...Hi people of the Sherlock fandom, and poor unfortunate souls who have me on author alert even though I keep switching fandoms (and have let you down through the years.) and people of tumblr, if you happened to click the link. So this odd little idea hit me out of no where. But it stuck with me, and I liked it, plus I want to prepare for NaNoWriMo, so this fic is kind of practice for writing a lot every day. (Even though I may not post... every day.)

Important. I am NOT a consulting detective or a demigod. So... odds are I won't spend too much time on deductions. I will try my best, I promise.

Sherlock is 16. John is about 18. They may seem a bit OOC, but think about it. They are still young, and learning. So Sherlock may be a bit more... uh. Well ultra Sherlock. You'll see what I mean. John will be have a lot more issues, and probably won't deal with them well. It also has been a while since I read any of the Percy Jackson books, so if you think something is wrong or off, please inform me.

Also, I try not to be too obvious. Please consider this, and enjoy.

Lightning struck. So many people were screaming. His friends. His family. Some of them were dead, and many of them were injured. Oh, gods, HE was doing this. It was all him, and no matter how hard he had tried... there was nothing he could do to stop him. It was always going to BE him causing this. He should have known this was coming. He was warned, but he couldn't stay away. It was this place...

John took a deep breath, and began to crawl over to a body just a couple of feet away. He knew who it was, but he knew that he had to see it for himself. He winced as he outstretched his hand. He gently rolled the body over, and took a long look at that face. Pain, both physical and emotional, flooded his entire body as he saw the life flickering away from the boy's face-

John Watson woke with a start. It kept happening, that dream. The camp, the lightning. And him. None of it made any sense. But that was ok, he rationalized. It was just a dream. Only a dream. He brought his hands to his face, and rubbed his face, as if trying to wash the nightmare away.

He had seen all those faces before, in a crowd. It was impossible to see faces in dreams that he had never seen in real life before. He'd been told that a dozen times. There was no one set out to kill an entire group of adolescents and young adults. There was no storm.

And yet, as the days went by, these dreams made him worry more and more. After all, it wasn't as if stranger things have happened to him that day alone.

He was attacked by monsters on a daily basis. Monsters that he couldn't fight back.

John had always been a good shot. A great shot even. He had never missed a target, not ever. Which is why it stunned him when the bullets seemed to go right through the monsters.

All he could do now, was run. And he had been running. For weeks now.

It all started about a month ago, when he saw shadows shifting. It could only have been a trick of the eye, couldn't it? Then just the next day, the shadows seemed to be following him. He had hoped, prayed that he was just being paranoid. These were the shadows that haunted him since childhood. Why would they come back now?

But it would only get worse. One random person on the street would just grab at him one day, and their face would just change, and the shape of their once human body would melt into a more demonic like form.

He was lucky enough to be able to get out of the fake-humans grasp, but he wasn't able to lose her for two miles. The next time, the monsters didn't even bother hiding in human form. They just started to come out of no where. They varied in shape, but mostly they reminded John of wild looking wolves.

John knew that he had to run farther once they discovered where he lived. He couldn't bare to put his family in danger. The monsters only wanted to kill him? Fine. They could chase him to his hearts content.

And they did. John couldn't sleep, he ran out of food money five days ago, and he had never been more desperate for a shower in his life. Waking up on a park bench was the highlight of his day. He had always been a fighter, but he didn't know how much more of this he could take. He had been beaten, and bitten, and forced into sleeping in ridiculous places for odd hours of the day.

He slowly stood up, feeling the affects of his involuntary fast. He needed somewhere to rest...

He groaned when he heard that all too familiar growl coming from the shadows. He grabbed his back pack, and he began to run towards the city, where the he hoped to lose the monsters in the crowd. No one else seemed to see them, and the monsters didn't seem to glance at anyone else.

The monsters seemed to thirst for his blood alone.

The day was finally ending, and settling it's way into the dark. Shadows washed over the entire city, and the street light started to flicker on one by one. This was his favorite time of the day, when hunting the unseen was the least problematic.

He peered around the corner of the abandoned building to see if anyone (or anything) was coming his way. For now however, he was undetected. This just intensified his curiosity. Usually, the monsters could sense him from miles away.

Life had been so peaceful lately. No running into monsters. No enemies trying to breach the gates of the only safe place he knew. He had never been so bored in his entire life.

So of course the seemingly random increase of Monster activity in London called to Sherlock like a siren's song. Nothing much was going on in Camp Half-Blood recently, except for the recent flood of new campers. He absolutely refused to take on any of them. Nothing irritated him more than someone asking him the same questions, over and over.

Luckily, Chiron knew all about Sherlock's boredom and how dangerous that could be, and sent him on this small quest. Of course, he wouldn't Sherlock wander around the London alley ways by himself, so he was stuck with Lestrade blundering behind him. Still, it could be worse. Chiron could have made Anderson "watch over him" instead.

A sort of growl seemed to come from the other side of the building. Sherlock moved silently, listening hard for another sign of the beast. He heard Lestrade sheathing his bronze sword. So the fun was about to begin...

According to Chiron, the monsters in this area were searching for something, and for that reason alone, it worried Chiron and intrigued Sherlock.

Monsters didn't usually hunt anything but Half-Bloods. Perhaps a God or Goddess had sent them to do something? Possible, but somehow unlikely.

Perhaps they are just getting restless from the lack of demigods to hunt. Also unlikely.

Suddenly, they heard the pounding of footsteps coming towards them. Sherlock took a step back, and pressed against the brick wall of the building. It wasn't just one set of footsteps coming towards them. They all weren't the same size, either.

Someone was being chased.

He only caught a glimpse of the teenaged boy running from the two huge, wolf like monsters running after him, and it was obvious that he wasn't in good condition. Sherlock sensed that the teenager had been teetering between life and death for a while now.

He had been running for a while. He could see the monsters. Conclusion: That teenager was an unregistered demigod.

That didn't happen. It hasn't happened for years... and yet, there he was, running for his life.

Oh, this was going to be fun.

He waited until the monsters turned a corner, and then he started to run after them, hoping Lestrade was at least smart enough to catch on.

Sherlock's heart raced as they followed the monsters through the alleys. The thrill was back. Up ahead, he saw that the young man had stumbled, and for a moment he thought that he was going to collapse. Surprisingly enough, he didn't. If they didn't get to him soon enough, however...

Without warning, it had gone silent again, save for the sound of the monster's growls. He must have been cornered. Wanting to make sure he and Lestrade went undiscovered, he slowed down, and moved quietly.

Each step was calculated, and silent. Then Sherlock realized, the monsters were not going to attack him, or Lestrade.

Stupid, absolutely stupid. They had been hunting. The specimen was right in front of them. Perhaps he had been right about his earlier assumptions. No, he was sure of it. Someone wanted that boy to die. They made sure his name was wiped from the list, and had been hunting him ever since.

That's right. He thought. A new prophecy was made just a month ago. It must have something to do with him.

Brilliant. But sloppy.

Once again, he found himself peering around a corner. And there was the teen, looking hopeless as he saw no means of escaping. Obviously he had missed the sound of extra footsteps.

The monsters were lowering them selves, getting ready to pounce, and enjoy taking the life of their pray, and Sherlock couldn't help but be annoyed.

He felt through the alley way, and commanded the shadows to bind the beasts. No way would he allow them to destroy the first interesting thing that came his way.

Lestrade, without wasting another moment, ran towards the monsters, and slashed them both with a great swing of his bronze sword, and the monster's burst into dust.

Lestrade put his sword into his pocket, (the sword had the not-so incredible ability of shrinking. It was not very creative, but at least it was useful.) and turned to the teenager.

"You alright?" He asked, voice full of concern.

The teen swayed one way, then the other, before collapsing.

"Sherlock-" Lestrade called, waiting for some explanation.

"He isn't dead," He said simply. "But we need to get him to a half-way house immediately."

He turned, and started heading towards the nearest half-way house (only a couple of blocks, we should have no trouble patching him up. Just a bit of ambrosia, and some rest, and then he'll be able to talk.)

Sherlock started listing the list of characteristics the mystery demigod had in his head, trying to distinguish who his divine parent(s? Possible) was. Blond hair, didn't catch the colour of his eyes. Has a good build, he's been on the run for a while. Athletic. Possibly been mending his own wounds.

Sherlock wouldn't be bothered with any other thoughts that night. Lestrade would deal with all the transport will Sherlock connected the dots.

Abrupt ending is abrupt. So, what did you think? Is it good? Who do you think is Sherlock's Divine Parent? John's? Anderson? lol.

I'll try and update soon. I'll update tomorrow if I get a good response.

-Alltheroads (Formally Sorrelstar)