Love of Heaven and Hell

Darkness and Terror

"So, what do you want to do now?" Sherlock asked.
"Nothing." John admitted.
"Like we've been doing this whole time?" Sherlock sighed.
"Is there a problem?" John snapped.
"No, no of course there isn't." Sherlock insisted, throwing his hands up in defense.
"This whole time since I told you you've been babying me, I hate it Sherlock, I want to be treated normally, not like I have a death sentence on my head! I should never have told you!" John exclaimed.
"You wouldn't have told me? You really think that would be a good idea, so at eleven thirty four tomorrow night I can just sit there with your mangled corpse and wonder what happened?" Sherlock snapped. John got to his feet, suddenly feeling extremely irritable, wanting to pick a fight with any poor soul who got in his way.
"Oh you think this is a joke do you?" he asked. "Do you think my death is a bloody joke?" John kicked over one of the wooden dining room chairs in anger, not wanting to hear Sherlock's excuses and his poor ways of reminding John yet again how doomed he really was.
"No, I don't think your death is a joke, I just want you to feel like your last few days were happy!" Sherlock demanded, walking closer to make himself look more intimidating or something.
"I'm not happy Sherlock! Even if I weren't dying tomorrow I'm not happy, I've never been happy and I never will be happy because now not only do I have to deal with my stupid life and my stupid family I have to worry about these stupid bloody hellhounds on my freaken butt!" John growled. Sherlock took a deep breath, as if planning on what he was going to say.
"Do you ever think that you're not the only one on this earth John? That maybe there are people out there that care about you, and maybe they don't want their last memory of you sitting in a car and not talking?" Sherlock asked.
"Your last memory of me is when you're going to lower my body into a hole!" John growled. Something inside of Sherlock visibly snapped, his anger seemed to multiply, his eyes turned wild, ferocious even, and he walked so fast at John that he wanted to step back. But Sherlock didn't slap him, or punch him, or even say anything, he grabbed John's face and kissed him like the world was ending, which, so conveniently, it was. There are some things kissing does to two people, they bond them somehow, not only in love but in emotions itself. John let his emotions go, passing through the barriers and into Sherlock in just one kiss, as if that were going to solve all of his problems. He let Sherlock feel all of his fear, his confusion, his tension, his terror and pain, and in return John felt Sherlock's sadness and worry and love, and for a moment they were bonded in such understanding that a quarrel would be pointless. Neither of the two wanted to end the kiss, but it was ended softly, pulling apart ever so slightly, John's arms still around Sherlock's neck and Sherlock's hands still framing the sides of John's face.
"I'm sorry you didn't find your soulmate John, but do you think you could make do with me?" Sherlock asked in a wild whisper, as if he were completely winded and not sure what to do. John nodded, there seemed to be no voice in his throat, there were no words to be said. Slowly Sherlock let his hands fall from John's face, as if just realizing what he had done and said. They stepped back from each other, hazel fixed on green and green staring so fearfully back. Suddenly Sherlock turned, taking a very sharp inhale of breath and quietly freaking out.
"I'm sorry." He muttered.
"Don't apologize." John answered, it was quick but true. There was simply no use in apologizing, not because he was close to dead but because he wanted that just as much, if not more, than Sherlock did.
"We should really, um, really get to bed; it's a bit late..." Sherlock muttered. John didn't want to point out that it was only nine forty five, but he nodded. They both took turns changing in the bathroom, too awkward to actually talk, the kiss echoing in their skulls like a sad sort of music. John hated that he had kissed him, even though he absolutely loved it he also felt bad. Sherlock would have to live the rest of his life knowing that someone he loved had been killed by a hellhound. John had given him false hope, what kind of horrible person did that? There would be no love, no hope for their relationship because in a day John would be dead, never to return to the mortal world again, and Sherlock would be left wondering what if. Finally they were both in bed and Sherlock turned out the light without a good night. There it went, the last full day John was alive. His eyes scanned the darkness, trying to see if anything was stalking him, if anything was coming too early. John could hear his heartbeat echoing in his head, he was terrified, little beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he tried not to picture a gigantic dog creeping behind the table. The absence of the light made John feel like he was a kid again, scared of moving shadows and the monsters he created in his head. He was no hunter now, he hadn't killed anything, he was a baby, terrified of what lurked in the darkness. John felt numb, what if they came early, what if he hadn't remembered the time right, there could be a demon outside the door right now! An engine started in the parking lot and John tensed up, pulling his covers up to his chin and shivering with fear.
"Sherlock." He whispered, scared that something might hear his desperate pleas.
"What?" Sherlock asked his voice still a bit tense, obviously there were other things on his mind. John thought for a moment, what was he doing? Sherlock's last thoughts of him couldn't be of a weakling, he had to appear strong, even to the end, even though he felt like sobbing.
"Nothing, it's nothing." John muttered.
"Okay. Good night." Sherlock agreed. John stared at the ceiling again, and every time he blinked there seemed to be a new creature appearing from the ventilation system, a vampire, a werewolf, a hellhound, a bleeding corpse... John heard a creek, he didn't know what it was, but it seemed to be coming from the far corner of the room...
"Sherlock did you hear that?" John whispered.
"Huh?" asked a sleepy Sherlock, sitting up in bed.
"There was a creek, over there, in the corner." John whispered.
"I'm sure it's nothing, this is a rubbish building." Sherlock insisted.
"I don't think so." John muttered. Sherlock groaned, leaning over and turning on the lamplight. John sat up in his bed and stared over at the corner, where there was nothing but a couple of dust particles visible in the dim orange light.
"There's nothing there." Sherlock insisted.
"Oh." John muttered. "I thought I heard something."
"Are you scared?" Sherlock asked.
"No, I'm not scared, goodnight." John muttered, collapsing back into his bed and trying to look like he wasn't about to start shivering in fear.
"Okay then, goodnight." Sherlock decided.
"Good night." John agreed quietly. Sherlock shut the lamp off one more time, engulfing the room in darkness once more. John shuddered, scanning the room, his ears prickling; trying to make sure every limb was safely inside the covers. There could be anything in the shadows, in the bathroom, in the closet. He was petrified, he wanted the light back on, he wanted to be closer to Sherlock, but after such a flare of emotion that would be impossible. Sherlock would never want to go near him, probably not ever again right? He looked over at the window and he thought he saw the outline of a man, the outline of Matt...the hair and everything, right out their window.
"Ahh!" John screamed, falling out of his cocoon of covers and onto the floor.
"What, what?" Sherlock demanded, getting out of his own bed and turning on the lamp. John looked over at the window; there was nothing there, that he could see at least.
"I thought I saw Matt, outside the window..." he muttered, staying in his safe little barricade between beds.
"I'm sure it was nothing John." Sherlock assured.
"Check." John muttered. Sherlock sighed, looking around and grabbing the closest gun lying around, making his way up to the window and opening the curtains with a yank. There was no one out there except their car and the old neon sign advertising the hotel, blinking unattractively and looking as if it were going to fall over any second.
"There's no one there." Sherlock assured, pulling the curtains back and making his way back over to his own bed. "Are you sure you're not scared?" he asked.
"I'm terrified." John admitted in a whisper.
"What can I do to help?" Sherlock asked.
"What do you mean?" John muttered.
"Well, should I stay up, should I keep the bathroom light on, what should I do?" Sherlock asked.
"Can I...no." John muttered.
"What did you want?" Sherlock asked in a soft voice, as if he were talking to a scared puppy.
"Nothing, nothing." John assured.
"John Watson there is nothing I will deny you." Sherlock said in an official tone.
"Could I maybe stay with you?" he muttered, feeling his face heat up even as he said it. Sherlock also turned red, or maybe (hopefully) it was just the lamp light. Maybe he was a little bit surprised by the question, but immediately he nodded, scooting over in the bed to make room for John.
"Thank you Sherlock." John muttered, climbing under the already warm covers and staying as far away from the other man as he could, at the very edge of the bed.
"Good?" Sherlock asked. John nodded stiffly, feeling a lot more protected, if only he were the one lying next to the wall, with Sherlock protecting him from the outside world. John reached up and turned out the light unsurely, as if the moment the light was off the creatures of his imagination would return. John's heart was beating faster than before, but obviously it was from nerves, nothing else, just fear. The fact that Sherlock was sharing the same blankets as him made no difference. John struggled to close his eyes, he was so scared still, he felt so vulnerable even next to Sherlock.
"You don't think they'll come early do you?" he whispered to Sherlock nervously.
"No John, they won't come early, I won't let them." Sherlock insisted.
"I don't think there would be much you could do." John muttered. "I'm sorry for being such a baby." He added.
"You're the bravest man I know." Sherlock assured. "If it were me, by now I'd be sitting in a salt circle praying to every God there might be."
"I've thought of it." John admitted.
"You're going to be fine." Sherlock assured.
"No I'm not Sherlock; even your optimism can't stop what's going to happen to me." John sighed.
"Let's just forget about it okay? There's nothing coming for you now, just fall asleep, I'll be here the whole time, I'll keep you safe." Sherlock assured.
"Oh how the tides have turned." John laughed, trying to make himself smile even the slightest bit. But in John's mind there was nothing to smile about; there was nothing in his future that looked promising. It was a very short future. Sherlock scooted closer under the covers, wrapping protective arms around John, who tensed up immediately. What was one supposed to do when approached like this? What else could he do? John followed suit, snuggling up against Sherlock's warm, protective chest and letting his head fall onto the other boy's shoulder, feeling safe for the first time all night. He could feel Sherlock's chest rising and falling, his rapid heart rate, feel his breath against his head, it was perfect. Maybe John was going to die, but he wasn't going to die without knowing how good it felt to be embraced by someone you love. Okay, yes, John loved him, he properly loved him, and maybe he wasn't his soulmate, maybe he was his soulmate, either way John didn't seem to find a care. So what, who needed bloody fate anyway? John was happy where he was, and he wasn't going to let go until he was pried off by the worst creatures the devil could spawn.