After finishing up at the crime scene Dean caught Sam's attention and covertly nodded his head toward the two men he suspected were following them. They blended into the crowd, but they didn't hide well enough to escape the notice of a pair of hunters. Sam had caught a glance of them on their way down to the shore. One of them wore a long black coat with the collar turned up against the wind, the other standing close by him wore a green windbreaker over a thick sweater. Sam got a good look at them before following into the Impala. They sat for a moment, looking busy, but kept a good eye on their suspected tail. The men walked up the street, right past their car and continued on around the nearest street corner. "You think they're waiting for us, Sammy?"
"Mhmm. They've probably got a car parked up around that corner." Dean craned his neck out the window to see them go.
"Let's play it cool for now." he said as he cocked his favourite gun.
They drove past the corner and watched a rented Corolla turn out and follow about 40 yards behind. Sam kept an eye on them. "Where d'ya wanna sort this out?" Dean looked for suggestions. He'd been making an effort lately to let Sam lead. The control and responsibility did good things for his brother's self esteem. Asking Sam for direction was just a little thing, but it went a long way in letting Sam feel like he was taking care of Dean.
"Well they've obviously figured out we're not FBI so there's no point in leading them to the police station. But if it get's messy I don't want to take them to the motel."
"I saw an abandoned lot down by that diner. Nice secluded alley too." Dean offered. Sam nodded in agreement as they passed the motel.
Sherlock had finally pinned down their target early that morning. John got a rude awakening when the covers were pulled away and the frigid Wisconsin air hit his chest. Sherlock was gone before he could complain. He dressed quickly and joined him in the rented car idling in the motel car lot. He blew hot air between his hands before shoving them under his armpits. "Where to?" he asked briskly. Four in the morning didn't deserve more words than that. Not when you'd been up all night researching when you should have been seeing to your jet lag.
"Edmund's Mill motel, across town." Sherlock replied. He went on to explain his plan while John yawned. They'd been in the states for a week now, tracking down leads on previous incidents related to their current case; they hadn't had a moment's rest since they landed. Every other lead had gone cold, and this one proved rather hard to track down. Sherlock's information from old contacts finally paid off. They'd driven all night to the the Wisconsin side of Lake Superior when Sherlock finally conceded to take a break for the night. John got about 3 hours sleep before they were off again.
"Have you got all that, John?" John noticed they were parked no where near a motel. Obviously going for stealth, Sherlock planned to track their target on foot.
"Yeah, of course." John answered as he tugged his coat closed against the beginnings of a November gale.
About half a block from their destination the tan Corolla disappeared "Maybe they weren't following us, Dean." Sam suggested.
"Come on, you ever see Burn Notice? Nevermind. Just gives us more time to scout out. They parked in front of the gate to the abandoned lot and waited in the middle of it, where they could see the street and the alley. About 15 minutes later the tan Corolla pulled up behind the Impala.
The tall man hopped the short fence surrounding the lot with ease. "I must say, what started out as standard research turned out to be rather interesting." The frosty grass crunched beneath his feet and in few steps the man had reached the edge of their personal space, and Sam realized his short friend looked much more intimidating close up. Ex-Army. Both of them saw their father's discipline and hardness in him. "Impersonating Federal Agents, never thought I'd have this much fun in the states." He began to circle them like prey. Ex- Military stood his ground, staring them down. "Sam and Dean Winchester. Only living survivors of a string of nursery fires two decades ago; would have been nice if your father were around, but we don't always get that lucky do we?" No one could have pulled a gun faster than the Winchesters did upon hearing the words "nursery fire," except John Watson who pulled his in response. Sherlock stood his ground.
"What the hell are you!?" Dean shouted, the muzzle of his gun quivering less than a foot from Sherlock's face. Sherlock took a step back and unclasped his hands from behind his back, holding them open at his sides. "Sherlock Holmes. I'm a detective."
"Yeah? Working for who? Abaddon? Metatron?" Sam tried to keep his voice from shaking. Sherlock looked puzzled at the names. John fed off his uncertainty and tightened his grip on the Browning, glanding quickly to him for an explanation.
"Scotland Yard." he answered slowly, his voice full of intrigue. He motioned for John to lower his weapon as he sidestepped in his direction. Sam and Dean, going with their better judgement did not reciprocate the gesture. "We've been investigating a string of arsons, all starting in the nursery of six month olds. In every case the infants survived the fire, and no clues were discovered as to the cause of the blaze." He spoke at an incredible rate, leaving no room for interjection, "There were no leads until I discovered a string of similar fires in 1983. You were the only living survivors; so I tracked you here, not an easy task. You're very difficult to pin down, but I can see now that's very much your intention. Now, seeing as you still haven't lowered your weapons I suggest we make a deal; you tell me everything you know about the fire and I leave you to your little felony until someone else discovers it." Sam and Dean exchanged volumes in one glance. Sam reluctantly let down arms. It was Dean's turn to invade personal space. He held up a finger between himself and the detective and laid down the line. "I don't know who you are or how you found us and frankly I don't care, but if you value your life, and your friend's life, and anyone you ever care about, you better drop this right now. You forget everything you know about those fires and you never look back." he released the coat lapels he'd been gripping. "Understood?" he barked.
"No." Sherlock answered defiantly. John put himself between Sherlock and the Winchesters. "You were four when that fire happened, what could you possibly be hiding now?" Sam stepped forward now. "We're protecting you. And not from us. Because if you don't walk away from this right now, you never will. You will never have a normal life again and you won't be able to protect your friends, your family, you won't even be able to save each other. Our dad survived that fire for 20 some odd years before it finally killed him." His breath shuddered as he held his emotions under the surface. "If you go down that road you can never come back."
"We can't just let this go, people have died!" John argued.
"Yeah, so will you if you keep digging. You're out of your depths." Dean asserted. "We're the ones that deal with it now. You're the ones that sleep safe in your beds and don't ask questions." Sherlock looked sufficiently scared at this point. "Understood." he replied, wishing he knew more. "John." He called and they left without another word. Sam and Dean uncocked their weapons and returned to the Impala.
"Dean, what are we gonna do?" Sam asked on the verge of panic. Dean replied calmly, as if they were deciding what to have for lunch.
"We're gonna pack our crap, I'm gonna buy some Valium so I can sleep on the plane, you're gonna call Garth." He lay a firm and comforting hand on Sam's shoulder, giving a squeeze. "It's not our first rodeo Sam."
"Dean, you know what happened last time." Sam's voice shook terror.
"Yeah, so we won't make the same mistakes. Come on Sammy, how many apocalypses can there be?" He wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held his brother tightly as protection against his own oncoming fear.