Love of Heaven and Hell

Freaky Evening Plans

"What are you looking up?" Sherlock asked as John opened up the internet.
"Possible cases." John shrugged, searching 'freaky accidents'.
"How does one find a case of the paranormal?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Well, it depends on what you're trying to hunt. Usually stuff that is close to being impossible, like people getting killed by falling down their stairs or perfectly athletic people getting random heart attacks, things like that. It's crazy to see the extent people go to make something explainable even when they don't have a clue. The human race is walking around covering their own eyes because they're too scared to see what's really out there." John said with a sigh.
"I've never thought of it that way." Sherlock admitted.
"Before this demon have you seen anything odd?" John asked, scrolling past things that were perfectly explainable, like bar shootings and muggings on the side of the street.
"Not really." Sherlock shrugged. John rolled his eyes, of course he had, but he just couldn't accept the signs back then and forgot about the whole encounter.
"Oh, this is good, someone got 'mauled by a dog' in a gated community." John said with a laugh. "Yet it says here, the dog must have been a stray because no one in the community has a dog bigger than a Pomeranian. Pathetic."
"Is it a case?" Sherlock asked, suddenly looking interested.
"I'm sure it is. Werewolf, maybe, most likely a vengeful spirit ripping people up, I'll need the coroner report to make sure." John decided.
"Where is that?" Sherlock asked, sitting up in the bed and peering over John's shoulder.
"Says here..." John scrolled down a little bit to see, "Oak Hills Manor, Maryland, that sounds pretty fancy."
"Certainly where rich jerks hang out I suppose." Sherlock agreed. "They probably deserved it."
"Sound like a case you want to check out?" John asked.
"Sure, how far is Maryland?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, we're in Illinois, so I'd say about a day's drive." John decided. Sherlock looked a little bit less enthusiastic after that, but nodded so viciously that his curly hair bounced all over the place. He really was adorable, in a childlike way of course, it kind of sucked for such an innocent boy to get wrapped up in the horrors of this Earth. John gave him a nice smile, trying to make sure he didn't feel bad about the whole ditching thing, and Sherlock returned it.
"So, you'll need a suit of course." John decided, shutting the laptop and getting out of bed.
"What, why?" Sherlock asked, getting out of bed as well just to sit on the edge of the mattress.
"Because we are going to be FBI agents, and I don't think anyone is going to fall for the blood soaked shirt you've got on there." John decided. Sherlock looked at his shirt with sadness, as if he were upset it didn't pass John's inspections.
"The coat's fine, but one drop of blood in a gated community and you'll be kicked out and disinfected." John pointed out.
"Why do I feel like you've had experience?" Sherlock asked curiously, and John just smiled.
"I'll have a badge, you'll just be my partner, I don't think we need one for you, I'll say you're a trainee that's sent on the minor cases, people eat up lies like that even if they don't make sense. Confuse them a lot, but keep a straight face, like an agent, and they won't dare question a scary agent." John assured.
"But I'll need a suit?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, all FBI wear suits, you can wear those pants though." John decided.
"Where are we going to get that?" Sherlock asked.
"When we get there, or along the way, I didn't see a suit store on my way here." John decided. Sherlock nodded silently, searching the pockets of his pants and pulling out a couple of crumpled bills. He counted them silently, looking disappointed.
"Will thirty two dollars and..." he shuffled some coins on his palm, "fourteen cents cover the cost?"
"Don't worry about the money Sherlock, no hunters have money." John assured.
"What do they have?" Sherlock asked.
"Fake credit cards." John said with a smile, flashing a credit card from his own wallet that displayed the name Carl Edwards.
"That doesn't look legal at all." Sherlock decided.
"It's not, but it's the price you've got to pay I suppose." John shrugged, stuffing the card back into his wallet. "We should hit the road, we've got a long trip ahead." He pointed out.
"Well, you're already packed." Sherlock pointed out. He shook off his trench coat sleeve and poked at the bandages, now brown with dried blood. "Should we change that?" he asked.
"Probably." John decided. He grabbed the first aid kit, which he had been planning on leaving with Sherlock, and grabbed a swab of fabric, dipped in disinfectant. "Hold still." He decided. He carefully pulled the old bandage off, exposing the gross bloody wound. Sherlock winced, as if the air was hurting it or something, because so far John hadn't touched it.
"Does it look alright?" Sherlock asked. John nodded, touching the disinfectant to Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock cried out in pain, but he stayed still, clenching his hands into fists and squeezing his face up so that he looked a bit like a chipmunk.
"Good?" John asked as he finished up, wiping the last bit of dried blood from the skin around the wound.
"I'm fine." Sherlock assured, but his voice was stiff and forced.
"Alright, let's bandage you up and get going." John decided, wrapping the shoulder and making sure it wouldn't fall off or anything.
"Will that leave any permanent damage?" Sherlock asked nervously, pulling his shirt and coat back on and crossing his arms as if there were a chill in the air.
"Not that I know, maybe it will scar a little bit, but it looks like it's already starting to heal." John shrugged. He was no doctor of course, but he did know some stuff on flesh wounds. He shoved the first aid kit in the weapons bag and loaded up, making sure to grab the money and gun he had left for Sherlock. He also picked up the bullets spilled all over the floor from the demon, which were strewn everywhere so he had to go deep bed diving, reaching all the way under the dusty, nasty hotel beds to retrieve the bullets laying around.
"Do you have anything to pack?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock mumbled.
"Didn't think so, you can carry this then, so I don't look like a pack mule." John decided, throwing Sherlock his semi large bag of clothes. The boy caught it with difficulty, but the momentum made him sit back down on the bed to avoid toppling over.
"You need to get a lot stronger to survive around here." John decided as Sherlock stood back up. He straightened his posture and tried to look tough, but in the end he only looked like he had to use the bathroom.
"You look stupid." John said with a laugh, opening the door up and leaving the room first. It was still the crack of dawn so it was kind of dark out, random colors of yellow and orange spread out over the horizon, but the streets were deserted. After John quickly checked out he went over to his car, the only one he could afford with such a crappy income. It was a beat up old black car, nothing special of course, but its engine was running and the tires were in good condition, and that was all that really mattered. He unlocked the trunk with the key and opened it, shuffling the various weapons and tools he had stuffed away in there and threw in the bag. Sherlock was looking at the car with confusion, as if he was expecting a limousine or something.
"It's not first class." John pointed out, taking the bag from Sherlock's hands and shoved them in the trunk, slamming the lid down to make sure it closed and then getting into the driver's seat.
"Well, coming?" he called through the window, turning on the engine and rolling down the windows.
"I'm not sure this thing could make another mile." Sherlock decided, but never the less he got in the car and shut the door. John pulled out and they hit the road, starting the long odyssey all the way to Oak Hills Manor.
"So, how'd you get tied up in this anyway?" Sherlock asked as they drove. The road was just starting to get busy, and through the music pumping and the air from the open windows, John could barely understand what Sherlock had said.
"What?" he asked, turning the ACDC down a little bit to hear his passenger.
"I asked how you got into hunting in the first place." Sherlock pointed out. John sighed, shaking his head.
"I just, you know, did." John lied. Of course he had an origin story, like all great superheroes, but he didn't tell anyone, not like he had anyone to tell. The whole ordeal still gave him nightmares, and he'd rather not relive the experience.
"I'm sure there's more than that." Sherlock pointed out, looking semi disappointed.
"Well, I'm sorry, but that's all I'm willing to say." John snapped. Sherlock nodded, knowing when it was time to shut up, and went back to watching the passing cars. John turned the music back up, shoving all the memories that were trying to resurface to the back of his mind. So they sat in silence for a while, it seemed like Sherlock had crawled back into his shell and was trying to pretend he didn't exist, as if he were ashamed of being yelled at. John felt bad, of course, but it's not like he was a mean person. He had saved him from the demon, patched up his shoulder, agreed to take him along, he was pretty saint like considering how whiney Sherlock was. But he couldn't deny it was nice to have someone as company, and Sherlock was pretty cool, he was nice to look at with his doll like features, which was totally a creepy thing to say actually, forget he ever thought he said that. The thing that had been bugging John though, was why the demon had even left so quickly. Demons pick fights, they always did, and usually the only way to retain them was a demon trap, they never just left. It was all very odd, and he wondered why the demon killed the landlord and no one else. He didn't even threaten John with anything, he didn't seem to want to kill him at all, in fact he was what you might call overly friendly. That never happens with demons, and it sure as heck wasn't Sherlock in control because he had the confidence of a lima bean, nothing was normal about this entire situation, right down to John having someone to talk to.
"Do you want to stop for lunch or get something at a drive through?" John asked as twelve o'clock came around. Now traffic was very heavy and it was hard to get into another lane without being pancaked by some tractor trailer.
"Oh, um, I don't care, but I don't see any restaurants around either." Sherlock pointed out.
"We'll get off the interstate. It only depends on when you want to reach Maryland." John sighed. He had thought that getting off the highway should be fairly obvious.
"Let's just get drive through, we still have to stop for a suit and all that." Sherlock decided, sitting up in seat as if he felt official because he made all the decisions.
"Sounds good." John decided, pulling off the highway and onto an exit. They were now in a little town that John couldn't name, in a state he didn't really read, but there seemed to be good fast food around here, nice, quick, and full of fat and salt. Perfect.