The first sound Sherlock hears after John leaves to get groceries is the crack of the door smashing in, a heavy boot colliding against the wood. He doesn’t bother to get up.
“The Winchesters. How…predictable.” Sherlock flicks his head up for a moment to take in the two men before closing his eyes and adjusting his foot on the couch, “Go do something else. I’m busy.”
Sam, the taller of the two, lowers his holy water to send a confused glance at Dean. Dean returns the look, throwing his hands up in the air before aiming at Sherlock’s head. “You do know we’re here to kill you, right?” Sam asks.
A corner of the reclining man’s mouth lifts up, “No colt, no demon-killing knife, no angel blade. Only a flask of holy water and six rounds of rock salt. Dear God, who’s stupid idea was this? I heard the tales but, truly, you precede them. What’s it feel like to know all of evolution ended up wasting good brain matter on you two?”
“I can’t let you kill him, you know,” John said from the doorway. Sherlock’s white knight, he stood there tapping his gun gently, pointedly against his leg.
“You don’t get it.” Dean twisted to face him. “Your buddy here’s a-“
“Demon. I know,” John said calmly, but something lost and ugly chased across his face. “But it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” Sherlock could still see it twisting in John’s eyes when he looked at Sherlock. “He was always a bit of a prick, if I’m honest. It’s not really all that noticeable.”
(Sorry, theluckymercenary. Didn’t mean to fic on your fic. It just wanted out.)