Love of Heaven and Hell

Never to Be Alone

"John? John?" Sherlock's face took over; his green eyes alight with worry, not wanting to take a step closer. John stood there for a moment, trying to decide what had just happened.
"John, are you alright?" Sherlock asked with fear. John's weak fingers let the gun slip from his hands, falling to the floor with a metallic clang and turning so that he couldn't see Sherlock, so that the fear in his eyes wasn't obvious.
"It's starting." He mumbled, mostly to himself, but obviously Sherlock wasn't as deaf as he had hoped.
"What's starting, John are you okay?" Sherlock asked, walking closer but not wanting to reach out for fear of being attacked.
"Nothing, nothing's happening, just give me a moment..." John muttered.
"No, don't give me that." Sherlock turned John around forcefully, looking completely determined if not a little bit annoyed. All obvious fear was gone, but if John looked deep in his eyes it was still there, like a plague that you couldn't fight. Fear was always there.
"I don't want you to get all mysterious with me, first you run away and now you're saying something's staring, I'm done with secrets! I have told you everything that has ever happened to me and I don't even know if John Watson is your real name!" Sherlock growled. John sighed, he was right, of course he was bloody right, but what was he supposed to say, the truth? How would Sherlock react?
"Okay, okay fine, you want to know the truth, my little sob story?" John asked, his voice cracking with sudden emotion. "Ten years ago today I made a deal, with a bloody demon, and now it's catching up on me." John snapped. Sherlock's anger melted into concern, looking around nervously for any demons that might be watching now that the truth had been spilled.
"You made a deal?" he asked. John nodded forcefully, not knowing what else he had to say.
"And in three days those bloody hellhounds are going to be coming for me, breaking down that door and dragging my soul to hell." John sighed. Sherlock obviously didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, but he just looked at John with an expression John hadn't seen on anyone's face for a while. It was care, worry; someone was actually worried about his wellbeing, that hadn't happened for so long.
"What did you want?" Sherlock asked. John sighed, it was a miserable story.
"Ten years ago I had a girlfriend, the one I talk about, and we were happy. I wasn't into hunting yet, we were just dumb young love, but it was love none the less. And I had saved up all my cash to take her to a restaurant and all that, a fancy one, and we were having a lovely time until they came, three of them, three demons." John started. Sherlock looked like he wanted to show some sign of comfort, but he didn't want to touch John for fear that he would be interrupting.
"And they came right for us, one took her while the other two took me. But they didn't attack me, they didn't do anything but hold me back as he took the very knife that Mary was using to cut her steak and shoved it into her rib cage." John shuttered, seeing the image in his mind, seeing the blood once more, hearing the screams. "I was desperate, I felt cheated, deserted, so dreadfully alone that there was only one thing I could do, find my true love. So I went to the crossroads, knowing full well that there was nothing I had to live for and I sold my soul to find my soulmate. And guess what? Here I am, ten years later, and I haven't got a single chance. They sold me short, I got nothing in return, and now here I am, about to die." John sighed.
"How do you know they are coming?" Sherlock asked.
"Because your face turned to rotting flesh. It's the demon's way of reminding you that you've got a timer on your head, and there's no stopping it." John admitted.
"What can I do to help?" Sherlock asked.
"You can run, run as far away as you can from me, I'll give you the car, just go and don't look back. I don't know if they'll hurt you but I know that I don't want to take that chance. I've already lost one person I care about, two is crossing the line." John decided, pointing at the door with a tone of heartbreaking finality. He didn't want Sherlock to leave, he didn't want to die alone, but he knew that Sherlock couldn't be in the line of fire when the hounds came.
"If you don't mind me saying, I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock decided, metaphorically putting his foot down. At those words there was nothing John could do, this anger, this fear, the love he had for this stupid boy in front of him, it was too much, and the only way emotions were released were through tears. And so they came, dripping out of his eyes one by one until they streamed down his face, John felt weak and hopeless and like a huge baby, crying in front of Sherlock. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be the strong one, who never showed fear in front of danger and never showed emotion in a heartbreaking scene, and now here he was crying. But Sherlock did something he didn't expect, he wrapped his arms around him in comforting hug, because even though he had no idea what John was going through he wanted to be there to help. John hugged him back, throwing his arms helplessly around Sherlock's neck and crying onto his shoulder, never even thinking about releasing him.
"I'll never leave you John, that's a promise." Sherlock assured.