Your friend will die if you don't…
Sherlock closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then he fell forward. Before he had even a moment to prepare hitting the cement he had landed. There was no pain, just sudden blackness and he knew it was over.
But it wasn't.
Seconds latter his eyes opened with screams filling his ears. He tasted blood and dirt. His skin boiled with the most pain he'd ever felt and an excruciating burns that went to his core.
"John!" he called but there was no point. He would never see John again. Sherlock would be lucky if he saw anybody again.
He was no longer on the sidewalk in front of Barts hospital, at least his soul wasn't. Because he killed himself, even to save his friends, Sherlock earned a one-way trip to hell. Suicide wasn't exactly a forgivable sin seeing as it would be your last. It was all part of Jims plan.
He struggled against his chains but a voice behind him advised his otherwise. Deep, obviously a man, American accent, late twenties, but so much pain weaved into his voice, years more than what I would imagine for someone so young.
Sherlock turned his head to watch the man who was now approaching. In an instant Sherlock almost deduced the boy's whole life, and afterlife. The only part he cared about though was the next. This soul was a torturer. Blood from his last victim still drenched his hand and the blades he carried.
"Welcome to hell," he said smiling Sherlock. "Names Dean Winchester, I'll be your torturer for today."
Partly the reason Sherlock and Dean can never trust one another.