Love of Heaven and Hell

In the Shadow of Those Pretty Men

    They slept in that morning, for no reason at all except they had nothing else to do. Sherlock was face down in his pillows once again, snoring away, and John was so lazy that he wouldn't get up even though he really had to use the bathroom. They just laid there, two idiots in matching pajamas, until around eleven thirty, when John finally rolled out of bed before he wet himself.
"Oh get up!" John sighed, splashing a little bit of the excess sink water still lingering on his fingers. Sherlock groaned, rolling over and trying his best to pretend he couldn't hear John's directions.
"Oh come on, I haven't gotten a proper night sleep in ages!" Sherlock defended.
"This is more like a good day sleep really." John pointed out.
"Oh what's the difference?" Sherlock growled. John pulled back the curtains, letting the light flood into the room and making Sherlock groan loudly, pulling his covers overtop of his head to block any light from burning his eyes.
"You know, if you stay in bed all day you'll get fat, and when you get fat you'll get all these diseases and heart problems. But those probably won't kill you because you'll be fat and slow and probably get hit by a bus." John pointed out, sitting on the edge of Sherlock's bed and poking the head shaped lump under the covers. He heard a little squeal, sounding more childish and amused than upset, but Sherlock didn't move.
"Come on, I'll take you out to breakfast, we don't have anything else to do with our lives." John pointed out. He tried to ignore the little timer in his head, four more days.
"I'm not hungry." Sherlock debated.
"Well that's a bit odd, because it's almost lunch time really." John pointed out, roughly pulling the blanket from overtop of Sherlock's head. His curly hair and squinty eyes emerged, looking enraged, and they had a bit of a grapple fight before John finally was able to hold the blanket from him. Sherlock fell back onto the pillows with a groan, but John just laughed. His hair was all messed up in an adorable bedhead, and he definitely had the morning smell to him.
"Come on Sherlock, let's go." John decided, getting up and changing in the bathroom. When he came back out, spiffed up in his jeans and jacket, Sherlock was up, poking around lazily in his bag and trying to find one of the only outfits he had.
"The zombie walks." John laughed.
"I should just stab you with a fork." Sherlock grumbled.
"I'd like to see you try." John decided.
"Oh come on, I could easily kill you." Sherlock laughed. John snorted with disbelief; the thought of Sherlock even lifting a knife was too funny to be true.
"You've tried before, don't you remember?" John asked.
"That wasn't me, and I don't think that killing you was um, his intention." Sherlock muttered.
"Smooth Sherlock, smooth." John decided.
"But it wasn't!" Sherlock debated, turning a bit red.
"I'm a hunter, you're a Sherlock, that's not even a good fight, I could get you with one hand tied behind my back and a blind fold." John laughed.
"I've killed a man before." Sherlock debated.
"I've killed many men, and many vampires, and werewolves, and spirits, even some Pagan Gods, so back off." John insisted.
"You killed God?" Sherlock asked in disbelief.
"Not the God, a God, a lesser one of course." John laughed.
"There's more than one?" Sherlock asked in a little disappointed voice.
"I'm not here to give you a religion lesson." John sighed, holding his hands up defensively.
"Obviously not." Sherlock sighed. "How many demons have you killed?"
"You don't kill a demon, not unless you have some dusty old gun that no one's found yet. You exorcize them; send them back to Hell, lot simpler really." John shrugged.
"Aren't you just a saint?" Sherlock laughed.
"Okay, no, I'm not, but I could fight you easily." John laughed. "Now where did I put my keys?" he asked, turning around and searching the room. Obviously Sherlock saw this as a moment to prove himself, so, with a banshee like howl he ran at John and tackled him from behind, his skinny arms wrapped firmly around his neck. John had to admit he was a bit shocked, he never though Sherlock would have the guts to actually attack him, and he was sent flying to the floor with Sherlock on top of him. He was in a bit of a choke hold for about thirty seconds before John was able to free his hands, grabbing Sherlock by both of his thumbs and flipping over, bringing a knee into the boy's stomach and, with a heave, flipped the two over so that he was on top, pinning Sherlock's hands down with his own and he legs with his feet.
"And now all it would take was a knife and a reason to kill you." John decided, trying to look surprised this attack didn't go Sherlock's way.
"You're a jerk." Sherlock laughed.
"Good thing you don't have that demon in you." John decided, rolling back onto the floor and climbing to his feet. He offered Sherlock and hand up, but he didn't take it, crawling to his feet the hard way.
"Couldn't take the risk of some sort of judo flip." Sherlock muttered.
"So, can you still beat me up?" John asked.
"I probably could." Sherlock muttered. John just glared with amusement.
"Okay, no." Sherlock admitted, looking upset with himself.
"Maybe a bit of training after I'm gone, then you could beat up any monster that comes your way." John decided.
"When you're gone?" Sherlock asked, looking slightly worried. "Where are you going?"
"Oh, me, um, nowhere, I didn't mean it so literally, like when I'm not around, so that maybe you could surprise attack me." John said, and in his own mind he didn't sound convincing.
"Don't you dare leave me John, I'd be dead meat." Sherlock pointed out, poking John in the forehead encouragingly before walking off to brush his teeth or something.
"Wouldn't dream of it." John muttered, feeling the guilt eating him alive as he said it.
"So, breakfast?" Sherlock asked, coming out a little bit later and stringing mint flavored floss through his teeth.
"Ya, sound good?" John asked hopefully.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed.
"Where do you get that floss? Where did you get these pajamas, where did you even get that bag that you carry your clothes around in?" John asked, just realizing how many possessions they had acquired since Sherlock had come.
"I buy a lot of things; I suppose you just don't notice." Sherlock shrugged.
"You're right, I don't notice." John agreed.
"Are you complaining?" Sherlock asked.
"Not really, it's not like it's our money." John said with a half laugh.
"I suppose." Sherlock agreed. "Let's get going then, I'm starving aren't you?" Sherlock asked.
"That's because you slept in so late." John pointed out.
"You know, not everything leads back to sleeping too long." Sherlock grumbled. The two of them went out to the car, starting it up in the bright sunlight and driving down to a local diner. Once again the old people were swarming it like bugs to a corpse, talking exclusively about their grandchildren or their nephews or the local church bazar. John and Sherlock kind of smiled at each other because they were so pathetic. Once again Sherlock held the door for the elders and then walked inside with John, straightening out his jacket and fixing his hair in the window reflection.
"They're old people, they won't judge." John assured with a laugh.
"It's not that..." Sherlock looked quickly up at the welcome booth and then quickly down at his shoes, as if he were afraid someone would see him. John would bet a million bucks that there was a hot boy about to seat them.
"Table for two?" asked a deep, kind sounding voice above them. John looked up and sighed, as he thought, a boy a little bit older than the two of them, with blonde wavy hair and a dazzling smile. Brilliant, this was the last thing John needed. Sherlock squeaked a little bit in reply.
"Yes." John muttered, and the boy grabbed two menus and led them deeper into the restaurant. Sherlock glared at John with a sort of did you see him sort of look. Of course John saw him, and it was quite annoying that Sherlock always saw the hot guys and didn't notice John at all. Love sucks. The boy led them to a booth in the back corner, and gave them their menus. Sherlock smiled up at him, but the boy simply turned and walked back to collect someone's dishes.
"Smooth Sherlock." John laughed.
"Shut up John." Sherlock muttered, glowing.
"You really are the playboy aren't you?" John asked with amusement.
"Really, did you see him?" Sherlock asked. That was exactly what John predicted he'd say.
"Yes Sherlock, I have eyes, I know that's shocking to you, but I do." John pointed out.
"You sound mad." Sherlock decided.
"I'm not mad." John assured.
"Well, you sound it."
"I'm not."
"I'm sure there's nothing to be mad about, I'm sure he's straight."
"I wouldn't be mad if he wasn't." John assured. Sherlock sighed; obviously he didn't believe John when he said that. He pushed the salt shaker around wordlessly, obviously in deep thought.
"Hello, my name is Sam, I'll be your waiter this morning, could I start you off with any drinks?" the boy was back, and Sherlock sat up so straight it was like he was electrocuted.
"Orange juice." John mumbled, frowning at Sherlock.
"Um, hot chocolate please." Sherlock said very quickly.
"Would you like whipped cream on that sir?" the boy asked. Sherlock nodded enthusiastically, and the boy wrote something down on his notebook. "I'll be right back with those." He decided with another smile, turning and disappearing into the crowded restaurant.
"What are you going to do, order pancakes with a side of his number?" John asked.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Sherlock decided.
"Well, I mean, you have been around me for a while, I'm sure that's not..." John started.
"It is." Sherlock assured.
"Oh. Brilliant." John sighed. Sherlock looked at him suspiciously, as if trying to figure out just what he had done wrong.
"I'm sorry..." Sherlock said, sounding quite confused.
"For what?" John asked.
"Honestly I have no idea, but I thought it might apply to anything." Sherlock shrugged. John couldn't help but laugh at the poor attempt to apologize. John wasn't mad at him, he was mad at himself. He was mad that he had made that deal, that he was going to have to leave Sherlock all on his own to fend for himself, and how he wasn't man enough to admit his feelings for him before John was sent down into the fire. Sherlock smiled cautiously, as if not sure whether he was supposed to or not.
"One hot chocolate...and one orange juice." The boy had returned, placing their drinks in front of them. Immediately Sherlock's self-control sort of flicked off and he looked out the window to avoid any unnecessary eye contact.
"Are you ready to order?" the boy asked.
"Yes, I'll have the bacon omelet." John decided. He looked over at Sherlock, who was still staring out the window and had not heard. "Sherlock?" John sighed. He didn't move. "Sherlock, order!" John demanded. Sherlock jumped, looking around to see the waiter with his pen on his notepad, looking expectantly at him.
"Blueberry pancakes." Sherlock said in a rush of words. The boy nodded, writing it down. John looked at Sherlock suspiciously, because he was almost certain he hadn't touched a menu since they sat down.
"Alright, that will be out soon, if you can concentrate long enough." The boy added with a laugh. John was hoping it was his imagination, but he almost thought he had winked at Sherlock, who went a whole other shade of scarlet and made a little whimpering noise in the back of his throat.
"Really Sherlock, how obvious can you be?" John asked with a forced smile. He couldn't help but remind himself that Sherlock showed none of these signs around him, so obviously even the gayest of the gay didn't want anything to do with John.
"He winked at me, you saw that didn't you, he actually winked at me!" Sherlock said excitedly.
"I didn't see that." John lied. He didn't know why he said that, but it didn't seem to crush Sherlock's spirit.
"I did, I saw it." Sherlock insisted. John nodded unenthusiastically, of course he saw it, of course he loved any stranger, John's stomach twisted in disgust but he didn't say anything.
"He probably has a girlfriend." John guessed.
"Ya, I know." Sherlock grumbled, sinking lower into his seat and frowning at the edge of the table. "But it doesn't kill you to hope right? It's actually quite fun."
"There's nothing fun in blind love." John debated.
"But you've never actually had a girlfriend though." Sherlock pointed out.
"I have to!" John insisted.
"Have to or had two?" Sherlock asked.
"I had one, but it's hard to have a relationship when you're a hunter." John mumbled.
"What, you had to break up?" Sherlock asked. John stared out the window and didn't say anything, staring at the reflection in the glass and almost thinking he saw her looking back at him. But that was ages ago, he had to let go, it was forced, it was panic, it meant nothing but she still haunted him.
"I had one girlfriend." Sherlock decided. John looked up in surprise, that wasn't what he was expecting.
"It was before I knew I hated all women, but I took her to the movies or something and she tried to kiss me and I splashed her with Coke and ran away screaming. It didn't last long." Sherlock mumbled. John laughed, imagining Sherlock panicking like that. It wasn't too hard actually; he seemed to panic a lot.
"And then I had my first boyfriend, and that went a lot better, no one knew of course, my parents had no idea and I don't think his did either." Sherlock sighed.
"Well mine ended a lot worse than splashing Coke everywhere." John sighed.
"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.
"It doesn't matter, but it just ended poorly." John sighed.
"That's not something you say and leave off with." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well it is now, stop prying." John growled. Sherlock held his hands up in defense; obviously he didn't like being yelled at. But that seemed to be able to shut him up, and they both waited in silence until the waiter came back, carrying their food on those round serving trays. John wondered how they maneuvered with those things on their arms, John was sure he'd dump all of the food if he tried.