John looked at Shan, once so mighty, brought so low. Her head was bent, and she was muttering to herself, furious at her loss, perhaps. Or plotting revenge, most likely.

The exorcist looked over to Sherlock, who was lurking in the darkest corners of the chapel, as was his new habit. The angel considered the scene before him briefly and gave a firm nod.

John returned the gesture, pulled the supplies out of his duffel bag, and began.

… …

"Demons?" Sally said in disbelief. "The two murders we've been dealing with are related to demons? I guess that would explain why the killer could, apparently, walk through walls."

"The killer wasn't a demon himself," Greg rushed to clarify. "That was Jiju. A constable took him to the hospital to get the bullet wound in his foot treated. That mysterious bullet wound that had nothing to do with me, remember? The demon was the leader. She's called Shan. We have an exorcist working with her right now."

Sally nodded, frowning. "I really miss the days before the Reveal. Everything was a lot simpler, you know?"

Greg sighed, understanding perfectly. It wasn't often, but sometimes he was hit with a sudden feeling of loss for the life he never got to have. He occasionally missed being a police officer, putting human beings in prison for the wrongs they'd committed, but those days were long gone.

"You'll just help us tie up all the loose ends, then?" Sally asked, sitting down at the chair behind her desk and gestured for Greg to sit in the chair opposite her. "It might be pushing it, but I could probably get some of the higher ups to agree to pay you for the consultation."

Greg waved off her offer. "Thanks, Detective Inspector," he said with a somewhat cheeky grin. "But I'll be fine. Working directly with the angels has its privileges, you know."

Sally smiled. "Yeah, that's right. You've been getting familiar with some of the highest authorities there."

"You make it sound dirty."

Sally rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant. So, what are they like? The angels, that is."

"Well, Sherlock's a bit of a prick," Greg stated bluntly, watching Sally's eyes go wide in shock. It was never a good idea to insult one of Heaven's warriors. "I have met a few other angels, though, and they're usually a lot nicer. I don't know...it's not what I expected, you know? They aren't so much bright and golden as they're... big."

"Big?"

"Like, Sherlock's tall for a human, but he just sort of… fills the room, you know? There's something distinctly alien about him that's easy to pick up on. It's sort of like… vibration."

"Vibration?"

"A constant buzz of energy, I think."

"I'd like to meet one, then. They sound interesting."

"Well, I wouldn't meet Sherlock just yet. I'm sure you'd hate him."

"I guess I'll take your word for it." She took a moment to look at some of the papers in front of her. "So the murders were related to the smuggling and the smuggling was related to demonic possession."

"Yes," Greg confirmed.

Sally nodded and smiled. "Well, it's good that we'll finally be able to close these cases. As always, Greg, your help is very much appreciated."

"Anything I can do, I'm happy to."

… …

John wiped his brow, giving Sherlock a tired smile. None of the deities he summoned arrived to help, so John had to go through every single step of the exorcism, chanting for hours to accomplish what would otherwise take only a few minutes.

He didn't think he was going to last long.

He tried to convey that to Sherlock with just a look. Sherlock seemed to understand because he abruptly nodded and disappeared.

Hopefully, he was going to recruit some help.

… …

Molly woke up the morning after Shan was taken feeling completely right with the world.

She was working with an archangel and studying her passion all day every day. She had a second home in 221B. They were successfully taking down some of the most dangerous demons in the world. And, she had a date with Jim today.

It was just coffee, nothing serious, but it was the first time that she stepped out of her comfort zone in ages. And it was about damn time, too. She had wasted too many long weeks pining over an angel (an angel, for Christ's sake! She sure knew how to pick them. Sherlock wasn't even capable of wanting her back) and was finally ready to try having a relationship with a nice, normal guy.

But again, she was getting ahead of herself. It was just the first date, after all. She hadn't even had the chance to bollocks it up yet.

Which she surely would do, just give her time.

But it could still go okay.

Today was going to be a good day.

… …

Sherlock returned an hour later with Father Dimmock in tow.

"He'll take your place," Sherlock said when there was a break in the chanting. "Just low level stuff to keep Shan here. You can take a breather."

"Thanks," John said, exhausted after a night of battling Shan. She was definitely stronger than Hope had been. Her willpower had nearly been enough to topple John over a few times. He was managing, but progress was slow.

Father Dimmock took his place and started with just some simple incantations, just the sort of stuff that would keep her from getting away.

"How are you holding up?" Sherlock asked, and John knew that he had to be imagining the concern in his voice.

"Dealing with it," John said shortly. "I'm tired, though. And I haven't made much progress."

"Don't worry," Sherlock assured him. "I have faith in you."

"Thanks."

… …

"And Jim was just so polite," Molly gushed that afternoon.

Greg continued cleaning his handgun and ignoring her.

"I mean, I know they say that chivalry is dead, but he even pulled my chair out for me before I sat down! I mean, who even does that anymore?"

Greg was quiet. Fortunately, Molly didn't need prompting.

"Super respectful, and a great listener," she said, sighing dreamily. "He was really interested in demonology and the work that we've been doing with Sherlock. I'm going to ask Sherlock if I can let him watch the next exorcism. I think that Jim would really like that."

"I wouldn't go saying too much to him," Greg said shortly, reassembling the gun as he spoke. "A lot of what we're doing here is secret, and a lot of that is not your secret to tell."

Molly looked offended. "I know that, Greg," she snapped. "I know when to keep something to myself. I'm not an airheaded thirteen year old girl."

"You're acting like one," Greg muttered under his breath. But of course, just his luck he supposed, Molly heard him.

"You're being very rude," she informed him sternly. "And I don't have to be here to listen to this. I'm going to the library!"

Molly left 221B with a huff and a slammed door.

Irene looked up at Greg from her usual spot on the sofa. "She's fucked. He's using her."

"What makes you say that?"

"I'm a succubus," she said with a shrug. "I know love and passion and I can read pheromones like you can read a book. When you're attracted to a person, you leave a much bigger mark than you realize. There are usually trace pheromones, stronger the longer they were together or how intense the feeling is." Irene shrugged. "They just spent hours getting coffee together, and there isn't a trace of anyone but you on her."

Greg paused in his task. "You mean he isn't interested at all?"

"Not even slightly," Irene confirmed. "Poor girl is going to get her heart broken. I hope it happens after we find Moriarty, though. The last thing Sherlock wants is for an investigation to be held up by tears."

"God, you're right," Greg sighed. "I hope Sherlock doesn't get wind of this."

"Get wind of what?" the bloody angel said, materializing when he was least wanted, as always. "You don't have to tell me, I already know. He's gay, by the way," Sherlock said, strolling into the back bedroom.

"Gay?"

Sherlock came back, carrying—bizarrely of the all things—a potted plant. "Gay," he confirmed. "Other than that, I haven't been able to get much of a read on him. Either he's an incredibly closed off person by nature or he's consciously trying to lock me out. I don't like either alternative. I'm having Mycroft look into this Jim fellow."

"What's with the plant?" Greg asked.

"This?" Sherlock said, holding up the ugly fern. "No idea. Well, I'll see you later."

Sherlock took the fern and left.

"I give up," Greg announced, finishing with his gun and stowing it away. "I'm going to go home and take a nap. No one is going to stop me."

… …

Sherlock came and went as the exorcism carried on. One of the times he returned, he came back with, weirdly enough, a potted plant.

On his next break, John asked him about the plant. Sherlock frowned and said that he couldn't remember why he had it. He was very genuine about his confusion.

Which was really, really worrying.

John had never, ever known Sherlock to forget anything. Ever.

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked on his next break.

"Fine," Sherlock said shortly.

"You can tell me if something is wrong," John said on the break after that. "I'll at least listen, you know."

"I know," Sherlock sighed.

John did, inevitably, always have to take over the exorcism again, so he never got Sherlock to say any more than that.

… …

"It's been five days," Molly said to Jim. She was worried out of her mind after five days of radio silence. "I think the exorcism is still going on."

Jim smiled at her reassuringly over his cup of coffee. "I don't think you need to worry yourself. From what you've told me, John Watson seems like a very capable man, and Sherlock a very powerful angel. I'm sure that together they will get through it."

Molly nodded, feeling a little bit better. "It just didn't take so long last time," she sighed. "I wish I knew what was going on."

Right after she finished speaking, her dinged with a text alert.

Exorcism completed. John will need to recuperate for several days. –SH

Molly squealed. "Oh, that was perfect timing!"

"What?" Jim asked, smiling at her reaction.

"They've just finished the exorcism," Molly excited. "Oh, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go." Her face fell at the thought. "John was an absolute mess last time. He's going to need someone to take care of him."

"Well, he's lucky to have you," Jim told her.

Molly blushed.

She was really starting to like Jim.

… …

Everyone was gathered in 221B.

"We got lucky," Sherlock said, looking at each individual in turn. "Shan knew more about Moriarty than Hope did. We now know where to begin concentrating our searches."

"Good," Greg sighed. "That always helps."

Sherlock nodded. "I've alerted Mycroft, who is sending his minions throughout the city to further narrow the scope. However, I don't think that will be necessary, because Moriarty has, apparently, been active in this city the entire time he's been here."

"What do you mean by that?" John asked. He was beyond exhausted, but was managing to stay awake for their informal little meeting.

"We had assumed that he would be lying low," Sherlock answered. "However, he has been working several jobs this whole time. Based on the information I got from Shan, we can trace two recent murders and one disappearance to Moriarty."

"Wow," Greg said, looking a bit impressed. "That will please some of the people at the Yard. It's always a relief, closing a case."

"Just murders?" Irene asked. "There's growing unrest in the entire London demon community. I wouldn't be surprised if he was stirring that up as well."

Sherlock brushed that off. "It will settle. We don't need to worry about that yet. I think that we've nearly closed in on Moriarty. Once we manage that, we can deal with the rest of the demon populace, and at least restore it to its natural order if nothing else."

"Alright," John said. "This is moving faster than I thought it would."

Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Well, I couldn't ask for a better team."

There was a pause.

"Sherlock?" John asked. "Was that…sentiment?"

Sherlock looked horrified with himself. "No, of course not. Simple fact. So. I'll get you some more information later. I think you've earned a day of rest."

Sherlock disappeared, leaving the group staring at each other in confusion.

"Any idea what that was about?" Molly asked.

"He's so fucked," Irene declared, looking pleased. "Everyone is so fucked. At least this is entertaining." She got up and left the flat without saying goodbye.

"I feel like I'm missing something important," Greg admitted.

"Me too," John agreed. "But I'm too tired to worry about it, and I usually feel like that where Sherlock is concerned."

… …

Sherlock stood before Mycroft with a heavy feeling of shame.

The Watcher did what he was best at.

He watched.

"I think I might be spending too much time on Earth," Sherlock admitted. "I'm beginning to care."

"Caring isn't an advantage," Mycroft reminded Sherlock sternly.

"I know!" Sherlock snapped. "It's involuntary."

"Shut it off," Mycroft ordered. "The more you feel, the more Grace you will lose."

"I'll just go back to Heaven for a while," Sherlock reasoned quickly. "Just…let me get my Grace back and I can keep working with this."

"Now, that I would advise against," Mycroft sighed. "If you go to Heaven in this state, it will be a very long time before our older brothers will let you out again."

Sherlock froze. "What do you mean?"

"Have you looked at your wings lately?" Mycroft asked. "They're getting darker."

"They are not," Sherlock said dismissively.

"They were white once," Mycroft reminded him. "They were silver a few days ago."

"And now?"

"Grey, brother dear. Getting greyer every day. And," Mycroft said, pinching a downy grey feather that floated through the air between his thumb and forefinger, "you're beginning to shed."

"It's insignificant," Sherlock insisted, his voice shaking.

"It's your choice, Sherlock," Mycroft sighed. "I warned you days ago to remove yourself from this. I believe that now might be too late. You can go to Heaven and wait until your Grace returns, most likely allowing Moriarty to get away-"

"He can't!" Sherlock snapped. "You know as well as I do that returning in failure is worse than staying grounded."

"Or you can capture your nemesis and Fall."

Sherlock swallowed, his eyes wide and panicked. "No, there has to be something else."

"I asked you to listen to me before-"

"I don't want 'I-told-you-so,' Mycroft. I just…"

"Your choice," Mycroft reminded him gently. "I wish you didn't have to make it."

There was a long pause.

"I should have listened," Sherlock finally admitted. "I should have listened before it was too late. I'm sorry, Mycroft."

Sherlock released his, admittedly fraying, wings but before he left, Mycroft said, "I will be here, if you ever need me. Archangel or Fallen, you will always be my brother."

Sherlock nodded a silent thanks and vanished.

… …

Sherlock landed without caring where he was. He ducked into a darkened alley and let out a frustrated scream through clenched teeth.

No, no, no, no, NO!

Sherlock slammed his fist against the alley wall.

This couldn't be happening.

This COULD NOT be happening.

Not now, not when they were so close to taking Moriarty.

He couldn't be Falling.

He couldn't.