A/N: Third installment of the Screaming!Verse. I hope you enjoy~!

Pairing/Characters: John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, Demon!John

Inspiration: post/29177093631

The demon refuses to hurt Sherlock, to damage him beyond the emotional, when there's a case. So Sherlock makes sure he doesn't have more than a day between cases. Even if they are as mundane as a robbery that he would have considered boring—still does—and too easy to figure out that even Anderson can solve he takes those. Lestrade doesn't know the extent of what the demon does to Sherlock; he only knows that Sherlock can't handle being along with it.

To say that Sherlock was broken would be an understatement.

He was beyond repair.

His heart was burned out of him and it wasn't even by Moriarty's doing.

But, one could now not doubt that Sherlock did, indeed, have a heart. That the high-functioning sociopath was capable of so much more emotion than what they original thought. This cold hearted bastard, this annoying dick, was hurting, was being ripped to shreds right in front of everybody and it was so painfully obvious even if Sherlock thought he was doing a fantastic job at hiding it.

He really wasn't.

And, somehow, he knew that. Sherlock knew that there was only so much he could hide, that he could keep away from these mindless people before they started to notice. It's not as if Sherlock wanted them to care for him; they never did before so why should they now? It's just that Sherlock is exhausted.

He's exhausted of constantly trying to make himself look presentable when he goes outside the flat; he's exhausted of pretending his body isn't aching, isn't protesting at every slight movement; he's exhausted of it all.

But he can't just quit.

He could never just quit.

Because Sherlock won't allow himself to. How can he when he distinctly heard John's voice screaming his name? Not the demon's using John's voice. No, no, he could never mistake John's living, endearing, caring, firm, demanding, voice with something so vile it makes him want to kill someone every time he hears it.

It's been two months and nineteen days since that incident. And when Sherlock came through about three hours later the first thing he heard from the demon's—John's—mouth was, "Didn't I say that he is endlessly screaming for you?" with a low, twisted chuckle.

And then Sherlock tried to sit up and just collapsed again. Lights out. Just like that.

When he was fully conscious again, able to move about even if it did cause him tremendous pain—oh how he hated the state he was constantly in; Sherlock, the man who could bring down any criminal being brought down himself to a state almost worse than death—and fainting, he backtracked to the video, the little bits he witnessed. Gruesome was the only word that came to mind if he were asked to describe it.

He had been there for the raping but to see it on film, to see the look of pleasure on John's face, to see the demon's black eyes as he tore into Sherlock, to hear all the pained screaming and the eventual sobbing that poured out of Sherlock's mouth almost ceaselessly, was too much of a reminder of what level the 'great Sherlock Holmes' was brutally brought to.

And then when he heard John, there was a tiny piece of him that thought that maybe there was a way to get him back. But, if there was, it was gone now. Vanished in the blink of an eye, literally.

Because when the Demon heard John break through whatever wall was keeping him out, he reinforced it. Those rare instances when the demon was hurting Sherlock and John's loving eyes peeked through were gone now. There was no trace that Sherlock could see.

The beatings and rapings were few and far between these days—thanks to the Yard for letting Sherlock tag along whenever he could manage; he'd forever be in their debt—but every single time the Demon comes, when he's had enough, a little piece of John breaks through.

Sherlock has theorized that it's because the mind, the body, can't focus enough on a single thing to control every aspect of its being in those moments when all processes crash. Perhaps it's the same for a demon as well. After all, they are primal creatures just like humans except for the obvious differences in mindset and psychology.

Or perhaps the Demon just enjoys watching Sherlock squirm beyond what he's already doing. Sherlock's thought that, if the demon is clever enough, the creature is just letting John through for those short seconds to pester Sherlock, to make him think there is a way to save John, that there is a way to bring him back, to get rid of the bastard possessing him.

But then Sherlock realizes that the bastard probably isn't that clever enough because if it were then it would have known that Sherlock would have worked through its motive and not let it affect the Brit.

Unless…

Unless it knew that Sherlock would figure it out and that the man would come to the conclusion that there might be a way to get John back or that the Demon is just tricking him—it wouldn't come as a surprise, honestly—but then Sherlock would just go round in circles trying to figure it out.

Hm, clever bastard indeed it would seem.

Nonetheless, Sherlock has, without a doubt, proof that John still exists.

And that proof, that thought, alone is what has kept Sherlock alive.

Because there has to be a way to get John back.

If he's there, if the wall slips away—even intentionally—enough to let him through, the evidence points to him being able to break free, to escape, for the bastard to release him to Sherlock.

Sherlock just has to find a way to do that.

So now he looks at this Demon as an experiment. Although he'd like to kill it, it houses itself in John's body and if Sherlock were to kill the demon while it was still inside, he would inadvertently kill John as well. And that is just not an option.

"What's it like being trapped inside a body?"

The demon blinked, setting the newspaper down slowly as it turned John's eyes to glance at Sherlock sitting in his habitual armchair with his fingers steepled under his chin. "What?"

"Oh, don't make me ask again, it's rather tedious." It surprises Sherlock how he's managed to keep his basic personality traits. A normal human would be too terrified to even speak or breathe in the same room as this thing and yet, here Sherlock is, being the same smartass he always was. Perhaps he could consider this a sign.

After a moment of seeming consideration, as if the demon were actually thinking of the perfect response, it spoke. "Monotonous and irritating." Clipped tone, obviously didn't like the question.

"But you can't walk this earth without a vessel, can you?"

"Obviously."

"So, in order for you to be here, you need to be caged inside of someone."

"Yes." A tick of the jaw. Sherlock, careful.

"Seems rather a bad a trade-off, doesn't it?"

"Of course." Eyes narrowed. Getting closer to danger.

"Then why do it? Why imprison yourself in a body on earth when you don't need one wherever it is you came from?"

It chuckled, its features softened just a small bit. "Because do you realize how much fun it is here? All these murderers and rapists and suicides and all the rest. It's quite entertaining and there is so much havoc and chaos we can cause."

"We?"

"Did you think I was the only one walking amongst you?"

The thought had occurred to Sherlock, yes, before because it seemed silly to have only one on Earth. But, unfortunately, he never considered how many there could be. Even just in London alone.

"…If that's the case, though, then why aren't you out there right now destroying the city?" The real question: Why was Sherlock the only one getting the horrid end of the stick?

"Because I enjoy you far too much." The demon replied after precisely a minute of silence.

"The population of Greater London is approximately eight million people[i]. I'm sure you could find someone just as enjoyable as me."

"Ah, but you've always been different. It's so easy to break people these days." It went back to reading, crossing a leg over the other. "Even you weren't as much of a challenge as I thought but you still surprise me. So I'll stay here until I get bored."

"You look bored enough already."

"Do I? That's nice, love."

And Sherlock's back straightened at the pet name—even after all this time he isn't used to it being sounded and it boils his blood every time the demon utters it.

It's black eyes glanced at Sherlock for only a brief moment before it went back to reading the paper. "Be a doll and tell Lestrade you won't be able to go on any cases this week. I have a special surprise in store for you."

[i] The exact number is 7,825,200 according to the 2012 consensus