WHAT? ANOTHER UPDATE?

YES! Think as this one as an apology that the other one took so long to make!

Thanks to everybody who read the last chapter and didn't mind coming back after such a long time. And thanks to those who reviewed/faved/followed. Thanks to you this story is being made! :D

Enjoy!

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Well... the same as each other chap, violence and swearing :P (Thnx Dean)

a little earlier that day

-=o0o=-

'How do you actually know where those two live?' Sam asked as the two of them walked through the city. It was raining slightly. Not enough to bother Sam, but enough to annoy the crap outta Dean. He was cursing the London weather and London people and London sphinxes and all the stupid stereotypes that happened to be true when the words of his brother interrupted his thought.

'What? Oh, Bobby told me.'

'oh.'

Then Sam frowned.

'Wait, how'd Bobby know?'

Dean glanced at his brother, but after that kept walking and looking straight ahead.

'Didn't I tell you? Trenchcoats sidekick likes to write blogs about their murder mysteries. When doing some research for a case Bobby stumbled upon it, that's how he knew. For some reason, people actually like reading that crap and the creep is a minor celebrity here in London.'

'So you didn't do any research on your own?'

Dean slowed his pace slightly as he was a little taken aback.

'What?

'I'm not a moron Dean, most of the time when you don't like somebody that somebody ends up with a black eye or ,more often than not, worse.' Sam said as he slowed down too.

'Most of the time they deserve it tough!' Dean shot back.

Sam rolled his eyes.

'Whatever, that doesn't matter now. We are on a job right now, that means no screwing around. We need that ''creep'' and the other guy to work with us if we wanna catch that sphinx.'

Dean huffed and halted completely. He crossed his arms and blocked his brother from walking any further.

'And how did you wanna achieve that?' He said, making it clear that he really didn't believe that Sam had any good answer for his question.

Sam too, stood still and shot Dean an irritated look.

'Well, we'll figure something out. I'm sure we can make them see reason.'

'Ha!' Dean scoffed. 'Yes, of course, that Sherlock dude looks like a real reasonable man to me.' the sarcasm was dripping from his voice. Sam wasn't impressed tough.

'He's a detective right? Well, if presented the facts correctly he must see that we are speaking the truth! Hell, he isn't the first person we told about it.'

Dean shot a desperate shot to the sky, as if praying to any good wanting to listen to put him in a situation any other than this mess.

'Whatever, keep dreaming sunny boy.' He mumbled and started walking again. But he was stopped when Sam called his name.

'Dean.'

Suppressing the urge to sigh very loudly he turned around for a second time.

'What.' Dean snapped.

Sam did a step towards him.

'Promise me you won't do anything stupid when we meet them, just, leave the talking to me and stand back.' the longer brother insisted.

For a second neither of them moved. The rain slowly fell upon the ground and on the other side of the street a man with black umbrella hurried into one of the many buildings and the two were alone again.

Dean shortly squinted and gave in.

'Fine.' he managed to squeeze out of his tightened jaw. And he was about to turn around again when he thought off something. He spun towards his brother again and pointed his finger at his chest.

'But when they won't listen to us, or that Sherlock dude starts pointing guns at us again. Then we do it my way.'

Sam's eyes widened slightly.

'And what may your way be?' He asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

A small smirk appeared on Dean's face.

'Lock em up and wait till the sphinx shows itself.'

'Use them as bait, you mean.' Sam emphasized while frowning. He didn't like that idea. Using people as bait wasn't the way he handled things...

'That's exactly what I mean.' Dean retorted, not budging an inch.

'But-'

'Look Sam, I'm not discussing this! What other options do we have when your plan fails? Getting a mediator? No Sam, those two people are the only lead we have as to where the Sphinx will strike next and as you said yourself; we are on a job and supposed to take care of this things. And if using them as bait is the only way to it, then hell yeah I'm willing to do it.' Dean shot back.

Sam bit his lip. Dean was right, they were here to do a job. But that didn't mean he approved of using actual living human beings as mere bait, putting them at risk. But the stubborn look on his brother's face told him that there was no point arguing. He hesitantly nodded. Dean raised his chin slightly.

'Good. Let's go.' Dean said and he curtly turned around as he started off towards Backerstreet. Sam could only follow.

-o-o-o-

'It's seems like this is it.'

Sam stood with his brother before a dark blue painted door decorated with a golden doorknocker along with a the golden sign stating that this was indeed 221B. The smell of baked goods filled the air and left Dean eager to go next door instead.

'That smells like some good pie.' He said, almost mouth-watering.

'Dean, focus. We only got one shot for a first impression.'

'Yeah, and we blew it.' Dean snorted.

'You know what I mean.' Sam said as he shortly glared at his brother.

Ignoring his brother foul look Dean motioned towards the door with his head.

'Well, go ahead Sammy, go and do your magic.' He said with an almost smug look on his face. Because Sammy was shooting dark looks towards him he knew that he wasn't so sure about his plan either. And to be honest, he totally shouldn't be. They were about to walk into the house of a happy trigger maniac. They had absolutely no reason to believe that this man wouldn't just come out running with guns blazing the moment they knocked. And even if that wasn't the case, then they still had to make trenchcoat believe that he or his friend was being chased down by an ancient Greek/Egyptian creature that actually didn't exist, in their mind anyway. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?

After shooting his brother a last angry look Sam shook his hesitation off him and overbridged the last few steps towards the door. He could feel that his brother followed him, not willing to let his brother face the threat alone. He was now right in front of the door. He took a deep breath. This wasn't the worst situation they were been in, hell, it wasn't even close. But a little nervousness keeps the mind sharp. You shouldn't let it cripple you, but you also shouldn't banish it completely. And with that in mind, Sam reached out and grabbed the door knocker. When he lifted it he noticed that it was far more heavy than you'd expect in the first place, so when he realised it you could hear the bang clearly echo trough the building. If anybody was home, they'd heard that.

Unbeknownst to him, Dean's fingers slowly reached for his gun.

They waited for a second, for several seconds. For half a minute. For a minute. Nothing happened. The two brother shared a look. Then they'd switched places. Now it was Dean who was in front. Sam let his eyes go around the street as he quickly scouted the area. There were a few people around, but all had their head pointed at the ground and were pulled back into their oversized coats as they tried to avoid the rain. None of them seemed to notice the two strange man standing before the apartment. He gave Dean the signal that the coast was clear and immediately Dean reached for his picklock. After a few seconds the could both hear a satisfying 'click' and the door was open.

After they'd entered they found themselves in a completely silent hallway. There was no light switched on, so when Sam closed the door behind them they were plunged into darkness. Before them let a small stairway to another door. That was the way they'd needed to go. Before Dean could make a move Sam was already on the stairs. Shooting daggers to his brothers back Dean was right behind him. It wasn't hard to guess why Sam wanted to go first, and knowing that his brother didn't trust him to handle the situation as he had promised a little earlier annoyed the crap out of him. He ignored the fact that his hand was still dangerously close to the gun which was tugged into his belt.

Before entering Sam laid his head against the door, listening for any sounds inside. When he didn't hear anything he gave a sign to his brother and slowly opened the door.

At first glance the apartment looked like any other. You know, from the dark brown tapestry to the two cozy looking lounging chair and couch. There were a television and a small coffee table. Nothing out of the ordinary, that was, until the second look It was then when he started to noticing the things not so ordinary. Starting with the drawn yellow smiley on the wall accompanied with bullet holes. That didn't shout 'ordinary' to him. Cautiously he entered and already Dean was standing next to him, observing every little aspect of the room like Sam just had. His eyes lingered for a short while on the skeleton on the pedestal but eventually also came to rest on the smiley drawn on wall. He too noticed the bullet holes.

'Well, that is not disturbing at all.' the older brother noted duly

He turned towards Sam.

'How much you wanna bet that thing is Trenchcoats work?' He said sounding kinda smug, having found another thing supporting his theory that the man was just an ordinary crazy.

Sam had to admit that the bullet hole riddled smiley was indeed a bit unsettling. But they had a job to do. The men they were searching weren't home. But maybe they could find something that could lead to them.

'Let's get to work.' He said, ignoring his brother's bet. He walked further into the living area and started to inspect the bookcase.

'You're no fun at all.' Dean muttered under his breath, but he too, started his search for clues.

Sam noticed that only a small portion of the books were fiction. Most of the books were either science, manuals of medical books. Whatever fiction books there were present, were all horror*. It wasn't really something to be worried about. Maybe they didn't like reading fiction? But why only horror? There weren't any other of the more classic books. Hell, there wasn't even a Harry Potter book, and wasn't it kinda against the law in England to not owning one of them?

Meanwhile, Dean had wandered into the kitchen. Again, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary at first glance. But then you started to notice things. The small burn marks, the odd smell and a few unidentified devices. At second look, this kitchen looked more like an unused lab than a place where you prepared meals. And that odd smell, what was that? It seemed to come out of the fridge...

He reached for the kitchen door and when it opened the disgusting stench hit him in the face.

'What the fuck?!' He exclaimed loudly. Half a second later Sam was next to him and together they stared to the horror scene in the fridge. Between the normal groceries which you expect in a fridge there stood several jar with organs in unidentified fluids. Sam could easily identify a heart, liver, kidney and more. Yes, this defiantly crossed the ''odd' line straight into ''motherfucking weird'' . Then an idea popped into Dean's mind and he slammed the fridge door shut.

'I swear if this guy is a witch then you, nor anybody else will stop me from going after him.' He said almost growling.

'Well, if that is the case I'm a hundred percent with you.' Sam reassured him. He took breath before finishing his sentence. 'But we mustn't jump to conclusions.' He finished, bracing for the inevitable angry answer from his brother.

'Jumping to conclusion?! This man is a first class nutbag! After all we've seen of him you are still defending him? Unbelievable Sam! I can't believe it!' Dean roared.

Sam raised his hands in a calming manner. 'I'm not saying he is completely normal-'

'No, of course this isn't normal!' Dean interrupted him, but Sam ignored him.

'-But that doesn't mean he's a witch. I mean, Bobby has a lot of this stuff too and he isn't a witch.'

'Yeah, but I wouldn't call Bobby sane either.' Dean huffed.

'Dean! That's not, not what I mean... I'm just saying that it means he's a witch! That's all. Let's, Let's just keep digging okey?' Sam said pleadingly, he really didn't want to start a fight with his brother right now. Before Dean could answer he continued.

'Why don't you check out the living room then I'll check out the bedrooms.'

For a moment Dean didn't move. Not really wanting to let the issue of fucking organs in the fridge go. But Sam had already disappeared from the kitchen, leaving Dean alone.

'Dickhead.' The older brother whispered into the thin air

Back into the living room he noticed several things. One; There was a violin. two; There was a laptop case leaning against the bookcase.

Yahtzee.

'Hey! Wizzkid, I found something for you!' He shouted towards the direction Sam had disappeared too. Dean picked up the laptop and put it in clear sight for Sam to find. After that, he loudly continued his search for anything indicating where the two men they were searching for were or something that would prove his witch theory

Sam walked into the living area again and right away he spotted the laptop case he had missed earlier. That could come in handy. After he noticed that Dean wasn't working all to silently, knocking as many things out of place as he could (probably trying to establish some kind of dominance, saying that he didn't respect Sherlocks stuff) Sam decided that he would the kitchen would do for his work space this moment. There he wouldn't be disturbed by his brother childish behaviour.

Carefully to not touch any of the displayed devices he sat dawn at the kitchen table. To his relief, it didn't take for the laptop to fire up and it hadn't been secured with a password. First, he went trought the files. Some of them were articles about murders or other crimes. Some were called ''The science of deduction'' He tried reading a few, they seemed interesting, but the information was presented in such a dull way that it didn't take long before he gave up. Then he found the blog posts. These were far more interesting. They told about consulting detective Sherlock Holmes and his assistant doctor John Watson. It told the story how Sherlock had dragged John out on the street trying to catch killers. How they had chased a cab through all London with no success. It told about how Sherlock handled, how he worked and what he did. With every passing sentence, Sam became more engrossed into the story. He almost couldn't believe what he was reading. I mean, this stuff couldn't be true, right? And if it was, then this Sherlock wasn't a witch at all, he was a genius! A kinda weird genius, but a genius nonetheless.

Suddenly he couldn't help but think about how good of a hunter this guy would be... I mean, he could tell in what part of London a guy had been by the mud on the shoe! No monster hiding as human could hide from him, that was for sure...

After reading several other blog posts Sam was pulled back to reality. He was supposed to find out where Sherlock and John were now, not read about their past adventures! He had come to know a fair bit about them, but that wouldn't be of use if they couldn't find the two. He opened the web browser, maybe he had they had an agenda online? The quickest way to find out was the web browser history. So with a few clicks he was presented a whole list of the last visisited websites by this IP adress. And he didn't like what he saw.

Two of the US most wanted criminals up in flames

The story of how two young brothers became the curse of many US citizens

Sam & Dean Winchester, was it their fault or their fathers?

The tragic story of the Winchester brothers

John Winchester, the father that turned two brothers into monsters

List of crimes: Winchester, S

List of crimes: Winchester, D

His eyes widened. That didn't look good. With a sour taste in his mouth he scrolled down, only to find more sites which told the ''tragic story of how two brothers were dragged down by their fathers misery.' This wasn't good, this really wasn't good. How did Sherlock know who they were? The man had only seen them once, once! And now he knew almost everything that was available about them. After all he had read about Sherlock, it still hadn't prepared for this. This was a dangerous situation, very dangerous. What if Sherlock decided to let the world know that the two of them were still alive? They'd have to start running again, and to be fair. Sam was very much done with that.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he noticed that Dean had dropped something and started cursing.

*BAM*

The sound of the door slamming open made Sam literally jump.

'HEY hey hey! Easy! You wouldn't want that thing going off!' He heard Dean shout

Without a second of hesitation Sam rushed towards the living area. There he was greeted by the sight of Dean standing at gun point, hands raised. Just before the entrance there stood a blond man, several heads shorter than he was wearing a simple sweater. Sam immediately recognised him as John Watson. Sherlock's friend. Instantly he could see that this man wasn't just some dude holding a gun. His hand was steady and his stance was correct. There was a military air around this man, at this moment he looked more like somebody that would kill a man than somebody that would heal a man.

John Watson or not, his brother was in danger. He balled his fists and lunged at, he aimed his fist at his head but only met thin air. What?! Somehow the man had sensed him coming and had been able to dodge his attack. Knowing that a counterattack was inevitable Sam sprang backwards and could narrowly avoid the kicks of the man. The speed of the man threw him off and he foolishly hadn't checked where he was jumping too. When he hit the lounging chair he wasn't able to keep standing and with a soft ''oof'' he landed on the cushions.

While he struggled to get upright Sam could hear his brother and their attacker fighting. There was a loud crack as the two slammed into the doorpost and a lot of cursing from Deans part. A second later there was again a crashing sound and after that silence.

When Sam was standing upright again the fight was already over. The apartment was a mess. One of the two men they had wished to speak with now laid bleeding and unconscious on the floor. His brother stood sheepishly next to the fallen doctor and turned towards him

'Well, that could've gone a lot smoother.'

-=o0o=-

A few hours later

-=o0o=-

Sherlock stepped out of the black cab. It was late in the afternoon and soon people would start heading home from their works to reunite with their families and have dinner. The museum was now closed. To his chagrin, Sherlock hadn't been able to find much more in the dusty old files that could help him solve this mystery. What didn't help was that John hadn't shown the whole day. When John had disappeared in his own taxi the thought had crossed his mind to follow him to his secret appointment. But if John would notice him that would surely refrain from going. Nay, he would alert his homeless backup force to look out for John, and whoever could trail the doctor and tell him where he had gone would receive an award. After he had hit ''send'' he hauled for a cab.

Sherlock had spent the rest of the day in the museum. A few hours later his phone had lit up. Several people had spotted John walking trough London. Alone. From the direction he was walking towards it was clear he was headed home. Yet, no one could tell him where he had come from. That didn't matter, Sherlock was sure he would able gain that info himself when talking to John later. Now, he needed to focus. So he turned off his phone and reverted his attention back to the files.

He lost track of time and when one of the museum employe's came to tell him that the museum was closing for the day he was surprised that several hours had passed. He was also disappointed when he noticed that John hadn't come. Whatever he had done earlier that day must've been quite serious if John were to blow off an appointment with him. He'd promised himself that he'd confront John that very evening about where he had been. When outside he was quick to grab a cab. On the way home it stopped raining.

He paid the driver and turned towards the door. With every step closer to the door, he got the feeling something was wrong. Something was defiantly wrong. Why wasn't the light switched on? If John was truly home then surely he would've turned the light on? He stopped before the two small steps in front of the door. Someone had used a picklock on the door. The scratches were just a few hours old and defiantly weren't made by a key. Sherlock had a hard time to not just open the door and rush inside to check if John was alright. No, if he did that he'd erase possible clues as to who forced entry, for whatever reason.

He looked down and the signs were clearly there. There were three sets of footprints. One was John's, no doubt. Sherlock had memorized every single shoe John and this set of prints belonged to one of them. However, John prints covered two other sets of footprints. One set belonged to a person with shoe size 10 and another belonged to a person with shoe size 12**. All three of the people had spent the most of time walking towards the apartment, because their shoes were muddy enough to leave a trace on the stones. John had arrived after the two other people. A tight knot started to form in Sherlocks stomach.

Slowly he opened the door. The first thing he saw was the duck tape on the ground. From the way it was torn he could tell that it hadn't been used to bound somebody, but rather to attach something to a wall or other object. Sherlock then remembered that John had used duck tape before to hide Sherlocks gun. So either one of the two burglars had found the gun which John had hidden somewhere near the entrance, or John had felt threatened enough to take the gun himself. Sherlock didn't like either of the options.

When he didn't find anything else that was of interest he moved towards the stairs. He noticed that the door was that the door was slightly ajar. John never left the door ajar. He didn't like the draft it created. Throwing all caution overboard Sherlock rushed upstairs and burst into the room.

It was a mess, war zone. Sherlock noticed several things at once. One; the broken door frame. Two; the new scratches on the wall and floor; three; almost everything had been moved, as if someone had gone trough it and almost wanted to get noticed. Four; the blood on the floor. Five; The apartment was empty.

'John?!' He called out, not quite able to keep the panic out of his voice.

The only answer was silence. Outside, the wind started to howl.

TBC

* At the moment I'm reading the Sherlock Holmes books (Conan Doyle) and there it is stated that Sherlock is a massive sucker for Horror stories! Fun fact of the day :)

**British size.

What?! Where'd they go?! Damnit, guess we have to wait for next time to find out!

Feel free to leave a review or PM me when you have any questions or want to compliment my brilliance! *Strikes pose*
(hahah, no? ok ill stop)

Thanks for reading everybody! School starts next Monday again. urghhhhhh, I hope they will be a bit more forgiving this period! Again I can promise that this story won't be abandoned, I'm geussing we have about 3/4 chapters left. (I remember saying the same things 4 chapters ago :P ) Anyhow, hope to update ASAP (latest will be chirstmas break, this is worst case scenario! Promise!)

Thank you very much for reading and favouriting and following and reviewing and etc etc, love you guys :3

Have a nice day/night! You deserve it!

Peace out and Party on xxx