I think there was a bit of a chapter mix up that I didn't know of until now. Please let me know if anything doesn't make sense!


Chapter 11: Trickster Blood

"I was the doctor who wrote the autopsy for James Moriarty," Molly confirmed as we followed her down a long hallway, "They didn't want me to because I'd been in a relationship with him but I insisted. I knew that if something happened then you or Greg would have come to me, so I wanted to have it handy."

"Thank you for this, Molly," I said as she pulled out Moriarty's autopsy from a folder. I handed the autopsy to Sherlock who immediately had his nose buried in it.

"So what, exactly, happened that day?" I asked.

"Well, you know I was helping Sherlock that day as well, so I pretended examined his," she hesitated, "body and put out a fake autopsy and death certificate. When that was done, which wasn't long, the other coroners had finished with Moriarty's body and gave him to me so I could do some research of my own. By that point it was around half an hour since Sherlock had jumped. Moriarty was killed by trauma to the brain and he wouldn't have had enough blood in his body to stay alive even if the brain trauma hadn't killed him."

"And it was definitely his body?" I asked, "We have a theory that Moriarty used some sort of fake blood to pretend to kill himself. But after Sherlock jumped, he had a double come up and actually kill himself.

"From it was exact to his medical history, but the problem is, I couldn't get any further back than 2010. It's like he appeared on the planet in that year or something," Molly explained. I looked back at Sam and Dean who didn't look surprised.

"Could have been in another country and moved here?" I suggested.

"If so then his medical history was all in paperwork, I should be able to access anything about him from any country on there only if it was electronically recorded," she said, nodding towards the computer in the corner of the room.

"Is there any country that doesn't?" Sam asked.

"Not that I know of, besides places that don't have health care," she said.

"Maybe that's it," I said.

"But there's something else, John," Molly said worriedly. Even Sherlock looked up from his paperwork to see what was wrong. "From a distance it looks like normal blood, but- but it's not."

"What do you mean?" I said as I followed her over to a refrigerator.

She pulled out a couple vials of blood and shook them up a bit, "This is his blood," she started, "usually blood would have separated by now, but this hasn't changed since the day he died."

"What?" Sherlock said and strode over to us.

"Feel this," she said, handing us each a vial. Even after being in the refrigerator for who knows how long, the blood was still hot. "It's been like that since the day he died."

"That's impossible," Sherlock gasped.

"It's not only that," Molly said, "John, could I have a blood sample? I don't have any fresh blood to compare this to."

"Go ahead," I said and pulled up my sleeve. Molly took a bit of blood and put it on a microscope slide. Then she took some of Moriarty's blood and put it on a different slide.

She slid my blood under the microscope then turned it on, "Look at John's blood," she said and we all took a look at it. There wasn't anything off about it, "Now look at Moriarty's," she said, replacing my slide with his.

Not only was it darker, but it moved. It was like when you looked at single celled organisms under a microscope and the moved around a bit, but with this is was like downtown London on a busy day, there was so much movement that it made me dizzy. Not only that but it was so much darker and thicker than my own blood.

"What is that?" I demanded.

"It's been the same since the day he died. I don't know why I haven't told anyone, I guess you and Sherlock just seemed like the people I should tell," Molly said.

"But that's impossible," Sherlock said as he looked up from the microscope and over at Molly who looked like she was going to cry.

"How did no one notice this?" Sam asked. He was writing in a leather-bound book. He'd been doing it all day, after every interview. I didn't mind it but I wondered if there was anything written in there that could help us.

"I guess that the cause of death was just so obvious that no one bothered to dig any deeper," Molly said, "or maybe they just didn't say anything."

"And what did they do with the body?" Sherlock asked.

"We buried it under your stone," Molly said apologetically, "If it helps, it wasn't my idea."

"If the blood is still alive like this, then the body won't have decomposed," Sherlock said to himself.

"Maybe we need to take a visit to your grave," Dean suggested.

"I can write you a doctor note, just saying that you have permission to be there," Molly suggested.

"No thanks, sweetheart. We like to do things dangerously," Dean flirted. Sherlock looked at him in astonishment and Molly blushed.

"That would be great, Molly," I said, breaking the silence.

"And, John, if you do learn anything, please let me know," Molly smiled as we left the room.

"Of course," I said, then left following Sherlock, Sam and Dean.

When we got out of the building, Dean spoke up, "I'm starving, wanna get lunch?"

"That's not a bad idea. If we're going to be digging up this grave then we should do it at night, not during visiting hours," Sam said.

"If you three are suggesting that he's an alien, then you're completely mad," Sherlock said.

"Not an alien, a trickster," Dean teased.

"And if not that, or something non-human, what do you suggest, Sherlock?" I asked. He remained silent.

"We've never examined trickster blood like that but I'm thinking that's the direction we're heading," Sam said.

"Ya, he could have used a different body to fake his death and then poofed," Dean said.

"You are insane! John, I won't do this anymore," Sherlock said.

"Well, you've got the note from Molly, you could leave right now and do it all yourself. Why don't you, Sherlock?" I asked. He hesitated, and I continued, "You have no idea about Moriarty, which is why you're still with us. You may not see it, but somewhere inside you know that this could be a possibility. If you didn't then you would have left a long time ago. So stay or go."

He sighed, "I'm only here because of you."

"Sherlock, I know what kind of person you are. You don't stay for people."

"John-"

"No, Sherlock. You don't have to say it, but don't make up excuses," I said and got into the back seat of the Impala. Throughout the entire ride to the restaurant, we said nothing.


"I can't believe we're doing this," John said for the hundredth time that night. The four of us were standing in front of Sherlock's grave with shovels in our hands. All except for Sherlock, who didn't want to be responsible if anything went wrong. I was actually surprised that he had been quiet since lunch, even when I explained the plan.

"Let's start digging," Dean said beside me and stabbed the shovel into the ground. John and I did the same, and Sherlock stood where he wouldn't get hit by any of the dirt.

I was really glad to have Sherlock and John with us for this investigation. As much as Sherlock was a pain in the ass, and John knew nothing about hunting, I doubt getting this far would have been possible without them. I guess you could say we made a great team.

We dug until we hit the grave. John had to take a break or two in between, we'd even insisted that he stop working and stand with Sherlock because he'd done so much for us over the past few days already, but he refused. He was a hard worker and I liked that.

It was Dean who hit the grave first, "I think I found it."

"Great, John, I'm gunna have to ask you to hop out so we can pop it open," I said.

"Right," he replied and Sherlock helped him back up. Dean and I finished uncovering it, then used a crowbar to open it up.

There was nothing inside the coffin. Nothing but dust. It had to have been a trickster. He must have waited until he had been buried so no one would notice if his body suddenly disappeared without a trace. I never realized that tricksters could keep something like that up for so long.

"So not a ghost," Dean said, pulling himself out of the grave.

"Definitely a trickster then?" John asked from above.

"It can't be anything else," I replied, getting myself out of the grave. "I guess we can cover it back up."

"Let's get to it," Dean said and we picked up our shovels.

"What does this mean?" John asked as we scooped dirt into the hole.

"He's not a ghost," Dean said.

I sighed, "It means that he can't ben anything else but a trickster. No other type of demon that we've met can rise their actual bodies from the grave without doing it zombie style."

"Right, so what do we do next?"

I stopped shoveling, hoping Dean would have an answer for that one because I had no idea. Thankfully he did.

"We find him. We track that bastard down and we kill him for good this time. He can't hide forever, so we get your brother to give us access to all the security cameras in town and we watch them over the past couple of months," Dean explained.

"Mycroft won't oblige," Sherlock said.

"Well he let you, a murderer, come back to solve this case because he was truly desperate. I think we can convince him since we're practically out of our depth," John said.

"We can start tomorrow morning," I suggested, "the sooner the better."

"Can I at least have a little more sleep-in time," Dean joked.

We finished re-burying the coffin and left the graveyard. I wondered why Sherlock's tombstone was still there even though he'd been back for a couple months now but decided not to ask in case it brought up something sensitive.

Dean dropped John and Sherlock off at 221B and we drove back to Kevin Baker's house, where Cas would be waiting for us.


"Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep. Do not stand and my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die."

-Mary Elizabeth Frye