Fic: The Same Coin

The Same Coin
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Idiocy
Series: Sherlock (2010) & Merlin (2008) on BBC
Rating: G
Warnings: attack of the comma splice
Notes: They were sitting next to each other in my Netflix queue. What was I supposed to think?



Part 1: Camelot

"You're not too bad," the prince said when they were safely tucked away in his quarters. John looked around hesitantly, feeling out of place with the heavy embroidered curtains, the four poster bed, and the air of opulence. The prince, too, made him feel ill at ease—and had since the very day they had met. He turned sharp eyes on John now, and the smile that tilted at his lips was analytically cold.

"I'm sorry," John said automatically, straightening a little. His eyebrows knit together, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "What?"

"What, sire," the prince corrected quickly and absently plucked a butter knife from the table. "You're good at pretending you can't do magic. Well, pretty good. I think I am the only one who noticed."

John's heart stopped in his throat. He couldn't possibly know. Yes, he had saved the prince's life, but that was no excuse for breaking the law. At least, it wouldn't be an excuse to the insufferable prince and his father. What was he doing here? He should never have come to Camelot. "This is… I don't…I need to go." And then added, "…sire," as an afterthought.

"It's perfectly rational, if you think about it clearly." The prince settled into a chair, slouching back and pouring the wine. "You came here to train. Don't deny it, I know it's true. You came from a small village south of Camelot—easily deducible because you have a slight accent that is common in the south. Secondly, your behavior seems to indicate that not only are you not from Camelot, you are not from a city at all. Your constant gazing around is betraying you as a tourist. Obviously you were not born here. Lastly you can do magic because once I have ruled out all other possibilities on how you've saved my life, only the impossible remains. When you have ruled out all possibilities, what you have left must be the truth. No matter how impossible it is.

"So what would a magic user from a small southern village be doing here at Camelot? What can he not get in a small village? Training. Plain and simple." The prince looked a little bored as he said all this, delivering the news as though it was something they'd discussed several times a day. "Oh, and your humors are acting up. You're cold all the time, so you take to wearing those stupid little scarves. Have Gaius look at that for you. I like my servants to wear uniforms."

John swallowed. There were a thousand things he could say at this moment. Spells that he didn't know he had rushed into his mouth. Somehow he had to stop Prince Sherlock from taking him captive, or worse—chopping off his head. But instead of denying it, or silencing the prince with magic, he said instead, "That was brilliant."

The prince's eyebrows shot up. Clearly he hadn't been expecting that. "Really?" He looked rather pleased, a light flush over his pale cheeks.

"Yes, really."

A smile touched Prince Sherlock's mouth. A real smile, more full of pride than superiority. "Usually people stare at me politely, while wishing privately that my tongue would fall out." That genuine smile made him look almost good looking, though his face was too sharp to be conventionally handsome.

And surprisingly, John stopped feeling so out of place. So he grinned back.



Part 2: Baker Street

"So I am to do the chores and help you with your cases and get my own job to help pay for rent, is that how it is?" Merlin liked this less and less. He didn't really like Arthur that much, either. But this house… there was something about it that he liked. It was old, and perfectly kept. There was a tingle of magic, of adventure, in this townhouse. He could never afford it on his own. Plus he had been drawn in, however unwittingly, to one of Arthur's cases. And as much as he wanted to deny it, he actually really loved helping to solve it.

"Yes, that's about the sum of it." Arthur grinned at him. "Don't tell me the idea of danger doesn't excite you. I know it does." He threw his jacket over the couch and threw himself into a chair. "I can see it in your eyes."

"It's not the danger that's making me wary. It's the idea of being up to my ears in your dirty laundry." Oh but the rent was good, and Arthur was a complete idiot when it came to detective work. He'd bumbled along so far, but anyone with anything close to Merlin's intellect could tell that Arthur was about as good at solving cases as birds were at swimming. Still, ducks managed to do it, and so did Arthur. But to continue this charade, he needed Merlin's brains.

"Well, then. You have my permission to leave." Arthur smiled smugly, daring the other man to leave. He sat, slumped regally in the chair, lord of his beautiful and horribly messy domain.

"Your permission? What am I, your servant?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Arthur's smile and tone nearly swung into haughty laughter. "You're desperately poor and looking for a place to stay. And you have a thirst for adventure. Fortunately I have both of the things you need." He made no mention of what Merlin would be doing for him.

"Oh, did it take all of your detective skills to know that?"

"Consultant skills, and no, it didn't. We talked about this not fifteen minutes ago."

Merlin sighed, annoyed that sarcasm apparently didn't go over well with his new roommate. The price wasn't in the work, really. It would be in putting up with Arthur for a while until he got on his feet. But—that niggling little part in his brain whispered—maybe he would like it so much here that he wouldn't leave. No. That was ridiculous. Right? "Look, I'm not going to be your servant, Arthur."

"Well, I'm not really paying you or anything…don't servants get paid?"

Just then, there was a text on Arthur's phone. On Arthur's ridiculous phone. He'd actually had it engraved with his initials. Arthur read the text quickly and shoved the phone back in his pocket. "You said you were a doctor? In Pakistan or something?"

"Afghanistan."

"You want to come look at a dead body with me?"

"E-excuse me?" Merlin couldn't believe his ears.

"At a crime scene, idiot. Come on!" Arthur grinned, and it was the grin of the hunt. Merlin knew that look. Something very like it often graced his own face. And in a moment, he knew they were not so different as he might have thought. There was really nothing like a good puzzle to solve.

So he smiled back. "I'll just grab my coat, shall I?"


*End*