I am so happy with how this chapter turned out. I said what I wanted to say, and nothing more. Because of that, it's a bit short, but it ended at the perfect spot. I've already got the next chapter almost half-way done. Please, please please leave me some feedback on this new development. I hope you like it ;)

"I'm surprised you believe them."

Sherlock turned his head to glare at John. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said sarcastically. "You're right—somebody sticking their arm into your body definitely isn't proof enough that there's something not entirely human about them."

John sighed and sat down on the couch beside Sherlock, so close that their bodies were touching. Two years ago, Sherlock would've minded. He would've moved to the chair. The simple fact of the matter, though, was that he loved John. Not in a romantic sense—Sherlock had no interest in that kind of thing, and John was as straight as a board, so it wouldn't have made a difference.

John loved him, too. They were inseparable. Over the two years they'd known each other, they had formed a connection that most people can only dream of. Most people didn't realize how close they were. Donovan, Anderson, even Lestrade. They had no idea. Mrs. Hudson had glimpses into their lives. She would, from time to time, see Sherlock bounding up the stairs to tell John about his most recent epiphany on their current case. She would see John storming out of the flat in a huff, only to return a few hours later or, at the very latest, bright and early the next morning. They couldn't stay mad at each other. Not for long.

"Anyway, I'm surprised you don't believe them. You said you believe in the Devil."

John shrugged casually. "It's not that I don't 'believe' them…"

Smirking, Sherlock said, "Oh, so you do believe them?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

John rolled his eyes, annoyed at Sherlock's cockiness. "I don't know what to believe. I guess it would explain a few things."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked as his brow creased. "It doesn't explain anything except how he was able to stick his arm into me. What, is it just a coincidence that I start dreaming about Hell a few days before they show up?"

"You don't believe in coincidences."

"Exactly my point, John! That is exactly my point! It's not a coincidence. It can't be. We need to find out what's going on."

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

Sherlock and John scrambled off the couch, shocked to see Cas—or, rather, Castiel—standing in front of it and watching them curiously.

John cocked his head. "Why not?"

Castiel looked at the ground, almost as if he were ashamed. "Because…it's because we've already told you everything that we know. Besides the fact that you're just now being told that supernatural beings such as myself really do exist, we are as confused as you. This wasn't supposed to happen."

"What wasn't?" Sherlock said.

"Lucifer should not have escaped from his cage. The last time, it was foretold. The angels were expecting it. But this—"

"Wait—so we're talking about the Apocalypse here? Angels versus demons, God and the Devil, all that?"

Castiel shook his head. "No, John. The Apocalypse…it's over."

Sherlock wanted to put his hand on his flatmate's shoulder after Castiel had spoken. John looked crushed—devastated. It was no surprise as to why—his beliefs were being crushed with every word that Castiel spoke.

"No…No, that's…that's not possible. What about the Rapture? That didn't happen, did it? How can the Apocalypse have happened? There should have been a battle, there should have—"

"Yes, there should have. My brother Michael was to fight Lucifer here on Earth. Instead, Lucifer was once again banished to Hell."

There was a beat of silence as Sherlock and John processed—or rather, tried to process—the information. Sherlock questioned, "How did Lucifer get out in the first place?"

Castiel looked at the detective but didn't respond. It was, again, as if he was ashamed of the answer.

"Michael?" John pressed. "But—But in the Bible…doesn't Lucifer fight with God?"

The angel licked his lips and lowered his gaze to the floor. He said, softly, the same thing that he told the Winchesters before: "No one's even seen God. Only four angels have met Him. Sam and Dean spoke to one, and…" he cleared his throat nervously, "he, um…he told them that God…that God was finished. That he wanted no part in the war. But, anyway, we managed to imprison Lucifer ourselves. Apparently, we didn't do it well enough."

"Why is he here?" John said. "To…imprison humanity? Turn us all into demons? Kill us?"

Castiel shook his head lamely. "I'm sorry. I don't know." He turned to Sherlock. "Sherlock, I need you to tell me all you know about Jim Moriarty."

"Well, that's easy. I know next to nothing about him, except that he's a criminal mastermind who's somehow been responsible for over half the crimes committed here in London. Now, mind you, he doesn't commit the crimes himself, but he's the one pulling the strings."

Castiel's face scrunched into an expression of pure confusion. "What strings does he pull?"

Sherlock and John exchanged glances. "Never mind," Sherlock said quickly. "I just meant that he's at the very top. He has others do the dirty work for him, but he plans everything." Sherlock paused. "Do you really think he's the Devil?"

John snorted. "How ironic."

"He is not the Devil," Castiel answered. "He is being possessed by the Devil. And I'm not sure if he is or not, but it would make sense."

"Oh yeah, tons of sense."

"Cas," Dean said as he and Sam approached the angel. "Sam and I have been all over the apartment. No EMF."

"EMF?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond to John's inquiry, but Sherlock beat him to it. "Electromagnetic frequency," he said. "It's sometimes used by paranormal investigators to detect ghosts, spirits, what have you."

John looked from Sherlock to Sam. "Were you seeing if Lucifer was here?"

"Lucifer would not be detectable," Castiel answered. "No, we…we were looking for something else."

"What?"

Sam shook his head and sighed. "Anything." He turned to Dean and asked him, "Well? Now what?"

Dean shrugged in resignation. "I was 'gonna ask you that. Cas?"

Frowning, Castiel said, "I don't know. I suppose I should take you back to your hotel. This whole excursion has been a waste of time."

"Don't be so sure."

Sam and Dean looked at the one who had spoken—Sherlock. The Winchester brothers stared at him, waiting for him to explain why they hadn't wasted their time, but he didn't. He just stared back at them, a smile lighting up his face. It was so wide that it made his eyes crinkle and dimples appear on his cheeks.

A loud thump! made John, Dean, and Sam pry their eyes away from the detective. Castiel had dropped to the floor.

"Cas!" Dean exclaimed, concern evident in his voice. "Cas, are you—"

Dean paused. Castiel was crawling on all fours towards Sherlock. His head was lowered to the ground. It only took a few awkward shuffling motions for Castiel to get to Sherlock, and when he did, the angel reached out his hands and gripped the man's ankles in his hands. He lowered his forehead so that it was resting on the top of Sherlock's boot. Then, Castiel breathed out a single word, a word that made the Winchesters and John freeze in shock.

"Father!"

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