"So, if it's a werewolf we'll need silver bullets, they're the only way to kill a werewolf, right to the heart." John pointed out.
"Are you sure it's a werewolf?" Sherlock asked as John clicked in silver bullets to two shotguns.
"No, I'm not, salt rounds." John said, holding up what appeared to be a regular bullet.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"It's salt inside, salt repels spirits, so shoot salt at them and they go away." John stuffed some of the salt rounds in his pocket just in case.
"Why don't you put them into the gun?" Sherlock asked.
"Because werewolves are more threatening than spirits, and I don't want a werewolf coming at me and all I have his some salt." John pointed out.
"Good point." Sherlock agreed.
"And there's probably not a good chance anything will come after us, it's daytime." He pointed out. John turned on the engine and handed Sherlock one of the pistols, which he treated like the royal crown or something. John pulled into the suit shop driveway a couple of minutes later, happy to see an open sign hanging from the window. They both got out; Sherlock left his gun in the car whereas John just took his with. He took a gun basically everywhere with him, just in case.
"Okay, so find the cheapest suit you can, make sure it fits, then I'll scan the card and we walk quickly." John decided. Sherlock nodded, opening the door for John and then following him inside. Of course the store was empty, it was nine in the morning, and the attendants seemed very surprised, even disappointed, to see someone so early. The whole shop smelled like cologne and leather, the most fancy man scent out there.
"Good morning gentleman." said an attendant with a mop of sleek blonde hair, greased over in a sort of flip that made him look like a male Barbie doll.
"Good morning." Sherlock agreed with a slight smile.
"We're looking for a pretty cheap suit, it's only for this one baby shower, hopefully we can upgrade when we've got some money to spare." John decided, waving over the good mornings and how are you's for now.
"Quite understandable sir, we've got plenty of cheaper items over by the clearance rack, and who are we shopping for today?" he asked, eyeing John, who was already in his suit.
"That one." John said, tilting his head over to Sherlock, who waved a bit nervously. The attendant nodded, looking Sherlock over for size maybe, but he didn't reveal it, as if it must be classified information.
"This way then." He decided, leading them through the racks and waiting areas spread out in no particular order. Sherlock picked out a nice suit, trying it on in one of the dressing rooms. When he came out to model he looked like he could walk the runway, and the price was pretty great as well.
"So, will this be the one sir?" he asked John.
"Yes, I think so, sorry, we're on a tight schedule, we both forgot he didn't have a suit, the shower starts in," John checked his watch, "Forty five minutes."
"Oh dear, then you best be going." He decided, rushing over to the register to check them out.
"Sherlock stay in the suit!" John called, and Sherlock nodded, rushing out of the dressing room and pulling the jacket back on.
"Sorry." He muttered, doing the tie back up. The man behind the counter eyed him curiously, but checked them out. The card ran through, so there were no legal problems mixed up yet.
"Thank you very much, and consider us for your next formal attire needs." said the man, handing Sherlock a business card.
"Thank you for your time." John decided.
"And you." The man said, smiling more at Sherlock than John. John led Sherlock out the door and back to the car, where they threw the old clothes in a pile in the back and both got in the front.
"Well he was creepy." John decided.
"Tell me about it." Sherlock said, showing John the business card he was handed. It wasn't the front logo he seemed to care about though; it was the back of it, where a phone number was scrawled in pen.
"Oh, Sherlock, you can score a date tonight." John laughed, turning the engine on and rolling down the street.
"Um, no." Sherlock decided, but he tucked the card into his pants pocket anyway. John, who was half expecting him to throw the card out the window, was a little bit surprised, but of course he could just be keeping it for the logo and not for the number.
"Over the river and through the woods, to the morgue we go." John said, not bothering to sing it. If he had sung it hunters would come to the town, trying to kill a banshee. Sherlock didn't reply, he was just fiddling with the tie on his new suit so that it didn't poke his neck.
"I hate ties." He decided.
"There's one thing we have in common." John agreed. They rode the main street for a little while; there was little traffic but also little to look at. The town wasn't much, it was pretty much only a couple of shops and restaurants clumped unattractively together, but unfortunately it wasn't even the worst town John had seen. One town, which was haunted with a shapeshifter, had roves that were taped on some plywood with duct tape. John was shocked that there was even a town plumbing system when he had to go slopping through all of their bathroom material (it was disgusting).
"So, I don't want to be a pest, but what are we looking for in this morgue?" Sherlock asked.
"Internal organs mostly, you don't have to look if you don't want to." John shrugged.
"What are we looking for in the internal organs?" Sherlock asked.
"If they're there or not. If not, then it's a werewolf." John pointed out with a smile.
"Oh, okay." Sherlock muttered, but he looked appalled.
"All you have to do is act like an agent, look strong and forbidding, and glare at the man like he broke all the rules in the law." John insisted.
"Won't that scare him?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, yes, but that's the point. People do what you want if they're scared of you." John pointed out.
"Oh." Sherlock muttered. They pulled into the morgue parking lot, and shockingly the parking lot was empty except for one car. John had never been in a morgue with another person, ever, they were always completely deserted except for one or two workers.
"There's a shock." John muttered, killing the engine and getting out of the car. The sun was getting pretty hot now, beating down onto the hot pavement and making John's head seem to glow. He lead the way, Sherlock following him like an intimidated puppy, and when they opened the door there was a reception desk, empty of course. The whole place smelled like disinfectant and blood, which was a miserable smell, and the walls were gray. John sighed, ringing a bell on the desk to try to signal that someone was there. When no one came the two eyes each other with confusion, should they just go in? John rang the bell a couple of more times, louder this time.
"Hold on, hold on!" called a voice, male from the sound of it, in the back room. John smiled a little bit; at least they wouldn't have to break into a morgue. The door opened and a man came out, dressed in a white lab coat. He had greying hair and wrinkles, but he looked happy enough. The only thing that made John a little bit uncomfortable was that he was peeling blood splattered latex gloves from his hands, obviously coming from digging around in some poor person.
"FBI, I'm agent Grover along with my trainee, agent Snyder, we're here investigating the death of Mr. Edward Trevor." John said, flashing his 'badge', which was just two hours at a counterfeit printing press. It was a work of art, of course, because it fooled even government agents.
"Edward Trevor huh? Poor bloke, animal attack right?" the man asked.
"That's correct." John agreed. He made sure to stand up very straight, and act stiff, like someone had tied a string to the top of his head and was pulling upwards.
"And what's your name?" Sherlock asked beside him. John looked over at him and was almost too embarrassed to say anything. Sherlock was standing straight, but too straight, like he was completely stiff as a board, his green eyes boring into the other man's soul as if trying to read his secrets. John wanted to slap him in the face.
"Dr. Franklin, call me Bob." Bob assured.
"Okay, Bob, can we see the body?" John asked. Bob nodded, looking at the both of them before leading the way to the back room. John slapped Sherlock on the arm, as a sign to look much more casual, but it probably made him think that he wasn't standing stiff enough. When they passed through the door it was what a morgue should look like, metal doors on all sides of the room, but there was a one pulled out, whose head was cut open, a rolling cart of surgery tools wheeled up next to him.
"Sorry, I've been looking around in Mrs. Chester's brain." Bob said, as if that were as casual as claiming he had left the stove on.
"No problem Mr. Franklin, we're only here to see Mr. Trevor." John assured.
"Call me Bob." He repeated, as if he thought Mr. Franklin was too formal. He skimmed over the little tags tied to the door handles and then popped open a door, sliding a cart out which had a big black body bag on top.
"Is it creepy here all alone with dead people?" Sherlock asked, making John glare, but Mr. Franklin, sorry, Bob, only laughed.
"Son, they're the best company a man could have." He assured, but John thought that maybe the seclusion was getting to him. Being a corner sounded dreadful. Sherlock only nodded, looking down awkwardly at the body and pretending he was actually looking at something other than a zip up garbage bag.
"So, Mr. Trevor died from a dog attack says here, very odd, he lived in that rich people development and I don't think they allow dogs." Bob said, frowning slightly as he unzipped the bag. The first thing that hit them was the smell, like rotting flesh mixed with fancy rich people cologne. John peeked inside the bag and heard Sherlock gasp, the man's entire chest was ripped open, his ribs sticking out at funny angles, and his internal organs were like pudding. But...
"No heart." John concluded, taking a closer look with one of the scalpels lying on the wheeling cart. He pushed around some of the stuff, but it was very obvious what was missing.
"Ya, I thought that was a bit funky don't you? What type of dog kills something and only eats it's heart? Of course I've never seen a dog do this, must be a wolf or something." Bob laughed. "Or maybe it was a werewolf?" he broke into a fit of boyish laughter, but John and Sherlock merely exchanged awkward smiled. It was very hilarious until he gets attacked by one as well.
"Well, I think we've seen enough, thank you Mr. Franklin for your time, and we will be in contact if anything surfaces." John decided, holding out a hand. Bob shook it, but he looked slightly confused.
"It was an animal, not a human, why would the FBI care?" he asked. It wasn't a demanding question, he just sounded like he was looking out for their greater good.
"It was a possible human attack, considering there aren't any big dogs around; it was pegged suspicious so they sent agents to go check it out." John explained.
"That's us, by the way, we're agents." Sherlock clarified, and John just smiled in annoyed agreement.
"Well, you're a trainee." John corrected, and Bob just laughed.
"Okay then, if you get interested in any of the corpses, I'll be here." he decided, gesturing to the door with a wide, kind of falsely happy smile.
"Yes, thank you." John agreed, and then with a stiff nod he left the room. Sherlock, looking so stiff and stupid, followed obediently. o
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/47459335-288-k69848.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
Love of Heaven and Hell
FanfictionJohn Watson hunts all things evil and undead, but when a demon hand delivers an inexperienced Sherlock Holmes to his door, he has to face something even more terrifying than any monster on the earth: emotions. Johnlock fluff Credit to whoever drew...