Chapter 12:

It was around midnight when Sherlock and Sam stepped off their plane at Heathrow. It took nearly two hours to fly from Kentucky to LaGuardia and they had to wait until nearly four in the afternoon before their flight to London. Sherlock had taken a couple other short naps on both flights but he let Sam sleep longer on the transatlantic flight.

When they didn't sleep they talked. That was such an exchange of information between the two and Sherlock wasn't bored from conversation. He had found out so much about the hunting world. There were many different types of monsters and each had different ways to kill them. He found out angels could be banished by placing a hand on a sigil painted in blood and be kept out by painting different sigils. Then there were the leviathans and even Sherlock felt uncomfortable about those creatures and was a bit thankful that most of them congregated in the states.

As fascinating it was to learn about the life of Dean Winchester, Sherlock did not want to live it. He wouldn't mind tracking down and hunting a vampire or a ghost, but he wanted to do that in his native country. He also would rather do that in his own body. Dean was physically fit but the food he craved and enjoyed made him feel uncomfortable. They had walked past a place that made hamburgers and once the scent had wafted into his nostrils Sherlock felt Dean's stomach growl. He had a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and a large order of chips and they were the most delicious food he had tasted. He was surprised about that since hamburgers were just average to them.

"How late do the cabs run here?" Sam asked once they had reached baggage claim.

"They are always running," Sherlock answered. "We will be able to take one to the flat." They were silent until the belt started and luggage emerged.

"We should talk about sleeping arrangements," Sam said. "I don't know how many beds there are."

"Two beds and one couch. I believe you brothers might share a bed and I would sleep on the couch."

"Ha."

"You have a problem with sleeping with your brother?" He recognized one of the bags that belonged to Dean and grabbed it.

"I don't but he does. It was okay when we were younger but around when I turned fifteen or sixteen he would either sleep on the floor or take a couch if there was one, unless dad just went off on a separate hunt."

"He let you have the bed?"

"He always let me have the better half," Sam said with a smile. "Sometimes dad would just tell me to share a bed with him so Dean could have one, or asked Dean to share with him." He grabbed two more. "Last one is yours."

"It will take us nearly an hour to get to my flat," Sherlock said as he grabbed his.

"Once we get a ride we should call them." Sam said as she stretched out his arms. He was still a little stiff from the ride. "Dean gave me the text saying that your friend knows."

"I do not want to cause Mrs. Hudson a fright," Sherlock said. Mrs. Hudson was used to him entering and leaving the building at all hours during the day and night. Sometimes he woke her and even then she nodded at him without a word. She would not be expecting two strange men from America to enter, especially after the last time strange American's had come by.

Sherlock decided to let Sam sleep a little more during the cab ride. He read the street signs out of the window and recognized the obvious landmarks and knew how much longer it would be before they reached their destination. He waited until they were approximately 18 minutes away before he called John. He sent a text to him first and just as he figured John ignored it. He sent two more until he dialed.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" John asked. He had been sleeping.

"John, it's me. We will be at the flat shortly."

"Who is this?"

"John, don't be an idiot."

"Sherlock?" John asked after nearly two minutes of silence.

"We are almost home. We need you to let us in without waking Mrs. Hudson." His request was met with more silence. "John?"

"Sorry, it's just odd for me hearing you sound like that."

"You have spent the day with Dean Winchester inside my body. I have thought you would be more used to the situation at hand, but clearly I once again overestimated you."

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"Now that is the John that I know," Sherlock said with a smile. "Now are you going to let us in?"

"I'll be there."

"Thank you, John."

As the cab slowed down to park outside of 221 Baker Street Sherlock nudged Sam awake and reached for his wallet, thankful they did exchange some American bank notes for pounds.

"This is the place?" Sam mumbled in a half groggy tone.

"My home," Sherlock said softly. He could feel himself smiling by just looking at it. He could see the windows to both his and John's rooms. He handed the driver the right amount before he stepped out and helped Sam with the bags.

"Is anyone going to be up?" Sam asked as he followed after him.

"I already called John," Sherlock answered. He reached for the door and was about to grab the handle when it opened.

John looked exhausted. His hair was disheveled, face full of stubble, eyes were bloodshot and there were noticeable gray bags under them. He had also been drinking their whiskey and he dressed in a hurry due to the shirt being on backwards and the trousers he had just picked up off the floor.

"Hello John," Sherlock greeted. His friend seemed even shorter than usual.

"Sherlock Holmes is that you?" John asked as he looked him over.

"I thought we had established that over the phone. This is Sa-" He didn't finish before he was pulled into an embrace.

"Welcome home," John said. His smile faded. "You egotistical prat. You should have waited for me, or for Lestrade. Look at the mess you have gotten yourself into this time."

"And have the witch elude us?" Sherlock asked. "Come now, John. You know me better than that." He heard Sam cough behind him. "John Watson I like to introduce you to Sam Winchester. Sam this is John."

"Hi," Sam said and held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you," John said and accepted the handshake. "Your brother has told me a lot about you."

"It might be better to talk and stuff in the morning," Sam said. "I think we both are kind of tired."

"I couldn't agree more," John said. "Let me help you with your luggage."

"Where is Dean?" Sam asked. The look on his face and tone of voice he was hurt that his brother hadn't accompanied John down to the foyer.

"Taking one of his doctor prescribed periodical naps," John said. "He had just drifted off when you called, Sherlock."

"I hope he is taking care of my body," Sherlock said as he ascended the stairs.

Everything looked perfectly the same when they entered the flat. His books and violin were untouched. His chair had been sat in and the remote was not in the same location as last time. He wondered what kind of crap telly Dean was into, but realized it couldn't be any worse than the shows that he enjoyed watching.

He examined the kitchen. Most of his scientific equipment was untouched, save to probably move it to make room for something in the kitchen. This samples he had taken from various bodies from St Bart's were still in the fridge along with more milk and a carton of Tropicana. Somebody had done some shopping recently. He wasn't sure if it was Mrs. Hudson or John. The milk was he brand that Mrs. Hudson always bought for them and John was the only one to buy orange juice.

He looked up when he heard a yawn from the direction of his bedroom. It was his yawn. Sherlock had thought he would be prepared to see himself walk out of the room, but he had only deluded himself into thinking that.

Dean walked out of the room smacking his lips and blinking. He yawned again and scratched his bottom. He was wearing clothes, albeit only a pair of Sherlock's pants and his bathrobe. It was similar to looking to a reflection that had a life of its own.

Dean paused before he stepped into the living room and stared at him. Dean blinked and rubbed at his chin feeling a near lack of any whiskers. Sherlock had taken his slow growing facial hair for granted as he scratched his chin and knew he was going to have to shave soon. Dean was also looking him up and down, it was almost as if he was making a deduction in the same way Sherlock always had when he met someone new.

"Hello Dean." He finally said as he stared at himself. His hair was a wild mess of curls. Dean was obviously not used to managing such a style. He never took a long enough look to see how lanky he was or how flat his feet were.

"Sherlock," Dean said before his eyes widened. "Sammy?"

"I'm in here," Sam said from the living room. "Dean?"

"Sam it's me," Dean raced out of the room and into Sam's arms. "Sammy."

"Dean." Sam hugged back before taking a step away to give his brother a good look. "You're still shorter than me."

"Everybody is shorter than you, Gigantor."

"Yeah I'd just thought…" He looked up at Sherlock. "I thought you were taller."

"The pictures lie," Sherlock said. He stared at John who had his arms folded and glared back at him as to tell him do not dare to call him short. He pressed his hands together.

"I look really weird doing that," Dean said. He had his hands on his hips, shoulders relaxed and legs apart and almost bowed.

"I can assure you the feeling is mutual," Sherlock said to him. "Stop slouching and stand up tall."

"You are one to talk about standing around properly," John said.

"John you are still in your own body. You do not have to see someone strut around in your flesh."

"Uh guys?" Sam asked. "Could we not do this, not at this hour?"

"He does have a valid point," John agreed. "Perhaps we should try to get some sleep. Except for you two exchange students."

"Was that a pun?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his friend.

"It was a bit of a joke, yeah." John shrugged.

"I guess I'm a bit of an influence on him," Dean said as he folded his arms together and grinned.

"A bad influence," Sam said.

"Shut up, people love me."

"Your brother has been a decent guest," John said as he scratched his head. "I guess that is the right way of saying it."

"Didn't have his music blaring?" Sam asked. "Or ask you to play his type of music on the radio or something?"

"I did play something from a local station on my laptop," John answered. "And it was quite an interesting experience to hear Sherlock sing Eighteen and Life."

"My singing to such music had to have been dull to view," Sherlock said. He glanced back at Dean and tried to imagine him singing such a song, possible mimic the guitarist as well.

"No way man," Dean said with a smile. "You have a great singing voice. I had to pause at first because, wow."

"Dean if you are going to just stand there could you put on a pair of pajama bottoms or something?" Sam asked. "No offense Sherlock but I do not want to see you in your underwear."

"You see what I have to live with?" Dean asked as he looked at John. "And I'm also wearing a bathrobe."

"I am tired boys," John said and yawned. "I am certain Sam is also tired. I'm not sure about the angel. Where is he?"

"Right here." The voice of the angel said. He was standing in the entrance of the kitchen and staring at them.

"Cas?" Sam asked and pointed at him. "How long have you been here?"

"Since he first arrived," Dean answered. "He's been paranoid ever since I told him I ran into Crowley."

"You too?" Sam asked.

"He mentioned he gave you a visit," Dean said and held up a finger. "He said he just wanted to see me like this but he is up to something. I had a little trouble concentrating earlier." He rolled up his sleeve revealing the nicotine patch. "Oh and by the way screw you, Sherlock, for not telling me earlier."

"My nicotine addiction," Sherlock said in an amused tone. "I knew there was the possibility. I just had to experiment."

"Now you see what I have to live with," John said.

Sherlock decided to ignore him. "Dean has my craving for cigarettes and I have your appetite for disgusting and unhealthy cheap food."

"Oh check out Mr. La de da over there. He doesn't like beer. You know what that means? It means I hate the taste of beer now."

"Really?" Sam asked. He was trying to hold back his laughter. "You?"

"Don't start." Dean pointed at him.

"So this is what they are like together?" John asked.

"It is painfully obvious that we are complete opposites," Sherlock said as he sat down in his chair. "I am clearly the most intelligent person in this room." He ignored the eye rolling from John. "I enjoy wine. I play the violin and reading." He pointed at Dean. "You clearly are a moron. You have disgusting habits and you think you are God's gift to women."

"Yeah? Yeah well…you had a cheeseburger for lunch with extra onions. During the flight you drank three cups of coffee, each with a pack of sugar even though I usually don't put sugar in my coffee. You also sucked on breath mints during the flight, most likely during takeoff and landing. You also had at least one glass of ginger ale and you were bored enough to purchase headphones."

"I am aware you are blessed with my brain as of now. I would like to have it back."

"You and me both," Dean said and looked at the angel. "Cas put us back."

"I have to see first," Castiel said. "It would be better if you were both on the couch."

Sherlock moved out of his chair and sat down on the sofa while Dean sat down next to him. The angel paced in front of them, constantly staring at them. He grabbed Dean by the chin, lifted his face up and stared deeply into his eyes before he did the same with Sherlock. Staring into the blue eyes of Castiel Sherlock could see his own face, his true face and not the one of Dean Winchester.

After several minutes the angel stepped back away from them and shook his head.

"Why are you shaking your head?" Dean asked. "Cas don't do that. Don't do that Cas."

"I'm sorry, Dean, but I cannot place your souls back."

"What?" All four mortal men asked at the same time.

"Cas you have to fix this," Sam said.

"He repaired my phone and cleaned up a mess with just a lift of his finger," John said. "He healed me. He disappeared and brought donuts for Lestrade at least that is what they told me."

"Don't tell me this is permanent," Dean's voice rose in anger and fear.

"It's not," Cas said. "At least I don't think it is."

Sherlock felt his spirits lift slightly.

"Why can't you put their souls back?" Sam asked.

"It is the way they are set," Cas said. "If I tried and made a mistake there would be no telling what would happen." He turned to Sam. "I'm not going to risk that again, not after what happened to you."

"What happened to him?" John asked and pointed at Sam. "You did this before."

"Sam made a brave sacrifice for the world," Sherlock said as he recounted everything Sam had told him. "He was able to take control when Lucifer was in his body and threw both of them into hell. Castiel tried to bring back Sam, but he brought him back soulless."

"I had to take on the role of death to get Sammy back," Dean said. He held up his hands. "So Cas what you are trying to say is that you try to yank our souls and memories and personality out and switch em we might end up being mixed up even more, or we might end up being brain damaged or crazy?"

"Or dead," Cas said and looked down.

"There are other ways," Sherlock said. "There are the goblets themselves."

"Yeah." Dean jumped up and snapped his fingers. "The goblet with the shield and the gem in that house. It was on the this book case."

"There is an identical goblet at the house where we found Catherine Ridgewood," Sherlock added. "Both are needed for us able to switch back. Castiel you were at the house before when we defeated Alyssa Montgomery."

"It was on the second floor," Dean added. "Master bedroom."

"I will be right back," Cas said and disappeared.

"When he returns we will give him the address of the house we were at," John said. "I hope this works."

"So do I," Dean and Sherlock said at the same time.

Castiel reappeared a second later looking forlorn. He did not have a goblet on him.

"It's not there."