A/N- Thanks to those who reviewed, etc.

Disclaimer, I don't own BBC Sherlock or Supernatural

The Graceless Fall

Posted by, Dr. John H. Watson

Some time ago, I sat here and blogged about the extraordinary Mr. Holmes. He taught me a lot of things, one being that only reality itself existed, and I believed him. That was until fifteen days ago, I met a man, well he wasn't really a man, but we'll go with it. He told me of angels, and demons; that all of your nightmares are real.

Why was I starting to believe him? I watched him with my very own eyes drop from the sky, blazing fire behind him, and he lived. He talked of these people called, 'Hunters' who would kill these creatures that lurked in the night. At first I thought he was just mentally ill, but then things started happening. I thought that the only true monster in the world was Moriarty, how wrong I was.

"Prove it." Sherlock sat on the coffee table with his legs crossed and hand (mind his broken wrist) in his lap.

The voice startled Castiel awake. He was oddly grateful that he was awoken, as his dreams were nightmares. He sighed heavily before struggling to pull himself into a sitting position. With a broken arm it was difficult.

"Prove what?" Castiel choose his words carefully. He had learned that Sherlock Holmes could twist your words and turn them against you. The man was not of his favorite people.

"If you claim what lurks in the shadows is real, prove it. You're obviously not crazy but I must see this with my own eyes."

"Sherlock! Stop badgering him let the man sleep!" John Watson for the third time had saved Castiel from this conversation.

"No, no, it's fine; I just need a few things."

"That is?" Sherlock's eyes widened with curiosity.

"Salt, a lighter, a newspaper," Simple salt and burn, "Oh and a shotgun, with a couple rounds."

Sherlock smiled and dashed out the door, holding his scarf and trench coat over his uninjured arm. John looked at Castiel quite surprised.

"You're really going to show us a ghost?"

"First, we need a hunt."

Watson was basically shaking with excitement and fear. "You sure you should do in your condition?"

"Nothing to lose,"

The sentence was so lifeless, and sounded so dark. John was stared down into his cup of tea. John was tempted to jump on a plane and drag his friends back here. The poor man was falling apart. Sherlock was too, but he was better at hiding it.

John and Castiel sat in silence that was until Sherlock came running through the house; bag of salt, shotgun in one hand, and newspaper rolled up under his armpit.

"If were burning a body, can we burn James Moriarty?"

Castiel shrugged and grabbed the borrowed cane from the floor below him. John led the way out of 221B. They stood on the curb whilst Sherlock flagged down a cab. The cabbie was giving the 3 men odd looks as they started putting salt in the shotguns bullets, replacing the gun powder.

"Nothing to see here," stated Holmes.

The cabbie shrugged and kept driving. They reached the cemetery, it was much nicer than the ones the Winchesters worked jobs at. Sherlock Holmes eagerly led the way. John had never actually seen the grave of Moriarty, though he always figured he didn't deserve one.

It was a simple garnet stone, engraved with

'Professor James Moriarty

1976-2011'

Sherlock spoke up. "John we're both a little one handed could you maybe start digging."

John blinked once.

"Please, JOHNNY!" Sherlock begged.

"Fine." John angrily took the shovel from Sherlock plunging it into the ground near the headstone.

Castiel sat down, leaning against the other side of the headstone, with a shotgun in his hands (just in case) he was lost thinking about Dean and Sam. It felt like it'd been so long since he'd seen his friends. He was afraid to look at the date. He had broken his phone so it was unlikely he'd hear from them anytime soon.

Sherlock on the other hand; was staring at the half uncovered coffin. Hoping that his mind was wrong, Moriarty had to be in there. If he wasn't he'd track him down and personally put a bullet through his brain…With John's gun.

He glanced over towards Castiel who had his head had slumped forward staring at the ground, the street lights casted a glare over his face, catching his blue eyes in the right light. Castiel eyes were glassy and tear filled. Sherlock was pretty sure he looked the same.

"…Sherlock…" John slowly backed away from the grave.

Sherlock stood up and peered in. "…Oh god…" He whispered to himself.

Then Castiel poked his head over the headstone, and stumbled backwards a few feet.

"…No…" He whimpered.

The body was not of James Moriarty, but of the tall, shaggy haired…

Sam Winchester.

A/N- ooohhh cliffie! Just kidding. Anyways, please review, let me know how I'm doing.