The Study of the Four 2

Dean waited a few minutes after hearing the human’s breathing even out into sleep rhythms. At their size, the sound was loud and clear, signaling it was safe to move around so long as they didn’t wake him.

“Anythin?’ " he asked Sam, glancing over his shoulder.

Sam shook his head, his long, poofy hair flying up into a mess. No matter how many times Dean complained about the length, he refused to trim it, and flatly rejected any of Dean’s offers to ‘help’ him with a new haircut.

It wasn’t like he was going to take much hair off. Just enough so Sam didn’t look so messy all the time.

“Nothing,” Sam confirmed. He had the ability to know when someone was seeking them out. It was haphazard and worked best when the human was staring in their direction, but Dean wanted to take no chances. This trip was already dangerous enough. He just didn’t feel like waiting forever for the odd pair living there to finally go to their bedrooms. John wasn't even home and Sherlock might not move the rest of the night.

With Sherlock out cold and motionless aside from the gentle breathing of a sleeping man, Dean judged it safe enough so long as Sam kept an ear out for them. He cautiously nudged aside the wallpaper, letting light spill into the insides of the wall and wash over them both. They blinked rapidly, trying to clear up their vision. After over a decade of living in dark walls and passages, it was easier to adjust to the darkness than it was to the light, and they could see clearly on the darkest night.

“This way,” Dean said, determined and cheered at the thought of eating something with a little more taste than normal. It wasn’t the same as finding a slice of pie left out on the counter, but it would do. They just needed their luck to hold out.

The lingering smell of coffee teased him, but he forced it out of his mind. There weren’t any coffee cups left on the counter, and he wasn’t about to stick his head in a coffee maker for a rare caffeine fix. The biscuits were enough risk for one day.

Together they made their way through a meandering path around the glassware and tools left out, a constant clutter accumulated by Sherlock from his ‘experiments.’ They might be willing to help the human solve cases from in hiding, but Dean had no intention of he or Sam ever becoming the subject of those experiments.

Dean took the lead and Sam watched their backs, continually glancing around the towering kitchen from nerves at being out of the walls before the humans had retired. He knew as well as Dean that in this home, that was never assured, and they did need food, be it a biscuit or crumbs or leftover bread. Neither brother wanted to spend the night with empty stomachs, especially after the case was solved because of them. It would be some fucked up karma to leave them hungry after risking their necks to help.

Dean’s knack brought them right to the crumpled package of biscuits, his stomach overriding all other thoughts and making his path as clear as day. So long as he needed something, the tingle on the back of his neck would lead him right to it, be it in the house or across town. Those far away sensations he’d force himself to ignore, knowing they were forever out of reach. Eventually they’d taper off, leaving him to wonder what he was missing.

Sam stood guard while Dean pulled out his silver knife, cutting a thin slit in the package. They couldn’t risk uncrumpling the bag. That might wake up the human lying in the room close by, and that would put them at risk of being caught.

---

With all his energy and focus set on listening, Sherlock's ear perked up at the smallest noises in the flat. Too distant and quiet to determine exactly what he heard, but enough to know that something was happening.

Finally.

He waited until a slightly more distinct sound could be heard, that of paper being carefully sliced through. Sherlock frowned, and it was all he could do to not jump up and investigate right then and there. He needed to be patient if he wanted to be precise in this endeavor. He settled on shifting his head ever so slightly to angle his ear towards the kitchen, keeping up the sleepy charade for whatever his flat had in store for him.

---

Only a few strides away in the kitchen, Sam shifted uneasily from foot to foot, looking around the room for the tenth time. He saw nothing out of the ordinary, and the human’s breathing was as steady as ever. Yet the feeling remained, heavy on his neck. Like someone was looking for them.

Maybe someone’s breaking in? Sam wondered before discarding the thought. If someone broke into the flat, they’d have more on their mind than two guys who stood four inches tall and shorter.

“We should hurry,” he said, unable to contain how antsy he was starting to feel out in the open.

Dean paused where he was working on easing out a biscuit. “You feelin’ something?” he asked, keeping his voice low. He trusted Sam’s instincts like they were his own. If Sam said it was time to go, it was time to go.

Sam nodded. “Don’t know what though. Can’t be anything good.”

---

Voices. Sherlock couldn't explain how or why, but after careful listening, he'd narrowed down the impossible, and the only remaining answer for those astoundingly quiet sounds was that it was some kind of speech.

The something he'd been waiting for was a someone!

Someone very nervous all of a sudden. “Lemme just…” Dean finished pulling out his claimed ‘cookie,’ boosting it in his arms. He patted down the package, disguising the hole he’d cut. It would blend into the folds in the wrapper, at least until someone opened the package up again.

And by then they'd be hidden away in the walls once more.

The finality of that rustling of paper sealed it for Sherlock, and he rolled smoothly to his feet. His long legs carried him to the kitchen in seconds, where he stood in the entrance and scanned the entire room. Before long, his eyes widened at the sight of two incredibly small figures standing on his countertop, dwarfed by everything around them.

Whatever logical conclusions he'd drawn, nothing could have prepared him for that.

---

Sam stiffened, and before he could warn Dean something was wrong, it was too late.

The human-- Sherlock-- was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, as tall and imposing as ever, his eyes glued to them. The only warning they got before he arrived had been a sudden cold shock running up Sam’s back.

The trance shattered and Dean was on the move. “Sam, break! ” he shouted, shoving his little brother towards the entrance they’d come from while he darted in the opposite direction. If they split up, their chances of escape doubled. That way, if one of them was caught, the other could attempt a rescue. After the multiple cages they’d been in as children, they’d learned the tricks to survival, as harsh as it seemed for a ten- and fourteen- year old to deal with. Dean’s training with his father had helped him along the way, prepared him for what his future held.

Sam bit back a protest, knowing it was useless. Dean was running. To keep Dean’s sacrifice from being in vain, Sam ran straight into the maze of glassware scattered on the countertop. Every second of delay for the human was another second of freedom, and another chance to get back into the walls.

Sherlock jumped into action as soon as the tiny people were on the move. He quickly worked out their strategy, and the solution was obvious. Reaching over them both, he upended an empty mug and dropped it over the one running with a biscuit. He was heading for the end of the counter anyways, he wouldn't have made it very far.

Darkness fell over Dean as the mug closed over him, and he couldn’t halt his forward momentum in time to stop. He bounced off the wall of the coffee mug, falling on his rear.

Staring up at his trap, Dean’s pupils were wide. He couldn’t stop his mind from thinking cage! at the sight of the walls around him. There was no way he’d be able to lift it up to escape. Even if he was strong enough, there was a human right there, and Sherlock could catch him easily while he messed with the mug.

Discarding the cookie, Dean scrambled to his feet. “Sonovabitch!” he swore, kicking a boot against the solid wall. He desperately wished he could kick his way out like his dad could kick down a door. Now, that would be something.

With the first one taken care of, Sherlock's main priority was the one running through his glass instruments and containers. Clearly his trajectory was more important, and Sherlock needed to intervene before he got away. He waited a few seconds until he had a clear shot, and then his hand darted in and managed to grab hold of the little man's jacket.

Without hesitation, Sherlock lifted his catch out of the mess and up to eye level. His other hand mechanically hovered several inches underneath the miniscule form, a safeguard in case he fell. For a moment, Sherlock was caught up in every minor detail of this human-like thing he'd caught, marveling at how such a creature was even able to function as highly as it seemed to.

Sam, in a sharp contrast to his brother swearing up a storm at the coffee mug, had much more immediate concerns. His legs kicked like he was still running after the pull on his jacket yanked him off his feet. It took a moment for it to sink into his head that the human had him pinched between two fingers, dangling in midair. Sam barely noticed the hand hovering underneath, far too caught up in his predicament.

He reached up over his head, his hands struggling to find a grip on the fingers holding him suspended midair. His hand glanced off the edge of a fingernail, many times thicker than his own and too smooth to find a grip.

That was all he had the chance to do. His jacket bunched up around his arms, threatening to slide off and send him plummeting. Sam desperately wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to keep the jacket from slipping.

“Let us go!” he called, staring hopefully up at the human and trying to push through the shudders racing up his spine with those eyes on him. “We haven’t done anything to you!”

If the muffled curses from under the mug wasn't proof enough of their impossibly high intelligence, the desperate plea of the one in his hand confirmed it. Sherlock’s frown deepened thoughtfully as he considered the chemistry involved in allowing that level of functionality to a brain mass that small.

"Incredible," he remarked under his breath, a word he didn't throw around lightly. Then he considered his captive's words, glancing around the counter. He lowered the smaller man from his admittedly precarious position and placed him on his waiting palm, immediately pinning his middle under his thumb.

With him secure and Sherlock's dominant hand free, he brushed his fingers against the paper packaging for the biscuits Mrs. Hudson had left for him and John earlier in the week. The smooth tear was hard to miss.

"I rather think that pinched biscuit would beg to differ," he quipped, though none of the humor registered at all in his baritone rumble.

“It was one cookie! ” came Dean’s muffled shout of protest, his voice sounding completely offended. Sam heard another thump against the side of the coffee mug and winced, imagining how hard his brother was hitting the side, yet nothing showed on the outside. The mug didn’t move a centimeter from where it was dropped over Dean.

When Sam turned back to the giant, he paled at the scrutiny he was under. He renewed his struggles against Sherlock’s grip, remembering all those times they’d looked out at the humans in the home and thought this would never happen to them. How wrong they were. Those warnings from the others in the area held more credence now that Sam was a witness to how easily the human had caught them.

“We’ll give it back,” Sam said, putting a hand against Sherlock’s thumb and trying to push himself free. His chest ached under the constant pressure. “Please. We didn’t think you’d notice and we needed something to eat!” He wished his laceless boots could gain traction on the skin, and he tried to ignore how warm the ground under him was. A steady pulse thrummed through where his back was pinned. “You’re hurting me.”

Sherlock blinked, unsure of which train of thought to focus on. So many points came to light in the last few seconds alone.

For one thing, these tiny people were American, a fact made clear now that more words were exchanged. That begged the question of what they were doing on the wrong side of the pond. For another, they were concerned that Sherlock would confiscate their hard-earned food, which he honestly wouldn't have missed if he weren't already on their case. However, the breach in the packaging would have stirred suspicion eventually anyways, and this entire affair would have happened a little later.

Really, this encounter was inevitable.

Lastly, disregarding the angry sounds coming from under the mug, they were both reacting out of fear. It was certainly understandable given that his hand alone could overwhelm one of them. Anybody, when confronted with such a drastic size difference, would react this way. Sherlock supposed that his cold demeanor wasn't helping matters either.

Heeding Sam's plea, he eased up on the pressure from his thumb. It was the most bizarre sensation, to have a humanoid creature trapped in his hand, small limbs scrambling for purchase. If he was going to examine them-- which he fully intended to-- it wouldn't do at all if he hurt them accidentally, or if they hurt themselves. So Sherlock grabbed a tall beaker with a wide circumference, and carefully lowered Sam inside. Perhaps minimal contact with his hands and a strong glass barrier between them would help calm his little heart.

Sam tried to escape before being dropped in the beaker, but he couldn’t free his knife in time. He landed at the bottom, his chest heaving as he breathed out. He surreptitiously rubbed at his chest, wincing at how sore it was. It would be dumb luck if he didn’t have any bruised ribs. He knew from unfortunate previous experience just how easy it was for a human to put too much pressure on him. As it was, he would likely have spectacular bruising.

He glanced up at the tall edges. In another life, he’d never be able to climb the sheer cliff the beaker formed. Here and now, Sam actually thought he might be able to catch his hook on the top and scale his way out. He brushed his hand against the hook where one barb hung out of his bag, reassuring himself it was there before shoving it out of sight so there was no risk of the human confiscating it. An attempt at climbing out would have to wait.

He glanced through the warped glass and froze when he saw Dean’s predicament.

Sherlock picked out a mason jar from the collection on the counter in advance, and placed it and Sam's beaker back on the surface. Now for the other.

Without a word, he took hold of the mug and began to slide it slowly towards himself, ignoring any and all protests. He remained confident that his actions were in everyone's best interests and for the smaller man's safety.

“Leave him alone!” Sam shouted, slamming a fist against the wall as he saw the mug Dean was under pushed helplessly along.

Inside the mug, Dean tried to fight back against the inexorable progress of the mug. He tried everything; propping his back against the wall and shoving backwards, bracing two hands against the wall and trying to walk the other way, his heels digging into the ground. He stumbled, tripping over the biscuit that came with him, and then the bottom tilted up enough for him to tumble out.

And land in a hand.

Dean’s landing in Sherlock’s palm was disorienting enough by itself, but then the other cupped over him and both started to move. Dean instinctively clung to a finger next to him, his eyes squinting closed as he saw the faraway ground between the fingers. “What the hell?!” he asked, his voice climbing in pitch at how high he was with no control over his fate. “What part of personal space do you not understand?”

Sherlock had every intention of letting the tiny pair keep the food they’d evidently made an honest effort to procure. Given the circumstances, he doubted they would believe him if he assured them of that. For now, he decided to leave the food alone as he moved Dean over the jar.

The second the hand stopped moving, Dean blinked his eyes open and saw what was waiting for him. His heart leapt into his throat and desperation propelled him forward despite the heights. He shoved himself at a crack in the fingers, yanking his knife from his jacket in one smooth motion and slashing at the closest finger to where he was.

Right before he leapt at the open air.