John silently debated with himself. Was he going to let his inner feelings of frustration and outrage out, or was he too tired? He decided he needed a nap more than to be angry and settled back down, closing his eyes once more.
John listened at this new character was questioned. When his origins came to light, the man responded that he was an angel of the Lord. He heard Sherlock shift across from him. He could guess that a wave of jumbled, confused thoughts were flooding the detective's mind. He listened for any sign of panic, but Sherlock went still. He must have gone to his mind palace.
John was just starting to doze when his phone rang. Blinking his protesting eyes open, the doctor flipped open his phone to see that Lestrade was calling. Clearing his throat, he put the phone to his ear.
"Hello?"
"Sherlock wasn't answering. I need you guys for a case."
John sighed. "Not the best time, ok?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean it's not the best time."
"But-" With a snap, John's phone closed, ending the call. Immediately, it came to life with vibrations. He looked at it. Lestrade again. He tossed his phone to the floor, releasing a frustrated puff of air.
"John, come and meet Castiel," The Doctor beckoned cheerfully. John shook his head, murmuring some excuse about needing to check on something upstairs. With his brain thick with fog, the war doctor trudged up to his room and opened the door. The coppery scent of blood stung his nostrils immediately. He put his head in his hands, groaning to himself. Right. Dead body. On his bed. Yay.
Once back down the stairs, John made his way to the back of the crowd surrounding his angelic guest. As people noticed his presence and separated, giving him a path to the being,
"John Watson." He held out his hand for a shake. Castiel took it with hesitation, shaking it softly.
"I am Castiel. It is nice to meet you, John."
John thought about the fact that he was speaking to a literal angel. He decided he was too tired to worry about formalities. "You too. Welcome to London."
Outside, the sun gradually set on the horizon. The flat had been filled with idle chat, storytelling, and loads of laughter. Sherlock had retired to his room to sort out his mind palace, leaving John to be the bearer of the bad news.
"Hey, um, it's getting pretty late," the man said, breaking through the string of conversation.
"Got a spare room?" Sam asked, "I don't want to move Dean." He motioned to the body on the floor, who had been sleeping for hours.
"Not… really… you can sleep on the couch?" John rubbed his eyes, fighting his exhaustion. He didn't have enough energy to kick anyone out.
"If it's good with you, I could bring the TARDIS back up here and let people sleep in there." The Doctor said. John nodded. The Doctor snapped his fingers and, with a large racket, the TARDIS appeared in the kitchen once more.
"I do not require sleep. I also do not wish to leave Sam or Dean," Castiel said.
"That's fine just… don't do anything stupid," John said. Castiel nodded.
"I will be quiet."
As everyone got settled, John resumed his place in his chair. He heard Castiel stir for a moment before settling down as well. Every time Castiel moved, the sound of feathers followed. Probably had something to do with him being an angel. If he was honest, John couldn't have cared less that night. The war doctor was asleep before he even realized his eyes were closed.
John's dreams were full of torment. Some involved his PTSD, while others involved being chased and torn apart by demons. Needless to say, after numerous times of waking up in a cold sweat, John was done trying. He got up quietly, shuffling toward the kitchen. The dark form of the TARDIS loomed in the relatively small space. John moved around it, filling a glass with water and taking a drink. He made his way back to the sitting room and set the glass down, sighing as he sat.
"Troubles sleeping?" The soft voice of Castiel sounded from next to Dean. John had forgotten about him.
"...Yeah."
"What troubles you?"
"Dreams," John replied, standing again and moving towards the angel. In order to avoid waking anyone, he seated himself on the floor near Castiel.
"What kind of dreams?" The angel asked.
"Bad ones," John said simply. The angel frowned. This man needed his help.
"Don't worry, this won't hurt." Castiel stated. He lifted two fingers to the war doctor's head, pressing gently. Before he could protest, John collapsed into the pile of injured hunter in front of him, fast asleep. Castiel watched as, over time, John began to squirm. He placed his fingers back on the man's forehead and observed as he calmed.
The night went on as such. Once Castiel noticed that John seemed to finally be in a restful sleep, he lifted the doctor and laid him back in his chair. The angel sat back down near Dean, watching the two men as they slept. Soon, the morning sun began to glow through the windows, shining especially bright through the broken one. Castiel wondered silently what had happened to it.
The soft sound of footsteps alerted the angel of another's presence. Sherlock emerged from his room, hair ruffled and dressing gown sloppily thrown on. Castiel nodded to him as a greeting. Sherlock ignored him, instead going to the kitchen and starting up some tea. The angel put his hands in his lap awkwardly. He silently wished Dean were awake; Cas was awful in social situations.
Sherlock, cup in hand, emerged from the kitchen and sat in his chair. He took a sip from his mug, eyes meeting John's sleeping form.
"How did he sleep?"
Castiel raised his head, looking to the detective. Sherlock's eyes were still on his flatmate.
"Not well. His current state is thanks to me." Castiel commented, sensing modesty was not a problem here. Sherlock nodded, murmuring a thanks into his mug before taking another drink.
A soft ringing sound rose from Sherlock's robe pocket. He retrieved it, groaning at the screen before answering.
"Hello, brother mine."
"Lestrade called." The cold voice of Mycroft replied.
"Did he?"
"Yes. John told him that now was 'not the best time.' Care to explain?"
"I'm busy." Sherlock said simply.
"Sherlock."
"Mycroft."
"We are dealing with a serial killer here. There are six victims as of now. What could be possibly keeping you so busy?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Sherlock said, letting a smirk curl his lips. Castiel cocked his head in confusion. What was so funny about that?
"Try me."
Sherlock explained the entire situation in as accurate detail as he could remember. As he finished out his testimony, nothing but silence filled his ear. The silence lasted a good few seconds after.
"Let me talk to John." Mycroft demanded.
"He's sleeping right now. Had a rough night, the angel tells me." Castiel was alerted at the mention of himself. He wondered how this Mycroft character was taking all of this.
"Wake him. I don't care." Mycroft growled. Sherlock shrugged, walking over to John's chair. He patted the man on the cheek, only to receive a grunt and nothing more.
"It may take a while for him to wake up naturally." Castiel informed from his spot on the floor. Sherlock nodded.
"The angel tells me that it may take a while for John to wake."
"Sherlock," Mycroft said, a warning tone in his voice.
"Ok, ok, fine." With that, Sherlock pocketed his phone and rounded the chair. From the back, he gripped the chair firmly and, in a fluid motion, thrust the back of the chair to the floor and almost flinging John from the seat in the process.
Now, a very angry and disheveled blond stood before Sherlock. The anger on John's face was more intense than the usual annoyance Sherlock experienced. It ranked up there with the time Sherlock faked his own death. "What?"
"My dearest brother wishes to speak with you." Sherlock said innocently, fishing his phone out of his pocket. John took it forcefully. Sherlock could see the storm building behind John's lips as he raised the phone to his ear.
"I assume I'm speaking with-"
"Bugger. Off." John snarled. Angrily, he smashed his finger on the hang up button. Immediately, the phone was alive with ringing once more.
"Sherlock, take this bloody thing away from me or I swear I will THROW IT OUT THE WINDOW!"
Sherlock took his phone back and answered it. "I told you he had a rough night."
"... I'm coming over."
"Please don't."
"I'll be there in 10, I'm calling a helicopter"
"I'll sick John on you. Trust me, he is ready to kill."
"I'm sure I can manage." A click signified Mycroft hanging up. It wasn't until then that Sherlock noticed a very fearful looking Sam sitting on the couch. The sound of creaking doors came from the kitchen, followed by the Doctor and his companions.
"What's all the yelling about?" Rory asked, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
"My brother woke the sleeping monster that is John."
"Don't you even PRETEND THAT YOU HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT!" John protested, shoving an accusing finger in Sherlock's face. "You're BROTHER didn't TIP OVER MY CHAIR!"
Sam looked at Cas helplessly. Cas stared back, completely missing whatever Sam was trying to say with his look. Sam rolled his eyes and help up two fingers, putting them to his forehead. Cas pointed to Sam, mouthing 'you?'. Sam shook his head and face-palmed. He pointed to John. Castiel nodded, giving Sam a thumbs up.
"I told him-" Sherlock began to defend himself, fighting back multiple snickers.
"I couldn't give LESS OF A BLOODY DAMN TO WHAT YOU TOLD HIM! I-" Castiel appeared next to John, putting his fingers on his forehead. John was out in an instant, falling to the floor in a sleeping heap.
"Thank you," Breathed Sam. Suddenly, the sound of a helicopter began to fill the room. Wind forced through the broken window, spreading shards of glass, papers, and other things around the room. Out of the helicopter and in through the window stepped Mycroft.
Once the helicopter had left and the room was relatively quiet again, Sherlock spat, "That wasn't ten minutes."
"No." Mycroft's gaze landed on the pile of John on the floor. "Um?"
"That would be thanks to the angel." Sherlock gestured to Castiel next to him. One by one, Mycroft noticed the people in the room. As his gaze moved from body to body, his face scrunched into an expression of confusion. Then, his eyes landed on the Doctor.
"It… It's YOU!" He shouted, pointing a finger in the alien's direction. The Doctor held up his hands.
"Yes?"
"You're the Doctor, aren't you?!"
It was the Doctor's turn to look confused. "How…"
"You thought you were so clever, didn't you? Erasing yourself from every database! Smart move, but not smart enough. We managed to withstand the attack with minimal data loss. Do you know how much trouble you are and could be in if I were to take you in? Let alone when you leave and we have to clean everything up!" Mycroft was displaying behavior that Sherlock didn't have the privilege to see very often. He liked it. In fact, he wished he had some popcorn. Halfheartedly, he thought about waking John. He dismissed the thought quickly, as his own death did not sound very appealing.
"Uhm…." The Doctor looked nervous. Amy and Rory exchanged similar looks. The tension grew thick in the air, so thick in fact that Castiel hardly noticed the door creak open. Though, when the door opened, so did the scent that Sherlock longed for. Popcorn. Sherlock turned his head so quickly, you'd think it would have broken his neck. In the doorway stood a man holding a black trash bag full of popcorn. This man, though, wasn't supposed to exist. Sherlock glanced to the bag then up…
"You're dead."