fic(spn/sherlock): you only think you're better than me [christmas fic #1!]
title: you only think you're better than me
rating: pg
characters/pairing: Sherlock Holmes, Bela Talbot, brief blink-and-you-miss-it John/Sherlock reference because that's how i roll.
summary: Sherlock pegs her as a thief the moment she steps through the door. No, actually, a moment before, when she smiles to the door attendant as her eyes casual flick to his pockets, checking for the outline of anything that could be potentially useful or valuable to her.
notes: 1097 words. for darkmagic_luvr who asked for a Sherlock/Supernatural crossover, Bela/Sherlock, in which she pwns him. I like to think of this more as a meeting of the minds. Merry Christmas!
Sherlock pegs her as a thief the moment she steps through the door. No, actually, a moment before, when she smiles to the door attendant as her eyes casual flick to his pockets, checking for the outline of anything that could be potentially useful or valuable to her. Sherlock takes note of the way she walks, each step slow and calculated but made to look like she knows exactly what she's doing here.
She doesn't.
He watches her eyes flick around the room, sizing up each and every person, cataloging their jewelry, their dress, and what other random secrets they might be hiding.
He'd almost be impressed at her talent of blending in. That is, if she didn't have such a blatant tell. He wonders how long it will take her to glance over to him and check to see if he's in possession of what it is she's looking for, all the while casually taking a sip of her wine with each and every pass.
Her eyes linger on the duchess in the far corner of the room. At least, it's painfully obvious to him that she must be a duchess, the way she holds her head up like a crane, trying to lord her status over everyone around her, everyone who is so obviously unaware. Sherlock supposes there's no reason they should be, as this is a public event and anyone from the beggar on the street to the Queen of England could attend if they'd like. But really, anyone with a brain could just look and see.
And she does. She's sized up almost every person in the room within a few minutes, but the duchess is the first one she shows a true interest in, heading over to get a closer look. Sherlock observes the whole exchange from his corner. His own glass of wine, practically forced upon him by the servers, hangs loosely in his hand. He knows the duchess doesn't have what she's looking for, knows that no one in the room has it on them.
He knows this because the little onyx stone she's looking for is on a bookshelf in 221B Baker Street, tucked inside a now-hollow first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray, where he'd put it only days ago, upon hearing that a high-class art thief was looking to score it. He'd never been fond of the book anyway.
From where he stands, she looks nothing like an art thief and more like a desperate woman.
~
"Bela Talbot," she introduces herself as, hand stuck out and a smug smile on her face, as though she knows it's a name he won't soon forget. He sees it in the brief tremble of her hand, the nervous swallow as he takes her hand and firmly shakes it. She's desperate, so desperate in fact, that she's introduced herself to almost everyone left in the room, even despite her initial conclusions of them. Sherlock assumes someone told her the stone would be here, which means she thinks that someone at this sad affair knows the whereabouts of it, at the very least. So far he's not impressed with her detective skills.
"Sherlock Holmes," he replies, watching as her eyes widen slightly before she clamps down on her surprise. Good. It's always more fun when they recognize me, he thinks.
"I've heard that name before." She plays off her recognition well, he'll give her credit for that. But he can see her breathing speed up, presumably as her pulse does as well. "You help the police, right?"
"I'm a consulting detective, yes."
"Charming." She smooths out a crease in her dress, another nervous habit Sherlock's picked up on, having watched her do it twice during her conversation with the duchess and once more when she ran into a waiter carrying a full tray. Sherlock was disappointed when she didn't go for the waiter's wallet, choosing instead to once again straighten her little black dress, emphasis on the little, as it barely made mid-thigh. She'd dressed to stand out, but only in a subtle way, to draw attention of one person at a time, not an entire crowd, as well as guarantee that she wouldn't be remembered in detail once she left. Sherlock could count at least three other little black dresses in the room.
"You're looking for something," Sherlock says. Might as well get to the point.
"There's no fooling you, is there?" She smiles, and suddenly he sees why she's good at her job. There's cunning there, underneath the sweet and cheerful facade. He knows she's playing a dangerous game, but now it's obvious she enjoys it, desperation and all.
"I'm afraid not. You won't find it here," Sherlock says.
"And why is that?"
"Because it's not here, a conclusion you've obviously reached, having talked to and patted down nearly every person in this room. You were subtle, I'll give you that much, but next time you should lay off the wine and perhaps wear something more comfortable." She starts to smooth her dress even as he says it, freezing the moment she realizes.
She lets out a startled laugh. "You are good," she says, her eyes twinkling. She's beautiful when she laughs and were he a different man he'd be fawning all over her by now. "Not good enough, though."
Sherlock cocks his head. "I assure you I am."
"No, Mr Holmes. If you were, you would have figured out that I was trying to get your attention and your attention only. The rest was simply an act, at least for the most part. I suppose there was the smallest chance that one of these poor souls would be in possession of the stone, but honestly, why would any of them want it? But you, you have your reasons. I think his name is John?"
Sherlock doesn't like the knowing grin she throws him. "You leave him alone."
Her laugh is like diamonds scratching a chalkboard. "Oh, Sherlock. I'm not the type of person to cause harm. In fact, I don't even want you to tell me where the stone is, that would take all the fun out of it. Just give me a hint, and I'll be on my way."
It's Sherlock's turn to laugh. "Smart, brilliantly smart, I'll give you that, I'm not easily surprised. But still quite simple-minded. You have all the clues you need, Ms. Talbot. Just look a little closer." He leaves her standing there, with her dress wrinkled up and her wine glass empty.
Sherlock does welcome a good challenge, after all.
rating: pg
characters/pairing: Sherlock Holmes, Bela Talbot, brief blink-and-you-miss-it John/Sherlock reference because that's how i roll.
summary: Sherlock pegs her as a thief the moment she steps through the door. No, actually, a moment before, when she smiles to the door attendant as her eyes casual flick to his pockets, checking for the outline of anything that could be potentially useful or valuable to her.
notes: 1097 words. for darkmagic_luvr who asked for a Sherlock/Supernatural crossover, Bela/Sherlock, in which she pwns him. I like to think of this more as a meeting of the minds. Merry Christmas!
Sherlock pegs her as a thief the moment she steps through the door. No, actually, a moment before, when she smiles to the door attendant as her eyes casual flick to his pockets, checking for the outline of anything that could be potentially useful or valuable to her. Sherlock takes note of the way she walks, each step slow and calculated but made to look like she knows exactly what she's doing here.
She doesn't.
He watches her eyes flick around the room, sizing up each and every person, cataloging their jewelry, their dress, and what other random secrets they might be hiding.
He'd almost be impressed at her talent of blending in. That is, if she didn't have such a blatant tell. He wonders how long it will take her to glance over to him and check to see if he's in possession of what it is she's looking for, all the while casually taking a sip of her wine with each and every pass.
Her eyes linger on the duchess in the far corner of the room. At least, it's painfully obvious to him that she must be a duchess, the way she holds her head up like a crane, trying to lord her status over everyone around her, everyone who is so obviously unaware. Sherlock supposes there's no reason they should be, as this is a public event and anyone from the beggar on the street to the Queen of England could attend if they'd like. But really, anyone with a brain could just look and see.
And she does. She's sized up almost every person in the room within a few minutes, but the duchess is the first one she shows a true interest in, heading over to get a closer look. Sherlock observes the whole exchange from his corner. His own glass of wine, practically forced upon him by the servers, hangs loosely in his hand. He knows the duchess doesn't have what she's looking for, knows that no one in the room has it on them.
He knows this because the little onyx stone she's looking for is on a bookshelf in 221B Baker Street, tucked inside a now-hollow first edition of The Picture of Dorian Gray, where he'd put it only days ago, upon hearing that a high-class art thief was looking to score it. He'd never been fond of the book anyway.
From where he stands, she looks nothing like an art thief and more like a desperate woman.
~
"Bela Talbot," she introduces herself as, hand stuck out and a smug smile on her face, as though she knows it's a name he won't soon forget. He sees it in the brief tremble of her hand, the nervous swallow as he takes her hand and firmly shakes it. She's desperate, so desperate in fact, that she's introduced herself to almost everyone left in the room, even despite her initial conclusions of them. Sherlock assumes someone told her the stone would be here, which means she thinks that someone at this sad affair knows the whereabouts of it, at the very least. So far he's not impressed with her detective skills.
"Sherlock Holmes," he replies, watching as her eyes widen slightly before she clamps down on her surprise. Good. It's always more fun when they recognize me, he thinks.
"I've heard that name before." She plays off her recognition well, he'll give her credit for that. But he can see her breathing speed up, presumably as her pulse does as well. "You help the police, right?"
"I'm a consulting detective, yes."
"Charming." She smooths out a crease in her dress, another nervous habit Sherlock's picked up on, having watched her do it twice during her conversation with the duchess and once more when she ran into a waiter carrying a full tray. Sherlock was disappointed when she didn't go for the waiter's wallet, choosing instead to once again straighten her little black dress, emphasis on the little, as it barely made mid-thigh. She'd dressed to stand out, but only in a subtle way, to draw attention of one person at a time, not an entire crowd, as well as guarantee that she wouldn't be remembered in detail once she left. Sherlock could count at least three other little black dresses in the room.
"You're looking for something," Sherlock says. Might as well get to the point.
"There's no fooling you, is there?" She smiles, and suddenly he sees why she's good at her job. There's cunning there, underneath the sweet and cheerful facade. He knows she's playing a dangerous game, but now it's obvious she enjoys it, desperation and all.
"I'm afraid not. You won't find it here," Sherlock says.
"And why is that?"
"Because it's not here, a conclusion you've obviously reached, having talked to and patted down nearly every person in this room. You were subtle, I'll give you that much, but next time you should lay off the wine and perhaps wear something more comfortable." She starts to smooth her dress even as he says it, freezing the moment she realizes.
She lets out a startled laugh. "You are good," she says, her eyes twinkling. She's beautiful when she laughs and were he a different man he'd be fawning all over her by now. "Not good enough, though."
Sherlock cocks his head. "I assure you I am."
"No, Mr Holmes. If you were, you would have figured out that I was trying to get your attention and your attention only. The rest was simply an act, at least for the most part. I suppose there was the smallest chance that one of these poor souls would be in possession of the stone, but honestly, why would any of them want it? But you, you have your reasons. I think his name is John?"
Sherlock doesn't like the knowing grin she throws him. "You leave him alone."
Her laugh is like diamonds scratching a chalkboard. "Oh, Sherlock. I'm not the type of person to cause harm. In fact, I don't even want you to tell me where the stone is, that would take all the fun out of it. Just give me a hint, and I'll be on my way."
It's Sherlock's turn to laugh. "Smart, brilliantly smart, I'll give you that, I'm not easily surprised. But still quite simple-minded. You have all the clues you need, Ms. Talbot. Just look a little closer." He leaves her standing there, with her dress wrinkled up and her wine glass empty.
Sherlock does welcome a good challenge, after all.