FIC - A Bizarre Way To Meet A New Friend (Sherlock/Angel crossover)
Title: A Bizarre Way To Meet A New Friend
Characters: John, Sherlock, Spike, Angel (BBC Sherlock/Angel crossover)
Rating: PG-13 for language
W/C: ~1600
Summary: Angel asks Sherlock to help him solve a puzzle. But there’s really nothing about that in this story. John makes a new friend, though.
A/N: So, I intended to write a comment-fic, a hundred or two words for lostgirlslair who suggested this crossover. 1600 words later, here it is.
How they’d found themselves in America, more specifically California, was a bit of a blur to John. Sherlock rambling on about a case, John trying to soothe Sherlock’s nerves on the flight (no, he’d never admitted his fear of flying, but it was clear as day that he was uncomfortable from the moment they’d gotten on the plane). He’d drawn the line at procuring Xanax or Valium for his lover, instead relying on his own strength to keep Sherlock calm from Heathrow to LAX.
Now, John had become used to figuring out the methods and motives of embezzlers, killers, and kidnappers. But finding himself in the company of vampires…Really? Vampires?...was more than a bit not good. He’d been terrified before, afraid for his life; never like this, though. He didn’t scare easily, but being thrust into a world he thought didn’t exist had shaken him. Sherlock, though, couldn’t resist the temptation. He’d been more thrilled when he received this invitation than John had seen him when asked to help investigate the grisliest and most puzzling serial murders in modern history.
But then he got to know them a bit. This Angel guy, the one who’d asked Sherlock for help, didn’t seem at all interested in turning John or Sherlock into monsters. He just wanted some insight. And yeah, a band of demons (demons?) didn’t have to be all that much different than a drugs or human trafficking ring, John was trying to convince himself, trying to gain some perspective and lose some terror. All right, here were two vampires (yes, he kept telling himself, yes, they were, they were fucking vampires) who were in possession of their souls and concerned for the safety and well-being of the humans around them. Maybe there were stranger things. Maybe. If there were, John didn’t know about them. Yet. And he didn’t want to. He didn’t even want to know about this, to be honest.
The other one was British, and had introduced himself as Spike but John had heard Angel address him as Will several times. It was clear from their banter that the two of them were in a long-standing relationship, friends or enemies or maybe both; no telling how long, of course, considering the fact that their ages were impossible to determine. Could have been five years or a hundred, John figured.
Sherlock announced that he and his new undead American client were going to spend the evening investigating the issue that had brought them there. Trying to muster up the strength and interest to join them, John was cut short. Taking him aside, Sherlock said, “Clearly, you’re exhausted and starving. Would you please stay here? There will be a lot to do tomorrow. I’ll need your help and you know if you’re not well rested you’ll be irritable and we’ll end up snapping at each other all day.”
Relief washed over him. John didn’t want to come here, he didn’t want to work this case at all, didn’t really even know specifically what it was about. The jetlag didn’t seem to affect Sherlock at all but it had hit John hard. He really was hungry and tired and to hell with the brave soldier thing, this whole situation scared the shit out of him. “All right”, he responded, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own. “But I don’t want you doing the monster equivalent of racing across rooftops, love. We’re not dealing with guns and knives here.”
Angel stepped in at that point. “I swear I’m not going to take your friend out into any danger. The place we’re going, it’s safe, and we’ll only be talking to, uh, people… (and yeah, John caught the tell, a little tic and a hard swallow indicating maybe ‘people’ was a stretch of the truth), asking questions, trying to solve a puzzle, sort of.”
“Well, that’s Sherlock’s area. I suppose it’s why you asked him to help.” Gathering the small amount of courage he could reach and pulling out his Captain Watson tone, he added, “I expect no harm will come to him as a result of doing this favor for you.”
“You have my word, John. And Spike, for the love of Christ, would you show our guest some hospitality? Don’t be an ass. There’s a fridge full of beer, and you can order takeout with my card - only takeout, you got that? Nothing from that home shopping channel.” Ah, so this one was a troublemaker.
Spike just laughed. “Give me a little credit, Peaches. I’m a fantastic host. Suppose you’re off to Caritas then?”
“Yes, so just stay put and make sure John’s comfortable for the evening, please.”
Sherlock leaned in for a quick kiss, and promised he’d be back without a scratch before morning.
Angel stopped on his way out the door and touched Spike’s cheek, whispering something that made the blonde smile up at him.
Oh.
Once the door closed, Spike headed right for the kitchen. “Practically summer and the pouf’s still got to wear that pretentious coat”, he mumbled. “Beer?”
“Sure”, John agreed, then found himself chuckling.
“Something funny, mate?”
“Just, I think the two of them may have more in common than I thought they would.” When Spike just gave him a puzzled look in return, John continued. “In case you didn’t notice, Sherlock was wearing a pretentious coat of his own. Keeps the thing on even when it’s not cold outside.”
“Yeah, Angel’s got a real thing for high fashion. Figure he’s trying to make up for not being able to see himself by making sure everyone else notices him.”
“Sherlock runs through dark alleys wearing Westwood. Wait, can’t see himself? That’s really true, the no reflection thing?”
“Yeah. Kind of sucks but I’m pretty low maintenance. Jeans and a t-shirt work just fine for me, though I have to admit I’ve got my own black leather duster I’m partial to even when the weather doesn’t call for it”, Spike replied, handing John a bottle of Bass.
Before too long, Spike had called someone to deliver Thai food and was asking if John was a sport fan.
“Football and boxing, yeah, and I used to play rugby. You?”
“Got loads of matches on the DVR, Angel doesn’t give a toss about sports so I’m usually stuck watching alone. You want me to queue one up?”
“That’d be fantastic. Not much fun watching alone, I usually go down to the pub when there’s a match I want to see.”
“Ah, so your man’s not a fan either?”
“God no. Not of watching a decent football match or of going out to the pub.” For some reason, John wasn’t feeling so nervous anymore, and found he didn’t even mind the ‘your man’ label coming from an almost complete stranger.
“I get it. Peaches keeps the beer in for me, hardly ever has a drink. When he does, it’s some poncy expensive whisky.”
That got an all-out laugh from John. “I’m starting to think the two of them would be great friends if they lived on the same continent.”
Not even an hour had passed and there on a sofa in Los Angeles, John Watson was shouting at an official on the telly, drinking beer and trading stories with a sodding vampire. Spike had lamented Angel’s extensive tendency to brood and John had shared his frustration with how Sherlock got into a ridiculous strop every time he was bored. Sherlock saw things like food and sleep as chores; Angel refused to eat actual food (Spike didn’t have to, obviously, but he did it because he liked it) and pushed the line between dark and dawn fairly often. They both had stories to tell about mayhem and adventures with their partners, too, the adrenaline rush of chasing danger at the side of a person you love. And Spike did love Angel, that much was clear. He called him names and complained, but it was, as Sherlock would have said, obvious. John figured his situation wasn’t too far off - he bitched about Sherlock’s moods and rolled his eyes at his cocky attitude, but still loved him with everything he had.
John had started drifting in and out of sleep, the jetlag, late hour and alcohol all taking their toll. “Angel put your bags in the guest room, just there”, Spike said, pointing out a door across the hall. “Go on to sleep, it sounds like you and Sherlock are going to be working tomorrow. And you can maybe get some time to see the city a bit while the two of us are waiting for the sunset. You need anything before you get your head down?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks. For everything, really, I’ll be sure to confirm to Angel that you are indeed an excellent host”, John replied with a tired smile.
There were no nightmares while he slept, and Sherlock was back in time to rest for three hours before hauling John out of bed, deducing how much he’d had to drink the night before and filling him in on what he had planned for the day. Including some sight-seeing.
As they headed out of the silent flat at mid-morning, John wondered if Sherlock had gotten a chance to swap stories with Angel the night before, but he figured it had probably been all work and no socializing. Ah, well. Maybe tonight.
Characters: John, Sherlock, Spike, Angel (BBC Sherlock/Angel crossover)
Rating: PG-13 for language
W/C: ~1600
Summary: Angel asks Sherlock to help him solve a puzzle. But there’s really nothing about that in this story. John makes a new friend, though.
A/N: So, I intended to write a comment-fic, a hundred or two words for lostgirlslair who suggested this crossover. 1600 words later, here it is.
How they’d found themselves in America, more specifically California, was a bit of a blur to John. Sherlock rambling on about a case, John trying to soothe Sherlock’s nerves on the flight (no, he’d never admitted his fear of flying, but it was clear as day that he was uncomfortable from the moment they’d gotten on the plane). He’d drawn the line at procuring Xanax or Valium for his lover, instead relying on his own strength to keep Sherlock calm from Heathrow to LAX.
Now, John had become used to figuring out the methods and motives of embezzlers, killers, and kidnappers. But finding himself in the company of vampires…Really? Vampires?...was more than a bit not good. He’d been terrified before, afraid for his life; never like this, though. He didn’t scare easily, but being thrust into a world he thought didn’t exist had shaken him. Sherlock, though, couldn’t resist the temptation. He’d been more thrilled when he received this invitation than John had seen him when asked to help investigate the grisliest and most puzzling serial murders in modern history.
But then he got to know them a bit. This Angel guy, the one who’d asked Sherlock for help, didn’t seem at all interested in turning John or Sherlock into monsters. He just wanted some insight. And yeah, a band of demons (demons?) didn’t have to be all that much different than a drugs or human trafficking ring, John was trying to convince himself, trying to gain some perspective and lose some terror. All right, here were two vampires (yes, he kept telling himself, yes, they were, they were fucking vampires) who were in possession of their souls and concerned for the safety and well-being of the humans around them. Maybe there were stranger things. Maybe. If there were, John didn’t know about them. Yet. And he didn’t want to. He didn’t even want to know about this, to be honest.
The other one was British, and had introduced himself as Spike but John had heard Angel address him as Will several times. It was clear from their banter that the two of them were in a long-standing relationship, friends or enemies or maybe both; no telling how long, of course, considering the fact that their ages were impossible to determine. Could have been five years or a hundred, John figured.
Sherlock announced that he and his new undead American client were going to spend the evening investigating the issue that had brought them there. Trying to muster up the strength and interest to join them, John was cut short. Taking him aside, Sherlock said, “Clearly, you’re exhausted and starving. Would you please stay here? There will be a lot to do tomorrow. I’ll need your help and you know if you’re not well rested you’ll be irritable and we’ll end up snapping at each other all day.”
Relief washed over him. John didn’t want to come here, he didn’t want to work this case at all, didn’t really even know specifically what it was about. The jetlag didn’t seem to affect Sherlock at all but it had hit John hard. He really was hungry and tired and to hell with the brave soldier thing, this whole situation scared the shit out of him. “All right”, he responded, taking Sherlock’s hand in his own. “But I don’t want you doing the monster equivalent of racing across rooftops, love. We’re not dealing with guns and knives here.”
Angel stepped in at that point. “I swear I’m not going to take your friend out into any danger. The place we’re going, it’s safe, and we’ll only be talking to, uh, people… (and yeah, John caught the tell, a little tic and a hard swallow indicating maybe ‘people’ was a stretch of the truth), asking questions, trying to solve a puzzle, sort of.”
“Well, that’s Sherlock’s area. I suppose it’s why you asked him to help.” Gathering the small amount of courage he could reach and pulling out his Captain Watson tone, he added, “I expect no harm will come to him as a result of doing this favor for you.”
“You have my word, John. And Spike, for the love of Christ, would you show our guest some hospitality? Don’t be an ass. There’s a fridge full of beer, and you can order takeout with my card - only takeout, you got that? Nothing from that home shopping channel.” Ah, so this one was a troublemaker.
Spike just laughed. “Give me a little credit, Peaches. I’m a fantastic host. Suppose you’re off to Caritas then?”
“Yes, so just stay put and make sure John’s comfortable for the evening, please.”
Sherlock leaned in for a quick kiss, and promised he’d be back without a scratch before morning.
Angel stopped on his way out the door and touched Spike’s cheek, whispering something that made the blonde smile up at him.
Oh.
Once the door closed, Spike headed right for the kitchen. “Practically summer and the pouf’s still got to wear that pretentious coat”, he mumbled. “Beer?”
“Sure”, John agreed, then found himself chuckling.
“Something funny, mate?”
“Just, I think the two of them may have more in common than I thought they would.” When Spike just gave him a puzzled look in return, John continued. “In case you didn’t notice, Sherlock was wearing a pretentious coat of his own. Keeps the thing on even when it’s not cold outside.”
“Yeah, Angel’s got a real thing for high fashion. Figure he’s trying to make up for not being able to see himself by making sure everyone else notices him.”
“Sherlock runs through dark alleys wearing Westwood. Wait, can’t see himself? That’s really true, the no reflection thing?”
“Yeah. Kind of sucks but I’m pretty low maintenance. Jeans and a t-shirt work just fine for me, though I have to admit I’ve got my own black leather duster I’m partial to even when the weather doesn’t call for it”, Spike replied, handing John a bottle of Bass.
Before too long, Spike had called someone to deliver Thai food and was asking if John was a sport fan.
“Football and boxing, yeah, and I used to play rugby. You?”
“Got loads of matches on the DVR, Angel doesn’t give a toss about sports so I’m usually stuck watching alone. You want me to queue one up?”
“That’d be fantastic. Not much fun watching alone, I usually go down to the pub when there’s a match I want to see.”
“Ah, so your man’s not a fan either?”
“God no. Not of watching a decent football match or of going out to the pub.” For some reason, John wasn’t feeling so nervous anymore, and found he didn’t even mind the ‘your man’ label coming from an almost complete stranger.
“I get it. Peaches keeps the beer in for me, hardly ever has a drink. When he does, it’s some poncy expensive whisky.”
That got an all-out laugh from John. “I’m starting to think the two of them would be great friends if they lived on the same continent.”
Not even an hour had passed and there on a sofa in Los Angeles, John Watson was shouting at an official on the telly, drinking beer and trading stories with a sodding vampire. Spike had lamented Angel’s extensive tendency to brood and John had shared his frustration with how Sherlock got into a ridiculous strop every time he was bored. Sherlock saw things like food and sleep as chores; Angel refused to eat actual food (Spike didn’t have to, obviously, but he did it because he liked it) and pushed the line between dark and dawn fairly often. They both had stories to tell about mayhem and adventures with their partners, too, the adrenaline rush of chasing danger at the side of a person you love. And Spike did love Angel, that much was clear. He called him names and complained, but it was, as Sherlock would have said, obvious. John figured his situation wasn’t too far off - he bitched about Sherlock’s moods and rolled his eyes at his cocky attitude, but still loved him with everything he had.
John had started drifting in and out of sleep, the jetlag, late hour and alcohol all taking their toll. “Angel put your bags in the guest room, just there”, Spike said, pointing out a door across the hall. “Go on to sleep, it sounds like you and Sherlock are going to be working tomorrow. And you can maybe get some time to see the city a bit while the two of us are waiting for the sunset. You need anything before you get your head down?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks. For everything, really, I’ll be sure to confirm to Angel that you are indeed an excellent host”, John replied with a tired smile.
There were no nightmares while he slept, and Sherlock was back in time to rest for three hours before hauling John out of bed, deducing how much he’d had to drink the night before and filling him in on what he had planned for the day. Including some sight-seeing.
As they headed out of the silent flat at mid-morning, John wondered if Sherlock had gotten a chance to swap stories with Angel the night before, but he figured it had probably been all work and no socializing. Ah, well. Maybe tonight.