Sam and Dean called Castiel and he arrived immediately.

"You need to go to London," he said.

"You knew?" Dean asked. "Were you listening?"

"No. You never call me unless you're going to see them anymore."

"We've only met them twice."

"You haven't called often lately."

"I'm sorry, are you feeling neglected?" Dean asked.

Castiel looked at him blankly, not catching the sarcasm. "No, not really. We do see each other pretty often, but I usually just show up, you don't have to call me."

Dean considered explaining that he was kidding, but then figured he shouldn't even bother.

"So to 221B Baker Street," Sam said.

"God, you've memorized it?" Dean muttered. "That means we're seeing them way too much…"

They appeared inside the building at the bottom of the stairs. They walked up and Sam knocked on the door. A moment later it was opened by John, who looked extremely tired.

"Hello. Come on in," he said. Sam, Dean, and Castiel walked in past him and Sam and Dean went to sit down, but then Castiel grabbed Dean's arm. He actually winced at the grip, which was tighter than it even seemed Castiel was capable of squeezing.

"What is it?" Dean asked.

Castiel didn't respond, but he was staring at the couch, where sat Sherlock. Sherlock met Castiel's gaze in a defiant sort of way, as if saying, 'yes, I know you see something bad about me and I don't even care.'

Castiel let go, and Dean was trying to see what about Sherlock was bothering him.

"Cas, is it—" And that was when Dean realized that Castiel had vanished. "Yeah, goodbye to you too!"

"So what's going on?" Sam asked Sherlock. Sherlock sat there on the couch, looking at the ground. Actually, Dean had never seen Sherlock so inactive. That in itself was a little odd.

"He won't tell you," John said. "He won't even tell me."

"Then why are we here?" Dean asked exasperatedly.

"To figure it out," John said. Then he approached Sam, who was closer, and hissed something in his ear. Sam nodded and went over to the desk by the window. At this point Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Don't look in there," Sherlock said, getting up. Sam was quick, though, and he was able to dump the contents out onto the ground before Sherlock could reach him.

"No way," Dean muttered, looking at what was on the ground. He knew exactly what the problem was now. How the hell had Sherlock gotten himself into that kind of mess?

"John, I want you to leave," Sherlock said.

"What?"

"I won't talk to them unless you leave."

Even Dean could see that John was a little hurt by this, but he just rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Fine. I'll go meet Sarah."

"She still talks to you?" Sherlock asked.

"Shut up," John muttered as he went down the stairs and shut the door. Sherlock stared at that door until they all heard the exterior door downstairs shut. Then he looked at the boys.

"So you know now."

Dean certainly did know, looking at the Devil's Shoestring sitting on the ground. It went above your door to keep hell hounds at bay.

"What did you get out of the deal?" Dean growled. "Money? Fame? A friend like John? Does it seem worth it now?" Dean wasn't sure why he was so angry, but he looked over at Sam and he looked a little furious too. Maybe because they knew what hell was like and they couldn't believe people would subject themselves to that.

"Life," Sherlock replied.

That stopped Dean. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looked irritated. "I had to jump off a building and live. So I made a deal with a crossroads demon to make that happen."

"Jump off a building?" Sam inquired incredulously.

"Yes. I was being made to do it, and if I didn't… people I cared about were going to die. You see, long story short, a man was trying to discredit me, trying to make the world think I was a fraud, that I committed all of the crimes that I ever solved. This man," Dean definitely noticed that Sherlock didn't want to say the name of the man, "thought that the best way to completely prove I was a fraud was by me committing suicide. He had snipers ready to kill three people if I didn't. So I knew I had to make the jump, but I didn't want to die."

"Because nobody could solve a problem without you around?" Dean asked dryly.

"Because of John," Sherlock snapped. The boys looked confused. "John's important to me. I didn't want to leave him here, alone, thinking I had committed suicide when I hadn't. Just seeing what he was like before I came back… I'll never forgive myself for what I put him through." Dean was shocked at the amount of humanity that Sherlock was displaying. He knew Sherlock cared about John, but not to the extent that he could show human emotions like sympathy and self-sacrifice.

"It took years before I could reveal myself again, before I could get rid of the sniper that was ready to kill my friends," Sherlock continued. "When I came back, John was furious I'd been gone so long. Punched me halfway down the stairs, actually. And it took another few years for people to believe I wasn't a fraud. And now it's been nine years and ten months."

"And you're running out of time," Sam sighed.

Sherlock nodded. Dean realized that Sherlock was legitimately frightened. He looked pale and slightly sick. "I told John I didn't need any help because I don't think I'll be able to get out of it this time. I just… I don't think John can go through that again. People's emotions are so weak, easy to shatter. That's why I refrain from feeling them."

"I didn't think you could be so selfless," Sam said.

"Well someone's got to look after the man. He's a moron."

"Right, and now we're back to the dick part of your personality," Dean muttered.

"No more of a moron than everyone else on the planet," Sherlock added, as if that made his comment better. Sam and Dean didn't see a point in even commenting on that one.

"So you need to somehow get out of going to hell," Dean summarized.

"Without John knowing what's happening."

"What?"

"You can't tell John about this."

"Why not?"

"If I die, I don't want him to know why."

"You think he would feel better if you just disappeared with no explanation?" Sam asked. "Because I think that would make it worse."

"He doesn't need to know," Sherlock insisted.

"I think he would want to know—"

"Don't tell him!" Sherlock bellowed. "I'll make you leave right now."

"I'm fine with that," Dean muttered.

"Dean," Sam warned.

"What?"

"Sherlock may be really annoying, but he doesn't deserve to go to hell."

Dean sighed. "Nobody deserves to go to hell," Dean said. "Not even you."

"Then let's figure this out," Sam replied.