title: discovery

genre: sherlock!au, mystery, historical

length: drabble- 1,189w

summary: baekhyun seeks the help of london's most brilliant detective, who has demons of his own he has yet to solve

a/n: hello everyone! i'm just trying out writing chanbaek in any scenario i can think of--to get their characterizations and chemistry right. just thought i'd post them, if anyone wants to read. let me know if you want a continuation of this--or if you have a scenario in mind you'd want me to try!!! thank you <3

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“Are you absolutely certain this is the right place?”

Sehun turns to look at him, pale blonde fringe falling forward when he nods. “Positive.”

They venture through the mess of tall, unkempt Bermuda’s riddled with weeds; the damp tips brushing along their clothed thighs. Baekhyun wrinkles his nose in distaste, toes curling inside his leather shoes.

“Your friend sure has largely unconventional living habits; this place is in the middle of who knows where—and it smells awfully like wet dog.” He comments rather lightly, once they stop in front of a shoddy looking cabin.

Sehun sighs, running his fingers through his sweaty fringe. “Don’t you like dogs? I’m sure you smell this all the time. Now stop complaining and get over here—we’re going to need four knuckles and unwavering patience to draw this one out.”

Baekhyun follows him reluctantly, but only slightly, as he had come here for a reason after all.

Together, he and Sehun knock; knock with their knuckles, with their legs, with their knees. They knock until the ridges of bones sticking out of their closed fists hurt from the effort, and until Baekhyun grows impatient enough to use his voice to call him out.

“Chanyeol! Park Chanyeol, come out! We know you’re in there!”

Sehun scrambles to cover his loud mouth with both of his hands, looking at him with a mixture of exasperation and a little fear swimming in the greys of his eyes. “Have you lost it? Do you want his help or not?”

Just then, the door swings—more like creaks—open, revealing a hunkering shadow of a figure, dark and looming in the unlit hallway. Baekhyun can’t see anything despite the door being wide open in front of him; the entire place giving him the feel it hasn’t seen the warmth of light in years. The setting sun doesn’t aid his vision at all—throwing shadows inwards instead of out; he could’ve been talking to a huge black wall, for all his eyes cared.

“What,” the figure in front of them then grunts out, bringing the shadow to life. His voice is low and his tone cold—speaking volumes of unwelcome. “What the hell do you want.”

Baekhyun doesn’t miss an opening when he sees one and immediately straightens and throws himself forward, nimble hands gripping onto what he can of the shadow. The cloth is cold—but warm where it ends. He resists the urge to smooth his fingertips over the warm flesh. “I’ve heard great things about you—you can help me, yes?”

The figure staggers back with a grunt of surprise---easily recovering when he roughly brushes Baekhyun off him. “I’m sure you’ve heard rubbish.” He pauses, inhales. “Now get out of my property and leave me alone.”

The inevitable slamming of the cricket-y door happens and Baekhyun has prepared for it—has stuck a foot against the frame—pulling out an annoyed gasp from the shadow of a man inside.

Angrily, exasperatedly, he swings the door open again; so far off that it ricochets off the wooden wall weakly. The hinges make a squeak of protest, followed by heavy thuds of worn leather scraping against the mouldy floors. Baekhyun takes an unnecessary step back, cowering in on himself, when the figure steps out into the light.

It’s a man—time worn and wary, but a man nonetheless—with jet black curls all over the place that fall prettily into his eyes, and a sullen face once upon a time people from all around would have died to have.

The man dons an expression more irritated than angry, and Baekhyun visibly deflates in relief. He was already intimidated from the get go—he didn’t need another reason to be running for his life. “What the hell do you want, before I kick you out of my property for good.” He turns an annoyed gaze towards Sehun to acknowledge him in the threat as well, to which the other greets him with a shy, sheepish grin.

“Hello, Chanyeol…”

Chanyeol groans, running a big, calloused hand over his face. His fingers catch over his rather thick five o’clock shadow, fingertips running over his jaw absently; Baekhyun’s own breath catches in his throat, mouth abnormally dry.

“Sehun. Oh Sehun. I told you to stop coming here before, haven’t I?”

Sehun pales, worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Yes but—“

“But what?” Chanyeol argues, flailing an arm about. Baekhyun notices smudges of coal and little scars here and there lined across the lanky expanse of his arm, and he purses his lips curiously.

“Have you not learned anything at all?” Chanyeol’s low voice booms across the solitude of the grasslands in front of them, eyes wide and wild. He points a crooked, threatening finger in Sehun’s direction, eyes narrowing in barely concealed distrust. “Stop. Stop coming here. I mean it, Oh.”

Sehun strides forward defiantly, eyebrows set and determined. “Baekhyun needs your help Chanyeol, he really needs it. He’s looking for someone.” Towards the end his eyes have softened as well as his tone, and Baekhyun looks away, indescribable feelings swirling in the pits of his stomach.

“Hah, bloody, hah!” Chanyeol scoffs, lifting a hand up to tug at his already unruly fringe. “Do I look like the Missing Person’s Constable?” He tugs once, hard, until his whole face scrunches up in pain before letting go. His face relaxes eerily after, eyes going unfocused and soulless first, and then focused. “I have enough problems as it is. You can walk yourself through the shrubbery. Good-night, Sehun and company.” He turns around and enters without another word.

This time, when the door slam repeats itself, Baekhyun’s leather shoes don’t stand in its way, taking a polite step backward.

Chanyeol’s eyes meet his through the sliver visible seconds before the door closes completely, and Baekhyun doesn’t know what to make of it—but he reckons the sparkle of mischief wasn’t something he imagined on his own. Shaking his head free of these thoughts, he blindly grabs for Sehun’s elbows, leading him away.

“You may know him better than me, but all human facial expressions are universal, and it was pretty clear to me that gent did not look happy. We’ll get him another day for sure, leave him to me.”

Sehun grumbles as they stomp past the mushy patches of grass and weed, of bark and leaves, of mud and dust. Their leather shoes make a disgusting squelch with every step, and continue doing so until they reach the far end where the ground is more cracked and dry than moist.

“I can’t believe he’s still moping in there. He’s wasting his potential away.” Sehun shakes his head a little angrily, scuffing his cow hide against the grubby concrete. “Why did we even bother. Let’s just stick with Jongdae—I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help you.”

Baekhyun shakes his head adamantly, the desire to find his Father and the image of Chanyeol’s bright eyes continuously burning in the back of his mind. He clenches his knuckles, exhaling. “He’s the best, isn’t he? Then he’ll have to do.”