"Hey, Dean," Sam called to his brother who was sitting on the bed eating a greasy bacon cheeseburger.
Dean didn't answer, just kept bobbing his head to You Shook Me All Night Long and shoving his face full of the heart attack on a bun.
"Dean!" Sam nearly screamed, throwing a pen at his elder brother which hit him square in the head and made him look up.
"What the hell, man?" Dean said, angrily turning down the radio and polishing off the last of his burger.
"We're supposed to be researching the death of an elderly woman who was found as a pile of ashes in her home last week, remember?" Sam replied, annoyed.
"Yeah, so what? I can't take a break once in a while?"
"No, Dean, you can't! You haven't done anything! I've been sitting here for the past three hours trying to figure out what it could be and in that time you've taken a shower, went and got food, which by the way is now completely gone because you ate it all, and you've managed to give me a massive headache with all the music you've been playing so goddamn loudly!" Sam said, throwing his hands up while keeping his eyes locked on Dean's.
"Oh, quit your bitching. I've done enough." Dean said, reaching for the volume control on the radio.
"Don't you even think about…Dean!" he yelled as Dean turned the music back up and began singing along to Wanted Dead or Alive.
"You know what, screw you," And with that Sam slammed his laptop shut and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair, "I'm going out. Be back later."
Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala and slammed the motel door shut.
Dean just smirked and turned the music up even louder.
When Sam stepped outside he was greeted with a burst of fresh air. It felt good after being stuck inside a stuffy motel room for hours.
Sam sighed and slid into the driver's seat of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala and started the engine. He could recognize the sound of this car from miles away and it brought back memories of his childhood, riding in the backseat, sometimes curled up next to Dean, watching their dad as they drove across the continental US in search of everything that went bump in the night.
Coming back from memory lane, Sam began to back up when he spotted two men standing outside one of the doors to a room, who, by the looks of it, were inspecting it.
One had curly, black hair and was wearing a trenchcoat with the collar popped up. He seemed to be talking out loud to the shorter man beside him who had sandy, blonde hair.
Sam knit his eyebrows and shook his head. He should go check them out, but decided he wasn't in the mood for playing FBI agent at the moment. So he continued backing out and turned onto the main road headed to the closest city to find a bar. He glanced in his rearview mirror one more time at the two men, only to find that they had disappeared.
Sam shook his head. He's really losing his mind now.
"So, tell me again why we're in America?" John asked Sherlock, who was bent over the motel door, looking it up and down.
"Because, John, an old friend contacted me with an issue he's been having. The case seemed interesting enough, so I took it. Anymore questions?" Sherlock said, glancing over his shoulder at his best mate.
John sighed. "And exactly who is this friend of yours?"
"You'll see soon enough. We're meeting him later tonight, but right now we need to hide." Sherlock said, gesturing towards a black car stopped at the end of the parking lot. The man inside appeared to be watching them, an unsettling stare.
"Right. Over here." John said, grabbing Sherlock's arm and dragging him behind a dumpster.
They waited and watched as the man drove away heading towards the small town that was nearly 10 minutes away.
After a few moments of silence John spoke up.
"Well, he seems suspicious. Possible suspect, maybe?"
"Or, a curious man. Someone who saw two men standing outside a motel room looking as if they were going to break in. I doubt there's anything to be worried about." Sherlock reassured John, turning and heading back toward their rental car.
"I hate not having taxis out here in the middle of nowhere. Utterly inconvenient." Sherlock complained, getting into the passenger side door.
"Yes, well, not everywhere can be like London." John replied as he got into the other seat and started the car.
"Pity. London is so very interesting. Cases galore. The United States is such a bore."
John smiled and shook his head, pulling out of the motel parking lot, heading in the same direction the man had gone.
