*Don't own Sherlock or Supernatural…*
Scotland Yard was in disarray. Lights hung from the ceiling, showering sparks every now and then. Blood was smeared on the walls and floor, a sort of macabre finger painting.
"John?" Sherlock's voice was distant as he stared at the carnage.
"Crap." Was John's only reply before he was pulling an amulet out of his jacket pocket. "Wear this, and whatever you do, don't take it off." He tugged the necklace over Sherlock's curls and gripped his pocketknife tightly.
"What about you?" Sherlock seemed confused. John laughed and tugged his jumper down to show Sherlock the symbol imprinted above his heart.
"Anti possession tattoo. Smartest thing I've ever done. But you'll just have to do with the amulet for now." A scream echoed through the halls, bouncing over wreckage of cubicles and dead Yarders. Laughter soon followed the pain filled outcry. The pair took off towards the sound.
Sally was huddled in a corner of Lestrade's office, shaking in terror. Lestrade was bleeding from deep cuts (but not life threatening) and Anderson stood above him- knife in hand and a gun in his holster. Anderson was still cackling. John coughed to get his attention.
"Anderson? Anderson is evil? I mean I knew he was incompetent…" Sherlock mused. "OH. Oh that makes perfect sense!" Sherlock brightened.
"No Sherlock. We aren't keeping him-possessed or not." Pseudo Anderson seemed a bit bewildered at their exchange.
"You know you won't be leaving alive, right? This was set up to draw Sherlock out, all so I could kill his little hunter pet. The great John Watson wouldn't leave his precious detective unprotected. Your deaths are going to be wonderful, for me of course. I wonder if you'll scream or beg like mummy and daddy?"
John saw red. This bastard had killed his parents, and enjoyed it too. "You aren't going to get a chance." He ground out.
Anderson's demon laughed. "No? You are nothing like the John Watson who supposedly closed the demon rift in Wales, or the John Watson who took out a whole pack of werewolves with one silver knife. You've grown weak. I'd suspected from earlier events, but when you tried to trade your soul for Sherlock's return with my friend at the crossroads, only to discover that living men can't be brought from the dead, I just knew you'd gone soft. See, it's a perfect time for me to come back and finish your pathetic family off. Too bad little Harriet chose today to reconcile with you through Lestrade here."
"Go to Hell, bastard." John spat.
"Already been there. It's dreadfully boring. You would've loved what we had in store for your soul, but Sherlock wasn't really dead. A pity. John Watson the hunter turned soulless demon would've been a legendary story to tell. You could've been up there with Dean Winchester- the man who began the Apocalypse."
Sherlock started to giggle. John gave him the this is a crime scene we can't gigglelook and busted out laughing too. "What's so funny?" the demon asked bewilderedly. Anderson's body had paced over the spot by the window (Lestrade's office had recently gained new carpet) that John had painted in iridescent paints earlier that month (just in case). The demon screamed at being placed in the devil's trap. "There are others! I'll be let out sooner than you think!"
Dean chose that moment to burst in. "John. Cas said there was some sort of lieutenant of Crowley's here, and, oh you've got it." He sounded a little disappointed. Sam tripped on his brother and they sprawled onto the floor. "Sammy!" Dean reprimanded. Castiel stood in his trench coat in the doorway.
"Dean, Sam. We do not have the time for your childish games. Orobas is going to tell us the information on Purgatory and then we're going home." Sally had recovered enough to put in a nasty remark.
"And who are you then? The freak's cousin from the States?"
Castiel looked confused. "No, I am an angel of the Lord. This vessel is in no way related to Sherlock Holmes." Sally's mouth dropped open, this was too much for her to handle.
"Hey Cas, could you be a wonderful Angel of the Lord and unpossess Anderson here-without killing him? We've lost a few more Yarders that I would've liked today." Castiel grimaced at John's words.
"I cannot. Orobas is central to our plan with Crowley and Purgatory."
Dean looked angry. "More like your plan with Purgatory." He muttered- still on the floor.
"Dean now is not the time to discuss the ethics of using souls." Castiel warned his friend-partner?
Sherlock seemed to be in deep thought. "What if we let Orobas keep Anderson? Would that buy his silence about your plans? Can I shoot him? He did kill John's parents after all, and we're unsure about the location of Harry."
Castiel smiled. "This one is interesting. You've done well John Watson. He'll make an excellent hunter. Your sister is at home; she has been healed and will remember snippets of her time with Orobas. Do you have any of this substance called tea that is quite addicting? I found it better than Dean's coffee and pie."
Lestrade chose this moment to speak up. "Sherlock! You can bet this is going straight to Mycroft! I have a station to get up and running. This is no time for chitchat about whatever the hell you're raving about. I want Anderson gone- now! And don't think this is over. I want a full explanation at a later time- preferably when I'm not up to my eyeballs in paperwork."
Castiel turned to Sam (who was now talking to Sally). "Have you the vials of holy water?" Sam nodded. The angel turned to Dean. "We can take Orobas to the location discussed earlier, and leave him in the Devil's trap. We will return home after finding more tea."
John snickered. That the angel was craving tea was hilarious. "If you pop in at our flat we can provide you a good cuppa." He offered. "And I'm sure Sherlock would love to hear about your escapades in the States, what with the Apocalypse and all." Dean nodded.
"We do owe you from the whole cemetery thing." Sam said.
"If he has the tea, we accept." Castiel remarked gravely. John had cleaned Lestrade's wounds with his holy water and jacket.
"There goes another jacket this week." He mourned. Sherlock began to giggle, earning himself a baleful glare.
"Let's go home, John." He gasped between giggle fits.
The flat had been untouched. John was grateful for his salt circle from the night before. He resolved to add devil's traps to the floor and ceiling by all the doors and windows in their flat and Mrs. Hudson's. Once the Americans (minus one Anderson/demon) had arrived they settled by the couch for conversation.
"Sherlock! Why is this head still in the fridge?! I told you to get rid of it! The bloody thing is starting to rot."
"But Jooohn, I let you keep your creepy bones." Sherlock whined from his chair. "And it's for an experiment!"
"You have your skull." John countered. "The bones are for protection from witches that come from the Northern Urals!" Sherlock wrinkled his nose.
"But you're much more fun to talk to than the skull." He said after a few minutes of sulking.
John sighed. "Which is exactly why the head in the fridge has got to go! My jam is starting to taste like blood!" Sherlock finally nodded- a huge victory on John's part.
Dean let out a sigh of relief. "It's nice to see someone who isn't as sane as they seem." Sherlock's head whipped around to glare at him.
"At least we aren't convicted murderers who top the FBI most wanted and are supposed to be dead." He sneered. "And" he added, pointing his finger at the ceiling, "I haven't slept with half the women in the United States." Dean reddened.
"We haven't introduced ourselves properly." John said to quell the coming fight. "I'm John Watson and this is my best friend Sherlock Holmes." Sam let out a very manly squeal.
"I've read your blog, Mr. Holmes! Very good work!" Dean rolled his eyes at his brother's antics.
"Just like the LARPing." He muttered to Castiel. The conversation continued in this vein until late evening and John offered the flat's sofa and floor to their guests. It was declined graciously (Cas was zapping them Stateside after this). Sherlock and John turned in with a jovial farewell to the American hunters and a warm goodnight to each other.