Sam squeezed his eyes shut.
"You can't shut me out, Sammy. That doesn't work anymore," Lucifer crooned.
Sam had a really bad headache. Oh, god. Where was he?
"You don't remember? Sammy...you're in London." The Devil grinned happily at Sam's expression.
What? How the hell did he get in London?
"You got on a plane and ya flew here. Keep up."
It was cold and it was raining. He was shivering. Lucifer kept yelling at him and he was so tired.
Where was Dean? Why was he in London? He needed to get home.
"Hey. Hello?" Sam turned around. The was a man looking at him cautiously.
"Are you okay?" Sam almost wanted to laugh.
He let out a strangled whimper and passed out into the mud.
"God dammit, Bobby! I can't find him anywhere!"
"I know that Dean, but the spell doesn't show up at all anywhere in the country!"
Dean tried not to grip the phone to tight in the fear he might snap it.
"He out of the country, then?"
"I don't know, I'll have to try it," Bobby said curtly.
"Call me with the results." Dean hung up.
He'd been out to grab food, so simple. But Sam had vanished when he got back.
The car had still been there, undisturbed, and everything was in place. Not even a sweater was taken with. Sam was just gone.
And of course, Dean had flipped.
Dean had the impulse to kick his car but he refused to.
He'd rather kick Satan, if that was an option.
John had no idea who this man was. After he had passed out John had made the rash decision of bringing him home to the flat.
The man was currently passed out of the couch.
Sherlock eyed him cautiously. "Who is he?"
But he was bustling around and looking at crime photos so it seemed like he had absolutely no interest in the question.
"No idea," John told him.
"Hmm."
John crossed his arms. "Could you tell me."
Sherlock squinted at one of his photos. "Probably."
John fought the impulse to roll his eyes. "Are you going to?"
"Busy."
"Of course you are," John mumbled.
The man let out a whimper. It was completely pain-riddled and the sound of it even caused Sherlock to briefly glance away from his case.
The man's face twitched and a single tear came from his right eye. "Bad dream," Sherlock said.
Suddenly the man cried out.
John flinched. That's some bad dream.
Then the man bolted upright panting and shaking looking around, bewildered.
"Hey, you're alright. You're at 221B Baker Street." John had no idea what else to tell him.
The man looked like he was going to cry in relief at the news.
"I-I'm sorry," he whispered.
"For what?" John asked.
The man looks confused. "I-I don't k-know."
"What's your name?"
"Sam."
"Okay, Sam. Do you have anyone to call?"
Sam's eyes widened. "Dean."
John frowned slightly. Sam tore through his pockets to pull out a scratched cell phone. He was about to dial when he realized it wasn't an international phone.
"D-Do you have a phone I c-could use?"
This Sam person was obviously American, and looked quite young.
Sherlock didn't move from his position over the microscope. John scowled and rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, I know you have an international phone."
"And?"
"Where is it?"
Sherlock squinted at whatever was in the microscope and airly replied, "In my pocket."
Both men waited for him to retrieve it, but after a moment, John knew better and simply dug it out of Sherlock's pocket himself.
He handed it to Sam who dialed a number.
"Sam? Where the hell are you?! Are you okay?"
There was a pause and some scuffling on the other end. Dean forced himself not to panic.
"D-Dean, I-I don't know how I g-got here." Sam sounded so small right then.
"Hey. It's going to be ok. Do you know where you are?"
"Y-Yeah; uh..22..1..Baker Street..in London, I think."
Dean blanched. "What the hell are you doing in London? How are you calling me?"
"Lucifer got me here somehow. I-I don't remember. This guy and his roommate took me in and let me use their international phone."
Dean exhaled. "Okay. I'm my way, alright?"
After a few second of silence, "Sam?"
Sam's shaky voice came from the speaker. "D-Dean, something is very w-wrong."
