1.

Sherlock watched as the hole in the ground got bigger, and bigger. He leaned over the edge and glanced down into the darkness. He smelled sulfur and heard inhuman cries emanating from within.

Jim Moriarty was giggling now. He looked exactly as he had in life, only his eyes were now pitch black and glittered in the setting sun.

As soon as night fell over the town of Lawrence, Kansas, all manner of hell would literally break loose. All because he had failed to follow a madman down to the fires of the pit, to make sure he stayed there. Sherlock had not known it was what was needed, and there had still been so much of Jim’s organization to take care of.

It had been the only way, and it had been how he learned about the world of the paranormal, of demons and witches and time lords.

He wasn’t one to give easily to passions. He liked logic, liked things that made sense, and anything that wasn’t boring.

So the situation was thus: his greatest enemy had crawled out of hell just to fulfill his promise to burn the heart out of him, and this darkness would spread across the world, because there were no more angels or time lords to stop it. There was just one of each, and they were stuck in a time vortex. Together, with his other colleagues, and with John.

Soon, there would be no more world. No more inane reality TV shows, no more internet chat rooms with weird fanatics and furries, no more idiots who needed his help, and no more 221B.

His brother. Who failed him, who tried to make it right.

Gregory Lestrade. Who found him the last night he overdosed, and saved him.

Mrs. Hudson. Who trusted him, who saw him as a son.

John.

Sherlock closed his eyes, recalling the look in his friend’s eyes, a look that he was almost positive was reserved just for him. The feel of his rough, strong hand in his. Hugging him after John had punched him, furious with being lied to.

‘The only one that can stop it, is the one who started it,’ Castiel had said.

Bollocks. Not this choice again.

John was going to kill him, if this didn’t.

Sherlock looked at Jim and smiled grimly.

Jim frowned. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh come on, Jimmy. Don’t be dull.”

And he jumped into the opening to hell, taking Moriarty down with him.

2.

“So he jumped knowing that we’d be able to get him out again?” Dean demanded, somewhere between a growl and a cry of dismay. “That… That idiot!”

“Brilliant idiot,” the Doctor corrected, pushing buttons and diodes with seeming randomness on the console. “He only had a few seconds to think about it, if that, but he still stopped the apocalypse. We can get him out again. It’s just a little complicated—Cas and I will explain later.”

“It can’t be that easy,” Sam said from next to his brother. His arms were wrapped around himself and he seemed haunted by the subject. “Dean and I were both in hell, and it took Cas at his full strength to get us out. One of those times he had an entire garrison with him, and the other time he was powered up by God and still missed getting my soul. Things are different. He’s still recovering from having the damn Leviathans inside him!”

Castiel winced and Sam threw him a look of apology.

“Yes, and now he has a time machine,” the Doctor snapped back.

He left the console and appeared in John’s line of sight, crouching down in front of him.

John had been sitting on the hard floor of the TARDIS since they escaped the vortex, only to discover what had happened to Sherlock in their absence. His legs just felt too weak to support his weight.

Again. He jumped again.

The Doctor gripped his arms gently, making John look him directly in the eye. The smile on his (currently) young face was kind.

“And we have John,” said the Gallifreyan.

John blinked at him, frowning. “Pardon?”

“You are connected, Dr. Watson,” Castiel said in his calm, low growl. “Like Dean and I are.”

“Hey! Damn it, Cas, stop saying shit like that!” the American objected with a scowl, which the angel smoothly ignored.

“We can trace him through you and do an extraction. Dean, Sam, and I will hold off the demons while you and the Doctor get Sherlock into the TARDIS.”

“Just like that?” John shook his head in disbelief, not daring to hope. It wouldn’t be the first time the Doctor and Castiel had thought up some insane plan. It was how they were all together, after all.

“No, you’re wrong. Sherlock and me—we’re not. We’re.”

Truth be told, he didn’t know what they were most of the time. But the pain he felt with Sherlock gone, the same pain from before, was more than just missing a mate.

“I’m just ordinary. I’m not a time traveling alien, I’m not an angel of the Lord, and I’m not a hunter of the supernatural. I’m just me. Just John.”

Sherlock had always been the extraordinary one. He had given John so many things, and John still wasn’t sure what he had given the other man in order for Sherlock to actually admit he was his only friend.

“Oh, my dear Dr. Watson,” said the Doctor, giving his arms a light squeeze. “You are anything but ordinary. Can’t you see? You’re John Watson, army officer, doctor, and companion to the world’s only consulting detective. And you’re going to save Sherlock Holmes.”

The Doctor hopped back to his feet and adjusted his bowtie.

“Besides, he nicked my sonic screwdriver and I want it back.”

John closed his eyes, and smiled.

3.

The remains of Sherlock’s coat, which still hung on his shoulders, were smoking a little as John and the Doctor tugged him inside the time machine. Still able to hear the fighting outside, and the flames of hell which no living man should have ever seen before his time, Sherlock glanced back to see what was going on.

Then he slid to the floor of the TARDIS, trusting John to keep him from falling too hard.

He did, sliding down with him. The Doctor left them to go to the console.

“Boys, hurry up!” John shouted over the noise.

“We’re trying!” Dean hollered back, he and Sam shooting rounds at their pursuers. “Cas, get the hell inside!”

Through the small doorway, Sherlock saw the angel slice through demons that had hold of him, but more were coming. He turned to face them, obviously intending some sort of stand off. Likely to make up for past misdeeds.

“Fucking idiot,” Dean growled. He ran back out, ignoring his brother’s cry, grabbing Castiel by the scruff of his trench and hauling him into the TARDIS.

“Go, Doctor!” Sam yelled as he slammed the door behind them.

The TARDIS’s engines whirred to life around them, carrying them away, and Sherlock relaxed back into John’s arms. His friend was still holding him, exactly as he had when he pulled Sherlock away from the demonic Moriarty, ready to tie him to a rack for torture.

John had shot Jim between the eyes.

“Didn’t know if you’d come,” Sherlock said.

John huffed against his neck. “Yes, you did, you idiot.”

“There was no guarantee of success.” Even the sonic screwdriver could only afford him a minimal amount of insurance.

There were a few moments of silence, filled with panting breaths, Dean and Castiel arguing quietly about self-sacrifice and not doing it anymore, and the TARDIS (hopefully) taking them home. John continued to hold him.

Finally, he said, “I’ve lived in a world without you, Sherlock. Not doing that again. Not ever. Do you understand?”

It sounded like a threat, but under the anger, there was fear in the doctor’s voice.

Sherlock closed his eyes, breathing in John’s familiar scent of tea, men’s deodorant and shaving cream, hospital disinfectant, and the slightly musty smell of their flat.

He found one of John’s hands and squeezed it. “Ta.”

“You owe me.”

“I do. Sorry.”

“You better be.”

The TARDIS landed.

“Huh,” the Doctor murmured, looking up into his small monitor, and the Winchester brothers rushed over to see what he was looking at, Castiel following more slowly. Whatever they saw made Dean groan and Sam start rubbing the bridge of his nose. The Doctor was smiling and Castiel’s expression was blank as usual.

Exchanging a look, John and Sherlock craned their necks to see, neither of them wanting to move too much yet.

It appeared that they had arrived on some sort of place with flying cars and spiraling towers that no human could possibly have constructed.

“Where are we, Doc?” Dean demanded.

“Well, I don’t really know, but it looks fun, doesn’t it? Let’s go have a look.” The Doctor frowned at the scruffy American. “And don’t call me Doc.”

Still wrapped around his back, John started to shake with suppressed laughter. Sherlock didn’t even try to hide it—he laughed and John soon joined in.

~ End ~

Extra.

Amy was a little too interested in getting Castiel drunk, but eventually lost interest when it was clear nothing was going to make the angel even slightly tipsy.

Rory tried to apologize, but Castiel just looked at him and asked ‘why apologize?’ He thought English alcohol tasted better than American.

So the nurse smiled and they shared a companionable silence, drinking, listening to the others joking around and laughing in the sitting room. Sherlock seemed to be going around the room, guessing everyone’s secrets. They thought it was brilliant—except for Dean, who didn’t want to hear that he had gay feelings for the angel, and how exactly the detective could tell.

Rory blinked at Castiel, who glanced in the direction of Dean’s voice.

He tilted his head. “He once took me to a brothel, and made me watch pizza man porn.”

“He what?” Rory croaked, choking on a swallow of beer.

“Yes. The latter of which led to me kissing a demon. It was… not very pleasant.”

“Think kissing Dean will be any better?” Rory asked awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what mates were supposed to do in this situation; even if it was a straight friend, he would have struggled to know what to say.

“I have no idea, nor do I believe I will be finding out.”

Rory sighed. He didn’t confess this often, only once, only to his daughter—and River had thought it was hysterical, but, “Amy kissed the Doctor before our wedding.”

Castiel’s expression registered faint surprise.

“So, if you think about it, I’ve shared an indirect kiss with him.”

Solemnly, Castiel nodded. “I think that beats me kissing the demon.”

*