Love of Heaven and Hell

Sherlock the Child Whisperer

When John was done he felt a bit more protected, at least now he wasn't just sitting there waiting for these stupid demons to come and kill him. Sherlock was still looking a bit uneasy, but he dropped his blade back into the bag and sat stiffly on the bed.
"What if the owner finds out?" he asked nervously.
"Then we'll either be dead, or we'll change rooms and go through it once more." John decided.
"Why would the demon try to kill us? We didn't do anything, and I think it's here to protect us, right?" Sherlock asked.
"There is no logical reason why a demon would be protecting us, if not for a bigger more evil plot. Something is going on, and we're going to find out." John decided.
"How are we going to do that?" Sherlock asked.
"I have no idea, first we need to find a demon or wait it out, still see if he's interested in us." John decided.
"I don't like waiting, and I certainly don't like demons." Sherlock decided.
"So I guess you like living in the dark then?" John asked.
"No, I don't like secrets." Sherlock agreed. John nodded, thinking back to what Madam Sybil had said.
"So, that lady was right then, you're terrified of things unseen?" John asked.
"Aren't we all?" Sherlock asked with an innocent shrug.
"I suppose so, yes." John agreed.
"I just want to get this over with, get these stupid demons under control, I want answers." Sherlock decided. Well so do I you walnut, but there's nothing we can do about that now. They spent the rest of the day searching the internet, well, John did. Sherlock entertained himself in any way possible, whether that be reading many of the monster books John had, trying to take apart and put back together a rifle, or hanging upside down on the bed and trying to talk without laughing too hard or fall over. This was adorably distracting, and every once and a while John would stop his typing and scrolling to poke Sherlock hard in the stomach, making him fall over himself in fits of childish laughter.
"How do you still have circulation?" John asked over the laptop screen as Sherlock giggled, his curls falling over his head and onto the carpet below.
"I don't know, but my head feels really heavy." Sherlock shrugged.
"Get back up Sherlock, that can't be healthy." John decided. Sherlock struggled to pull himself up, but the covers he was pulling on gave way and he spilled onto the floor, giggling once more and spinning his head a little bit, dazed.
"Sometimes you can be a very mature person, and other times you're like this." John observed, scrolling past a screen on demon deals. He was trying to figure out if he was the only person in this world that had ever been cheated on a deal, since he had never gotten his wish.
"Which do you prefer?" Sherlock asked.
"I must admit, you're very entertaining right about now." John decided with a little laugh. He went back to the computer, but nothing, not any demonic webpage had anything to do with people not getting what they asked for. It simply wasn't fair, why did he have to go to Hell for this? Maybe there was a mistake, maybe something wasn't going the way it should when he made the deal, maybe he could stay alive after all? Everything was so screwed up in his head; it was simply too much information. When five o'clock rolled around John was about to hit his head against the end table really hard, just to get this pain out of his head.
"I'm hungry." Sherlock complained. He was now lying on his back with his feet up on the wall in some sort of weird yoga pose. John wondered what on earth he was doing, but he just closed the laptop screen and nodded in agreement.
"How about some dinner then?" he suggested.
"Considering we skipped lunch, dinner that sounds pretty good." Sherlock agreed.
"We skipped...oh ya, sorry." John sighed. "Why didn't you say something?"
"That was about the time when you were typing so ferociously the T key popped out." Sherlock pointed out.
"Oh, ya." John sighed.
"How about this, I'll steal your fake credit card and pretend that dinner is on me tonight. We'll have a sit down meal and then go out for ice cream afterwards." Sherlock decided.
"You think that will calm me down?" John asked.
"Of course it will, eating always calms me down, and I'll pick a calm restaurant." Sherlock assured, a happy smile on his face, as though he was thrilled about being able to finally have some control in his life. John nodded; a peaceful restaurant might be just what he needed. But, after almost one hour stuck in rush hour traffic they were sitting in a booth in Friendly's Restaurant, staring blankly at the table in front of them, listening to the screaming sobs of the toddler in front of them that couldn't have ice cream as his main course.
"This is relaxing?" John asked, plugging his ears with his fingers and dropping his forehead onto the suspiciously sticky table.
"I honestly didn't think it would be like this." Sherlock assured. He twisted in his seat, looking over at the kid. John thankfully couldn't see him, because if he could've he would've thrown something at him, like a bullet. Sherlock sighed, scrunching down in his seat and looking very upset for picking such a lousy restaurant. To cheer him up, John ordered him some type of blue drink thing with gummy sharks floating around, which seemed to bring a smile onto Sherlock's face.
"BUT I WANT CHOCOLATE!" sobbed the toddler when his parents tried to feed him a half a hot dog. Sherlock groaned, stabbing one of the gummy sharks with his straw and turning around completely in the booth.
"Hey kid, I know you want ice cream, but if you eat it for dinner then you'll get fat, and then when you're fat you'll get all types of diseases and heart problems, but those probably won't kill you because you'll probably be too slow and fat and get hit by a bus or something." Sherlock pointed out. The kid stopped crying, but the parents were glaring at Sherlock as if he were the devil himself. Ironically the devil was the very thing they wanted to ward off. Sherlock ducked as a flying blue crayon spiraled at him, but sat back in his seat with a happy smile, the restaurant was silent for what felt like ages.
"Well aren't you just the ideal babysitter?" John laughed.
"He needed to hear the truth." Sherlock shrugged. John just laughed about what an adorable dork he was blessed of accompanying. When their dinner was over Sherlock and John bought ice cream from a little shop in the middle of nowhere, sitting on the curb of the road and staring off into the distance. John was just taking in the scenery, admiring things he should've done when he didn't have a timer on his head. Staring at the houses, with their nicely painted shutters and neat little gardens, why hadn't he chosen that life instead of this crap? A teenage boy skated past on a skateboard, why hadn't John ever learned how to skateboard? Why hadn't he ever gotten a dog, had a steady girl/boyfriend, gotten married, had a kid, start a family, have a life of his own that wasn't all danger and credit card scams? And now he had less than a week until he would be viciously murdered by a hellhound and dragged to the basement.
"You look thoughtful." Sherlock decided.
"I'm tired." John decided. Sherlock licked his ice cream, staring at John with a sort of frown.
"You've had a lot on your mind, but I can't really think of anything that could be so overwhelming. Anything else going on, anything I should know about?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing." John lied, staring at the pavement.
"Well, if you ever want to get it out, I'm here, and I've got no one else to tell." Sherlock pointed out.
"I just feel like that demon is here for me, but for some reason he's protecting you, and I can't think of a single reason why he would do something like that." John pointed out.
"No chance in a friendly demon?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"None." John pointed out.
"Wouldn't it be cool if this one was friendly though? We could like go on trips to Hell and stuff, and he can tell us all about his life as a demon, and he could go into churches and scare people, it would be fun." Sherlock decided, picking a large chunk of chocolate off of his waffle cone and eating it. A trip to Hell, well, if you really want a postcard, the one way hellhound bus leaves in the next five days.
"There isn't a friendly demon Sherlock." John grumbled.
"I'm just thinking if there was." Sherlock defended.
"You'd just want him to be hot." John laughed.
"No I wouldn't! That's not what I'm going for; I'd never date a demon!" Sherlock defended.
"Well, you dated a werewolf, you've got a..." John started.
"Oh my god seriously I had no idea what he was!" Sherlock defended, pushing John so hard that he had to stick a hand out to prevent him from falling over.
"Sorry, sorry!" John defended, but he was laughing at Sherlock's sour face.
"And I told you, I didn't like him all that much." Sherlock defended.
"I don't believe that, and neither does the inner eye." John said in a misty mysterious voice, a bad interpretation of Madam Sybil.
"The inner eye is rubbish, we decided that." Sherlock defended.
"She knew you were gay." John pointed out.
"Well, I suppose it's a bit obvious right?" Sherlock muttered, looking down at the ground in shame.
"Don't look so upset, there's nothing wrong with it." John pointed out. Sherlock just laughed, but it wasn't humorous, it was like he knew a lot more than John did.
"Don't tell my parents that." Sherlock muttered.
"Why, what did they do?" John asked.
"The whole reason I was living in that stupid apartment building is because our parents wanted to have a date night with my brother and I's significant others. So of course Mycroft brought this nice brown haired girl, socially acceptable and all, and I brought this guy named Brett. And they kicked him out, literally, dad threatened to call the police and they said I wasn't welcome back at the house." Sherlock said, his eyes glassing over as he remembered the tragic incident.
"I'm sorry to hear that." John muttered.
"I was in 10th grade." Sherlock pointed out.
"My god, I'd send Victor after them!" John laughed, trying to lighten up the mood, but Sherlock simply poked at some pebbles with his shoe and was silent.
"Well, I won't send you away." John assured, wanting to do more than give him words. Sherlock looked really upset, as if he had tried to forget that memory for a while. If only John could hold his hand, or pat his back, or hug him, or give him a sympathetic kiss on the cheek, John would kill for that. But of course he just sat here, nodding his head and trying to express his sadness through absolutely nothing. They ate the rest of their ice cream in silence, and finally, when the last of Sherlock's chocolate waffle cone was gone they climbed back into John's beat up car and drove back to the hotel. Sherlock was still silent, tapping his elegant fingers on the window frame and staring out the window like he was in some sort of music video or something. John wasn't complaining, although he liked talking to Sherlock he had things on his mind as well, like those stupid demons that would be pounding down his door any day now. When they got back to their room both of them changed into the comfy flannel pajamas and sat on top of the covers, flipping through whatever rubbish was on TV and sitting in a comfortable silence.
"So, do we just wait here then, or do you want to find a case?" Sherlock asked.
"We already made this demon ready, and if they don't come we'll be out of here in a week." John decided, sighing at the reality of it all. This will be the last hotel room he will ever stay in, and after five days it would only be Sherlock, on his own, packing his bags and driving John's prized car down the highway. The thought brought foggy tears to John's eyes; Sherlock didn't deserve to lose everything he managed to gain.
"You really look sad John, what's on your mind?" Sherlock asked.
"There's nothing on my mind." John lied.
"You have so many secrets, don't you trust me?" Sherlock asked.
"No, it's not that I don't trust you, I just don't want to relive some spots in my life that's all." John lied. In reality he had thought long and hard about the incidents that had occurred to him, the deal, what lead up to the deal, and what might have gone wrong.
"I haven't thought of the night I left home in years." Sherlock grumbled.
"You didn't have to tell me if you didn't want to." John pointed out.
"But I trust you, and it's better to tell someone than to keep it in your brain." Sherlock defended.
"My secrets aren't really that interesting." John lied.
"I'm sure they are." Sherlock decided. He grabbed the TV remote and shut it off, sitting cross legged on the bed and facing John with a hopeful smile.
"Tell me about one of your cases." Sherlock decided.
"What do you want to know about my cases? Their no fun anyway." John insisted.
"Maybe not to you, because you're used to them, but I want to hear about one, some creature you hunted down or something." Sherlock decided.
"Well, which monster?" John asked.
"I don't know, how about a ghost? An exciting one though, not Casper." Sherlock decided.
"How about this evil spirit I had to fight in an old hospital?" John recommended. Sherlock's eyes lit up; as if that were the most exciting he could think of.
"Ya, tell me that one!" Sherlock decided.
"Well, let's think, this had to be four or so years ago, I heard about this one teenager that had drowned, but he was found in a hospital that was two miles away from the nearest water source. So I went down there and poked around, and there was this ghost that had drowned and was taken to the hospital, but he had been murdered and actually died in there, so he got revenge and all that. I burned his bones and then it was over." John explained.
"You're a rubbish story teller." Sherlock decided.
"Well how else do you want it?" John laughed.
"How about, like, I was creeping through the empty, cobweb filled hallways and there was a creak behind me, and all the sudden I heard dripping water, and I turned around and a pale, translucent figure was standing over me, water pouring from his nose, ears, mouth, there were even droplets spilling out of his eyes, like tears caused by his murderer walking free..." Sherlock decided.
"But that didn't even happen!" John debated.
"Then you picked a boring case!" Sherlock defended.
"Okay fine. One time, there was a nest of vampires, and they lived in an old abandoned subway station, so I crept past the splintered do not enter signs and heard the dying screams of their victims..."
"Getting every last drop of their blood torn from their veins." Sherlock finished.
"Sure." John agreed.
"I've always wondered, do vampires use their teeth as a straw or do they simply puncture the skin and suck it from the flesh?" Sherlock asked, as if that were a question that bothered him since he saw Count Coco on his cereal box.
"They just puncture the skin; I can tell from experience, it hurts." John assured, pulling back the neck of his shirt to show Sherlock two scared dots on his neck.
"You were bitten by a vampire!" Sherlock exclaimed, scrambling from his bed to John's to get a closer look. It was like he had been granted the birthday wish of his dreams.
"Well I was going to tell you about it if you let me tell you my dramatic retelling." John pointed out.
"Sorry." Sherlock mumbled, his fingers brushing over the scars ever so slightly and sending a shiver down John's body, radiating from the point where their skin touched.
"That's really cool John; do you ever have an urge to drink blood or anything?" Sherlock asked.
"No, it's only blood to blood contact that changes you completely, but it hurt really badly." John sighed.
"So you were bitten by a vampire, scratched by a werewolf, any other supernatural injuries I should know about?" Sherlock asked with a sarcastic laugh.
"Not really, I've got cut up from a lot of things, scratched by a knife by this one crazy old lady, but she was just weird." John pointed out, showing Sherlock a long white scar line on his forearm.
"And you stitch them all up yourself?" Sherlock asked, sounding impressed.
"You've got to, it's not like they have people in the hospital that are experts on vampire bites." John pointed out.
"They should, people should really know what's out there." Sherlock decided.
"The world would go crazy. Some people really can't handle the truth, they really can't." John sighed.
"Why do you say that?" Sherlock asked.
"Because they'd go absolutely insane. It's worse than aliens, because they've been here all along. That's why hunters have such important jobs; we're the only thing that stands in the way of the evil on this Earth and the idiots who live in it." John pointed out.
"Well that's pretty noble of you John." Sherlock decided.
"Was that sarcasm?" John asked suspiciously.
"No actually, it wasn't. It really must suck to run around all day saving people and not getting any recognition." Sherlock decided. John's heart was pounding annoyingly fast now, Sherlock was so close to him, and he was rewarding him, the first praise he's gotten in years, could this be the time?
"Don't forget you can always get out of this, now, while you still have the chance." John pointed out, hoping beyond hope that Sherlock wouldn't actually take him up on that offer.
"Why would I do that, let you face this crap all by yourself?" Sherlock pointed out.
"Because then you'd have to face it as well." John defended.
"I'd never do that John; you're the only friend I have." Sherlock said with a sort of smile. Friend zoned, officially.
"And you're the only friend I've got as well, so I guess we even out there." John said with a sort of hopeful laugh. There might still be a chance.
"Well, I'm beat, and I'm sure you have some more vandalism to do tomorrow." Sherlock sighed, jumping back over to his bed and snuggling down into the covers so that only his head was showing.
"I suppose I might." John agreed with a laugh, burying himself under his own covers and trying to ignore how disappointed he felt.
"Goodnight John." Sherlock decided, flicking off the light. John just grunted his response, and stared into the darkness, his mind racing, until finally he was able to drift into an uneasy sleep.