Love of Heaven and Hell

Love that Werewolf

    He peered out once more to see Victor, now making his way down the street to the bar, looking hungry yet healthy. He was wearing an outfit John hadn't seen before, a flashy suit with his brown hair combed to perfection. Even from here John thought he could see his beautiful blue eyes. He heard Sherlock take a deep breath behind him, so he must've seen him as well. Matt was making his way over, still flirting with some guys on the street, but it was obvious who his main target was. Victor held himself high, just a couple of inches above the heads of the crowd and looking around, as if searching for something, or someone.
"Sh." John snapped as Sherlock's breathing rate increased. Matt approached Victor carefully, saying something and smiling up at him. Victor said something back, but his face wasn't changing, he still looked just as serious. Would he fall for Matt's trick? Would he be lured in? Matt said something again, Victor said something, and there was a chilling pause. This was probably going to make or break what happened... Victor's face broke out into a smile, the one that haunted John's very soul, but Matt returned that smile, and they went into the bar together.
"They went into the bar. Hopefully Matt doesn't stall too long, I'd just like to get this over with." John pointed out.
"Victor's there?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes." John groaned, annoyed with these obvious questions.
"I remember Victor. I liked Victor, and he loved me, and guess what..." Sherlock said, looking around really secretive and leaning closer. "We kissed." He whispered, just loud enough so that John could hear.
"No way." John muttered, acting like he was surprised just for Sherlock's sake.
"That was my first kiss, and I thought we'd be together forever!" Sherlock said twirling on the spot with a sad smile.
"Nothing lasts forever." John sighed, the sad truth. Sherlock nodded and slumped against the wall, brave enough to sit on the concrete, but who knows what has been on that road prior? Nevertheless John was about none dealing with this lunatic, so he embraced the opportunity to let him be to his own thoughts. Time passed and still the two didn't leave the bar, what they were up to in there John had no idea, but the sudden drunkenness of Sherlock was also wearing off, he was saying more intelligent sentences and wasn't as random or awkward. Finally, after what felt like ages, John was able to see two heads, a brown and a blonde, leaving the bar and walking down the street, very close together.
"There they are!" John hissed, shaking Sherlock's shoulder excitedly. He really hoped Matt had managed to get Victor drunk, which would make their job a lot easier.
"It's working?" Sherlock asked excitedly.
"I hope so, only time will tell, come on." John decided, helping Sherlock up off the wall and leading him onto the street. There were people everywhere, just what they were doing John had no idea, just swarming around and being annoying perhaps. He ducked behind a trash can and pulled John under as well, in case either of the two happens to look back, but they seemed pretty happy with each other for the time being. Victor had his arm around Matt, who was leaning into him and obviously having the time of his life. But John knew what was really happening with those two, Victor was either luring Matt into his evil layer to kill him, or was just taking him home, accidently wolfing out, and then killing him. That's why John and Sherlock absolutely couldn't fail, not for them, but for Matt, because John had never lost bait and he wasn't going to start now. Sherlock was breathing very heavily, John couldn't tell whether or not he was scared or in a longing state of lost love, but either way John was worried it would blow their cover. But they crept on, stalking behind trash cans, street corners, and mail bins, blending in with the crowd and ducking around when they felt like they needed to. John was feeling quite sneaky after a while, like some sort of secret ops ninja that is neither seen nor heard. The shops and restaurants started to dwindle the farther they walked, and the pair didn't show any signs of stopping. Now the buildings were starting to turn to the run down hallowed out shells John had seen when they first drove in. People were barely dotted around the sidewalks, and the ones that were present were either glaring at John and Sherlock looking like they would call the police or just too drunk to notice. Finally, when John thought they might actually find where the sidewalk ended they pair turned off to an old, deserted shack in the outskirts of the desolate town. John pulled Sherlock around a corner just as Victor took a cautious look back, surveying the area as if he sensed they were being followed, but unlocked the door and lead Matt in carelessly. John lead Sherlock through the streets, ducking around the window view points and being careful to make sure no one was watching them. John put a careful finger to his lips, taking out a paper clip and nodding at Sherlock to be quiet. He scurried soundlessly to the door, trying the knob. It was no surprise that the handle didn't turn; Victor wasn't that stupid, so he slid the paper clip into the lock and set to work. Sherlock kept watch, nervously twiddling with his gun and making sure no civilians saw this obviously illegal act of breaking and entering. Finally there was a satisfying click, and John let the door swing open, smiling at Sherlock happily and getting the knife out of his belt. Sherlock made sure his gun was loaded and followed John soundlessly through the door. The entire house looked like it had been trapped in time and had never got a renovation since 1665. There was dust covering the entire floor, banister, and walls, spiders clung to silvery webs in the corner and the hardwood was streaked with years of scuffs and packed in debris. This would make sneaking around a little bit harder. John couldn't hear any noise from the house, which wasn't necessarily a good sign, but he heard the faint click of Sherlock shutting the door behind him. John nodded to the left, stalking into what looked like a moth eaten sitting room and checking that the coast was clear. For a werewolf hide out it didn't look too destroyed, sure it was old, but there were no telltale scratch marks or anything like that. Then again, Victor has only been taking refuge here for a night, and he probably wasn't a wolf the whole time, so it kind of made sense. John was just about to turn the corner when he heard Sherlock gasp, clicking his gun desperately.
"Sherlock." Said a calm voice, almost distraught, but it was definitely Victor's. John spun around, wielding the knife threateningly. As promised, Victor, the perfectly human Victor, was standing in the doorway of the sitting room, his blue eyes staring longingly at Sherlock, who seemed to be frozen.
"What have you done with the boy you came here with?" John demanded.
"Oh, your little puppet?" Victor asked. John blinked in surprise, that hadn't lasted too long apparently. "Oh come on John, I'm not stupid. He's perfectly fine though, I don't want to hurt the common folk." Victor assured. John took a breath of relief, if he had gotten someone killed for such a stupid reason he'd never forgive himself. Victor turned his attention back to Sherlock, who still had his gun raised, but didn't look like he would be able to shoot it. He was shaking slightly, obviously scared out of his mind, but he couldn't shoot because it wasn't a wolf standing in front of him, but Victor, his innocent first love.
"Sherlock would you really shoot me?" Victor asked soothingly, taking a small, cautious step towards Sherlock. Sherlock kept his gun raised and didn't say anything, or even acknowledge that he had heard Victor at all.
"Oh Sherlock, I really hope nothing has changed between us." Victor purred, stepping even closer and pushing the trembling weapon aside, as if it were merely a squirt gun from a swimming pool.
"Sherlock, don't listen to him." John snapped, but neither one of them seemed to hear him either.
"You know I love you, you know that I would never do anything to hurt you..." Victor's fingers brushed ever so slightly against Sherlock's unscarred cheek, making Sherlock flinch but not pull away.
"Sherlock snap out of it, he's manipulating you!" John insisted, wanting to run up and slap his hand away, but Sherlock seemed to be in a daze.
"Get away from me." Sherlock demanded, as if finally breaking the surface of a deep pool of water. Victor sighed, but didn't move, staring Sherlock in the eyes with sadness.
"Such a pity, you really are beautiful." He sighed, his fingernails slowly enlarging into long, brown claws as they slid slowly down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock must've seen the difference, whether it be in his eyes, claws, or fangs that were now poking out of his lip. Sherlock swung the pistol up and jumped back, blindly taking a shot and hitting Victor right in the gut. Victor stared at him for a little while but it didn't seem to do anything but make him madder. The yellow eyes squinted and Sherlock backed away, horrified, as the beast dug two clawed fingers into his own torso, digging out the bloody bullet and throwing it at Sherlock's feet.
"Sherlock, get behind me." John demanded. Sherlock scrambled away, clutching to the gun even though it obviously didn't do anything. John braced himself for battle, like an athlete ready for a play, and it was Victor the wolf's move. Victor lunged out, flashing a clawed hand at John's stomach. The hunter sidestepped, slashing out at the hand with his knife and successfully cutting at his wrist. The wolf howled, backing away for one second and examining his wounds. Sherlock took a deep breath, still hiding behind John, and reloaded his gun silently. It wasn't going to do anything, of course, but apparently it made Sherlock feel like he had better chances.
"I see you took our silver bullets." John pointed out as Victor was getting ready for another attack. Of course he wasn't human anymore, so he merely growled low in his throat and pounced again. John came out to meet him, slashing the knife at his chest but only managing to get a small little cut across his chest, ripping open his red Hollister tee shirt. It wasn't that John didn't want to keep attacking, but could only manage such a feeble attack because two claws raked down on his shoulders, cutting through his shirt and flesh and making him fall back into the wall in pain, gripping his now bleeding sides and blinking back tears of sudden pain. Victor moved triumphantly in on his prey, checking his own injuries and growling some more. John clutched the knife in his hand, but with shoulder wounds this painful it seemed impossible to collect enough strength for a good hit. He was hopeless.
"Sherlock!" he called, and slid the knife over as fast as he could to the intern, who was standing half concealed behind the doorway, as if no one would see him. But he scooped up the knife, obviously terrified out of his mind, but at the sight of his mentor writhing in pain.
"Hey, Victor!" he called, as if the wolf wasn't already paying him attention. John scooted farther into the corner, wincing with the flames of pain that were flowing freely through his injured body. The wolf turned again, forgetting about John and moving in towards Sherlock. Obviously getting its attention was as far as Sherlock's genius plan went. He gripped the knife nervously in his hand as Victor approached, looking nervous and lonely, but determined to bring an end to the evil before him.
"I'm just saying sorry in advance." Sherlock decided, and then he lunged. The wolf was faster though, as Sherlock slashed down it jumped out of the way, letting Sherlock's body weight carry itself and having him fall over himself into the dusty coffee table. John groaned, trying to examine his own wounds, but every time he moved his head a fresh wave of pain stabbed down on him, it was unimaginable pain. Sherlock reoriented himself, and now Victor was on four legs, moving like he was born that way. It was truly terrifying to see him, so low to the ground, crawling stealthily and baring his fangs. He leaped at Sherlock, who kicked him in the face and sent him spiraling down. While Victor was disoriented Sherlock went in for the kill, but as he slashed down the wolf clawed at the weapon, making Sherlock drop it in surprise and clutch his now bleeding hand in shock. John couldn't see just what happened to him, but it didn't look good. Sherlock tried to kick Victor again, but this time he was ready, pouncing at Sherlock and taking him down, his hand at his throat once again.
"Sherlock!" John screeched. He didn't know if it had clawed open his throat or not, but Sherlock was still struggling.
"Oh Sherlock, such a pity it is." The wolf said in Victor's voice, ending with a low, menacing growl. Sherlock stared up into his captor's eyes and suddenly seemed to realize that this would be the end. He went limp, letting his head fall down to the hardwood floor in defeat.
"Then kill me." he decided.
"I'm certainly planning on it." Victor agreed, raised his claw in the slow motion horror movie type stupidity.
"Let him go!" demanded a voice, a new voice, coming from the outside of the sitting room. Victor looked up and Sherlock squirmed to see who his savior was, as if thinking John had miraculously gotten better. But John had to struggle to see for himself, and he had to admit he never saw it coming. Matt was in the doorway, his blonde hair greased with sweat and flakes of wood, as if he had broken out of a closet. In his hand was a large shotgun, and he looked ready to kill.
"I said," he blinked, and his light blue eyes were overtaken by pure black. "Let him go." The wolf growled, and the demon shot, three shots, peppering Victor's heart, steam issuing from the wounds. He fell over, off of Sherlock with one last moan of pain, and the wolf was no more.
"Why do I have to babysit you poor dears?" the demon asked, dropping the gun on the floor and laughing. "I'd think a hunter could do his job right."
"Who are you?" Sherlock demanded.
"Oh look real close honey, you'll recognize me soon enough. After all I was wearing your meat for some time." the demon pointed out. Sherlock scrambled to his feet, scrambling to the far wall.
"You won't possess me will you?" Sherlock mumbled.
"No, you're job is over, I just need to keep you alive until some of the geniuses of the world piece together the puzzle." The demon pointed out.
"Why would you need me alive?" Sherlock demanded. The demon just looked at John and gave him a knowing smile, as if he were supposed to know just what this stupid hell creature had in mind.
"Have a nice day, and remember," he dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, "I'll be watching." The demon laughed again and ran out the front door, not a care in the world apparently. John wanted to run after it, make it talk and free Matt, but right now he thought taking care of himself might be more reasonable.