Timelines are shifted and twisted and changed. Heads up. MAJOR AU.
John: 33yrs Sherlock: 30yrs Sam: 23 Dean: 27 Doctor: Looks 25-ish

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It's around 4:30 in the morning when John makes the connection. 4:30am and a month later when everything suddenly clicks into place.

"It's all a magic trick."

His heart almost stops.

Is not was.

Sherlock was a genius. (Is a genius?) There was no way he would make such a simple mistake like tense in his speech, especially when he was raised in a high society home. It didn't matter what was going on around him, the habit would be so ingrained in his mind that unless he purposely changed the tense his speech would be perfect.

John's legs fold and he hits the floor with a thud, but he doesn't care or notice, he can't notice, not when a surge of hope and fear wells up in him so powerful his vision blurs.

He knows he's seconds from hyperventilating and he's dizzy so he purposely slows his breathing and leans forward so his head is between his knees.

Ten minutes pass before he manages to calm his heart and breathing to a reasonable level and he leans against the closest wall.

Sherlock is alive.

Sherlock is alive…so what would make him fake his death?

Why pretend he was dead?

Why stay that way?

"Think John. Think... what did he say? What did he mention?"

John brought that phone conversation back to his mind fighting the instinctive horrified recoil and thought. What was mentioned? Who?

Moriarty.

Lestrade .

Mrs. Hudson.

Molly.

It's a magic trick.

Keep your eyes on me.

John remembers that moment where his vision was cut off. When the Cyclist had crashed into him. How the Ambulance station was between him and his view of Sherlock.

"I've missed something."

John's feelings are mixed as he realizes this. He's so painfully hopeful and terrified and he feels sick.

The fact that he missed something means that Sherlock is alive, but it also means Sherlock is facing whatever caused him to fake his death alone.

John knows whatever forced Sherlock's hand had something to do with Moriarty. He doesn't know exactly what Moriarty did, but John would bet it has something to do with Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly. Possibly himself.

John pulled himself up to his feet and staggered for his phone. Where ever Sherlock is, whatever he's doing, John knows he probably needs help. So John is going to help.

It's time to call in some favors.

Favors from before Sherlock, before medical school, before the army and the shot to his shoulder.

His hands are shaking as he dials the first of two numbers he has always known and hoped to never use, but will for Sherlock.

"Hello?"

"Sam. I need your help."

"John? Oh my God, are you okay?"

John can hear Sam scrambling around packing things and he can hear Dean's voice in the background asking "Sam? What is it?"

"I'm…well…Physically I'm alright, but someone has messed with one of mine and tried to kill me more than once and is still threatening my people."

There's silence for a minute before Sam asked "What do you need?"

"I'm hunting the bloody fuck down. Him and his people. He's threatening everything I know and care for and he won't stop here. It'll never stop. I need your help hunting them all down and stopping them. Talk to Dean and call me back to let me know. I have another call to make."

John doesn't wait for an answer; he just hangs up and dials another number. He waits as it rings until a male voice answers. "Hello?"

It's different then the last time he heard it, but that same undertone of ancient wisdom is there. "Doctor."

It's silent for a second before the concerned voice asks "John?"

"I need your help. There's a mad genius Consulting Criminal with a network of people threatening me my friends and has forced Sherlock to fake his death and he won't stop until he's made to stop. I'm making him stop, but I need your help to find the network. Please."

"What's the date?"

John gives the date and time to the Doctor and hangs up just in time for his phone to start ringing again. He answers it "Hello?"

"John, what the hell man? What happened?"

"Hey Dean. A psychopathic genius Consulting Criminal named Moriarty is threatening me, my friends and made me believe my Blood Brother was dead. I found out he faked his death and went underground today. If I know him, and I do, he's trying to wipe Moriarty's network out from the ground up. He won't manage it by himself so I'm going to help him but I can't find Moriarty's network without help."

"Damn man. Consulting Criminal? Do those even exist?"

"No Dean. I'm making it all up." John snaps at him then takes a deep breath "Sorry."

"Nah man, stupid question." John can hear the Impala starting in the background "When did you get a Blood Brother?"

John's eyes glaze as he remembers the moment he had taken Sherlock as his Blood Brother.

It had started out normal enough. They had another case, Sherlock had gotten on site and solved it in five minutes, but John had noticed signs of a very unhappy spirit in the house. At first he thought it was the murder victim and since they had solved the case, it would stop.

He had been wrong.

John had barely stopped Sherlock from taking a tumble down the two flights of stairs when he had been shoved. He had cursed a full five minutes when he had reached for the salt rounds he no longer kept on hand while traveling (His room was a whole different story).

Sherlock has stared at him before demanding explanations that John wasn't ready to give, not with a spirit running around trying to kill everyone in the house. John had finally snapped at Sherlock "Look, I'll explain later, but right now I need your help before everyone in the house, including us, ends up dead."

Sherlock had taken one look at John's face and read the honesty before asking "What do you need?"

John had then given Sherlock a five minute run down of the do's and do not's in pissed off spirit hunting before falling back on his teenage years when he had ended up in America hunting alongside the Winchester family. He had gotten thrown across the kitchen once before he managed to find the body, toting the salt from the kitchen, lighter fluid from the cabinet, and Sherlock's lighter into the basement where the previous murders had happened.

Ten minutes later John had been sitting in a cab with Sherlock fending off questions until they got back to Baker's Street.

One very long explanation later where John had to pull out all his reference Texts- still with him shoved in the back of his closet- and pull up all the cases he had solved with the Winchesters on his computer and explain them John had finally just handed off the Texts to Sherlock with a demand that they be returned to him in one piece or John would dispose of every nicotine patch Sherlock owned and get him banned from buying any in the surrounding area.

A few days later John had gone through the Texts again himself for a refresher and had found the Blood Brother ritual.

A Blood Brother was someone who started out as a friend, but over time became someone that both 'brothers' would do anything for including giving their life for the other. It was a sacred ritual rarely used by Hunters because of the occupational hazards. It was a declaration of value and love. It was a way of saying 'in all the ways that matter you are my family, my brother, and I love you enough to do anything for you.' And 'anything' for a Hunter meant a hell of a lot more than one might originally assume.

John's immediate thought had been of Sherlock.

Sherlock had pulled him out of his depression and given him a reason to keep waking up in the morning, to keep going, to look forward to the day's adventures. Sherlock had given him a rock in the middle of a stormy sea, and saved his life multiple times.

John had realized that if anyone had earned the right to be called 'brother' by him, and have it meant in all the ways that mattered it was Sherlock Holmes.

So he had stood up with the book in his hand and had walked out to the living room where Sherlock had been sitting with his legs drawn up under his chin. He had walked over to him, pulled out a knife and sliced his palm open.

John still smirks when he remembers the panicked "What are you doing!?" Sherlock had yelled at him before John had extended the Text out for him to read. Sherlock had batted it away, trying to get to John's bleeding hand, but John had just shoved it back in his face demanding that he read it.

The look of complete shock that had covered Sherlock's face when he realized what John was asking him without words still tugged on John's heart. Sherlock hadn't known how to react at first only staring at John with his mouth open with the shock for a full ten seconds before he had asked "Are you sure John?"

John had answered "You read about how serious it is for a Hunter to offer this to someone. Do you think I'd offer it if I wasn't absolutely certain?"

Sherlock had stared for another two seconds before he had taken John's extended knife and sliced his palm open on the opposite hand to John before reaching out to clasp their hands together.

Usually the two Blood Brothers would say something to commemorate the moment, but John and Sherlock had never needed words to communicate and instead they had stood there hands clasped for a full thirty seconds their eyes communicating everything that would ever need to be said.

John treasured that scar on his palm as proof of their bond.

"John?"

John shook off the memory. "Sorry Dean. I've had one for a long while. Sherlock started earning that right on our very first meeting." John chuckled softly. "He gave me my legs back. Pulled me out of the post-war depression I had sunk into."

"Damn." There's a pause where John can hear Sam's voice asking 'wait, Blood Brother? John has a Blood Brother? Dean?' before Dean continues to speak "We'll help you John. Where are you?" John gives Dean his address and hears him mutter curses about 'Damn planes' and how 'You're lucky you're family you ass.' Before Dean hangs up.

John drops his phone on the couch and leans forward pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"You bloody ass." John whispers the insult into his flat, knowing it won't be heard but needing to say it anyway. "I would have helped you."

John shakes his head.

He's helping Sherlock now, even if he doesn't know it.

Now he just has to wait for reinforcements to get there.