"Sherlock?" John called from the kitchen.
"What?" Sherlock whined. He had been in the middle of a perfectly good night's rest and wasn't quite willing to get up, especially if it meant he had to put on clothes.
"Can you come here for a moment?" John's voice floated into the room, sounding slightly perplexed.
Sherlock sighed. He dragged on a discarded shirt and gathered up his blankets, wrapping them around himself like a cocoon. He padded into the kitchen, fully expecting John to ask him about the plane tickets that were currently lying next to Sherlock's tea. He decided to cut to the chase.
"Yes, John, those are plane tickets, and yes we are going to Colorado. I didn't tell you because I knew you'd freak out and try to make an excuse to get out of it. And yes, yes you would have, John, because you've done it before." He said, because John had opened up his mouth to protest. It snapped shut and the room was mercifully silent. Sherlock leaned against the counter and sipped his tea.
"And why, are we going to Colorado in the first place?" John was staring at him. Sherlock sighed.
"A couple days ago an extremely bright young man by the name of Sam Winchester contacted me. He said he was a huge fan of my work, and that there might be a case there that seemed similar to the H.O.U.N.D. case we solved a while ago. I looked into what he was talking about of course, and the similarities are striking. I thought it might be wise to get away from Mycroft's scrutiny for a time as well." Sherlock's expression turned cold as he remembered the last time the brothers had met. From what John could hear, they had been fighting about something and Mycroft had put John on red alert to watch over Sherlock when he had left. Sherlock didn't leave his room the entire day. Neither sibling would tell him what had happened.
"Are you ever going to tell me what on Earth you two were fighting about?" John asked, knowing Sherlock's response before he even asked.
Sherlock continued to sip his tea, eyes trained on the wall. John sighed.
"America. We're going to America."
"Yes, John."
"And when, exactly?"
"Tomorrow, at 8 am."
John did a double take.
"Tomorrow? At 8 AM?" He practically yelled, looking incredulously at Sherlock.
"Yes, John."
John looked helplessly around the room.
"What if I had something planned tomorrow?"
"You don't."
"And how would you kn - oh, you know what, never mind." He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "I guess I'll go … pack." He picked up his tea and the newspaper, and made his way to his room.
Sherlock smirked.
"Wait, so let me get this straight … you read some stranger's blog, thought he was cool, or whatever, and then talked him into coming here? Why?" Dean demanded, pacing in front of Sam, who was sitting at the motel table, staring at Dean like he was a toddler that was having trouble learning his ABC's.
"I think he's a psychic." Sam repeated for what had to have been the third time.
"Have you not heard about stranger danger? Not to talk to people on the internet? With our luck, he'll turn out to be a demon or something." Dean had stopped pacing and stood in front of Sam.
Sam pressed his lips together and stared at the floor, trying not to smile. He looked up at his brother. "Stranger danger?"
"Oh, you know what I mean." He resumed his pacing.
Sam sighed. "His name, is Sherlock Holmes. Apparently he's a famous private investigator or something. He's british."
"So?"
"So," Sam turned his laptop towards Dean. It was open to an article about Sherlock, and his achievements. "He's a real person. He really is coming, and, he's really a human being, as far as I can tell."
Dean huffed. "I'm sending Cas to check."
Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed his laptop, walking over to his bed where he could be more comfortable.
"Castiel." Dean started. "Will you please get your feathery a-"
"Hello, Dean."
The hunter spun around to see Cas standing next to the TV.
"Ah- Right. Hey, Cas." Dean raised his arm, not quite sure what to with his limbs for a moment. He rubbed the back of neck.
Castiel frowned at him. "Why did you call me?"
"I, well, uh. I need you to spy on someone for me." He dropped his arm and gestured to Cas.
"… And whom am I to spy on?"
"Sher- Sherlock - something. " Dean turned to Sam for help.
"Holmes." Sam added. "Sherlock Holmes. London, England."
Dean turned back to Castiel. "Yeah, him. Oh, and don't let them see you. You got that?"
He nodded, and with a flutter of wings, Cas disappeared. Dean heaved a sigh and flopped down onto his bed.
Sherlock and John were both awoken by an alarm at 6 am the next morning. Mrs. Hudson had left tea and breakfast out, and they ate in silence. At 6:30 am, they both grabbed their suitcases and left. As Sherlock was hailing a cab, John was looking around, not used to seeing the city this early in the morning.
As he was looking around, a man across the street caught his eye. The man was quite tall, and had dark hair and stubble. He was wearing a tan trench coat, with a suit underneath. His tie was backwards. He was staring straight at Sherlock, and the longer John watched, the more uneasy he felt.
John turned to Sherlock as a cab pulled up. "Do you see that man over there?"
Sherlock looked up, staring at where John was pointing. He looked confused and irritated.
"There's no one there, John. Now hurry up and get in."
The doctor looked back to where the man was standing, only to see the entire street devoid of life. He stared at the spot for a few seconds, refusing to believe that the man had just disappeared.
"John!"
He shook himself out of it and climbed inside of the cab.