My first Superlock fic featuring Sam and Dean plus the crossroads demon from Supernatural and John and Sherlock from well...BBC Sherlock. It's not perfect and it's only a one shot but I really hope you enjoy and would love some reviews!
The moon had been steadily rising in the sky for the past half an hour and was now sitting, shrouded in cloud but still emitting an eerie silver glow. It had been a long journey and all John wanted to do was sleep but here he was, sitting outside a bar that appeared to have been abandoned long ago. Around him was silence, even the animals and the weather had stopped in this godforsaken place, this one spot that nothing wanted to be around.
The tiniest part of John's mind was telling him no, that this was a bad idea and will only end with serious consequences.
It had all started about six months ago, when everything in John's life ended suddenly. It was an ordinary day, like any other in fact. Slight drizzle threatening to turn into something much worse, his name plastered in all the papers and all over the TV. But this time it was something different to the usual 'He's solved this case' or 'He's done this!' No, this time it was much worse.
"SHERLOCK A FAKE!"
The newspaper article itself had not bothered Sherlock. He hadn't appreciated the press anyway and knew his own mind. It only bothered him when, though he loathed and regretted that he hadn't said otherwise, John had not stood by his side every minute.
It wasn't until the final result that John's mind ran through every single little thing he had needed to say. It filled his dreams, day and night. The sight of Sherlock Holmes, John's completely idiotic psycho best friend, falling, falling from the top of the hospital they had been working in only moments before.
He could see it now, as he stood in amongst the tree's, Sherlock's cold body lying against the still damp ground. The jet black marble gravestone he and Mrs Hudson had been to visit. Sherlock's voice, those last few words, still ran through his head like alarm bells. "…That's what people do isn't it? Leave a note?" Why was it that in his dying moments Sherlock had decided to behave like everybody else.
"SUICIDE OF FAKE GENIUS"
The article John knew inside out. Back to front. Round and round, up and down and back again. He hadn't needed to keep it, it was imprinted on his mind like permanent marker.
"You miss him don't you?" The voice was someone unfamiliar, catching him at the gravestone one morning four months on. To anyone else it looked like an ordinary mourner, sharing grief with another. But John was suspicious. He was always suspicious nowadays, nobody could get out of John's path. Poor Mrs Hudson had nearly been given a heart attack with John's changing moods.
"What's it to you?" John had replied glumly, not turning around.
"I know how you feel,' John turned, 'Ah! Before you snap, hear me out. I do know how you feel. I've lost people close to me too. It's always hardest losing a loved one. Were you and –' the man looked past John at the engraving, '- Sherlock Holmes, very close?"
"He was my best friend. The closest thing I'd had to family in a very long time." John replied honestly. He'd never been so honest in his life, and to a complete stranger it was unusual.
"It's tough. I'll be honest, it won't get better. But there is a way it can get better quicker."
"I'm not after any pills or shit. I'll get through."
"This isn't a pill. This is a deal."
John turned to the man fully, taking in his details. He was your average man, shirt and jeans, messy hair, about thirty. Nothing unusual.
"A deal?"
"It works, trust me. Listen I can't give out much information, I don't know all that much in honesty. But if you want help you need to go to this address. It's in America, but believe me, they can help." With that the man handed over a piece of paper and walked away.
Lloyds Bar crossroads – Greenwood Mississippi
This was where John was now. Standing at the edge of the crossroads. He walked forwards with his collection in a box. This was his chance. Making a hole amongst the stones John placed the box carefully.
"You don't wanna be doing that mate." A voice, an American accent came from behind. John turned. Two men were standing there now, both unfamiliar. One was tall, Sherlock tall with shoulder length brown hair. The other was shorter, not by much and had much shorter hair. They looked slightly similar, brothers maybe?
"What would you know?" John replied shortly, turning his attention back to his work.
"Believe me mate, you do not wanna be doing that." The shorter one spoke this time, and they had come closer.
"I am not your mate, and believe me there is nothing I'd rather do."
"Do you know what you are actually doing?" The taller one spoke.
"Bringing back my best friend." John told him.
"For free?" The shorter one.
"I guess so."
The taller one sighed and whispered something in the others ear. They nodded and turned away, discussing something before returning to the conversation.
"You've spoken to a demon. I don't care if you don't believe me, you have and now they are waiting for you to come and ask for your friend back. This is a crossroads, your bargaining with a crossroads demon. They don't give anything away for free, trust me."
"What does it want?" John didn't know whether to believe the two gentlemen but he fancied humouring them. Then maybe they'd leave him to his own business.
"Your soul. Depending on the demon they'll give you between one and ten years to live with your 'wish' and then they'll come and collect. Drag your sorry ass down to hell forever more." The shorter one told him.
"Who are you?"
"This is Dean, and I'm Sam. We're hunters. We deal with this kinda thing all the time so you gotta believe us. We're telling the truth."
"Don't listen to them John. You won't get Sherlock back listening to those idiots." A female voice spoke now, a very pretty woman standing behind Watson. She was a little taller, dark brown hair and matching eyes, and speaking with an American accent.
"I need him back." John spoke, his voice hoarse.
"Dude you gotta ignore her she's a demon. She'll not go back on the deal, she won't change it. We know from experience. You make that deal, your counting down the days till the hellhounds come."
"Believe me mate, there 'a coming. And when they do there's no escape."
"Listen darling. You want your friend back, the meaning to your life all that jazz. I can work that for you. Yeah, yeah, i'll give you a limit on how long you can have him but its either ten years with him or a lifetime without. I know what I'd rather have. Come on, ignore these jackasses, there not exactly encouraging are they?"
John looked between the crossroads demon, and Sam and Dean. It was true, he wanted Sherlock back terribly, but was he prepared to go to hell?
"I've already been to hell. I fought in the war." John mumbled.
"Hell's not much different, far less work."
"Shut your mouth princess." Dean spoke up again. He was holding a gun, pointing it directly at the woman.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa there is no need to start pulling weapons on each other!" John's military instincts jumped in and he stepped in front of the woman.
"Back away you don't know what your doing." Dean growled, holding the gun comfortably.
"John you have to do this quickly. Do you want it to happen? Do you wanna make the deal or not?"
"Yes."
"Then you need to kiss me. Make this deal solid. Make it happen."
John stared out Dean until he was comfortable in the knowledge that he wouldn't be shot by the American. So he turned, his eyes focussing on the woman, the demons. This was his moment to bring back his best friend. Ten years of happiness.
Would he tell Sherlock?
No, Sherlock never told him anything.
John put all thoughts to the back of his mind and gazed at her lips. Leaning closer he put his hands against her shoulders and moved towards her.
"DON'T DO IT!" He opened his eyes. His lips were millimetres away from the demons. But that voice was voice he'd know from anywhere.
Letting go of the demon his mind went into overdrive and the sound of a bullet hitting the woman was at the very back of his mind as he looked past Sam and Dean and into the grass he was stood in moments before.
"You're alive?"
"I never died."
"I hate you."
"Understandable."
"You're a twat."
"I know."
"A complete and utterly selfish bastard."
"I know."
Against his better judgment John Watson found himself enveloping Sherlock into a hug.
"I'm glad you are alive."
"Thank you John. Sufficed to say, I am grateful I got here in time. I don't know what would have happened had you taken that deal. The demon must surely have known I was alive."
"You know about demons?" John leaned back and looked at his friend.
"I've been working with Sam and Dean here, dealing with Moriarty's network, which happened to include some deals with the devil himself."
"Demons?"
"That's what they said."
John's therapist wrote something on her paper before looking back up at her client.
"John, you are aware this was all just a dream. It wasn't real."
"I know,' John looked past her and out the window, 'But I like to think that's what he's doing. And he'll be coming home soon."