Hey guys! Here is a one-shot between Alex Rider and Sherlock. For those of you who read Pendant of Duergar, I am sooo sorry! You'll get an update soon, I promise! Probably by Friday, if not today!

Disclaimer: I do not own Alex Rider or Sherlock, or anything else you recognise.

BTW: I wrote this really quickly in an English lesson a while ago, so it might be bad, but I might as well publish it, right?


Where Sherlock Went

Alex unlocked his bike, ignoring the taunts from the other pupils, and began his journey home. The day had been particularly tiring, but Alex had finally caught up. He expected a call from the Royal & General Bank, aka MI6 HQ, and day now. He had accepted that the world would never leave him in peace for long, something always turned up.

He was right, chaos came, but not in the form of a phone call. That would be too predictable.

A bedraggled man stumbled into his path. His head was a mass of dirty black curls and he wore a long, dark coat. His is legs grew weak and Alex jumped off his bike, but he didn't get close. He had too many (powerful) enemies for that.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The man glanced up, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. It was then Alex realised he was no tramp, despite appearences. Alex reached calmly behind him for the kinfe blade he had hidden in his handle-bars, but was mildly surprised when the man's gaze followed his actions.

"You are not the boy you seem to be." The man spoke, his voice ruff. Alex acknowledged his words and gave his own reply.

"And you are no tramp. At least, you have't been one for long. Neither of us are what we appear."

The man nodded,straightening. Both stood still, trying to find out more about the other. The man's face was covered in stuble, so it had been a while since he last shaved, but not long enough for a beard to grow. His coat was well made but worn, so he wore it often. However, it had a stain on it which looked suspiciously like blood. There was also blood matted in his hair,indicating a head wound, which could mean concussion. It was dry and looked old, so it had happened a while ago, but it hadn't been treated and he hadn't washed it out himself. In all,he had come from a rich background, but felt unable to return home, which probably had something to do with the blood. The blood on his coat could have been someone else's, or his own. Alex had already checked for tell tale signs of hidden and not-so-hidden weapons, but could see nothing even mildly dangerous. If this was an attack, something would have happened by now. Most assassins were surprisingly impatient, and any Scorpia member would have been positively eager to kill him, so it was unlikely he was an enemy. Alex spoke up, curious.

"What happened?"

"What?" The man looked confused for a second.

"What happened? I bet your reluctance to turn to a friend or return home has something to do with the press. If it was family, you would hide at a friend's house."

"If it was the press, wouldn't you recognise me?"

"I don't trust what I read in newspapers. I know how... manipulative reporters can be. I speak from experience."

"Very good."

"It had better be."

"You sound bitter. I would say secret service, but you're too young."

"I thought so too, but I didn't get much choice in the matter. Come on, we'll get you cleaned up."

"It's not safe to let a stranger into your house."

"You're no threat, and I'm curious."

"Are you sure?"

Alex sighed and crossed his arms, "Do you want my help or not?"

A pause, then, "Call me John"

"Okay, 'John'." Alex was sceptical, as it was obviously a false name, "I'm Alex, and I don't live far."