So yeah. I'm still not quite sure what this is supposed to be. I came from the Mentalist fandom and have been spending time in the Sherlock Holmes fandom for quite a while now so those two have been the focus of my published fics. And then HarleyJaneJacksonWinchester requested a Mentalist/Sherlock Holmes crossover and seeing as I haven't written much recently I decided to roll with it (also, I'm a sucker for compliments), resulting in this.. thing.
I apologize for what will most likely be a bit of OOC-ness, but blame it on the crack. ;)
"Well, that was interesting, wasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"Patrick Jane, Sherlock Holmes. Don't you see the similarities?"
"I guess. We're both male… sorry, my insight ends there."
"I'm serious, Jane. Don't you see? If you were born in England over a 100 years ago, your name would've been Sherlock Holmes."
"I don't think so, for one I would've been just another Victorian Englishman..."
"Oh so cynical. You're just proving my point here."
"There's no point to prove! Lisbon, we watched a movie. A movie. A rather gay one, at that. Why are we even discussing this?"
She shrugged as they exited the cinema. "You're right. There's absolutely no contest there."
"Thank you. And what led you to this conclusion?"
She looked him dead in the eye before she opened her squad car.
"Because when it comes to looks, Robert Downey Jr. would kick your ass."
Silly Lisbon, he thought as he positioned himself comfortably against the window after he'd climbed into the car. Sherlock Holmes… he wasn't even sure he liked the movie. He wasn't one to enjoy action, Patrick Jane was a great admirer of the Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and it was the mystery that made them so alluring.
Of course Lisbon liked it, he'd known all along that in between romantic sob stories she loved a good action movie – ever the tough cop. Plus, the guy playing Sherlock Holmes had a facial structure – not to mention a well-toned body – that many heterosexual women and homosexual men would find attractive. But the story… he'd seen far better. Just paying attention he'd figured out the entire plotline as soon as all the characters had been introduced; the rest was just explosions and obvious gay vibes between Holmes and Watson. He had to admit that the wedding had been a beautiful scene, even if – as opposed to Lisbon – he hadn't felt the need to shed a tear when Holmes had finally had to let go of his best friend – and secret muse. He wasn't sure about Jude Law's character, but the way Downey Jr. played Holmes he was sure he had different intentions than Conan Doyle had in mind.
He yawned, glancing at his watch. By the time he got home it would be well past midnight. He figured he should keep Lisbon company as she drove him there, but closing his eyes he felt sleep almost immediately consuming him. Maybe in a few more minutes…
…
"What did you say his name was again?"
"Red John. His name's Red John."
"And you chose to consult me because…?"
"I've been trying to catch him for years now, but he keeps eluding me. I don't like admitting it, but it seems that without some help I'm stuck at a dead end."
"Some help?"
"Yes, and I understand you're the best consulting detective in all of London – aside from me of course."
"We'll see about that."
He shot him a flashing grin. "I see your attention to details is only matched by –"
"My arrogance, I'm aware."
He smiled, amused.
"Much like yourself, Mr. Jane."
"Oh, I know."
"Can I ask your something?"
"By all means."
"I'm a bit confused here, and that doesn't happen to me often. Judging from the faint specks of dirt on your waistcoat you're from London, about an hour away by carriage. Yet your voice is marked by a peculiar accent, it's almost American…"
He was about to answer, but he quickly continued.
"Ah, never you mind, I get it. Your name suggests that your father is an Irishman – it's your mother. She's been born and raised in our former colony. Perhaps… California?"
The blond man sitting in front of him merely smiled, neither affirming nor denying his claims. Holmes didn't need him to; he knew he was right.
"Should we discuss payment?"
"We might not need to. I've heard of him. I don't know what your interests are, but I've been following his movements for a while – I'm trying to prevent him from killing again. The only reason I agreed to meet with you is because I, too, could use some help solving this case."
"What about the good doctor?"
"Ah, I see you've heard of Watson."
"One cannot know of Sherlock Holmes and not know his loyal sidekick."
A smile appeared on the dark man's face – a pained one, Jane noted.
"I heard he got married."
"That he did."
"You miss him."
Holmes stared at him, seemingly pondering. There was no use in lying. He suddenly realised that this was what it must feel like for the countless people he interrogated – those green eyes saw right through him.
"Terribly."
Jane saw something he felt he shouldn't have seen; this subject was obviously too sensitive to be discussing with a man he barely knew. He shouldn't pursue it, not unless he wanted to open up about his own problems as well.
And Jane had problems. Personal ones.
They all involved Red John.
"Well then, I guess it's just you and me."
Holmes nodded, very appreciative of the fact that he let it go. Jane didn't respond to this grateful gesture, but the detective knew he noticed. Like him, he saw everything. That much had become clear to him in the brief ten minutes of their meeting.
"You don't want to invite your partner along? I haven't met her, but if you've accepted her help on your investigations before, I'm sure she could be of some use."
"You mean Lisbon? No, we must leave her out of this."
"Red John?"
"Red John. And if you and I team up, we won't be needing her. She'll be safer with the other detectives from Scotland Yard."
"Alright."
"I suppose I'll be going then?"
"Really? That would seem awfully inconvenient, now would it."
"Perhaps. It is a rather long ride back to my place. Perhaps I can put your former partner's room to good use?"
"Just what I was thinking."
"Splendid."
...
Jane had trouble sleeping that night. Talking for hours on end about this case had brought up all those nasty feelings again – and Holmes didn't make it any better when at one point he just looked at him.
One look.
He already knew what happened.
Somehow he'd been relieved that he wouldn't have to say the actual words, but it still stung. He didn't know a whole lot about this detective – just that he was his foremost rival in terms of wits and deductive skills – but to be read like that was rather unpleasant.
Tossing and turning, wide awake long after midnight, he finally gave up and allowed himself to think. Think about the – other – famous detective. He felt rather disappointed that he didn't get to meet his partner, from what he heard he meant a great deal to Holmes – his rate of solving crimes certainly had gone down after the good man got married. Could Watson really have been that skilled that he helped solve cases that Holmes couldn't figure out on his own? He doubted it.
No, more likely was that Watson brought something else. Not expertise, not skills – Jane had heard that he was quite good at handling guns, which he despised – but something he couldn't quite name. From his conversation with the detective he'd gathered that he was quite the anti-social person. It wasn't so much that he couldn't interact with other people, it was that he chose not to unless it was absolutely necessary.
Holmes really didn't seem like a nice man, but he was to be respected. Besides, he didn't have to like him in order for him to help him catch Red John.
Would he let him murder him if he succeeded? He was an officer of the law. But then again, so was he.
For one reason or another he had the feeling Holmes wouldn't care much if he ended the life of one of London's most wanted criminals.
Still feeling restless he rolled over again. Then, through the door crack, he noticed a light going on in the other room that could be entered through the hall.
Holmes' room.
What was he doing up at this hour?
His unvoiced question was answered when he heard the deep, low tones of a violin escaping from behind the closed door. So the rumours were true. Sherlock Holmes was an insomniac, musically gifted, insane, genius detective.
Oddly enough the slow notes seemed to calm him down, erasing the last thoughts from his head. It wasn't long until Jane's eyes closed, sending him to a dreamless sleep.
...
He awoke early the next day, courtesy of the sun streaming in through the windows. He hadn't been able to close the curtains last night because it had been dark and in an attempt to get to them he'd almost broken his neck. The room was still cluttered with various things, some of which appeared to be mementos of one John H. Watson.
There was a knocking on the door downstairs. He waited, but there were no signs coming out of Holmes' room that indicated he was awake. As such he put on a dressing gown he found lying around and descended the stairs. There he was met by an older woman who curiously looked at him – her gaze went from the gown to his face and back – and then asked him, "Excuse me, but who are you?"
"My name is Patrick Jane," he answered, smile already in place as he shook her hand. "I'm Mr. Holmes' new partner for the near future, so I'll be staying here for a while. Now if you'll excuse me, I think we have some guests waiting. A man, a woman and –" he paused so barking could be heard from outside, "– a dog, if I'm not mistaken."
"That should be Mr. and Mrs. Watson." She hurried towards the door to open it, leaving Jane to stand in the hallway, trying to catch a glimpse of the people standing outside.
A few seconds later however they were inside. Jane noticed the surprised look on the wife's face, apparently pleased by the sight that greeted her. Jane was well aware of the effect he seemed to have on women, but it was Watson's face that made him curious.
The look he threw was suspicious and distrusting.
Jane smiled as he walked towards him, hand extended in a friendly gesture. "Doctor Watson, good to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."
Watson narrowed his eyes as he briefly shook his hand, his gloved hand forcefully gripping the other man's.
"And just who might you be?"
"Manners, John, manners," the woman clinging to his arm told him. "Good morning," she then smiled, all traces of indignation gone as she turned towards the new detective. "Please forgive my husband, he's not used to seeing strange men in this place."
"At least not when they're wearing my garments," he sneered, barely sparing the man another glance. Instead he turned to his wife again. "See, I knew Holmes was lying when he swore I must've taken it with me to Cavendish Place."
"Speaking of Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson quickly interrupted – Holmes had spoken of a devilish nanny with that name and judging by the looks of it, she was the landlady – "I think someone ought to wake him. Please, Mr. Watson – Mrs. Watson – make yourself at home."
Watson looked back at him. "He's not awake yet?"
"Well, no. He hadn't told me you were coming and apparently he –"
"A pathetic attempt at trying to replace me," he muttered under his breath to his wife, but Jane heard him nonetheless.
"I'm sorry," he calmly replied, "but you're terribly misjudging here. I am not a replacement; I merely requested Mr. Holmes' assistance on a case I've been struggling with. Perhaps you've heard of me – Patrick Jane, the other consulting detective of Scotland Yard. I have a fairly accurate idea of your and Mr. Holmes' relationship –" he threw a short glance towards the woman "– and I assure you, I am absolutely not trying to get in the middle of things. I should be gone within weeks."
Watson opened his mouth to reply, couldn't find the words and closed it again. He just stared at him angrily, a wild fire burning behind his eyes. Jane instinctively knew why Holmes liked him – he wasn't a man to mess with. Underneath the gentle exterior – well, except for the murderous intent he was radiating towards him – was a very capable, sensible man.
"I'll go wake up Holmes," he almost hissed between gritted teeth.
"You do that; in the meantime I'll keep the beautiful lady company," he cheerily said, grinning at the horror that crossed his face.
Mrs. Hudson excused herself and mumbled something about making tea, leaving only Jane, Mrs. Watson and the dog as Watson stumped up the stairs. She giggled as Jane followed him with his eyes.
"Quite a handful, that husband of yours."
"Oh please, Mr. – Jane, was it? He means well. He's just very... protective of Mr. Holmes."
"I've noticed," he smiled. "And I can see how my current presence could raise some questions. Please come upstairs, I'm sure Mr. Holmes should be awake in a matter of moments. You can stay in his living room while I put on some clothes of my own."
When they arrived upstairs he quickly marched into his own room and shut the door, looking around for the chair he'd left his clothing on. As he buttoned up his waistcoat his thoughts were roughly disturbed by a loud voice coming from the other side of the wall.
"I have the right to take on any client I want, Watson!"
"Client? He introduced himself as your partner!"
"He is! We're both hunting for the same target and he enlisted for my help. And perhaps you haven't noticed it, but his deduction skills are almost equal to mine."
"I still don't like the idea of him working with you!"
"You have no right to tell me what I can or cannot do. It was one thing when you were still living here, but I seem to recall that you've moved out. You are no longer my partner, Watson, you'd do best to accept it!"
"I have to accept it? Holmes – oh, Mary, I'm so sorry – I hadn't seen you there."
The yelling quieted down and Jane frowned as he put on his jacket. He seemed to be correct in his assumptions – the way Holmes had talked about Watson had left absolutely no room for doubt – but the doctor seemed more hostile than he'd expected him to be. Was he really that upset with the detective's new acquaintance?
Of course he would be, he noted as he exited his quarters. From what he'd noticed so far, Holmes was a brilliant, passionate human being – it must be painful for Watson to see him living together with another man who took over his job of assisting in his investigations, never mind that it was actually the other way around.
Perhaps what bothered him was that he was a total stranger, incapable of knowing the great detective like he did. Was Watson worried about his friend? Did he want him to look after him? Jane had figured out within minutes of their conversation – right as Holmes was lighting his pipe – that his happiness depended on several external factors.
In ascending order of importance… Tied in fourth place were drugs, tobacco and booze. And then there was Watson.
He shortly stopped to knock on the door before he entered. He found the two men sitting in the armchairs he and Holmes had occupied yesterday and Mary in another chair that previously had been filled with papers and books, Gladstone at her feet.
He didn't move for a few moments, just taking in the scene before him. Holmes was pointedly looking out the window – the exact opposite from where Mary was sitting, while Watson kept sending a heated glare in his direction every now and then. The woman was fidgeting, naturally nervous by their previous outburst.
He finally cleared his throat and walked towards them. Without asking – Watson raised his eyebrows at his impoliteness – he pulled out another chair and dumped the contents on the already cluttered floor.
"So. Where do we go from here?"
"Shut up."
"Watson, behave yourself."
"Why? Do you even know him?"
"Like I said –"
"You know what? You stay here with your new best friend and deduce whether or not I'll ever step foot in here again. Mary, we're going!"
He stormed to the door, only to turn around, look Holmes in the eye – he was finally facing him – and said, "You could've spared me the trouble of coming here if you'd just told me I was so easy to replace, Holmes."
Mary looked very apologetic as she followed him – they already heard his angry footsteps on the stairs. "I'm sorry, he just hasn't been himself lately… I'd hoped bringing him here would solve things…"
"MARY!"
"Coming darling! Until next time, Mr. Holmes – don't worry, he doesn't mean a word of it… you know how he can be…"
She shuffled out the door, slightly red with embarrassment – but it was Holmes' expression that caught Jane's attention. No matter how quickly he tried to hide it – and almost succeeding in his attempt, if it wasn't for the sadness and regret that still shone through his eyes – he saw it clear as day.
Before he could address him, the door opened again and in came Mrs. Hudson with the promised tea.
"Where are Mr. and Mrs. Watson?" she inquired. Apparently Holmes was too lost in thought to reply, so Jane did so on his behalf.
"They had to catch a train, I'm afraid… thank you for the tea, Mrs. Hudson, it smells delightful. Mr. Holmes is very fortunate to have you as a landlady."
He didn't pay attention to the snort that came from his left.
"Could you please give us a moment? Mr. Holmes and I have some pressing matters we need to discuss."
"Of course. I'll be downstairs if you need me."
He waited until the door closed behind her before he turned to Holmes again.
"Why did you let him go, exactly?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The doctor. You'd rather still be working with him and it's obvious he feels the same."
Holmes looked a bit confused, most definitely not comfortable with his latest assessment. "I merely miss my friend after many years of companionship, Mr. Jane. That's all."
"That's not all."
"What exactly are you getting at?"
"I'm saying that while the good man is now married, I heavily doubt they'll live happily ever after –"
"You might want to watch your mouth, Mr. Jane, before you say something you might regret –"
"– when it's obvious there's no place he'd rather be than here. You, Mr. Holmes –"
"I swear to God, if –"
"– care more about this man than his so-called wife does. Oh, and you don't believe in God, so that doesn't really count for much."
"You don't, either."
"No I don't. I believe everything can be explain rationally –"
"– if only one looks hard enough for the explanation. I demand you explain yourself."
"What is there to explain, really?"
"What did you mean by that remark?"
"Pretty much what I said. But if it's not clear enough, fine with me. You," he pointed at him, "love this man more than you love yourself."
"Of course I do," he mumbled, not meeting his gaze. "He's my friend –"
"You know full well I don't mean it like that."
"Regardless, it doesn't matter. He's got Mary. And if he ever knew of these cursed feelings I harbour for him…"
"He knows."
"I… what?"
Jane had the detective truly baffled this time.
"Either that, or he shares your feelings and is afraid of what you might think. I'm not sure yet."
"Excuse me, Mr. Jane, but did you just witness the same scene I did? He hates me. He thinks I've replaced him without a second doubt. That's how highly he thinks of me!"
"I think you missed the part where he kept sneaking glances at you in the hopes of meeting your eyes, or the part where he was outrageously jealous of my staying with you here. Not to mention what his wife told us – that he'd been acting strange lately and thus came to see you. I suspect it's because you haven't seen him in quite a while."
"I so wish I could believe you, but –"
"Mr. Holmes, I know you see everything – but when it comes to love, being too involved can blind you. Trust me as an objective bystander who has absolutely no interest in reporting you to the authorities."
"Haven't you heard me? It doesn't matter. He's married. He's moved out."
"Things could happen." He smirked in a way that could be interpreted as either joking or very much serious.
"Mr. Jane, are you implying what I think you are?"
"I'm not implying anything, I wouldn't dare. Certainly not in front of a respected officer of the law. It's just something to think about."
Now it was Holmes' turn to smirk. "You awfully remind me of myself, dear chap."
Jane smiled. "Trust me. He'll be back before you know it, without Mrs. Watson. The fact that he was so outraged only goes to show how much he cares about you. If you're not planning on confiding in him, at least make it clear that you wish for him to remain an important part of your life."
Holmes seemed to think for a while. Jane didn't interrupt him.
Then his features softened. "You're right. How did I not see that…"
"Rationality trumps many things, Mr. Holmes. Love is just not one of them."
A door slammed shut downstairs. Both men perked up as footsteps were audible on the stairs.
"Watson," they both said in unison.
"I'll be in my room," Jane told him. "Good luck."
He rose out of his chair and briefly patted his shoulder before he turned around and went out into the hall. He nodded towards the other man and was pleased to see that he stiffly returned the gesture. Then he walked into Holmes' room and closed the door behind him.
He entered his own room – at least it was for the time being, obviously it would always be Watson's – and strolled to the window. As his gaze wandered over London he wondered what they were talking about now. He could vaguely hear soft voices as they talked to each other – at least the yelling hadn't resumed, but he hadn't expected it to – so that was a good sign.
London may not be ready for two men who cared more about each other than anything in the world, but no matter the nature of their relationship, they'd face any troubles life might throw their way together.
Quite some time later – the sun had already begun to set – he heard a knocking on his door. He went to open it and was met with the sight of the doctor.
"I believe I haven't properly introduced myself," he said, just slightly reluctant. "My name is John Watson..."
"Watson!" They both turned towards the door further down the hall through which the muffled voice had sounded.
"And," he continued, sighing, "I'm an arse and I apologize for my rude behaviour."
They shook hands again, only this time it wasn't a small battle of dominance; just a firm grip of mutual understanding and respect.
"It's truly a pleasure to meet you, doctor Watson."
The taller man then slightly lowered his head and continued in a softer voice – rustling from the other door could be heard as Holmes most likely pressed his ear closer to the wood – "It's just that when it comes to Holmes, I'm –"
"I know. Don't you worry about it. Now go on, I'm sure your wife is wondering when you'll be joining her for dinner."
The man sighed again and Jane was gratified to see that he was truly dreading to go home.
"Until next time, Mr. Jane."
"Perhaps not, by the time you return I may have moved on to another case, one which doesn't require Mr. Holmes' assistance. But nevertheless, the best of luck to you, doctor."
Watson tipped his bowler hat and turned around to descend the stairs, Jane waited until he closed the door behind him before he ventured out into the hall. Not a second later Holmes opened his own door, crossing his arms and greeting him with a smile.
A pure, honest smile. He hadn't seen one of those on the detective before.
"Do you want to come in for a drink?"
"I'd be happy to, though I imagine the tea's gone cold now."
"Forget about the tea. I have something much better."
Jane followed him into his room and as Holmes went to pour them some brandy he heard a familiar sound.
"The doctor seems to have forgotten his dog."
The sound was then followed by a soft thud. Jane quirked his eyebrows at what he witnessed.
Holmes returned with two glasses and a bottle, carefully stepping over the creature. "Don't worry, he'll be up and running again by the time Watson comes back for him."
Jane grinned as he accepted his drink. "Something tells me you've done this before."
"More times than you can imagine."
They clinked their glasses together.
"To you, Mr. Holmes. And to Mr. Watson."
Holmes nodded, a small smile still playing on his lips.
"May good things happen to you both, and slightly less fortunate things to Mrs. Watson."
"Jane!"
...
"Jane!"
Someone shook him roughly and he abruptly opened his eyes. His settings were rather strange, almost futuristic – until he realized he was still sitting in Lisbon's car.
"You're home."
"So it seems. I thank you, dear friend."
"Why are you talking like that?"
"Like what?"
"Your horrible accent! Are you mocking Sherlock Holmes?"
"I wouldn't dare," he grinned. "And speaking of the good man... I think you'll be happy to know that he and Mr. Watson have sorted things out. His wedding won't stand in the way of his feelings for Holmes."
She was too astonished to form anything resembling an actual reply and by the time she regained her ability to speak he'd left her car. He turned around to wave at her, only to be faced with the sight of quickly distancing tail lights.
He shrugged before taking off towards the stairs to his motel room. Maybe Lisbon had enjoyed the superficial gay situations on screen, but he himself had just personally witnessed the deep, profound love that London's finest detective and his doctor friend shared.
And regardless if it was all inside his head, the thought that these two would always stay together, no matter what, truly filled his heart with glee.
Because love simply didn't get more pure than that.
And then Simon Baker woke up and called Robert Downey Jr. and told him "You won't believe the dream I just had..."
This was written out of cracky curiosity, but if you have anything to say on this, you're very much welcome to. ;)