A/N- I've been reading a lot of post-apocalyptic stuff, and I love it. So yes, this chapter came out weird, I'm trying to make them longer, the reason the chapters are so short is because I update quickly.

This chapter is basically a random dream that Castiel, Sherlock, and John are having.

WARNING: SLIGHTLY GRAPHIC DISCRPITION! Not really…

Disclaimer: I don't own BBC Sherlock or Supernatural

Ruins of 221B

Written by, John Hamish Watson

It's over, everything I ever worked for, is brunt to the ground. Baker Street is gone, because today the world ended. Don't worry, we're safe.

Sherlock awoke to a pounding on the door. It was not helping his headache. He flipped over pulling the pillow around his ears. He recalled the previous night's events, it hurt so bad to think about. He just wanted to get up leave make sure John and the others were safe. He tried it once and it didn't work, maybe he should have just killed himself.

He was drifting back to sleep when the knocking got louder. He forced the pillow further around his ears, trying to block out the noise. The creaking of his door caused him to stiffen under the covers and move away from whatever was there. He felt the mattress sink where someone sat.

"Sherlock?" John was hovering again; pretty soon he'd start petting him and calling him sweetie. "Sherlock it's been three days, eat something...please?"

That was exactly a surprise since the dark curtains of his room blocked out all sunlight. He'd been lying in bed for three days. He lifted himself up, and made his way across the room; roughly pulling the curtains aside. With a rip that sounded like torn Velcro.

He blinked a few times expecting blinding sunlight. A thick layer of smoke rolled against the window. He ran to the main room John following behind. Castiel stood in front of the large grand windows with his hands folded behind his back.

"It's not demons...something's about to explode, or rather something has exploded."

Sherlock ignored the former angel grabbing his coat and a gun. He carefully walked down the stairs. He slowly opened the door, but there was nothing. Not a single sound or living person. Every building was in ruins, every person missing; all that was left was the flames still burning. Streets littered with blood, and trash.

He walked a little ways up the road, but stopped when he caught sight of a body face down in the middle of the street. He nudged the woman over to get a good look at her. Her skin was burned black, with red rashes pouring puss and blood. Suddenly he wasn't sure what to do. He had three questions on his mind.

What blew up?

Who did it?

Why?

How could someone not notice a bombing? Surely it would have made a sound, Baker Street was still standing clean and unharmed among the ruins. That's when he saw it, savages running towards him. Growling and screeching he turned quickly on his feet and ran back inside, bolting the door behind him. He sat on the steps; he felt he couldn't get enough oxygen to his lungs.

"Croatoan,"

The deep voice behind Sherlock startled him. "What?"

"Epidemic, virus, whatever you want to call it."

"Something like this doesn't happen in 3 days!"

"That's true, which means, that there's an archangel around." The younger man got up and pushed Castiel aside, rushing into the flat.

John was frowning at his laptop. "Something wrong, Watson?"

"There's no power, no power no blog." Sherlock cringed and stomped his foot. He had enough ever since that damned angel showed up; his life had been going downhill. "That's your one concern right now? Your BLOODY LAPTOP! Everyone we ever knew is possibly dead and you're complaining about power!"

"…Sorry," John closed this laptop sliding it back underneath the chair.

"Grab what you can, and let's go." John look puzzled at the detective. "Where would we go Sherlock?"

"If you want to stay fine, John; I'll take Castiel."

"I didn't say I wasn't coming I just ask where we were going?"

"Mycroft's,"

John's eyes widened, "Why that's brilliant!"

"No it isn't its simple logic."

Sherlock turned towards Castiel who had his hands in his pockets. He was pulling out several items, a watch, chalk, flask, salt, he tugged out a knife like item, nothing Sherlock had ever seen. It was pure silver, and glinted off any type of light.

"What is that?"

"My angel blade,"

"I thought being a human now you couldn't summon it?"

"Are you really asking that?"

John came back from upstairs; he had his bag over his shoulder. He had a piece of paper in his hands, folded neatly with several names written on the front; Hudson, Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan. "Just in case they come for us,"

"No one's going to care John."

Castiel cleared his throat, "this is all fake, we don't know how long we'll be here, or who did this. Just stay alive."

The Consulting Detective, Doctor Watson, and Former warrior of god stepped out the doors of 221B. Castiel welded his blade, while the Baker Street boys held simple pistols. Seeing as it was in their best interest, they followed Castiel down the once busy street. Sherlock had known this place for years, he'd grown up here, and now it was nothing but blood, and ash.

There was a scream from a building across the street. They ran towards the door, not even having to open it just climb through the broken glass. They looked up towards the ceiling when they heard crashing and more screeching probably from an infected person. Hearing silence they walked carefully up the concrete stairs. A conversation was at work.

"He's not here, Dean."

"He said he was in London! He has to be here!"

"It been 4 months-"

"If you say he's dead I will put your goddamn head on a stick!"

"I'm just saying Dean, Cas has been gone almost 6 months now. We have to face the fact that there's nothing left here, let alone someone."

John leaned over and whispered in Castiel's ear. "Don't your friends call you Cas?"

"Who's there?" A rough voice shouted, "Come on I ain't got all day!"

Castiel sighed before taking the four other steps to the second floor. It all seemed to hit him hard. It wasn't real, some archangel set him up…but he wanted it to be real. The older Winchester had grown a short beard and his hair was greasy, along with his clothes. It wasn't Dean that worried Castiel, it was Sam he had that stupid look that He or Dean got when they were in solider mode. It wasn't something that looked fitting on him.

"Cas," Dean breathed out, his voice barely heard.

"What happened?" Cas asked, hoping there was an actual reason that the world was on fire.

"War, Cas, war. Not Lucifer and Michael war but war. Some hunters freaked out made it worse, spread the damn virus again. That was 4 months ago." Dean was actually quite jealous Cas was shaven, clean and nicely dressed. "Where have you been?"

"Places." Stated Castiel.

"No that's not good enough it's been 6 months since I've seen you, and you look like you've been in a mansion."

"I woke up today, and humanity was gone. I haven't been lucid for the past 5 months."

"Hi, I'm Sherlock Holmes, he's the other one." Sherlock pointed at John who just face palmed.

A/N- ah yes the end of the world.

Anyways please review let me know how I'm doing and if you enjoyed it.

Oh the end of the world theme, I've been reading this book called "The Other Life" it's your typical zombie book but there's just something about it that makes it enjoyable, or course maybe it's just that ive always loved stuff like that. No I'm not making money for saying that it was just an explanation as to why I just wrote what I wrote. Oh and Damnit something else as fallen…