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On the Pages

Author: Leopardclaw
Rating: Moderate
Status: In Progress
Series: None
Preceding: None
Succeeding: None


On the Pages was written by [[User:Leo|Leo]].

Sadly, it has been abandoned, so no more updates will be posted.


A Sherlock/Death Note crossover.

When in London, searching for the Death Note, L decides that it would be in his interest to ensign the infamous consulting detectives. Little does he realise that Sherlock isn't particularly friendly towards, well, anyone and that finding the Death Note may even become harder with Sherlock and John's help.


Prologue

London. L took in a breath, the smell of the damp city filling his lungs. For once, he wore a suit and shoes as he wandered through the streets. He could have gotten a taxi, but he preferred to walk. Compared to Tokyo, London was pleasant and though it still had streets full of people and roads packed with cars set at a standstill, it was just pleasant. L had liked England before, when he had played tennis, and still liked it now.

But he was not in London to play tennis, nor to sightsee. Instead, he was meeting a man; a detective. A man who had solved many cases with his assistant, who had faked his death to outwit the largest criminal in the country. Eccentric, mad, inhuman; that's what people called him. Similar, then, to what they called L. The difference was, L was mysterious: no sidekick, no face, no name. No, though they were compared with the same words, they were the exact opposites, as far opposite as people who could be described with the same words could get. Or perhaps not. L would see.

L knew he was nearing the flat in which Sherlock Holmes lived. 221B Baker Street. He was not looking forward to meeting the man, L preferred to solve his own cases and was sure Sherlock would think the same way. This was a problem, however, that would need all the genius on hand. As much as he did not want to admit it, L needed help. This was one problem that was just too big for him to take alone. A death note was in England and it was not being used for "good", to use the term lightly.

Baker Street, here it was. A taxi turned around the corner, making L's already messy hair be ruffled. L blinked in surprise, and blinked once more when he realised that the taxi had stopped abruptly outside a small cafe; Speedy's. L liked small cafes, they were usually quiet and nice for just sitting. He watched intently as two men stepped out of the cab. One was tall, his coat collar turned up and his hair stuck to his head, wet, just as his shoulders were. The other was a lot shorter and completely soaked. L overheard some of what they were saying as they went into 221B.

"Next time, please let's not almost drown in the Thames, Sherlock..."

The door shut. L walked quickly to the house and knocked on the door with three sharp raps. "Come in!" was shouted and L obliged. He walked up the stairs quickly and entered the flat. John was stood waiting, while Sherlock was sat in a large armchair, fingertips pressed together. They both looked at L expectantly.

He said quietly "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? I have a case that I need your help with. I think that it will interest you. Have you ever heard of a supernatural device in the shape of a book named a Death Note?"

One

Sherlock scoffed immediately while John maintained his expression of casual confusion. "A Death Note," he said, as if it what he were saying were common knowledge and obvious; however obvious it was to Sherlock was lost on John. "Is a device in which one can write the name of a person and they will die. There were several in Japan at one point, though I thought all had been destroyed or rid of."

L realised that Sherlock loved to show off and show what a genius he was. A small smiled licked L's face as he decided to try and taunt Sherlock into proving how good he was.

"That's right; there are none left that we know of. I am-"

"You're L." Sherlock interjected. L suppressed a grin, knowing that he had tricked Sherlock into telling him how he could deduce things. "You helped on the Death Note case. So what brings you here, to London? The nameless, faceless detective who needs no ally asking for help?"

"Actually, Mr Holmes, my motives are simple. There is a Death Note in London, and I need to find it before the true motives of the killer come true. And for as much as you can deduce of me, remember that I can do the same of you: the last case you solved was three days ago, you stopped pictures from being leaked and saved the life of a Miss Adler; you need attention and affection to keep you sane, which is why you have John and even if neither of you will admit it, both of you have deep affections for one another, and you will take this case because even as you pretend otherwise, you're bored and it interests you."

John looked shocked and impressed as well as confused all at once. Sherlock just appeared more irritated, and L knew that he was going to retaliate with his own deductions.

"Well, L, I can tell that you must be desperate to come to me for help as you have not ever asked for help, rather others have asked you; I can tell that you can type at 110 words per minute and that from the stains on your third and fourth fingers, strawberries are your favoured fruit, and I can tell that though you pretend otherwise, you are incredibly lonely with few friends, and I can certainly inform that you are wrong about John and myself; John is my friend."

"You say I have few friends, Mr Holmes, well, I have few but you have one. And I can tell that you have a serious drug and cigarette addiction though you try very hard to hide it as your fingernails are in pristine condition."

"And you are wearing a suit, which means you must be dressed to try and impress because you look incredibly uncomfortable. Perhaps your normal attire is more casual; pyjamas, maybe."

"Alright, children, enough. You've both far proved how clever you are. Now how about we all sit down and get Mrs Hudson to make us tea, and talk about the case instead of this childish display of genius." John had evidently decided he'd had enough, though L was surprised he"s lasted listening to them both for as long as he had. Then again, he was most likely used to Sherlock"s unbearable bragging and trying show he was best.

Sherlock collapsed dramatically into his armchair, and shouted at the top of his voice for Mrs Hudson. John told L to take a seat, and motioned to the sofa. L thanked him as Mrs Hudson hurried in.

"Mrs Hudson, we have a visitor," Sherlock paused slightly before the word visitor as if he were going to say something rude but changed his mind. "We will be requiring tea." Mrs Hudson smiled.

"Hello dear. Do you have a case for the boys? Isn't that lovely? And Sherlock, dear, I"m not your housekeeper."

"Tea, now. Please." Sherlock said firmly, sending her out of the room. L hadn't realised that the rumours of Sherlock's rudeness really had not been exaggerating at all, and he wondered how the man could have it to be so cold all the time. The disadvantage of being a known genius, he supposed.

John once again steered the conversation before either L or Sherlock could start. "So, L, uh - do you have a name?" L crouched on his seat and closed his eyes.

"My name is L and that is my name."

"Right. Okay. Well, this case you have, about the Death Note, what exactly do you need us for?" Sherlock looked like he was itching to say something but restraining himself. L did not know how they could both deny that they had a deep relationship as hard as they did.

He explained the situation with the Death Note, that someone had one and had used it to commit a string of seemingly random murders. Each of the victims had left a three word note, but none of the three words had connected until after the fifth murder: On the night/of the fifth/the Royal family/all will be/not a survivor. L had reason to believe that the Royal family would be under attack on the fifth of October, in just over a month.

"So," said Sherlock at last. "We have to find this person before they murder anyone else, even if it could mean piecing together the rest of the message."

"That's about the sum of it." said L, composed. He was glad to have Sherlock as an ally, but he decidedly did not like him. At all. Sherlock, though, was far too interested at the police cars going by to bother thinking about L.

"We're already too late." he said.

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