Determining the Random 1/3 (Torchwood/Sherlock crossover)
Title: Determining the Random (1/3)
Fandom: Torchwood/BBC Sherlock crossover
Characters/Pairing: Canon pairings, starring Jack/Ianto. Entire fic takes place with Torchwood Three team.
Rating: PG-13 for language and innuendo.
Word count: 1330.
Notes: Written for brb_gallifrey's fic prompts: a Sherlock/Torchwood crossover. SHERLOCK JUST DEDUCED THAT THE LADY IN PINK IS FROM CARDIFF if you need something to work with This is commentfic, so it's basically unbetaed and I'm leaving it open-ended to come back to later. FIRST EVER FIC IN EITHER FANDOM. IDEK guys.
Summary: At some point between Journey's End and Children of Earth, a series of identical suicides break out, and one of Ianto's Cardiff press contacts -- Jennifer Wilson -- goes missing. As it turns out, Gwen and Ianto aren't the only ones intrigued by the case...
Ianto knows that look on Gwen's face. It means something's stuck in her craw, and there's only a matter of time before --
"What's she going on about, 'serial suicides'?" Her attention’s too directed towards the news programme for her to turn around and direct the question to him.
Ianto spares a glance at her interface, where a sharply-dressed Jennifer Wilson (in a shocking shade of pink) has finished briskly speaking on the rise of suicide. "Slow news day," he dismisses. "She's quite good."
"Hmph." There she goes, frowning that way. There's a reason they don't let Gwen deal with journalists (also read: make Ianto deal with all of the journalists); for some reason it surprises her that the press corps might want to make money off of the misery of others. "Jack thinks I'm making too much of it."
He scribbles a note in his journal -- ph JW. "Sorry, too much of what?"
"The 'suicides'." She's doing fingerquotes in the air.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asks seamlessly.
"Thanks, Ianto. "
She's wearing her "missing Rhys" look, if memory serves; it’s been a long couple of days of nervewracking quiet, and even Ianto sometimes wants to go home at times like these. He fetches some coffee, prepares it as she likes before he brings it to her. "I know there was no Rift activity," she tells him after a nod of thanks. "But this; it's too random."
"The universe is random," Ianto returns, an idle platitude of Jack's.
"Human beings aren't," Gwen says. She's got that half-smile now. She knows she's got his interest.
Damn.
--
"Iantoooooo," Jack calls from the shower. "What's the holdup?"
"Just a minute," Ianto calls back, and listens to the twelfth ring, the thirteenth, the fourteenth.
He turns it off, sends off e-mails to the police contacts, and tosses his phone aside. Jenny Wilson doesn't screen his calls, not since he caught her with her last (and incidentally, chronologically displaced android) boyfriend. She'd answer.
Scotland Yard sends him all the information he asks for, and more.
It doesn't really surprise him when the MISPER notice pops up for Jenny. If working for Torchwood teaches you anything, it's that the worst case scenario is sometimes just shorthand for what comes next.
--
"Ianto," Jack starts, his voice and expression full of warning.
He's never liked standing in front of classrooms. The conference room isn't much better.
"Hear us out, Jack," Gwen interjects, gently firm.
Ianto meets Jack's gaze steadily and smiles first, barely the quirk of a lip, before he rifles through his papers to get a start.
He flicks on the screen, and the pictures pop onto the screen. "I take it Mrs Wilson, Mr Phillimore, Sir Jeffrey Patterson and Jennifer Wilson don't need any further introduction. As you both know, our alien trading networks have been buzzing for the past six weeks. Two of the victims of these 'serial suicides' are known associates -- "
"Wilson and her android boytoy," Jack prompts, "and..."
"And James Phillimore, yes!" Gwen sits up, keen, thinking. "One of our witnesses for the case with the hand, wasn't he?"
Ianto smiles, and it's real, if grim. "This may be our sort of case. One of our press contracts and one of our witnesses..." He flicks to the case files. "So -- "
Gwen clears her throat, and glances at the screen. Ianto looks back at it.
Torchwood: Access denied.
SH
There’s only a split second of silence before Jack says, "I don't think so," and reaches for the laptop. Ianto puts his hand over Jack's, stops him.
"No hacking. Make your calls, I'll make mine. We've made enough enemies in law enforcement for my taste," he says.
"Bossy," Jack says, a smirk playing around his lips. "Assertive. I like it."
"Boys," Gwen interrupts, if amused.
Just like that, Jack is the Captain again. "No one revokes our access without a damn good reason," he says firmly. "Maybe there's something to this."
"No 'I told you so's," Ianto warns Gwen, half a joke. "I'm sure PC Davidson will be happy to hear from you."
She gives his arm a shove and he laughs as she goes off to investigate. Jack is still very, very close to him. He can't say he minds.
"Good," Jack says lightly, half a murmur. "You got rid of her."
"You only said yes to get me alone? What about the pride, the honor, the access of Torchwood Three and the work we do?"
He can feel Jack's braces against his hips. He enjoys that entirely too much. "Have it your way," Jack says, flippant, teasing. "Work."
"You talk too much," Ianto answers, and can't say that he minds too much when Jack dispenses with words and kisses him.
--
It's 7 AM when both their cell phones go off. "I need you both here now," Gwen is insisting.
"Where is 'here' exactly?" Ianto has to ask.
"I texted you coordinates -- " God, she's tetchy.
Jack seizes the phone from Ianto. "Thanks, Gwen, we'll be there in a flash." He hangs up on her and kisses Ianto's forehead. "Get some clothes on. We're going to London."
Ianto just decides to give up on this morning. At least he has fond memories of last night. "Right."
As per the rules, Gwen isn't in the SUV and Ianto's had a full cup of coffee, so Jack gets to play '40s standards (and occasionally sing along, loudly, with gestures). God only knows what people would think of bloody Torchwood if the windows weren't tinted.
--
Gwen is all pink-cheeked and annoyed when they meet her at a cafe on Baker Street. Still. "SH. Sherlock Holmes. I knew I recognized that signature, he signs his blogs with it -- he's a detective," she explains to Ianto, mildly surprised at the blank look on his face. "He wrote a book -- God, I'm never the literate one."
"I've read it," Jack says tersely. "His record's very impressive, but his clearance is not higher than ours, I know that."
"Get the Home Secretary to shame him into giving us the case," Ianto suggests to Jack, only half-serious.
Gwen’s eyebrows shoot up at that. "Ahaha, not going to happen," she informs them. "Shame? Not this man."
Jack is Jack, so he asks the question they're both thinking. "What'd he do?" he asks, keeping his face carefully free from amusement.
She opens her mouth to say it then snaps her lips shut at second thought. "He -- he said I was -- never mind it!"
"Personally I mind whatever offense he did to you very much," Ianto interrupts, calmly deadpan, "so go on."
They both just look at her for a long moment and finally she puts her hands up in apology, takes a breath, and says, "He called me a Welsh beat cop. Not that it's an insult, it isn't, but dismissing Torchwood out of hand like that?"
Ianto watches her awkwardly sink back in her cafe chair, bemused. "Then why are you insulted?"
Gwen barely glances at the door as it swings open and shuts behind two men entering. "I'm not, I said. Anyway, I spoke to the detective leading the investigation, DI Lestrade. He says we can liaise, if it is our sort of case..."
"But it's Holmes's sort, so it's Holmes's case," Ianto figures with idle cynicism, and settles back against his own chair in mild annoyance with his coffee cupped needily close in his hands.
Jack is the only one who isn't completely startled when a tall man dressed in black swiftly approaches their table. Gwen sits up straight, and musters a smile. "Hello, Mr Holmes."
Holmes’s eyes rake over the three of them - subconsciously, Ianto straightens in his chair, reminded of his father’s piercing looks - and before Ianto can really form any sort of impression besides very oddly handsome, he speaks, with the detached bemusement of an outsider. "Why are you at my cafe?"
Fandom: Torchwood/BBC Sherlock crossover
Characters/Pairing: Canon pairings, starring Jack/Ianto. Entire fic takes place with Torchwood Three team.
Rating: PG-13 for language and innuendo.
Word count: 1330.
Notes: Written for brb_gallifrey's fic prompts: a Sherlock/Torchwood crossover. SHERLOCK JUST DEDUCED THAT THE LADY IN PINK IS FROM CARDIFF if you need something to work with This is commentfic, so it's basically unbetaed and I'm leaving it open-ended to come back to later. FIRST EVER FIC IN EITHER FANDOM. IDEK guys.
Summary: At some point between Journey's End and Children of Earth, a series of identical suicides break out, and one of Ianto's Cardiff press contacts -- Jennifer Wilson -- goes missing. As it turns out, Gwen and Ianto aren't the only ones intrigued by the case...
Ianto knows that look on Gwen's face. It means something's stuck in her craw, and there's only a matter of time before --
"What's she going on about, 'serial suicides'?" Her attention’s too directed towards the news programme for her to turn around and direct the question to him.
Ianto spares a glance at her interface, where a sharply-dressed Jennifer Wilson (in a shocking shade of pink) has finished briskly speaking on the rise of suicide. "Slow news day," he dismisses. "She's quite good."
"Hmph." There she goes, frowning that way. There's a reason they don't let Gwen deal with journalists (also read: make Ianto deal with all of the journalists); for some reason it surprises her that the press corps might want to make money off of the misery of others. "Jack thinks I'm making too much of it."
He scribbles a note in his journal -- ph JW. "Sorry, too much of what?"
"The 'suicides'." She's doing fingerquotes in the air.
"Would you like some coffee?" he asks seamlessly.
"Thanks, Ianto. "
She's wearing her "missing Rhys" look, if memory serves; it’s been a long couple of days of nervewracking quiet, and even Ianto sometimes wants to go home at times like these. He fetches some coffee, prepares it as she likes before he brings it to her. "I know there was no Rift activity," she tells him after a nod of thanks. "But this; it's too random."
"The universe is random," Ianto returns, an idle platitude of Jack's.
"Human beings aren't," Gwen says. She's got that half-smile now. She knows she's got his interest.
Damn.
--
"Iantoooooo," Jack calls from the shower. "What's the holdup?"
"Just a minute," Ianto calls back, and listens to the twelfth ring, the thirteenth, the fourteenth.
He turns it off, sends off e-mails to the police contacts, and tosses his phone aside. Jenny Wilson doesn't screen his calls, not since he caught her with her last (and incidentally, chronologically displaced android) boyfriend. She'd answer.
Scotland Yard sends him all the information he asks for, and more.
It doesn't really surprise him when the MISPER notice pops up for Jenny. If working for Torchwood teaches you anything, it's that the worst case scenario is sometimes just shorthand for what comes next.
--
"Ianto," Jack starts, his voice and expression full of warning.
He's never liked standing in front of classrooms. The conference room isn't much better.
"Hear us out, Jack," Gwen interjects, gently firm.
Ianto meets Jack's gaze steadily and smiles first, barely the quirk of a lip, before he rifles through his papers to get a start.
He flicks on the screen, and the pictures pop onto the screen. "I take it Mrs Wilson, Mr Phillimore, Sir Jeffrey Patterson and Jennifer Wilson don't need any further introduction. As you both know, our alien trading networks have been buzzing for the past six weeks. Two of the victims of these 'serial suicides' are known associates -- "
"Wilson and her android boytoy," Jack prompts, "and..."
"And James Phillimore, yes!" Gwen sits up, keen, thinking. "One of our witnesses for the case with the hand, wasn't he?"
Ianto smiles, and it's real, if grim. "This may be our sort of case. One of our press contracts and one of our witnesses..." He flicks to the case files. "So -- "
Gwen clears her throat, and glances at the screen. Ianto looks back at it.
Torchwood: Access denied.
SH
There’s only a split second of silence before Jack says, "I don't think so," and reaches for the laptop. Ianto puts his hand over Jack's, stops him.
"No hacking. Make your calls, I'll make mine. We've made enough enemies in law enforcement for my taste," he says.
"Bossy," Jack says, a smirk playing around his lips. "Assertive. I like it."
"Boys," Gwen interrupts, if amused.
Just like that, Jack is the Captain again. "No one revokes our access without a damn good reason," he says firmly. "Maybe there's something to this."
"No 'I told you so's," Ianto warns Gwen, half a joke. "I'm sure PC Davidson will be happy to hear from you."
She gives his arm a shove and he laughs as she goes off to investigate. Jack is still very, very close to him. He can't say he minds.
"Good," Jack says lightly, half a murmur. "You got rid of her."
"You only said yes to get me alone? What about the pride, the honor, the access of Torchwood Three and the work we do?"
He can feel Jack's braces against his hips. He enjoys that entirely too much. "Have it your way," Jack says, flippant, teasing. "Work."
"You talk too much," Ianto answers, and can't say that he minds too much when Jack dispenses with words and kisses him.
--
It's 7 AM when both their cell phones go off. "I need you both here now," Gwen is insisting.
"Where is 'here' exactly?" Ianto has to ask.
"I texted you coordinates -- " God, she's tetchy.
Jack seizes the phone from Ianto. "Thanks, Gwen, we'll be there in a flash." He hangs up on her and kisses Ianto's forehead. "Get some clothes on. We're going to London."
Ianto just decides to give up on this morning. At least he has fond memories of last night. "Right."
As per the rules, Gwen isn't in the SUV and Ianto's had a full cup of coffee, so Jack gets to play '40s standards (and occasionally sing along, loudly, with gestures). God only knows what people would think of bloody Torchwood if the windows weren't tinted.
--
Gwen is all pink-cheeked and annoyed when they meet her at a cafe on Baker Street. Still. "SH. Sherlock Holmes. I knew I recognized that signature, he signs his blogs with it -- he's a detective," she explains to Ianto, mildly surprised at the blank look on his face. "He wrote a book -- God, I'm never the literate one."
"I've read it," Jack says tersely. "His record's very impressive, but his clearance is not higher than ours, I know that."
"Get the Home Secretary to shame him into giving us the case," Ianto suggests to Jack, only half-serious.
Gwen’s eyebrows shoot up at that. "Ahaha, not going to happen," she informs them. "Shame? Not this man."
Jack is Jack, so he asks the question they're both thinking. "What'd he do?" he asks, keeping his face carefully free from amusement.
She opens her mouth to say it then snaps her lips shut at second thought. "He -- he said I was -- never mind it!"
"Personally I mind whatever offense he did to you very much," Ianto interrupts, calmly deadpan, "so go on."
They both just look at her for a long moment and finally she puts her hands up in apology, takes a breath, and says, "He called me a Welsh beat cop. Not that it's an insult, it isn't, but dismissing Torchwood out of hand like that?"
Ianto watches her awkwardly sink back in her cafe chair, bemused. "Then why are you insulted?"
Gwen barely glances at the door as it swings open and shuts behind two men entering. "I'm not, I said. Anyway, I spoke to the detective leading the investigation, DI Lestrade. He says we can liaise, if it is our sort of case..."
"But it's Holmes's sort, so it's Holmes's case," Ianto figures with idle cynicism, and settles back against his own chair in mild annoyance with his coffee cupped needily close in his hands.
Jack is the only one who isn't completely startled when a tall man dressed in black swiftly approaches their table. Gwen sits up straight, and musters a smile. "Hello, Mr Holmes."
Holmes’s eyes rake over the three of them - subconsciously, Ianto straightens in his chair, reminded of his father’s piercing looks - and before Ianto can really form any sort of impression besides very oddly handsome, he speaks, with the detached bemusement of an outsider. "Why are you at my cafe?"