they rose and moved toward the rest of the party, Renard asked casually, “I forgot to ask-how are your parents?”
Mycroft grimaced dramatically. “Ah, my dear fellow. They are extremely well. But their cultural taste has not improved with age. Can you imagine, the last time they were in town, I was dragooned into taking them to Les Miz. I ask you, Les Miz?” The two exchanged a sympathetic look, and prepared to begin again the discussion of blood-letting, murder, and monsters.
.
.