Love of Heaven and Hell

Third Wheeling It Up

John woke that morning naturally, which was a nice change. Usually he's jumping out of bed to take care of something, to get on the road to make sure the hotel owners didn't kick him out for staying an unpaid night, or, the worst, a monster was knocking down his door. The room was still dark, so he assumed that everyone was still asleep, but as John woke up farther he didn't feel like going to sleep. So he got up, stretching out his now stiff muscles, and brushing his teeth in the darkness. There was no saying if this was toothpaste, sunscreen, or face wash at this point, but it did the job. John was just putting his toothbrush back when he heard the door open, and he froze. Once again he found himself defenseless, with nothing but toothpaste to defend himself. Was it the werewolf, coming to reclaim Victor? A chill went down John's spine as he peered into the darkness, but he didn't see anything. Slowly, stealthily, he crept out of the bathroom, moving his way towards what he thought was the attacker. He thought he could hear growling; maybe it was just his imagination, deep in his mind, but he thought he could hear it. There was a small tap of something, which pinpointed the location, John sprung at the attacker, pinning it to the wall with a growl of his own. There was a shriek, a very un-wolf like shriek, and he felt a thin body beneath his, completely helpless, and...curly hair. The lamp turned on behind them and John could see Sherlock, pinned to the wall, looking terrified.
"What's going on?" asked a groggy voice behind them, obviously the commotion had woken Victor.
"Honestly Sherlock, what do you think you're doing sneaking around in the dark?" John demanded, stepping away with a sigh. He was just about ready to pry his jaw off of his skull.
"I was getting coffee." Sherlock pointed out, looking to the table, where there were three cups of coffee sitting there, small streams of steam escaping poked holes in the top.
"Wait, what happened?" Victor asked again.
"Nothing, I thought Sherlock wasn't Sherlock, go back to sleep." John groaned.
"Too late now." Victor sighed, sitting up all the way with a groan. John took a cup of coffee with an apologetic smile.
"Thanks for the coffee though." He laughed. Sherlock smiled innocently for a moment before grabbing the other two and walking over to Victor's bed.
"I brought you a coffee, do you want it?" Sherlock asked in a soothing voice, like when you talk to a baby or a puppy. He was just too sweet to be hunting down werewolves and killing old ladies.
"Oh, thank you." Victor muttered. John looked over at the two, Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed and handing Victor, who had the most massive bedhead ever, his cup of coffee. Sherlock was sipping his own, which was undoubtedly too hot, because every sip he took he had to lap like a dog or something to avoid burning a hole through his mouth. Victor just laughed at him though, popping the lid off of his own and blowing on it a little to help it cool down. John smiled at the two, at least they were getting along, and sat on the end of the other bed by himself, sipping his coffee and staring at the wall, which was illuminated ever so slightly by the dim lamp light.
"So, what's the plan for today?" Sherlock asked.
"We need to make a plan, get our story straight, and maybe tomorrow night we can get this werewolf business over with." John decided.
"You're going to wait until tomorrow night to get rid of her? She could be halfway across the state by then." Victor pointed out.
"She won't leave unless she has you, right, you're her son." Sherlock pointed out.
"I'm nothing more than her next meal." Victor sighed. Sherlock frowned, as if he didn't like the truth that was evident in Victor's words.
"Do you think she'll come after you?" John asked, going back to business.
"Maybe." Victor muttered.
"Yes or no?"
"Yes." He muttered, terrified.
"Then we need to get her before she can get you." Sherlock insisted, looking at John hopefully.
"She won't be happy with you guys, now that her secret is leaked..." Victor mumbled.
"Let's get her tonight, it'll be fine, I don't even know if it's a full moon or not." Sherlock decided.
"We need to plan; we can't just run in there, guns blazing, it's suicide." John muttered.
"WE need a plan." Victor agreed.
"Um, no, not you sir. You'll stay here, where it's nice and safe." John pointed out.
"No, I want to come!" Victor defended.
"Absolutely not." Sherlock agreed.
"Sherlock you're a trainee yourself, but I'm not dragging two untrained, unexperienced rookies into the battle field. It might be better if I went by myself." John decided.
"No way, you promised you'd take me for one full run, to see if I like it..." Sherlock pointed out.
"We'll figure this out later, who's up for some breakfast?" John decided, interrupting Sherlock mid-sentence. Sherlock raised his hand shyly, and Victor cracked another one of those smiles. You feel like you need to frame them for some reason, he had perfect white teeth, even after being chained to the basement for so long, it was just weird how John, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Potato ended up saving the two beauty gods of the earth today. The only thing that topped Victor's smile was Sherlock's, and Sherlock's smile was just the utmost end of the world as John knew it.
"Breakfast sounds good." Victor agreed.
"Then let's get dressed, get out of this stuffy room." John decided, three people and no open windows, they'd probably all die of carbon dioxide.
"I forgot to change my bandage." Sherlock muttered, poking at his shoulder with a frown.
"What did you do?" Victor asked.
"Oh, just a little bit of wear and tear I suppose." Sherlock muttered. John noticed that he wouldn't tell Victor what actually happened, as if he were ashamed that he had been possessed or something. Or maybe he didn't want to expose Victor to the even weirder world. They all got up and dressed, John changed Sherlock's bandage, which was getting a lot better actually. Soon the cut would be only a scar, there wasn't even blood anymore.
"Do you need a change of clothes?" John heard Sherlock ask. John was brushing his hair in the mirror, trying to get a strand down that was being quite annoying. He used the mirror to watch the two of them, Sherlock was just buttoning his jacket up and Victor was standing semi awkwardly near the door, as if ready to run at any moment. But the boy nodded, trying to pat down his brown hair as Sherlock came progressively closer.
"I may be a bit taller than you, and honestly I don't have any clothes as well." Sherlock sighed. "Unless you want to wear my suit."
"Are we having a wardrobe malfunction?" John called, spinning around to see what the problem was.
"Do we have a change of clothes to provide Victor with?" Sherlock asked.
"Not that I know of, remember I was only packing for one." John pointed out. "You clothes look fine Victor." He added. And they did, really. His jeans were slightly ripped, but people like that, and he had a red tee shirt on, which was socially acceptable as well.
"Ya, you look fine." Sherlock assured.
"I could kill for a shower." Victor decided.
"After breakfast." John decided. "And thankfully it's free, comes with the room." he added with a smile. When Sherlock opened the door the fresh sunlight made all three of them shield their eyes and waddle around like blind seals. John thought it must be holy fire or something, because it certainly burned. Once his eyes adjusted though, John lead the small pack to where the breakfast was being served. There were a couple of people walking around and eating, John spotted an older couple who looked thrilled with the instant oatmeal and a family of four, with two screaming toddlers who wanted donuts. John rolled his eyes, but he had two crying kids with him as well. Sherlock and Victor immediately got in line for oatmeal, the two of them standing rather close together, as if they were scared a werewolf were going to jump through the window at any time and eat them. John grabbed a plate and just filled it with whatever he could, eggs, bacon, pancakes, all the crappiest food ever, but he was certainly happy for food just to be available. They all got a table in the back, with only three chairs, but it was a nice secluded spot for them.
"So, how long have you two known each other?" Victor asked through bites of oatmeal. He looked way too hungry to only eat oatmeal though, as if he were trying to be polite by not freaking out.
"Well, today would be the... fourth day?" Sherlock asked.
"Sounds about right." John agreed.
"Oh, not long at all then." Victor commented.
"No, not really." Sherlock muttered.
"You seem so close though, like you've known each other forever." Victor pointed out.
"Yes well, I suppose we've been through a lot in our time." John shrugged.
"I guess so. So you both hunt down werewolves?" Victor asked.
"I hunt everything, that's how we met, more or less." John shrugged.
"What's everything?" Victor asked.
"Werewolves, ghosts, shapeshifters, zombies, vampires, everything undead under the sun." John said with a little smile.
"Wait, there're all real?" Victor asked.
"Yes." John agreed. "I should know."
"He's a professional." Sherlock pointed out, kind of sounding like he was bragging about John's experienced life style.
"I guess you could say that." John muttered.
"So, how do you kill a werewolf?" Victor asked.
"Silver, through the heart." Sherlock said, piping into the conversation so that they thought he was an expert as well.
"She deserves it." Victor decided, stabbing into his oatmeal a bit aggressively. John looked at Sherlock uneasily, but his glare was cut off when he saw Sherlock smiling a little bit, as if he were trying to hide his happiness. Victor ate three more bowls of oatmeal and two full plates of everything else. By the time he was done eating probably half the food in the hotel was gone. John was quite annoyed as he kept getting up and up, but Sherlock seemed to enjoy it. Was there anything about those two that he was unaware of? Finally they were headed back to the room, and finally Victor seemed healthy. He was walking right alongside them, and except for the cut on his forehead he looked like he had never been locked in his own basement.