Sam and Cas walked into the flat when it was nearly full dark outside. Dean and Molly were laughing together at the table, Sherlock's laptop open between them. Sam felt a slight pang of jealousy. Needless, it seemed, when Dean glanced their way and his smile vanished.
"Where the hell have you been, dude?"
"St Barts. They want to give me a job in IT," Sam said. "And you'll be glad to know, I accessed a few sites and hacked into some files and all three of us should have official London ID in a few days. It seems we're staying a few days more so let's be safe about it, right?"
Dean shrugged. His eyes flicked to Cas but looked away quickly. Sam caught the movement. Were Dean and Cas having issues? Before Sam could further analyze the look, Dean asked, "And your phone?"
"Battery died. Sorry."
Dean got up, shaking his head, "That's a bad excuse and you probably know it. C'mon dude, we've got problems going on here and the least you could've done was check in ever few hours."
"Chill out," Sam muttered.
"Chill out?" Dean repeated. "As if there isn't a fleet of demons roaming London, as if we're not up against the Serpent, as if you haven't taken a powerless angel out with you, as if everything's hunky fucking dory?"
Sam frowned. He looked past Dean to Molly and said, "What happened with Sally?"
"She went home. Set up the camera and everything."
"And Sherlock?"
"Went out," Molly answered.
"Where?"
"Didn't tell us."
"Why does it matter?" Dean demanded.
Sam checked his watch. "John's going to be home soon. Sherlock better get back before the doctor does. Besides, none of us can deal with him without John. No offense, Molly," Sam added quickly. She shrugged but there was a smile on her face. "Anything to eat? Me and Cas are starving."
"Yes, starving," Cas agreed, still standing behind Sam.
"Dean and I collaborated to make spaghetti and meatballs. Leftovers are in the fridge," Molly said.
"Dude, she is a phenomenal cook," Dean complimented and Molly blushed. Sam's lips tugged into a smile as he watched her.
By the time Sam and Cas sat down to eat, the door opened again with a soaked through John.
Umbrellaless and wet, he shook out his coat and ran a quick eye over the scene. He asked, "Where is he?"
"Don't know, said he was going out," Dean told him. They didn't even need to ask who "he" was.
John had his cell phone out and was already calling. "He's not answering," John said worriedly. "How long has he been gone?"
"Couple of hours at the least," Molly glanced at John who was running to Sherlock's borrowed room. "What's wrong?"
John returned and looked up, alarm in his eyes. "My pistol's gone," he said flatly. "My fucking pistol's gone and he usually texts me a few times a day." John moved to Sherlock's laptop and opened a phone-tracking site, typing slowly (by Sam's standards anyway). He cursed quietly.
"What?" Dean asked.
"There's a password," John muttered.
"Well, you know him best…" Dean trailed off as John began typing, Sam peering over the man's shoulders and mouthed along the words, vatican cameos. He had no idea what it meant, but it was the right password so Sam thought it better not to care.
"He's at someone's flat but I don't know whose address this is," John said.
Molly peered over his shoulder and stiffened. "John, that- that's Sally's address. I remember."
John looked up at her, confused. He minimized the window and his eyes widened. The surveillance camera footage from the camera planted by Sally showed the elder Mrs. Donovan and her daughter moving to a side room.
"Sally wasn't there before. We've been watching the entire time," Dean muttered then added "The Serpent…"
It seemed everyone sprang into action at the same time. John snapped, "Molly, keys!" Molly had already snatched her keys and was heading to the door, Sam tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans, following behind Molly and nodding to Dean.
"I'll stay here with Cas, try to find camera feeds from around the block of the address. I'll text you details," Dean told them as they left.
The rain hadn't eased up the slightest bit while they piled into the car. John was muttering under his breath about "that irresponsible egomaniac" but his face was worried and Molly was grimly silent while she pulled into gear.
"We need a plan," Sam said when no one else seemed likely to mention it. "If the Serpent's holding Sherlock captive, we can't just march in there and rescue him. We don't even know what can be used as a weapon."
"He can't get hurt," John said. "I can't let him."
"That's why we need a plan, John, snap out of it!" Sam said, his voice getting loud.
John took a deep breath and looked over at him. "You're right. Okay. Plan."
Sam's phone buzzed and he checked the text. "Dean says he saw several people leaving the building but Sally wasn't one of them," he glanced up just as another text came in. "But he says he recognized a woman he's sure was Mrs. Hudson."
"Mrs. Hudson's possessed," John said dully.
"But whoever left the flat wasn't someone possessed," Molly said abruptly. John and Sam looked toward her. Her eyes were focused on the road but she spoke rapidly, "It was the Serpent. Shape-shifting, right? It turned into Mrs. Hudson and left him. Sherlock's alone."
"She's right," Sam added.
"Why would it leave Sherlock alone? Sherlock's a threat. Unless he was de-" John made a noise, a slight frightened one, and stopped talking.
Molly pulled into a spot and John was out of the car before it was fully parked. Rain spattered around them as Sam and Molly ran to keep up with him. They entered the building. "Second floor," Molly whispered and they went up the stairs two at a time. At the landing, Molly pointed at the door already open.
John slowed down as they approached it and the three of them came to the view nearly simultaneously. Molly gasped and covered her mouth with both hands, stopping on the spot. John did the opposite, running forward with a cry of "Sherlock! Jesus fucking Christ, no, no, nonono!"
A shirtless Sherlock lay motionless on the hardwood floor, his back to the door. Bullets, John's pistol, and his clothes scattered beside him at arms reach. Sam joined John kneeling beside him and realized Sherlock wasn't actually motionless. Sherlock shivered incessantly and his eyelids twitched, rolling open and shut. John was cradling his head upward and running a hand back through his heavy mop of hair, trying to get the detective to speak but he only made a few garbled sounds.
"Sherlock, please," John gasped, attempting to pull him into an upright position.
With hesitant fingers, Sam reached out to take Sherlock pulse, instantly noticing how warm he was to the touch. Beneath the quivering touch of clammy flesh, his heartrate was rocketing. "Molly," Sam turned to see her still at the door. "His coat!"
Molly nodded, moving forward. Together, they managed to get him into the damp coat and onto his feet. It seemed to do little good; his feet still dragged. John and Sam took him under the arms, trying their best to keep him up despite the height difference and his completely unresponsive muscles. Molly collected the bullets and his shirt and asked, "The car?"
John nodded. They left Sally's apartment together, Molly shutting the door behind them. They encountered no one else on the trip to the car and they stayed silent through the rain. It was only when Sherlock was settled in the backseat that John asked, "Is he going to be alright?"
"I don't know, John. We need to know what's wrong with him, whether it's physical or mental-"
"Damnit, Sam. Will he be alright?"
Sam swallowed and lied, "I think so,"
"Nngh, Joh-John?" Sherlock croaked. One of his eyes had opened.
"Sherlock!" John nodded encouragingly and put a hand on his cheek, supporting his lolling head. "I'm here, Sherlock. I'm right here."
"John? I'm bl-bl-blind," Sherlock gasped.
"What?" John sounded horrified. "Can you see me? We're with Molly and Sam, Sherlock. Can you see my hand?" He waved his hand before Sherlock's eyes.
"No, no. Not like, oh, no. Tell, tell my car… John…" Sherlock trailed off, eyes falling shut again.
John leaned closer and said, "It's okay, it's going to be okay. I'm here. Can you see?"
"My car? Is it something about the car?" Sam asked from the front seat. He exchanged a look with Molly. She was blinking back tears, Sam could tell. But fid Sherlock need to say something about the car? "Is it the car, Sherlock?" He repeated.
His eyes fluttered open again. He focused on John's face and said "Mycroft. You need to- need to. Tell him. Phone."
"You want me to call Mycroft, is that it? What about?" John asked. Sherlock floated in and out of consciousness. Now he fell back into the stupor. "Sherlock, no. Oh god, no. Don't. Just talk to me," John pleaded.
Sherlock seemed to hear him and his eyes opened again, looking slightly more lucid than before. "Serpent. Tell Mycroft."
"Sherlock, Mycroft already knows it's the Serpent," John said consolingly.
"Anthea. Demon. Tell My-Mycroft," Sherlock's head fell back on the seat and his eyelids dropped again.
John went through his pocket and gave his cell phone to Sam, but his gaze never once left Sherlock, his voice never stopped pleading with Sherlock to fight. But Sherlock didn't reply.
They developed a watch system over Sherlock asleep in bed. Every eight hours, they traded off. Mycroft dropped by, Anthea conspicuously absent. He spent half the day by his brother's side, stroking his hair and mumbling things from their childhood. He left when his phone made a series of urgent beeps. He demanded to be called every few hours and kept up to date on his brother's condition. Before leaving, Mycroft warned them not to take him to a hospital. "They're infested with staff and patients bearing puncture wounds on their neck and possession tattoos."
At first, John seemed determined to not leave Sherlock's side for a single moment, but he had to sleep and eat and shower. It was one of those rare moments that John had fallen asleep on the couch and Sam was flipping through an old ritual book two days after they found him that Sherlock awoke.
He called in a hoarse voice, "John?"
"Sherlock? It's me, Sam."
"Sam." Sherlock echoed. "Sam, what do you think about God?"
This was not what he expected from the man awakening from his state. Sam was taken aback, torn between calling John and answering the question. In the end, he said, "I don't know about God, but I can tell you about Lucifer."
"No," Sherlock insisted in his raspy voice through half-closed eyes. "About God."
Sam hesitated. He really should get John and text Mycroft. But he wanted to know why Sherlock had asked. "I think God's done a lousy job but tries to fix it. Does that help?"
"Sam, it was a God. And it made me a God. It helped me see."
"It?" Sam questioned. In a nervous move, he ran his fingers through his long hair.
"The closest I've come to feeling invincible was when I was under the influence of stimulants. It made me think better, it made me feel more alive than anything else. A powerful and addictive feeling, Sam, you've felt it as well, haven't you?" the detective asked, his blue eyes fixed on Sam.
Demon blood. Sam cleared his throat. Even now, so much time later, just the thought of the hot coppery liquid running over his tongue made his pulse accelerate. Sometimes, his mouth even watered and his hands trembled. The rush of power as he felt every drop running through his veins…Checking the feeling, Sam said, "Yes, I have."
Sherlock chuckled, coughed. "You've felt nothing, Sam Winchester. The power to appreciate God, to become God, stems from understanding nature and the behavior of all things. It requires one to truly use all of their senses. If one does so well enough, they can predict what will happen around them and even be able to control it. Do you see?"
Sam thought back to the carride, to Sherlock stammering, John, I'm blind. "Sherlock, what happened to you?" Sam whispered. Sherlock calmly met his gaze. There was something different about him now, Sam realized. He had always been brilliant and strangely collected but now it was his chief quality. He almost seemed to radiate that expression. Like you could see his intelligence and confidence.
"The Serpent made me a God, Sam. The Serpent is a God."
Sam found he had no answer. He said instead, "John's been waiting for you to wake up. This has been hell on him."
"John's a soldier. Soldiers know to walk through hell, and John is especially adept at the task. I've put him through the feeling plenty of times. I'm not proud of it, but it's true," Sherlock answered. He sat up and winced.
"Your brother was over," Sam supplied.
Sherlock's eyebrows pulled together. "Have you told him about Anthea?"
Sam nodded. "He said she stopped coming in after you- after the night."
Sherlock nodded. "Expected. Well, call the rest of them in. I think they should know what I know."
"And what's that?"
"It told me, Sam," Sherlock said, his lips curved upward. "The Serpent thought I was ordinary and it told me how to defeat it."