Chapter 5

Real

Sherlock for once in his life had no idea what was going on, the mystery and lost feeling he had was new, not to mention beyond annoying. He had gotten up from his chair and paced back and forth away from the group. He could see John from the corner of his eye gazing at him, waiting for him to make sense of things. That was so like John, looking up to him, depending on him to figure everything out. No matter how much he pestered John on how he should open his mind up to the world he liked how John needed him, he needed John as well. He never told John that. Chuck sat on the chair, he hadn't moved since he sat when he first arrived, Cass hovering by the door waiting. Sherlock didn't like that man, the angel. He was too above him, too all knowing. It made him feel, small. All his life he was the most intelligent one in the room, now, now he was close to nothing in his eyes.
"Cass?!" Footsteps pounded up the stairs from behind the door. Cass's breath caught as he realized Dean was there. He was worried for his human, who knew what could be out there, considering what was about to happen.
Two men burst open the door.
"Dean, Sam," the angel nodded to each of them. The men turned in shock when frantic footsteps scampered up the hall with the shrill yelling of Mrs. Hudson.
"Sherlock! I tried to stop them! They said they were with Scotland Yard!" the old woman burst through the doorway, her hand pressed up against her chest. "What did you do this time?" Mrs. Hudson looked around the room. "Who are these people?"
"No one, go back downstairs," Sherlock snapped at her with a smile. John frowned, he never liked how Sherlock treated . She nodded, still eyeing the men within the room and retreated back to 221A.
The room was silent, Sherlock stood behind John deducing everyone. The angel, well, to start with the obvious was very much in love with the shorter man, Dean. Dean, was very much in love with him too, has eaten pie in the last couple hours, just got off the plan from America judging by the watch he was wearing and had trust issues. Sam, was Dean's younger brother. The way they acted around each other made Sherlock think they were the only family they had left. It reminded him how he and John acted when they were together. So protective. Chuck? Sherlock deduced him in seconds, he was such an ordinary person. Writer, he could tell by his hands. Self conscious, he could see that by the way he fiddled with his hands when he talked. He hasn't showered in days. They were so predictable.
"So," Dean started, moving into the middle of the room, "Are we just going to sit around? Drink tea? Crumpets?" he said with a laugh in his overly exaggerated British accent. John snorted.
"Dean, could you not?" Sam sighed.
"No, I don't like the look of this," Dean stepped closer to Sherlock, looking him up and down. "This has to do with us, this is Crowley we're talking about. We don't need a tall, smug, british dude hanging around, looking at us like that. Like we're lab rats. We got this Sammy, we always have," he turned to the door, beginning to walk out.
"How long has your parents been dead?" Sherlock said coldly, unblinking. Dean stopped in his tracks.
"Who told you that?" he burned with anger.
"No one,"
"Sure, no one. "You're very protective over your brother. You travel a lot by the look of your hands. No home. No family. When did your parents die? Before your brother was a child I would think. I have no interest in whatever you need me and John for. We have our own things to solve. We don't need your so called supernatural issues. I have real things to solve. Murders, kidnappings, serial killers. Real things. Like you said, you got this,"

"No, we need you," Chuck shouted.
"Why do you need me? To chase down your 'angels' and your 'demons'? I have no interest in that. They aren't real. So, you can leave me and John alone to do our important work, thank you," Sherlock turned, walking back into the kitchen, flashing a protective glance at John who was still sitting in his chair taking in the situation.

"Wait," Suddenly Cass stood in front of Sherlock, blocking his path. How did he get there? He just, appeared. Sherlock thought, his eyes wide with surprise. "Everything is real, Sherlock," he muttered as he pressed his fingers to Sherlock's forehead.A bright light shined from the contact of their skin. Sherlock heard John shout. Who told you?" Dean stood once again in front of Holmes.

So sorry this piece of crap took so long, traveling, holidays, and a big case of self doubt and writers block. Hopefully next chapter won't be as shitty. :/