The Case of the Near Miss
written for sherlock_flashfic over on dreamwidth (dot org)

Title: John has a Narrow Escape
Author: LastScorpion
Prompt: The Case of the Near Miss
Iteration: BBC
Warnings: None required
Rating: Okay for any age

(Crossover with Smallville and Pokemon. Follows "Lana and the Jigglypuff". All you really need to know is that on Smallville, pretty much all the men fall immediately in love with Lana Lang - it's her unacknowledged meteor mutation superpower. And these little romances never, ever end well. WARNING: Crack.)

"You really didn't have to come along. I mean that."

"Tut, tut, Detective Inspector. We wouldn't have missed it for the world. Would we, Watson?"

"What are we doing here again?" I asked. "What I mean is, why should Lestrade need us to come along to Paris, just because he's seeing his grandfather's solicitors about an inheritance?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Lestrade muttered. "And how'd you even find out about it, eh?"

Sherlock whirled around, taking in the street scene. "The City of Lights, Watson! Don't you -" He broke off whatever mad declamation he was making, and focused in on a small bake shop down the road. He tipped his head, thinking, or pondering, or God knows what. Making an inquisitive sound, he followed his nose to the tidy, well-lit, pink-painted shopfront.

Lestrade and I shrugged at one another, and followed.

A cheerful little bell tinkled as the door opened. The place smelled wonderful. The shop's selection of pastries looked so mouthwatering that one hardly even noticed the bizarre faux-Egyptian hieroglyphics and whatnot decorating the walls.

Sherlock took in a deep breath of the heavenly aromas filling the shop, closed his eyes, and then let it out in a huge, melodramatic sigh. He opened his eyes again and gestured at some of the most tempting of the confectioneries on display. "One hardly sees these in England nowadays. My brother finds them particularly irresistible, and damaging to his waistline, and so the British government has imposed a subtle series of legal restrictions which make the cost of their manufacture nearly prohibitive. I should send him a dozen."

A round, pink creature came toddling out of the back room, wiping tiny hands on a little frilly apron. It was about two feet tall, and had enormous blue eyes. I'd only seen them before in pictures.

"Oh, hey, a jigglypuff," Lestrade said. "They used to live in the tall grass outside the village when I was a boy."

"They're pokemon, aren't they?"

"Yeah," he said, "kids were always trying to catch them for pets. They're pretty rare, though, and tricky. Smart, too."

"Jiggly jigg," said the little creature, looking satisfied with the compliment.

A laughing voice put in, "She's smart, all right, but she can't work the cash register." A young woman had followed the pokemon. She was petite, with shining dark hair, large lustrous brown eyes, smoothly supple-looking skin - she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She nodded at us, and blinked cutely, and said, "My name's Lana Lang; I'm the owner. What can I do for you?"

Even though I'd just met this girl, and had said not one single word to her, I could feel myself falling deeply in love.

Lestrade was crouched down, making friends with the pokemon; Sherlock was ordering a dozen of the fancy pastries to be delivered to his brother. Their voices seemed to come from far off; the only real thing in all the universe was the vision of loveliness and perfection that was Lana Lang... I could imagine the life we'd make for ourselves, together - I'd find work at a hospital or clinic here in Paris, and I could spend my off hours admiring her beauty, opening jars for her, holding her packages as she shopped...

"Excuse me a moment," Sherlock said to the proprietress. Then he grabbed me, swept me off my feet into a full dip, and snogged the living daylights out of me!

"Um," I said, when he finally let me up.

Sherlock finished his transaction, using my credit card which he'd obviously lifted while he had me at his mercy. He smirked and flirted harmlessly with the girl, and she giggled at him. Lestrade and the jigglypuff rolled their eyes. We left the shop and concluded Lestrade's business with the inheritance. (A clerk of his grandfather's solicitor was selling drugs from the office - Sherlock was delighted; everything else went off without a hitch.) Then we went home to London, and everything returned to normal.