Dark-haired, long-faced, and unhappily smirking, Sherlock sat in the back seat of a glossy impala. He restlessly glanced out his window before returning his stare to the two men seated in front.

"'Supernatural'," Dean heard him say form the backseat, his voice deep and full of certainty, "does not exist."

The moose of a man who was seated in the passengers chair let out a short laugh, and turned his bulky head to the passing scenery. Sherlock had seen him several times before, entering or exiting the safe room to have a chat with his cowboy-ish interrogator, obviously his close relation (brother, Sherlock was certain).

"Uh," Dean adjusted the steering wheel and sighed with a smile on his face, "You might be inclined to disagree."

"No."

There was a slight pause in the conversation, and the wheels ground onto the otherwise empty freeway road.

Though Dean and Sam were confused with respects to Holmes' apparent oblivion of the supernatural, they were not fooled.

The evidence- 'fake' deaths, demonic suicides, a story in the paper about a genius proved to be a fraud- it couldn't all have just happened. Nor would it have all revolved around this man were he not important somehow.

All they had left to do was figure our how, and why.

And what for that matter.

They had tried to talk to him, to get him to give up a character maybe he didn't even know he was playing, to get him to acknowledge the truth about the supernatural that he must know. But so many hours and so few words later they were no further along in the case, and were considering a serious change in their tactics.

For whatever reason, Sherlock would not talk.

After a few minutes of silence and cold stares from Holmes, Sam gave into his curiosity and turned and turned to look at the spindly, scowling Brit in the backseat.

He wasn't evil, Sam could tell, but there was something about him that was not natural. What was it? 'Sherlock Holmes,' he said he was.

When Dean first brought him to Bobby's and told him the name, Sam would've sworn it sounded familiar, and though he soon remembered where it was from (he read it on some blog website months ago), they couldn't retrace their steps to find the origin, nor could they dig up any information on the man.

Sam remembered the blog- it belonged to a retired Military doctor by the name of Watson, and it was incredibly intriguing- but when he went to find it online yesterday it had disappeared, along with any trace of "Sherlock Holmes'" life anywhere on any server.

Sam looked at the captive with more admiration than suspicion, and Sherlock eyed him back disgustedly. Despite the opaque impression that Holmes gave off (friendly conversation was the last thing on this dude's wish list), Sam couldn't help but try.

"From what we hear about you, one would think you wouldn't be too surprised," he said with a heavy American accent, "I mean, you deal with... insanely dark stuff for a living, right?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Insanely dark?" 'Holmes' replied, speaking as though he were in the presence of some two-year-old.

"Well yeah. If you are who you really say you are, then wh-"

"Who did I say I was?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"And how do you know who 'Sherlock Holmes' is?"

Sam looked down and huffed gently, not quite sure how to respond.

The detective suddenly rolled his head, and when it came back up to look at Sam it was not happy.

"Don't tell me- you read a blog?" Sherlock said and it was more of a statement than a question.

"No-er, well, yes. What the hell happened to it, anyway?," Sam said, speaking now to his brother as well as the detective, "It was your friend Watson's, right? What happened to it?"

Sherlock's eyebrows lifted with his expression as he listened, and it occurred to Sam that this might be the first time he heard that the blog no longer existed. However snarky this man was the small surprise that crept onto his sharp face was earnest.

"So then you knew about it?" Sam prompted again, friendliness lacing his rugged voice.

The man in the back seat simply looked up again and rolled his eyes without really moving them, and Sam decided to give up. Sherlock was quiet the rest of the drive into town.