Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit or Sherlock & I'm not making any money of this work of fiction.

A/N: Watched the movies & the series but I haven't read anything so I'm sorry if I'm not book-accurate.

This was one of those rainy afternoons where John Watson could rest a little from Sherlock Holmes –the self-named Consulting Detective – and his cases. Sherlock was playing the violin & John had finally got the chance to read the Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien. When John was just a teenager, Tolkien's Lord of the Rings kept him company on rainy days like this, when his father wouldn't let him go out. He brought a term with tea with him and put it on the floor (instead of the table next to the couch) as he used to.

He lay in the couch and opened the book. He had only read Frodo's adventures; not Bilbo's so opening the book, reading about those old characters make his chest feel warm. He took one last look at Sherlock, as expecting him to disturb his reading, but Holmes just kept playing. Watson was already used to his companion's way of playing, so he just sighed and opened the book.

'I need to buy Silmarillion when I finish this' he mentally noted to himself and drifted away to a world of adventures, hobbits and friends.

"I'm going to go to the library to buy some books I want. I'll be back in an hour, Sherlock. Text me if needed." Watson yelled and closed the door of the floor without waiting for any response of his companion.

Sherlock finished with his cup of tea and stood up. What could he do? He was so bored and there weren't really many cases these days. It seemed the police could do a little thinking of his own, to Sherlock's surprise.

'Seems that Anderson hasn't totally spread his stupidity over them' Sherlock thought while walking, thinking about what to do.

Then he saw it. The innocent, little, brown book that his friend had been reading this days was placed on the small table next to the couch.

"J. R. R. Tolkien - The Hobbit" Sherlock read aloud. There was red dragon on the black cover. He knew the author but hadn't really any of his books. Why to use such valuable space on his head in a kid's book?

But Holmes had nothing better to do at the moment, so he sat down and opened the book in a random page.

Sherlock read aloud once more. "…As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick…"

He stopped for a moment, thinking, while repeating what he just read "'Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains…' hmmm… that sounds just like Watson, desiring to escape his boring life with me and my cases..." He smiled.

But something was off.

He started feeling dizzy.

His heart pounded fast.

The last thing he looked at before everything went black was a book with a red dragon on the cover falling to the floor.

When he woke up, the first thing he saw was a wooden floor.

He heard some hushes from another room and tried to get up. But his head was spinning. His first thought was to analyze where he was and how he had gotten into there.

By the floor, anyone could see it was a house, maybe in the countryside because of the sound of crickets and the smell of grass and dirt on the floor. He turned a little his head and saw a white wall with wooden decorations and a mirror. Yes, he was definitely in a rural house.

But how?

How in the world could he ever got to a house in the middle of who-know-where? The last thing he remembered was reading something with a red dragon on it.

Kidnapping? It was the most possible answer but, if he was kidnapped, where would his captors be and why wasn't he tied up, like last time? And why in such a… cozy place?

He heard fire crackling in a fireplace and decided to stand up and get a clearer view of his situation.

But when he turned around to a better position, 13 swords and one… cane were pointing at his neck.

"Who are you?" The guy with grey clothes and the cane asked in an harsh tone. "Do you have any business here?"

Sherlock looked impassible at the old man.

"Any business here? Sorry sir, I was comfortably sitting in my home, resting when I happened to appear here, so I'll assume you just kidnapped me." But something was strange bout those people. The old man was literally twice his height and the others were half it. Beside those medieval clothes and beards and those swords that looked very real… "And my name is Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, but I presume you already know that, since I'm the world's most famous consultant- Watson!"

"Consultant Watson he said?" A bald guy said.

Sherlock quickly stood up while his captors discussed the meaning of "Watson" and ran and hugged the little guy in the corner with a frying pan as his weapon of choice. The 14 people looked puzzled at the man and the little guy just dropped the pan, since he was not expecting this.

"Do you know this man, Bilbo?" The old man with the grey tunic asked, lowering his cane.

"Of course he knows me! He lives with me, don't you, Watson? He's my faithful companion, if I may presume…" But Sherlock stopped. "…Watson, who are this people? And where are we? This doesn't look like good ol' England. Mycroft must be flipping tables right now. And why… did they call you Bilbo? What's this, that book you were reading, the Hobbit?"

Bilbo stared and the guy who was embracing him.

"My name is Bilbo Baggins and I've never seen you in my entire life. And yes, I'm a hobbit."

A/N: my keyboard's "A" just broke off and I can't write like this. I want to actually finish this one, so reviews are welcome.