"I can't wait any longer." Sherlock decided, picking up a piece as if it were some great feat. "Oh, it's not that bad." He decided, munching happily on the pizza. It didn't take them long to get through the whole pie, with Fletcher watching enviously. In only ten minutes there was only one piece left, and the two of them were glaring at each other. Of course it wasn't selfishness, it was selflessness.
"Well, I'm full, you can have it." Sherlock decided, reclining back in his seat.
"You liar. I'm not hungry either." John pointed out.
"You eat way too much, come on, I know you're lying." Sherlock insisted.
"I am not going to eat that pizza." John decided.
"Yes you are, you need to live a little bit before you die." Sherlock insisted.
"If you eat that, I'll take you out for ice cream." John suggested.
"I told you I'm full." Sherlock debated.
"You're not, you're lying." John insisted.
"You're really not going to eat it?" Sherlock sighed.
"Absolutely not, feed it to the hellhounds for all I care." John sighed. Sherlock picked it up, examined it, and plopped it on his plate.
"Here you go." He said, tapping Fletcher on the shoulder. It looked like he had made the man's day, his face light up with a smile and he took the pizza thankfully.
"Thank you so much!" he exclaimed, as if he had never received such kindness from a stranger before.
"It's not trouble; we weren't going to eat it." Sherlock assured.
"May the angels watch over you." Fletcher decided, biting into the pizza thankfully.
"Quite the opposite." John sighed, thinking about their demon stalker. They went back to the hotel and sat on the beds, staring at the walls or ceiling and not quite knowing what to do with themselves.
"So, what now?" Sherlock asked.
"No idea." John sighed. "I've got a pack of cards, do you want to play spit?"
"Sure." Sherlock said with a smile. John jumped off of the bed, grabbing an ancient pack of playing cards he had acquired ages ago, when he still was living with his family.
"You know how to play?" John asked, shuffling the deck easily and sitting on the carpeted floor.
"Ya, my brother taught me." Sherlock said, shaking his head happily. John divided the cards into two piles, one for Sherlock and one for himself, and started to make five piles in front of him. Sherlock watched him, and then started to make his own piles. John put two cards out in front of him and examined his cards, face down.
"Ready?" he asked.
"I suppose." Sherlock muttered.
"Go!" John exclaimed, and off they went. It was a fast paced game, obviously Sherlock knew exactly what he was doing, and by the time John was halfway through his deck Sherlock was finished, looking at the empty carpet in front of him with a large, childlike smile.
"You're cheating." John decided, putting the queen he was about to use down on the floor with a frown.
"No I'm not." Sherlock debated with a frown.
"Then you're just really good at this game." John sighed.
"Again?" Sherlock asked.
"Ya." John agreed. They played three more rounds, and every single time John was beaten so badly that he decided Sherlock had to be cheating.
"There's no possible way you can beat me this bad so many times in a row!" he debated.
"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it!" Sherlock defended, holding one of the cards and bending it between his fingers.
"Then what, do you want to play war or something?" John asked.
"I guess, but I..." before he could finished his sentence the card slipped from his fingers, flinging right into John's face with a twang sound. John frowned, but there was a huge smile on Sherlock's face, as if he found amusement in hitting John in the head with cards.
"I swear to god that was an accident." He pleaded. John picked up his own card and shot it at Sherlock's face, where it hit him right in the nose. Sherlock swatted it away like a fly and ducked behind a chair, grabbing a pile of cards to use as ammunition. John dove behind the bed, taking cards as well, and poked his eyes above the covers to see where his enemy lay. Sherlock was giggling uncontrollably, sending a card flying at John, which only died and landed softly on the bed.
"You'll never win!" John exclaimed, sending a card flying. It hit Sherlock in the foot, which he pulled into his makeshift hiding spot with a squeal.
"I beg to differ!" Sherlock yelled, running at John and throwing a handful of cards down on top of his head, as if it where some bomb. John pretended to writhe in pain, falling onto the floor and lying motionless except for a couple of twitching muscles.
"Ah ha, I have killed the John!" Sherlock said, standing up and putting one foot on John's chest and held his hand high, as if he had some stupid flag in his hand. John came back to life in an instant, pulling Sherlock's leg from under him and making the boy fall onto the bed into the fallen cards.
"Loser." John laughed, jumping to his feet. Sherlock was laughing now, as if this game were extremely amusing. John wondered for a second if he was ticklish, something that would be very amusing if he had a feather duster. Sherlock tried to get to his feet but John quickly lashed out, tickling under Sherlock's soft chin and making him fall right back onto the covers, laughing hysterically and slapping John's hand away.
"Aw! You're ticklish!" John laughed.
"No I'm not." Sherlock lied, getting to his feet and straightening out his jacket as if he were some professional mature person.
"Yes you are!" John insisted.
"No, I am an extremely mature adult and don't have time for..." Sherlock's sentence was cut off as John tickled him in the stomach which made him snort with laughter and try to kick John.
"John go away!" Sherlock exclaimed, bouncing away and taking refuge behind the dining room table.
"How old are you?" John asked.
"Twenty four." Sherlock said proudly, as if that were some big feat.
"And you're still ticklish?" John asked.
"No." Sherlock decided. "You're not?" he asked.
"No, I'm not." John insisted.
"Liar." Sherlock decided, creeping closer.
"I am not." John said confidently. Sherlock came even closer, ticking John in the stomach. But John didn't laugh, he didn't feel anything, but took that opportunity to tickle Sherlock again, who squealed like a murdered pig and ran away again.
"Stop it!" he pleaded.
"Some twenty four year old." John laughed, looking at the clock. "We should get to bed." he decided, seeing that it was ten forty five already.
"We're going to live tomorrow okay?" Sherlock muttered.
"Of course." John agreed.
"No, like I'm going to take you to a park or something, and we can go swimming, or see a movie, and do everything this town has to offer, and stay up really late and tell ghost stories and tell jokes and have fun." Sherlock decided, changing into his pajamas as John searched through the bags, politely averting his eyes.
"That sounds good to me." John agreed, not wanting to think that it was going to be his last full day on Earth. He changed into his own pajamas while Sherlock brushed his teeth, collapsing into his bed and sighing.
"Well, good night I guess." Sherlock muttered as he buried himself under his own covers.
"Good night Sherlock." John agreed, shutting off the lamp and throwing the room into darkness.   

       John didn't like the darkness; it was, well, dark. He didn't know what was in it, he couldn't see what he needed to kill. People say children were scared of the dark but that was complete rubbish, it wasn't the darkness itself it was what lurked in the darkness, the monster under the bed, the thing in the closet, the tentacle monster hiding behind the corner as you wander without a flashlight.The same thing was running through John's mind, but it was Matt with black eyes who lurked around the corner, it was a hellhound growling under his bed, and it was the devil himself who stood, waiting in his closet to come and claim him to the fires of Hell. He heard Sherlock's soft snores and envied him, if only he were able to fall asleep so effortlessly, without a single care in the world. John wanted Sherlock to be closer, to comfort him and lie about the things that were to come, and he kept trying to forget that he only had one more full day on Earth until he went downstairs. When morning poked its first sun rays into the window John was already awake, staring at the ceiling and wishing that he was anywhere but here. He'd even settle for an hour before, but once the light came it meant it was slowly going away.
"Sherlock get up." John called. There was a grunt, but Sherlock didn't move."SHERLOCK!" he yelled. Sherlock jumped out of the bed with a yelp, as if he had been bitten by something, and scrambled onto the carpet.
"What, what, where do I shoot?" he asked, grabbing a spare shotgun from the table.
"I said wake up, not shoot me." John growled. Sherlock sighed, dropping the gun back down and frowning.
"That was a bit of an intense wake up call." He muttered.
"Ya well, it's not like I slept a wink." John sighed.
"Today's the day we have fun though, so what do you want to do?" Sherlock asked. He probably shouldn't have asked that. For breakfast they had coffee and mini donuts they bought at a gas station, and they sat on a stump near some old abandoned rail road tracks and threw pebbles at birds who wanted to get some of the fallen powdered sugar. Sherlock refused to throw any, saying that they were birds of nature and they shouldn't be harmed, but then again he didn't stop John from trying, since this was his day. When they were done they walked down the tracks until the heat of the day got too intense, balancing on the metal rods and hopping from log to log. Sherlock was the ultimate balancer, he walked almost the whole way without falling off, it must be the dancer inside of him or something. Not a word was spoken as they walked, there was no sound but the birds in the trees and the bugs in the pebbles, and John was left alone to walk ahead and think. Of course his thoughts betrayed him, wandering to the fate he had in store, but eventually they turned back, walking back to the town and throwing out their breakfast trash. Honestly John didn't know what else he wanted to do, nothing in this town was very tempting. So they sat in a bench in the sort of run down park, watching the people pass, the children play, and once again not saying a word. There seemed to be nothing to do when you knew you were never going to do it again. They went to lunch at McDonald's, eating in silence as John stared at a wall, trying to figure out just how much pain this trip would cause.
"You're awfully quiet." Sherlock decided as they sat in the car. The engine wasn't going; they were just sitting there in the parking lot.
"I wonder why." John muttered.
"You don't have to be scared John, you're..."
"Of course I have to be scared Sherlock. Nothing on Earth, no matter how tough you are or how athletic you are there is nothing to prepare you for the eternal torment they have prepared down there." John decided.
"But I'll figure out a way to get you out, I'll do whatever it takes." Sherlock insisted. Suddenly John snapped out of his moodiness, turning so fast in his seat that Sherlock recoiled, smacking himself up against the window.
"Sherlock I am warning you, if you sell your soul or do anything stupid, I will stay in hell even if they drag me out. It's not worth it, I'm not worth it."John growled. "Promise me you won't sell your soul."
"I promise." Sherlock muttered.
"What?" John asked, wanting clarification.
"I promise! There, I said it; I promise I will not sell my soul." Sherlock sighed, sounding like he immediately regretted it.
"Thank you Sherlock." John sighed, sitting back in his seat and staring out the window.
"What do you want to do now?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know." John admitted.
"Do you want to see a movie?" Sherlock asked.
"No." John sighed.
"Um, go swimming?" Sherlock suggested.
"We don't have swimsuits." John pointed out.
"Oh, ya. We could go roller skating?"
"This isn't the eighties." John pointed out.
"You're a bit difficult today aren't you?" Sherlock asked.
"I think I have every right to be." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed, looking out the window as well.
"It's your day, do whatever you want." Sherlock sighed, but he didn't sound all that thrilled to be doing the things along with him. They sat there for a little while until finally John turned on the engine, driving down the road a little bit and then turning around and driving more. They drove throughout the whole town, John just taking in life as it could've been, admiring normal life, as if it were his to behold. But no, there will be no normal life for a hunter, you never just quit, you must stand and face your fate, whether it be at the hands of demons or hellhounds or vampires or even an angry human, you will die and you will die painfully. That's part of the reason John didn't want Sherlock to be hunting by himself, you always need backup, but he knew Sherlock was much too stubborn to give it up for good. So John kept his worried mouth shut, not because he knew Sherlock wouldn't hear him out but he didn't want to think of his car, his weapons, what felt like his whole life, not being used. Everything that got him through another day sitting in some shed somewhere, collecting dust as Sherlock moved on with his life without a second thought to his once very much alive friend. And this is how Sherlock was spending his day, driving down back streets and sitting in cars and sitting in benches and sitting in McDonalds and sitting on logs and walking down train tracks. And for some reason he admired the silence, he liked Sherlock with him, and he liked not having to deal with conversations or anything rubbish like that. Sherlock was with him the whole time and for what very much might be the first time John felt accepted, he didn't feel half as lonely as he had his entire life. The day passed like water, no matter how many times John tried to capture the hours it slipped through his fingers even faster, and soon the sun was setting and they were crinkling up more empty burger wrappers in the hotel room.
"I'll throw that out for you." Sherlock decided, springing off of his bed and grabbing the paper from John's hand. He sighed, and watched Sherlock throw out the wrappers into the trash can. John sat on the edge of the bed, watching the sun go down.