SuperWhoLock: The Last Aztec

Chapter 2: Wings like Night

For a long time, nothing seemed to happen. Sherlock closed his eyes and took deep breaths, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. From all outward appearances, he looked perfectly calm and relaxed. Inside, however, his mind was a raging, chaotic mess. His views, his ideas, his very way of thinking was shifting on a massive scale, trying to accommodate for the existence of the supernatural. He felt hot and feverish, and the others looked on in concern.

"What's he doing?" Dean asked.

"I believe he is rearranging his thoughts. It's difficult to tell, even for me," Castiel said, tilting his head curiously at the motionless detective. "He truly does have a brilliant mind."

"It's his Mind Palace," John said. His voice sounded hollow, his eyes unfocused.

"Mind Palace? What does that even mean?" Sam asked.

"It's just the way he organizes things in his head. So he can sort through his memories like files. It helps him on his cases."

"Huh. Weird," Dean said at the same time that Sam breathed, "Cool."

Several more minutes passed, and Dean began to grow impatient, readjusting his tie and fidgeting. "Alright, you know what? If he's just gonna sit here like this, we might as well change into something more comfortable. Sam?"

"Yeah. If it's alright with you, John. We'll be right back."

John nodded absent-mindedly. "Go ahead."

The boys left to go change in the Impala (which had always been such a struggle) and returned several minutes later decked out in jeans and flannel. John seemed to be in some sort of staring match with Castiel. Sherlock looked up as they entered, finally shaken out of his torpor.

"I'll help you," he said.

"Good," Sam said, pleased. "We'll tell you everything we know."

Sam, Dean, and Sherlock began to engage in conversation, brainstorming and planning. John, however, couldn't look away from the angel. He was in awe. Right in front of him was a celestial being, ages old, powerful, wise, and wearing a trench coat of all things.

"You seem curious," Castiel said.

"You could say that."

"Then I would be happy to answer your questions."

A world of opportunities was just ripped wide open for John, and he could hardly contain his excitement. "Alright. Well, what's Heaven like?"

"Well, think of it like a patchwork," Castiel began simply. "Individual Heavens are made whenever a person dies, and are then stitched into the rest of the mass. They're made up of the person's best memories and experiences. Once in awhile, two people may even share a heaven if they are soulmates."

"And ... Hell?"

"Hell is ... cold. Overrun with demons. It's ruled by a crossroads demon by the name of Crowley. Fortunately, he is a devil that we know. He's softened recently, and has assisted us on a matter of occasions."

"Wait, so you're telling me that Hell is ruled by a demon, and you're friends with him?"

"More like business partners."

"Oh, I'm hurt," a new voice said. John jumped about five feet in the air, turning to face the new visitor: a short, middle-aged man in all black formal attire with a well-trimmed beard.

"Crowley," Castiel growled. "What are you doing here?" Sam and Dean were tense, but they didn't reach for any weapons. Sherlock seemed intrigued, but inside he was reeling. How many strange people were going to be teleporting into his flat today?