Prompt: GUYS.

HEY. GUYS.

You know Charlie Daniels' song "The Devil Went Down to Georgia?" Yeah, the devil is totally Sherlock and JOHNNY is obviously John. Devilock's fiddle skills are bested by some little dude singing about chickens and mountains on fire(Smaug.?&)? What happens next? Do they become BFFs? Sex it out?

Crack, smut, fluff, I don't care. Humor is definitely a must though! :)

"Objectively speaking," the Devil started, but John cut him off quickly, having already learned better.

"There is no such thing as 'objectively speaking'," he said, waving his clarinet for emphasis. "Music is all about subjectivity. And you liked mine better."

"It was Lord of the Rings," the Devil sniffed. "That's got to be cheating, John! How am I meant to resist a literary magnum opus set so perfectly to music?"

"It was the Hobbit!" John said, scandalised. "Don't tell me you don't recognise the Hobbit!"

"Of course I recognise the Hobbit!" The Devil closed his eyes and looked quietly appalled at John's obtuseness. "I'm just saying it's part of the Lord of the Rings!"

"And you can't possibly accuse me of cheating," John continued, steamrolling ahead seemingly unaffected by the pout of one immensely powerful supernatural being, "you're the Lord of Lies, it's one of your titles!"

"I never lie!" The Devil snapped, sounding insulted. "It's beneath me. My sin is Pride, as you well know – I tell the exact truth, it's not my fault how idiots interpret it."

"There can't be much that's beneath you," John wondered, apparently dismissing the rest of the sentence.

"...Has your self-preservation instinct abandoned you for a lemming?" The Devil said, looking fascinated and a little baffled by the idea that someone might insult him to his face.

"I'm just saying – Hell's pretty much the textbook definition of 'as far down as you can go', isn't it?"

"Metaphorically speaking," the Devil began in a tone of lecture, then stopped and shook his head. "Look, you won, what do you want?"

John blinked. "Really? You're really not going to – I dunno, eviscerate me or something for beating you?"

"We already had this debate, do keep up," the Devil said. "You'll have to be quick, I'm afraid, my brother needs to be stopped from taking all the pastries 'for the world's own good'."

"Erm," John said. "I didn't actually expect to win, to be honest. I mean, you're the Devil, it just didn't seem possible. I'd no idea you were such a big fan. And, um. Why exactly would you stop your brother stealing all the world's pastries...?"

"Well," the Devil said, "for one, it will annoy Mycroft terribly. For another – gluttony is still on the listed sins. If I fail, I'll have allowed Mycroft to indulge in the sin of gluttony, while depriving the world of one of those comforting things that lets the idiots believe that maybe not everything is so bad. If I succeed, Mycroft is thwarted, and people get to keep on gorging themselves on cream-smothered luxuries while a good portion of the world remains starving in abject poverty. Win/win, I think you'll find."

"...Brilliant," John said.

The Devil grinned broadly. "Isn't it? So, did you want ten years astounding talent and an early death? Legends are made that way, it's good for repeat business."

"Erm. No," John said, and because the Devil looked so dejected, found himself adding, "Can I think about it?"

"Certainly," the Devil said genially. John thought he sounded oddly eager to let it go, considering. "I'll drop in on you, say, a week from now? Seven days, that's appropriately mystical, isn't it?"

"Sure," John said. "I mean, if you say, it's pretty much got to be, hasn't it? ...Uh. How do I introduce you? I mean, I can't tell my landlady the Devil's likely to drop in and could she warn me?"

"Oh, Mrs Hudson knows me," the Devil said, waving a hand dismissively. "Had a chat with her about her husband a few years ago. But anyway, call me Sherlock."

"Sherlock," John repeated. "That's – unusual."

The Devil gave him a blank look.

"Right, right, of course," John said hastily, cheeks reddening slightly with embarrassment. "I – er – liked your song too, by the way," he said awkwardly.

"Mendelssohn's Lieder," Sherlock said, with – good god, endearing enthusiasm. "He's composed some fantastic new things since coming downstairs – Mycroft doesn't know what he's missing. I'll play some more for you some time."

"I'd like that," John said. "Actually – is seven days a formal necessity? Because I was just thinking – there's a good Chinese just down the street from my place. And I don't need to make up my mind right away, do I?"

"Oh, no, no," Sherlock said, tucking his violin away into his coat, where it left no sign of its former presence. "In fact, I think I'll put it down in the paperwork that you're a slow corruption and claim expenses. Tell me, however did you manage to get Smaug's tone with a clarinet?"