The Devil Was Never Here

Straight From The Gates of Hell

Entry #7 October 27th, 2017: I know I should've, but I did. I know that it was wrong, but what did I do? I did it anyway? Sherlock Holmes was too accessible for me to ignore, he was too beautiful for me to brush aside, there was this need in my heart that devoured my common sense as soon as those beautiful green eyes came my way. His gaze was magical; his touch entrancing, his kiss was like angels singing from above. But in fact, the angles were nowhere near us, and I knew that, and I kissed him anyway. I couldn't help myself, the lure of his love was simply too strong for me to resist, it was stronger than any man's self-control. To sit in the darkness alone with Sherlock Holmes was magical in itself, but to be close to him, to be with him, to love him like he was meant to be loved, it was almost worth what happened next. I'm not saying that it wasn't worth it, and I'm certainly not saying that it was a good idea, but if I was given a chance to go back and right my wrongs, I don't know what I'd do. The tragedies that followed that night were unthinkable, and yet to be held in the strong, able arms of Sherlock Holmes only if for a night, it might have been all together worth it. End Entry. 

Sherlock knew he shouldn't have fallen asleep. There were a lot of things that shouldn't have been done that night, but falling asleep may have just been the stupidest idea. Not only did the two of them basically invite the Aspiration to take complete control, but they both decided that right after they weakened John's morality that they were going to let the Aspiration alone for a while. But it was impossible not to fall asleep while snuggled in John's arms and listening to the beautiful beats of his heart. It was impossible for Sherlock not to close his eyes when John's arms were wrapped so securely over his bare chest, holding him close with a sleepy smile on his face. So Sherlock slept, the first satisfied sleep he had in a while, the first sleep while in natural darkness. However, when he woke up, he was terrified. He was in the same place he had fallen asleep in, on the couch in the Watson's living room with John's arms wrapped around him, except there was a different feeling. All of the hairs on the back of his head were standing on end, and his heart was beating out of control. It couldn't have been later than two in the morning, so he couldn't help but wonder what had woken him at this hour of the night. Sherlock felt very nervous about the man whose limbs he was tangled in, but he felt a heartbeat against his back, John was alive, at least. Sherlock was almost going to stand up, stretch out and make sure John was still John, when he felt John's familiar lips press a kiss against his curls. Sherlock let himself relax, it was still John, he had never fallen asleep. Maybe it was earlier than two; maybe Sherlock had just slept for a short twenty minutes or so. The kisses continued, and Sherlock couldn't help but nestle closer into John's chest, he felt safe, he felt loved.
"You're still you?" Sherlock clarified, closing his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back into John's neck.
"Who else would I be?" asked the scratchy, metallic voice of the Aspiration. Sherlock screamed in horror, looking down and realizing that the arms the surrounded him were swimming in a thick black smoke. His heart nearly stopped but he fought none the less, Sherlock tried to pull himself away from the grasp of the Aspiration but he simply wasn't strong enough, John's demonic arms were wrapped tightly around him.
"Oh Sherlock, don't you love me like this?" the Aspiration purred, and Sherlock just let loose a scream once more, trying to wake whoever else remained in this horrific house. The Aspiration tried to roll him over, tried to face him so that Sherlock could stare into the terrible yellow eyes, but he refused, fighting back with whatever strength was left in his fragile form.
"Oh stop now Sherlock, stop fighting me, you knew this was coming, you knew exactly what you were getting yourself into when you pressed your lips onto his. Onto mine." The Aspiration whispered.
"No, no, please, just let me go, please, get out of him!" Sherlock exclaimed, trying to pull himself away once more. Finally he got momentum on his side, yanking himself from the couch but instead of falling free, both he and John's hallow body fell off of the couch, the Aspiration landing right on top of him. Sherlock screamed once more, trying to push the Aspiration off of him, but instead it used John's hands to pin Sherlock's arms to the ground, sitting over top of him and laughing in a horrible demonic way.
"So weak, Mr. Holmes, so weak. Even humanities' most powerful being cannot withstand anything that crawled from the gates of hell." The Aspiration whispered.
"You're not from Hell either, you're human, you were human. He wouldn't take you in, he wouldn't accept you. You're not from Hell." Sherlock insisted.
"But you are." The Aspiration whispered, leaning down so that its horrible yellow eyes were hovering right above Sherlock's face. But for a moment, Sherlock stopped fighting, he stared up into those eyes and for once he didn't see questions, for once he sought answers.
"I'm what?" Sherlock whispered fearfully. The Aspiration laughed, its black smoke choking the air around it, swirling around its twisted pale face.
"Oh Mr. Holmes, did you ever stop to consider why you were born with these powers? Who do you think would grant a human the ability to see the dead? Certainly not God, the overlord you so mindlessly pledge yourself to. Certainly God wouldn't grant you such a gift?" the Aspiration asked, its smile widening as it saw the helplessness in Sherlock's eyes.
"I'm from Hell?" Sherlock asked in a weak voice, hardly daring to consider such a thing. Obviously this was a lie; obviously this creature was only saying this to scare him.
"Oh Sherlock, Sherlock my love, you truly know nothing." The Aspiration whispered, pressing a kiss to Sherlock's forehead with the lips of John Watson. But it didn't feel like John's kiss, it wasn't as meaningful, it wasn't as pure. And yet, just as he had when John was kissing him, Sherlock went stone cold. He couldn't do anything to protect himself; he couldn't do anything to stop this thing from doing whatever it liked. He was still in a numb state of shock, the words of the Aspiration bouncing around in his skull. Was he really from Hell, or was this creature on top of him simply making up things to scare him? The Aspiration's lips trailed down Sherlock's cheeks, kissing nearly every part of his face except his lips, as though he were teasing him in some way. Sherlock finally started to come to his senses, finally the light of those glowing yellow eyes reminded him of what kind of situation he was in.
"Mary..." he muttered lamely, trying to move his wrists out from underneath the grip of the Aspiration on top of him.
"John..." he whispered in a simple breath.
"John's not here at the moment, please leave a message." The Aspiration said with a laugh, kissing down Sherlock's neck and treasuring every touch of skin that was exchanged. Sherlock took a deep breath, gasping for air now that his view of the darkness wasn't obstructed by the shell of John Watson.
"MARY!" he screamed desperately, so loud that he was sure everyone in this housing development heard. Suddenly the ceiling was shaking with Mary's frantic footsteps, and Sherlock just started to scream, trying to make her hurry, shaking his arms and kicking his legs and trying to do anything he could to get this monster off from him.
"John, John, what are you doing?" Mary exclaimed, rushing down the stairs in the darkness to see the form of her husband overtop of Sherlock, still busying himself with kisses.
"Mary it's not him!" Sherlock shrieked, fighting with everything he had to try to overpower the Aspiration.
"John stop that!" Mary exclaimed. Finally the Aspiration paused, and for a moment everyone was still. And then it started to laugh, lifting its head up from the crook of Sherlock's neck and laughing hysterically, turning its yellow eyes towards Mary Watson. She gasped in horror, falling back into the wall with her hands over her heart. That was the face of a believer.
"Are you going to make me?" it wondered. And with that the eyes went dark, and John's limp body fell right back on top of Sherlock, passed out so peacefully it was like he had only been sleeping.
"Sherlock, Sherlock what's wrong with him? Oh my god, oh my god!" Mary exclaimed, running in a small circle over the hardwood floors and running her fingers stressfully though her hair.
"You were right, you were...oh my god!" she repeated.
"Ya, took you long enough." Sherlock grumbled bitterly, rolling John's unconscious form off of him and pulling himself shakily to his feet.
"What happened to your shirt?" Mary wondered, finally noticing that his shirt lay next to John's sleeping form on the floor. Sherlock cleared his throat, shaking his head carelessly.
"The Aspiration, well, the ghost, you know, he forced it off me. I don't even want to think about his intentions." Sherlock said with a shiver, collecting his shirt from the floor and pulling it shakily on.
"Thank god I got down here in time." she decided, shivering dispute the warmth in the house. Sherlock looked down at John, whose eyes were now closed, looking very peaceful while sprawled out on the hardwood.
"It wasn't him, you know that, yes?" Sherlock wondered, looking up at Mary to make sure she didn't suspect anything between the two of them. Of course Sherlock wouldn't mention what happened before the Aspiration took over, and obviously he wouldn't mention what allowed it to take over in the first place, so he just sat there silently, pretending to try to ease Mary's worries dispute the fact that she was wading through a room full of sin.
"Yes I know." She assured, sniffling heavily as if she were on the brink of tears. "Let's put him on the couch, he needs to rest. I don't like to see him sprawled out like that, he looks dead."
"He's not dead." Sherlock assured, although he was slightly worried now that Mary had brought it up. The Aspiration had never taken control for that long before, and if ten seconds put John into unconsciousness for a couple of hours, imagine how long he'll be out after this fiasco. Together they were able to grab John's limp limbs and heave him up onto the couch, making sure his head was properly cushioned and that a blanket was wrapped securely over top of him.
"There we go, now he's just sleeping." Sherlock muttered, smoothing out John's hair on top of his golden head as if that were the top priority now. Mary watched his with curious eyes, but she didn't wear that familiar scowl. Instead she looked as if she pitied Sherlock, as if she knew exactly what was going on and she just felt sorry for him.
"I'll never go back to sleep." She decided in a huff, walking off towards the kitchen and turning on the lights. "I'll never sleep for a week."
"You'll get used to it." Sherlock assured, casting one last sorrowful glance to John before following her into the kitchen.
"So you weren't lying then? There really is a devil want to be inside of my husband? You really can see ghosts? Satan is real? What's next, Molly's secretly bigfoot?" Mary wondered, filling up a tea kettle with shaking hands.
"Well, I think I can vouch for Molly here, but other than that, it's all true." Sherlock agreed, leaning against the counter and staring absentmindedly at the container of flour next to him. He couldn't stop thinking of what the Aspiration had told him, that he had come from Hell. How was that possible? Human spirits aren't reincarnated, were they? Or was he sent from the Devil to be on Earth for some sort of reason, were his powers supposed to help him in some way, were they supposed to amount to something other than scams?
"I feel so stupid now; I've been treating you like dirt." Mary muttered shamefully. Sherlock looked up at her in disbelief, was she actually apologizing?
"It's alright, I understand completely. If I were in your situation I would treat me like dirt as well." Sherlock assured.
"That's so unfair though, I just couldn't stand you coming in here and spreading these lies, but now they're real, and...oh my god Sherlock I'm so sorry!" Mary exclaimed, and with that she burst into tears. Sherlock was very shocked to see such emotion, and to be honest he had no idea what he was supposed to do to comfort her. Was he supposed to hug her and tell her everything was alright, should he give her tissues, should he ignore her?
"It's alright Mary, apology accepted. No need to cry." Sherlock assured lamely, staying where he was just in case she didn't want to be comforted just yet.
"Is John going to die?" she asked through her messy tears, ripping off a paper towel decorated with whales and clutching it to her face.
"That's why I'm here, to make sure he doesn't." Sherlock assured.
"I can't let him die, Sherlock, I couldn't live without him!" Mary exclaimed. Sherlock felt a stab of guilt, finally realizing the true love Mary had with her husband, and to think that Sherlock would dare come between that. To think that Mary was being so hysterical at the thought of losing her husband while he was shamelessly cheating on her with the very man she was crying to. God, he felt horrible.
"He'll be fine Mary, he'll be fine." Sherlock assured, staring blankly at the countertop in front of him and taking a deep, rattling breath. He'll be fine. 

Molly arrived with the sun, as soon as the first rays of the yellow morning sun poked through the kitchen windows there was the sound of a car door slamming, and her anxious knocking filled the house. Mary went to go let her in while Sherlock went to try to nurse John, having soaked a washcloth in cold water. He didn't know a lot about health or anything like that, but whenever someone passed out on TV shows they usually put something cold on their forehead, so that's what he did. He folded the washcloth in half and set it on John's forehead, hoping that it would help him gain consciousness quicker.
"Sherlock are you alright?" Molly asked desperately, rushing into the living room and throwing her arms around him like a mother. Sherlock couldn't help but hug her as well, fully aware that Mary was watching from the hallway.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He assured, pulling away and glancing down at John once more.
"He's unconscious?" Molly guessed, walking towards John and staring into his expressionless face.
"No he's just napping." Sherlock said sarcastically, and Molly shot a glare of annoyance back at him.
"He was possessed for what, a couple of minutes last night? Sherlock said it's the longest it's ever happened." Mary admitted.
"At least that we know of." Sherlock added quickly.
"That we know of." Mary agreed, looking at Molly as if looking for some sort of applause or something. Molly, however, just looked at her curiously, as if wondering what had happened to the Mary she left last night.
"You believe now? You think that John's possessed?" Molly clarified.
"I do, I saw it with my own eyes. It talked to me with his mouth." Mary agreed, shivering slightly and glancing nervously back towards her husband.
"What let it take over, did he fall asleep?" Molly wondered, walking over to John and poking his cheek slightly, as if to make sure he was really unconscious. Sherlock looked at his feet nervously, shrugging as if he didn't know the exact answer to that question.
"He uh, he must've lost control. The Aspiration is getting more and more powerful inside of him." Sherlock admitted after a moment. Both of the women looked satisfied with that answer, and so they walked into the kitchen for an early breakfast. Sherlock was left in the living room alone with John, so he perched himself on the coffee table and stared at John's sleeping form. He wondered if this could be like sleeping beauty, and if he kissed John now he would spring up from the couch and be fully conscious once more. Then again, there were so many things wrong with that assumption that it would just be pathetic to try, so Sherlock simply repositioned the wash cloth on John's forehead and gazed down upon him with loving eyes. Except now Sherlock knew that the kisses exchanged last night were going to be the last ever exchanged between them again. The only thing that helped him justify his horrible actions was the thought that Mary was a horrible woman, and that she was basically asking for an affair. Now that he saw how much she truly loved her husband it would just be wrong to try to pry him away from her, no matter how much he begged. Sherlock was already regretting the occurrences of last night, but he could only hope it satisfied John enough so that it would never have to happen again. Next time maybe Sherlock wouldn't be so mindlessly compliant.
"Sherlock would you like some coffee cake?" Molly called from the kitchen.
"I'm not really hungry right now!" Sherlock called back, but dispute his unruly stomach he pried himself up off of the coffee table and lumbered back into the kitchen. While Mary and Molly ate Sherlock simply sipped at a cup of tea, wondering more and more about what that Aspiration had said. He couldn't be from hell, could he? How would that even work, was he born with the powers of the Devil inside of him or was he coughed out of the fires and thrown on someone's doorstep? Did his parents know there was something wrong with him? Did they know where these powers had come from, or why he was the only one in the world to have such a thing? Sherlock sighed heavily, deciding that there really was only one way to answer all of these questions. One way he really didn't want to think about, nor act upon. But then again, mysteries were better than grudges in the end.