Hey guys! Me again. This fic will be about 4 or 5 chapters. Takes place in the middle of season 5 in SPN and right in the middle of Hounds of Baskerville for Sherlock. Will contain Destiel and possibly Johnlock. Yipee!

"Dean."

"Apple or key-lime?"

"Dean."

"I mean, I'm totally an apple guy, but sometimes you just gotta go out there and try everything, right?"

"Dean."

"Wait - isn't key-lime some kind of cheesecake? Ugh, never mind. I hate cheesecake. I'm going with apple."

"Dean."

The hunter in question broke out of his reverie and sighed pointedly at him. "What do you want, Sammy?"

"Don't call me Sammy." The gigantic man beside him pouted, his dark eyes narrowing and his lower lip just barely trembling with indignation as his older brother continued to toy with him.

"Is that what you wanted? Me to stop calling you Sammy? Not gonna happen, man." Dean chuckled darkly. Just then, the waitress returned from the kitchen to ask what they wanted for desert. Dean fixed her with an appreciative gaze as he easily asked for a slice of apple pie. As she walked away - more like floated away - Dean turned back to face Sam, who had his Número Uno Bitchface on. He held up his hands in a sign of peace. "Fine, fine, I'll listen. What's the sitch, Wade?"

Sam sighed heavily, but shook out the newspaper he was reading and handed it to his brother. "See, look - Hounds of Hell from Baskerville. Sound like something we could look into?" He cocked one eyebrow at Dean, a silent question in his eyes.

"Isn't Baskerville like, in England or something?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's silent query. "And, what makes you think it's our kinda job? Besides the name, I mean," Dean shrugged at Sam, tapping at his glass of water impatiently. "Just 'cuz it has a weird-ass name doesn't mean anything."

The moose sighed and shook out the newspaper again, reading over the words before saying them out loud. "The inexplicable case of the Hounds of Baskerville has resurfaced; after twenty years of silence, people have begun to claim sightings of the great beasts. The last time anyone had mentioned such close encounters was when Henry Knight's father had been dragged off into the misty forests of Baskerville. Are these horrible hounds reappearing due to the increased production rate of the nearby testing facility? Is this a prank? There is no firm answer, but now is a great time to see for yourself! Buy tickets to their nearest airport and book a night at the Baskerville Inn!" Sam relayed, his voice dripping with mock enthusiasm. Dean huffed, hunching over and looking into his quirky reflection in the glass of water.

That pie was taking too damn long. "Okay, what? You want us to go to freakin' England to check this out?" Dean looked up, quirking a brow at his baby brother. Sam shrugged, his face open and pleading.

"Well, the Apocalypse isn't only for America, Dean. You know that. The whole 'End of the World' thing usually means the whole world. Who knows what's going on in other countries? At least we can help take care of this one. The supernatural sons of bitches are pretty calm in the USA right now, anyway." The waitress returned at that point and, noticing the odd tension that had erupted since her last visit, laid the plate gently on the table as quickly as possible before hurrying off back to the kitchen, most likely to rant and rave about the 'totally obvious office romance vibes' emanating from the two men.

Gross.

Dean picked up his fork and shoved it into his pie violently, but he relaxed as the fork of heaping deliciousness made its way into his mouth. "Mmkay, we c'n go t' Engln'd," He mumbled around his mouthful of Heaven. "B't we need smm h'lp getting there." He swallowed heavily and grinned. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

"Dean, how old are you?" When the older man refrained from answering, Sam sighed heavily. "I'm pretty sure Castiel would be more than willing to help us out." Of course, Dean froze up every time Castiel was mentioned. Sam held back the urge to roll his eyes. Dean always acted this way when the little nerdy guy with wings was mentioned. Sam was surprised his brother either didn't realize or didn't act on the fact that he was big-time attracted to the holy tax accountant.

"Cas probably has more interesting things to do than waste time chasing down a dog escapee from Hell," Dean muttered as he looked down at his pie again.

"Hello, Dean. Sam." Castiel's rough voice was sudden enough that it shocked both of the other men, causing Sam to clench his muscles and Dean to flinch - although it was more expected of Dean, since the angel had landed right beside him in the booth.

Dean scooted an inch or two further away from Cas, making sure his plate of pie was securely moved with him. "Jesus, Cas," Dean growled, suddenly hiding the blush that attacked his face, "you don't just pop in on people like that! In public!"

"You also do not want me to show myself to you when you are busy 'in private'. What do you want me to do, Dean?" Castiel asked in a near-exasperated tone. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd say the angel was being sarcastic. Then again, Dean didn't know much.

"Well... Whatever," Dean huffed, looking down and definitely not into the goddamn glowing blue eyes of the winged tax accountant. "Can you take us to, uh, Baskerville?"

Cas narrowed his eyes at this request. "That is a much further destination than usual." He announce simply, before almost shrugging and nodding astutely. "All right, I can take you there." He reached out to touch each brother's head, but Dean backed away before Castiel could do anything.

"Wait, man! We gotta pack 'n shit first! This is England, Cas, not the movies."

"Fine. Do you need me to get you to the hotel?" Cas deadpanned, but Dean and Sam both would swear on their lives that they saw a hint of mirth in the normally stoic angel's eyes.

Sam shook his shaggy head gently. "Thanks, but no thanks. We have to pay for the, uh, pie." He gestured to the plate that was mysteriously void of pie. Sam looked up to see Dean's chipmunk impression. The freckled hunter tried something that Sam could only call a smile, although most people would probably call an ambulance. Sam Bitchfaced Dean one last time before standing up and placing a wad of cash on the table. "Uh, that's taken care of. Let's get going, Dean." Castiel stood with them, and even Dean was slightly (and pleasantly, shut up) surprised when he managed to climb in to the back seat of the Impala when they reached it.

"You comin' with us for a ride, Cas? Thought you hated this thing," Dean chuckled, trying and succeeding in covering up his happiness with a gruff smile.

Castiel merely nodded. "She seems happier when the three of us are together." He told them in earnest, gesturing to the car as he spoke. Dean and Sam shared a look, then Sam shrugged and slid his seatbelt on. Dean, however, turned around to stare at Cas again.

"You mean Baby actually - y'know - feels?" Immediately he felt guilty for literally every bang and scratch that Baby had gotten since John started using her for hunting.

Castiel tilted his head, sending the duh-didn't-you-know-this-already? look straight at him. "Of course, Dean. The Impala, although different from yours and Sam's, has a soul of its own." Castiel seemed to clam up about it after, however, when Dean began asking about which brother she liked best. Dean took it as letting Sammy down softly, knowing that he really secretly loved Baby and just wouldn't tell Dean. Plus, the whole iPod jack thing had been pretty unacceptable. Dean wasn't even sure he'd forgive his little brother if he shoved a crappy music player down his good music playing throat, either. He patted the wheel gently before starting the car and speeding off to the seedy, nameless motel, in the seedy, nameless town in the middle of a district that even the people that lived in it didn't really know of its existence.

Meanwhile, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson had just arrived in Baskerville. They had settled their rooms in the Baskerville Inn, each taking their respective beds. Sherlock demanded to sleep in the bed nearest the window; John was too tired to argue. The kind-of-ex-doctor collapsed on his bed, letting out a moan of sleepy happiness as the bed enveloped him in a warm embrace of blankets. Sherlock was quick to fix this sort of behavior as he shook his blogger into a semi-conscious state and began to pack up a small shoulder-bag to bring with him to the scene of the sighting.

"Come on, John," Sherlock grinned, "we don't have all day! The trail will get cold!" He pulled up John from the bed and all but dragged him out the door.