They rolled up to a drive through McDonalds, screaming at the machine that they wanted two cheeseburgers, two large fires, a Coke and an iced tea. When they finally got their order from an annoyed looking girl that kept blowing bubbles with her gum, they were off again, pausing only in the parking lot to get the food into order. Sherlock poked a straw into the iced tea and sipped, watching carelessly as John opened his cheeseburger and removed the pickles. They were disgusting and he had no idea why someone would ever want them to ruin a cheeseburger.
"Don't you want the pickles?" Sherlock asked as John pulled out on the road once again, joining the stream of traffic.
"God no." John laughed.
"Can I have them?" Sherlock asked.
"That's disgusting, but I guess so." John decided. Sherlock plucked them off the wrapped, not even bothering to eat them on his burger, just plain. It made John want to throw up.
"I've seen people's stomach ripped open and I can still say that you eating pickles is the grossest thing I've ever seen." John decided, and Sherlock just laughed.
"Everyone has different tastes I suppose." Sherlock shrugged.
"Do you actually smoke?" John asked, remembering the demon offering him a cigarette.
"Now and then, yes. It calms down my brain." Sherlock shrugged. John looked at him oddly, surprised that someone so innocent looking could smoke.
"Smoking doesn't really fit your appearance." John decided.
"Why is that?" Sherlock asked, swishing his bangs over his forehead and biting a fry in half.
"You look too innocent, like a little kid." John shrugged.
"Thanks John, always good to hear that someone thinks I look like a little kid." Sherlock said with a half laugh. "Did the demon look fit to smoke?" he asked.
"Yes." John shrugged.
"That was still me, how does that make sense?" Sherlock asked.
"Because he was more confident, there wasn't so much fear in his eyes." John pointed out.
"You're forgetting I'm road tripping with a murderous Ghostbuster." Sherlock debated. "I have all the reason to be afraid."
"That's a new title." John decided with a laugh.
"Why did the demon come after you, why not anyone else? It took a while to get here, a couple of states over; I took a plane and everything." Sherlock pointed out.
"I have no idea; I've been trying to figure that out myself. Is there anything that the demon did that was out of the ordinary, did you, well, did you hurt anyone else?" John asked. He knew this might be a bit of a touchy subject, but considering that Sherlock had asked him to cough up his past it seemed like a fair trade.
"No, only my landlord." Sherlock admitted, his voice cracking a bit.
"There's no need to feel guilty Sherlock, it wasn't you that killed him, it was the demon." John pointed out.
"But it was me, I held that knife, I saw his skin split open, the blood gush out..." Sherlock started.
"Okay, I am trying to eat!" John pointed out, gesturing at his half-finished sandwich and trying to not lose control of the wheel at the same time.
"Why didn't the demon try to kill you?" Sherlock asked. "He came all this way just to uh, try to kiss you."
"I know, it's a puzzle I have yet to solve." John admitted.
"Do demons always act that way?" Sherlock asked.
"Not that I know of. Of course they're all a little bit different, but I've never heard of one doing something like this before. It's all very odd." John decided. Sherlock nodded in agreement but didn't say anything; as if he were scared he was going to get yelled at or something.
"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, I know you know it wasn't me in control, but it was a bit, you know, controversial." Sherlock pointed out.
"It's not your fault Sherlock, I don't blame you." John assured, but there was an awkward twist in his stomach. Half of the reason he never hung out with people was because you could avoid all the awkward conversations like this one. I'm sorry for being a demon and trying to kiss you. That would never have come up if John had left him in that hotel room. There was silence once more, filled only by Sherlock sucking the last few drops of ice tea through the ice cubes, which created a loud annoying slurping sound. John did his best to ignore it, it seemed like one little comment that could be twisted into negativity would be interpreted as a hate comment in Sherlock's head. He didn't seem to have a very good self-esteem.
"So how much farther?" Sherlock asked a couple of hours later. He was throwing the wrapper of his burger at the windshield repeatedly, obviously bored out of his mind.
"Still got a ways to go, a couple of hours, let's stop for dinner." John decided. "Sit down this time." Sherlock nodded, obviously he needed to get out and stretch his legs because he was sitting in a little ball on the seat, looking extremely uncomfortable. So John pulled off the interstate once again and landed them in a little diner, which looked cheap enough. They got out of the car and immediately Sherlock sprinted across the parking lot and back again, obviously his own way of stretching his legs. John just walked around a little bit, he was used to these road trips, it was kind of second nature now. When Sherlock returned, coat flapping and hair a mess, he had a wide smile stretching across his face, looking windblown and out of shape.
"That felt nice." He decided. John nodded, and the two of them walked into the diner. It was a crappy old place, like the ones you saw in old seventies movies but hadn't been renovated. There was a neon sign above the menu board, checkered floors, and metallic stripes along the beat up red cushioned booths. There were bar stools as well, but John never liked to be next to the cash register so they couldn't associate him with the card in anyway.
"Let's sit over here." he decided, leading Sherlock to an empty booth and sinking down into it. There were quite a lot of people sitting and eating, for such a rundown place it was pretty popular. Mostly old people of course, but there was a family with a baby, two teenagers on a date, and some weird man that didn't look like he could snare a date if he had a harpoon.
"Hello sweeties, what can I get for you today?" asked a waitress with frizzy white hair. She looked ancient, but she leaned all her weight on one hip and talked like a Valley Girl.
"Let's start with root beer for me and, what do you want?" John asked.
"Oh, um, just water for me, thanks." Sherlock said with a friendly yet unsure smile to the waitress. She scribbled something down and walked away with a smile, her high heels clicking on the tile floors.
"This is quite a place." Sherlock decided. His pale almost looked luminous in the bright neon light; it was kind of angelic in a way.
"Well I don't have all that much money; don't expect a five star meal." John pointed out.
"Of course not." Sherlock assured, looking around nervously as if he expected someone's eyes to turn black any moment. John realized that this was the first time they went into public after the demon attack, and obviously Sherlock would develop some newfound trust issues from the experience.
"Don't be so nervous, demons aren't everywhere." John assured, looking right at Sherlock to make sure he would look back. He needed to stop worrying about everything, hunting was stressful and of course it could be scary, but you needed a clear mind if you were going to get anything done.
"How do you do it John? Any of these people could be a demon, or a vampire, or a werewolf, or even a zombie, and don't you think if there's a demon or something they'll...."
"Hey! I saw that movie too!" John said with a loud, anxious tone as the waitress came walking around the corner with the drinks.
"What movie are we talking about over here?" she asked, way too friendly, but there was a smile to reveal her coffee stained teeth.
"Oh, um, Exorcist." John said quickly, the first horror movie to come to mind.
"I didn't sleep for three nights after that movie, scared me half to death." The waitress laughed. "Ah well, it's just a movie, do you fellas know what you want to eat?" she asked. Just a movie, ya right. After their orders were placed (John with a bacon burger and Sherlock with a large Caesar salad), she bustled along, taking someone's coffee cup on her way back to the counter.
"First rule in hunting, never ever talk about it too loudly, especially if there are people around." John pointed out.
"You brought it up." Sherlock defended.
"I brought it up quietly, you went around screaming." John pointed out. Sherlock rolled his eyes and plucked the salt shaker from the rack, sliding it on the waxy table to entertain himself.
"Salt is the most important item in a hunter's arsenal." John pointed out, plucking the shaker from Sherlock's hands and examining it.
"Now are you just playing around with me?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"No, really, it repels spirits, demons, make a circle stand inside, fill up shot gun shells with it, boom, no more ghost anymore." John said, sliding the salt shaker back suddenly and making Sherlock jump.
"That's pretty convenient then." Sherlock decided.
"Well it only makes them go away, in order to permanently get rid of them you have to burn the person's bones." John pointed out.
"What's this about not talking about it in public?" Sherlock asked with a little laugh.
"Well it's not that..." John defended, but stopped talking when he saw Sherlock's sarcastic face. What else was there to talk about, football? John didn't know a thing about football, he never watched TV and he had a sneaking suspicion that Sherlock would rather watch ballet or something.
"So, you don't have a family right? Because if you do we're turning around and going back to them." John pointed out.
"No, I've never had a family." Sherlock assured. John sighed; it was the sad truth for most hunters.
"Ya, me neither. A girlfriend, anything?" John asked. Sherlock shook his head silently.
"What about you?" Sherlock asked.
"I had a girlfriend once, but well, I don't anymore." John shrugged. He tried to pretend that bringing up his girlfriend didn't only open the tear in his heart more.
"I'm sorry to hear that, I guess." Sherlock said.
"Oh well, that was a long time ago, now I'm more of a loner." John shrugged.
"But you've got me." Sherlock pointed out.
"Not voluntarily." John debated.
"Wow, thanks." Sherlock muttered, looking generally upset about John's response.
"Hey, but I'm happy to let you tag along, it's nice to have company, I mean it, really I do." John assured. Sherlock nodded, but he didn't look like he was convinced. Thankfully their food came out before their conversation could get any more screwed up.
"Is that all for now dears?" the waitress asked.
"Yes, thank you." Sherlock said with a sweet smile. John found said smile to be quite distracting to be honest, it was the only facial expression he had seen on Sherlock that looked generally happy, other than when he first let him join up. But then he had been battered and bloody and he didn't make John very happy.
"Is all you ever eat hamburgers?" Sherlock asked as he poked at the salad.
"Are you a vegetarian?" John added in defense.
"No." Sherlock said.
"And no for me as well." John agreed, taking a large bite out of his food. It was very good, the bacon tasted like it was grilled to perfection and the bun was one of those expensive ones that they toast and all. Sherlock looked satisfied with his meal as well, picking around the lettuce to unearth croutons and crunching on them first. He was so adorably childish it was almost a mystery that he had to be somewhere in his twenties.
"So, how much longer from here?" Sherlock asked.
"Maybe two more hours until we get to the state, another hour until we can find this stupid Oak Hills Manor place, and a hotel near enough. Then tomorrow we'll get a suit, maybe get you a badge, and give you some shooting lessons. Then we'll go to the coroners, the morgue, ask witnesses, that sort of thing." John planned.
"What do you think it is?" Sherlock asked.
"Spirit I think, maybe a werewolf too, or a hellhound, it could be anything really, we'll find out when we get there I suppose." John shrugged.
"Hellhound?" Sherlock asked curiously. "Those are real?"
"Oh ya, unfortunately they are. But the thing is they only have important missions, so unless this guy made a deal then it can't be a hellhound." John decided.
"What's a deal?" Sherlock asked, and John paused for a little bit.
"It's when you make a deal with the Devil, for anything you want, and then usually after ten years they send out hellhounds to retrieve you to hell, and you suffer for the rest of your life down under until your soul transforms into a demon yourself." John said, and the atmosphere in the diner suddenly got a lot colder.
"That's horrible. Why would anyone do that?" Sherlock asked.
"Because they're desperate, or maybe because they are willing to live with something for only ten years, even if it does mean eternal torture." John said firmly.
"It can't be worth it. there's nothing I'd do to go to hell for the rest of my life." Sherlock pointed out.
"There must be something." John debated.
"Well, I don't have anyone close to me, no one would care if I died, and I don't need anything, so no not really." Sherlock shrugged.
"But this could be anything." John pointed out.
"Are you just trying to convince me so that I sell my soul and you can get rid of me in ten years?" Sherlock asked with a laugh.
"What, no, god no, I..." John debated.
"Is God real too?" Sherlock asked, cutting him off. John was quiet for a little while.
"I don't know." He admitted.
"What, the devil is real and God isn't?" Sherlock asked in surprise.
"I've heard stories of angels and stuff, but I've never seen one before." John muttered. It was all quite depressing, usually you want to think that angels are watching over you when all you get is a flirtatious demon knocking down you door.
"Why can't angels be taking care of demons then?" Sherlock asked curiously.
"Of all the stories I've heard of them, they're worse than the demons." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed, looking at the last few pieces of lettuce in his salad with disgust.
"Oh, well that sucks." Sherlock muttered. "I thought angels were good, with the halos and all that?"
"The rumors don't apply around here. Just like vampires aren't afraid of garlic, or that zombies eat brains." John pointed out.
"What do zombies eat?" Sherlock asked.
"Everything." John pointed out with a laugh, finished off his last French fry.
"That's disgusting." Sherlock decided.
"Yes, I agree." John laughed. The waitress came back over and John handed her the credit card, kind of feeling guilty since there was no money on it, but he left a tip in cash. By the time they left the restaurant it was dark out and the parking lot was only illuminated with the neon lights, but it wasn't hard to find the crappiest car in the lot.