"John? John?" Sherlock's face took over; his green eyes alight with worry, not wanting to take a step closer. John stood there for a moment, trying to decide what had just happened.
"John, are you alright?" Sherlock asked with fear. John's weak fingers let the gun slip from his hands, falling to the floor with a metallic clang and turning so that he couldn't see Sherlock, so that the fear in his eyes wasn't obvious.
"It's starting." He mumbled, mostly to himself, but obviously Sherlock wasn't as deaf as he had hoped.
"What's starting, John are you okay?" Sherlock asked, walking closer but not wanting to reach out for fear of being attacked.
"Nothing, nothing's happening, just give me a moment..." John muttered.
"No, don't give me that." Sherlock turned John around forcefully, looking completely determined if not a little bit annoyed. All obvious fear was gone, but if John looked deep in his eyes it was still there, like a plague that you couldn't fight. Fear was always there.
"I don't want you to get all mysterious with me, first you run away and now you're saying something's staring, I'm done with secrets! I have told you everything that has ever happened to me and I don't even know if John Watson is your real name!" Sherlock growled. John sighed, he was right, of course he was bloody right, but what was he supposed to say, the truth? How would Sherlock react?
"Okay, okay fine, you want to know the truth, my little sob story?" John asked, his voice cracking with sudden emotion. "Ten years ago today I made a deal, with a bloody demon, and now it's catching up on me." John snapped. Sherlock's anger melted into concern, looking around nervously for any demons that might be watching now that the truth had been spilled.
"You made a deal?" he asked. John nodded forcefully, not knowing what else he had to say.
"And in three days those bloody hellhounds are going to be coming for me, breaking down that door and dragging my soul to hell." John sighed. Sherlock obviously didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, but he just looked at John with an expression John hadn't seen on anyone's face for a while. It was care, worry; someone was actually worried about his wellbeing, that hadn't happened for so long.
"What did you want?" Sherlock asked. John sighed, it was a miserable story.
"Ten years ago I had a girlfriend, the one I talk about, and we were happy. I wasn't into hunting yet, we were just dumb young love, but it was love none the less. And I had saved up all my cash to take her to a restaurant and all that, a fancy one, and we were having a lovely time until they came, three of them, three demons." John started. Sherlock looked like he wanted to show some sign of comfort, but he didn't want to touch John for fear that he would be interrupting.
"And they came right for us, one took her while the other two took me. But they didn't attack me, they didn't do anything but hold me back as he took the very knife that Mary was using to cut her steak and shoved it into her rib cage." John shuttered, seeing the image in his mind, seeing the blood once more, hearing the screams. "I was desperate, I felt cheated, deserted, so dreadfully alone that there was only one thing I could do, find my true love. So I went to the crossroads, knowing full well that there was nothing I had to live for and I sold my soul to find my soulmate. And guess what? Here I am, ten years later, and I haven't got a single chance. They sold me short, I got nothing in return, and now here I am, about to die." John sighed.
"How do you know they are coming?" Sherlock asked.
"Because your face turned to rotting flesh. It's the demon's way of reminding you that you've got a timer on your head, and there's no stopping it." John admitted.
"What can I do to help?" Sherlock asked.
"You can run, run as far away as you can from me, I'll give you the car, just go and don't look back. I don't know if they'll hurt you but I know that I don't want to take that chance. I've already lost one person I care about, two is crossing the line." John decided, pointing at the door with a tone of heartbreaking finality. He didn't want Sherlock to leave, he didn't want to die alone, but he knew that Sherlock couldn't be in the line of fire when the hounds came.
"If you don't mind me saying, I'm not going anywhere." Sherlock decided, metaphorically putting his foot down. At those words there was nothing John could do, this anger, this fear, the love he had for this stupid boy in front of him, it was too much, and the only way emotions were released were through tears. And so they came, dripping out of his eyes one by one until they streamed down his face, John felt weak and hopeless and like a huge baby, crying in front of Sherlock. What was he thinking? He was supposed to be the strong one, who never showed fear in front of danger and never showed emotion in a heartbreaking scene, and now here he was crying. But Sherlock did something he didn't expect, he wrapped his arms around him in comforting hug, because even though he had no idea what John was going through he wanted to be there to help. John hugged him back, throwing his arms helplessly around Sherlock's neck and crying onto his shoulder, never even thinking about releasing him.
"I'll never leave you John, that's a promise." Sherlock assured.   

       When John woke up that morning he didn't wake up, and it wasn't morning. So that was a fancy truth bending sentence that meant he got absolutely no sleep that night. John stared at the ceiling, replaying all of the events over and over in his head, the almost kiss, the face, the explanation, the hug. What worried him the most was the face, the demon's warning sign, but what was on his mind most was the kiss. It didn't even happen yet it would forever be in his heart. Sherlock had taken a step forward, what did that mean, what could it mean? John was trying to make up reasons, he didn't know why, but there was only one that possibly made sense, Sherlock liked him back. It was impossible, wasn't it? He heard Sherlock moving around a lot in his own bed, so that meant that he was also lying awake, but the main question was if they were thinking of the same thing? Sherlock was no doubt running the information through his head, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his first friend was going to be torn into Hell in front of him. Or, you know, he was thinking about what he was going to have for breakfast the next day. John felt so lonely, so exposed for some reason, ever since Sherlock had hugged him, made him feel safe for the first time in ages, he had felt cold and empty as the parted, and even the thick blankets he kept over himself he felt so exposed. Okay, sure, it was the middle of June or something like that, long story short it was blistering hot outside and John was sure this stupid hotel didn't provide air conditioning, he was probably sweating through the mattress, but covers offered a sense of protection for some reason, that totally illogical voice in the back of your head saying that even if a hell hound comes with razor sharp teeth and iron claws that a blanket will help keep you alive. But John wanted a human presence with him; someone to hold him like Sherlock had and tell him that everything was going to be okay even though it wasn't. But, as usual, John was too scared to actually ask that of Sherlock, and God knows he wasn't going to go crawl into his bed, so he sat there, all alone, staring at the cheap ceiling of their cheap hotel and playing over the details of his pathetic life over and over again in his head. When the sun finally came up there was no waking up to do, the only sign of the light was the tiniest sliver under the curtain, and everything else was dark. He heard Sherlock groan, not a tired groan more like a groan of regret, like why the heck didn't I sleep last night groan.
"You too huh?" John asked. Sherlock groaned again, but didn't answer.
"John, how many days?" Sherlock asked, getting right to the point.
"Three days."
"You said that yesterday." Sherlock pointed out.
"I wasn't really counting the last couple of hours." John shrugged.
"Good, I thought you only had two." Sherlock whispered nervously.
"Why?" John asked.
"Oh, you know, I wanted to throw you a surprise going away to Hell party."Sherlock said sarcastically.
"You don't have to be scared, you're not going." John muttered.
"I'm scared for you, and yes I'm scared for me. I don't want to see a Hellhound, I don't want to see you get mauled, I don't know what those dogs are going to do if I get in the way or even if I don't." Sherlock muttered. "And I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm alone."
"If it makes you feel any better you're the only one in my will." John laughed.
"Where's your will?" Sherlock asked.
"True. I should probably write that." John decided. Sherlock laughed, but it was forced, joking about death wasn't exactly the best thing to do at the moment.
"I didn't sleep a wink." Sherlock groaned.
"Ya, me neither." John agreed.
"But I made a plan, today we prepare, stack up weapons and all that, tomorrow we live, go do everything you want to do, and, well, the day after that we tie up our loose ends and hope for the best." Sherlock sighed.
"The third day, I've got until eleven o'clock, eleven thirty four to be exact."John decided.
"Well aren't you a night owl?" Sherlock laughed.
"It was different circumstances." John groaned. "Take out breakfast, I'm not going to any stupid diner again, I'm done with them."
"Of course, which restaurant, I'll drive." Sherlock offered, bouncing right out of bed.
"No, I'll get it." John argued.
"Stay in bed, I've got this." Sherlock assured, already up and making his bed. John sat up but in a blur of motion Sherlock pushed him back down. "Stay in bed, relax."
"Just because I'm going to die doesn't mean I get any special treatment!" John insisted.
"Oh yes it does Johnny Boy!" Sherlock argued.
"If you call me that again I'm going to tie steaks to your neck when they come!" John decided, jumping out of bed before Sherlock could stop him and making a run for the front door, grabbing the keys and running out into the blinding sunlight.
"Oh no you don't!" Sherlock exclaimed, sprinting after him. Even though John was easily more athletic Sherlock had a good lead on him height wise, and caught him just as he was about to open the door. Sherlock jumped at the keys,trying to wrestle them from John's grip, but John tried to shove him away with his shoulder.
"I am getting breakfast!" John insisted.
"No you are not, get back in there!" Sherlock debated, pining John to the car with one hand and trying to smash the hand with the keys into the metal.
"Give me the keys!" Sherlock growled.
"Never!" John exclaimed, kneeing Sherlock in the stomach so he fell back and running for the door handle. But Sherlock stuck out a foot, sending John sprawling into the concrete. That wouldn't stop him, of course, so he went after Sherlock on all fours, trying to take him down as well by grabbing his legs. Sherlock jumped around like he was walking on lava, which, evidently, they both kind of were since they were barefoot in the pavement. It wasn't until Sherlock froze that John finally looked up, seeing an old lady, who had been taking a morning stroll staring straight at them with fear. John scrambled to his feet, brushing off the stones from his fleece pajamas, by the way they were matching completely, and they both gave the lady an innocent smile and wave. She scrambled off, looking back as if they were going to throw rocks at her or something.
"We'll both go." John insisted.
"As long as you get an extra cinnamon bun." Sherlock decided.
"Fine!" John huffed.
"Fine!" Sherlock agreed. "But I'm driving." He added.
"Not in your wildest dreams sunshine." John growled, pushing him out of the way to he could walk around the car to the driver's seat. It was a very tense drive, Sherlock seemed to be making sure John followed all of the speed limits as if the devil was going to kill John by a car crash or something, and John really wasn't in the mood for his lectures.
"You're going eighty." Sherlock pointed out.
"That's fantastic Sherlock." John sighed.
"The speed limit is seventy five."
"But at either speed it will kill you if I threw you out the window." John pointed out.
"True." Sherlock agreed. John couldn't help but smile, of course he hid his amusement from Sherlock, who was still looking at the speedometer and looking worried.
"Where do you want to go?" John asked.
"Dunkin Donuts." Sherlock decided.
"Do they have one of those around here?" John asked, looking around at the signs.
"I don't know." Sherlock admitted. They drove through the biggest part of town, but nothing seemed to be displaying the sign that they wanted.
"I think we might just have..." John started.
"There!" Sherlock exclaimed, pointing at a store they were just about to pass.
"Hold on!" John exclaimed, slamming the wheel in a completely illegal turn and making a minivan beet its horn angrily. Sherlock screamed the whole way, gripping the door and seat as if they were lifelines.
"What the heck are you doing!" Sherlock screamed as they pulled safely into a parking space.
"I'm living; I thought that was what you wanted me to do?" John laughed.
"That wasn't living, that was certain death." Sherlock mumbled.
"Then maybe I'll get lucky and die easy like that." John shrugged.
"You're forgetting I'm here." Sherlock pointed out.
"Then I'll have company." John said with a smile, getting out of the car. Sherlock just kind of sat there and stared at him, as if trying to decide whether to be mad or flattered by John's words. In the end he just got out of the car, not in the mood to argue, and followed him down the sidewalk to the door. When they got in there were a couple of people mingling around, an middle aged couple sitting in the tables, a business man drinking coffee and watching the news, and many people waiting in line or for their drinks to be ready. John and Sherlock waited in line, looking over the menu to decide what they would be eating. John tried not to think that this would be the third last breakfast he had, this might be the last time he was ever going to be in a Dunkin Donuts,the last time he would see all of these people, the last time he would eat whatever he was going to order. It was a bit traumatizing to be honest.