AN: Last chapter everyone!
Sorry for the long wait, but I had someone jump down my throat over a tiny detail point that wasn't even all that central to the story and it completely destroyed all my interest in this story.
But hopefully I've rallied well and you all enjoy this. Now on to the story!
Disclaimer: If you recognize it than you know it's not mine, I only own the mistakes.
The Demon known as John Watson raced across the rooftops of London with every ounce of speed he had even as he knew he wouldn't arrive in time to prevent the purifying process from starting, but he could at least halt it.
Not bothering with subtilty, John crashed through Mycroft's office window, taking out much of the wall in the process, and immediately began tearing into the Angle there.
As the fight commenced John had one clear thought in mind even as screams started tearing through the air just like the two of them tearing through the walls and corridors: It starts here, and far too soon at that.
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Sherlock sat up carefully as his head throbbed and looked about the room he was in.
No windows, was his first observation.
Library, was his second.
Mycroft, was his third.
And with that he contemplated just laying back down and pretending he wasn't trapped inside a giant library with his pompous older brother, something that had never worked in their childhood but that he hoped might work now.
"Do grow up, won't you little brother." Proving just how incapacitated he really was Sherlock made no come back to that but merely took to looking about the overlarge reading room they seemed to be being held in.
"What is the last thing you remember, dear brother? It could be important." Focusing back on his least favorite person Sherlock finally realized how bedraggled My looked, and that's when it all started flooding back.
The Club.
The screams grew louder the further in they went, mostly from people trapped in the debris of the heavily damaged building.
Skipping over several dead bodies, Sherlock made his way to his brother's office.
He froze in the doorway.
One wall had been knocked in, and two bodies lay on the floor.
'Anthea' lay with a recently shot gun in her hand, proving her commitment to protecting her boss extended to her last breath. Sherlock couldn't see where her head had gotten off to, though.
Mycroft lay next to his desk, pale and unconscious but still alive much to Sherlock's relief- though he would never admit it.
The fight.
The building shook as something crashed about. Two somethings, in fact, both unnaturally- supernaturally- strong.
Grell, carrying Mycroft, and Sherlock made to escape to the outside world, but were intercepted somewhat as the combatants chose that moment to come careening through walls and across their path.
Being carried out like he was helpless.
Sherlock caught a good look at the two as he skidded to a halt in the hall.
John was looking less human and more... dangerous than normal, what with his fangs showing and his glowing red eyes, but he was also missing most of his right arm.
The Angle John was fighting didn't look much better, though that was small comfort.
She was missing a wing and seemed to be even more pissed off than John was.
He saw this all in a short few seconds before an arm snaked about his waist and dragged him through Mycroft's missing wall.
And no matter how much he thrashed Grell still wouldn't take him back.
Back at the flat.
Mycroft remained unconscious and laid put on the sofa as they waited for news from or about John, Grell not letting him out until he received some type of all clear.
And then the door opened and John entered, looking as if he'd just stepped out to pick up milk instead of to fight an Angle to protect Mycroft.
"Sherlock... we need to talk."
John's goodbye...
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock, but things are moving too fast now for a mortal to be safely involved now. Jim is more than a little pissed at the moment what with the loss of one of his wings and will soon be coming after me. You will need to go into protective custody with Mycroft here until it is all over. Grell?"
"Like hell I'll let you-" A crashing pain and blackness descended, and that was that.
"Where are we?" He asked instead of revealing any of this.
"The Reapers Library, I believe. The knowledge section, not the Life. Pity that, I could have used a new source of insight." Nodding that he had heard, but yet refused to be thankful, Sherlock headed for the shelves.
If he was stuck here until it was 'safe' for them to return to the mortal plane then he would make good use of his time.
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Jim's forces arrayed themselves for attack. Thousands of lower class demons, delinquent Reapers, fallen and insane Angels and a whole slew of other otherworldly creatures stood ready for the signal from their leader.
"Attack!" Screamed the newly maimed Angel, and watched as his forces set off to confront the ragtag group that dared to stand against him and total world domination.
There was barely a hundred of them, mostly Reapers but a good selection of other creatures as well, including several Angels and a Demon or two.
What Jim couldn't see was the advantage these few had over the massed hoards fighting at his command.
That advantage was simply this: experience.
Not a single one of those who stood with the Demon John that day was anything less than the best.
And as the sun shown down on the battlefield, and the two forces met, it was a bloodbath.
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Mycroft couldn't stop the gasp that left his lips as his wrist flared in burning pain and then went numb.
Sherlock was by his side in moments.
They looked at his wrist together.
At his clean, unmarked wrist.
The one that should have held a Demon's Mark, a mark that couldn't fade until the contract was finished or he Demon was dead.
Looking into his younger brother's eyes Mycroft thought he saw something die before it was quickly hidden behind the emotionless mask Sherlock had used for so many years and had only started removing during his short time with John.
As Sherlock moved away to resume his seat at his over-laden table of books, Mycroft refrained from mentioning that the mark had simply moved from one wrist to the other.
He would find out soon why John wanted Sherlock to think him dead, and it had better be a good reason or else the Elder Holmes brother would show said Demon just why he wasn't a man to be trifled with.
He never wanted to see his little brother in as much pain as he was now ever again.
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"Do you think it is wise to go after them alone?"
"Hardly. But it must be done, it's the one thing they won't expect."
"Their leader is dead, you don't have to go after them at all."
"Yes I do."
"Why?"
"Sherlock."
"..."
"Look after him for me? He's the only human I've ever found worthy of calling a friend."
"Fine. But don't expect any more help from the Dispatch, we're sorely understaffed now thanks to all this."
"Thank you."
SHERLOCKBLACKBUTLERSHERLOCK
Two years later
Waking from one of his rare fits of sleep, Sherlock bounded out of bed and raced for the kitchen.
He would know that pattern of footfalls anywhere!
"John..." Deciding he was either dreaming or crazy- he hoped he'd gone crazy, the illusion would last longer that way- Sherlock watched his dead Demon flatmate fix tea as if the last two years had never happened.
"Do we have any milk, Sherlock? Usable milk, that is." Handing his freshest carton- it was only a month old, still good right?- to the phantom Sherlock watched as he scrunched up his nose at it.
"Eww! How have you survived so long without me here to take care of you?" Shrugging his shoulders Sherlock watched as the phantom John proved that he was no illusion after all by cleaning out the fridge.
Even Sherlock's most crazed imaginings wouldn't be so crass as to start throwing out all his best experiments the way this one was.
"John!" Sherlock was at a loss, he didn't know how to react. On one hand he wanted to welcome his friend back with open arms, maybe even hug him, but on the other he wanted to punch him for being away so long.
It was quite the conundrum.
"Sherlock, what's this?" John held up a thick, ancient looking book that had been half buried under some blood bags of congealed quality.
"That is a condensed version of the Necronomicon, I'm using it as a reference on some cases that the Manager William T. Spears has asked me to look into." John just gave him a blank look.
"Necronomicon? And who's this William T. Spears, a new DI? Sherlock... what have you been getting up to while I've been away?" Looking at John, and then down at John's wrist, Sherlock's eyes suddenly blazed fire.
"That DAMN CONTRACT! I'll kill Mycroft for this!" And then he stomped out of the flat, completely forgetting he was in nothing but his pajamas, and made his way to his brother's house.
He would force Mycroft to rewrite that contract if it was the last thing either of them did! He was not letting John go back- now that the crisis was obviously over with- to not being able to talk about his Demon side!
In the flat, John smiled to himself and sipped his tea. He would follow soon and ensure that neither man came to harm over this dispute but otherwise he'd leave them to it. He wouldn't want to get between two brothers that hadn't spoken in two yeas now would he?
Placing his mug in the sink John let himself out onto the street and then up on the rooftops, easily keeping pace with the cab Sherlock had finally managed to wave down, and sent a warning text to big brother Mycroft.
Mission accomplished, he's coming to speak to you right now. JW
Thank you, I knew if anyone could talk since into him it would be you. It will be good to have Sherlock speaking with me once more. MH
John just smiled as he put his phone away and jumped to the next rooftop. Mycroft had no idea what was coming his way, no idea at all.