castle/elementary fic: stating the obvious
i don't really do crossovers. or castle fanfic. or any kind of fanfic, lately. but then there was a crossover challenge at castleland....
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: General, Crossover (Castle/Elementary)
SPOILERS: Through the Castle episode 'Murder, He Wrote'. Nothing specific for Elementary.
SUMMARY: Castle and Beckett go to investigate a murder, but it turns out another consultant is already on the scene.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story. Nothing at all. And I'm fine with that, really.
Unbeta'ed, obviously.
* * *
“Well, hello there, Detective Beckett,” said Castle, as he exited the yellow taxi right next to where his partner slash secret girlfriend was standing on the sidewalk. His eyes travelled immediately to the missing button of the shirt he had so forcefully torn off in his efforts to get Kate naked just ten minutes before the call came in about the Midtown murder.
Why people had to get killed on a Saturday night, when Beckett was on call, when he had plans that did not include crime solving was beyond him. Why she actually answered the call was even harder to understand.
He grinned when her eyes followed his gaze and she blushed slightly, pulling her black blazer more tightly around her and buttoning it in an attempt to hide the gaping hole near her midriff, a clear reminder of their interrupted activities.
“Hey, Beckett,” Ryan said suddenly from behind her, saving Castle from a hissed reprimand. “It seems that we have another consultant here besides Castle.”
“What do you mean?” Beckett asked, confused. “Not that I wouldn't mind a bit of a change,” she added grinning at Castle before walking away with Ryan.
“Hey!” Castle said indignantly as he walked behind them up to the alley where Lanie was bent over the victim while Esposito was standing a few feet away with a man and a woman who were both looking at Lanie as she worked.
“This is, um, “Doctor Watson and, uh,” Ryan shot a look at Castle, torn between amusement and confusion, and then finished. “Sherlock Holmes.”
“What?” Castle and Beckett said in unison.
Ryan shrugged and shook his head but the man stepped forward, his movements rushed and somewhat jerky as he held out his hand to Beckett.
“Sherlock Holmes, consultant,” he introduced himself, his British accent muffled slightly by the danish he was chewing. “I normally work with a different team of police detectives, but I heard about this rather interesting murder on my police scanner and thought I would come down and help you find the killer.”
“And what makes you think we need your help?” Beckett asked.
“Well, I should think that was obvious,” Holmes replied. “I am brilliant.”
“I'm sure you are,” Beckett agreed, smiling slightly. Whatever was going on here the man seemed harmless enough, and she had been forced to accept the fact that outside consultants could be helpful from time to time.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Castle spat out suddenly, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. You're not really Sherlock Holmes.”
“I most certainly am,” Holmes replied, still surveying the crime scene coolly, apparently completely uninterested in discussing his identity with Castle.
“So you're a character created by Arthur Conan Doyle in the 19th century? You've appeared in 56 stories written by Conan Doyle himself, and in loads of adaptations in film and on television?” Castle asked sarcastically.
“Of course not,” Holmes said dismissively, bending down to peer under a dumpster and then standing up quickly, looking from one end of the alley to the other as if measuring it. “That would make me more than 100 years old, which I assure you I am not. I am Sherlock Holmes, former consultant to Scotland Yard, now consultant to the NYPD. I am a brilliant detective. Not police, mind you. Independent detector of crime and misdeeds.”
Castle snorted and then frowned at the rather too interested look Beckett was giving this lunatic.
“Okay,” said Sherlock, finally turning to Castle and looking him up and down discerningly. “If you think I'm fictional, tell me something you know about me.”
Castle scanned his memory for Sherlock Holmes plots but dismissed them all and decided to get personal instead. “You're addicted to heroin, but you insist it just helps you think more clearly.”
Sherlock scoffed. “I am no longer using drugs.” He waved a hand at Joan. “That's what she's for.”
“Hey!” Watson said indignantly. “I am not for anything. I am your companion, my job is to ensure that you don't start using again.”
“Yes, Watson,” Holmes sighed. “That's what I said. Please try to pay more attention if you're going to get involved in the conversation.”
Castle couldn't help feeling just a little bit smug as Beckett's admiration of the “detective” turned to disdain at his rudeness. “You have a brother named Mycroft, he works for the British government.”
Sherlock Holmes froze.
“You have a brother?” Watson asked, clearly shocked.
“How did you know that?” Holmes asked suspiciously.
“I read it in a book,” Castle informed him.
“No,” Holmes insisted. “That's not possible. You must have-do you know my brother from somewhere?”
“Yes,” Castle agreed and Holmes looked momentarily hopeful, but then Castle continued. “From the books, written by Arthur Conan Doyle. About you. And a male companion,” he added glancing briefly at Joan Watson.
“I-This-But-“ Sherlock fumbled for a response but then straightened up. “Okay then. I know something about you, too,” he announced.
“Do you really?” Asked Castle indifferently.
“Yes,” Sherlock insisted. “And your detective colleague.”
“Oh?” Castle asked, suddenly feeling less sure that he wanted this conversation to continue. While this guy obviously wasn't the Sherlock Holmes, he might have some deductive skills all the same. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Beckett shift nervously, but he did not turn to look at her.
Sherlock Holmes smiled vindictively. “Aha,” he almost shouted and straightened his back in preparation for the speech he was about to make.
“Uh,” Ryan piped up from the background, his eyes moving from Beckett to Castle and back again before he turned to Holmes. “Perhaps we could get back to the, um, murder? Isn't that why we're all here?”
“Shut up, Kevin,” Esposito said, nudging his partner's shoulder with his fist. “Let's hear what the man has to say.”
Lanie, too, had stopped working and was looking expectantly at Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes smiled ever so slightly. “You arrived here seperately, but I'll venture to say that it has not been long since you last saw each other. I postulate that you are in fact involved in a sexual relationship.”
Castle rubbed his eyes roughly with his left hand, trying desperately to think of something to say. Beckett opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
“The long looks you are constantly throwing at each other--”
“They've been doing that for four years now,” Ryan interrupted.
Esposito shrugged. “He's right, dude. That doesn't really prove anything.”
Holmes shot them both a scornful look. “You can smell aftershave on her, the same aftershave Mr Castle is wearing, and-” he paused for effect. “-Mr. Castle has a smudge of the exact same color lipstick Detective Beckett is wearing on the collar of his shirt. All in all, I would say it is quite obvious, and quite frankly I am amazed that no one else seems to have deduced this before now.”
“Well,” Ryan began, but he cut himself off when he saw the stunned looks on his friends' faces.
“Right,” said Holmes, turning to Watson. “I believe we're finished here. I'm in the mood for coffee. Let's go.”
As Holmes and Watson walked out of the alley, Castle leaned closer to Beckett and whispered: “At least he didn't notice the missing button...”
END
RATING: PG
CLASSIFICATION: General, Crossover (Castle/Elementary)
SPOILERS: Through the Castle episode 'Murder, He Wrote'. Nothing specific for Elementary.
SUMMARY: Castle and Beckett go to investigate a murder, but it turns out another consultant is already on the scene.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing in this story. Nothing at all. And I'm fine with that, really.
Unbeta'ed, obviously.
* * *
“Well, hello there, Detective Beckett,” said Castle, as he exited the yellow taxi right next to where his partner slash secret girlfriend was standing on the sidewalk. His eyes travelled immediately to the missing button of the shirt he had so forcefully torn off in his efforts to get Kate naked just ten minutes before the call came in about the Midtown murder.
Why people had to get killed on a Saturday night, when Beckett was on call, when he had plans that did not include crime solving was beyond him. Why she actually answered the call was even harder to understand.
He grinned when her eyes followed his gaze and she blushed slightly, pulling her black blazer more tightly around her and buttoning it in an attempt to hide the gaping hole near her midriff, a clear reminder of their interrupted activities.
“Hey, Beckett,” Ryan said suddenly from behind her, saving Castle from a hissed reprimand. “It seems that we have another consultant here besides Castle.”
“What do you mean?” Beckett asked, confused. “Not that I wouldn't mind a bit of a change,” she added grinning at Castle before walking away with Ryan.
“Hey!” Castle said indignantly as he walked behind them up to the alley where Lanie was bent over the victim while Esposito was standing a few feet away with a man and a woman who were both looking at Lanie as she worked.
“This is, um, “Doctor Watson and, uh,” Ryan shot a look at Castle, torn between amusement and confusion, and then finished. “Sherlock Holmes.”
“What?” Castle and Beckett said in unison.
Ryan shrugged and shook his head but the man stepped forward, his movements rushed and somewhat jerky as he held out his hand to Beckett.
“Sherlock Holmes, consultant,” he introduced himself, his British accent muffled slightly by the danish he was chewing. “I normally work with a different team of police detectives, but I heard about this rather interesting murder on my police scanner and thought I would come down and help you find the killer.”
“And what makes you think we need your help?” Beckett asked.
“Well, I should think that was obvious,” Holmes replied. “I am brilliant.”
“I'm sure you are,” Beckett agreed, smiling slightly. Whatever was going on here the man seemed harmless enough, and she had been forced to accept the fact that outside consultants could be helpful from time to time.
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” Castle spat out suddenly, unable to keep quiet any longer. “Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character. You're not really Sherlock Holmes.”
“I most certainly am,” Holmes replied, still surveying the crime scene coolly, apparently completely uninterested in discussing his identity with Castle.
“So you're a character created by Arthur Conan Doyle in the 19th century? You've appeared in 56 stories written by Conan Doyle himself, and in loads of adaptations in film and on television?” Castle asked sarcastically.
“Of course not,” Holmes said dismissively, bending down to peer under a dumpster and then standing up quickly, looking from one end of the alley to the other as if measuring it. “That would make me more than 100 years old, which I assure you I am not. I am Sherlock Holmes, former consultant to Scotland Yard, now consultant to the NYPD. I am a brilliant detective. Not police, mind you. Independent detector of crime and misdeeds.”
Castle snorted and then frowned at the rather too interested look Beckett was giving this lunatic.
“Okay,” said Sherlock, finally turning to Castle and looking him up and down discerningly. “If you think I'm fictional, tell me something you know about me.”
Castle scanned his memory for Sherlock Holmes plots but dismissed them all and decided to get personal instead. “You're addicted to heroin, but you insist it just helps you think more clearly.”
Sherlock scoffed. “I am no longer using drugs.” He waved a hand at Joan. “That's what she's for.”
“Hey!” Watson said indignantly. “I am not for anything. I am your companion, my job is to ensure that you don't start using again.”
“Yes, Watson,” Holmes sighed. “That's what I said. Please try to pay more attention if you're going to get involved in the conversation.”
Castle couldn't help feeling just a little bit smug as Beckett's admiration of the “detective” turned to disdain at his rudeness. “You have a brother named Mycroft, he works for the British government.”
Sherlock Holmes froze.
“You have a brother?” Watson asked, clearly shocked.
“How did you know that?” Holmes asked suspiciously.
“I read it in a book,” Castle informed him.
“No,” Holmes insisted. “That's not possible. You must have-do you know my brother from somewhere?”
“Yes,” Castle agreed and Holmes looked momentarily hopeful, but then Castle continued. “From the books, written by Arthur Conan Doyle. About you. And a male companion,” he added glancing briefly at Joan Watson.
“I-This-But-“ Sherlock fumbled for a response but then straightened up. “Okay then. I know something about you, too,” he announced.
“Do you really?” Asked Castle indifferently.
“Yes,” Sherlock insisted. “And your detective colleague.”
“Oh?” Castle asked, suddenly feeling less sure that he wanted this conversation to continue. While this guy obviously wasn't the Sherlock Holmes, he might have some deductive skills all the same. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Beckett shift nervously, but he did not turn to look at her.
Sherlock Holmes smiled vindictively. “Aha,” he almost shouted and straightened his back in preparation for the speech he was about to make.
“Uh,” Ryan piped up from the background, his eyes moving from Beckett to Castle and back again before he turned to Holmes. “Perhaps we could get back to the, um, murder? Isn't that why we're all here?”
“Shut up, Kevin,” Esposito said, nudging his partner's shoulder with his fist. “Let's hear what the man has to say.”
Lanie, too, had stopped working and was looking expectantly at Sherlock Holmes.
Holmes smiled ever so slightly. “You arrived here seperately, but I'll venture to say that it has not been long since you last saw each other. I postulate that you are in fact involved in a sexual relationship.”
Castle rubbed his eyes roughly with his left hand, trying desperately to think of something to say. Beckett opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.
“The long looks you are constantly throwing at each other--”
“They've been doing that for four years now,” Ryan interrupted.
Esposito shrugged. “He's right, dude. That doesn't really prove anything.”
Holmes shot them both a scornful look. “You can smell aftershave on her, the same aftershave Mr Castle is wearing, and-” he paused for effect. “-Mr. Castle has a smudge of the exact same color lipstick Detective Beckett is wearing on the collar of his shirt. All in all, I would say it is quite obvious, and quite frankly I am amazed that no one else seems to have deduced this before now.”
“Well,” Ryan began, but he cut himself off when he saw the stunned looks on his friends' faces.
“Right,” said Holmes, turning to Watson. “I believe we're finished here. I'm in the mood for coffee. Let's go.”
As Holmes and Watson walked out of the alley, Castle leaned closer to Beckett and whispered: “At least he didn't notice the missing button...”
END