Sherlock quickly started down the street pulling his phone from his pocket.

They're after John. -SH

Are you positive? And how, if any is this any concern of mine? -MH

It was your man that was supposed to be watching him. -SH

I'm sure I can think of someone you can contact. -MH

Do. And Mycroft, do stop dictating texts to your assistant. It is completely unnecessary. -SH

One would think that being dead would be easy, but it was far from the case. Had this been any sort of normal circumstances, he would have been able to use his anonymity to clean up Moriarty's "web of crime". This was precisely what he was trying to do. That is, until he was informed of something he never would have imagined. Moriarty had made a deal with a crossroads demon but what exactly that deal entailed he didn't know. At first, he scoffed at such an idea. He was hardly one to believe in the supernatural, especially after Baskerville. Evidence, however, pointed to the contrary.

It had begun with a few of his contacts in the homeless network. A few saying there were strange goings on with people kissing in back allies and under bridges. What caught his attention though was one of the network's older members. She remembered a young man who looked very much like Moriarty (albeit years younger) with a tall, slender shorthaired woman. Not much to go on, there were thousands of women that fit that description. He'd have to find a different approach. From what he could tell, there was demon lore in every culture and in particular the trading of souls for some sort of benefit. He thought they were just stories though, after all, they had no factual evidence.

It was not long after that he was tipped off about a pub, the very pub that John had been visiting that night. Every so often, people would meet with some sort of wild success, a best selling novel, a winner of a sweepstakes. However, if records indicated correctly, in exactly ten years to the day, each of these lucky people would meet a rather unfortunate end, mauled by a beast that seemed to disregard locked doors, windows, elevators… still hardly believable. That was until he heard about a man whose debt was supposedly coming due. He had gotten to the man's flat in just enough time to be mauled by a seemingly invisible force. The door had been locked from the inside, the windows bolted. The one window that had been smashed had a two-story drop. Anything that attacked the man couldn't have gotten that far. The more he found, the more it proved the theory, the move it proved, the more he didn't like it. He finally had to admit that there was something going on beyond his control. That had led him to tonight's events. He was no closer to figuring out the deal that Moriarty had made, and now John had been dragged into it.

Suddenly a text alert pulled him from his thoughts.

Still dealing with your demon problem? -MH

Don't you have a government to be running? -SH

Winchesters. They are "specialists" in this field. -MH

Do try to behave, they're not the… usual type of people you deal with. I'll send you the details. -MH

Whenever do I not? Enjoy the cake, Mycroft -SH

At a motel somewhere in Iowa

Sam and Dean were sleeping soundly. They had just finished a job involving a particular nasty sprit who took pleasure in hanging people in the rafters. All of a sudden, a cell phone cut through the stillness.

"Hello," Dean answered rather groggily.

"Dean Winchester?" inquired the voice.

"Yeah, what the hell do you want, it's freaking 2:30 in the morning"

"What do you know about demons?" the voice asked again.

"Why do you want to know?" Dean was growing more annoyed.

"You've been recommended."

"Yeah, well, that's nice, but I don't really like talking to mysterious voices on the other side of the phone so now who the hell are you." By this point, Dean was shouting into the phone.

"Sherlock Holmes. I believe that you've had the misfortune of meeting my brother Mycroft."

"Well dressed Douchebag with an umbrella? Yeah, we met him." Dean paused. "You say something about demons."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes. I'm inclined to believe that one is trying to make a deal with… a friend of mine."

"Son of a bitch…" Dean muttered "And you want to try to stop him?"

"No. I wanted to make sure it happened. Yes, I want to stop it." Sherlock was exasperated. Leave it to his brother to recommend two idiot Americans whose life consisted of shooting first thinking later.

"Well, what'd you got so far?"

Sherlock explained what he had learned, what he saw, all of course in the simplest terms possible. He didn't really feel like repeating himself.

"To be honest dude, you don't have much."

"Pardon?"

"Yeah, I mean do you even know who to go after at this point? Or how to even summon a demon…" Dean almost sounded smug.

Sherlock paused "Winchester, I didn't call so that I could be chided by a flannel wearing dropout. Can you help me or not?"

"Look, this is what you want to do, there's this chick, name's Moyra, real bitch, but she's probably your best bet."

They continued the conversation for about an hour. Though he had a general plan, he needed more information about who he was dealing with, Sherlock was never one for going in blindly.

The Holmes mansion began to fade into the distance as Sherlock trudged further into the woods. He needed somewhere secluded, where there would be no interruptions, and somewhere he was familiar with, as to avoid any unwanted surprises. Where he was headed to now suited both requirements. He discovered a small set of ruins, probably an early Roman settlement while exploring the woods when he was a boy. He placed a bag on one of the stone slabs and began procuring the required ingredients. When everything seemed in order, he lit a match and dropped it. As the contents flamed, he couldn't help but wonder if he was being lead on.

"The famous Sherlock Holmes... not as dead as the world would seem to believe."

A woman sat perched on one of the old ruins. The woman was from what Sherlock could tell in her mid-thirties, tall and sender, and her dark brown hair was styled into a spiky pixie cut. She wore a black vest over a white blouse, her dark wash skinny jeans tucked into knee-high high-heeled boots. She smiled down at him, swinging her feet back and forth.

"And you. You're a hard woman to find, Moyra" he countered. "Or should I be calling you Anne?"

Moyra's face remained still, but her eyes betrayed first her shock and then her concern. She disappeared from her sitting place to reappear in front of Sherlock.

"You really shouldn't have taken your maid's name, or rather a derivative of it. You almost made it too easy." Sherlock almost sounded bored.

Moyra shrugged. "What can I say? I was rather attached to the girl." She stepped closer. "Now I doubt you called me to discuss the finer points of my personal history."

"Of course not, I would have preferred to talk to your superior." He looked her up and down, as if measuring her capabilities.

"Yes well he has bigger problems at the moment, as you can imagine, being King of Hell is hardly a walk in the park," she replied simply.

Sherlock was getting impatient. He was never one for small talk. It was a pointless exercise. He suspected Moyra knew this and was using it to her advantage. Not that he could deduce much about her. That was the problem with demons, wearing another's skin did allow them somewhat of a mask but not entirely. She had renamed herself after her maid, clearly a sign of sentiment. Something that he could use against her if need be. It had worked against Irene Adler. He saw no reason how it might not work against Moyra. She was also well- dressed, and the way she held herself was clearly evident of her... a clearing of the throat interrupted his thought process.

"Difficult isn't it? Deducing me?"

"But not impossible," he replied quickly.

"Whatever you say sweetie, now about your dear doctor. I don't really have a way to stop it."

"I'm not dead though, there's no deal to be made not without dishonesty on your part, and I'm sure your employer would be very disappointed if the rules were broken." Sherlock wanted to see if he could make her concede before he did anything drastic.

"It may be true that you're not dead, but you see with a well worded deal that would hardly be a problem. Say if John said he wanted you back. We'd simply have to bring you back. Whether that would be back from the dead or back into his life is..." She waved her hand through the air, "minor details."

Sherlock knew that his choices were limited, but he did not want John to make a deal. It was his fault really anyway, and John had suffered enough as it was. "My soul then," he said slowly. "My soul for John's."

She laughed. "How noble of you... and here people didn't think you had a heart, at least that's what Jim told me." She smiled sweetly. Almost too sweetly he thought.

"Jim?"

"Yes. He sends his regards, he's a little… indisposed at the moment" she chuckled as if enjoying a personal joke.

Seeing concern in Sherlock's eyes she clarified.

"Don't worry he won't be getting anywhere fast, he unfortunately broke contract but back to you and your little dilemma."

As much as I would love to have your soul in ten years' time, I'm afraid I can't offer you quite the same deal I do everyone else."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"You're a clever boy, and quite frankly you've been playing on the side of the angels for far too long. I have no doubt you'd find someway to find a loophole in our agreement. Trust me, the King of Hell really wants you on our team."

She paused in front of him.

"Therefore I am offering you this deal instead. We will get your soul eventually when you die, whenever that may be. Though in your line of work I imagine it to be sooner rather than later." She paused. "Until then, you play by our rules. If we bring you a case you solve it, if we tell you to drop a case you will drop it no questions asked."

"And if I don't… play by the rules?"

"You drop dead," she said, "No second chances, no deals made in your name. "How long exactly do you imagine your dear doctor would last?"

Sherlock was positively fuming.
"But don't worry, I'm sure he'd be joining you eventually, suicide after all, is generally frowned upon by our fine feathered friends upstairs."

"And don't think you can get him out of his deal if you decide to turn me down. I hear one whisper of trouble from you, and I collect my due." She whispered dangerously. "So what will it be?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. Taking the deal now seemed like the best option, it gave both him and John the most time to try and get them out of this mess. He frowned. This was his entire fault really… he should have kept a better eye on John. He didn't imagine they'd go after him not while John thought he was dead. Sentiment, it was his damn sentiment that got him into this and now he was paying the price.

His eyes snapped open.

"We have a deal."

"Wonderful." She leaned in and Sherlock stepped back. "Now's not the time to be squeamish, sweetheart, this deal won't seal itself."

She stepped in once again closing the distance between them enjoying the pure hatred that radiated from the man in her embrace.

He broke away, glowering.

"Now, now, don't look so glum, you just saved your best friend. However, if I were you I'd get a move on, don't want him thinking you're dead for too much longer."

"And your people?"

"Won't touch your precious doctor."

Sherlock promptly turned and started walking away.

""Pleasure doing business with you!" Moyra called.