#sherlock crossover

“He-hey! Wait!” John cried. Sherlock flinched as the human’s voice bombarded the silence of the room and rumbled through Sherlock’s very being. Then the table beneath his running feet began to shake, and Sherlock threw a glance over his shoulder to find John coming closer, his free hand raised placatingly.

All Sherlock saw was hands. Dangerous appendages built for grabbing, lifting, crushing– the most unpredictable part of the human body. Sherlock was decidedly against having anything to do with them and, in his panic, did the only thing he could think to do.

He concentrated, and everything around him fell slightly out of focus. All noises were muffled far into the background, and when he looked back at John, he was moving so slowly that he might as well be still.

Sherlock let out a relieved breath, but kept going, knowing this wouldn’t last long.

Ever since Sherlock was a teenager, he’d noticed a tingle on the back of his neck in certain situations. Dangerous ones, in which it was likely that he’d end up in some kind of trouble. And he found that when he concentrated on it, everything and everyone around him slowed down significantly. 

For just a moment, Sherlock was faster than the entire world.

The catch was, if Sherlock kept this up for too long, he would tire. Growing up training himself to control this ability, he often worked himself into pounding headaches and intense nose-bleeds. He counted it worth it now that years later, he was able to slow time around him on command.

As swiftly as he could, Sherlock snagged the thread on the edge of the table and slid all the way down to the floor. He retrieved his hook and gathered the line before ducking behind the leg of a chair and returning himself to the natural flow of time. Here he could catch his breath and recover his energy.

High above, John sucked in a gasp. Sherlock side-eyed the man’s feet as they shuffled indecisively. Then they and the cane circled around the table in their stilted pace until they carried John to the space between the table and the counter, and Sherlock cursed under his breath. John had cut off his quickest exit. Sherlock couldn’t risk passing so close to the human. He needed a new route.

Sherlock’s eyes darted to a hole in the wall across the room, adjacent to a loosened outlet under a smaller table. 

Just as the human bent to peer under the table to see where Sherlock had gone, the borrower slowed him down again and dashed to the far leg of the table on the diagonal from his previous hiding spot. There he took refuge again, taking a breather from using his ability. Not only were these sprints wearing him out, but it had been ages since he’d used his knack this much. The all-too-familiar fatigue of overuse was creeping up on him.

John Watson had no such impediment. A glance back revealed the doctor straightening in surprise, rising out of Sherlock’s line of sight. This time, John’s approach around the table was much more swift, and Sherlock had no choice but to make a run for the exit without the aid of his ability.

A shadow fell over Sherlock, and he had just enough time to see the mug before it dropped on top of him and trapped him in darkness.

Even with his limp, John was much faster than Sherlock could hope to be on his own.

~~~

John sat frozen on the floor, in utter shock.

The last thing he’d expected when he came home to grab a quick lunch was a miniature man standing on a plate of scones. He could hardly believe his eyes, especially when the little being fell out of focus and became a speedy blur zooming over the edge of the table.

A shot of adrenaline coursed through John, driving him forward to find where the creature had gone. He had no ill will toward whatever it was, but he was too curious to let it get away.

This is what drove him to trap the little guy, but now that he was there, staring at his mug, he had no clue what to do.

It took him a second to realize he was being shouted at.

John could hear light taps against the porcelain of the mug in between muffled outbursts. He leaned in to listen.

“I’m talking to you!” the tiniest baritone echoed slightly in the small space. “I know you’re out there, I demand to be released!”

John stiffened, finally starting to think about all this from the smaller man’s perspective. Chased and trapped by a person several times larger than himself, with no means of escape even with that hat trick of his. To this little fellow, John was hardly more than a giant in his way.

John had always been average height, oftentimes shorter than others. Never once had he ever felt so ridiculously large, frightening, dangerous.

He was already feeling guilty for what he’d done, reaching toward the mug to free the tiny man when his voice rang out again, freezing up John’s hand.

“Answer me, damn you!” Another dull tap against the side of the mug, possibly a kick. John opened his mouth to say something as per the man’s request, but nothing came.

The quietest sigh strained the edges of John’s hearing, and the tiny man sounded a little more dejected when he spoke up again.

“Or at the very least, you could hurry up and get the dissection over with. I’d say the suspense is killing me, but that would be redundant, now wouldn’t–!”

Sherlock’s remark was cut short as John lifted the mug away without warning. He winced in the sudden light and, thanks to the way he’d been leaning on the wall of the mug, tumbled onto his back. When he looked up at John’s hovering face, he found it ashen and full of shock.

“You think I…” John blinked rapidly at the tiny man on his back on the floor, lifting one arm to shield his eyes and feebly defend himself against John. “I...I’d never...” His insistent protest trailed off as the thought of dissecting a living person, no matter how small, turned his stomach. It was a disturbing notion, downright cruel, and John felt terrible for giving this stranger the impression that he’d do such a thing.

He must’ve looked like a monster, crouched on the floor over the smaller man like a predator cornering its prey.

John shook his head numbly, grabbing his discarded cane for support as he pushed himself to his feet. While he still hated towering over Sherlock, he couldn’t keep the man where he clearly didn’t want to be.

“I’m sorry,” John breathed, putting the mug down on the table. He took the long way around to the door out of the kitchen and left without looking back.

~~~

Sherlock remained on the floor for another minute or two after John left. Scrambling to his feet, he stared at the door and waited for the human to come back and catch him again.

But he didn’t.

With a huff, Sherlock combed his fingers through his mess of curls and straightened his clothes importantly as he made his way to the nearby hole in the wall. The sooner he was out of sight in his hidden home, the sooner he could think long and hard about what had just happened.