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The Study of the Four 11

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By nightmares06
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After watching Sherlock's steady decline throughout the week from the safety of the walls, Dean was assured of his success. Not only had he gotten revenge for being trapped in jars, he'd also ground into Sherlock that they weren't to be messed with. Getting help from John would do no good. All they had to do was return the shoelaces Sherlock borrowed from John to where they belonged, paying him back for his help a little at a time. They owed John.

Hiding the laces wouldn’t do Sherlock any good, either. Each time he tried, Dean would track them down, drawn by his own mysterious knack and taking them from the strangest spots Sherlock found to squirrel them away.

Internally, Dean declared his ‘game’ at its peak when Sherlock stormed into his room.

John didn't see either brother around that night, not even a shadow. If only he knew their home was a mere foot away from where he sat in his armchair at night, working away on his laptop, the next day's events might have been averted.

Bright and early, Dean found himself a high enough shelf where Sherlock wouldn't be able to grab him and he would have enough time to get into the walls if anything went wrong. With one of the original shoelaces in hand, he gave Sherlock his biggest, fakest smile and said brightly, “Missin’ something?”

Sherlock was walking into the main room with heavy, exhausted steps, a mug of tea in one hand, when Dean's voice rang out from above. He found the arrogant little man standing on the top shelf of a bookcase and narrowed his eyes at what Dean had apparently come to wave around in Sherlock's face.

"You," the detective growled. He stomped across the room, setting down his mug on the table with a thud as he passed by, and rounded on the bookshelf that Dean had claimed as his perch. "What do you want? Haven't you tormented me enough?"

Dean bounded an inch back from the edge of the shelf, warily watching for any snatches to come his way. He was ready to run at a moment’s notice and only a few steps away from his exit. The shoelace was draped over his arms like a fancy feather boa, the ends bundled in his arms, though if he had to, he’d drop the shoelace in lieu of safety.

“What, you think I’m done?” Dean shot back without missing a beat, as riled up as ever about the entire situation. “Seems Sam’s bruises are only just going away. At least I’m not trying to trap you or almost breaking bones with a grab! We never even heard an apology from anyone but John, and he’s not the one that owes us!”

"That was weeks ago! ” Sherlock groaned, his voice growing steadily louder. "An encounter that only lasted about five minutes total, and the repercussions of which you admit are fading, hardly warrants nearly two weeks of pestering me nonstop! Obviously I should have found a different solution to keep you and your brother from disappearing on me, but you didn't exactly leave me with many options in that regard!"

“Ah, exactly!” Dean crowed, jabbing a finger right at Sherlock. “One encounter that barely lasted five minutes long could have maimed my brother or me for life! You said it yourself!” He was practically shouting, a foreign sensation after years of trying to stay out of sight. Soft voices, quiet words, all forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“This is barely an annoyance,” Dean continued scathingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “One trip to the store and it’s all better. What’s an annoyance compared to a broken arm or leg? Either of which, I might add, could cost us our lives because we can’t escape a rat or can’t get out to find food that day. Imagine starving or watching your brother starve because of it! I think I've earned the chance to watch you squirm.”

Sherlock pointed an indignant finger of his own at Dean. "I have caused you no harm since that day, and I have exhibited no sign of intent to trap you or anything of the sort! You are driving me insane, and coming here now to bait me is simply immature, so just leave. Me. Alone!

Dean bristled at the finger pointing in his direction, all thoughts of running to safety gone. “It was a whole different story while you were the one doing the baiting, wasn’t it? Or did you already forget about the food you left out for us? How do we know you didn’t drug the food, or were hoping to get us to warm up to you just enough to get stuck into jars again?” Crossing his arms, he straightened up, as stubborn as ever.

"Oh, for God's sake, that was an experiment! ” Sherlock emphasized, running agitated hands through his black curls. "A perfectly harmless method of measuring your food preferences." Rounding on Dean once again, Sherlock's scowl deepened. "You could not even begin to understand the level of restraint I am displaying on a daily basis! I could pin down your headquarters within minutes of searching this flat, but I haven't done! And if my view of you were any lower, if I were even more heartless than I apparently am, you and your brother would be right back in those jars you're so fond of bringing up--!"

"Hey!"

Sherlock whirled around to find John standing in the doorway, still in a t-shirt and hastily-donned jeans, his short hair rumpled from sleep. And he was evidently less than pleased with what he was walking in on.

"John," Sherlock began, his tone quiet and even. "He came just to boast and flaunt my own madness in my face--"

"Save it!" John spat, crossing the room determinedly. He blew straight past Sherlock and peered up at Dean, his gaze softening a few degrees for the older Winchester. "Dean. Go and fetch your brother. Now, please. It's time we all had a talk."

Red faced, Dean looked for a moment like he’d completely ignore John, but then he took a good long look at the doctor, nodded sharply in understanding, and turned on his heel. It was a sign of just how much respect Dean had for the older man, a respect he’d once harbored for Sherlock.

Before things had taken a sideways turn, back when they’d slip out of the walls just long enough to help solve a case. Back when all Dean wanted was to help people, before he’d been captured. He left the shoelace behind in his hurry, a joke that between him and Sam would have gone nowhere, but with Sherlock had blown itself out of proportion.

As soon as Dean left, John sank into his armchair, glaring at Sherlock until he did the same. Sherlock rolled his eyes and pointedly retrieved the abandoned shoelace from the shelf before flopping sideways into his own chair.

"What are we doing?" he queried in a monotone.

"Having a house meeting," John replied with a tired sigh.

Sherlock gave a noncommittal hum, sinking further into the black leather while they waited.

It was a good five minutes before Dean was seen again, and this time Sam was trailing behind. His younger brother was visibly yawning, one small hand covering his mouth and his hair disarrayed from being just this side of dragged out of his bed, a long night of looking for supplies clear in his exhausted slump.

With John around and within reach if anything happened, they chose to stand on the fireplace, slipping out of a corner of the wallpaper that up until then had appeared stuck to the wall, and Dean brushed it down with a hand to return it to that appearance. He crossed his arms, arching an eyebrow as he looked down at both giants and Sam tried to figure out just what he’d missed during his morning nap.

As Sam and Dean reappeared, John sat forward. "Fellas. As you know, things have been escalating around here, and there are obviously tensions that we're all carrying in this situation. I think it'd be best if the four of us had a chat, and hopefully we can come to a compromise and move on from here."

Sam groaned. “I knew it,” he said tiredly, rubbing his eyes as he sat down to dangle his legs from the side of the fireplace. He paid no mind to the height, far less unsettled by such things compared to Dean. “You couldn’t have just left well enough alone, could you?”

He’s the one that started it!” Dean fumed. He made as though to sit down next to Sam, but paused and knelt down an inch back instead. Without knowing how the humans were going to react, he preferred some distance between himself and the edge.

Sam rubbed the back of his neck, finding the soft burn more distracting than the regular tingle he got around just John. It was better than that day Sherlock had caught them, more dulled down. Either he was losing feeling there from being spotted so many times or Sherlock really wasn’t thinking of grabbing them, and that might be an important difference for Sam to figure out if he could.

“Alright,” Sam said, stifling another yawn into his tan jacket sleeve. “We’re here. Shoot.”

Briefly, John's mind wandered to Sam's seemingly habitual neck-rubbing. With John and Sherlock both seated (the latter with his legs hanging childishly over the arm), there shouldn't have been nearly as much strain on the kid's neck as their other encounters, but John reminded himself that that was beside the point.

"Well, obviously you two still take issue with the way Sherlock treated you when we all first met," John pointed out. "Which is totally fair, I'll admit. But frankly, the way you've been dealing with it is driving him mad, and I have to live with him. So we should probably start there."

“Of course we take issue with the way we met,” Dean said, wholly offended. “We helped out on cases when you overlooked important details, and the thanks we got was--!”

Sam cut him off with a gesture, staring at Dean with steely eyes. “Dean, not helping.” When Dean went to open his mouth again, Sam held up a finger. “Ah ah,” he said insistently. “This time, I’ll do the talking.”

Turning back to face John while Dean silently fumed behind him, Sam shot one look at Sherlock before giving the doctor his full attention. “All that started out because of what I did with the food, didn’t it?” he asked knowingly. “I just wanted to let Sherlock know we’re not about to take handouts like some animals or pets. And the shoelaces were a prank. One that escalated more than it should have.” He shifted uneasily in his seat, trying to stay focused. “It’s not easy for us to just forget about being stuffed in jars. A-after what we went through.” He was starting to lose it, and the stutter gave him away. Sam knew he should have just stayed on Dean’s pranks. “Y-you can’t understand what it’s like, being this size.”

"All I ever wanted to do was understand!" Sherlock blurted.

"Sherlock…" John warned, shooting the detective a look.

After a deep breath to compose himself, Sherlock amended, "I would like to explain myself."

John glanced at Sam and Dean, then furrowed his brow at Sherlock. "Alright, but keep it short and shut up when I tell you to."

"Fine." With a huff, Sherlock righted himself in his chair, leaning back and steepling his fingers below his chin as he regarded the smaller men on the mantle.

"You've seen me work," he began. "All I need is a glance at a person and I can tell you their entire life in seconds, using only my powers of observation. But you two… When I saw you, I knew three things. One, you were brothers, I knew that long before either of you mentioned it. You were a perfect team, each smoothly in sync with the other; that suggests complete trust, the kind only felt through lifelong contact. Could be lovers who happened to know each other all their lives, but brother was far more likely. Two, you lived somewhere in this flat, had been for quite some time. The dust and sawdust residue in your clothes and especially in your shoes made that fairly obvious."

"I did say short," John reminded Sherlock.

"And third," Sherlock continued, "you were utterly impossible. It's a simple fact that nature cannot just conjure up a human being in such a drastic miniature, and have that person remain entirely functional and sentient. But you are, you have to acknowledge how incredible your very existence is. So when I saw you, I needed to understand the mechanics, the chemistry of it all.

"Obviously, you were frightened of me right from the off. I didn't think anything I did in the moment would have changed that fact, so I acted purely on the assumption that doing what I did would be for the long-term benefit. And I want it known that keeping you after I learned what I wanted to know never crossed my mind for a second."

Sam threaded his fingers together to keep from fidgeting. “You have to understand that’s kind of hard to trust, from our perspective,” he said softly. He’d known of Sherlock’s prowess as a detective for a long time, but having it turned around on them was the last thing Sam had ever expected.

“Sam…” Dean said warningly. “You don’t have to tell him anything.”

Sam glanced back, and an understanding look passed between them. “Maybe it’s time we told someone else,” Sam said, knowing what Dean was talking about. “We can’t do this on our own.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Sherlock. “We did fine for years.

“Because we had help,” Sam reminded him. “And they still help us if we need it.”

He turned to face Sherlock. “You’re right. We shouldn’t exist. Scientifically, at least. It’s been some time since I could do research of my own, but I’ve read about it in the past. Thing is, we do, and others do just like us. I can’t speak for them, but for us… we’re not supposed to be like this. What you see is the result of a curse, cast on us by a witch when we were kids.”

Sherlock's eyes widened at the information being thrown at him. For one thing, there was a clear confirmation of the existence of others their size. He had suspected as much, but knowing it to be true was another matter entirely. How many were there? Where did they all live? How did they keep in contact with one another?

Of course, not many questions had run through Sherlock's overactive mind when the curse was mentioned. Everything stood still in the detective's head in that moment, and he glanced at John for some kind of affirmation. Before the doctor could do anything, however, Sherlock scoffed.

"Hilarious," he snipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's so very flattering that you think I'd believe that."

"Um, no, I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth," John put in, his own gaze flicking between Sam and Sherlock. He was still taken aback that the kid had brought that up to Sherlock, but he supposed that was the entire purpose of the house meeting. To get things out in the open.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his flatmate. "Right, and how would you know that?"

John pursed his lips. Sherlock's head tilted as he put two and two together, giving John a flat look. "You've been talking to them, haven't you?"

John shrugged, not so much a dismissal of the inference, but rather a silent They do what they want…

“Right.” Sam leaned forward, pushing through that. “Doesn’t matter. We can prove it.”

Dean gave him a quick look. “What are you talking…”

Sam closed his eyes, and Dean trailed off into silence as he recited a familiar stream of words. “November 2nd, 1983. Lawrence, Kansas. There was a housefire that night. Three survivors; John Winchester and his two children. Dean Winchester, four years old, and Sam Winchester, at only six months. One fatality, Mary Winchester. Our mom died in the fire that night, and she was as human as we used to be. Like our dad still is.” His eyes were a little wet when they opened back up. It was hard to call up such painful recollections, and he had a feeling the day wasn’t going to get easier.

Now it was John's turn to be astonished by what he was hearing. All those details were impossible to dispute, and more than hard to listen to. From the acknowledgement of a last name to the death of their mother, and the implication of permanent separation from their father… John could swear he could physically feel a cold hand clenching around his heart.

Sherlock, on the other hand, digested this new information as just that: information. Clearly Sam knew what he was talking about, though some parts of his story were difficult to swallow.

"Let's assume I believe you, about this witch," Sherlock proposed, straightening his back. "How exactly did you make it to England, all the way from America? Were you here when she… cursed you, or--?"

"Sherlock, this isn't an interrogation," John interrupted. "We're here to figure out how to coexist peacefully, not probe them incessantly about their past."

Sam shot John a grateful look, his hands clenched tight from nerves. He wasn't used to being around anyone but Dean all day, and being interrogated by a giant had him trembling, though he did his best to hide it at the demanding questions.

“I'm not telling you this to make small talk,” Sam said, trying to compose himself outwardly. “We haven't even told anyone here that's our size that we used to be human. Just in case-- they rejected us. We had nowhere else to go.”

He took another breath to steady his nerves, and Dean put a hand on his shoulder for support. Sam tried to draw from the endless well of energy Dean seemed to have at his disposal, always ready to sling sass at Sherlock.

“I'm not against telling you more, but you have to give us something in return. We can't live in fear, so either you both say you'll leave us be, or we leave the flat for good right after this talk.”

"Of course, yeah," John nodded without hesitation. "You have my word."

After a pause that lasted entirely too long, John sighed and turned to Sherlock. He was staring thoughtfully at the Winchesters, as though trying to puzzle them out on his own. "Sherlock," John pressed.

"Hmm?" The detective spared a glance at John, then back at the brothers as he seemed to recall a question or demand or something of the sort. "Oh, right. Yes, yes, obviously."

John sighed. "I keep telling you, not everything is as obvious as you think it is." Addressing the brothers once again, John offered a reassuring smile. "God forbid, if any danger does come to you, it won't be from us."

“Thanks.” Sam wrestled with himself for a moment. “Dean won’t take any more shoelaces, right?” He gave Dean a look.

Dean held up his hands and wiggled his fingers to show his innocence. “Won’t lay a finger on them,” he said.

“Good.” Sam raked both hands through his hair, still waking up from being unceremoniously hauled out of bed just moments before the meeting. He tried to work through his fuzzy-headed thoughts. “I guess that’s really it, unless you had more to add?” he asked expectantly. “Or any questions?”

John had loads of questions, hundreds even, but this was hardly the time or place for them and even Sherlock seemed aware of that. John was certain the detective had at least twice as many questions as he did.

"Yeah, we're good," John agreed with a nod. "Just, ah. You're always welcome, this is as much your flat as it is ours. And if you wish to carry on helping with cases, we wouldn't be averse. Whatever you're comfortable with." That said, John turned to his flatmate. "Sherlock, anything to add?"

"I'd like the rest back, thanks," said the detective with a pointed look at Dean as he dangled the shoelaces the elder Winchester had been taunting him with from his fingers. "At least the original laces you stole. Keep the others, I'm sure you'll find some use for them."

Dean’s jaw firmed, and he jumped to his feet. “You’ll get what I give--"

Sam hopped up, stepping away from the edge to get his hands on Dean’s shoulders and hold him back from the temptation of jumping off the mantle to teach Sherlock a lesson. “They’ll be in the kitchen when you wake up!” Sam said, interceding. “We need time to gather them up again.”

Dean didn’t budge when Sam tried to push him towards the entrance back into the walls. “Dean, c’mon,” Sam hissed. “Chill out already.”

Dean glared at Sherlock. “Fine,” he said, stiffening his shoulders. “We’ll give back your shoelaces. They ain’t as useful as the twine, anyway.”

"Glad I could be of help," Sherlock quipped with a faint smirk.

John rolled his eyes and said, "Alright, be nice." The detective threw up his hands in mock surrender and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms.

"Is there anything else you want from us? " John added, his focus back on the Winchesters. "Questions, anything to add?"

Sam looked at Dean, then shook his head a negative. “We’ve been here long enough to know the routine,” he said. To keep the slight burn on the back of his neck from becoming a distraction, he hooked both hands behind his neck and stretched his arms out.

“If you have a hard time believing us, look up that date I gave you. Believe me, we couldn't make this up if we tried.” Sam hesitated for a moment. “Are you sure you don't mind us here? We can always find somewhere else to go. It wouldn't be the first time.”

"Absolutely not," said John unequivocally. "We're all just trying to survive, you two especially. To hell with the fact that we happen to be bigger, it shouldn't be up to us to decide what you do. So long as you feel safe, consider yourselves part of the flat share."

"Minus the rent," Sherlock mumbled, giving John a look that only the doctor would be able to interpret as remotely playful.

John smirked. "Yeah, obviously, minus the rent."

“All right…” Sam said slowly, blinking in confusion at the words that Sherlock and John passed between them, then deciding to go on like he understood what had happened. “We'll just go then. See ya.”

Sam gripped Dean's arm firmly, pushing him ahead. “I better not get dragged out of bed over this again!” he griped quietly as he propelled Dean towards the wall.

Dean tried to give Sam a winning smile, but Sam didn't budge an inch, pushing him past the wallpaper with his greater strength.

“Ah, c'mon!” Dean complained. “It's not my fault he can't take a little prank.”

Out of sight of the living room and the two large sets of eyes, Sam buried his head in his hands. “We're just lucky they don't mind us living here,” he moaned. “I'm going back to bed. Wake me if anything important happens.”

Sam pushed past Dean. Their home was only a minute’s walk and a short climb away, and when he got there he fell face first into his nest of fabric.



John let out a long breath after the brothers, the Winchesters as he now knew them, disappeared with hardly a trace of their being there at all. He allowed himself to relax back into his armchair, his fatigue catching up with him now that he wasn't wound up.

"Well, that was informative," Sherlock commented, jumping out of his chair to retrieve the half-cold mug of tea he'd abandoned on the table. John scoffed as he watched the detective take a good long drag from the cup.

"Glad you learnt something," muttered John as he worked up the energy to get up and pour his own cuppa. A moment of semi-awkward silence passed between the humans, which went unbroken until a thought struck John while he was waiting for the tea to steep.

"We have to be careful with them," he reminded Sherlock. "Everything we do matters, affects them somehow. We need to be responsible."

Sherlock hummed in agreement, kicking back the last of his tea. He couldn't help glancing at the mantle in thinly veiled amazement. He wouldn't admit it, but that conversation had shaken his very definition of reality.
CHAPTER 11: Descent into Madness

Dean and Sherlock's fight comes to a head, and Sam's sleep is disturbed.

If John had come in just a few seconds later he might have found a very different scene...
 


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Comments30
anonymous's avatar
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Phoenix-FireMage's avatar
Phoenix-FireMageHobbyist General Artist
Ahh! Conversation! Yes good!!!
Sherlock is trying. Good detective.
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
He's putting effort into it! Make them all proud (or at least stop the fighting)
kopelowitz's avatar
kopelowitzHobbyist Digital Artist
Yes all the flatmates must converse. Seems peaceful.... something tells me that it may soon change. 
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Lol! Sam and John had to step in before the other two actually started real fighting.
GigantaGiantessa's avatar
GigantaGiantessaHobbyist General Artist
Loved this, so good!!!! 

I needed this, truly. 

Sorry to out this in a comment but i feel u should know how special ur stories r to me. 

I have had the worst start of the month imaginable... 

First my sisters wedding and the stress of that and ro top it off, a good friend of mine died... A boy i had known for 4 years, he was 14 when he passed away. 

Im 17 and pretty much saw him as a younger brother, the blow was hard and the days till now blended together and consisted of me sleeping away my pain 

So i thank u for ur work, it has cheered me up
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
:hug: I hope it keeps cheering you up! Life can look pretty bad at times, but the bad times don't last forever and there's good around every corner.
GigantaGiantessa's avatar
GigantaGiantessaHobbyist General Artist
U certainly help for that
Imperial-Radiance's avatar
Imperial-RadianceHobbyist General Artist
I wish I had more to say, but I am knocked speechless (and should've been asleep an hour ago). This was, for lack of a better word at the moment, GOOD. Thumbs up okay 
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Aah, I'm glad you like it! The 'shit hits the fan' chapter is one of my favorites, everything going to hell on them. Without Sam and John, there would be no peace
Weeglyfeesh's avatar
WeeglyfeeshHobbyist Writer
C'mon, guys, they're trying to sleep here! Sweating a little...

Well, glad that's fixed. With that out of the way, we might actually be primed for some physical interaction that doesn't involve jars or knives! :happybounce:
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
XD Poor Sam just wanted his midday nap after being up all night looking for shoelaces. Is that too much to ask for?

Maybe Dean and Sherlock will actually behave the next time they run into each other, what a thought.
CDupre's avatar
CDupreHobbyist Writer
John and Sam are angels.
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Those two are the sweetest. They kill me every time they're together.
CDupre's avatar
CDupreHobbyist Writer
Probably the only reason the other two are alive. =P
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Most likely!
TorchMLP's avatar
I'm glad those four have finally come to an agreement. It's a good thing John came in when he did; someone was about to snap O_O (so much sass). Poor Sammy, I got woken up for this?
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
XD If he came in five minutes later, he might have found them still fighting, but with Dean in a fist and both still sassing each other and Sherlock looking like he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"I only have him because he jumped at me!"


Sam is not amused
TorchMLP's avatar
XD "He's the size of your hand! What was he going to do? Be the bigger man, Sherlock! Er, no offense, Dean."
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
XD Bitty glares from Sherlock's fist. Very intimidating, Dean.
LaEscritora's avatar
LaEscritoraHobbyist General Artist
They all needed that. And Sam, being the arbitrator as usual. He just fits the role so well. Glad Dean and Sherlock can both stop being so hotheaded now, though I doubt either of them will be able to let that go completely.
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Sam did a good job XD Despite having to deal with Sherlock's unnerving gaze and Dean's complete rockheadedness. Good thing John got their in time!

Dean and Sherlock? Let something go? I see no problem here ^^;
LaEscritora's avatar
LaEscritoraHobbyist General Artist
No kidding! Dean and Sherlock were about to have a hotheaded showdown without either of their calming influences around. Bad things would have happened. ^^; They might yet, who knows.
nightmares06's avatar
nightmares06Hobbyist Writer
Those two have the unending sass circle effect. If no one stops it, it just goes around... and around... and around... and somehow always manages to get bigger each spin.
LaEscritora's avatar
LaEscritoraHobbyist General Artist
The bigger part is really the danger there. Some low level bickering, whatever. But when Dean takes pranks too far and Sherlock knows exactly what is in his power to retaliate with... well that's just asking for trouble!
anonymous's avatar
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