Love of Heaven and Hell

Piece'a Pizza

    "What day is it?" John asked.
"Tuesday, I think." Sherlock muttered, looking up at the TV. "Ya, it's Tuesday."
"Last Tuesday then." John muttered. Sherlock stepped on his foot, a discrete yet painful way of reminding him not to think like that.
"We'll figure something out." Sherlock decided, but he didn't sound sure at all.
"Next!" called the cashier and the two of them stepped up to the register.
"I'll have an egg sandwich on a biscuit please, with a medium coffee." John decided.
"A glazed donut, a chocolate donut, and a strawberry one with sprinkles, with hot chocolate." Sherlock said.
"And two orders of hash browns." John added. The cashier rang it all up, passing the order into the back.
"Your total today will be sixteen thirty." he decided in a bored voice. Sherlock paid while John picked a seat, adding napkins and straws and stuff and sitting in one of the hard backed chairs. Sherlock joined him a couple of minutes later, juggling the food in his hands.
"I could've helped you with that!" John insisted, taking the slipping hash browns out of his fingers.
"No, I've got it." Sherlock insisted.
"You don't have to treat me like a dying man!" John debated.
"But," Sherlock looked around to make sure no one was listening, "You are."
"Doesn't mean I want to be babied." John muttered, unwrapping his sandwich from the multi colored wrapper and starting to eat.
"Do you think America actually runs on Dunkin? Like what do they mean by that, I just imagine the continent with creepy legs trampling some poor guy named Dunkin." Sherlock decided.
"Sherlock, Photoshop that and put it on my gravestone." John insisted. Sherlock's smile kind of faded, and he looked into the table with sadness.
"You don't mean that." he muttered.
"No Sherlock, I don't mean that." John agreed after a short pause. Maybe joking about death wasn't the best way to get Sherlock to laugh again, or even show a smile. "How are you going to eat all of those donuts?" John asked, changing the subject completely. Sherlock looked up with looking up, sort of, his eyes moved but his head stayed down, as if he were ashamed of buying too much food. As if John actually paid for it. Slowly his pale hand slid the chocolate donut over the table on a napkin until it was right in front of John. John sighed, and looked at Sherlock with a bit of annoyance.
"If I wanted a donut I would've gotten one." he pointed out.
"I thought, maybe, you know, you might have wanted one even if you didn't order it." Sherlock shrugged, blushing a little bit and twiddling his fingers on the table, as if he were nervous that John would yell at him.
"You're too kind Sherlock, literally." John decided, but he took the donut and ate it, making Sherlock smile ever so slightly. They were in the middle of finished their meal when the couple in the table near theirs, the middle aged ones, started talking for the first time, in hushed whispers. John could only pick up half of their conversation, but he felt like a predator listening for the faintest brush of leaves.
"See, why don't you treat me like that?" the woman asked. "They look so happy, like they actually love each other!" she sounded a bit upset.
"I do..." someone got up out their chair and cut off the middle of the man's sentence, "forbidden by the law." He finished.
"Obviously love can break through any barrier, even the law." The lady muttered.
"And I love you like that." the man pointed out.
"I know, but I feel like you haven't proved it." she sighed.
"Do you want me to go buy you a donut?" he asked. Suddenly John stiffened; they were talking about him and Sherlock!
"No, it's too late now." She muttered. He heard a sound like she was sitting back in her chair with a dramatic huff. He looked up cautiously at Sherlock, who he saw was also listening without hesitation. They sort of shared a glance, trying to communicate what they just heard, and both broke out into a fit of silent giggles. Their love was being used as an example and they haven't even kissed yet! What a sad relationship the couple must have. When they were done eating Sherlock collected all of the trash and threw it out, and somehow being there just in time to hold the door open for John. He was going to say something about how much he didn't want to be babied, and how it would've been better just to not tell Sherlock, but the poor thing looked so sad when he looked at John, like he was already preparing his funeral. They drove home, John at the wheel of course, and went back into the room, where Sherlock immediately sat on the bed and stared at him a little bit.
"What?" John asked.
"Nothing." Sherlock muttered. John sighed, obviously there was something, they both knew perfectly well what that something was, but obviously they both wouldn't say it. John went to brush his teeth and when he got back Sherlock was sitting on the bed, scrolling on the laptop.
"That better not be any more demon costumes." John warned.
"It's not." Sherlock muttered, lacking the tone of amusement John had used. Sherlock got up, taking the laptop with him, and started to carve something into the door. Through the flaking wood John made out a triangle shape.
"What's that?" John asked.
"It's a sign or something, to keep spirits and demons out." Sherlock pointed out, blowing the splinters from around the door and continuing. John went up to the door and watched as Sherlock carved on, and when he saw done he sat back on his heels and admitted his own work.
"That's it?" John asked, looking at the sign.
"Yep." Sherlock said proudly. There was a large triangle carved into the wood with an eye peering back at them, a poorly drawn eye no less.
"Sherlock?" John sighed.
"Yes?" Sherlock said with a smile.
"That's illuminati, not a demon repelling sign." John pointed out. Sherlock frowned.
"No, it says on this website..." he pointed to the symbol, and scrolled aimlessly through a description.
"Only trust books Sherlock." John laughed, wiping away the splinters from the door and laughing a little bit.
"Oh." Sherlock muttered. "Then I guess that was pointless."
"No it wasn't, it's some good artwork." John assured. Sherlock smiled shamefully, looking up at John as if he had done something wrong. For a second they locked eyes and it was almost like they were back to the tattoo, about to kiss, make their fearful dreams come true, but no, Sherlock got up, closing the laptop lid and walking over to the bed again.
"I thought you weren't okay with vandalism?" John asked.
"That was when nothing was on the line." Sherlock pointed out.
"There's not stopping them Sherlock, I hope you know that." John pointed out.
"There's a way, there has to be a way." Sherlock insisted, scrolling through the laptop once more.
"There isn't." John pointed out.
"Maybe they won't come, maybe, maybe since you never got what you wanted they won't come." Sherlock suggested.
"There's nothing we can do." John pointed out. Sherlock was silent, but obviously there were a million things churning through his head that he wanted to say. They spent that day like soldiers, getting their weapons prepared, stocking up on everything they could get and making salt lines, just in case. They made the bathroom sort of a safe house, John installed a deadbolt and metal sheets to the back of it, but they both knew that nothing would stand up to a hellhound. Sherlock had tried to screw it in, but he scratched his finger on the screw driver so he sat on the bathroom counter, swaying his feet and watching as John did all the work. Sherlock was silent most of the time, John would watch him out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock would twiddle with anything in sight, he would look up hellhounds and deals and demons but then just stare at the page without moving the mouse. He was terrified, he was scared for himself but above all things he was scared for John. John didn't really understand why, there was obviously nothing he could do and there was nothing John could do, so they sat in silence and slowly wallowed in the thought that soon there would only be one of them.
"We should get some dinner." John decided as the clock changed from 4:59 to 5:00. Sherlock hummed in approval but didn't move, he didn't seem like he wanted to talk all that much.
"Did you hear me?" John asked.
"Yes." Sherlock agreed.
"Do you want to eat?" John asked.
"Yes." Sherlock repeated.
"Then let's go." John decided.
"Where do you want to go?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know, pizzeria, it's been a long time since I've had pizza." John decided.
"Sounds good to me." Sherlock agreed, closing the lid of the laptop and crawling out of the bed. He looked tired, but in a quick attempt to run his fingers through his curly hair he looked a little bit more human.
"Do you want me to drive?" Sherlock offered.
"No, course not." John insisted, curling his fingers around the keys to make sure Sherlock didn't even try to touch them. Sherlock frowned a little bit, but he walked out to the car with a bit of a worried look and got into the passenger seat.
"You look a bit dead." John commented, looking at him with a playful smile.
"So do you." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not yet I don't." John shrugged, turning on the engine and driving his bucket of bolts car down the streets of the town. It wasn't long until they found a hole in the wall pizza place, exactly the type of place his car would fit into, and got out.
"Don't you want somewhere a bit fancier?" Sherlock suggested.
"Sherlock the only good places are the hole in the walls." John debated with an assuring smile, although he did tuck his wallet, and all it's 'money' deeper into his jean pockets. Sherlock lead the way in, letting the intoxicating smell of pizza roam out into the wild air. The restaurant was a bit dark, with a couple of extremely classy people sitting around eating their food. There was soft, scratchy Italian music playing, as if from a record player, and a not so clean looking man behind the counter counting multiple crumpled dollar bills.
"Hey, Fletcher, you're a dollar short!" he called out. One of the classier of the bunch, a man in some torn jeans and a dirty shirt looked up from his single slice of pepperoni pizza and frowned.
"I counted it all, three bucks!" he debated.
"Plus tax mate." The man said.
"Hey, wait, there's no tax on food!" John pointed out. The man behind the counter frowned, but tucked the money into his apron.
"Can I help you boys?" he asked in a growling voice.
"If you charge us fairly." John shrugged. The man, Fletcher apparently, looked at the two in admiration, all while eating his pizza as quickly as possible.
"No guarantees." The man growled. Sherlock made a nervous little squeak behind John, who was thinking to the pistol in his waistband.
"Alright then, what do you want Sherlock?" he asked.
"To go somewhere else." Sherlock said in the smallest whisper possible, so that even John couldn't hear him.
"We'll be fine, remember my job?" John pointed out.
"Oh, well, pepperoni then." Sherlock whispered, as if this were some top secret project.
"One pepperoni pie then, two fountain drinks." John decided.
"You're no cop are you?" The man asked, squinting his beetle black eyes suspiciously. John just smiled and didn't answer, that would guarantee them fair pricing.
"That's fifteen thirty." the man decided. John dug out the spare dollars he had in his pocket, not daring to use his fake credit card on a man who obviously lives off the same currency they did. While the pizza cooked John and Sherlock filled up their cups with soda and went to wait in a booth. Sherlock was cleaning off the area off with a napkin, squinting in disgust as he did so.
"Hey, thanks for saving me there, I'm not brave enough to stand up to that guy." Fletcher whispered. He had a bit of wild stubble growing from his chin and an uneven, choppy haircut, as if he had gave it to himself with scissors.
"Don't be scared of men like him, they're just bullies." Sherlock insisted, wiping the crumbs of pizzas past onto the cracked tile floor.
"Ya well, this is the only place I can afford to eat, when he's not trying to get more bucks off me that is." He muttered.
"Don't worry mate, it could be worse." John assured. Fletcher rolled his eyes, as if not believing it. Before they could say anything though, the man came out with a steaming Pepperoni pizza, glaring at the two of them as if he thought they were plotting something evil.
"Enjoy." He growled, throwing down two paper plates and stalking off.
"He's a happy fellow." Sherlock decided, trying to take a piece of pizza off of the tray. Unfortunately, as with all pizza, it was too hot, and the cheese slipped right off and Sherlock burned his finger on some of the tomato sauce. He yelped and cradled it in his napkin, looking like he was about to cry or something, but John just laughed.
"It's really hot." He muttered.
"Ah, just like me." John joked, but he waited a little while for the pizza to cool. It was tempting of course to get third degree sauce burns, staring at the bubbly cheese and pepperoni. For such a miserable place their pizza looked extremely delicious, and of course they couldn't eat any.