After Sam and Dean had been ushered in, the Doctor began working. He flipped a switch here, pressed a button there, and so on. John sat back and watched silently, rubbing his temples in an effort to sooth his rising headache. Rory watched the Winchester brothers, not quite sure what to do with them. Amy kept sneaking glances at John.
"Do you think he's ok?" Amy whispered to Rory. Rory followed her gaze and shrugged.
"I dunno, it's a lot to take in in a short amount of time. Why are you so concerned?" Rory's voice was mostly curious, but with a slight tone of jealousy. Amy rolled her eyes and shoved him a bit.
"I'm a mom! What, I'm not allowed to be concerned about other people?"
"Considering that Dean fellow was flirting with you, I feel I have the right to be a little protective." Rory countered playfully, wrapping his arm around his wife. Amy leaned into him affectionately, a smile curling her lips.
"Oh, ok, fine. But only because you're so darn cute about it." Amy teased.
"We're here!" The Doctor announced, stopping the TARDIS before rushing toward the doors. He threw them open to reveal a crowded street. Just a few yards away was a restaurant.
Everyone filed out of the TARDIS and entered the restaurant, getting a table for six. The barista looked worriedly at Dean's injured shoulder. Noticing this, Dean gave a short and mundane explanation for it (saying something about football), which was, of course, a lie. The group sat down, flitting through the menus and making small yet extremely awkward conversation.
Soon, a waitress arrived at the table. In an overly perky voice, she took everyone's orders. When she arrived on John, he just shook his head, giving her a polite smile. The waitress nodded and left. Most of the group carried out small conversation, discussing what filled their lives and asking questions here and there. John, however, just silently observed, an uneasy feeling stirring his stomach.
Soon, the waitress returned with drinks. She placed a glass of water in front of John, a courtesy of the restaurant. John took a small sip and continued listening to everyone. Soon, the small conversations evolved into deep discussions littered with funny stories. As Sam and Dean went on about one of their hunts, John noticed that he was the only one who was put off by the gruesome and freaky details. He laughed dryly to himself; here he was thinking Sherlock was the craziest man he'd ever met.
Eventually, the waitress had returned with food. She laid down everyone's plates and was about to leave before Amy stopped her.
"Yes, ma'am?" The waitress asked.
"Did he order anything?" Amy asked, gesturing to the blond man across from her, who was currently lost in one of the Winchester brothers' stories. The waitress shook her head.
"Would you bring him out a plate of chips anyway, please?" Amy requested quietly. The waitress nodded with a smile before disappearing back to the kitchen.
"He's a grown man, you know," Rory muttered.
"I know," Amy said, an edge of defense in her voice. "And grown men need to eat."
"If he's not hungry, he's not hungry," Rory argued gently. "Remember when you showed me the Doctor? And the TARDIS? I didn't really feel like eating much then, either. Not to mention those two." The nurse gestured to the Winchester brothers, who were laughing about some shenanigans from their past.
He was right, Amy knew that. "I know. I'll at least give him the option." Amy concluded before starting in on her plate.
The waitress arrived soon after, placing the plate of fresh chips in front of John. The soldier looked at her in confusion.
"I didn't order any chips." He pointed out. The waitress didn't respond, instead taking his glass, refilling it, and then leaving. John stared down at the plate in confusion before tentatively taking a small bite. Amy smiled in victory, nudging Rory as John took another bite.
Suddenly, Rory realized something. "Guys?" No one seemed to hear him. "Guys!" He said, a bit louder. This caught John and Amy's attention, but no one else's.
"Hey!" Rory practically shouted. Now everyone's eyes were on him. "Whatever happened to that demon girl?"
Looks of sheer panic overtook the Winchester brothers' faces. Dean cursed before shuffling to his feet and fighting to get out of the booth the group was seated in. Rory, who was on the end, was practically shoved out of his seat to let the brothers through. They instantly bolted from the restaurant, followed swiftly by the Doctor. Amy and Rory dashed after him, leaving John alone at the abandoned table.
Grumbling, John dug some cash out from his pocket and slapped it on the table before running after them. He barely made it back to the TARDIS in time before they were on their way.
This time, the Doctor parked outside the flat. Sam and Dean burst through the doors and raced into the flat. One by one, the others followed them. As John raced through the main door, he caught sight of a very startled looking Mrs. Hudson.
"John? What's going on? What has Sherlock done this time?" She asked, stopping him at the base of the stairs.
"Nothing, Mrs. H," John said, rather breathlessly "I'll explain later. Gotta get up there."
"Wait! When did you go out? I didn't see you go!" Mrs. Hudson called as John raced up the stairs.
"I'll explain later!" He called down before bursting into the flat. The place was already a disaster. Everything that could possibly be moved had been. Books and other decorations littered the floor, a very confused-looking Sherlock standing in the middle of it all.
"John, what are they doing?" Sherlock asked, raising an arm to scratch his head. John instantly noticed three nicotine patches decorating the detective's skin. He sighed in frustration, walking over and tearing off two of the patches at once before going for the third. Sherlock jerked his arm away like an upset child.
"They're looking for the little girl. She disappeared while we were all distracted." John explained, forcefully grabbing Sherlock's wrist and tearing the last of the patches off. Sherlock pouted at him momentarily before his words sunk in.
The detective snarled at himself. "How did I not notice that?" He growled. John rolled his eyes, stuffing the patches into his pocket.
"I'm gonna check my room." He announced before ascending the stairs leading to the said place.
As he arrived at the top, John noticed the door was opened slightly. He pushed it the rest of the way open, slowly and gently. There, on his bed, stood the demon girl. In her hands was a pistol, one that she had most likely retrieved from the drawer that was now open from his nightstand.
"Hands up, soldier." The girl demanded, a slightly mocking tone in her voice. John did as he was told, the familiar feeling of adrenaline spreading through his body. Downstairs, the man heard faint shouting.
"How unfortunate," the girl continued, a small smirk curling her lips. "That detective friend of yours will be so sad. His little doctor, gone for good this time." John's heart rate accelerated drastically. "I would ask for any last words, but that's so overdone. So, instead, a simple goodbye should suffice."
Footsteps were racing up the stairs. John could barely hear them over the sound of his heart in his chest. He was going to die. Many times he had felt the feeling he was then, but this time it was different. Almost more real. This was a demon, and demons didn't have a conscious to convince them not to kill. John held his breath, his racing mind beginning to calm. There was no way out this time. He just had to accept it as it was. John Watson was going to die.
Suddenly, John was taken off his feet and to the floor. A heavy weight lay on top of his back, pushing him into the floor protectively. A gunshot echoed through the room. The weight lifted from his back and another gunshot sounded. Two bodies thumped to the floor.
John rolled onto his back, sitting up frantically. On the floor near the door lay a cursing and bleeding Dean, and standing over the doctor was a steel-faced Sam, shotgun firm in his hand. The demon girl lay halfway off the bed, stunned and bleeding.
Sam glanced between the demon and his brother frantically. John got to his knees, starting towards Dean. "Get the demon, I'll take care of your brother." He told Sam, who nodded and moved to the stunned demon.
John was now kneeling over the still cursing Dean. "Hey, hey, calm down. Let me see," He coaxed, gently prying Dean's hands away from the wound in his abdomen. The doctor frowned and quickly took off his jacket. He pressed the fabric into the wound, slowing the rapid bleeding.
"We need to get you to a hospital," John murmured to himself. He glanced back over his shoulder at Sam, who had the girl pinned to the ground and was rapidly muttering words to her. The girl struggled, surprisingly strong for her current state. John watched in horror as the girl screamed, thick black smoke coming from her mouth. The smoke escaped down the stairs and the girl beneath Sam fell limp.
Sam looked back at John, their eyes meeting for a moment. "U-um, we should get him to a hospital," John said. Sam nodded, leaving the girl where she lay. He and John helped Dean to his feet. The three started down the stairs, slowly and carefully. Due to height differences, the journey down was less than desirable.
Suddenly, Rory came rushing up the stairs to meet them. "What happened? We heard gunshots!"
"We'll explain later. For now, replace John." Sam ordered. Before he could react, John was pushed back a couple steps and Rory had taken his place. Sighing, he pushed down his offense for later and followed them down. The men had laid Dean on the floor, abdomen exposed. Rory was hovering over the wound, gently moving things and doing basic nurse work. John walked over and crouched opposite him.
"We should probably get him to the hospital," Rory commented quietly, not looking up from his patient. "But what are we going to tell them?"
"I don't know." John sighed. The wound looked bad; John's jacket was barely stopping the bleeding, the bullet was undoubtedly still buried in there somewhere, and there was always the risk of infection. John and Rory looked at each other.
"You're an army doctor, yeah?"
"Yep."
"So, this is pretty familiar to you."
"Right." The two stared in silence for a moment. Then, with a nod, John turned on his heels and began to take charge.
"We need that first aid kit, wherever it is. Sam, keep him talking." He ordered. Sam nodded, crouching near Dean's head. His brother looked awful; he was pale, sweaty, and was writing in agony. Sam placed a hand on his chest.
"Hey, it's ok, you need to sit still, ok?" He murmured gently. "It'll be ok, they're getting you stitched up."
"This freakin' sucks!" Dean growled through gritted teeth. "Being shot twice in one day."
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, wouldn't want to be you right now." He glanced at John and Rory, who were busy with the aid kit. John would bark an order, army experience clear in his voice. Rory would follow without the slightest hesitation. Sam watched them, admiring their ability to work together seamlessly despite knowing next to nothing about each other. A cry of pain from Dean brought his attention back.
"What the heck are they doing down there?" Dean snarled, straining to see. Sam pushed his head back down gently.
"Hey, look at me," Sam said. Dean's frightened eyes met his brother's. It was amazing to Sam how, even after all they'd been through, the Winchester's could still be that scared. "They'll be done soon, just relax."
"This is going to hurt," John announced. Almost immediately after, Dean shot up and cried in agony. Sam pushed him back down, trying to hold him still.
"I know, I know," Sam murmured, glancing around for something. "Someone get him something to bite!" He commanded over his shoulder. Within seconds, a hand was offering him something he didn't care to identify. He offered it to Dean, who sunk his teeth into it immediately.
John and Rory continued to work fervently on the man's torso. Sam kept glancing between the two and his brother, secretly willing them to work faster.
"Almost done," Rory assured, seeming to empathize with Sam's concern. Sam nodded in thanks. After another few moments of quick work on a writing body, the men were finished. They wrapped Dean's torso in thick, white bandages and began to clean up. Dean's breathing began to calm, energy draining from him.
John backed away, giving the brothers their space. He found himself standing next to Sherlock. His flatmate had watched the entire scene without batting an eye. John sighed, following the detective's gaze to the taller of the brothers.
"What about the girl?" Sherlock asked, eyes still locked on Sam.
"Dead," John said simply. Silence fell between the two for a moment. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but immediately closed it again. John raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"
"Nothing." Of course, this response did nothing to ease the doctor's suspicion. He examined the brothers. Sam was still close to Dean's head, rubbing soothing massages into his brother's scalp. Dean looked like he was almost asleep. Seeing the scene made John more confused. Nothing was wrong or even odd with it. He looked back at his flatmate. His expression hadn't changed.
"Ok, I don't get it." John murmured, crossing his arms in defeat. Sherlock broke his intense stare at the brothers, looking now at John. He looked confused.
"Get what?"
"What you're confused about."
"I'm not confused about anything," Sherlock said a little too defensively. John scoffed, deciding to drop the subject for now. His gaze fell back on the brothers. He stared absently, letting his mind drift. Dean had fallen asleep and Sam showed no intention of leaving his side. Everyone was quiet, letting their rapidly beating hearts calm down from the recent excitement.
A loud rapping on the door made almost everyone jump. No more did the last knock make it through the room did the door open, unveiling a very angry Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock and John reacted immediately, stepping over Dean to rush the woman out of the room and close the door before her inevitable explosion. Mrs. Hudson tore her arms out of their grip, whipping around and staring at them with a look that would frighten Satan himself.
"WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON HERE?!"
"Mrs. H, please can we take this-"
"DON'T YOU 'MRS. H' ME!" The woman screamed. John winced.
"There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this. If you would just let us take you downstairs we can explain ourselves."
"Yes, please just lower your voice," John added, keeping his own voice low.
Mrs. Hudson huffed aggressively. After smoothing the front of her shirt, the descended the steps in small, quick, angry steps. The men shared a look before following her. Their steps were large and heavy compared to her's, filled with child-like guilt.
Mrs. Hudson was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Her small foot was tapping the floor impatiently.
"I'm waiting."
"Well… um…" John tried to start but quickly ran out of ways to make their situation sound reassuring.
"Which would you like explained first?" Sherlock asked, putting the ball back in her court. Mrs. Hudson's steely gaze turned to John, burning right through his chest and into his very soul.
"Where were you before you came rushing in like that? Who were you with? And why on EARTH was there SCREAMING up there?!"
"I, um, went out for a bite and-"
"I didn't see you leave."
"I know I-"
"What did you do, jump out the window?!"
"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said sternly, "let him speak."
"Well, I thought Sherlock might be in trouble so I rushed home." John finished, hoping she wouldn't catch that he only answered one of her questions.
"Johnathan Hamish Watson," he winced at the sound of his middle name. "I expected more from you. I'm not as thick as you two think. Now tell me the truth."
John sighed and began to explain the situation in full. Mrs. Hudson's expression remained stiff, making it hard for the doctor to maintain full eye contact. By the end, he felt like a child who had just been scolded and hung his head in shame. Sherlock didn't seem as affected, but John could tell from experience that the shift in his flatmate's posture meant he felt the same.
Mrs. Hudson took a deep, calming breath. "Thank you. Now, back to your friends." With that, she turned to leave.
"You… aren't upset?" Sherlock couldn't stop himself from asking.
"I never said that, dear." And she was gone. Sherlock and John looked at each other and shrugged, returning upstairs. Once they opened the door, all heads turned to them. Smirks were stifled, giggles swallowed.
"Get in a bit of trouble, eh?" Rory asked, clearing a snicker from his throat. John rolled his eyes, sighing loudly and moving to his chair.
"Yeah, just a bit." He fell into his chair, letting himself slump down into the comforting depths of the fabric. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the occasional giggle coming from the others. Sherlock silently sat in his own chair. He had his thinking face on.
"So, uh, what now?" Amy asked aloud. No one responded. No one knew.
A small breeze blew through the room. It was cool and refreshing. Following it was the sound of wings flapping. There was a presence in the room that wasn't there before. John opened his eyes and sat up. Next to Sam and Dean stood a rugged-looking man with dark hair. He wore a tan trench coat with untied belt straps hanging from it.
"Castiel," Sam greeted.
"Sam," the man said in return.