How Long?

Chapter 1

The trio found themselves in London. They had heard of the most amazing detective, and Cas had suggested that they tell him their story. After Mary had come back for a year, she had disappeared. Just vanished. But this "Sherlock Holmes" man seems like he could help them.

They rode in the cab, the black vehicle with the driver's seat on the right getting on Dean's nerve. The eldest Winchester sat in the middle of Sam and Cas all the way to Baker Street. They halt to a stop in front of Speedy's Sandwich Bar and Café which has a black door with a gold mail slot and a knocker next to it. The letters and numbers read "221B" as they scooted out of the cab. Dean shut the door behind himself and he looked up at the building. It wasn't anything spectacular, but Sam and Cas urged him on to knock on the door. When Sam used the knocker, he straightened it out and after about half a minute, the door opens. A cheerful looking elder woman answers with sunken eyes.

"You must be here to see Sherlock," she says in a sweet voice that made Dean's chest ache. He wasn't sure why, but it did.

Cas is the first to speak up. "Yes, I suppose."

She chuckles at his gravelly voice and steps aside to let the trio in. They stepped in and the woman shut the door. "Sherlock!" she sang out. "There are some young men here to see you!" She quiets her voice as she purses her lips and smiles at the boys. "Don't worry."

Sam smiles at her as a timbre none of the three recognize rings out.

"Mrs. Hudson! Tell them to hurry up!"

The woman who must be Mrs. Hudson smiles and motions Cas, Dean and Sam up the stairs. They follow her instructions and head up the stairs. Once at the top, Dean walks first hesitantly through the door, revealing tall ceilings and a man who is standing on a couch staring at a wall of seemingly senseless words and photos.

Dean clears his throats. "Sherlock Holmes?"

The man with black, shaggy hair slowly turns his head.

"It's him," another voice rings from the left.

Dean whips his head to the voice where a smaller man with greying hair sits.

"I can answer the question, John," Sherlock says as he jumps noisily off the couch. He strides over sits on a chair across from John. "Sit down."

The three follow the detective's orders and sits down on the couch like they did in the cab.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks.

"Well, we were working a case in Tennessee and my mom disappeared, just all of a sudden, and it's been three months," Dean says. "I'm Dean, by the way. This is Sam and Cas," he says, pointing to either of them.

Sherlock sighs. "Are you really going to bother me with cases like this? It's in America, for one. And two, this is just a normal disappearance."

"Well, Mr. Holmes," Sam says. "Our mother is someone who can hold their own, and lately there has been ten disappearances within three months in the same town."

"And why were you hunting it?" Sherlock questions, light eyebrows furrowed.

"Hunting? Who ever said anything about hunting?" Dean says.

"You're a hunter of some sort. The way you hold your ground. You're aware at every moment. You observe. Both of you. And I assume you two are brothers. You," Sherlock says and points at Dean, "are the protective older brother." He points at Sam. "You are the younger brother who messes up a lot. Substance abuse possibly, but your body doesn't show that. Maybe you were addicted to something else?" He points at Cas. "And you saved them." He goes back to addressing the brothers. "You grew up with an absent mother, though it doesn't make much sense because your mother just disappeared. Your father made you, Dean, grow up to fast and left you alone with Sam. But, when he was there, he was strict and beat you, though you never told anyone that, especially not your brother."

"How di—did you do that?" Dean stammers.

"It's what I do. So. How long?" Sherlock asks, perched on his seat.

"I told you. Three months."

"No, Dean. Not since your mother disappeared."

"Then how long what?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes and places his fist in front of his mouth. "How long have you and Cas been dating?"

"Wha—wha—what? No. He's ju—just a friend."

"You can't lie to me. Answer the question."

"We haven't even kissed!"

"Ah, but by saying that, you mean that you are either together, or in love."

"What made you think that in the first place?"

"You are obviously very protective over 'Sammy' over there, but you are leaning towards Cas, telling me that you have some type of strong feeling for him. The way that he freaked out when I said that you were abused hints that you didn't tell him that so he wouldn't look at you different, though he wouldn't, by the way. You should just tell him. Wait, sorry. Already did. The way that you hold your breath around him and your eyes are lit up when you look at him suggests love. But now that I'm looking at it again, you obviously have a problem expressing yourself, and your father probably made you that way, or just your personal ethics not to let Sam see what's really going on. Also, you obviously hid that you were abused so you have practice in not expressing yourself in order to keep how they look at you the same. So, in this case, you haven't told him you are in love with him so your brother doesn't look at you as weak or in the very least differently, just like with your abusive past."

"You—" Dean mutters.

"He does this every day," John says.

Sam turns to Dean with bug eyes. Is it because he just found out he was abused or in love with Cas? Sherlock wasn't false, either.

Dean looks at the ground. "And Sherlock Holmes is never wrong."

Sherlock grins in a very Grinch-like manner, and then jumps up from his seat. "Alright, get out."

"Well, what about you and John? You look like someone who would . . . date."

Sherlock turns to Dean directly. "John may hint at feelings like such, but he has a pregnant wife and who am I to intervene?"

John seems as if he does a double take all while Dean turns to Cas.

"Is he right?" Cas asks. "About it all?"

Dean nods, ashamed.

How Sherlock read him, he feels violated.

Cas smiles and plants a kiss firmly on Dean. When he pulls back, Dean hears his brother mutter his own favorite phrase and says "Son of a bitch."

Sherlock smiles again and skips over to his coat. "Come on, John. We're going to America."