Love of Heaven and Hell

Inked Up

"Is there anything else I can get for you?" he asked as he set the pancakes in front of Sherlock. There was a large swirl of whipped cream on top, obviously something he put on special. Sherlock seemed to be at a loss for words, so John just sighed.
"Yes, that's all, thanks." John decided, nodding the waiter away. Sherlock seemed to snap out of his trance, pretending like nothing had happened, and went on to eat his pancakes quietly. John wasn't all that hungry, but considering it was so late in the morning that this was basically lunch he made himself eat it all. The omelet was a bit over cooked and tasted a little like smoke, but overall it was edible. Sherlock ate everything of course, in like five minutes; obviously he was starved to death.
"That's what sleeping in gets you." John pointed out.
"Shut up, I'm hungry." Sherlock frowned.
"Ya, ya, but don't expect any lunch unless you're buying." John warned.
"I don't have any money." Sherlock pointed out.
"Well that's not my problem. Get a job or something." John suggested.
"I don't think I'd be able to hold a job." Sherlock pointed out.
"Exactly." John agreed.
"You are extremely confusing." Sherlock decided.
"That's part of my charm." John agreed with a smile. By the time they were out of the restaurant Sherlock was a bit upset that he hadn't done very well with his crush, and walked out without a date or even a phone number. That improved John's mood the slightest, but he didn't tell Sherlock that of course.
"So, what now?" Sherlock asked as he climbed into the passenger seat, the sun shining through the windows and illuminating his beautiful face.
"Now we go home." John decided. They drove home and lazed around the hotel for a while, there really wasn't anything to do; they had no jobs and nothing to prepare for their demon attacks, so all they did was wait. Of course Sherlock was so full of questions, like why didn't they just find an attack or move on, but John wouldn't tell him, he couldn't tell him, that he was actually limited to his time on Earth. Eventually John went out to the town without Sherlock, telling him to just look up more demon stuff. John went to the local gun store to get some more shotgun shells and to the grocery store to get more salt. As he was walking back to his car though, a particular store caught his eye...
"Guess what I got?" John asked, opening the door with one hand while he looked for Sherlock expectantly. The boy was longing on the bed, staring at the ceiling and certainly not researching anything.
"What?" he asked curiously. John held up his surprise, a gift for Sherlock, a tattoo gun.
"Is that for the anti-possession symbol?" he asked excitedly.
"You bet." John said happily, kicking the door closed with his heel and walking into the room, dumping the bags onto the table. "Oh, and I also got dinner." He held up two fast food bags victoriously, throwing one to Sherlock and unwrapping a burger.
"It's got to be in black, that's the only color I could steal, and then it would look just like mine." John pointed out.
"We could be twins then." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"Well I suppose we don't want a pink one do we?" John agreed.
"We won't have some tattooed guy hunting us down will we?" Sherlock asked apprehensively.
"If we do then he doesn't stand a chance, although I'm sure that salt won't repel him." John said with a little laugh, finishing off his burger while fiddling around with the tattoo gun. It's been a while since he's used one, not since he tattooed his own mark on his chest, and he supposed it was good enough art to protect him. But John was sure the sign would show up better considering he wasn't going to have to use a mirror to make sure the circle wasn't too lumpy. It was around sunset when finally they were ready to get artistic, and Sherlock was looking a bit nervous.
"It doesn't hurt, does it?" he asked in a quivering voice as he looked at the needle.
"Not as bad as those shoulder cuts you had." John assured.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Sherlock asked.
"I don't know." John shrugged, pulling one of the wooden chairs into the middle of the carpeted floor.
"Your throne awaits." He said with a little laugh, but Sherlock stayed seated on the bed.
"Oh come on, it's a needle or another demon possession, you know they're coming, we need to get ready." John pointed out. Sherlock sighed, but eased nervously into the chair. John bit his lip and sighed; now here was the awkward part.
"The tattoo has to go right over your heart, so...ya." John muttered, eying Sherlock's shirt guiltily.
"Oh, sorry." Sherlock muttered, both of them going beet red. John kind of wanted to look away as Sherlock unbuttoned it, and he busied himself with the gun, pretending to make sure the ink was in and the needle was fresh.
"Okay." Sherlock decided, taking a deep breath. John looked back down on him, now feeling extremely awkward, but this was something that had to be done.
"Alright, just brace yourself I guess." John shrugged, turning on the gun and pressing the needle into Sherlock's chest. Immediately he yelped in pain, but stayed still, gripping the bottom of the chair so hard that his knuckles were turning white. John didn't remember it being that painful, but he always knew Sherlock was a bit of a drama queen.
"Doing great." John assured, continuing to form the circle. Sherlock was breathing very heavily, not only could John hear it and feel it on his head, but Sherlock's chest was rising and falling rapidly, making it a bit hard for John to form a perfect circle. Of course it didn't have to be exactly perfect, John's was more of an egg shape, but it seemed to work all the same. Finally the circle was made and John went on to forming the star, point up of course, any other way would be the opposite of a repellant, what it did John didn't exactly know, he hadn't really had that problem before.
"This hurts." Sherlock gasped.
"Yes, I suppose it does, but if you want to keep those stupid demons out of you then this is the best way to do it." John assured.
"When I was possessed, what did you say to get the demon out of me?" Sherlock asked, his sentence cutting off as he yelped again in pain.
"I started the exorcism, but it left before it should have, I honestly don't know what I did." John shrugged.
"I think it's here to help." Sherlock decided.
"That's complete rubbish." John laughed. "I thought I told you that before."
"Why are you so convinced they're evil?" Sherlock asked. John looked up at him in surprise.
"You're joking right?" he laughed.
"I wasn't really planning on it." Sherlock said seriously.
"They're demons, they work for the Devil, and have been classified as evil since the creation of Earth itself. If you've seen some of the destruction they've caused you would know they're evil as well." John decided, going back to the star. Once that was finished it was time for the fire stuff around it, John didn't know what it was supposed to be, but it seemed to do the job. The fire took a lot longer, but without Sherlock talking it wasn't all that bad. He seemed a bit quiet now that John had squashed his theory, but the very idea that demons could be good was the most preposterous thing he's ever heard. There's good and evil, heaven and hell, God and the Devil, angels and demons, they were all hand and hand and everyone knew it, there would be no sympathy from them if they had the opportunity to kill. Finally, after a long while, the last of the flame was completed around the circle and the tattoo was finished.
"There we go." John decided, wiping it off with a cloth to make sure there was no extra ink left.
"Does it look good?" Sherlock asked excitedly.
"I think so, yes." John decided, sitting back on his heels to observe his handy work. Sherlock got up, running over to the bathroom to investigate in front of the mirror.
"Take my word for it." John called with a laugh. Sherlock came back out, a large smile on his face.
"It's amazing." He decided. "No more demons in me."
"I hope not." John agreed with a sigh. That would be quite inconvenient.
"Can I see yours?" Sherlock asked. John smiled, nodding and pulling the color of his shirt down. Sherlock looked at it a once again tried to see his own tattoo.
"They look plenty alike I think." John guessed.
"Yours looks a bit like a potato." Sherlock decided, tilting his head to see if that would improve the shape of John's tattoo. John set the gun down on the table with a satisfied sigh; in his eyes the tattoo was simply a work of art, especially considering that John was no artist. There was awkwardness in the air, something he shouldn't really be noticing, but Sherlock was walking closer to him, unintentionally of course, but John really didn't want to go through the temptation of expressing his hopeless feelings. But really, what could go wrong? Sure, Sherlock might push him away, scream, run away or even shoot him, but John had only three more days on this god forsaken rock, what was wrong with having a little bit of fun before he was sent to the pit? That was stupid thinking, never mind, there was no way that Sherlock would ever like him back, was there? John looked over at Sherlock again, who was trying to bend his neck in an odd contortion to see his tattoo, but he wasn't leaving the room, as if there was something in here that kept him. John was pretending to wrap the cord on the tattoo gun, but in reality his nervous mind was racing with what ifs and why nots. He really did like Sherlock, not only romantically, as a friend or even a brother, but you can't have a friend that you have immense feelings for, and with only three days to enjoy life what could happen? Sure, his last days on Earth could be filled with hiding and slapping himself in the face whenever he got the chance, but there was always that chance, that small, pathetic chance that they could be filled with love and laughter, something John surely needed right about now. Was there hope? There had to be hope, there had to be some reward for taking such a risk, maybe if John could just bring himself to take that bloody chance, it might just work out for him. And even if something did go wrong, if Sherlock took it the worst way possible then that might actually be a good thing, John would know that he was leaving no one behind and that he wasn't wanted on Earth anyway. He would be counting down the hours with excitement, wanting to be thrown to the hellhounds like doggy chow. He looked up at Sherlock, who was now just standing in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the chair as if he were lost in his mind.
"Does this tattoo mean you're staying here, for good?" John asked, wanting to make some sort of approach in his words the best he could.
"Of course." Sherlock said with a crooked smile, lighting up his pale cheeks with were now a little bit flushed. Could he see what was coming as well?
"I don't know why you would ever want to stay here, but I guess it's your choice." John shrugged.
"Even though the life is bad there are always positives I suppose. I was never allowed to eat fast food at my house, and I get to see the country and discover creatures and history that I never knew existed. And then again, you're the first friend I've ever really had." Sherlock shrugged. Mega friend-zone punch.
"I've never really had a friend either." John muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and awkwardly looking down at the floor. Should he say something along the lines of his intentions or should he just go for it, swoop in for the kill? That was stupid, irrational, what would Sherlock do in response, what if he thought John's intentions were to attack him?
"I've never really had colleagues, on the job I mean, I never really took anyone with me." John corrected.
"You've mentioned that." Sherlock agreed.
"But now, with you I mean, it almost makes the job seem bearable." John shrugged.
"Well I guess one always needs someone to boost up their day a little bit." Sherlock agreed with a laugh. John could feel his cheeks go scarlet, but that was exactly what he was thinking. He needed someone to make him happy in his last few days, what was he even waiting for? John walked over very slowly, his entire body probably blushing so hard that lobsters would call him family. Sherlock looked at him a bit oddly, but he didn't say anything, as if he knew what was coming. His green eyes were alert with surprise, fixated on John as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do. And then, to John's utmost surprise, he took a stiff step forward, not unlike Frankenstein, but it meant that he was totally okay with this, as okay with this as John was, and it took about a million pounds right off of John's shoulders. John walked up so that they were barely inches apart, Sherlock looking cautiously down on him as if not sure what he was supposed to do, and John was just as clueless as Sherlock. Should he wrap his arms around him, should he hold his hand, what was he supposed to do? John panicked, and in a rush of adrenaline and fear he stood up on his tiptoes, going in for the kill, this was it, he was about to kiss Sherlock Holmes, something he'd wanted to do for so many painful days, this was going...Sherlock's face went from flushed and surprised to black, rotting flesh. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes were bloodshot, and there were flakes of peeling dead skin hanging off of his chin. John jumped back in horror, scrambling backwards until his legs hit the bed. He drew his pistol, pointing the barrel right at Sherlock's face and breathing heavy with terror. The thing that was once Sherlock lumbered forward, it's creaking jaw opening and dried, peeling lips cracking to form unheard words. The thing's face was going back and forth uncontrollably, in a blur of black, and it was flickering, one moment it was there and another there was simply darkness.