Welcome to my very first supernatural fic! I hope you enjoy this little one shot as much as I enjoyed writing it. For reference, this takes place in the season 5 finale.
It stars
Sherlock Holmes= Sam/Lucifer
John Watson=Dean
Mary Mortstan=Cas
Lestrade=Bobby
Sarah Sawyer= Lisa
the Impala= herself
Please read and review!
obviously none of the characters are mine. I own nothing!
John revved the engine of the impala, and started towards the pool. He picked up speed, heading straight towards the solid wall of the swimming pool, music blaring out of the speakers.
I'm on the highway to hell
Memories fluttered in his mind's eye. Him and Sherlock, in the Impala, driving them all over the UK, keeping each other safe. Keeping each other human. John singing away to AC/DC, while Sherlock sat insistently in silence but smiling grudgingly and John. The two of the hunting together. How John had sold his soul for Sherlock after he had died, only to be rescued by Mary, an angel of the lord, who became their best friend, like Lestrade. John had to fight back a sob as he accelerated towards the very solid looking wall, behind which he knew Sherlock was. Or his body was at least.
No stop signs, speed limit
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Like a wheel, gonna spin it
Nobody's gonna mess me round
Hey Satan, payed my dues
The Impala smashed through the wall at 150mph
-ooo000ooo-
Lucifer looked up as he heard the music. Both him and the umbrella twirling Michael turned towards the right wall, stopping their pacing on the tiled floor. The music was getting louder. No, closer!
The Impala rocketed through the wall, showering them with bricks. Amazingly the car was relativity undamaged, and the music was still blaring as a dust covered John Watson opened the door, stood up and regarded the two men
And I'm going down, all the way down
"Hello boys" John said, as cool as anything.
I'm on the highway to hell
John clicked off the music as the angels continued to stare at him.
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?"
He started to walk towards Lucifer. "We need to talk" he stated
Lucifer, in the body of Sherlock Holmes, raised an eyebrow in a way that was so gut wrenchingly familiar, John almost faltered in his stride. When Lucifer spoke, it almost broke John's heart. So familiar yet so far away.
"This body and I have seen many stupid things, but even for you John, this is a whole new mountain of stupid."
"I'm not talking to you" John retorted "I'm talking to Sherlock"
Michael spoke up "You're just a mortal John. You have no right to be here"
John turned to Michael, formally Mycroft Holmes, and even the devil could see the regret in his eyes.
"Mycroft, if you're in there, I am so, so sorry."
"Mycroft isn't here right now" Michael replied
"You're next on my list!" John growled "but right now I need to talk to Sherlock"
Michael snarled. "You little maggot! You are no longer a part of this!"
Before John could answer, a wonderfully familiar voice came from behind him.
"HEY! Ass-butt!"
A flaming missile flew over John's head and struck Michael in the chest. In seconds he was engulfed in flames and vanished, umbrella and all.
"ass-butt?" John asked, turning to look at Mary.
She shrugged "he'll be back, angry and upset, but at least you got you're 5 minutes"
Lucifer stepped forward, and the look in his eyes was not good.
"Mary. Did you just Molotov my brother with holy fire?"
Mary suddenly looked very wary
"Uh... no."
"No one dicks with Michael but me!" Lucifer snapped his fingers and Mary exploded, Lestrade, who had been standing next to her, was showered blood and chunks of meat
"NO!" John shouted "please Sherlock, if you're in there-"
Lucifer turned and seized John by the lapels
"You know... I tried to be nice... for Sherlock's sake. But you... are such a pain... in my ass!"
He picked John bodily off the floor and threw him backwards. John flew through the air and hit the windscreen of the Impala. The windscreen had managed to survive driving through a wall, but it shattered as John landed on it. Lucifer started towards him, but then gunshots rang through the air. Lestrade had his gun out and was shooting Lucifer with it. Three bullets hit him, all through the chest, but Lucifer didn't fall. He turned slowly away from John to face Lestrade. Lestrade fired twice more, before slowly lowering his gun. He had the same look on his face that Mary had had. He was absolutely terrified of the man he had once called his friend. A sly smile quirked Lucifer's lips. He lifted a hand and jerked it violently to the left. With an awful squelching crack, Lestrade's neck snapped and he fell to the floor motionless.
"NOOOOOO!" John yelled
It was the wrong thing to do, as it only attracted Lucifer's attention.
"Yes" Lucifer smirked
He grabbed John's legs and pulled him off the hood of the car. His fist came out of nowhere and hit John hard. John doubled over, spitting blood.
"Sherlock?" he groaned "Are you in there?"
Lucifer came in for another punch.
"Oh, he's in here, all right." Lucifer replied "And he's going to feel the snap of your bones." Another punch. John slid to the ground "Every single one!" he grabbed John by his jacket and hauled him to his feet, punching him again and again, though keeping him upright
"We're going to take our time!"
Punches came thick and fast. Soon John's face was covered in blood with two swollen eyes and a broken nose. John groped for the arm that was keeping him upright.
"Sherlock" he coughed through a mouthful of blood "It's okay. It's okay." Punch "I'm here. I'm here." Punch "I'm not gonna leave you."
Another two punches. "I'm not gonna leave you!"
Lucifer pulled back his arm for another strike, but then stopped. The sun had broken free of the dense cloud it had been engulfed in for days and shone through the gaping hole in the wall the Impala had made. The sunlight caught his eye.
And Sherlock Holmes remembered.
He remembered being raised by Mycroft practically from birth. Remembered how he had broken away from his family, wanting a life away from the demons and the monsters. How he had gone to university. How small, mousy Molly Hooper had caught his eye in their science class at Cainbridge. Finding Molly, after three years of dating, consumed by flames, screaming on the ceiling.
He remembered how he had moved to London to forget. How the first friend he had made there had turned out to be the infamous John Watson, one of the best Hunters in the UK. How he had got back into Hunting with John by his side.
Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, destroying the forces of darkness, together, the perfect team.
Listening to John singing along to his songs in the Impala. Watching John die again and again everyday on that cursed Tuesday. Dying, coming back to life, only to find John had sold his soul to save him. Working tirelessly to try to save John from his deal.
Crying for the first time since Molly's death over John's fragmented body.
The overwhelming joy seeing John alive again.
Accidentally starting the apocalypse, but John still being there for him, still smiling, still laughing, and still goofing around.
Watching John fall in love with Mary, even though neither of them could see it themselves.
Sherlock remembered.
He realised something he should have realised a long time ago.
Sherlock Holmes loved John Watson.
Not the kind of love that existed, and still existed between him and Molly, but the kind of love that had never really existed between Sherlock and Mycroft.
The love that occurred between brothers.
Brothers that would lay down their lives for each other. Brothers that had already done so.
The walls that Lucifer had imprisoned Sherlock in crumbled and were rebuilt around the devil. Sherlock released his clenched fist. He was him again. He stumbled backwards, dropping John to the ground
"It's okay John" he choked out "It's going to be okay. I've got him."
John tried to speak, but his mouth was full of blood. Sherlock pulled the horseman rings from his pocket and threw them on the ground.
"Bvtmon tabges babalon"
A swirling hole appeared in the brickwork. Sherlock leaned over the edge. He didn't want to die. He knew that death was a natural part of life, but he realised now, and stared into the void.
He didn't want to go.
A voice jolted him out of his thoughts
"Sherlock!" it was Michael. Evidently he had returned "It's not going to end this way! Step back!"
"You're going to have to make me!" Sherlock replied
"I have to fight my brother, Sherlock! Here and now! It's my destiny!"
Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, he looked John straight in the eye.
"Goodbye John"
John couldn't reply. He could only watch as Sherlock his arms out, like he was hoping to fly. Watch his long coat flapping in the wind like angels wings. Listen as Michael gave a shout of protest. Look on in helplessness as Michael barrelled towards Sherlock in an attempt to stop Sherlock from falling.
John watched as Sherlock closed his eyes and fell backwards. His face was so calm, so composed, he could have been sleeping. Slowly, almost gracefully, Sherlock Holmes fell into hell, clutching his brother, who scremed in anger as they plummeted.
The gate closed.
All was silent.
And Sherlock Holmes, the greatest man John had ever known, was gone.
John rested his head against the car, his baby. It was all over.
The world had been saved, but John's world was gone.
He thought of Sarah, how she was waiting for him. The life he could now lead because Sherlock was gone. Every part of him, every fibre he had, wanted to die, or find a way to bring Sherlock back. But he wasn't going to do either. Because he made a promise.
So, what's it all add up to? It's hard to say. But me, I'd say this was a test... for Sherlock and John. And I think they did all right. Up against good, evil, angels, devils, destiny, and God himself, they made their own choice. They chose family. And, well... isn't that kind of the whole point?
Underneath a burnt out street lamp, looking up at the window that was Sarah Sawyers' flat, was a man. A man with dark curly hair, piercing blue eyes and sharp, cheek boned face.
He laughed to himself.
"Did you miss me?" he asked to no one in particular.
Sherlock Holmes continued to stare at the flat for a while, then turned and strode out of John Watson's life.