Back as promised, of course!

Guys, we frigging did it. We have over 100 followers! 100+ of you guys have bothered to click on follow, it's really heartwarming. 3 Thank to all of you who left a review on the last chapter, even tough it was such a short one! I know it may seem just a small gesture, but it really can make a difference. So thanks for that.

Now, I don't know if I can update before Christmas. Busy days ahead! Of course I would love too, but rushing things is never the answer! Especially not with what I have planned for the coming chapters!

The next chapter is for sure up on Sunday! Maybe, (No promises) sooner!

And if I don't see you lovely folks before Christmas, have a few very lovely days. And I mean that. And if for some reason you don't celebrate christmas, I hope you can still enjoy the christmas lights and love and have a wonderful magic filled weekend.

And now, chapter 14!

Disclaimer; The plot is mine! the characters... not so much...

CHAPTER WARNINGS; UNDER AGE DRINKING AND SWEARING (AKA Dean)

Enjoy!

For a mere second, Sherlock didn't know where to start. John was gone, the apartment was thrashed. Those things alone were pretty alarming, but combined they were terrifying. Sherlock had many enemies, old ones, new ones, enemies he made himself and enemies that saw him as a threat. He was aware of this, and when he was alone it never really bothered him. In his line of work, it was normality to have adversaries. And the first foe that could surprise Sherlock Holmes had yet to reveal himself. No, taking him by surprise wasn't something you'd do easily. But John, John was a different matter. John knew how to act when in close combat, when the opponent was standing directly in front of him. Along with that, John's military training had thought him spot the first signs of a dangerous individual, an individual that was likely to attack. However, the veteran would be a lot easier to ambush than him. Only a few of the dozens times had John noticed any stalker Sherlock had sent after him, to check if he was alright of course. It was possible that one of his many enemies had laid out a trap for Sherlock, yet it had been John that had been caught. It was one of his worst fears, John being in danger because of him. It was selfish to keep him around, Sherlock knew that all along. But it was to his disgust that Sherlock had come to realise that he wouldn't be able to live without him anymore. So Sherlock had decided that pushing John away was something for a later date, now he wouldn't be able to deal with it. Nor would he able to deal with the fact that he had indirectly had caused his friend harm, yet all the signs were there...

Signs

Sherlock snapped out of his thoughts. Signs, if he wanted to find John he had to read the signs. This was what he was good at and what could actually help him. So Sherlock closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. He unclenched fists, which he handed even realised clenching. In his mind, he started to go trough the clues he had already been given.

Two men had entered the apartment, Shoe sizes were 10 and 12. About half an hour later John had entered. John was likely to carry a weapon, Sherlocks gun, which he had hidden in the hallway below, he knew this because of the tape that was laying in the hall. So, John must've known that something was amiss. Or, another possibility. Two burglars had found the gun and had smashed the apartment trying to find valuable items. This was something Sherlock found unlikely, because of the simple fact that He had already noticed that the most valuable items in the apartment, that also happened to be very easy to take, were still there. So Sherlock abandoned the second idea and opened his eyes.

If John had carried a weapon, it was a possibility that he had fired it. He quickly scanned the floors and walls, but no other bullet holes other than the ones he had made himself were present. John hadn't fired the gun, nor had his adversaries, at least not in the living area.

Blood. It was unmistakably blood that Sherlock had spotted on the remains of the broken desk. With a few big strides, Sherlock had crossed the room and knelt beside it. From the way the wooden planks were placed on the ground he saw that whatever had destroyed it, had come from above the desk. It hadn't been a kick or something comparable. Again, Sherlock searched the room, yet this time from a new point of few. It was then that he noticed that the destroyed desk and broken door frame were in one line. Slowly Sherlock rose to his feet.

Two people were fighting. One hit the doorframe, after which the two had struggled with each other, the scuffle ultimately ending by one of the two falling onto the desk, very likely also hitting their head, which caused the bleeding.

An uneasy feeling started to form in his stomach, but he quickly put his worries aside.

Facts, Sherlock, never ever make conclusions if you haven't finished your research. Shaking his head lightly, he shook the feelings of uneasiness from him and he walked to the fallen down chair.

No blood. If he was lucky the chair hadn't simply been knocked offer, but someone had actually fallen across it. Because if the last thing had happened it was plausible that there would be DNA traces on the chair.

It was in the corner of his eyes that he noticed the dark shape of John's laptop, laying on the kitchen table.

Now, Sherlock was one hundred percent sure that John always put away his laptop correctly. At first, John refused to allow Sherlock to use it. John's whole live was on that thing, his blogs, his diaries, pictures of his time in the field. However, when John realised that no matter how many times he told Sherlock to not touch his stuff, the consulting detective would never listen, he dropped the issue and accepted that he would now have to share his laptop. But still, Sherlock would get in trouble with his friend if he didn't put it away properly. John wouldn't have let it sit in the kitchen like that, so somebody else must've done it.

It took him a few seconds to fetch his gloves out of his room. Of course, if he touched the laptop with his bare hands he would destroy any traces the burglars had left. He didn't bother to sit down, but rather click the space bar to activate the computer. The screen flashed alive and he was greeted by an article of about US greatest modern criminals, a section about Sam Winchester highlighted.

It was then that something clicked in Sherlock's head.

Of course.

Somehow, the two Winchester brothers had figured out who had chased them down trough the alleys of London. And when they had figured out who their names, they were only a quick google session away from finding out where they lived.

Again took it much of his will power to not decend into panic. Those two were dangerous, very dangerous. Yet, Sherlock managed to stay calm. Now that he had an acceptable hypothesis who had broken into his apartment and had caused John's disappearance, he needed to figure out why. They wouldn't have taken John without a reason. John was a remarkable foe, but not many people realised this, rather going after Sherlock himself. The Winchesters had probably laid out a trap for him, but it had been John who had been caught. Now, if those Winchester had at least a few functioning brain cells, they would've formed a plan to lure Sherlock out of his hiding, using John as bait. But naturally, they would have to actually make it known to him that they had John captured.

A note would be the logical way to go. Simple and effective. But, Sherlock realised, he hadn't seen a note.

Sherlock quickly left the kitchen area and scouted the apartment, one time, two times. No note. There was no note. Why was there no note? This time, Sherlock didn't bother to suppress his feeling of dread. He returned to the kitchen and knocked the chair aside. He checked his email, there were some few ones, but none that seemed suspicious or held any clues where John was. He also checked John's mail. (He had figured out the password on his fourth try) but it was the same result.

Sherlock could feel his pulse fasten. No note, no sign, no clues. How would he figure out where John was?

Sherlock closed his eyes again, and focused on his breath, using some techniques he had learned when a lot younger. One small voice in his head couldn't help but think how ridiculous his reaction was. He had seen countless of deaths, countless of disappearances. But now, when John, just another person had disappeared, it triggered this state of almost panic.

But that thought got shut down. John wasn't just another person. John was his friend. And that was the truth.

'So? How do you help your friends Sherlock? How? Not with panic for sure!' The voice sneered back.

Sherlock opened his eyes again. The voice was right, panic wouldn't help the situation. How do you fix problems? Simple, you start with step one.

Sherlock grabbed his phone out of his pocket, and with his trenchcoat swaying behind him, he left the apartment.

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The first thing John noticed was his headache. It was a throbbing pain, pulsing in harmony with his heartbeat. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't something he hadn't dealt with before, he had dealt with head wounds many times to be honest.

The second thing he noticed was the restraints on his wrists and ankles. That was something he had dealt a little less with, A lot more since he'd known Sherlock, but still, he hadn't gotten used to the feeling. But he knew one thing, it wasn't pleasant.

He opened his eyes and moved his head to look around, put he was immediately punished as a sharp pain shot trough his head, a wave of nausea washed over him, and it took all his willpower to not empty his stomach right there.

John took a deep breath and counted to 20. The nausea ebbed away again along with the pain. Slowly he opened his eyes again.

He had been right, he had been restrained. He was tied with a thick rope to a chair. Moving his arms and legs told him that the chances of wiggling himself free were slim. The ropes were very tight and cut in his skin with the smallest movement. But luckily for John they weren't so tight that of the cut off his blood stream completely.

Carefully John raised his head and noticed that he had been placed in a bathroom. A very small and dirty bathroom, but a bathroom nonetheless.

Slowly but surely John's senses started to return to him and he started to remember what happened. After his meeting with Mycroft he had returned home, he had encountered two men in his house. The same men he and Sherlock had seen in the morgue and had later chased trough London. The same men he and Sherlock had later identified as Sam and Dean Winchester.

Sam and Dean Winchester. Two brothers who the whole world viewed as highly dangerous criminals, but only a few recognised as hunters. And not your ordinary hunters at that. No, apparently, monsters and whatnot were real. And these two had chosen to hunt those things down, out of their free will. And he was now tied up in their bathroom.

This was going to be an interesting night.

Atleast his captors had decided to leave the lights on, so that was nice, at least. It allowed him to further inspect the grimy bathroom, and it allowed him to see where the knots were at the ropes. Maybe he could untie the knots? Deciding that attempting to free himself instead of inspecting the damp bathroom was a far better occupation, he started moving his hands again, trying to get a little more room to get to the knots.

Suddenly, a door slammed outside of the bathroom. John froze and strained his ears to hear. Luckily, the walls matched the quality of the bathroom, because they were thin enough so he could hear every word of their conversation.

'And?' A voice asked.

'The rooms surrounding us are empty, so I doubt they heard anything.' Somebody else answered.

'At least we have that going for us...'

Silence, then the first voice spoke again.

'I need a beer.'

'Dean! This is hardly an appropriate time for beer!'l

'Well, let me tell you, Sam, this time is exactly the right time for a fucking beer.'

'We have important stuff to deal wit! We can't afford it to get drunk right now'

'Ah come on Sammy, the last time one beer had any effect on me I was 16.'

'You were already drinking at 16?'

'You were not? Really, that's more shameful than me Sammy.'

John listened as a fridge door opened and closed again. Then the person the other one had called 'Sammy' started to speak.

'You're impossible.'

'And you're a wuss. Now, is Jackie Chan already awake?'

John's shoulders tightened. Unless these two had actually hidden Jackie Chan somewhere in the apartment, he was pretty sure they were talking about him.

He heard Sam sigh.

'Probably not, wouldn't surprise me if he was out all night. You hit him pretty hard on that desk.'

'For like the thousands time, it wasn't like I did that on purpose!'

'Well, matter of fact is, you did it.'

'Whatever, like you did him any good, dragging him all the way here.'

'Like we could have left him there.'

'We could've! Call an ambulance or whatever and just get the hell out of there.'

'And leave him there helpless for the Sphinx to munch on? Yeah, that would've done him a lot of good.'

Wait what. That didn't sound good, that sounded far from good. Sphinx, they had to be kidding. Right? Dean's voice continued

'We don't even known for sure if this guy is the next vic. It still could be that other asshole.'

They didn't like Sherlock, what a surprise...

Sam answered; 'Well, I don't like taking chances, and talking about that. We need to figure out where that guy is, because it indeed could be him, and atop of that, we need to figure out how to kill the sphinx.' His voice became more stressed how longer Sam kept talking

'You're overthinking it, let's just start with step one okay?' Dean responded.

And suddenly, the bathroom door opened.

Oh, this is horrible, another cliffhanger. AGAIN? Whelp, At least I won't let you guys hanging for three months here :P So I hope you guys forgive me 3

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Merry Christmas everybody!