Disclaimer: I own nothing.
For once, I wrote a fiction that doesn't really have any pairings, so if you don't like Johnlock or Destiel or Wincest (I hate Wincest anyway so I'd never write it) then it's not here.
Also, you really need background knowledge for Supernatural to get this, but maybe not for Sherlock so much. It'll be more entertaining for you to read if you are very familiar with both. Also, the sequels will delve more into Sherlock. Just because some people read cross-overs when they only know one of the shows well. I suggest you don't do that with this one.
Also again, reviews are appreciated, so PLEASE leave them!
Sam and Dean were sitting in a mostly deserted diner, Sam looking onto his brother in disgust as he fanatically shoveled pie into his already full mouth. Sam was trying to pay attention to the newspaper in front of him, looking for something that might have been their kind of thing.
"It's weird," Sam said, "I can't find anything that looks like a case."
Dean spoke, not bothering to finish chewing before he did so. "Maybe the evil sons of bitches are on a break. I just wanna finish a slice of pie for once."
Sam rolled his eyes. "They're never on a break," he insisted, "we must be missing something."
Dean shrugged, because his mouth was too full to even attempt talking by that point.
"Maybe you should drink some of that coffee, Dean," Sam said pointedly. "It might get some of that pie down."
Dean attempted to swallow. "It'll wuin duh plavor," he said, spitting out a little food in the attempt to speak.
"God, chew and swallow before you talk again, will you?"
Dean shrugged again. Just then, Dean's phone began to vibrate and he looked at Sam with a big eyed expression, probably trying to say, "I can't answer with my mouth this full!"
Sam inhaled and held his hand out for the phone, so Dean dug it out of his pocket and handed it to his brother.
"This is Sam Winchester," he answered, going outside. Dean just stared down at his pie, marveling at how big of a piece it was. This diner had a big sign outside, advertising that they had the biggest slices of pie in America. Dean had to see for himself, being an expert on large and delicious pie, and it turned out they were probably telling the truth.
Then Sam popped his head in the front door to the diner, gesturing for Dean to come outside. Dean pointed down to his pie with a distressed look on his face, which just made Sam wave his arm more energetically. Dean inwardly sighed, accepting the fact that he was never going to finish a slice of pie in his stupid life, and set down a twenty as he got up and went outside.
"This better be good," Dean said, finally having no food in his mouth.
"George Witherston called."
"Wait, that hunter from England?"
"Yeah. He said that it looks like there've been werewolf attacks in London."
Dean nodded. "Okay. So why are you telling me this?"
Sam looked at him exasperatedly. "Because we're going to go take care of it, Dean."
"But George is a hunter."
"Do you realize how old he is now? He told me himself, he can't hunt anymore. It's why he called us. Plus, you've been wanting a job for days."
"Well… yeah…" Dean said apprehensively.
Then Sam realized why Dean was acting so weird about it. "Dean, planes hardly ever crash. It'll be fine."
"No way. I'm not going on a plane again."
"You did it to burn Crowley's bones!"
"Yeah, for Bobby! It was a special case. Never again, Sam."
"Well then I'm going alone."
"No you aren't," Dean said. "We'll take a boat."
"Dean, we can't take a boat. We're going on a plane whether you like it or not."
Dean stood there, glaring at Sam murderously, his face going red. For half a second, Sam thought he might start bawling like a baby. Then Dean hollered, "CAAAAAAS!"
"Come on, don't call—" Sam was saying, but Castiel, angel of the lord, appeared before them in a moment anyway.
"You called?" Cas asked.
"Yeah," Dean replied, "We need you to do your angel thing and zap us to England."
It was quiet for a moment. "You called me to have me take you to England."
"Yeah," Dean said.
"Sorry, Cas," Sam muttered. "He hates planes."
Castiel looked angry for a moment, but then nodded. "Okay," he replied, before touching them both on the shoulder. A white light engulfed them both before they appeared… in the middle of a busy street.
"Cas!" Dean yelled.
"Sorry," Cas replied, zapping them over to the sidewalk. He looked around at the people who were staring at the three, who had just appeared in the middle of a crowd. A surprisingly small amount of people actually noticed, but still, the few who did had stopped walking to gape. "I probably could have been a little less conspicuous," Castiel decided.
"Yeah, maybe a little," Sam muttered. "But still, thank you."
Castiel nodded and then vanished.
"He wasn't in a very good mood," Dean noticed.
"He's not our personal valet, Dean."
"What else is he doing?" Dean asked.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Let's just find George."
It didn't take them too long to find George's flat, for they were used to being in new cities without very much direction as to where to go.
"Yes?" George said as he answered. George Witherston was an average height guy that was probably in his early sixties. You could tell that he used to be muscular, but was gaining weight. He was leaning heavily on a cane, which probably explained why he couldn't hunt anymore.
"You called us. I'm Sam Winchester," Sam said.
The guys' eyes got big. "That was fast! How did you get here so quickly?"
"We have our ways," Dean said with a smirk.
"You really grew tall, both of you," George said (though it was clear he was looking mostly at Sam. Even though Dean was a tall guy too, it was hard to notice with a Sasquatch next to him). "Come on in," he added.
They were sitting in the front room with tea cups in their hands. Dean sniffed it and made a disapproving face. George noticed.
"I have coffee, if that'd be better," George said.
"That'd be great," Dean said in relief. Sam didn't bother to mention that coffee was a lot stronger in the UK because he wanted to see Dean's face when he tried it.
Once they were all settled down, George talked to them about the attacks in town. There had been three so far, all appearing to be animal attacks except for the fact that the heart was missing. The lunar cycle was right too.
"Definietly sounds like werewolves," Dean agreed.
"You got here so fast, the last attack was less than an hour ago. The police are probably at the site now."
"Could you tell us where that is?" Sam asked.
The two of them caught a taxi and got to the scene of the murder and, as George had guessed, the police were still there.
They were met at the perimeter by a pretty woman with mocha skin and very curly hair. They flashed their badges, which showed they were from the wildlife preserve.
"Hello there," Sam said with a pretty impressive English accent, and she let them pass.
"Since when can you do an accent?" Dean asked.
"Since high school," Sam replied. "So just don't talk."
"Hey, I can do one too. I'm not stupid."
"Right," Sam muttered.
There were several people in the area, but the first who came up to them was a rather grumpy looking man with gray hair. He didn't seem all that old.
"Donovan tells me you're wildlife preserve," the man said.
Dean nodded. "I'm John Tyler and this is Steve Lennon." Sam was surprised that Dean's accent wasn't terrible either. Well, at least the man didn't look at him like he had said something odd.
"Detective Inspector Lestrade," the man replied, sounding tired. "You know, this isn't really my department, these animal attacks. I have… well, one of my men insists it isn't animal attacks."
"Couldn't he be wrong?" Sam suggested.
"He's never wrong," Lestrade muttered.
"Well, he must be some sort of genius," Dean said with an amiable grin.
Lestrade did not smile. "Yeah, something like that."
That was when the woman from the perimeter, Donovan, announced, "The freak's here!"