Angels?! – P1: Visitors

I've always thought that there was something about him, maybe it's just looking back now that I know, but I have always thought he looked almost... well, angelic.
The pale, almost white, skin that was soft to touch and flushed a little whenever I entered the room. The Cupids bow lips in their delicate shade of pink. The eyes, the bloody eyes. Deep ocean that could pierce into your very soul; a weak and watery sky blue that could make my heart melt at the most inconvenient of times; the odd sheen of green like a tropical plant that appeared every so often and that I treasured every time; random flecks of gold and a rim of thunderstorm grey made up the final finishing touches, as if god had said 'oh, go on then, have a bit more perfection'. Then there was the way he walked, graceful and smooth. The voice, low and smooth and silky and slightly husky when he'd been at the smokes. Then there was the way he always knew what you were thinking, the way he knew nothing about social expectations, how he would often appear so suddenly it was as if he'd popped out of thin air.
But I wasn't suspicious. Yet.

It had been raining since three in the morning and I was soaked through. Even just sprinting from the cab to the front door was enough to plaster my hair and cloths to my icy skin. Fingers fumbling, I unlocked the door of 221B, climbed the stairs – carton of milk in hand - and entered out flat.

I expected to see him alone, as always, composing or thinking or experimenting or lying still with a nicotine patch (or three), I certainly didn't expect there to be another man and a red-haired women standing around him.
"Sherlock..?" I asked tentatively, setting the milk in a rare free space on the kitchen table, "what's going on..?"
He turned towards me, lines of intense pain and worry on his usually blemish free face. The others acted as though I wasn't even in the room; the man, an African American in a tailored black suit, said calmly "Sherlock would you mind ever so if we could continue to talk alone?"
Sherlock nodded curtly and looked toward me again, "John I need you to wait upstairs."
"What? Why? Who are they?" I shot indignantly. I wasn't leaving him alone with these strange and threatening people.
"John this is important..."
But I pushed past him, shooting a question at his visitors, "who are you?"
"That is none of your concern."
"Oh I think it is!"
"Fine," he sighed, "my name is Uriel, this is Anna."
"Alright, why are you here?"
Uriel didn't answer me, he took a step forward and addressed Sherlock, "you know why we're here."
"Of course." He replied.
"And will you come with us?"
"Why should I? I have done nothing."
At this Anna hissed, all three of us turned to look at her, "you know perfectly well what you did," she spat, "you're getting too close to them, of you're not careful you'll go the same way as Castiel."
What? What the hell was she on about, who were 'they', who was Castiel?
"Close?" Sherlock laughed, "Anna they're pathetic and weak and only one of them talks to me."
Uriel chuckled, "he used to say that too, but it all changed. You only need one of them to bring you down. Castiel was the same, all it took was one righteous man and he fell like a, well, like an angel from heaven."
"You're coming with us, you don't have a choice." Anna said simply.
"Hang on," I piped up, "where are you taking him? What the hell is going on!"
"Heaven." Anna stated again in her cold and emotionless voice.
What?! Were they going to..?!
My protective battle instincts kicked in and I stepped between the intruders and my friend, putting my arms out behind me in an attempt to shield Sherlock from view.
"If you want to kill him you'll have to kill me too."
"Oh hell," Uriel muttered, "Sherlock please, could you get rid of him for one tiny second?"
"John," his familiar and comforting hand took my wrist and he pulled me round to face him.
"What do they want with...?"
"I need you to go somewhere safe," he spoke at a normal volume, then it suddenly dropped and he whispered "bathroom."
Confused and angry, I opened my mouth to argue but he pushed me away from him and through the bathroom door. Wait, how was I suddenly in the bathroom? He couldn't have pushed me all the way down the hall, could he?
Their voices lowered so I had to press my ear up against the key hole; I still couldn't hear a word though, it didn't even sound like English.
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out; Sherlock. He'd sent an image, a strange sigil that made devil worship jump to mind and a simple message:

In human blood
SH

What the hell?! Did he want me to cut myself and draw some creepy sign in my blood? What the hell for?! How was he even texting me, it had looked like a pretty intense discussion. Furious and frustrated, I shoved the door to open it. But it didn't open.
"Sherlock!" I shouted through the wood, "have you locked me in here?!" I was livid, we usually told each other everything, now no explanation offered and imprisonment!
My mobile went off again and I wrenched it out, fuming.

It'll save us both. Trust me.
SH

'Save us both', what did that mean? So these people where dangerous, if they were in fact people... and how was a simple sigil going to help?
It took me only a second to decide; if trusted Sherlock with my life before, I could trust him with a small amount of blood.

I hadn't cut myself since I was 15, but that was for a totally different reason. It hurt, but only a bit - if Sherlock and I were in danger I could spare a little blood. The red started to bloom from my finger tip and I pressed it to the bathroom wall, drawing a circle, small triangle and an assortment of odd symbols.

Done, what's going on Sherlock?
JW

I knew he want going to answer, I was surprised he could even use his phone in their presence.

Put your cut hand on it
SH

Why? Another message came, apparently as an afterthought

And close your eyes

What? I was still utterly convinced this was pointless and I had no idea what he was on about; but my heart was hammering, Uriel and Anna had really seemed not to messed with.

Now

Taking a deep breath, I screwed up my eyes and pressed my bleeding fingertip to the wall.

Bright white light burst into the room, poking harshly through the gaps in the door frame. I saw red through my eyelids, the light was blinding.
And a noise, a ringing, a single note at supersonic pitch. I gasped in pain, stuffing my fingers into my ears. God it was loud.
Then the window shattered. Glass flew in all directions, I wandered if it was a bomb, this had happened in Afghanistan. But I dismissed the idea as the noise grew even louder, there was no way this was natural. Supernatural, but it couldn't be! I remembered what Anna had said about taking Sherlock to heaven, maybe she... No, she couldn't be… an angel..? No...
A shard of the mirror slashed across my forehead and I cried out, burying my head in my arms and curling into a protective ball.
The light was still getting brighter, the noise even louder. It felt like my eyes were on fire, my ear drums rupturing. I screwed my eyes up even tighter.
Shit.
I was going to die.
Please god, let me live. It wasn't the first time I'd made that request, maybe this time I wouldn't be so lucky.
'I'm going to die' the words pounded through my head as the glass and the noise and the light tore through the room. 'I'm going to die'.

part two coming soon! I hate to leave you on a cliffhanger, but what can i say, i'm an evil shit :)

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