Sherlock watched the shorter of the Winchesters pace around his flat, anger coming off of him like steam, while the younger taller one stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Sherlock.
Eventually the short one stopped moving and gave Sherlock his best I-So-Want-To-Kill-You-Right-Now look that made most people cringe away in fear. But then again, Sherlock wasn't most people
"And why the hell didn't you call us sooner!" He spat at Sherlock, emphasizing it with his fist slamming into the coffee table.
"Well dean," Replied Sherlock, unfazed by his anger,"I know of your hate of flying and… I thought I could handle this myself" He looked away after admitting that he failed both himself and John, shame filling his features.
"Where . Is. He?" Dean demanded through his teeth, thoroughly done with the 'Genius'.
"Dude, calm down a little" His brother said from the doorway, recognizing the signs that he had to step in before Dean hit someone. That someone being Sherlock.
"Shut up, Sammy!" He spat towards his brother."I kinda liked John and now because of this asshole!" He looked back to Sherlock, who at least had the decency to look guilty. "Is that what you want,Huh? Do you want your 'flatmate' to die?" He accentuated flatmate like he suspected more, just like everyone else. Dean rubbed his head as he felt a headache coming on from dealing with the British Detective.
Sherlock's eyes grew wide in fear of John dying and he realized he truly let him down. John must hate him for all of this.
Sam, this time, pulled Dean away from the grieving detective, saying again with more force. "Calm down a little. He's not going to say anything if you keep acting like a dick!"
Dean sighed, knowing his brother was right and his face softened for the first time since they entered the flat of 221b.
"Alright,fine. But we still need to know where John is." Dean shot a glare back to Sherlock ,who still sat below the bullet hole riddled ,spray painted smiley face, his head now placed into his long,thin hands.
"Yea, I know…" Sam smoothed his hand through his dark hair, also looking back to Sherlock, his head now up and looking at him. His bright blue eyes filled with regret. Despite Sherlock being an ass, he really cared for John. And they needed to help him.
Sam gave dean the let-me-try look and sat down on the couch next to the lanky detective. "Sherlock," He called to the him,"We can help but we need to know where he went and what happened."
Sherlock responded by turning his head to study Sam's face. He appeared to find what he was looking for and decided to tell them. Sighing deeply and hoping against hope that John was alright, he began the story
"It happened a week ago…."
So this is my first fan fiction so I'd very much appreciate if you could R+R.
My muse, demon!John, says Hi by the way. Also he's to blame for any and all feels caused by this fanfiction.
Thank you!