A/N : Hope you enjoyed the first installment of this story! I've never written Supernatural or Sherlock before (honestly I didn't think I could do Sherlock justice). Anyway I own nothing, not Sherlock or Doctor Who or Supernatural. That honor goes to Moffat, Gatiss, and Kripke. Now on to the next chapter! Enjoy and as always reviews are the bomb!

August 2015

Mycroft's cell buzzed in his jacket pocket. He sighed in frustration as he set his pen down. He was far too busy for this and he had just hung up on his mother telling her he wouldn't visit her this weekend for exactly that reason. Honestly, that woman never gave up. He glanced at the screen and rolled his eyes. Even worse than Mummy.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked sarcastically when he answered the phone.

"Believe me this brings me no pleasure," Sherlock responded disdainfully. "Unfortunately, I need your assistance."

"Aren't you out in Bristol?" Mycroft asked.

"Not anymore," Sherlock said. "We were attacked."

Mycroft sat up straight and his tone immediately changed. "Attacked by who?"

"A rather wild woman John is convinced had rabies but I believe she may have been bitten by something a bit more deadly," Sherlock replied. Mycroft stiffened.

"What do you mean?"

"I believe she was a werewolf," Sherlock replied. "And before you question my sanity let me lay it all out for you-"

"Did she have large, dilated pupils and a row of fangs?" Mycroft cut across his brother swiftly. There was a pause.

"You've seen this before then?" Sherlock asked. Mycroft sighed.

"I think you and I need to have a chat," he replied. "As soon as you are back in town come to the Diogenes Club. We have a lot to discuss."

He hung up and rubbed his face. He had hoped Sherlock would never find out. His father had explicitly told him not to allow his little brother to find out just how cruel this world really was. He thought for sure his men had caught and killed the culprit in this particular case. Apparently, one victim escaped and went to Bristol. This was going to be a long night.

**%^##^%^%*(^(&(*%$^#%

"You were in the bathroom for an awfully long time," Dean said as Sam hopped into the passenger seat of the Impala.

"Yeah, well I got waylaid by Cas," Sam replied. Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Why did he come to you?" he asked sounding a bit hurt. Sam shrugged.

"He said some evil called Legion has returned and is causing quite the strife across the planet."

"Legion? Like some hot shot Roman or something?" Dean asked starting the engine and backing out of the parking lot.

"Actually, I think he's a demon," Sam replied.

"Surprise, surprise," Dean said pulling onto the highway and heading for Kansas. "What makes him so special?"

"I have no idea but Castiel seemed scared," Sam said. "If it is the demon Legion from the bible then we may need a prophet to dispose of him."

"Fan-freaking-tastic," Dean huffed.

"We're going to have to do a lot of research once we get back to the bunker," Sam said. "I'm not taking any chances if an angel is freaking out."

Dean groaned. "I hate research,"

Sam rolled his eyes. "You're going to make me do most of it anyway."

"Damn right I am," Dean smirked turning on the radio. Stairway to Heaven filtered in through the speakers. "Gotta love Led Zeppelin."

Sam just smiled and looked out the window as they sped down the highway.

^&^^#^% %^$%&*(^*^

"Be quick with this chat," Sherlock said plopping down in the seat across from Mycroft's desk. John cringed when Sherlock burst through the door without knocking. Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Please close the door, John," Mycroft said. John obliged and then stood awkwardly by the desk.

"I can't guarantee this will be quick, Sherlock," Mycroft said. "You have barely scraped the surface of this new world you've run into."

Sherlock leaned back looking disinterested. Mycroft pursed his lips.

"The werewolf is being taken care of as we speak. I will give Detective Inspector Lestrade a reasonable explanation, probably rabies as John suggested, for the murders so that all the loved ones of the victims can be at peace. Now," Mycroft leaned back in his chair. "We need to discuss the fact that you came face to face with a monster that most people believe is fictional. I know you have doubts, John, and I promise to answer all your questions but first I must explain why I kept this from my brother."

Sherlock frowned. "You mean to tell me you've know of these things for quite some time?"

"Since I was a child, yes," Mycroft replied. Sherlock was unable to hide his surprise.

"When we were small, our father was not a traveling salesman as you were told. He was a Hunter, as was his father, and his father before him."

Sherlock was finding this hard to believe. His father couldn't even kill a mouse when it snuck into the shed. How could he possibly go out and kill werewolves and who knew what else?

"Father didn't want us raised into that life like he had so he kept silent about that part and mother was adamant it stayed that way. She was already unsure if her husband would return from a hunt, she didn't need to worry about her children too. Unfortunately, I was too curious for my own good and I stumbled upon Dad and Grandfather arguing about a poltergeist terrorizing a small town in Scotland. They knew they couldn't lie to me so they pulled me in. Mother was furious but knew there was nothing to do but tell me. Since then she became fiercely protective of you. That's why she bought you that damned dog, hoped he would distract you sufficiently."

Sherlock glared at the mention of Redbeard but said nothing. John was feeling incredibly uncomfortable. He was pretty sure they were both crazy but he felt he owed it to them to at least listen.

"I didn't hunt very often when we were young but once I went to university I found that it was a much needed job and I knew I could help a great deal if I had government resources at my fingertips. That's why I switched to political science as my major so quickly from physics. I have a whole crew of Hunters I pay to take care of all the things that go bump in the night.

"When you decided to be a chemist I thought I had lucked out. There was no way you would ever come nose to nose with a monster but then you went and got involved in drugs to try and stimulate your mind even though you were well aware of how dangerous those drugs were. While I am grateful that Greg chose to pull your interests away from drugs, I was frustrated that it had to be detective work. I was frustrated because I knew you would only take the weird cases and I knew that could be very dangerous. Thankfully, Sergeant Donovan works for me and was able to convince Greg that she could handle cases that involved monsters. Obviously Greg has no idea that's what she's doing. This in turn kept you clear."

"What changed this time? Is she losing her touch?" Sherlock smirked.

"The monster got lucky," Mycroft replied. "Sergeant Donovan killed the werewolf who killed all your victims but one escaped death. She didn't realize she had been turned because she was attacked on the last night of the full moon. Then she moved to Bristol. It's really a shame. She was due to be married in a week."

"What do you mean was?" John asked. Mycroft gave him a sympathetic look which confused John. He never showed sympathy.

"There's no cure for lycanthropy, surely even you know that?" Mycroft said. "We couldn't risk her hurting her fiancé or anyone else. Like I said, I've already sent a Hunter to take care of her."

"So now a human being is being hunted like a wild animal?" John asked coldly.

"The moment she was bitten she was no longer human," Mycroft said. "You saw Doctor Hooper's DNA tests. They weren't human."

John shook his head. "I think I'm going to head home. I've had enough of this. Maybe if I sleep on it I'll be able to come to terms with this. Good night."

He opened the door and slammed it behind him probably harder than was necessary but he was a bit irritated. Monsters indeed. Sherlock and Mycroft sat in silence for a moment after John left.

"If that is all perhaps I will follow John's lead. I too need time to mull this over," Sherlock said in much pleasanter tones than he usually used with his brother.

"Actually, perhaps it is time I spoke to you about the Moriarty video," Mycroft said. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"I told you that we had it taken care of but I am not so certain we have," Mycroft continued. "We traced the video feed to a broken down shack outside Cardiff. The shack was covered in blood and there was a body we identified as one of Moriarty's network. One of my men took a picture of the walls. Does this mean anything to you?"

Mycroft ran his finger over the screen of his phone a few times and then handed it to Sherlock. The shack was indeed covered in blood. Above the body were three letters written in blood: I O U. Sherlock stiffened.

"I see, perhaps Moriarty isn't as dead as we believed," Mycroft said quietly.

"But that's impossible," Sherlock replied. "Moriarty shot himself in the head. There's no coming back from that."

As Sherlock said that an image of the woman John had shot earlier that evening played through his mind. John had shot her in the head and run over her with a car.

"He's not a werewolf, is he?" Sherlock asked dreading the answer.

"No, I don't believe so but the funny thing about the supernatural is that a lot of things don't die the way people do," Mycroft answered.

"So you're saying he could be anything?" Sherlock scowled.

"Oh no, I am fairly certain I know exactly what he is," Mycroft said. "And I wish he was just a werewolf."

"What do you think he is?" Sherlock asked cautiously.

"I believe he sold his soul to a demon," Mycroft replied.

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Dean groaned and flung the book he was staring blankly at onto the floor and flopped back in his chair. Sam jumped when the book hit the ground and he glared at his brother. They had been at this for hours and not a single book made any mention of Legion. They had pulled out an old bible and read his story but it really didn't tell them much.

"I'm gonna grab a sandwich, want anything?" Dean asked scraping the chair back, standing and stretching.

"No thanks," Sam said flipping the page in his book. Dean shrugged.

"Your loss," he said. Sam suddenly sat up staring at the book. Dean frowned. "What is it?"

"I think I found something," Sam said. "An old Roman legend involving two centurions."

"How is that something?" Dean asked.

"Just listen," Sam said. "There are many legends from the glory days of Rome but none are as romantic as the Legend of the Last Centurion. It is said that he was part of the Roman Legion that was lost in Scotland around 120 A.D. He turned up in Londonium in 121 A.D. a bit worse for wear and dragging a large stone box with him. He said he'd been tasked with protecting it, saying it was of the utmost importance but unwilling to say what was held within. He quickly rose in the ranks in Londonium and became Captain of the Guard. He also gained a rivalry with a renowned centurion by the name of Blantus. He was the hero of many battles that many believed would have been the end of Rome in Britain.

No one knows the reason behind the rivalry but one legend says that the Last Centurion was immortal and it peeved Blantus. Another says that Blantus was the demon Legion himself, determined to bring the immortal Last Centurion into his army of evil. Whatever the truth, Blantus fell out of the stories in time but the Last Centurion had endured clear until World War II where several people believe he finally perished in a fire brought on by a German bomb."

"Who's this Last Centurion?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "I know the London Museum of Natural History thought they had found the box that he'd been guarding and that they couldn't open it."

"How do you know that?" Dean asked.

"I watch the news," Same replied. "I'm more interested in this Blantus though. Why would the legends say he was Legion? It's one thing to say he was a demon and another to be specific."

"What's written in the margins there?" Dean asked pointing at some inked in handwriting by the short tale. Sam leaned in and read.

"It is said in one tale that Blantus was destroyed by a tall man in a suit with no name. He wasn't from Rome and after Blantus was destroyed, the man disappeared."

"A man in a suit?" Dean asked. "I know I failed history but I'm pretty sure suits weren't invented until the 20th century."

"They weren't," Sam said. "Maybe it was some punk giving them info for cash. Doesn't really seem to fit. I say we look into this Last Centurion story and see if Blantus shows up again."

"You do that, I'm going to make a sandwich," Dean said walking away to the kitchen.

"Jerk!" Sam shouted after him.

"Bitch!" Dean replied.