"I guess we've got some pasts then." Sherlock decided with another laugh.
"I suppose so." John agreed. "But I've got to admit the hair grease thing seems extremely embarrassing, did it try to eat your hair?"
"Yes, my nicely slicked bacon smelling hair, it had dog slobber and was partially chewed off in some places." Sherlock sighed.
"How'd the Pomeranian even reach your head?" John asked.
"I got scared and I tried to run away, tripped on the bloody garden Nome." Sherlock mumbled. John burst into another fit of laughter, imaging little Sherlock falling on his face and being, mauled by a Pomeranian.
"Well what do you know, from a Pomeranian to a full out werewolf." John sighed.
"I'm guessing you were popular in school, weren't you?" Sherlock asked.
"I guess so, I was pretty good at football and all the girls seemed to see something in me that I didn't." John shrugged.
"I wasn't." Sherlock said with a little pout.
"You seem like you could be the annoying guitar player in the lunch room, serenading all the girls and being all romantic and stuff." John guessed.
"First of all, it's the violin, and second of all, I'm not all that interested in getting the girls." Sherlock admitted, breaking eye contact shyly.
"Oh ya, sorry." John muttered, his heart fluttering like a humming bird but blushing as well.
"Well, um, I guess we should get moving, what are our plans for the day?" Sherlock asked.
"We don't have any, I want to recover, but in the meantime you can go off and look for any demon signs, or you could just stay here and search the internet." John shrugged.
"I know which one I'd rather." Sherlock decided.
"I can't read your mind." John pointed out.
"Oh, ya, sorry, I meant that I want to stay here, I don't want another run in with a demon." Sherlock admitted.
"You've got your little necklace to protect you." John pointed out.
"I feel like it's not enough, I want a tattoo, like yours." Sherlock pointed out, his eyes wandering past John's wounds to the tattoo stamped on his bare chest.
"Oh, well I suppose we can try, but tattoo parlors don't have the stencil and they give you a really weird look, we'll have to do it ourselves." John sighed.
"With what?" Sherlock asked.
"I'll 'borrow' a tattoo gun when I recover, and we can give you an anti-possession symbol and maybe smiling kitten or something." John assured.
"Kittens scare me, and if they were smiling that would be even worse." Sherlock decided. John just laughed at Sherlock's childish.
"I was joking, but fair enough. We'll give you a ballerina." John suggested.
"It wouldn't kill me I guess." Sherlock shrugged. John smiled, but was internally groaning. How did this guy ever trick John into thinking he was straight? But that gave John hope, and right now he couldn't have hope, he needed to believe that Sherlock would never like him, because if he had hope he'd probably do something really stupid, like think that someone as beautiful as Sherlock would ever have an interest in him.
"Alright then, but before you go internet surfing could you maybe change my bandages?" John asked in a hopeful tone.
"Oh ya, right, sorry, I'll get that." Sherlock decided, snapping out of his own little world and jumping to his feet. He grabbed the first aid kit, whose supplies were dwindling a bit, and got out some disinfectant. John worked on removing the previous bandages, which hurt a little bit, but it would a whole lot better to take them off himself than have Sherlock do it, which would once again turn him into the first living tomato.
"Alright, this is going to sting." Sherlock warned, pressing the disinfectant over the cut and making the entire thing burn. But it didn't hurt nearly as bad as last time, so John toughed it out and pretended like he wasn't screaming internally.
"Perfect, we're done; see that wasn't all that bad was it?" Sherlock asked in a tone like he was talking to a baby.
"Oh shut up." John muttered, recollecting his strength. Sherlock taped some more bandages over top and then John felt very new and fresh, nodding his thanks to Sherlock and sinking back into his pillows with newfound relief. Sherlock grabbed the laptop, sitting on his bed and opening the lid.
"What should I look for?" he asked.
"Find out all you can about demons, I'll quiz you later on." John decided.
"That's a joke right?" Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Not in the slightest." John sighed. Sherlock mumbled something that John couldn't hear, but he was sure it was a bit angry.
"Okay then." Sherlock sighed. He typed something, no doubt demon, and started scrolling around.
"Well, they're from Hell, they have black eyes, possess anyone they can and use their body as methods of transport." Sherlock decided.
"Oh come on, that's everything you already know!" John defended.
"They used to be human spirits, but they made deals and now they're trapped in Hell until they finally morph into demons, should take about a century or something." Sherlock decided. John sighed, but nodded.
"Let's see, they come in the form of black smoke, they...whoa." Sherlock muttered.
"What is it?" John asked.
"Nothing." Sherlock said quickly.
"Come on Sherlock, I know everything about demons, I'm sure no information will scare me." John assured. Sherlock sighed, but instead of reading out facts he turned the laptop screen to show a badly photo shopped picture of some shirtless Hollister model or something, who had photo shopped his eyes black and added a devil tail and horns to his head. John just sighed with a smile on his face.
"Oh Sherlock, at this rate you won't get anything done." John sighed.
"It's not like I looked it up, it was here!" Sherlock protested.
"Sure it was." John laughed.
"I swear it was!" Sherlock insisted. John just laughed, rolling his eyes and reclining back onto his pillows.
"So, anything about why the demon is after us?" John asked after a good ten minutes. He wasn't even sure Sherlock was researching the demons; he hadn't said anything in a while.
"The only reason a demon would follow someone would be if they made a deal, but then it would be hellhounds, wouldn't it?" Sherlock asked. John's heart stopped. Of course! How could he be so stupid? He looked over to the digital clock on the counter, the one displaying the date as well. It was now the seventeenth of August, which meant that there was... John counted the days left in his head...less than a month away.
"You've never made a deal, so I suppose we just a secret admirer." Sherlock decided. John buried his head in his pillow, his heart beating out of his chest. How could it have come so fast, why would a demon be following him anyway? It's not like he had a plan on how to hide from the creatures of hell himself. John stayed silent, not knowing what to say or how to say it. He had made a deal, not ten years ago, and it had been screwed up and now he was going for hell having gained absolutely nothing. He heard the sound of the laptop lid closing and Sherlock got out of his bed, looking at the time and sighing.
"Time for lunch I suppose." Sherlock sighed.
"Ya, I guess so." John agreed, struggling to turn himself over to be able to look at Sherlock. He hoped he didn't look pale or clammy, because he didn't want Sherlock to think the worst of him.
"Where do you want it from?" Sherlock asked.
"You pick, it's about time you had a choice in all of this rubbish." John decided.
"Fair enough, I'll be back." Sherlock decided.
"Be careful." John insisted.
"Course I will." Sherlock said with a little laugh, and closed the door with a snap. John sat there, staring at the wall, shivers going down his arms and legs. So the demon was following them to keep an eye on him, but why would Sherlock be involved here? It's not like Sherlock was doing anything, unless the demon thought John deserved someone in his last few days considering that his deal was a complete waste. Of course he wouldn't be telling Sherlock of these occurrences, Sherlock would be scared out of his mind, and he didn't want him panicking or treating him in anyway different. John was a dead man walking, but he didn't want Sherlock crying every move he made or pampering him out of pity. His eyes scanned the room, the demon, why would he care to follow? The hellhounds would get John in the end, so why would a demon be babysitting him? John shuddered, there were so many unsolved mysteries and he was dead in the middle of them, just he and Sherlock against the rest of the world. But there was something desirable about that statement, the two of them against the rest of the world. It had always only been John, at school, in college, in hunting; he never had a partner or friend to call his and his alone. And here he was, with Sherlock, who was taking care of him and being an all-around beautiful person. It was more than John could ever ask for.  

The days passed, and soon John was able to get up, walk around, and move his arms freely without too much pain. The wounds were now scabbing over, and they looked absolutely revolting, but John was smart enough to keep a shirt on. He still hadn't told Sherlock about the deal he had made, he didn't want to scare him or think that John would leave him. Because he will, eventually, but for now all they could do was pretend that they would be together forever and there wouldn't be a demon threatening to tear their entire world down. Sherlock was acting perfectly calm about the whole thing, other than constantly clicking shot guns, twirling knives, checking out the windows every five minutes, and locking all of the locks on the door... well on second thought he wasn't taking the whole thing very well. In fact, Sherlock seemed terrified, but obviously he was trying to play it off as if a stupid demon wouldn't scare him. When John asked him he'd laugh it off, play cool, and maybe even pretend to shoot something in the head, but when he thought John wasn't looking he was checking the guns and looking quite scared. On more than one occasion John even saw Sherlock staring longingly at something, no doubt the picture of Victor, but tucked it away in a hurry once John saw. How could he still have feelings for that monster if he knew why he had been used? It was only a pathetic attempt to get to John; surely Sherlock would've picked up on that by now? And besides, he said that he only liked Victor because he liked him. John of course, was still absolutely flabbergasted by Sherlock's beauty, and often found himself staring blankly at Sherlock even when he was looking at him. It was mortifying, and to be honest he had no idea how he was still keeping his interest somewhat of a secret. Sherlock didn't seem to notice anything wrong though, he went on his normal every day paranoid business like nothing was wrong, and nothing really was wrong.
"Okay, pack up." John decided as he got out of bed one morning, stretching his arms experimentally and seeing if they hurt. There was a dull tugging pain, but he ignored it, happy to be mobile once more.
"What?" Sherlock asked groggily, rolling over in bed so that his bangs hung loosely over his eyes. To John's annoyance (and somewhat excitement) he didn't bother to fix them.
"I said pack your things, we're leaving." John decided.
"Why are we leaving, I like it here." Sherlock pointed out. John sighed, they had spent almost a week here, and the time was ticking down for him. He only had two weeks left, exactly two weeks, and he wasn't going to sit here and wait for the hell hounds like a paralyzed turkey on thanksgiving, he was going to give Hell itself a fight.
"We just need to go, give this stupid demon the slip." John decided with a confident smile.
"You think we can? I mean, he followed us all the way here." Sherlock pointed out with a yawn. "What time is it?" he added, looking at the clock with a grumble. It was three in the morning.
"I thought maybe even demons had to sleep." John shrugged.
"John! I need my beauty sleep!" Sherlock growled, taking an extra pillow and chucking it at John's head with a growl. John caught the pillow, but couldn't help thinking that Sherlock had too much beauty sleep in his life. His adorable bedhead was proof of that.
"Come on, we need to get going, I'm done with the stalker from hell." John decided.
"Way to put it lightly." Sherlock grumbled.
"Don't be annoying, come on, pack your stuff, I'm already packed up." John decided.
"You were up earlier than this?"Sherlock exclaimed.
"It's a hunter talent." John boasted, holding up his packed duffle bag. He was already in his favorite outfit, slightly torn jeans, a white tee shirt and his leather jacket, but his hair was still a bit damp from the shower he took. Showers were like food, you never know when you'll get your next one, and as a hunter he always takes the opportunity when it presents itself. Unfortunately he was too soft to wake Sherlock up earlier, so he wouldn't mention the luxury to him.
"Sherlock come on, wake up, we need to get going." He decided, throwing the pillow back onto Sherlock, who simply sunk into the bed once again and pulled the covers over his head.
"Five more minutes." He grumbled. John groaned, but walked over and pulled the covers from over top of him. Sherlock hissed like a vampire exposed to light, as if it were some horrible sin, but John took hold of one of his arms and pulled him out of bed. It looked a lot easier in the movies to be honest, there was never a bedside table in the way, and the actors never kicked and screamed. But Sherlock shrieked, and his flannel clad legs went crashing into the wooden table. He kicked John in the shin and just lay on the floor for a little bit, grumbling and groaning like a baby.
"Don't make me get cold water." John warned. Sherlock groaned, but pulled himself to his feet. Once he was standing up Sherlock looked a lot more threatening, considering John had to look up at him, and with the scowl on his face it was obvious he wasn't going to take crap from anyone.
"Pack." John demanded.
"I haven't got any clothes at all!" Sherlock defended.
"Well then get changed and we'll go, that makes it easier doesn't it?" John asked, throwing Sherlock his jacket, which was hanging over one of the chairs.
"I suppose it does." Sherlock grumbled, slouching into the bathroom and shutting the door like a child throwing a tantrum. John couldn't help but think what a baby he was being about all this, but all in all it was extremely adorable, and John would sacrifice all of his sleep to see that cute little pout on his face again. God, he needed priorities.