Sherlock slept most of the way, tucked up in a ball against the window and bumping around whenever the car gave an unexpected jerk. John didn't really want to wake him for conversation, so he drove in silence until around eight o'clock at night, when hunger was tearing at his stomach. He hadn't had a meal since breakfast, and that felt like ages ago. Finally John pulled up at some shady looking Mexican restaurant, the only place that seemed to serve food for miles, and sighed.
"Sherlock." John said, poking the sleeping boy in the passenger seat. He stirred a little bit, but rolled over and muttered words unheard.
"Sherlock?" John said again, getting a bit impatient. He shook Sherlock's shoulders, jolting him awake with a bit of momentary panic.
"What, what, where am...oh, hi John." Sherlock muttered, dropping his volume to his inside voice.
"I thought you might be hungry?" John pointed out, gesturing out the window to the restaurant.
"Well, now that you mention it...what time is it?" Sherlock asked, rubbing his eyes and adjusting himself on the leather seat.
"Only eight, but you slept like a rock." John pointed out.
"Where are we?" Sherlock asked, attempting to crack his neck but just looking like a horse trying to poke his head through a fence.
"Somewhere in Pennsylvania I think." John guessed, looking around as if there would be a big neon sign telling them where they were in the world.
"This looks, uh, somewhat sanitary?" Sherlock decided.
"We'll see, and if we get jumped or get food poisoning, then we'll leave." John decided, getting out of the car.
"That sounds safe." Sherlock sighed, but he got out of the car as well, letting John lock the doors and following him into the unknown. John led him into the deserted restaurant, where there were a couple of workers huddled around a TV, cheering on a football game. John waited for a little bit, eyeing Sherlock to ask what he was supposed to do to get their attention. Hopefully the workers will realize they have a customer, wouldn't they?
"Come on, he's got it, come on!" exclaimed one. A loud, obnoxious set of cheers followed and John could hear an announcer screaming GOOOOAAAALLLL! It took one of the ravenous fans to start doing a victory lap to notice that someone else was in the room.
"Oh, hello." He said with a strong accent. John waved a little bit and Sherlock edged closer to him, as if terrified.
"Table for two please?" John asked. The others stopped their celebrations to turn, looking at just who had come knocking on their door this late.
"Costumers, turn it off!" hissed an older man.
"But..."
"No..." they defended, looking heart broken and defeated.
"No, it's fine, who's playing?" John asked with a smile.
"Ah, a football fan! It's Manchester United vs. Arsenal, big game, big game." Said the older man with excitement. John nodded, but in reality he had no time to be a football fan, or an American football fan, or even a sports fan in general.
"Seems nice enough." John muttered, but Sherlock looked terrified as they followed the waiter to a table. It wasn't the best restaurant, the hard wood was scratched, the tables creaky, and the chairs uneven, but the people seemed extremely friendly, and the food was amazing. That's pretty much the sacrifice, hole in the wall sort of restaurants have the best food, it's a proven scientific fact. John almost felt bad as he handed them Ronald Nugget's credit card, but they soon left and got back in the car, full, sleepy, and satisfied.
"If you want to get some sleep, I could always drive." Sherlock offered. John wanted to reject, but his argument was ruined by a large yawn, and there was no arguing with that. "I'll take that as a yes." Sherlock decided.
"You need to sleep too!" John debated.
"I slept the whole way here, you've been driving, take a break John, seriously." Sherlock insisted.
"Well, I can't argue with that." John decided, and Sherlock smiled. He looked truly luminous in the pale blue and red lights of the neon sign hanging over the restaurant. His pale skin reflected back the colors, he looked simply gorgeous. But John shrugged the thought off, it was stupid to think anything happy could happen; especially when he knew the forces of Hell would be hunting him down soon. He got into the back of the car, curling up with his jacket as a pillow and listening to the slow purr of the engine.
"If you crash my car I will kill you." John warned.
"Always nice to know you trust me." Sherlock laughed, and pulled back onto the highway.   

John was running, running faster than he thought possible, but also slower than he'd like to. He was tearing through the woods, something was chasing him, he could hear it's unhuman like growls, branches snapping and leaves crinkling, it was gaining on him. John's legs burned, like acid fires, his chest was rising and falling with breaths that didn't seem to be working. He was weakening, his entire body was slowing down, his legs to concreate, he was fresh meat to the beast that was chasing him. Suddenly Sherlock came out of nowhere, from behind a tree or out of a rabbit's hole John didn't know, he was just so glad to see him. He could be saved now. John collapsed into Sherlock, gasping for breath and tearing at his shoulders, no words would come out, his throat was so dry that he only croaked like a frog.
"John, John, what's wrong?" Sherlock demanded, holding John's face in his hands.
"Something...run...save me!" John exclaimed, clinging to Sherlock for dear life.
"Something, oh don't be silly John, that's not only something. It's Victor, and I'm not going to save you. You mean nothing to me, and I know I don't mean anything to you, you're just not worth it John." Sherlock sighed, pushing John back so he stumbled along the trees, tripping over a root and falling into a pile of mud. He looked up, hearting slow, animal like breath above him, and saw Victor, with his yellow eyes and wolf fangs, standing above him.
"Ah, fresh meat, how wonderful." Victor said with a laugh, but he walked around John and took Sherlock's hand.
"This is the one that was supposed to be my competition? If you want Sherlock's heart, you must do better than that." Victor said with an evil laugh. John struggled to get up, but the Earth was sinking around him, slowly, but he felt the mud rising up, or he was just sinking farther down... Sherlock laughed and swung his arms around Victor's neck, placing a loving kiss on his lips. John screamed, not only because that was the most horrid thing he'd ever seen, but because he was sinking even farther, he could feel heat underneath him, he knew where he was going, where he would end up.
"Have fun in Hell Johnny Boy, I can assure you that we won't be missing you here!" Sherlock said with a laugh, deepening his kiss with Victor and letting John sink into the fires, the demons, the heat, the torturous depths of Hell.   

"John?" someone was poking him, and John rolled over uncomfortably in his sleep. "John!" it demanded. He was sinking, falling, Hell, torture... John woke with a start, shrieking and almost attacking the figure in the dark until he realized it was Sherlock.
"What, why, Sherlock?" John asked, panicking slightly as he saw headlights swarming around him.
"Nightmares?" Sherlock asked.
"Why aren't we moving, why are you..." the door was open and Sherlock was hovering above him, they had pulled over on the highway.
"You were sort of screaming, couldn't drive with distractions like that now could I?" Sherlock asked.
"Here, you take over; I won't be able to get back to sleep." John insisted.
"No way, from what I heard you weren't asleep at all." Sherlock laughed, shutting the door in John's face and climbing back into the driver's seat.
"Oh come on, that's not fair to you!" John pointed out.
"Don't worry about me, I slept all day." Sherlock assured.
"What time is it?" John asked. Sherlock looked at the dashboard and sighed.
"Only eleven thirty." he shrugged.
"Oh come on, we can get a hotel, get off the highway." John decided.
"I've got it." Sherlock assured.
"We both need sleep!" John insisted.
"No I..." Sherlock started.
"I'll push you out of that car; get off the next exit now." John hissed, and Sherlock merely nodded.
"So, bad dream?" he asked.
"How'd you guess?" John muttered.
"What was it about?" Sherlock asked.
"I could be wrong, but that's none of your business." John snapped.
"I could help." Sherlock insisted.
"What, fight off the usual nightmare creatures? Good luck."
"So they are creatures then?"
"No, I didn't say that, figments, nightmare figments, you know exactly what I mean come on." John sighed.
"Werewolves, vampires, demons?" Sherlock asked. "All of the above...?"
"Would you shut up!" John growled. Never in his wildest dreams would he admit that he had a nightmare about Sherlock and Victor, and of course, Hell, but really they were the same thing. It had seemed so real that there was nothing preventing John from thinking it might happen, he didn't know how people actually went to the basement, and there was no solid proof that Sherlock still wasn't interested in Victor. Then again, he was dead, but in this world no one stays dead for long. Of course Sherlock would think it's the usual hunter nightmares, but it wasn't, was it? Sherlock, thankfully, pulled out onto the nearest exit, cruising down the streets in the dead of night, under the illumination of the signs and the headlights, not growing fewer and fewer. Sometimes the two of them were in complete darkness, other times a passing truck would roll by with more light than when you turn your phone on in the middle of the night. They found the quickest hotel and quickly booked a room to a very tired looking hotel manager, who was falling asleep at his desk. When they got into the room it wasn't all that different, two twin beds, a table, a couch and a boxy looking TV, with one adjoining bathroom. This type of cheap hotel was John's lifestyle, unfortunately, but it was enough to live with.
"Alright, which one do you want?" Sherlock asked. John collapsed into the nearest bed, not even bothering to change (which he rarely does anyways) and snuggled his head into the pillow.
"That settles it then." Sherlock sighed, dropping his bag and going into the bathroom to get changed. When he came out he was in the overly attractive fleece pajamas again, ruffing his hair all up without noticing how gorgeous he looked.
"I'm beat." Sherlock sighed, plopping into the other bed and shutting off the lamp light.
"Oh, so now you admit it?" John laughed.
"So now I notice it!" Sherlock growled.
"You're just trying to act all tough." John decided.
"Says you." Sherlock sighed.
"I don't act tough!" John defended.
"You strut around, bragging about all the monsters you've killed and being such an expert, creep around with your gun in your waistband and shoving your FBI badge in everyone's faces, please, you're a show off." Sherlock laughed.
"If you don't shut up, I'll go over there and make one more kill. So first I don't care about anyone, now I'm a showoff, what else do you have for me today?" John asked.
"You're bossy." Sherlock decided.
"Well you're childish." John defended.
"Your ego could fill up this entire hotel." Sherlock sighed.
"Your ignorance could ignore the entire building."
"You're unappreciative, stubborn, cruel, and possessive." Sherlock spat. John thought long and hard, but he really couldn't think of any other negative factors of Sherlock.
"Possessive?" John asked. "First I don't care, now I'm possessive?"
"You may not care about things, but if someone touches them you're all macho and jealous." Sherlock pointed out.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"When I drive your car you get all stiff and bossy." Sherlock suggested.
"That's not true."
"You don't let me touch the weapons bag." Sherlock added.
"Because a gun could go off! It's common sense idiot!" John growled.
"And you're irritable."
"Oh my god, you can't prove anything..." John muttered.
"Victor." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not more about that idiot." John groaned.
"You're possessive! You don't give a crap about me when no one else is around, but if someone actually likes me you swoop in and get moody and give me the silent treatment and try your best to get him killed." Sherlock decided.
"I didn't want him killed!" John defended.
"Oh come on, admit it, you'd love to have seen his head ripped off of his shoulders!"
"And you wanted to marry him!" John pointed out.
"Don't turn it on me; I have every right to like someone!" Sherlock growled.
"Oh, so you did like him, I thought you only felt like you were wanted." John pointed out.
"I do want to feel wanted, and I guess I liked him because you didn't provide that." Sherlock defended.
"I care about you very much Sherlock!" John defended.
"Obviously." Sherlock muttered.
"Give me one example where I didn't care about you huh? I buy you food, I drive you around, I give you clothes, protection, a place to sleep, I could've thrown you back into the world, where you're a wanted criminal, I could've thrown you back to the landlord's corpse! But no, I didn't, I was good, I watched over you! Why? Why do you ask? Because it's the only thing I can do when everything else in my life is tearing apart! You're going to be the only person that remembers me, and I need you to live because last time she died! She died, and it's all my fault!" John exclaimed, suddenly realizing what he had just said. He heard Sherlock move around, but couldn't see him in this light. John buried his face in his pillow.
"Who died?" Sherlock asked in a hushed tone.
"No one died, go to sleep." John muttered, but his voice cracked, all the memories flooding back and hitting him like a cartoon anvil. "No one died." He repeated.
"But...you just said..." Sherlock muttered, but stopped himself.
"SHERLOCK I CARE ABOUT YOU NOW GO TO SLEEP!" John exclaimed, feeling the dire need to punch the lights out of everyone in a three mile radius, including Sherlock.
"Okay, okay, goodnight." Sherlock muttered, rolling over in his bed. John didn't say anything more, he just stared up at the ceiling, thinking, wishing, dreading, and slapping his past self in the face so many times that he hoped it might have hurt.