Disclaimer: I do not own these characters and all mistakes are my own.
Note: Grad school starts tomorrow, as of right now I will still update every Sunday but if I need to change my update day I will let everyone know (it will still be a once a week update if it changes)
Chapter 3
Dean was getting out of the shower when he heard the rhythmic tap on his door. Suppressing the urge and his natural inclination to grab a weapon, Dean calmly made his way to the door, wrapping a towel around his waist. The hunter suppressed a groan as he opened the door and came face to face with his neighbor upstairs. The sharp, angular features topped with a mop of black hair was unnaturally still. The only sign of life coming from the keen blue eyes roving over Dean's torso.
"Hey, buddy, eyes up here," Dean joked, trying to snap Sherlock out of his study.
The thing was, Sherlock wasn't looking at Dean in a way the hunter was used to. He wasn't being viewed as a potential hook up or analyzed as a potential threat, hell, Sherlock was looking at Dean like the man was a riddle and frankly, it set Dean's teeth on edge.
"Relax, I have no intention of making any advances on you or your masculinity," Sherlock drawled, intense eyes landing on Dean's face.
"Yeah, I got that," Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
Sherlock hummed, tilting his head and scrutinizing Dean once again.
"What do you want?" Dean asked, trying not to fidget beneath the blue gaze.
The gaze that suddenly reminded the hunter of another blue stare, on he failed to save. Dean swallowed thickly, trying to banish thoughts of Cas and Purgatory. Trying to regain his composure, the elder Winchester missed the gleam flare in Sherlock's eyes. Instead the hunter looked up into the impassive face of his neighbor.
"I came to see if you were ready for tonight's endeavor, obviously, you're not," Sherlock answered, sounding annoyed.
"Yeah, sorry man, give me ten minutes," Dean muttered, still uncomfortable with his previous thoughts.
Sherlock nodded regally, with the perfected air of dismissiveness as he strode back up the stairs and Dean closed the door, turning to get ready.
Sherlock was positively buzzing. His synapses firing off at rapid speeds as deductions flew through his mind. He has never seen a man with such extensive and intense scarring from wounds clearly of a violent nature. However, it was the handprint scar seared into Dean's shoulder causing Sherlock to practically salivate. For it was undoubtedly a scare burned in the shape of a handprint. The scenarios Sherlock was concocting for how Dean received such a scar were each more ludicrous than the next and it was without a doubt a scar on the man's shoulder.
Flopping down in his armchair, Sherlock steeples his long fingers as he brought them beneath his chin. The detective pushed his focus away from the handprint and moved on to the tattoo above Dean's heart. It was unconventional and most definitely held a religious element to it which was at odds with Dean's crafted persona.
Sherlock needed more information; the physical evidence was no longer enough. If the detective took into consideration all the information he had observed, Dean Winchester was a man who belonged behind bars. A soldier, not in the conventional sense more likely he had been raised to be one by a former soldier, his father. Deceased mother was obvious, however, how long the woman has been dead, less so. Sherlock leaned towards early childhood due to Dean's interactions with Mrs. Hudson, the man fairly soaked up the motherly attention suggesting a severe lack of it for the majority of his life. A strict military upbringing with no maternal figure would suggest a person lacking in social skills, yet Dean is clearly charming and personable which leads to another person important enough to impact Dean's personality, a sibling. Older or younger was the difficult part. Dean's personality was childish enough to suggest younger, but his body language suggests older with the subconscious tilting in a protective manner as if expecting someone to be standing beside him. Younger, Sherlock decided, the subconscious always outweighs the conscious mind.
John appeared in his line of sight causing Sherlock to stir out of his musings.
"All ready then?" John asked, turning to put on his coat.
"How long has it been?" Sherlock looked at John.
"About ten minutes, why?" John answered with a quirked brow.
"Dean should be ready by now then, let's go," Sherlock stated as he moved towards the door.
"Please tell me you didn't walk in on the man while in the shower, Sherlock," John exhaled, clearly exasperated with his friend.
"Of course not, he had clearly just gotten out of the shower and was covered in a towel. Nevermind that though, why would you assume I walked in on him and not that I just made an observation on his habits," Sherlock glared at John, the doctor looked back with a because-I-know-you face.
"Honestly, Sherlock, because you are clearly fascinated with this bloke and are going to take every opportunity to pry," John fondly chuckled before turning to walk downstairs.
"I am not fascinated by Dean Winchester," Sherlock contradicted, a small pout on his face.
By the time Sherlock made it out the front door, Dean and John were in step with one another heading towards John's favorite pub. Sherlock shook his head a John's predictability but followed nonetheless, eager to get some alcohol into Dean.
Dean liked John, he decided as they made their way into the pub. The shorter man was straight forward and had a sarcastic streak, Dean appreciated people like that. Dean looked around the pub out of habit, noting exits and blind spots before the three of them made their way to a corner table, Dean taking the chair with his back to the wall. The hunter caught Sherlock eyeing him, but the man's aloof face left nothing to be discerned.
"I'll go get us a round shall I," John spoke up, taking his coat off and laying it on the back of his chair.
"Whiskey, thanks," Dean pipes up as John nods and heads off to the bar.
Dean glances at Sherlock but the man is scanning the pub, eyes intensely focused as they travel over a man and younger woman at the bar. Dean's eyes follow Sherlock's, taking in the scene with a hunter's view. To anyone else, it would seem as if the man was the initiator, however, the young woman frankly screamed vampire. Dean's body tensed as he adjusted his chair to keep the couple in his line of sight. John made his way back over, thumping Dean's whiskey down in front of him, Dean nodding his thanks.
"Bartender told me something interesting, apparently there's been a couple of murders around here, Sherlock," John took a sip of his beer, eyeing the detective.
"Two men, early forties, both found a block north of here with two puncture wounds in their throats, bodies drained of blood," Sherlock stated, deep voice sounding detached as he mentioned the particulars of the case.
"What, like a vampire?" John's mystified expression almost causes Dean to spit out his drink.
"Vampire, John, really," Sherlock rolls his eyes disdainfully. Dean watches in amusement as John makes a face right back at Sherlock. It's a bizarre friendship to be sure, but Dean is starting to understand it.
Dean's eyes travel back to the young woman and middle aged man, brain taking in the new information he just heard. He's tempted to go press the bartender for more information but decides not to push his luck as John gets up to use the bathroom.
"Would you like another round?" Dean hears Sherlock politely ask him.
"You trying to get me drunk so I spill all my secrets," Dean drawled as he took a sip of his whiskey, the smokey flavor burning down his throat.
"Yes, obviously," Sherlock stated after a moment, surprising Dean with his honesty.
"You could just ask you know," Dean grumbled, eyeing the man across from him.
"I'd rather not be lied to, it gets dreadfully tedious," Sherlock's voice rumbled.
"How do you know I'd lie to you? Maybe you're just weird enough or I'm just desperate enough to tell the truth," Dean arched his eyebrows, a slow smirk crawling across his lips, he looks back at the couple at the bar noticing them leave out the door to the back alleyway.
"You're that lonely," Sherlock scoffed.
"Aren't you?" Dean knowingly challenged.
"You sit there all high and mighty with your 'science of deduction', yeah I looked you up, but you're all alone, no one but John to show off to," Dean sneered, he could feel his hackles begin to rise, Dean knew what was about to happen behind the pub. The smug look on Sherlock's face was doing nothing to calm his aggression or give him the out he needed to get away for a few minutes.
"So he can use a computer, impressive," Sherlock taunted, imperious eyes staring Dean down
"Sam would claim differently," Dean grimaced as the sentence slipped out.
"Ah yes, the younger brother, family drama, dull," Sherlock spoke dismissively.
"You know what man, I don't need to take this shit from you, don't follow me," Dean snapped, standing up, every intention of going into the back alley and saving the poor guy from that blood sucking bitch. He just needed to make sure Sherlock and John wouldn't follow him.
"Dean," Sherlock called his name as he made his way out to the alley. Dean knew it was going to be too much to ask as he heard Sherlock's footsteps behind him. He needed to find this chick and fast.
Once outside, Dean barred the door quickly with the garbage cans to the right of it, hopefully that would slow Sherlock down. Dean looked around the alley, he heard them before he saw them. It was a low grunting sound followed by a high, sharp moan which caused Dean to shudder in revulsion before he made his way towards the couple. The heavy breathing coming from the two did not drown out the rattle of the pub's back door or the crash of the trash cans as Sherlock busted through. Dean quickly rounded a sharp corner coming face to face with a mouth full of fangs. Dean quickly whipped out a knife, shoving the shocked man out of the way and coincidently into Sherlock who had just rounded the corner. The woman hissed at Dean, lunging for the hunter. Dean dodged, plunging the knife into her neck, causing the woman to howl in rage. Dean need something large and sharp, he scanned the alley as the woman staggered back to her feet.
"Find me something to cut her head off with," Dean shouted back at Sherlock and the man, hoping one of them would come to their senses and help him out.
Dean turned just in time to deflect the vampire's next attack, but not fast enough to prevent himself from getting flung into the brick of the building, head cracking against the wall. Disoriented, Dean felt cool hands curl around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Dean wheezed, hands clutching the the woman's face, thumbs digging into her eyes, causing the vampire to shriek and Dean's hands to come back bloody. Dean stumbled to his feet, looking around for any sort of weapon. His eyes landed on Sherlock, the detective was staring wide eyed, but jaw set standing a few feet away holding what looked to be barbed wire. Dean nodded and motioned for him to toss it over, Sherlock did just in time. The woman was furious, hands curled like claws and jaw snapping. Dean dodged her wild lunge and got behind her, barbed wire wrapped around her throat. Dean heaved, blood spraying his face as metal cut through flesh and then bone. The woman's body slumped to the ground, head rolling towards Sherlock.
"That, was a vampire," Dean mocked, before he felt himself fall forward and his mind went dark.