Short chapter, nonetheless, I want to thank those for reviewing :D

I don't really respond to you (because you essentially all say the same thing which isn't much of a good excuse) even though I should but I want you to know that I do read them and I'm really glad you're all enjoying this.

Anyways, the rule is still the same. 4 reviews for the next chapter.

ENJOY!

The flat was trashed. The front door was barely hanging on its hinges and the goblin had made a nice mess of tearing down the neighbouring furniture. However, what bothered John most out of the entire ordeal was the goblin blood caking the surroundings and the fact that they now had to get rid of a body.

"I guess since you believe us," Sam said, a glint of hope in his tone, "You won't be calling the cops then?"

"Cops?" John repeated, perplexed.

"Well," Sam mumbled gesturing the dead goblin with the barrel of his gun, "Because of that."

"I wouldn't think the police would arrest you for saving our lives." John stated with a kind smile. "But I suppose that we do need to call them…"

"You can't." Dean stated quickly, earning a surprised look from both Brits.

"And why not?" Sherlock asked, "They'll want to know what came of the escaped convict: Robert Macdonald."

"They can't know." Sam said, "The world isn't ready to learn of these things."

"No offence but who are you to decide that?" John asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"I suppose it makes sense." Sherlock concluded with a huff, "Considering that the world is at the brink of chaos yet again, if it were to be known that magical entities are in fact real the world powers would seek to use them as weapons of mass destruction. The other logical outcome would be their extinction which would be deplorable to some extent."

"I don't know," Dean mumbled, "It would make life a lot easier for us if they just disappeared."

Sherlock stared at Dean contemplatively, John assumed he was 'reading' him as he did to everyone they met. "You do this for a living, don't you?" he concluded.

"Bingo," Dean smirked, "And not just us, there are a lot of other hunters out there."

"You can't be serious." John sighed in disbelief.

"Look at the facts, John," Sherlock said snappily, "We have a dead goblin on the floor and a man who heals remarkably fast from stab wounds just next to him."

"But that would mean…" John paled as he came to terms with the conclusions of the evidence before him, "That everything…trolls, goblins, faeries, angels and demons…they're all real…"

Seeing as John was on the brink of fainting, he was quickly redirected to a nearby chair and given a glass of water to help digest the revelation. Sherlock sighed at his weakness and muttered something about how people were so dramatic. John glared daggers at him, having caught most of the mumble.

"Anyways," Sam concluded, "We should get going."

"Wait." Sherlock stopped them immediately. "Why are you here?"

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Why are American supernatural hunters in England?" Sherlock asked, "Shouldn't there be a few already here?"

"Britain hasn't been host to hunters for over two centuries." Cas answered meekly. "We came because no one else would."

"Something big is happening, then?" John asked, sipping at his cup of water.

"Yes." Cas confirmed.

"But don't worry, we'll stop it." Dean smirked.

The three then left, returning back to wherever they decided to reside leaving Sherlock and John with a mess and a dead body.

"What do we do with it?" John asked.

"Burn it, I suppose." Sherlock muttered.

"Shouldn't we call Lestrade?" John asked.

"There wouldn't be much point to it." Sherlock stated, "Even with the evidence staring at him right in the face, he wouldn't believe us."

And so they carried the body to the kitchen, chopping off its limbs with a meat clever and fed it to the fire in their fireplace. It took many hours before the body was reduced to ashes and a few clever lies to keep Ms Hudson in the dark. As they stared at the last piece of the goblin being devoured by fire, both Sherlock and John shared the eerie sensation that an odd case was just around the corner.

"There's something about him…" Cas mused as he stared out the window of the motel, "I don't quite know what it is…but I think he's going to be important."

"Who? Sherlock?" Sam asked.

"Sherlock." Dean repeated with mockery, "Who calls their kid Sherlock? I bet he's the son of some spiffy, rich family or something."

"Do you think he's a prophet?" Sam asked.

"No." the angel replied, "His name isn't among the list. He's not even anyone significantly important to the fate of the world."

"But you think he's important." Sam said, as puzzled as Cas in regards to the ordeal.

"I'm going to go gather some information." Cas declared.

"Hey—"

But he was already gone.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks before returning their gazes to where Castiel once stood. They would obviously be staying in London for far longer than either wanted but what peeved them the most was that Castiel had neglected to tell them their goal. As it was, they were tired and had completed the only job the angel had mentioned before vanishing and in record time at that seeing as the sun hadn't yet begun to set.

"Well…" Sam said, "You want to go visit the city?"

Dean's snoring had been a good enough answer. He was sprawled on his bed, half of his things pouring out of his duffle bag as though a sleep spell had hit him in the midst of unpacking. Sam smirked and scribbled on a notepad left on the nightstand separating their beds what he would be doing and approximately when he would return. Then, he left.