Love of Heaven and Hell

Mrs. Trevor A La Mode

    They spent the rest of the day in the room, John sat on his computer while John and Victor sat together on a bed, talking in hushed voices and laughing at random points. John couldn't exactly hear them because he had put music on the computer to break the awkward silence, but he could tell by looking at them that they had gotten close. And that made John furious, for some reason. He was obviously third wheeling now, romantic or not, he wasn't Sherlock's idol anymore, the idiot that got locked to the pipe was. John had been trapped by several monsters, he got himself out, why didn't Sherlock come over here and he could tell him about the time Vampires were going to tear his limbs off and he literally decapitated one with his shoe. That was a nice story to tell around the campfire. But no, they were probably talking about poor Victor's eating schedule. Oh no, you ate the scraps off of a rich person's table, oh you poor dear, was the steak a little bit underdone? Soon the sun outside disappeared, and John knew that this was the time to go to the house.
"Alright, so how about we get going, we'll stop on the way and get some dinner and then go kill your mom." John decided, shutting the laptop. Victor seemed thrilled to hear that.
"I wish I could have the pleasure." He decided, getting up as well. Sherlock walked over and got his gun and the silver knife, concealing them in his waistband and looking proud of himself, as if he felt important and tough. John wanted to scream, but he quietly loaded his own gun.
"So, I guess we'll see you after we're done. Keep the curtains closed and the door locked, we'll knock four times to come in, then you'll know it's us. Don't let anyone in, not even the house keeper okay? And don't leave this room." John instructed. Victor nodded, looking determined not to mess it up.
"I spent my whole life in captivity, what's one more night?" he asked with a positive, radiant smile that made John want to empty his magazine into his face.
"Be careful alright? I don't want her sneaking around us and getting you." Sherlock insisted, walking up closer to Victor to talk.
"You're the one that should be careful, you're going after that monster." Victor pointed out.
"Oh, well, I suppose that's what we do." Sherlock shrugged, making John want to punch something. That's what he did, not Sherlock, Sherlock was with him for like four days! Out of the corner of his eye he saw Victor take both of Sherlock's hands, gently of course, more like a farewell than a romantic thing, but they both looked into each other's eyes and seemed very willing to kiss each other.
"Make me proud." Victor muttered, as if that were the most he could possibly say. Sherlock nodded, seeming very tense and awkward, but he was kind of just lost in Victor's blue eyes.
"I will." Sherlock assured. Victor let his hands go and John made a move to look like he had been spending that whole time looking for his flashlight in the work bag.
"Ready?" he asked Sherlock, pretending that he didn't want to chuck the flashlight at Victor's flirtatious skull. At this point he would rather Sherlock call up that suit shop attendant.
"Ready." Sherlock said with a huff, shaking out his arms and legs to get loose and pumped. John opened the door and led him out without a goodbye to Victor, who stood there and probably stared at Sherlock anyway. Inconsiderate little...
"So we're going to kill her?" Sherlock asked, almost hopefully. John just looked at him with a small, disappointed glance, turning on the engine but not driving.
"What?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing." John sighed, pulling out of the parking lot. "We're going to get dinner before, I'm starving and I'm sure you can say the same." John decided.
"Then shouldn't we have brought Victor?" Sherlock asked. I'd rather die.
"No, we'll just take him some. I'm afraid that if we try to kill his mother in front of his that he'd interfere at the last moment." John pointed out.
"So you're saying that you don't want Victor getting in the way of you killing his mother?" Sherlock clarified.
"Yes." John agreed, not seeing what was so wrong about that anyway. If he were the one with the murderous wolf mother, he wouldn't be hesitating to send a bullet through her chest, but there were always those weird people that insist they could change. Like this one time there was a shapeshifter down in Texas, and it had disguised itself as a guy and gotten engaged, who even knows why. And even after the fiancé witnessed it pulling its own skin off and trying to kill her with a kitchen knife she still wanted to marry it. In the end it chopped her up in a meat grinder and John had to swoop in and kill it, but there was an odd thing about people who believe true love will save them from the paranormal.
"You seem mad at me." Sherlock decided.
"I'm not mad at you." John assured. It was kind of true; he was annoyed at Sherlock, and full out mad at Victor.
"Well, whatever I might have done, sorry." Sherlock muttered. John nodded, it wasn't enough, but he just nodded to show that he understood. They stopped at another fast food restaurant and got dinner for everyone, dumping it in the backseat and then heading straight to the Trevor house.
"Wouldn't someone notice a crappy car driving in and out of here all the time?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.
"Yes, but regular people wouldn't think anything of it. We could be new neighbors for all they know." John pointed out. Sherlock nodded, as if that cleared it up. The intoxicating smell of burgers and fries from the back seat was making it hard for John to concentrate on killing a werewolf. Finally they pulled up behind the brush and shrubs and stuff, their car well hidden from Mrs. Trevor's view. They got out of the car and crept silently into the yard, hopping the fence and sneaking around to the side of the house. They weren't going to bother going in the basement though, considering all they had to do to kill her was have her come to the door. John gave Sherlock one last encouraging nod before he ran to the front porch and froze in his tracks. Obviously they weren't the only things with this murderous idea. The front door was completely torn to shreds, by something other than a battering ram. There were scratch marks on the door frame and on the paneling on the walls, the wood completely destroyed and laying on the floor or clinging helplessly to the hinges. John took a deep breath and heard Sherlock gasp behind him.
"What could've done this?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know, but something tells me Mrs. Trevor is in serious trouble." John guessed. He stepped into the house and saw scratch marks all over the floor, the wolf had come through the door, ran through the house, clawing at the hardwood, all the way up the stairs, John and Sherlock were creeping up, they didn't know if the wolf was still there or not. The upstairs was dark, and a ruined lightbulb hung above their heads, glass shards sprinkling the ground at their feet. John heard something, growling, coming from another room...the wolf was still here, if it wasn't Mrs. Trevor. John held Sherlock back, who was trying to advance, his face completely white but determined. John couldn't let Sherlock go in there, it just wouldn't be safe. John didn't know why, but suddenly he was babying the poor boy, like he was unable to take care of himself. The growling continued, it was tearing into something, and something told John Mrs. Trevor was the main course. He tiptoed into the hallway to the door, which was torn off one hinge with scratch marks all over the polished wood. This was it. With a great kick, John sent the door flying off its last hinge and over to a dark shape in the middle of the room, crouched on its hind legs and tearing into another dark, unmoving shape. But the door, which landed almost on top of the two things, got in John's way of the shot. The wolf jumped up and ran straight through the window, going crashing down to the ground below it. John ran to the window, pushing the ripped curtains out of the way to see a shadow moving unhuman like across the lawn. He didn't bother going after it, he clicked on his flashlight and grimaced.
"Sherlock, don't come in here." he decided as his light flashed over Mrs. Trevor's bloody, torn skull. It was a sight that only a hunter could see without throwing up, the poor old lady, who it turned out wasn't a wolf at all, had her entire body ripped to shreds, blood, organs, and other slimy things spraying on the walls and floors.
"What is it, what's going on, did you kill it?" Sherlock asked anxiously.
"No Sherlock, stay there." John insisted.
"What happened?" Sherlock asked.
"It got away." John sighed, stepping over the mutilated corpse and into the hallway again. Sherlock was right where he had left him, on the stairs with his gun in his hand.
"Why did she break down her own door, who was she eating?" Sherlock asked again.
"It wasn't her; it was someone else, Mrs. Trevor is pudding on the floor." John pointed out. Sherlock took a deep, terrified breath.
"So Victor was lying to us?" he asked in a harsh whisper.
"Or he had his facts wrong as well. I don't think he would lie to you." John assured, but he had his doubts about Victor's trustworthiness. He could see Sherlock was shaking, whether it be from cold, fear, or just disappointment, he was shaking.
"Come on Sherlock, we need to get out here." John insisted, starting to make his way down the dark staircase, but Sherlock stayed where he was.
"Shouldn't we call someone?" he asked.
"No, we need to go. We don't know where that beast is now; it might be going straight to Victor." John pointed out. It wouldn't be that much of a shame for John, but he never wanted to pain like that on Sherlock's face. It was obvious there was something between him and the only thing worse than their relationship would be the heartbroken look on Sherlock's delicate, beautiful face. Sherlock nodded; when John mentioned Victor's safety he looked a lot keener on leaving. Nevertheless John put a gentle hand on his shoulder and started him off down the stairs, just so the shock of death wasn't penetrating him. The first corpse John saw, well, he wasn't ready for it let's just say that much. It had scarred him for the rest of his life; he would never be able to close his eyes and not see the dead, dark eyes, the silent, frozen scream, the blood... That's why he kept Sherlock out of that room, he still had the innocence, kind of, he did kill someone but that was the demon's doing. John lead Sherlock through the door and dialed 911, telling them where and what but not leaving a name or anything. John didn't want to be interviewed and most definitely didn't want to be questioned; it was too much of a hassle to make up reasonable lies in such a short amount of time. They drove off in silence, and Sherlock kept tapping the dashboard with his long, elegant fingers and checking the speedometer, as if he wanted to make sure they were back in time to rescue Victor from this possible oncoming evil.
"He'll be okay right?" Sherlock asked anxiously as they drove out of the gates.
"I can't say, but if this wolf is hunting down his family then there's only so much time before they get him as well." John pointed out with warning. Sherlock sighed, staring out the window gloomily.
"He might be able to defend himself." Sherlock muttered.
"What is there between you two?" John asked casually, as if he wasn't ready to rip the steering wheel off at the thought of them together.
"There's nothing between us." Sherlock said quickly, trying to sound innocent, but his voice died off as the sentence went on.
"Oh come on Sherlock, I'm not blind." John laughed.
"I just..." Sherlock sighed, as if he couldn't put it into words. "There's nothing." He muttered, sounding almost depressed. John rolled his eyes, wanting to point out the way they looked at each other with their beautiful eyes, but of course he didn't want to encourage any relationships.
"Fair enough." John shrugged, pulling into the parking lot. AS soon as the car stopped Sherlock jumped out, gun locked and loaded, and ran to the room. The door was intact, thankfully, and Sherlock quickly unlocked it and slipped inside. John ran with him, not stupid enough to pull his gun out in the middle of a public parking lot, but his heart dropped (or maybe rose, he couldn't tell) when he saw that the lights were off.

n"L}