Info: A Superwholock (Crossover between Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock) story. What if Rose hadn't been the only one lost to Pete's Universe that day at Canary Wharf?
Notes: Just a snippet, don't think I'll be writing this story. It came to be after I say a gif-set on Pinterest. Pairings are as follows; Doctor/Rose, Dean/Castiel, and Sherlock/John.
John entered the small flat he shared with the other two; it was a toss up to whether he'd find a note saying that she'd been working late at Torchwood or find him passed out somewhere, bottles and the stink of booze surrounding him.
It was Dean he found, unconscious and curled up on the battered couch as if he was trying to disappear. Bourbon bottles on the floor and a half empty one still clutched tight in his white-knuckled fist.
The doctor, lowercase, sighed, and made his way to the man to make sure he was still alive and able to continue to be so before heading into the dinky kitchen.
It had been six months, six blurred, grey months since they were stranded in this universe. Four months since that last message on that beach in Norway.
Dean had given up first, sinking into the depression and alcoholism he had always managed to escape before. What could he do? Really, all he was good at was killing, taking care of his brother, and his car. Nothing he could do here. Besides, the only time he could rest peacefully was while passed out drunk, or else he'd wake, screaming, in the night.
Rose was faring little better; she was at least going through the motions of life but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before she'd sink into the same mire if that Dimension Cannon project failed. She gave every waking moment to the project, and a few moments that she should've been resting. Still she, like Dean, had dropped weight and had become pale with dark circles underneath her usually red-rimmed eyes. The only sleep she did get was aided by sedatives, or she'd be plagued by her own nightmares.
And John, John was only functioning because someone had to look after the other two; he had marketable skills and so he had become the breadwinner. He was only managing because he had to keep the other two alive and somewhat healthy. Besides, he had managed fine without Sherlock, so he could do it and. So what if his limp had come back, his shoulder always ached, and he had lost weight and sleep?
The Doctor, Sherlock, and Castiel would find a way to get them home and he had to make sure the other two survived until then.