SuperWhoLock: Demons Run [COMPLETED]

Chapter Nineteen

They sat around the same table that they had when Sam had gotten stuck in the alternate universe.  This time, though, they were missing three of their members, instead of just one.

Dean rested his elbows on the table, rubbing his eyes fiercely with both hands.  "Alright.  We've got our backs against the wall.  No Sherlock, no John, no Cas.  How do we bring them back?"

"We need an angel," Sam said with a sigh.

"But you two must know tons of angels," Clara said, looking at the brothers with red-rimmed eyes.  "Surely you can pray to one of them for help?"

Dean let out a short, sarcastic laugh.  "Sweetheart, we've killed more angels than I can count and pissed off even more.  There is not a single one out there who would be willing to help us right now."

"You're hunters," the Doctor said.  "Surely you know another way to bring someone back from the dead."

"And you're a time-traveling alien from the planet Gallifrey," Dean countered.  "Surely a genius like you can think of a way to bring someone back from the dead."

The Doctor was effectively silenced.

Sam was staring at the table, silent for a most part.  Slowly, he looked up.  "Well... There is Crowley..."

~

The light was so bright that Sherlock squinted, covering his face with one forearm to protect his eyes. He stepped onto a floor that gave slightly under his weight but ended up being solid - carpet, he deduced. A second after his feet made contact, the light vanished.

Cautiously, Sherlock lowered his arm, waiting for his dazzled eyes to adjust to the absence of the light.

Soft violin music filled the air and filtered into Sherlock's consciousness. He glanced around, his eyebrows raising in slight surprise as he realized that he was back in Baker Street. He took a step forward, moving around the corner of the kitchen table - filled with beakers and vials and test tubes, as usual - and peered into the living room.

John was sitting in his armchair with his back to Sherlock, reading the newspaper. Sherlock looked past him and his eyebrows came down low over his eyes. It was himself, standing in front of the the window with his eyes half-closed, playing the violin.

"Uh.." Sherlock wasn't sure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, then said in a low voice, "John?"

The music abruptly stopped. Sherlock glanced up to see that his doppelgänger had vanished, leaving the violin and bow on the windowsill. John whirled around quickly, confused. "What - Sherlock, where did you come from? Weren't you just over - over there?"

"Ah.. In a way," Sherlock admitted. He was faced with an uncertain problem. Did John know that he was dead?

"What.. What've you been doing?" Sherlock asked, striving to see whether or not if John realized that he was in heaven.

John looked kind of confused. He raised the newspaper. "Just reading the paper and listening to you play.. That was a lovely piece, by the way, why'd you stop?"

Sherlock cleared his throat again. It was apparent that John did not, in fact, remember dying and he did not realize that he was in heaven. "John.."

"What?" John asked. He folded up his newspaper and set it aside, looking concerned now at the expression on Sherlock's face. "What is it, Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"You're.. You're dead."

John's face went blank.

"Moriarty shot you," Sherlock continued, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "Remember? On the rooftop of that office building? He shot you, then you pushed him off the building, and... and you died."