Improbably Connected 2/?
Title: Improbably Connected
Fandom: Sherlock(BBC), Psych
Word Count: 3,146
Summary: When Sherlock and John take a vacation to California, neither of them expect to run into another genius detective. Especially not one who has so much in common with Sherlock, but is so very different
Part: 2/?
Part 1
Part 2
John's mood isn’t improved when the first thing Sherlock does at the hotel is put ‘Shawn Spencer’ into a search engine.
He himself had been amused by the way Shawn had reminded him of Sherlock, at least insofar as his treatment of the police and the crime scene, but he couldn’t fathom what had so captured his friend’s attention.
Sherlock appears to have found a relevant page. John, who has slouched down into the rooms one armchair, can only make out bright colors and large fonts, but Sherlock is scrolling rapidly down the page, muttering to himself. John is pretty sure he hears the word ‘fascinating’ again.
After a while, John picks up a book and Sherlock scrolls from page to page. After almost an hour, Sherlock stands and starts to pull on his coat.
“You won’t need that here.” John says, grinning. It never fails to amuse him when his genius of a friend forgets something so obvious.
“Ah yes. California.” Sherlock pronounces the word like it’s something contagious and possibly vile as he puts his coat back on the hanger. “Come along, John. We’re going out.”
John doesn’t really like the sound of that, but if there’s one thing that’s been made clear to him over the past nine months, it’s that he will always follow Sherlock on an adventure. And quite a few other places besides.
“Right, where are we going?” he asked as they hailed a cab outside the hotel.
“Psych.” Sherlock responds absently, giving the cabbie an unfamiliar address.
“Excuse me?” John exclaims. Not only did that sentence make no sense in context, it was not a word that John would have expected Sherlock to use. Ever.
Sherlock sighs, the one that means John is asking stupid questions, “Psych.” He says it slowly and carefully, like talking to a child. “Shawn Spencer’s psychic detective agency.”
“His what?”
“He’s not actually psychic, of course, but I am curious as to why he maintains the ruse.”
“Oh.” John says. “Of course.” At least that would explain the man’s babbling about spirits and such. There’s silence for a moment. “And why are we going to visit him again?”
“To find out why he puts on the ruse, do try and keep up John. I know you’re not as stupid as you look.”
John’s trying to decide whether this is a compliment or an insult when they pull up outside a nice building with a glass wall. The window says ‘Psych’ in bold, friendly letters and the view faces onto a beach.
“We could get an office.” He muses absently to himself as they get out.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no desire to spend my days finding lost cats or tailing husbands I’ll already know are cheating. I did invent the position of consulting detective for a reason.”
Sherlock is striding up the door as he talks and John struggles to pay the cabbie, sorting through the strange money in his pocket. He has to hurry to catch up, only barely catching the door before it closes again.
The sound of cheerful conversation dies off as a bell marks their entrance into the office. He can hear hurried whispers from the room around the corner.
“Go see who it is.” John recognizes Shawn’s voice, even in a whisper.
“No! You go. You’re closer.” The second voice belongs to his well dressed companion. Gus, if John recalls correctly.
“Dude, you know how this works. I solve the crimes, you answer the door and get coffee!”
Sherlock shoots John a smirk as they here this, and John grimaces. For someone so different from Sherlock, this Shawn is eerily similar.
“That’s not how it works Shawn.” Gus’s voice is unamused.
Sherlock steps forward. “Neither of you need to get up, my friend and I are quite capable of entering ourselves.”
The voices fall silent as Sherlock and John step through the doorway, and John can see that they both look sheepish.
“Ah yes, of course.” Shawn says after a moment, sitting up straighter. “We’ve been expecting you.”
John suspects that he says that all everyone who walks in. Sherlock just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“I rather doubt that.” He says sardonically. “While I’m sure your detective abilities are astounding” and here John does a double take, because he’s never heard Sherlock give out a compliment like that before “they do not extend to telling the future. Nor, I suspect, to they extend to the paranormal at all.” Sherlock pauses to give to the two men a chance to stare at him, then continues. “My name is Sherlock Holmes, and the man with me is Doctor John Watson.”
Then Shawn pulls himself up in the chair and smirks. “You doubt me? What if I could prove it to you, right now?”
Sherlock smirks right back “I would encourage you to try, but you won’t succeed.”
Shawn stares at them both for a long moment, and only his military training and extended time with one Sherlock Holmes keeps John from shifting under that intense gaze.
Then Shawn gasps and reels as if struck and raises a hand to his temple. “You’ve both come from London, but that much is obvious. You’re from the middle of the city, and both of you prefer the city life. You live together but not romantically. The spirits are telling me that you,” he indicates Sherlock “come from a wealthy family, but you don’t like it and don’t rely on it. You, on the other hand,” and here he turns to John,
“are from a middle class family, which you used to be close to before you joined the army. You moved in together out of necessity but are now friends, and” he pauses as if listening to someone “the spirits say that you’re both still surprised by this. You don’t have any pets, but your landlady does, one very affectionate short-haired tabby. John likes the cat, even though he prefers dogs and you,” he’s back to Sherlock “try and pretend like you don’t like the cat, even though you secretly do. You both work for the police in some manner, but that’s mostly your” Sherlock again “fault. John enjoys it, but would probably be perfectly happy as a doctor without it. A little more bored, perhaps, but content. Am I missing anything?”
John is staring, he knows that. He’s used to Sherlock being able to pull facts from nowhere, but it’s disconcerting to hear it from a stranger. Especially one who looks as normal as Shawn. He sneaks a glance at Sherlock and is somehow unsurprised to see that his friend looks delighted.
He turns back to Shawn. “That’s brilliant!” It is. Just as impressive as Sherlock was that first time, and even more surprising, because Sherlock, at least, looks like a genius. Shawn looks nothing of the sort.
Out of the corner of his eye he can see Sherlock straighten. “Right.” The detective says, and he no longer looks quite so thrilled. “My turn then?”
Shawn makes a ‘go ahead’ type gesture and Sherlock takes a deep breath.
“You are not a psychic. There is nothing paranormal about you. You are merely able to see what other people cannot and put them together in the right way. You observed our relationship in the way that we are so casually comfortable with one another, and our living habits by the fact that I am currently wearing John’s socks.”
John turns to him indignant. “Hang on.”
“It’s called a barter system, John, you are more than welcome to any of my clothing. If I might continue?” John doesn’t respond, just grumbles a bit, but Sherlock ignores that. “The wealth of my family is evident in the quality of my clothing, but I assume you have met the casually wealthy and I am sure I am nothing like them. Furthermore, if I relied on the wealth of my family, I would not be sharing a flat with an army doctor. As for John, the past few years have yet to cure him of his military posture. As for Mrs. Hudson’s cat, there are a couple of grey cat hairs on John’s ankles and his cuffs, from where he has allowed the tabby to curl around his legs and from where he has pet it. I myself have some around my ankles from where I have. . . allowed the cat to be near me.”
John sneaks a glance at Sherlock. The detective very carefully doesn’t look back and John grins. “I always knew you liked that cat.”
“You most certainly did not.” Sherlock says, affronted. He turns back to Shawn. “Would you like to hear what I have concluded about you?”
Shawn spreads his arms wide. “I’m an open book, man.”
Sherlock looks mildly perturbed by this monomer but presses on. “You were trained to the art of deduction, probably from a very young age and probably by your father. Though it has made you successful, you resent your abnormal upbringing, and, to some extent, you father himself. You have only recently become involved with the police, I’d guess sometime in the last three years. Before that you traveled, refusing to keep a job longer than half a year. You drive a motorcycle
but rely on your friends car a significant portion of the time. You do not believe that anything paranormal exists, and because of that you’ll never fully respect those who believe you. Instead, you give most of your respect for the few who remain skeptical.”
John, who loves the expression on people’s faces when they first encounter Sherlock Holmes, is disappointed to see that only Gus looks shocked. Shawn just looks delighted, the same expression that Sherlock had just been wearing.
“Almost perfect. But you forgot one thing. The most important thing, actually.” Shawn is smirking. He taps his temple pointedly. “Eidetic memory. Mostly for things I see, but sometime for things I hear.”
“Always one thing, eh?” John smirks at Sherlock, who only smiles.
“You too man, that was awesome! I’m guessing you were trained too it as well.” His eyes make a sweep over Sherlock. “By your mother?”
“Quite correct.”
“But, how did he know all that?” Gus protests.
Shawn gives Gus a patronizing look that John is all too familiar with. He can’t get over how much he and Sherlock have in common. It’s almost frightening, because he’s never met two men more different. “The training bit was obvious, no one can rattle all that off from nowhere. I’m assuming that the bit about my father was a bit of a leap, made because a mother would have taught me to take pride in it, rather than take it for granted or even like a chore. It’s how I guessed he was trained by his mother. If I didn’t resent it, I’d be working for the police, not posing as a psychic to try and hide my amazing skills. I have pictures up from everywhere I traveled, and I’m not the type to stay interested in anything other than crime solving for more than six months, hence the jobs. I’m sure Sherlock himself had the same problem once up a time.”
He glances at Sherlock for confirmation and receives a nod.
“As for the motorcycle, there are keys by the door. The scratches on the key shows it’s more than five years old, the wear on the key chain shows it’s been mine the whole time. But, they’re not as worn as they would be if I used to everyday. That, with the fact that they saw us arrive at the crime scene in your car makes it pretty easy to figure out. He can tell I’ve only worked with the police for three years because Lassie-pants still puts up such a fuss when he sees me, but I’m still very comfortable with everyone there.”
“That isn’t normal, Shawn.” Gus says.
Shawn ignores him. “How awesome is this! I am so pumped right now!”
John doesn’t think he’ll ever really understand American slang. Shawn
turns back to them.
“So, what brings you to my doorstep? I know I’m awesome, but I doubt you need my help in anything. Especially since you’ve only been here a day. That’s not even enough time for me to find trouble.”
“How-?” John begins, but Sherlock cuts him off.
“I would imagine he could tell by our shoes, John.”
Shawn grins again. “Still covered in mud from England. That’ll all crack off by tomorrow. So, what can I do for you?”
“I merely wanted to know why you persist in your pretense of being psychic.”
“Dude! Not only is that one of the best examples of alteration I’ve ever heard- but it’s also the lead in to a totally awesome story! But, seriously, props on figuring it out. You’re the first. Other than Lassie, of course, but he just knows I’m lying.”
“People can be inconsolably stupid at times.” Sherlock responds understandingly. John scowls.
“I hear you man.” Shawn agrees. “You want to know why I pretend to be psychic? Because it’s a long story.”
“We have time.” Sherlock says. John wants to tell him to speak for himself, because they haven’t eaten yet and he’s getting hungry.
Fortunately, Shawn seems to be on his wavelength.
“How ‘bout we run and grab some food and talk over dinner? I’m starved, and Gus is about to kill something and eat it raw.”
“That’s disgusting, Shawn.” Gus turns to Sherlock and John. “Please ignore him. He’s a compulsive liar.”
John wonders if this is true, but they haven’t gotten enough evidence for him to be able to tell at the moment.
They all pile into Gus’ little blue car. It’s neat and organized inside, and even John can tell that’s Gus’ doing.
The restaurant they go to is small and quite, and they pick a table towards the back.
“Now,” Shawn says after they’ve gotten settled in. “What I’m about to tell you is absolutely top secret stuff. Unrepeatable. I even thought about making you swear a secrecy pack, but that might be a bit excessive.”
John snorts. “Just a bit.” He says.
Shawn grins at him and John realizes it’s the first thing he’s said since they met.
“All joking aside though,” Shawn continues, and this time it’s Gus who snorts, “I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t tell. Our estimable police force has yet to work it out, and I could get fired at best and arrested at worst.”
“I can’t even imagine what set of circumstances could lead to this level of secrecy.” Sherlock confides, leaning forward, but Shawn just smirks at him.
“Patience, grasshopper.” He says, which just makes Sherlock look confused.
Shawn doesn’t start his story until their food has already come.
“It all started on a dark and stormy night two years ago.” He begins in an eerie voice.
“It was mid-afternoon.” Gus interrupts. “And it was sunny.”
Shawn glares at him. “Dude! Do I interrupt your story-time?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever. Anyway. I went to the police station because I’d called in a tip and wanted to pick up my check. But then, the police put me in an interrogation room and demand I tell them how I knew. Apparently the truth, that I was watching on the News and it was obvious, wasn’t good enough.”
Sherlock nods. “I have noticed that people can be very obtuse when it comes to things they don’t understand. They think that just because their empty little minds can’t understand it, no one else’s can either.”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself! So I figured, if they won’t believe the truth, I may as well tell a lie they can’t prove is wrong! And I thought ‘Psychic!’ It’s pretty easy. Fake a few seizures, a couple fake possessions, and I point them in the right direction and ta-da! Instant cover story.”
“That seems like a lot of work to cover a lie.” John points out, but Shawn just shrugs.
“Not really. It would be just as much work to have to explain each conclusion every single time.”
Sherlock nods understandingly.
“So what about you guys?” Gus asks while Shawn takes an obscenely large bite from his hamburger (he and Gus had insisted on a real ‘American’ restaurant.)
“Pardon?” John asks
“What do you do? Shawn said you work for the police, but what do you do? Are you a private detective like he is?”
Sherlock sniffs like he’s offended. “Certainly not. I am a consulting detective.”
“A whut?” Shawn asks through the burger, and John winces.
“I work with the police on a consulting basis. Whenever they need my help, which is always, they call me.”
“That’s what we do!” Shawn exclaims.
“They don’t call you Shawn. You show up and don’t take no for an answer.” Gus cuts in.
John leans forward and says conspiratorially. “That’s what Sherlock does too.”
Sherlock frowns, but John can tell he’s amused and doesn’t want to admit it. “Yes, well if they were competent enough to even know when they needed my help, it wouldn’t be an issue.”
John pats his hand absently. “Of course Sherlock.”
He looks up to see Shawn glancing at him thoughtfully. He’s spent enough time around Sherlock to know when he’s being deduced.
“What?”
Shawn just smirks at him. “Nothing.”
John doesn’t have a chance to respond when a scream rips through the diner. He jumps about a foot in the air, as does Gus. Shawn and Sherlock just look around in what looks like excitement. It really isn’t decent.
A waitress is rushing out of the kitchen, her face horrified.
“I just opened the door!” she’s yelling, and both Shawn and Sherlock have gotten to their feet. “I just opened the door and he fell out! He was dead!”
“Great.” John mutters. “Just what we need on holiday. A dead body.”
“I know exactly how you feel.” Gus says, and they share a commiserating look.
part 3.