Sherlock was walking back to 221B after a day at the morgue. Molly had showed him a few particularly interesting bodies. He smiled at remembering the thought. How he loved corpses.

The streets were not very crowded, which was unusual, but not important to him. The less people in his way, the better. He turned up his collar as a cold chill ran down his back. He kept his head down, a habit he developed in order to keep away eye contact. His feet tapped against the pavement in a soothing rhythm. But that made him think. He never was able to hear his own footsteps on the street. Ever. It was always too loud. He stopped, and looked up.

A heavy mist had set in. The lamp posts cast eerie shadows, and a feeling of nervousness had settled in Sherlock. An odd felling indeed, for he was seldom nervous. He cautiously turned to look behind him. Where was the population? All the hustle and bustle? London was never quiet.

He felt as though he was being watched. He could feel someone's gaze burning in the back of his neck. Quickly, he turned around. But there was nothing. He shook his head. No. There was someone. Someone standing not too far off. It was a man. Broad shoulders, very tall and slim. Sherlock couldn't see his face. The fog was much too thick to make out any facial features. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached in to retrieve it. A smile spread across his face when he read 'New text from John Watson'.

Where are you? You should have been home hours ago.

-JW

His smile faded and he rolled his eyes.

On my way back now. Strange. The streets are quite desolate this evening.

-SH

Sherlock hit sent and put the phone back in his pocket. He looked back up to where the person had been. Strangely, he was gone. Sherlock shrugged it off. The man no doubt had somewhere to be and had wandered on. Just as Sherlock needed to.

After Sherlock saw the one man, he felt more comfortable. At least he wasn't completely alone on the streets. He made his way past where the man had been standing. He thought it odd that he would just stand there and not be walking. Sherlock shrugged. It didn't matter to him.

A while later, Sherlock felt his phone buzz in his pocket again. He was getting a call. It must be John. He pulled it out. Yes, it was indeed John. He answered.

"Hello John. I told you I was on my way home. I just-"

"Sherlock, there is this man. I don't know who, I don't know why, but he is across Baker Street, just looking in. He's been doing that ages now." John said in almost a whisper. His voice was cracking, he was hyperventilating. John was scared. "And the power keeps going off, everything is wonky. I know I shouldn't be afraid, but something is just not right. I'm terrified."

The terror in Johns voice sent shivers through Sherlock. He became very worried.

"Just stay on the line with me. Keep talking. I'm coming as fast as I can." He lengthened his strides, walking twice as fast now. "Just calm down John. Where are you now? Where is Mrs. Hudson?"

"I'm by the couch. Mrs. Hudson is gone for the week, remember? I swear Sherlock. If this is Baskerville all over again, I swear to god I will kill you." John whispered.

"I promise. This is not me. Why are you so scared? You are safe inside. Have you locked the door and windows?" Sherlock turned a corner. Just a few blocks more, and he would be there.

"Yes, I've locked everything!" John realized he was shouting and immediately softened his voice. "I told you. It's a feeling. It's just… Something's not right. Please just get here." He moaned, his voice cracking.

"Listen to me John. Go to the window. Tell me what you see. Describe him to me. Clothes, facial features, hair color, everything." Sherlock said, trying to sooth him.

"I don't want to go to the window!"

"John! Just do it!" He shouted, "You are safe." He heard John on the other line give out a sigh, and some shuffling indicating John was moving. "Explain. Describe him to me." Sherlock said again. It took John a moment. What he saw must have been truly terrifying for him. Sherlock could hear his breathing increasing even through the phone.

"It's a man. He's just staring. Looking. He's… He's tall. Really slim. He has a suit on I think." What John was describing to him sounded exactly like the man he had seen only a short time ago. How could he be there? Johns voice began to quiver. "He, he, he."

"What John? What is it?" After that moment, the phone kept going in and out. Sherlock only heard every other word John said. Every word he did hear told him John could no longer handle the fear.

"He- Ca- No face- Why- I- Tall-"

"John? I can't hear you!" Sherlock broke into a run. His coat swishing behind him. He had to get there.

"NO- FACE- HE- INSIDE- SHERLOCK- HELP-"

"John?" Sherlock shouted into the phone. John was no longer speaking. All Sherlock could hear were shuffling and thuds and an occasional shout for help. The phone then went completely out. Sherlock ran. He had never run this fast in his life. But John was in great need of help. And Sherlock needed to get there.

He rounded the corner of Baker Street. He didn't stop when he neared the front door. He threw it open with such force, that the door knob put a hole in the wall. He couldn't have cared less. The stairs he took two at a time. When he reached the flat door, it was wide open and a breeze came from it. He opened it. What he saw was pure chaos.

The chairs and table had been overturned. The breeze he felt was coming from the windows. They had been shattered and the glass lay spread across the floor. Everything on the hearth had been shoved off. The pillows were torn open, and feathers were everywhere. Paper littered the floor. They had been torn from all their books. Hundreds and hundreds of papers.

"John!" Sherlock shouted as he slowly made his way into the flat. He looked around. What the hell happened? Everything was complete destruction. "John!" He looked everywhere. Their bedrooms, the bathroom, the closet, but John had completely disappeared. A feeling of most guilt settled in Sherlock. He had told John he was safe. Now he was gone. And Sherlock had no idea what had happened.

He searched the room again. For anything that could give him an idea of what had happened. He kicked aside papers, and glass, and then something caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up. It was a drawing. Done in charcoal. It looked like a child had done it. But what was it? He had seen this sign before. He began to dig into his memories and thoughts from long ago. It was so familiar to him, yet he had no idea. He inspected the drawing further. The charcoal began to rub off on his fingers. Where had he seen this! So strange, yet so familiar. And then it hit him. He knew now. He remembered.

A circle with an X through it. He knew what he was about to get himself into. Everything made sense now. The tall man, the suit. And how John got himself mixed up with him, he didn't know. But whatever he had to do to get John back. He would do it. He would save John from this so called Slenderman.

…..

Sherlock tore the paper in half. He was infuriated. He picked up the laptop and powered it on. The screen lit up his face as it came to life. He needed to research Him. Find out anything he could about Him. Where He resided. Where He would take his… A lump formed in Sherlock's throat. Where He would take his victims. Anything helped.

Sherlock typed His name in the search bar. Enter. Sherlock took everything in. All the information was being stored in a special place he planned on visiting often. He memorized His features, His actions, where He preferred to stay, theories on where He took his victims. Sherlock closed his eyes. That word again. Sherlock hoped John was not a victim. Please, let him be safe. He read on. This Thing liked to take children. More or less preferred them. So why had It taken John?

Sherlock then clicked on images. What he saw was truly awful. A horrible figure always there in the background. Distorted at times. Why did Sherlock fear this creature? Was it the fact that He had no face? That He was tall, had tentacles that could stretch from his back? Or was this fear just sickness? A sickening feeling, that this, this, Thing. This, THING, could just take people, and tear them apart! To kill them with no remorse, for enjoyment, for sport.

A new fiery rage settled in Sherlock. Nothing could stop Sherlock now. Sherlock was going to rescue John. Or if all else failed he would find out what happened. If John had been murdered. It was a thought Sherlock pushed away from his mind almost immediately.

Sherlock tossed the laptop aside. He made his way to Johns room to look for clues. Anything. He opened the door of the room. Everything in here was even displaced, torn or thrown across the room. Sherlock looked for signs of 'Slender sickness'. A horrid name. Couldn't someone have come up with a better diagnosis? Such a ridiculous- NO Sherlock needed to focus!

Sherlock began to rummage through Johns belongings that were already strewn across the ground. Throwing aside books, pillows, and paper, after torn paper. Nothing. And Sherlock hadn't noticed anything different with John the past few days. John would get up, have his coffee, leave for errands, return, and leave the flat for his own reasons until the end of the day or summoned for some reason by Sherlock.

Sherlock was not one to respect others privacy or space. He began to go through all of Johns drawers. Sherlock threw out clothes to join the other articles on the ground. He emptied Johns dresser with no signs of the Thing. There was one left. One drawer in his desk. Sherlock ran to it. He hoped there would be clues in here. Something to go off of. But at the same time… He didn't want to find anything. Part of him wanted all of this to be a joke. A crazy dream. Or simply a nightmare. He opened it. Sherlock's eyes widened. His eyes flew to every article that lay in the drawer. He couldn't believe it. Why had John kept this a secret?

He reached in and pulled out drawings of this Man that John had no doubted drawn. More simple scribbles really. But still. Sherlock was aghast. Why had John done this? The drawings had fit descriptions and other pictures he had seen moments ago with a remarkable likeness. Circles with X's through them, a tall figure with no face, trees, messages. The most reoccurring one was 'Leave me alone'. Sherlock brought a hand to his mouth. This was terrifying. Sherlock noticed a few books at the bottom. No. not books. Journals. Shit. Did Sherlock want to read these after what he had seen already? Yes. He needed to. He still needed more clues. More sickness flooded inside of him. Was he prepared for what he would find? He grabbed the first one and read. Sherlock soon wished he hadn't.

July 12th 2012

So I've decided to keep this journal of sorts. I wasn't going to. But I keep seeing Him more and more. I thought I was done. Years of therapy and I thought I had gotten rid of Him. But I guess He is still there. He disappeared completely when I was deployed. But when I got back, He was still here. I've seen him since I was a kid. He was always just there. Watching. I was kid so I didn't think anything of it you know? He's not real. Can't be. Just my imagination. I want to tell Sherlock, but I am afraid that I will be endangering our friendship. And right now, I need him to just be there, even if he doesn't know what's going on.

July 25th 2012

I saw him at a crime scene today. Just lingering. Watching. Waiting. Why me?

August 7th 2012

I'm having these moments when I'm sitting at my desk doing work. And I will black out and not remember anything. Then when I wake up, I will have drawn all these drawings of Him. I don't even remember doing them. I've hidden them all. I'm terrified Sherlock will find one and investigate. I don't want him to think I'm delusional… But what if I am?

Sherlock shook his head. "Damn you John. Why had you not just TOLD me!?"

September 18th 2012

I had done really well. I hadn't seen him in so long. Hadn't thought about him. Nothing. And then he was there. Closer than he ever had been. Why is he following me?!

Sherlock skipped ahead to the last entry. He was surprised and shocked to find that the entry had been only two days ago.

November 7th 2012

I heard his thoughts! He spoke to me! To me! TO ME! He told me about my life. That I had messed it up. That I was an insignificant waste of time, space, everything. He wanted me to KILL MYSELF! I WANTED TO! But no. NO! I couldn't let Him tell me that. I was terrified, and He knew it. He told me He would hurt Sherlock. That He would hunt Sherlock next after he had taken me. He said He would TAKE ME! He said He would take me to the forest. Take me and kill me. Kill me in Epping Forest.

Sherlock threw the book aside. That was all he needed to know. He rushed out of the flat grabbing a flash light on the way. He was prepared for Him. Nothing would stop him from saving John. And if he was too late to save John, he would stop Slenderman from harming anyone else. Sherlock promised himself. This was going to end. It was going to end tonight.

…..

The moment Sherlock steeped out onto the street it seemed like the city had come back to life. A few people were walking and there was an occasional car or taxi driving by. Sherlock hailed a taxi and it pulled up along the curb.

"Epping Forest!" Sherlock shouted before even getting in. "I'll pay you extra if you get there FAST!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. The driver sped off and Sherlock rammed into the back of the seat. He rubbed his head. He had a while to think things over before he arrived. He stopped. What the hell WAS he going to do? How was he going to find anything in such a large place?

He pushed that from his mind for the moment. He would get there, and he would look. Look for anything. Tracks, prints, blood. He hoped not blood. That was all he could do really. Just look and hope for the best. Hope that John hadn't been killed. Sherlock's mind raced even more as he thought of the journal entry's he had read. They were disturbing. John had been followed since he was a boy. Why had he not gotten help? Answers? Why did he just sit there?! Sherlock hit the side of the cab door.

"IDIOT!"

"Oi! Watcha doing?" The cab driver asked, looking in his rearview mirror.

"JUST DRIVE!" Sherlock yelled. The taxi driver shook his head and continued on. Dammit John. Sherlock put his face in his hands. How had he not known? Why, why oh WHY had John not told him? He would have helped. Done anything he could to help John. And now John was probably dead. Were there signs? Sherlock retreated into his mind palace and went over the past few weeks.

John had seemed fine. He did a little less talking, but that wasn't unusual for him to pull back at times. He would leave the flat, and come back just before night fall very often. That was the only thing out of order. So where had John been going? If what he had researched on the internet was correct, John had to have been going to the forest. That was the only explanation. He then slowly became enveloped in this Creatures arms. How had Sherlock missed all the signs? They were so obvious to him now.

"Eppin' Forest sir." Sherlock didn't even notice the cab had slowed. He reached into his pocket and pulled out all his money and threw it at the cabby. He leaped out of the cab before it had even pulled to a stop. Sherlock slammed the door and looked around. There was a soft mist just like before on the streets. A wide path lead from the street into Epping Forest. "Escuse meh sir. You over peid. By… Well, a lot."

"Take it!" Sherlock screamed at the man. His patients were wearing thin. He only cared about John at the moment. The cab pulled away, and Sherlock was left in complete darkness. He walked forward. He was scared. Very scared now that he thought about it. But his determination covered his fear. He grabbed the flashlight out of his pocket and broke into a run. As he ran, he looked for signs. He scanned the trees, the grass, and the pavement. But there was nothing. He neared the start of the forest. He slowed, and flicked on his flashlight.

A stream of light shone through the darkness. Sherlock took a deep breath and took the first step into the forest. The moment he did, a cold chill ran down his spine, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. With every step he took, he noticed the fog was becoming thicker. Was this a sign that the Thing was near? Sherlock stopped. Something had caught his eye.

There was a puddle on the ground not far off the trail. He flashed his light across the surface. Sherlock felt his heart skip a beat. It was crimson colored. Blood. He slowly walked over to the puddle and kneeled next to it. Sherlock removed his glove and skimmed his finger across the surface of the liquid. It was indeed blood. But it was slightly warm. This blood had only just been spilled.

There was a crack of a twig off to his left. Sherlock quickly shone the flashlight in the direction of the noise. A rabbit hopped away through the bushes. Nothing to fear. Yet. Sherlock stood up. John and the Creature had to be near. Blood only stayed warm for so long.

"John!" Sherlock shouted. He waited a moment. Nothing. "John Watson!" He tried again. There was still no reply. Sherlock felt a rush of powerlessness run over him. What if he never found John? What would his life be like without him, and would he live in regret? How could he live with himself? He was breathing fast. Sweat rolled down his forehead. John was all he could think about.

There was a muffled yell not far off. Sherlock spun around, his heart beating twice as fast. Witch direction had it come from? He waited another moment, ready to run in the direction of the noise. And there it was. It sounded so much like John. It had to be him. Sherlock took off from the trail. He rushed passed trees and bushes. He felt the branches snag onto him and scratch his face as he went deeper in the brush. Sherlock tripped on a log and fell forward. His face rammed into the forest floor and he felt blood dripping down the side of his face.

Sherlock pushed himself up off the ground and spat out dirt and leafs. He was slightly dizzy from the hit to the head, but he could manage. Sherlock pushed back a branch and stepped into a large clearing. He looked around. He couldn't see very far. The fog was extremely thick. Sherlock squinted his eyes. There was something in the middle of the clearing. It was lying on the ground, motionless. It had to be… John! He started forward. What was he about to see? Was Sherlock going to lay eyes on his best friend and find him dead? Or was he going to be maimed, or mutilated? Sherlock stopped in his tracks. He didn't want to see John like that. He couldn't see John like that. But then the shape on the ground shifted slightly.

Sherlock moved forward cautiously. As he neared the person, he discovered that it was indeed John. Sherlock rushed forward and kneeled next to him. Sherlock cradled Johns head. John winced.

"Oh my god, John." Sherlock said quietly. John was covered in blood. A gash was above his left eye. His clothes were torn. There were scratches and bruises all over his body. "John." Sherlock said, leaning in close. With great effort, John opened up his eyes.

"Sher- Sherlock?" John sputtered.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's me." Sherlock found himself on the verge of tears.

"Get away." John said. Sherlock was surprised at this. "He's going to kill you Sherlock." John coughed, and spat out some blood. "You need to get away." John winced in pain. Sherlock looked at him with glazed yes.

"Nothing will make me leave you. Why John? Why hadn't you told me about this?" Sherlock's voice cracked. "Why? I could have helped."

"I didn't think you would believe me." John began to shiver violently. Sherlock pulled him in closer in attempt to exchange body heat. "And. I didn't want to get you hurt. Because Sherlock. This thing. He's like nothing you've ever dealt with." Johns teeth began to chatter from the cold.

"I don't care." Sherlock lay John back down and took off his own coat and laid it over him. "I've found you, and you're safe now. I will not leave you." Sherlock reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone. "We'll be out of here soon." Sherlock dialed Lestrauds number and brought the phone to his ear.

"It won't work Sherlock." John tried to lift his head but was far too weak. Sherlock put his free hand on Johns shoulder to assure him he was still there. Sherlock began to notice how extremely cold it was. He began to shiver himself. The phone rang, and Lestraud picked up.

"Have you any idea what time it is Sherlock?" Lestraud said grumpily.

"Lestraud. Listen to me. John and I are in Epping Forest. We need medical attention, and back up. As many units as you can."

"Sherlock, I can't hear you very well. We must have a bad connection. Epping Forest?" Lestraud became more focused.

"Epping Forest yes!" Sherlock became more scared than he had ever been in his entire life. Lestraud couldn't hear him. This is exactly what had happened with John before he was taken by the Creature. "We need medical assistance, and back up! As much as you can! Help!"

"All- Epping- Stay there- Coming-" and then the phone cut out. Sherlock looked around. It had to be here somewhere. Not far off. Just, watching. Sherlock moved closer to John. He had to protect him. He had come all this way.

Sherlock felt a presence. An eerie presence. He slowly turned his head. Through the fog, he could clearly see the outline of a man. A tall, thin figure. And he knew. It was him. The moment had come.

…..

John began to breath very heavy.

"Sherlock, Sherlock I can feel him. He's here." John grabbed on to Sherlock's arm. "Don't look away Sherlock. If you look away, he moves closer, and then he takes you. Please don't leave me Sherlock." John squeezed harder at Sherlock's arm.

"I won't leave you." Sherlock wanted to look at John to comfort him, but knew the figure would move closer. He instead squeezed Johns shoulder in return.

Sherlock stood. He had no idea what he was going to do. How they were going to get away, or how they were even going to survive this.

"What do you want?" Sherlock shouted at it. "Why John? Why now?" Slenderman tilted his head slightly to the right as if thinking. Or observing his new prey. "I won't let you take him. I will find a way to defeat you." All of a sudden. A voice, a dark evil voice began to speak inside Sherlocks head.

"You do not frighten me. Nothing is more terrifying than me. I am brother to Lucifer. Cousin to death. Father of fear." Sherlock reached for his ears and covered them, but the voice continued on. "You're brave, but that just means you are foolish. You've come far for your friend. I do not doubt your abilities or strength. But I can see inside you. I know what you fear most." John began to writhe in pain and he let out an excruciating scream. Sherlock immediately turned his attention to John.

"John. John, don't let him in! Just focus, listen to my voice!" Johns face turned red and he began to mutter something under his breath. Sherlock lowered his ear to his mouth so he could make out what he was saying.

"Eye contact Sherlock, for God's sake eye contact, AGH!" John let out another yell of pain and Sherlock's eyes shot back up to look for the thing. But it was gone.

"I'm here. I'm there. Where am I Sherlock?"

"You're not real!" Sherlock screamed into the darkness. John was gasping for breath now. Sherlocks heart raced. Where was Lestraud?! Why wasn't he here, why was he taking his time?! John was panting and grabbing handfuls or grass and dirt. Sherlock moved even closer to John and held his head close to his chest. The last thing he would do was let this thing take John. Sherlock would fight to the death for John.

"Please. Please. Sherlock. Please." John looked up at Sherlock, and Sherlock reluctantly looked down at John. "Sherlock." A tear fell down the side of Johns face. "Please kill me Sherlock. Please kill me." Sherlocks heart fell. John could not have said anything worse. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to kill his best and only friend. But here he was, in excruciating pain, and he wanted it to be done. He couldn't stand it, and Sherlock wanted to help him. But helping him, by killing him? How could he.

"No. No I will not kill you. Don't ask me to do anything like that, I will not! I won't!" Sherlock enveloped John's shoulders and head in a hug and held him closer to his heart than he ever had. "Don't ask me to do that." John gulped in air and tears fell onto Sherlock's shirt.

It began to rain. Huge drops of water soaking both of them in seconds. The rain cleared the fog, and Sherlock could now see everything. The trees, the grass, the moon. Him. Sherlock saw Him. Still watching.

Did you think I would leave Sherlock? He took a step closer. Did you think I would just let you both go? Another step. I'm not that kind of demon. I've tortured you by making you watch you friend beg for death. For YOU to kill him. The thing came within twenty feet of them. Sherlock was paralyzed with fear. He tried to remain calm. He retreated into his mind palace, trying to find something, anything that would calm him down. But He was there. He was in there too. How could he be in there? Sherlock wouldn't allow something so demonic and cruel to enter this part of his mind. No matter where he turned, which room he entered, He was always there.

John gave another scream and Sherlock looked down at him for only a split second, and then remembered he should never look away. When he turned back, He was gone again. The rain obscured his vision. He was gone, but still He was there in Sherlock's mind. Sherlock shook his head violently in attempt to repel the image, but still he stood there.

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Sherlock bent over John and looked down at the ground. He was mentally, and physically exhausted. He had been drained of all his energy, and found it difficult to even hold John's head anymore. "Get out. You're not welcome here."

I can be anywhere I want to be. Sherlock felt a presence in front of him. John grabbed onto Sherlock's sleeve and gave a small whimper.

"Sher-. Sherlock." John looked past Sherlock and at something above them.

Slowly, Sherlock raised his head. There, in front of him, was Slenderman. His head leaning in staring into the depths of Sherlock's heart and soul. Had this demon had a nose, they would be touching. The blank white nothingness looking at him. Sherlock refused to look away, despite how terrified he was. The rain ran down His face smoothly leaving streaks that were quickly washed away by more droplets. There was nothing. And that's why Sherlock believed so many people feared this demon. Because there was absolutely, nothing. Blankness, horror, death, uncertainty and terror was all that showed on his face.

Even though this demon had no face, Sherlock could feel its breath. Hot, evil breath on his cheek. Sherlock could feel John begin to breathe very fast and heavy. Laughter began to fill his mind. But it wasn't his. It was Him. Slendermans. Slenderman grabbed Sherlock with one hand around his throat and slowly began to lift him up. Sherlock dropped Johns head and reached up to try to remove the creatures hand so he could breath.

It was now Sherlock who gasped for breaths of air and out of pain. Higher and higher he lifted Sherlock. He was now face to face and ten feet off the ground. Sherlock grabbed at the cold hand that was denying him sweet air. The laughter in his mind grew louder and louder. The creature began to make low chuckling sounds, and Sherlock watched in horror as a long slit began to appear across his face where his mouth would have been… No. It was His mouth. Rows of serrated, sharp teeth shone menacingly, and a long, red, snake like tongue licked its lips. All of a sudden, the laughter in Sherlock's mind transitioned from inside him, to the creature. His entire body shuddered and shook as he laughed.

His tongue flicked across the side of Sherlock's face and went back to his mouth. He spoke again. But this time, it came straight from him.

"I had heard so much about you. And I just knew I had to have you." His mouth moved in the most grotesque way, as if when he spoke, He had to show every one of his teeth. "And I knew the only way to get to you, was through John." Sherlock gasped. "And now I have you and your precious John." He brought Sherlock close to his mouth.

Sherlock had believed he knew what death smelled like. All those days around murder victims and countless hours in the morgue. All the experiments with body parts and handling dead things. But death was on His breath. Sherlock had never smelled death like this. Sherlock knew he was going to die, and he would become part of the breath.

"Sherlock!" A voice penetrated the rain and forest. The creature stopped and looked for the source of the voice. A stream of light from several flashlights shined in the darkness. Sherlock was dropped. As he hit the ground, he felt his ankle snap. He groaned and began to crawl away. But there was no need. When he looked up, He was gone. Slenderman was gone.

Ending One

"Sherlock!" Sherlock recognized this as Lestrauds voice. He tried his best to sit up or at least call out Gregs name. But he was too exhausted. All he could do was collapse next to John and listen to him breath.

"Sherlock." John groaned. Sherlock turned his head towards John, mud clinging to his damp hair. John did the same. They looked at each other a moment. "Sherlock I'm so sorry." Sherlock shook his head.

"He's gone now." He searched for John's hand. To hold onto him. To still reassure him he was there. And that he would always be here.

"Over here! I found them!" Sherlock heard footsteps running towards them and saw the beams of light grow brighter. A man kneeled next to John and began to check his vitals. Another man came beside Sherlock and did the same. Lestraud came next to Sherlock. By the look on his face, Sherlock could tell he looked a lot worse than he felt.

"God Sherlock what's happened? Who did this to you two?" Lestraud rested his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"It was. This Thing." Sherlock's face cringed. "Took John. Lestraud, he's dangerous."

"It's okay Sherlock. We have over thirty units here. We're all safe. You're safe." An ambulance came around a patch of trees and into the clearing. Paramedics jumped out and ran over to them. They gently loaded both John and Sherlock onto stretchers.

"Lestraud. He's evil. Get out of here as soon as you can. But if you see him, don't look away." Sherlock and John were put inside the ambulance, and it began to drive away. Away from the forest. Away from the pain. Away from the terror. And hopefully, away from Him.

Ending Two

Sherlock lay there. Unable to move. He knew it was Lestrauds voice echoing through the darkness. He prayed. For the first time in years, he prayed that Lestraud would find them and save them.

"Sherlock!" The voice rand again, except more worried and fearful. "Who are you? Sherlock is that you?" Sherlock tried to shout for them. But all that came out was a squeak of pain. It grew very silent. Sherlock could tell something was wrong. He could see the beams of light zooming all around. About thirty people he guessed were out there looking for them. That's when the screaming started. First one man. Then another. And another. They weren't screams of fear. They were screams of pain.

The forest was filled with yells and shouts and please and death. One by one the lights began to flicker out. The screams less intense as they slowly decreased to ten. Nine screams. Eight screams. Seven screams. Six screams. Five screams. Four screams. Three screams. Two screams. Then it was one. And this voice was pleading.

"Please. Whatever you are. Please. I beg of you! I have a family. A wife, children!" His tone quivered. And then a voice. Angry and mad, loud and demonic filled the entire forest.

"DO YOU THINK I CARE?" There was a loud scream, then a grotesque tearing sound. Then silence. The light disappeared and they were covered in the darkness and rain. John began to breath heavy again and he turned to Sherlock.

"Sherlock. He's. He's coming back. He's coming." Sherlock didn't know what to do. Nothing could have ever prepared him for this. With all the energy remaining in him, Sherlock turned to John, gently grabbed either side of his face, and touched their foreheads together. John grabbed onto Sherlock's shoulder and held on tightly. They looked into each other's eyes. Rain dripped down their hair and onto their faces. It got extremely cold again and their breath was now visible.

"We're going to die Sherlock. Aren't we." They cried together. They only had a few precious moments left together. And they cried.

"Yes John. Yes." They felt the presence of Him. He was here again. "But we will still be together. It will all be over soon." Sherlock refused to let go of John until he was forced. So he held on. These last few precious moments of life with John. And he held on. They held on tighter to each other than they had ever done before.

A hand came down on each of their necks and pulled them apart fiercely. This time, each of them lifted up off the ground and high into the air. He stared at them. Fresh blood was splattered all across his blank face and suit. The rain streaked the blood and made him look more menacing.

His mouth opened again revealing the teeth, coated in a fresh layer of blood. He dropped John. Sherlock heard him grunt as his body hit the muddy ground. The creature slammed his other hand onto Sherlock's shoulder, and He began to pull. Sherlock gave out a yell of pain. He was on fire. His spine being pulled out of alignment. His skin tearing. His shoulders popping out of place.

Sherlock could hear John shouting for him. But all he could see was the mouth of the creature growing bigger as his head was placed inside its mouth. He felt the sharp teeth scrape along his cheek, and blood oozed out. Once again he smelled death. There was another yell from John, a groan from inside Slenderman himself, and Sherlock felt the pressure of His jaws close on his head. The crushing pressure was too much for him to bear. He yelled for it to be over. Wanted death more than anything. Forgot about life, forgot about John, and forgot about anything. He now wanted this pain gone. He wanted death. There was a sharp pain, and Sherlock heard a pop, and there was nothing more.

A blinding light. Sherlock looked around. He was surrounded by white. As far as he could tell it just went on and on. He looked down at himself. He was in a completely white suit along with polished wing tipped white shoes. Then he looked up and made a full turn. The pain was gone. Slenderman was gone. But so was John. Sherlock shook his head. He was dead, he knew it. And, was this heaven? It had to be. Or the cross roads at least. But he didn't see John anywhere. If John was not here this had to be hell.

Sherlocks eyes began to fill slowly with tears. He was domed to spend eternity forever without John. One of the tears fell down his cheek. He brushed it away.

"Sherlock?" There was a voice behind him. A sweet familiar voice. Sherlock turned around and was met with John. He was also dressed in a startlingly white suit. They rushed to each other and enveloped in a loving hug. And at that moment, each of them knew that nothing on earth or in heaven could destroy their friendship.