spacebabie: River Tam and James Norrington...used when I write crossovers. (Default)
Chapter 5:


Hopkinsville Kentucky


It was an odd adjustment for Sam. He had driven Dean around before, usually when his brother was in dire need of sleep. Driving the famous consulting detective back to the motel with the detective looking and sounding like his brother, that was the detail that was unusual. He knew what it was like to be in a body that was not his own, but in this case both Dean and Sherlock were victims of who knows what.

He had to listen to Sherlock grumble and complain about how dull and ridiculous the task of signing out was while they filled out the paper work and once the doctor was positive that Sherlock was fine they were able to check out and by then it was fifteen minutes past seven in the morning. The hospital usually didn’t check people out at that hour but with Sherlock’s attitude and Sam flashing the fake badge they were able to leave.

“Tell me more about what you do,” Sherlock said as soon as he had buckled himself in the Impala.

“We hunt things,” Sam said and wanted to kick himself for sounding so stupid. “Ghosts and monsters and everything that goes bump in the night. We travel around the country looking for cases. We find out what we are up against, and do some research and then kill the monster.

“You mentioned ghosts,” Sherlock said as he pressed his fingers together. “How do you kill that which is already dead?”

“We find their remains, salt them and set them on fire,” Sam explained. “If the bones are cremated we find any remains of their DNA, lock of hair, finger nail clippings that sort of thing and burn that.”

“Salt,” Sherlock repeated. “Salt is of the earth making it pure.” Sam had to give the man credit for catching on.

“And it repels ghosts, and disembodied souls. They don’t like iron either. The same for demons, but demons are more powerful. You can trap them in a devil’s trap, exorcise them with the right words and they burn when you throw holy water on them.”

“Like vampires.”

“Uh no. Sometimes the lore is wrong. Holy water does nothing to vamps. You can only kill them with decapitation.”

“How can you tell if someone is possessed by a demon?”

“They act different than normal and talk different. Kind of like how you are now, but demons are more cruel and malicious and right now it’s just your soul in there. Their eyes shift color.” He paused and noticed that Sherlock had just nodded. “Mostly their eyes are black. Crossroad demons have red eyes and those that are more powerful have yellow or white eyes.”

“Crossroad demons?”

“You meet them at the crossroads any crossroad in the world and they make a deal. They will give you anything you want whether it is to save someone’s life, or fame or fortune or to bring someone back from the dead…” He trailed off.  No matter how much he tried he couldn’t stop feeling guilty about the fact that Dean sold his own soul to bring back Sam.

“Sell them their soul,” Sherlock finished for Sam.

“Yeah on average the seller has about eight to ten years to live and then the hellhounds come for them.”

“Have you seen one?”

“No they are invisible, but you can hear them bark. Those who times have run up can see them. Dean said he saw one when they took him. They were ghostly, dark with red eyes.”

“That is neat,” Sherlock said. His eagerness grew. “An actual hound from hell and not a genetic experiment or a hallucination from a drug induced mist”

“No,” Sam answered and blinked. “You saw something that looked like a hellhound.”

“I had a client that was plagued by the beast, but it was all because of a hallucinogenic drug released in a mist.”

“Wow,” Sam said under breath. “I wish that was all there was to it here.”

“Dean was in hell? You said those who had years run out would see the hounds”

“For about four months and then Castiel pulled him out,” Sam answered as he parked the car in the motel parking lot. “And you are about to meet Cas.”


Sam filled in Sherlock a little more on how to kill demons and witches before they entered the room. It was a standard room with being walls decorated with standard framed paintings of flowers and sail boats. The two beds had the false headboard that hung over each bed. The beds themselves had a dark blue comforter on top and two pillows each. There was a nightstand with a sailboat lamp and phone in the middles. There was also a dresser, round table with two chairs, TV and a fridge in the main room.

“This is where we will you will summon him?” Sherlock asked as he glanced around the room. “Standard and cheap room, most often used for one night stands.” He walked around. “Most of those are with prostitutes.” He paused in front of the television and picked up the remote. “There are a few buttons that have been almost worn, certain number combinations for the same channels that have been watched this most often. These are for the local news stations, pornographic movies and the weather channel.”

“Do you have a weather channel in England?”

“We have something similar, but I have also stayed in a few hotels and motels here in America before.” He drummed his fingers on the fridge and opened it. He studied the inside and sniffed. “Used to store leftovers from the nearest restaurant and there is still a bit of a scent. Even when they clean it they can’t get rid of it all.”

“That’s how you do it,” Sam said in an impressed tone.

“I usually able to determine the details faster than this,” Sherlock said as he rubbed the side of his head.

“That is still pretty neat to watch,” Sam told him.

“I will stop now and let you perform the ritual.”

“It’s not really a ritual,” Sam answered and closed his eyes. “Dear Castiel who art in heaven, this is Sam and we need you right now. Dean really needs you but he is not here, please help.”

“You just pray to him?” Sherlock asked dumbstruck.

“Sometimes that is all—“He stopped when he heard the familiar sound of wings rustling. “Cas?”

“Hello Sam,” Cas’s voice was behind him. Sam turned around to see the angel as standing behind him.

“He just—He just appeared out of nowhere,” Sherlock gasped as he pointed at the angel.

“I thought you said Dean wasn’t here,” Cas said and stared at Sherlock for a few seconds. “You’re not Dean.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said in a pleased tone. “You were able to deduce that?”

“I stared into your eyes and saw your soul,” Cas answered. “Your name is Sherlock Holmes. You live in London in an apartment marked 221B and you live with John Watson, an army doctor who was in Afghanistan.”

“Yes,” Sherlock said in a giddy tone. “Outstanding it is different from the way I do. This is a divine power right here, but it is not every day I come across someone like me and an actual angel. This is quite fascinating.”

“You two can flirt later,” Sam said.

“I was not flirting,” Cas protested and turned to him. “Dean is in Sherlock’s body?”

“Yeah. Can you put them back?”

“Can he?” Sherlock asked in a hopeful tone.

“I am not certain. I will have to have a good look at both of you.”

“We will book a flight once we are done,” Sam said. “Dean wants us to finish a job here.”

“And you need my help?” Cas asked.

“Just need to be reassured,” Sam told him. “We are investigating murders and the culprit is a witch. We just—“

“Want to make certain that another demon like Samhain will not be summoned?” Castiel finished for him.

“Yes,” Sam said as he held out his hands.

“There is no mention of a powerful demon being summoned in heaven,” Cas answered. “I will still be happy to assist you if it means helping Dean and Holmes return to their proper bodies.”

Sam heard the sound of a text message being sent to his phone. He held up a finger and pulled it out of his pocket. It was from the same long number as before.

“It’s from my phone,” Sherlock said. “Dean is trying to contact you. He can’t speak with you because John had returned to the flat.”

“Yeah it’s from Dean,” Sam said as he read the text. “Alyssa Montgomery.”

“Who is that?” Cas asked.

“One of our three potential suspects. Dean says she is the one.” Sam typed back. “ARE YOU CERTAIN?”


“He said she is trying to become a demon,” Sam answered.

“Is that possible?” Sherlock asked.

“Souls that are taken to Hell are tortured and beaten for years, decades, centuries until the good is removed and they become evil,” Sam answered. “But they don’t instantly become demons.” He looked at Cas. “Do they?”

“They do,” Cas said. “Not many know about the spell. It requires three sacrifices and three items from the sacrifices. The first is the cleansed hand of one who repairs.”

“The repairman,” Sam said.

“The second is the tongue of a teacher of the word of God and the third is the heart of a creator.”

“I have no idea who the creator is but we know where Alyssa Montgomery lives,” Sam said. His phone rang and the number came from the sheriff’s office. Sam and Dean had spoken with a Detective Bryson along with the local Sheriff about the case.

“Agent Koenig?” Detective Bryson was on the other side.

“This is he,” Sam answered. Dean was using Agent Kelly for their aliases. It was Dean’s idea to use the names of Star Trek actors.

“This may sound strange but we got a tip from London that our murderer is Alyssa Montgomery,” Bryson said.

“From London?” Sam tried to feign surprise.

“Apparently they have a similar case over there and their suspect outed ours.”

“You want to meet at her house?”

“We are already here and she isn’t. We also have a report that Connie Milling is missing. She’s a local artist.”

“A creator,” Sam whispered. “Detective I think I know where we can find them both.” He gave them the address of the abandoned house.


They have arrived at the house before the police did. Castiel rode with them even though he could have teleported ahead. Sam figured it was because he was fascinated with the detective and vice versa.

“This is where it happened,” Sam said as he stepped out of the car.

“The accident that caused us to be in this mess,” Sherlock said as he pointed at himself. He had put on Dean’s FBI suit and a coat where he raised the collar up.

“Dean’s body is not a mess,” Cas said.

“With the way he eats and drinks it is not clean and orderly,” Sam said.

“I was not implying that,” Sherlock said.

“Keep quiet,” Sam told them.

The house was not as abandoned as last time. Sam could hear chanting coming from the direction of the living room and he and the others slowly approached the room. His face fell when he saw the third victim on the ground with her heart cut out of her chest.

“Not one more step,” Alyssa said. She was naked save for a simple black satin bathrobe. Her golden blond hair that was held into a simple bun when she was last interviewed now fell in loose waves around her shoulders.

The altar that Sam and Dean had encountered before was also different. There were six lit candles on it along with a bowl that was filled with dark red liquid. A blood stained knife was placed next to the bowl.

“Don’t do it,” Sam said as he aimed his gun at her. A voice in his head told him to just plug her right then and there, but another voice told him to not lose his cool and to just talk to her, hopefully it was not too late.

Alyssa blurted a few Latin words and Sam’s gun went flying, earning a gasp form Sherlock.

“You are going to make a big mistake,” Sam said. He cursed himself for not listening to the first voice.

“Me?” Alyssa asked in a coy tone. “You are the one making a mistake agent. You were here before weren’t you?”

“We both were,” Sherlock said.

“That was not very nice of you to break into my home and touch my things.” She waved her finger at them. “You didn’t put my stuff back where it belonged.”

“This isn’t really your home,” Sam said. “And I didn’t really touch any of your stuff.” He wasn’t sure if Dean had touched it either. He didn’t know what Dean had done to cause him to switch bodies with Sherlock.

“Did you enjoy the book?” Alyssa asked as she glanced at the detective. “Or were you more interested in my drink ware?”

“What do you know about it?” Sherlock demanded.

“I know enough.” Her mouth had yet to lose that smirk. “You are different from the last time I saw you.”

“Which is not enough about that spell,” Sherlock said.

“I know more about it than you.”

“You have deluded yourself into thinking that. You may have the knowledge of casting spells but you lack the wit to know the true consequence of the action. You have yet to encounter a true demon because if you had then you would know their true nature and know what would happen if you became one.”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” Alyssa said. She squinted again. “It looks like you did make a wish or the original owner did. This is pretty sweet that I can look inside and see the real you.”

“This was you?” Sam asked.

“Not me. The blame lies on the goblets. Too bad the other one is going to have to live his new life permanently, because I feel like having fun.”

“You are only a second rate witch,” Sherlock growled. “You have absolutely no idea what you are doing or what you are up against. I know that demon’s lack a solid or corporeal form. Once you become a true demon your body would simply cease to exist and you will simply be nothing more than black smoke.”

Alyssa chuckled. “You know nothing, human. The spell is complete I am a demon.” Her eyes turned black as she held up her hand and thrust it out.

Sam felt the wind knocked out of his lungs as he and Sherlock were thrown back against the wall.

“My meat is still the same and so nice and fresh,” Alyssa said as she ran her hand down her front. “It’s just inside that changed. I have so much to do and play. I think I’ll pay my cousin a visit. She is the one that ratted me out, right?”

Sherlock chuckled. He and Sam were still pinned against the wall. Normally Sam would ask Dean why he was laughing at time like this, but this wasn’t Dean. He knew that Sherlock had some kind of plan.

“What is so funny mortal?” Alyssa asked.

“Just that you might want to look behind you.”

“You think I’m going to fall fo—“A pair of fingers grasped her neck. Castiel spun around and laid his palm on her forehead, creating the flash of light in her mouth and eyes, signifying the fact that a demon had been killed. He dropped her body and stared at it in disgust.

 “Cas?” Sam asked as the hold on him and the detective was removed.

“I heard what I needed to know,” Cas answered.

“That was your plan,” Sam said as he put two and two together. “I just told you what angels did to demons.” He smiled at Sherlock. “And you made her reveal herself.”

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. “Once I saw the dead body and missing heart I knew the spell was complete. I was a mere distraction for Castiel here.”

“That was pretty good,” Sam said. “It looks like a consulting detective can be a hunter.”

“Not alone,” Cas said as he glanced towards the door.

“Police open up!”

“The suspect is dead!” Sam shouted back before several cops poured through into the house and ran towards them. Detective Bryson elbowed his way through the front. He was in his late forties with a balding head and beard. He let out a deep breath when he saw both the bodies of the artist and Alyssa.

“Too late,” Sam said in a sad tone. “She killed her last victim.”

“Deluded into thinking she was an actual witch she consumed her so called potion and poisoned herself,” Sherlock added.

“God damn,” Bryson sighed and shook his head.  A few of his officers made the sign of the cross over their chests. “At least it’s over.”

Sam nodded. It was over for now. The next step was to arrange a flight to England and get the souls switched back.

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