John didn't have time to think, only to act. He might have been able to suffer through this man, but who knows what type of tortures a demon has cooked up? John couldn't help but feel a little bit relieved though, he would take a demon over some creepy guy any day. John jumped up onto the counter and kneed the demon in the chest, making him stumble just a little bit backwards, but he looked more amused, as if John were a rebellious little kid that had kicked him for more ice cream. John tried to duck around him, but there was only one way out of this place, and Sherlock was blocking it. John wracked his brain for the exorcism, but that wouldn't work unless he had a demon trap, and right now he doubted there was one painted on the ceiling.
"Oh come now John, let's play fair." The demon purred, wiping his jacket of any dust that might have fallen on him in the kick. John was now stance near the shower, ready to jump at any attempt at Sherlock that he could.
"What do you want?" John demanded.
"We demons really shouldn't explain ourselves; I'm simply guiding home a lost sheep." The demon laughed, and the eyes changed back to Sherlock's green ones, which seemed so trapped and innocent now. John knew he had to help that poor soul that was trapped in there, under the control of the demon, of course he wanted nothing to do with John or any of this. John lunged at him, and the demon was too slow. This time it was John who pinned him against the wall, his arm at his neck, strangling him.
"Exorcizamus te, omnis immudus spiritus..." John started. It was the Latin incantation that should rid the vessel of the demon, but as soon as he started the demon opened his mouth in a strangled scream. Except it wasn't a scream, John fell back as black smoke poured from his mouth, filling the room and sliding through the air vent, as is escaping. It wasn't gone for good, but hopefully it wouldn't bother John again. The man, Sherlock, if that really was his name, crumpled, his green eyes rolled up into his head, John caught him easily and dragged him to the bed. The man was a lot lighter than John would've guessed, but he had also lost what little color he had in his skin. Now instead of a nice pale look to him he looked ghostly white. John wondered how long he had been possessed, and just why the demon had tracked him down in the first place. John tucked him under the covers, making sure his head was elevated, and took his pulse. There was a dull thudding under his skin, so his heart was still beating at least. John didn't know what type of damage this man might have gone through beforehand, because demons can withstand just about anything. Once they leave their body though, the host is left to die. John locked the door with all three locks it had, shut the curtains, and even stood a chair up to the door handle just in case. Why would a demon go through all of that trouble just to leave without much of a struggle? John had never seen a demon leave so easily, it was like he had just come to deliver a message. Guiding home a lost sheep, what did that even mean? Had the demon led John to anything other than some embarrassment and an umbrella? It kind of did make John feel better now, knowing this whole time that it was a demon. That's why it was so friendly and all and that's why it came after him. John hated demons of course, they were miserable beings and they loved killing innocent people, but if he had to pick between a demon and a human interaction he knew which one he would pick. He didn't like people so much as they were all different. Some were nice and innocent, others were completely deranged, and he didn't like it when a human goes rouge. Every other species is all the same, like demons. All of them wanted to kill everything, there were all evil. Vampires were the same, and spirits, and every other thing John had killed. But humans, human were more unpredictable, and John didn't like that. So how in the world was he supposed to care for this sleeping man in his bed? John groaned, looking at the clock. It was already ten o'clock, so John decided he should get a little bit of sleep. After making sure the door was locked and he had a knife under his pillow John lay down in the other bed, hoping that the man would be okay until morning. But knowing this species, he'll be up as soon as John closes his eyes.

As usual, John was right, well, almost. When the scream woke him up the clock read one o'clock in the morning, so he had at least gotten a couple of hours. John groaned, knowing of course where the scream had come from, and turned on one of the bedside lamps to shed some light on the man. There was a crash, and John saw the blankets falling off the bed as it's occupant rolled for an escape. John got out of his bed, not sure what to do about the man, but he just sat on the edge of his bed and let things play out.

 "Help, help, it's inside me, it's...it's inside me!" the man shrieked, it sounded like he was spitting everywhere, as if he thought the demon would leave him that way. As if the thing was still inside him. "Hey, stay calm, Sherlock? Is that your name?" John asked, getting to his feet and peering over the bed at the man, who was crouched in the corner, his arms around himself, curling himself into a little ball. As soon as he saw John he scurried out of reach, into the dark bathroom on all fours, but John could hear him sobbing. Brilliant, this one was obviously a good, brave fighter. Sarcasm, of course. "I'm not going to hurt you, don't worry." John assured.

 "How, how do I know you're not one of them?" The man demanded.

"Because if I were a demon then you'd be dead already." John pointed out. He heard more sobbing.

"I won't hurt you, I promise. I know a thing or two about demons, you'll be okay, but you need to let me help you." John saw a streak of scarlet in the carpet from where the man was escaped, great, so now he would have to pay housekeeping extra to wash the blood from the floor.

"Are you hurt?" John asked.

"Just, just stay away from me." the man demanded. A dark shadow lunged from the bathroom and picked up the gun that had been sitting on the floor from where the demon had thrown it. There were no bullets in it, not even a clip, but he obviously didn't know that.

"Are you going to shoot me?" John asked, trying to sound as calm as possible when actually he was really fed up. He saved his bloody life and in return he gets to babysit.

"I'll shoot, stay back!" the man exclaimed. John sighed.

 "You need to let me take a look at you, you could be seriously wounded." John pointed out.

 "You don't touch me, don't hurt me again, just leave!" he demanded.

 "I'm not going to...oh god should I just go back to bed?" John groaned.

"You're a demon?" the man asked in a small, muttering voice.

"No."

 "What are you?" he demanded.

 "I'm a human; do you want proof of that?" John asked, getting to his feet. He heard scurrying as the man crawled even farther into the bathroom, now he was really getting on John's nerves.

"Come back here." John demanded, but he knew that it would only make the man go farther away. John stepped closer and he could see the metallic gleam of the gun in the distant lamp light, it was pointed right at his face. John really hoped that this was the one without bullets, and that this guy didn't know how to reload or shoot in general.

"I'll shoot, get away!" he threatened.
"No you won't, I need to look at your injuries, we don't want you bleeding out." John decided.
"Why would you care?" he demanded.
"Because I'm a bloody human, and I care about the innocent!" John pointed out.
"I'm not innocent, I've done things, horrible things." the man pointed out.
"That wasn't you, that was demon, am I correct?" John asked. There was a pause.
"Don't come any closer." He insisted in a whimper. John took a step, he could see the startled shape huddled under the sink, obviously he thought that would protect him, from what though, that was yet to be decided. "I'll shoot you, I'm already damned."
"No you're not, that wasn't you, that was the..." John stepped even closer and there was a click. There it is then, the gun. "Well how'd that work huh?" John asked. The man threw the gun at him in a last resort, but John had fast reflexes, he dodged the attack and let the gun hit the wall.
"No, no, NO GET AWAY FROM ME!" the man screamed, pushing past him to try to get back into the main room. But John looped his arms around his stomach and pulled him back. As much as an idiot this guy was, he was about as slippery as an eel, John was having trouble holding onto him through all of the struggling and clawing and screaming. John did his best to restrain him, he needed to check for any injuries, but the man was hysterical and terrified.
"I'm only trying to help!" John assured, but nothing he said was going to change the man's mind. John tried to pull him back, but the man squirmed free and dove for the gun, which was still bullet free, but apparently it made him feel better holding it, like he had the upper hand. John was starting to feel like it would be better to let him die, it would be much easier, but then again if he tried to leave the room at one o'clock with a bleeding man in his hotel room, it might be a bit suspicious.
"Okay, fine, we'll do this your way." John sighed. He went over to the switch on the wall and turned on the light, so that this man could see that John wasn't a demon or vampire or anything like that. The gun was pointed directly at his face, but the fact that it was empty made sure that John didn't even flinch.
"My name is John, what is your name?" John asked. The man didn't move, he only stared at John, tears flowing freely down his sharp cheekbones.
"My name is Sherlock." He muttered.
"Oh, so the demon didn't make that up?" John asked, actually surprised. What kind of name was Sherlock anyway?
"Don't come any closer." Sherlock demanded, flicking the point of the gun as if it would scare John.
"You know that has no bullets in it, right?" John asked.
"Are you a demon?" Sherlock asked in a weak voice. John extended his hands up like he was being arrested.
"No, I'm not a demon, you can check if you want." John sighed.
"How can I tell?" Sherlock asked nervously.
"Holy Water usually." John shrugged.
"I... I don't have any holy water." Sherlock pointed out, backing up a pace and sinking to the ground below the bed, the gun still aimed at John.
"I could give you some if you want, or I could just splash myself and make it final." John sighed.
"How do I know it's holy?" Sherlock asked.
"It should have a rosary bouncing around in it; I keep the rosary in mine just in case." John shrugged. Sherlock looked at him like he was crazy, but John crossed the room to his 'work' bag and opened it up. He did his best to rearrange his things without letting Sherlock see the weapons, but he grabbed the container of holy water, which was just a big plastic bottle, and went over to Sherlock carefully. He kneeled down next to the cowering man, who retreated a little bit, but handed him the jug.
"See the rosary?" John asked. Sherlock didn't answer him; he just unscrewed the cap and dumped the whole thing on top of John's head. Even though he wasn't expecting so much of a shower, John showed no emotion to being drenched. It was kind of ironic, the demon held the umbrella and the human dumped water, opposite stereotypes.
"See, I'm not a demon." John pointed out; giving Sherlock a shy smile, but it was a bit hard to smile when he was basically looking down the barrel of a gun.
"What happened to me?" Sherlock asked in a shaking voice.
"You were possessed by a demon; it took control of your body. It's quite common, and everyone is powerless to it, I assure you." John assured.
"I...I killed a man...I slit his throat, I was drenched in his blood...he had a family..." Sherlock muttered, looking at the ground, shaking with fear.
"That wasn't you Sherlock, that was the demon inside you." John pointed out.
"I killed him." Sherlock repeated in a terrified whisper, looking to the door as if he were expecting the police to come kicking the door down.
"No you didn't." John assured. "Are you hurt?" Sherlock looked up at him with those sad green eyes, looking more like a child than a man, and nodded silently.
"Where are you hurt?" John asked softly.
"I think my shoulder is bleeding." He muttered.
"Do you know what happened to it?" John asked.
"The man, he threw something, I think it was a jagged piece of glass." Sherlock murmured. John reached out to investigate, but Sherlock retaliated, cowering even farther into the corner and pressing the barrel of the gnu against John's cheek.
"That gun is useless, you know that right?" John asked.
"It makes me feel better." Sherlock admitted in a whisper.
"Would you shoot me, if it had bullets?" John asked.
"Maybe." Sherlock admitted. "In the beginning."
"That's reassuring." John sighed. "I need to look at your shoulder Sherlock, I need to make sure it's not infected, and then I can get what I need from the First Aid kit."
"Don't touch me." Sherlock whimpered.
"I have to Sherlock; I need to make sure you're not infected." John repeated. He was getting really annoyed with this man, he was like a terrified child, most of the people John had helped were only too happy to let him heal them, but this one acted like John himself was the disease.
"Is the demon gone?" Sherlock asked.
"Yes, the demon is gone. There aren't any permanent effects." John agreed. "Can I please look at your shoulder?" he asked again.
"How do you know so much about demons?" Sherlock asked.
"Because I hunt them, and all the other creepy crawlies." John pointed out.
"Like what?" Sherlock asked.
"Well, all sorts of things, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, zombies, they're all real." John pointed out.
"That doesn't make me feel better at all." Sherlock admitted.

"You're not a vampire are you?" John smiled widely to show Sherlock  that his teeth were flat and normal. Of course vampire fangs sprout from their gums, but Sherlock didn't need to know that.

"I'm a human, just like you are." John assured.

"I'm not human, not anymore." Sherlock mumbled.

"Yes you are, I told you, demons don't have any long term affects." John pointed out. "Can I please see your shoulder?"

"Why should I trust you?" Sherlock asked nervously.

"Because most evil people don't have this much patience, and I can certainly tell you that I want you to be healthy and alive. I'm sure you have a family that's anxiously waiting for your return." John sighed.