(A/N: This story is largely based in Christian lore (because I'm most familiar with it) however it does not deny the existence of other religions, in fact is encourages their existence and is not so subtle about supporting coexistence. This world is slightly distorted and does not depict my beliefs, it is a work of fiction and meant to entertain. Any offense given is completely unintentional, and any changes made to religious lore were altered in order to fit the purposes of the story. If you think that may bother you, then do not read the fic. The prayer in the beginning is the prayer to St. Michael the Archangel. Also, I have no idea of exorcisms work, so I've made up some of my own rules. Just roll with it. Please review and I hope you enjoy.)

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle.

Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the Devil.

May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,

And do thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host,

By the Power of God,

Cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits

Who prowl about the World

Seeking the Ruin of Souls.

Amen

John was covered in bile and he was wishing that he wasn't so used to the feeling.

"You are banished from this place," he ordered in a commanding voice, flicking more holy water at the man seated in front of him. "Return to the pits of hell, creature of Satan. By the power of God, you are cast from this Earth, cast from this body, and cast from this realm."

The man screamed, and John was buffeted back by a dark, powerful force. Lesser men would be knocked off their feat.

But exorcisms do not attack physical strength. They attack mental and emotional strength, they test faith, loyalty, and willpower. This was why John was so good at them.

"Our Father, Who art in Heaven," John began reciting as the man convulsed before him. "Hallowed be Thy name. They Kingdom come, Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven."

There, the creeping black tendrils were being forced from the poor innocent man in front of him. About damn time. This had been going on for thirty six uninterrupted hours. John was about ready to fall over in exhaustion. He had never come so close to breaking before. He already had been relieved by a novice once already so he could pull himself together. The young girl had barely been able to contain the demon while John was away, she had made no progress in removing it.

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

"We will remember, Watson. You rise above your station, mortal. And for that, you will soon pay." In a rush of black smoke, the demon finally vacated the body and vanished, sucked back into the depths of Hell.

"Amen," John finished, wiping his brow. "Jesus Christ, that was a doozy. Here mate, can you stand?"

He helped the poor man to his feet, pale, damp with sweat, shaking, and terrified out of his mind. "That-that thing has been inside me for years. Thank you. Thank you so much, Father. I feel like myself again."

"Not a priest," John said with a laugh, "but you're more than welcome. Here, follow Father Murray. He will get you some food and give you a safe place to rest for the night. In the morning, a novice will teach you how to protect yourself from future possession. Now that you've been taken once, you're at a higher risk of being taken again."

The man kept babbling his thanks as John shoved him off into Father Murray's care.

He retired quickly to his quarters and took a long shower, getting the stench of vomit and sulfur out of his skin.

He often wondered how he got to this point, how he went from being a soldier to one of London's best exorcists. If it weren't for the Reveal, as people were calling it, he probably would have died alone in a pathetic bedsit, gun in hand and a bullet through his brain.

He hadn't even been religious. But there was really no rationalizing all of it away anymore. Angels and demons suddenly decided to let themselves be known. The only things mortals could do now was scramble like mad to keep up with the new set of rules forced upon every society. Demon trappers and demon hunters cropped up in the less savory parts of town, exorcists and angelologists in the areas that pretended they were better.

John was a Convert, one of the many bandwagon-ers who brushed up on as much religious lore as possible in order to understand this twisted new world around them.

He could have picked any religion to study, really. The angels and demons were not necessarily Christian in origin. In fact, once the Church came across a demon that was never mentioned in Christian lore, although the Shinto specialist across town was able to deal with it in an hour.

He defaulted to Christianity out of habit, growing up with Christmas and Easter and the occasional Mass his grandmother forced him to attend. It was a more familiar world, though still alien to him. His skills in exorcism were discovered on accident, when a low level demon tried to possess his body and his loudly told it to shove off until it gave up and left.

An iron will, he was told, would make him nearly invulnerable to possession. Ideal for an exorcist, which were in high demand now that demons weren't being shy about roaming the Earth anymore.

And so he trained. Now he had a nice set of rooms reserved for him at most of London's churches. He was popular for not being picky about the various sects. Or about religion in general, he often worked with the constantly good spirited Rabbi at his synagogue two blocks away. And the aforementioned Shinto specialist was a delight to have over for tea.

He was nicknamed the 'consulting exorcist.' More often than he really cared for, he was privately hired to deal with a demon that more often than not turned out to be an unruly child, not a possession of demonic forces. But the pay was good, and he was able to keep a flat of his own, when he didn't feel like taking up unnecessary space in a church's basement.

Speaking of, he really wanted to sleep in his own bed after the day he'd just had. He quickly finished his shower and changed, grabbing the few things he had left in the room and locking up, sure he would be back sooner rather than later.

In his opinion, possessions were just getting worse and worse, the angels getting fewer and fewer. Or, at least, that what it seemed like from this side of the war. When he was in Afghanistan, it felt like the Taliban was only growing stronger and stronger, but in truth he was just getting tired. Tired and unable to deal with all the shit being thrown in his path.

"Leaving, John?" Father Stamford asked him pleasantly when they saw each other in the hallway. "You look exhausted, if you don't mind me saying. I beg you to stay for the night, if you are tired."

"Always tired, Mike," John sighed. "But after an exorcism like that, I just need to get back to my own flat."

"I understand," Father Stamford said kindly. "You do what you feel best. You must keep your soul strong. However, if you ever feel in need of safe haven, our doors are always open to weary travelers."

"Thank you," John said politely, starting to edge away. "I'm just, um, going to go now."

"Stay strong, Brother John."

John bade his farewells, made his excuses, and finally made his way back to his flat.

He was ashamed that it took him as long as it did to realize that something was wrong. He had already stuck the key in the lock when the icy prickling of instinct flared up at the nape of his neck. He paused but recovered quickly, trying not to let the intruder know he felt something wrong.

He couldn't have said what it was. Maybe there was some tiny detail of the door the worked its way into his subconscious. Maybe he heard very tiny movements from his flat. All he could say was that he knew that as soon as he opened the door, he wouldn't be alone.

Wishing, for the first time in a long time, that he had a gun with him, John opened the door and stepped into the darkened flat.

He flicked on the light and stared at the intruder.

He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't the pale, curly haired man casually leaning against the wall adjacent to the door.

He calmly shut the door behind him. The visitor didn't move. He merely regarded John with pale blue eyes, lazily, as though he had every right to be there.

"I've been here for three days," the visitor said in a deep voice. "Waiting. You've been busy in that time, I see."

"What are you doing here, Sherlock?" John asked with a sigh. "I thought I was finished working with you."

"Yes," Sherlock said, shifting slightly. "Well. I am in need of your skill set."

John sighed. "Yeah, there are less illegal ways to contact me for work. You can't keep showing up at my flat when you need an exorcist. I understand you're high priority, but I can't drop everything when you have a job. I need-"

"Bored," Sherlock interrupted. "And I don't care for your petty exorcisms. We have a Priority One escaped from our prison. And, as always, none of the other exorcists will work with me."

John snorted. "That's because you're as rude as a Fallen and tend to tell the exorcists they're doing everything wrong."

"They were," Sherlock insisted with a small pout. "And that is hardly my fault."

John moved into the sitting room and collapsed into his favorite chair. Sherlock took the unoccupied one. "So," John said after a moment. "You've lost a demon?"

"Anderson lost him," Sherlock sighed, as though that explained everything. "The idiot's hardly suited to be a Wanderer. Whatever went through Its mind when Anderson was named Guardian is beyond me. We've lost Moriarty, one of the nastiest demons in our possession."

"Speaking of possession," John continued, following Sherlock's train of thought. "I'm assuming this Moriarty fellow has slipped away and stolen the body of some poor sod in London?"

"Quite right."

"And so you need an exorcist." John leaned forward slightly, unable to contain the rising excitement at the idea, despite the weariness weighing him down. Jobs requested by angels were always high profile and high energy. They knew where the most dangerous demons were, and they knew how to take them down. But, for some reason John was never quite sure of, angels couldn't perform exorcisms themselves.

"So, did a superior send you to clean up Anderson's mess?"

Sherlock snorted and looked at John disdainfully. "Please. As though I have superiors. I'm an Archangel, you are well aware."

"Yeah, you never bloody shut up about it. And I was fairly certain that, you being a Christian angel and all, that you did, in fact, have a superior."

"There's only one authority higher than me, and if you think It has any consideration for the messes Anderson has made, you are wrong indeed. The Archangels make all the decisions, or at least we do when it comes to our religion. I'd be rather useless trying to order the Kami around, they'd just laugh at me and tell me to piss off. However, Moriarty is a demon of the Christian faith, and therefore in my jurisdiction. I was the one who put him in prison in the first place, that's why it's my job to get him back. I need you to help. You're slightly less useless than the rest of what London has to offer."

John let out a light laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but I'm just the only one that puts up with your bullshit. I know for a fact that you'll decide to follow me everywhere until the job is finished."

"Don't undersell yourself," Sherlock scolded. "You're good at this, although the fact that you haven't attacked me yet is a definite plus. The last exorcist I worked with was convinced I was a demon in disguise. And I have to say that I'm happy you broke up with that dreadful girlfriend of yours, it was extremely awkward to follow you on those dates."

"Maybe you shouldn't have done that."

"And I have a feeling we're going to have to jump faiths a bit. Most of the exorcists will blindly refuse to acknowledge any religion but their own. You're one of the most open minded exorcists here, and I'm going to need someone who can work outside of my jurisdiction."

"I thought you said we were after a demon from Christian lore?"

"We are," Sherlock agreed. "But we have to find him first."

"Excuse me?"

Sherlock sighed and shifted slightly, embarrassed. "My brother Mycroft lost sight of him. We can only read him as a Priority One possession. Unfortunately, there are about a dozen Priority One possessions in London alone."

"So we need to systematically start exorcising them until we flush them out?" John blanched slightly at the thought.

Sherlock smiled a bright, genuine smile. "Exactly."

"I've never performed a Priority One exorcism," John sighed. "I don't know if I've got it in me. I barely made it through that Priority Three today."

"You wouldn't be alone," Sherlock assured him. "I've been building a team. I've got a demonologist and a demon hunter already enlisted in this cause, not to mention a Priority Seven that owes me several rather large favors. I will be assisting as well. The last piece we're missing is a skilled exorcist."

"I am not working with a demon."

"You'll like Irene. She's an enormous bitch and rather crazy, but still good fun all around." Sherlock paused for a moment. "Actually, scratch that, you'll probably hate her. She's a succubus, and I forget that you have a weakness for women that I myself am not burdened by."

"You make me sound like a slag."

"Well..."

"Don't."

"Well, she's necessary," Sherlock finally insisted, a slight whine in his voice. "She's worked with Moriarty in the past and knows his habits much better than I could ever hope to. She's also very clever and none of the demons have realized she's been helping Heaven. She's our inside woman and, yes, you will probably hate her, but there are more important things to be worried about."

"Speaking of," John said, latching onto the 'more important things' bit. "What, exactly, will happen if we fail? Or in the far more likely event that I refuse to do this ridiculous thing?"

"We both know that you won't refuse," Sherlock said impatiently. "You live for the thrill of the chase. You love danger, you're addicted to adrenaline. This will be a fix like nothing else and, if you really want to know, Moriarty's imprisonment will tip the balance of Heaven and Hell."

"You mean...?"

"If Moriarty is allowed to do as he pleases, demons will become stronger than angels. All Hell will literally break loose. If he is successfully imprisoned, Heaven will once again reign. It's a significant struggle, I believe."

John was quiet for a moment. "I'll do it," he said at last. "Don't have much of a choice, do I? Yeah, I'll be your exorcist. God help me, every time I agree to help you I end up worse off than I was before."

Sherlock looked extremely pleased with himself. "Ah, but you're earning yourself a rather lovely place in the afterlife. One where I can bother you every day, provided I don't have any annoying Archangel jobs to deal with."

"That is not Heaven," John said, slightly worried. "That is Hell. That is a horrible, horrible Hell."

Sherlock waved him off. "You like me much more than you'll ever admit. Do you forget I'm an Archangel? I can hear your thoughts. This entire conversation has been a formality."

"Wait, what?"

Sherlock got to his feet. "I shall leave you for the evening, allow you to get your rest. I'll return in the morning and introduce you to the rest of the group. You're going to have to get started right away."

"No, stop. What was that about the mind reading?"

"Sleep well," Sherlock said, releasing his silver wings with a flash on incandescent light, flapping them once, and disappearing from the flat entirely, leaving a cold and empty feeling in his wake.

Did all of that just happen? ANDWHAT WAS THAT ABOUT THE MIND READING?

John flushed a deep scarlet, worrying over what errant thoughts Sherlock had picked up. Although, John rationalized, I certainly couldn't have had the dirtiest thoughts that Sherlock has ever heard. I'm sure he's had plenty of people admiring his eyes. And his hands. And his arse. Goddammit.

John wandered into his kitchen, made himself a cup of tea, and stared at it for an indeterminate amount of time before dumping the cold liquid in the sink and going to bed.

Still red from humiliation, John curled up under his covers and willed himself to sleep, knowing that he would need the rest of today had been any indication of what tomorrow would be like.

… …

"Wake up," a deep voice ordered John.

The exorcist cracked a sleep eye open and jumped when he saw the angel peering at him from about two inches away.

John took a few deep breaths and composed himself. "Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock," John said calmly.

"Good morning or whatever," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Get dressed and feed yourself. You need to meet the rest of your team."

"Already? It's barely dawn!"

"Hell doesn't run on circadian rhythm, why should Heaven? Get yourself together, we have things to do."

Sherlock let the bedroom with a swirl of his coat. John stared at the wall, had a tiny crisis, and did what the angel told him to do.

He briefly longed for the days before the Reveal, when everything was horrible but at least it made sense.

He stumbled out of his bedroom fully dressed somehow managed to make his way to the kitchen, where he prepared tea and toast in a haze of muscle memory. Sherlock stood at the door to the kitchen, impatiently tapping his foot and probably trying to urge John along with sheer force of will.

John chugged down his tea as soon as it was prepared, scalding his tongue, and just grabbed the toast to eat on the way. He knew Sherlock a little bit too well to goad him by taking any longer than what was absolutely necessary.

"Well, where are we headed?" John asked as Sherlock pushed in front of him to lead the way.

"Baker Street," Sherlock answered.

"I don't know where that is."

"You don't need to, we're taking a cab."

John once found it funny that angels used the London taxi service, but after spending enough time working with Sherlock Holmes, less and less about angels was still managing to surprise him. For instance, he used to think that angels were kind benevolent creatures.

No.

Not even a little, in Sherlock's case. John had originally believed that he was Fallen, as only his wingless brothers had ever shown so much hate and scorn towards humanity in John's presence before. It turned out that a lot of angels felt that way, most of them just managed to bite their tongue.

Apparently after eons of existence, Sherlock had given up and just started saying whatever came to mind and damn the repercussions.

It wasn't until they had been sitting in the cab quietly for some time when Sherlock finally said, "Alright, you've got questions."

"Yeah, who's this Moriarty bloke?"

"Demon," Sherlock said shortly. "Very old, very powerful. He used to get up to a lot of bad things, but has been in confinement for several centuries. He escaped four days ago."

"If he's so old and powerful, why haven't I heard of him?"

Sherlock smirked. "Oh, you have. I tend to refer to Moriarty as a spider, but very long ago, your world knew him as a snake."

John froze. "You mean the snake in Eden? That was supposed to be Lucifer."

Sherlock waved the thought off. "Lucifer isn't a demon. He's a Fallen. There's a distinction, which you know, don't pretend otherwise. Somewhere along the line they got mixed up. No, Lucifer's a right arse, but Moriarty is the one who has been directing mankind towards destruction. By the time we captured him, he had already built up a massive network that carried on all of his evil deeds in his absence. With him free, I can only imagine where he will try to bring the world."

"Unless we find him," John pointed out. "We will find him, won't we?"

"That's the hope," Sherlock said, a tad grimly. "That's what the demonologist and the hunter are working on as we speak. They're tracking any and all Priority One activities in the country, not just London. Irene has been looking for him underground, but has turned up nothing. We're fairly confident he's on the surface and planning to wreak havoc."

"And Irene is the demon."

"Yes, you're about to meet her. Fair warning, try not to look her in the eye. If you're going to focus on any part of her, I would recommend the talons. A bit of a turn off, those. Keep you from getting too distracted."

John rolled his eyes. "Don't worry. I've exorcised my fair share of incubi and succubi. I've come out with my virtue intact."

"Irene is...very good at what she does, John. And she has a fair bit of interest in me, so try not to get too jealous."

"Jealous? What are you-"

"We're here. Hurry up John, it won't do to keep this crowd waiting."

(A/N: You can follow me at .com for updates, excerpts, and the occasional ficlet.)