Fic: Angels
Title: Angels
Fandom: Sherlock BBC / Discworld fusion
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Lord Vetinari
Rating: PG
Words: 538
Warnings: slight conceptual spoilers for "Going Postal"
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: “It is of angels that I wish to speak with you, Mr Holmes.”
Author's Notes: Written for garonne as part of my "Request a Drabble"-Meme (still spots open!). A bit late, sorry for that! Thanks to my beta musical_lottie. :)
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
“It is of angels that I wish to speak with you, Mr Holmes.”
“I’m not - oh. Is that my name now?”
“Very cleverly deduced, Mr Holmes.” The man opposite him smiled. “Or may I say Sherlock?”
Sherlock didn’t answer. Instead he let his gaze wander around the room. It was rather too big and expensively furnished to be a prison cell or even an interrogation room. And there was a clerk sitting at a desk, busy with paperwork and very evidently not listening to the conversation. Oblong Office - blatantly obvious. Vetinari didn’t seem particularly menacing, though. But then neither did Mycroft.
“What did you want to tell me about angels?”
“You know you are in a precarious position right now, Mr Holmes. There are people who would wish you dead. Many people to be precise. But as a courtesy to your brother, I could offer you a way out. An angel to save you, so to speak. There is one thing you should know about these angels, though: you only ever get one.”
“And if I don’t wish to get an angel?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and fixed them on Vetinari.
The Patrician held his gaze. “You can walk through the door behind you at any moment if you wish and I guarantee you will never hear from me again.”
“And I will never be seen again, either, will I? Don’t try to trick me.” Sherlock put his fingers together as if imitating Vetinari. The two men stared at each other in complete silence. The only sound was the rustling of paper as the clerk failed to turn his pages as quietly as possible.
Finally, Vetinari smiled again.
“Very good. I can see your brother hasn’t exaggerated your abilities. You could be a very useful man for Ankh-Morpork which is why I’d rather not see you take that door. You see, the angel comes with a new identity, Mr ‘Holmes’. And it has come to my attention that our beloved city watch - as much as I respect their commander - is in need of some professional help now and then.”
Sherlock snorted. “You want me to become a police man?”
“Oh, heavens forbid, no. That would include furnishing you with a weapon and the gods know nobody could want that.”
If the clerk chose that precise moment to shift his collection of letter openers to the other side of the room, it must have been a coincidence.
“But what about being a consultant for the watch? I have no doubt that your immense, ah, theoretical knowledge of crimes and criminal activities in our city could be of use to them. You’d be a consulting detective, if you wish to phrase it romantically.”
Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. It did sound tempting. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had an alternative.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, as soon as you leave this room. Through the door in front of you, mind. I’d hate to be losing the first consulting detective Ankh-Morpork’s ever had quite so soon.”
When Sherlock had reached the door that hopefully wouldn’t lead to sudden death, Vetinari added with something almost like a smirk: “And report to Commander Vimes tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be exhilarated to see you.”
Fandom: Sherlock BBC / Discworld fusion
Characters: Sherlock Holmes, Lord Vetinari
Rating: PG
Words: 538
Warnings: slight conceptual spoilers for "Going Postal"
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: “It is of angels that I wish to speak with you, Mr Holmes.”
Author's Notes: Written for garonne as part of my "Request a Drabble"-Meme (still spots open!). A bit late, sorry for that! Thanks to my beta musical_lottie. :)
Comments and criticism are always very welcome! Enjoy! :)
“It is of angels that I wish to speak with you, Mr Holmes.”
“I’m not - oh. Is that my name now?”
“Very cleverly deduced, Mr Holmes.” The man opposite him smiled. “Or may I say Sherlock?”
Sherlock didn’t answer. Instead he let his gaze wander around the room. It was rather too big and expensively furnished to be a prison cell or even an interrogation room. And there was a clerk sitting at a desk, busy with paperwork and very evidently not listening to the conversation. Oblong Office - blatantly obvious. Vetinari didn’t seem particularly menacing, though. But then neither did Mycroft.
“What did you want to tell me about angels?”
“You know you are in a precarious position right now, Mr Holmes. There are people who would wish you dead. Many people to be precise. But as a courtesy to your brother, I could offer you a way out. An angel to save you, so to speak. There is one thing you should know about these angels, though: you only ever get one.”
“And if I don’t wish to get an angel?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes and fixed them on Vetinari.
The Patrician held his gaze. “You can walk through the door behind you at any moment if you wish and I guarantee you will never hear from me again.”
“And I will never be seen again, either, will I? Don’t try to trick me.” Sherlock put his fingers together as if imitating Vetinari. The two men stared at each other in complete silence. The only sound was the rustling of paper as the clerk failed to turn his pages as quietly as possible.
Finally, Vetinari smiled again.
“Very good. I can see your brother hasn’t exaggerated your abilities. You could be a very useful man for Ankh-Morpork which is why I’d rather not see you take that door. You see, the angel comes with a new identity, Mr ‘Holmes’. And it has come to my attention that our beloved city watch - as much as I respect their commander - is in need of some professional help now and then.”
Sherlock snorted. “You want me to become a police man?”
“Oh, heavens forbid, no. That would include furnishing you with a weapon and the gods know nobody could want that.”
If the clerk chose that precise moment to shift his collection of letter openers to the other side of the room, it must have been a coincidence.
“But what about being a consultant for the watch? I have no doubt that your immense, ah, theoretical knowledge of crimes and criminal activities in our city could be of use to them. You’d be a consulting detective, if you wish to phrase it romantically.”
Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. It did sound tempting. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had an alternative.
“When do I start?”
“Oh, as soon as you leave this room. Through the door in front of you, mind. I’d hate to be losing the first consulting detective Ankh-Morpork’s ever had quite so soon.”
When Sherlock had reached the door that hopefully wouldn’t lead to sudden death, Vetinari added with something almost like a smirk: “And report to Commander Vimes tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll be exhilarated to see you.”