Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or their universes. Supernatural and all characters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Bros and the CW. Sherlock belongs to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, the BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Notes: Obviously AU since the timeline will be a set over a year after Reichenbach instead of three years and of course things are going to be jossed when series three and season 9 airs.

Setting: Several months after Sacrifice and over a year since The Reichenbach Fall

Live to Rise

Prologue

London England

"Where is my aftershave?" John Watson shouted out loud even though he did not expect much of a response from his flat mate. He had a date that evening with the beautiful Mary Morstan, a young governess who had several clients and was paid quite well. He had met her a month and a half ago and this was their fifth date.

He remembered when he had met her and their first meeting was full of bereavement. He went to visit Sherlock's grave. John had promised himself and his therapist that he would cut down on the visits and he had cut it down to only once a week. Every time he visited the grave and stared at his reflection in the glossy tombstone he would update Sherlock with what was going on in his life and in the world and every time he would ask, more like plead for Sherlock to not be dead.

That day was different. After John had left Sherlock's grave he heard crying and saw a young woman kneeling next to a different tombstone. He first noticed how pale her skin was and how it was the same color as Sherlock's pallor. She was dressed in a gray skirt that came past her knees, pink sweater, short gray jacket, black flats and she was also wearing stockings. Her blond hair was pulled up into a bun and she was wearing mascara, waterproof mascara from the way she was crying.

"I'm sorry if I had startled you," John said to her. "I was visiting a friend." He glanced back over his head and at the direction of Sherlock's grave. "A very close friend."

"This was my grandmother," the woman said as she pointed at the gravestone in front of her. "She and I were very close, closer to me than my own parents."

They had exchanged a few more words when the deafening thunderclap sounded overhead and John had invited her to the nearest coffee shop to continue their conversation and wait out the storm. One hour later and they were Facebook friends, one day later they were texting and talking to each other, two days later and they made their first date.

"Your aftershave is in the medicine cabinet," the voice of John's flat mate shattered his memories. "Where it always is."

"Of course it is." John threw up his hands in defeat before racing to his bathroom. He dabbed on a bit of Bay Rum on before he checked his teeth and his hair. Nothing was out of place his teeth were clean. He checked his fingernails and they were whiter than his teeth.

"Is there significance to the fifth date that I am not aware of?" Barachiel asked. He was still in the kitchen and probably still contemplating the bowl of green jelly that he had made, even though he was the one who boiled the water and mixed in the powder and poured it in the bowl he would just stare at it once it had finished setting.

"Fifth is a good number," John said as he checked his watch. He still had more than an hour before he had to leave to pick up Mary. There was a time when the fifth date meant that he would have had a nice shag, but Mary was different and he wanted to take things slow with her. They had just reached the snogging point of their dates.

There was a time when the fifth date was out of the question. He was lucky if he even made it to the third date. This was when Sherlock was still alive and that man always found some way to sabotage his dates, even though he wasn't trying, at least John believed he wasn't trying to.

"Don't think about that," John told himself as he walked down the stairs. The last thing he wanted to think about were any negative memories of Sherlock and to only dwell on the good. He was relieved that the public had forgotten about him, of course a gigantic meteor shower that took place throughout the whole planet tends to push those thoughts out of the minds of people. Then came strange people saying they were angels and of course they were considered mad even though some of them were able to perform some great and unbelievable feats.

"When will you be home?" Barachiel asked. He was sitting at the now empty table in the kitchen with a small bowl containing the jelly in front of him and a spoon in his hand. His grayish green eyes fixated on the dessert. He was still wearing his suit. Blond hair was in a modest style and he was wearing a threadbare shirt, denim trousers and his favorite white fluffy bunny slippers.

"Not certain," John said as he stared at the tickets to the play. They might go out for drinks after. "You might be asleep when we return."

"I have to be at the library at nine," Barachiel said. It a strange idea of an angel working as a librarian, even a wingless angel with limited abilities such as Barachiel. The being was an archangel, but of lower rank. He had said he once proudly served the side of Michael before Michael was trapped in hell with Lucifer.

"Don't wait up for me," John said. He was not ready for another flat mate, but when Barachiel told him he was angel and able to generate lightening between his fingers. John was willing to let the being stay granted he got a job and Barachiel accepted a job at the library with the assistance of John creating an alias for him and typing up the resume.

"He had also enjoyed books," the angel spat out the word he as if it were milk that had gone sour. "He should of stayed down here with them. That bastard did this to all of us." John had asked him several times who this He was and was always answered with a glare.

John slipped the tickets back into the playbill for Frankenstein and walked into the living room to find the telly was left on. He had to remind the angel not to leave it on when he was not in the room.

"Barachiel," John said as he glanced over his shoulder. "You have to turn the telly off when you are not watching it."

"Sorry, John," Barachiel said and looked down at his bowl of jelly before he looked back up at him. The training of the angel, speaking with him and his mannerisms was similar to Dean and Castiel.

John would never forget the two brothers and their angel friend and how they had met in the first place when two enchanted objects had caused Dean Winchester to switch bodies with Sherlock. John had winced at the thought that poor Dean might have been the one who jumped off the top of St. Bars instead if they were unable to switch. Sherlock would still be alive but, no, John shook his head. He would not wish what had happened to Sherlock on anyone and Dean was someone he wouldn't even wish a paper cut on, far from it.

The brothers and their friends had even set up a website to prove that Sherlock wasn't a fake and that Moriarty was real and had set up Sherlock and was the one who forced Sherlock to jump off the building. John could not prove it but he knew that Sherlock did not jump on his own decision.

"Well I'm off," John shouted as he grabbed his apartment keys. He did not expect the angel to answer. "You can bring in your jelly in here and watch." He glanced at the screen briefly only to read a small news bit about Kitty Riley being sacked, before he left the apartment.

"Have a good time, John," Mrs. Hudson said as John walked past her.

"I certainly will," John answered once he stepped out he looked at the sky. The angels might have left but he knew God had to listen. "Please God, don't let him be dead and if he is please let him return to me soon.