The Sherlocked Doctor (superwholock)

Dream me to death

It was dark. That was the first thing Dean noticed. It was dark, and it was cold, and he couldn't see his friends.

"Hello?" He called, voice rough. "Sammy? Cas?"

"Dean." Someone grabbed onto his arm. He saw a rough hand, nails like claws, and a sticky substance - was that blood? - dripping off it, onto the floor - wait, no, the floor was made of blood - he twisted away, only to realise the claw, the claw  was just an extension of his arm, a part of him - he felt the realisation sink in: he had done this, it was all his fault - there was a lump of something on the ground; trembling, he reached for it with his claw-like nails - he lifted it up - it was fabric, but heavier than it should have been, soaked through with the foul-smelling liquid - he looked closer at the garment, then dropped it in horror. No, he thought. NO!

It was a trench-coat.

****

"Sam," called a voice, and Sam stiffened. "Saaaaammy," it continued, coming closer. Sam closed his eyes. He didn't want to see- A hand grabbed his face. "Open your eyes, Sam," the voice hissed, but Sam didn't need to. He would know that voice anywhere. That voice haunted his nightmares, tormented him relentlessly. That voice whispered to him in the dark, when all hope was almost lost. It spoke in a sickly sweet tone drenched in lies and false promises.

It was him.

It was Lucifer.

"Saaaammy... C'mon, Sam, look at me."

Sam couldn't move.

****

Sherlock stopped in horror. "John?"

There was someone behind John, someone holding something- it was Magnussen. He had a gun.

"Here we are again, aren't we Sherlock?" Magnussen smiled a shark's smile. "See, nothing's changed. You are still so naïve, aren't you, with your delusions of grandeur. Well guess what, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes made contact with John's. His eyes, they were round, a pleading, dark brown, the colour of-

Wait.

Brown?

John's eyes were blue - what -

Magnussen pulled the trigger.

****

Sherlock was on the roof.

"John," he said into the phone, and it was his worst nightmare all over again. "John."

"No," John said. "This isn't real. This can't be real. No."

"John," Sherlock called again.

"Sherlock," John said. "You promised. You swore this wouldn't - wouldn't happen again."

He could make out Sherlock's silhouette shrug. "I lied," he said simply, and John closed his eyes.

"No," he said again. "No you wouldn't, because that's not who you are. Not- not to me. Maybe to everyone else but- not to me. This isn't you."

"Listen, John. It's me. You just have no idea who I am. I don't care about you, you've got that all wrong. You're nothing to me, John Watson, and you've never been anything more."

No. No. This was wrong. Sherlock wouldn't say these things. Not to John, not ever. Sherlock did care about John, he did. John could accept a world with demons, and angels, and aliens but- a world where Sherlock thought he was nothing?

No. He refused to believe.

"This isn't real," he said, and everything shattered.

****

John woke with a gasp. He was lying on a cold wooden floor. Beside him he could see Sherlock - unharmed, so he was right, and further along, Dean. They both seemed to be passed out, and twitching a little.

Unsteadily, he heaved himself to his feet. He began to shakily make his way around the room, observing. There was a hallway, and he could see a faint light coming from it. He could hear voices, a mans, low and gravelly like a chain-smokers, and one distinctly feminine. He craned his neck, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

John got the shock of his life when the Doctor crept up behind him, coming to stand at his shoulder. John opened his mouth, but the Doctor put a finger to his lips and he closed it again. The Doctor cocked his head like a puppy, listening intently. Just as he did, the female voice raised slightly, and his eyes widened. "Clara," he whispered to John, who nodded. Slowly, the two began to creep down the hallway. When they reached the door, it was slightly ajar, and through the crack John could see the outline of a man's shoulders. The man whipped around quickly and pulled the door completely open, sending both the doctor and John sprawling into the room. Before either of them could regain their balance, the man gently pressed a gun to John's forehead.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," he said. "I've been waiting for a long, long time."

He smiled, and his eyes turned black.