Sherlock is peculiar, disgusting, and completely useless at being a decent dragon.

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock; it wasn't even the first time he'd been woken up at ridiculous o'clock in London, in the comfort of his own flat. But as John Watson's fingers closed reflexively over the handle of the bedside drawer, yanked, and then plunged inside to close around the familiar weight of his side arm, he realised that it was the first time he'd been woken up by Sherlock Holmes silhouetted on the threshold of his room, with a feather in his hair, snapping his fingers peremptorily and announcing: “Gun. Now.”

One criminal consultant. One consulting detective. One serial killer. And one perhaps inadvisable bet...

'Neural handshake at 100%,' Mycroft says crisply. 'How do you feel?' It's astounding. There is so much to see in Sherlock's mind-- the tiny details, the analyses of different kaiju forms, their advantages and their structural weaknesses. It feels amazing. John stretches a hand out to brush against the blue bursts of memories between them, and Sherlock pushes through towards his own. They exist as a perfect balance within the drift, calm yet stormy, pushing and pulling. John feels invincible. Wherein John is a war-weary soldier thrown back into the fray, and Sherlock is one of the top kaiju analysts.

"I think I met someone," John says at his next therapist's appointment. "A friend." "Really?" Ella asks. She sounds pleased, and also surprised. "What's his name?" John nods. "Really. His name's Sherlock. He -- he plays the same game as me, the online one. We party together."

What it says on the tin. (Including Follow-ups to: Maybe one of these days you can let the light in, and One Of Those Things, and Mrs and Mr Pond..)

Sherlock has just run off in a whirlwind of coat without a word, leaving Scotland Yard cursing his name. It’ll be a while before they can get someone to translate this, and meanwhile that tall know-it-all bastard has gone off to do god-knows-what without bothering to even tell them what the note says. John edges forward in the middle of the uproar, and surreptitiously glances at the note. Androvy, it says briefly. The warehouse at five. Serdyukov. John seems like such an ordinary bloke. Appearances can be deceptive.

Yusuke isn't the only spirit detective in the world. Five AUs.