Title: A Study in Mithril
Author: Lily Winterwood (evil-sherlock-holmes on Tumblr, lily_winterwood on AO3)
Characters/Pairings: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, DI Lestrade, Jefferson Hope, Sally Donovan, Mike Stamford, mentions of LotR characters.
Genre: Mystery, Adventure, Casefic, AU set in Middle-earth.
Ratings/Warnings: PG
Summary: What begins as a business trip to Bree on behalf of the family business turns, for Hanncome "John" Watson of Bywater, into the beginnings of an adventure. Thankfully, he's half-Took. Middle-earth AU.
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC adaptation of Sherlock or Middle-earth.
Notes: Character names have been changed to adapt to Middle-earthian naming customs. If it's not obvious later on, Sílchanar Eregnirion is Sherlock, Maechenebon is Mycroft, Lestedir is Lestrade, and the Dwarves are the four murder victims of "A Study in Pink".

A Study in Mithril

In the gathering twilight, the creaking sign of the Prancing Pony swayed before John Watson as the little hobbit looked around him and slipped, hooded, into the inn. Behind him followed his friend Mike Stamford, who was a little rounder than John and whose eyes lit up at the sight of a hearty drinking competition between men with ruddy faces.

"Shall I get us some ale, John?" asked Mike, already inching towards the drinking tables. His real name was Merovech, but obviously no one in the Shire ever called him that. John – whose real name was Hanncome – took off his hood and nodded. Mike grinned, then, and moved off to find the bartender.

With the pull of a bell, the rosy-nosed innkeeper of the Prancing Pony appeared over the edge of the reception desk. "Ah, hello there Master Hanncome! Your letter said you'd be here yesterday."

"I was waylaid by inquisitive busybodies," John replied, grimacing for half a second before he smiled brightly at the innkeeper.

"Relatives?"

"Oh yes, on my mother's side. Tooks, the lot of them. They've always had that strange taste for adventure, and all the little ones begged to come along with me." John sighed, shaking his head. "It's wearisome and annoying, to say the least!"

"Well, you're welcome to spend the night here. We've received the ale shipments already; you just need to sign the forms." The innkeeper gestured for the hobbit to come along to his side of the desk. "Your family's ale truly does our humble establishment well!"

John laughed. "Thank you, Mister Butterbur."

Mr Butterbur held out a stack of papers and a quill, but John took a look at the header and shook his head.

"Those aren't my forms," he pointed out.

"They're not?" Mr Butterbur frowned, and spun around to hunt for the forms. John watched him amusedly; the man had a head so cluttered that he often forgot everything of importance.

But after a moment, Mr Butterbur located the necessary papers. John signed them accordingly and, with business finished, thanked the innkeeper for doing business with the Green Dragon and headed off to find his friend Mike.

Mike was sitting at a table with several men, laughing and smoking pipes of Longbottom Leaf. John slid in next to him and grabbed an unattended pint of ale.

"Thank you, Mike," he said.

Mike laughed. "You wouldn't believe how hard it was for me to get them."

"Why? Because the counter was too high?"

"No, the barmaid was too nasty."

"Really." John laughed and set down his pint.

"She demanded to know where I came from and what I was doing here, and I said I was here accompanying my friend Hanncome Watson from Bywater and then she got real nosy, asking what you were doing away from the Shire and why."

"Are you talking about old Sally?" asked the man across from Mike suddenly. "Sally Brunheather?"

"Is that her name?"

"Curly hair, dark skin?"

"Yeah." Mike shrugged.

"She doesn't trust strangers," the man explained, leaning in with a grin. "Leastways no one outside Bree. There's been some bad things going on around here."

"What sort of things?" whispered Mike, as John leant in interestedly.

The man looked around him warily, before leaning in as well. "You know the Dwarves?"

"Yeah, a troupe of them visited Bywater about thirty years back. They've got some dealings with that wizard Gandalf," John replied.

"Don't forget the Bagginses," added Mike, nudging John. "Mary's uncle Hamfast says there's often Dwarves coming in and out of Bag End."

"That's true, too." John nodded. "I think I met one of them when I was five. He came to the Green Dragon with Gandalf after doing something up at Bag End."

"It's odd, isn't it? Bagginses associating with outsiders," Mike remarked. "They're always the respectable type. But then again Bilbo Baggins did run off into the blue and came back with mountains of treasures."

The man nodded. "Those Dwarves come from over the Misty Mountains, from Dale, I believe. A huge number of them stop in Bree on their way through the area. Some of them never leave."

John looked at Mike, eyebrows raised. "Never leave?" echoed Mike.

"Killed," explained the man, eyes lighting up as he strikes a match to light his next pipe. The warm glow of the fire threw the rest of his face into shadow. "There's been three deaths already, and all of them happened in Bree."

"Dwarf killings in Bree." Mike looked at John, wide-eyed. "That's horrific!"

"Mm." The man took a couple thoughtful puffs of his pipe as John finished his pint. "The Rangers have been trying to find the killer, but as far as I can see they have met with limited success."

"Why would you say that?" asked Mike, wide-eyed.

"Because they've called on the Elves to help."

Elves. John looked over his shoulder, following the man's pointed stare. Sure enough, in the corner of the room stood a tall, lithe figure with a strikingly pale and beautiful face. Something otherworldly played about his features, from his high cheekbones to his startlingly iridescent eyes.

It was the first time John had seen an elf. He had read about them in his time poring over books about healing and medicine, but nothing in his books could have ever prepared him to see one in real life.

This elf looked nothing like the pictures in the books, though, with dark hair falling in errant curls that stop a couple inches above his shoulders, much like the style of Men. He wore a dark blue scarf around his neck and an outfit of black and dark purple, with a sharp knife at his side. He hovered on the periphery of attention, merely choosing to observe the room before him with a distinct air of boredom about him.

John, after a while, turned back to the man with eyebrows raised.

"Where does he come from?" Mike breathed.

"Rivendell," John said immediately. "I doubt Elves from Lindon would travel this far to solve murders, and aside from those at Rivendell the other Elves in the area live on the other side of the Misty Mountains and don't have dark hair."

"He's interesting, to say the least," remarked the man thoughtfully. "Some kind of helper for the Rangers, I think." John turned around again at that in time to see a silver-haired Ranger walk up to the dark-haired elf and begin talking to him in Elvish. "But he doesn't like old Sally or the rest of us, so I don't think he's solving the case out of the goodness of his heart."

The Ranger abruptly left, exiting out a side door that John hadn't noticed before. The elf looked around, letting a small grin sneak onto his features, and left the inn.