John ducks under the tape with a feeling of dread. It had started when Lestrade had called with a new case and had been steadily increasing the closer they got. Sherlock, of course, felt nothing but excitement. Boredom had set in a couple of days ago and he was willing to come, even if it sounded like a mere four.

Now they were standing in one of London's many back alleys and John wanted nothing more than to grab Sherlock and run. It was irrational, but he didn't care. Something was wrong here. When he saw the body, he knew what.

Oh God. Oh dear... Shit. No fucking wonder. Oh God, this is so bad.

The body of a man is spread out before them. But that's not what catches John's 's the atmosphere surrounding it. For one, there is a subtle smell of brimstone he knows the others can't detect. Then there is the man himself, giving off an aura, even in death, of his profession. And last there was the power signature. The sheer amount of it was impossible to miss if you could sense it.

There was only seven suspects who could have done this. There was none others who were as powerful.

One of the seven Princes of Hell.

John lets his sight slide from a normal humans to his own. The other officers guardians look as worried as he feels. Making sure everyone is distracted he motions for them to go over to the wall so he can talk to them.

"Well?" he asks softly.

Lestrade's, Donvoan's and Anderson's angels look at each other before nodding. "Leviathan." says Lucas- Anderson's angel.

John nods in agreement. All guardian angels are given basic knowledge of demons and the Princes, but not much else. Not many need it. Only those who guard Hunters are given more. But they know the most powerful names and- more importantly- their individual power signature.

"John!" Sherlock calls.

John walks over to look at the body. Sherlock watches him move, then tilts his head to the side, finally picking up that he is upset about something. John shakes his head. Not here. Sherlock nods his understanding.

Over the last few months they have perfected the ability to talk without saying a word.

He kneels down and examines the man. The victim is sprawled out on his back. His face has a blue tint to it. Scratch marks cover his neck and face. He is dressed in loose fitting clothes. A backpack- his- leans against the wall, too far from him to reach.

John reaches down and pulls up his shirt to reveal his hipbone. He's right. Tattooed there are the words praeliator Del. Damn. I really wish I was wrong. This isn't right.

Next he moves to the pack and shifts through it. All of the usual equipment is there- holy water and oil, blessed sliver knives, iron stakes, candles, chalk, salt, a mirror. But where's... fuck. I don't get paid enough for this.

He moves back to the body. "Hold open his mouth." He tells Sherlock. Sherlock, now thoroughly intrigued, obeys. John reaches in and pulls out a rosary. He hears a couple of officers gag.

John feels slightly ill himself, but for different reasons. This shouldn't have happened. How was he strong enough to touch it? And why did he do it to begin with. The Hunter wasn't hunting him. He is no where equipped to handle him.

"Cause of death." John says drily to everyone else.

"How did you know that a bloody rosary was in his mouth?" Anderson asks.

"Because it wasn't in his bag."

"John, what do you know?" Lestrade asks seriously.
John sighs. This is going to be fun explaining. At least now Sherlock won't be the only 'freak' in our partnership. "I know Latin." he starts. " Praeliator Del. It means warrior of God. Members of a certain cult has them. I've met a couple. They always carry specific items with them at all times. A rosary is one of them. When I saw it wasn't in there and that he had asphyxiated, it was a reasonable conclusion where I would find it." Cult. Ha! Am I glad there are no other Hunters around to hear me. They may not mind telling people they are demon hunters, but I do.

"John." Lestrade says wearily.

"I only know what they told me. And I only know because I saved one of their lives." Because that's believable. Like I would ever come with five miles of Hunter, let alone have to treat one.

But Lestrade nods. "So are we dealing with a gang?"

John gets a peculiar feeling of being the one answering the DI's questions and not Sherlock. It's not entirely pleasant. "I have no idea."

"Sherlock? What do you have?"

"John has covered the basics. The man is twenty four, fit with scars that show signs of fighting on a regular basis, arrived in the city a week ago, travels for a living instead of working but can do so comfortably. The tattoo signifies a religious devotion, but not the peaceful type. The bag is filled with tools of his trade."

"Which is?" Lestrade sounds impatient.

"Demon hunter of course."

Silence meets this statement. Then-

"You really expect us to believe that freak?" Donovan sneers. Carly- her angel- facepalms in exasperation. "What next? Did a demon kill him?"

"YES!" Shouts every angel in the area.

John fights to keep a straight face. Oh yes, guardians love their wards dearly. That doesn't mean they don't get the urge to smack them sometimes.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid. He believed he was hunting demons. Obviously he was fighting someone. Most likely a group associated with demons- Satanists perhaps. Revenge as a motive. Using the rosary when he could have used one of the many knives? Strong emotions are involved. Whoever did this enjoyed using a tool meant to protect him to kill him."

Lestrade runs a hand over his eyes. "Gang wars. Christ. Can you track them down?"

Sherlock catches John's eyes before answering. Don't you dare say yes. Say 'yes' and I will tie you to the bed and leave you there with nothing to do. Sherlock gets the sentiment. "Perhaps" is all he says.

Lestrade nods and they leave.

John is vibrating in the cab all the way back to the flat. His leg bounces up and down minutely. That has shaken him more than he cares to admit. Then again this is his first time dealing with anything remotely demon, let along one so powerful.

"That man-" Sherlock starts when they finally enter their flat.

"Drop the case." John interrupts.

Sherlock looks back, shocked. John's voice is hard and unforgiving. He has never used that tone with him, no matter how mad John got at him. "John-"

"I'm serious Sherlock. Drop the case. Don't think about it, don't try to solve it. Delete it. Tell Lestrade whatever you want to get out of it, but do it."

"How powerful is this demon?"

John sighs. "Leviathan, one of the seven Princes of Hell."

Sherlock gets an interested glint in his eyes.

"No. You are not getting anywhere near this case. I will not have you anywhere near a demon's victim. Especially one so powerful."
Sherlock stares at John. John sees the moment he realizes how terrified John is by the idea of him encountering one. He nods and goes over and grabs John's hand. He pulls him to the direction of his bedroom. Taking off his shoes and jacket he lays down and waits for John. John slides off his shoes and jumper, leaving the shirt on underneath. Then he gets on the bed and curls himself around Sherlock, covering him the best he can.

They had found this was the best way for John to calm down after Sherlock had done something stupid or dangerous.

John lays he head on Sherlock's shoulder and takes a deep breath. "In the beginning there was peace and harmony. Or at least that's what we are always told. There was no sickness, no violence, no sadness or hate. It always sounded like a fairy tale to me."

"Aren't angels suppose to be less cynical?"

John shrugs. "Probably. The older ones maybe. But I was born when you were and I spent most of my time down here. I do have a room in Heaven and I did talk to Father sometimes. But on a whole I spent most of my time around humans. Specifically the humans you were around. They didn't help my opinion any."

Sherlock snorts, but nods for John to continue.

"Right. But then there was the rebellion." John shakes his head. "I've seen evidence of that. There's still corner, just outside of Heaven, that is still devastated by fighting, even after all of this time. The strongest was Lucifer, but there were six others who were powerful. When they fell, they became the seven rulers of Hell. I've heard humans say each relate to a deadly sin, but I have no idea if that's true or not. Their names are Lucifer, Mammon, Asmodeus, Satan, Beelzebub, Leviathan and Belphegor."

Sherlock is silent for a moment, taking the new formation in. "There's more. You aren't just afraid because he was killed by Leviathan."

"He shouldn't have been. Leviathan should have had no reason to go after him."

Sherlock gives John a look that clearly says 'Right. Because he got along with demons so well'.

"No, that's not how it works. Hunters kill demons. Demons kill Hunters. But it's... well it shouldn't have been as brutal as it was. That man was hunting a lesser demon. He wasn't prepared for a powerful attack. There was no reason for a greater demon, any greater demon, to get involved."

"A feud?"

"You'd be surprised how very few feuds develop because of a killing. Revenge sure, but not an all out feud. Not unless someone does something tremendously stupid. Like going after a Prince or an Archangel. Things get tense after that."

"Then isn't it possible that the man went after the wrong demon and Leviathan got revenge by using a lesser demon as bait?"

"Yes... but..." It doesn't feel right. It's a logical explanation and completely possible. But every instinct I have is screaming that it's not that simple. That something dangerous is going on and get away from it as quickly as possible.

"Instinct." Sherlock mutters.

"Yeah."

Sherlock runs a hand through his hair and he lets out a content sigh. "I wouldn't take the case John. I promise."

"Thank you."

Lestrade arrives the next afternoon. "Any progress?"

"No." Sherlock says from the couch, arm shielding his eyes from the light.

"No?"

Sherlock snorts. "Don't be dull Lestrade, you heard me the first time."

"Just surprised is all. This seemed like the kind of thing that would interest you."

"Obviously not."

Lestrade looks over at John for help. John shrugs in a 'what are you going to do' manner. Bryan- the DI's angel- gives him a much more knowing look that he ignores. "Come on Sherlock. We have nothing to go on except the vague 'killed by a rival cult'. None of his possessions we found at his hotel tell us anything. It's all clothes and hunting gear. We're at a dead end here."

"Not my problem."

He sighs. "Well if you change your mind let me know, yeah?"

"Greg" John call out before he leaves.

The DI turns.

"Be careful ok. There are things out there that can't be reasonably explained. Dangerous things. Don't take any unnecessary risks."

Lestrade gives him a long look before nodding. He walks out, Bryan trailing behind, an imploring look on his face.

John shakes his head. No. No way am I letting Sherlock anywhere near anything demonic. He gets in enough trouble without bring the supernatural in.

The angel sighs, but nods in understanding.

The next three days are filled with experiments.

John lets Sherlock do some that he would normally never allow. Like another head in the refrigerator and multiple chemicals on the kitchen table. It has the purpose of rewarding Sherlock for actually dropping the case and also keeping him distracted from said case.

Sherlock is talking full advantage of this.

John hopes it ends soon so he can stop living off of take away.

Lestrade enters just as Sherlock blows something up.

"John! It worked!" Sherlock calls from the kitchen.

Th DI looks at John in bewilderment. "Isn't that a bio hazard?"

John shrugs. "Better than the head."

"The... No, I don't want to know."

Sherlock comes out. The stares at Lestrade for a moment before nodding. "There's been another one."

"Yeah. We could really use your help."

Sherlock shakes his head.

"No? Again? What is wrong with you? You never turn down a case! Not unless it's boring. And I can hardly see how this qualifies. This death is even more gruesome than last time. The victim has been burned."

"No. I have experiments." He walks back into the kitchen.

"Leave it Greg." John tells him. He tries to keep the growl from his voice. There is no reason to make him more suspicious than he already is. "He doesn't want to take it."

"You too?! What is it? Usually you tell him to take cases, not ignore them. Would you rather be living with explosions and body parts than have him occupied?"

"Yes." If it means keeping him safe I will put up with a multitude of things.

"John." Bryan says.

John stiffens.

"John please. I know you want to keep him safe. But there's been another one. By another Prince. Two Princes in a week? We need your help. You know you're the better fighter."

John snorts.

"You are. We need both of you. Sherlock is an incredibly bright human. If anyone can figure out what is going on, it's him, with your help. And there is something going on. I can feel it. I know you can to. Please John. Don't you care? Don't you care that the Princes are messing with the balance? Don't you care about the Hunters and their guardians that are dying? Don't you care about my ward? He's in danger too. Don't you care?!"

"YES!" John yells, finally losing his temper. Fine, if that's how he wants to play it, I'll give him a piece of my bloody mind. Then he can explain why I'm yelling at the air. "Yes I fucking care. How dare you say that I don't. How dare you try to guilt me into helping you. How dare you try to lessen the importance of my ward to me. He is mine to protect. Mine to guard. And I am not letting him anywhere near any fucking Princes! I will not get him killed because I placed him in danger."

"But we need help!"

"Then ask Father to send some Hunters. Or better yet get Raguel down here. Or Michael. He loves this kind of shit. Gives him a chance to wave his flaming sword around."

Sherlock snorts with laughter.

Lestrade look on his shock. "John? Who the bloody hell are you yelling at? And what the bloody hell are you two talking about? Princes? Hunters? Raguel and Michael?"

"You bastard." John growls at Bryan.

"He needs to know and I can't tell him."

"Bloody hell you can't! I'm not! Not my ward, not my job." He crosses his arms.

"John?"

John continues to stare at Bryan. You think you can win? I live with Sherlock, you effort is invalid.

Finally Bryan sighs and closes his eyes to concentrate. "This is only suppose to be for emergencies." He mutters.

"Oh I'd say this counts. Because your ward is going crazy and I'm not explaining."

"Explain what?!"

"Who killed those men."

Lestrade turns in shock when he hears Bryan. He turns pale when he sees him.

"Hello ward. Nice to finally meet you." He smiles slightly.

Bloody bastard. I should shove his bloody smile and his bloody caring up his bloody arse. Put my ward in danger. Tells me it's the right thing to do. Bloody git. Bloody, bloody bastard of a git.

Sherlock comes over and wraps his arms around him.

"Wh-what?" Lestrade stutters.

"I apologize, but the situation is developing into something potentially very dangerous. I am your guardian angel. My name is Bryan."
He looks at John and Sherlock.

Sherlock nods. "You aren't crazy, he is real. And he's telling the truth."

"So... my guardian angel?"

"Yes. I have been watching over you since you have been born. It is my job to protect and guide you."

"But why can I see you now?"

"Because it's an emergency. Two of the seven Princes of Hell have murdered two Hunters for no reason. We need help."

"And John?"

Bryan smirks. "John? Oh he's a guardian angel too."

"What!"

"Looks are rather deceiving aren't they?"

John is pretty sure that if Sherlock wasn't holding him, he would have gone after Bryan. As it is, he gives him a glare that if looks could kill, Bryan would be several miles under. "That is not yours to reveal."

He shrugs. "It's the truth."

"Yes. It is also suppose to be a secret."

"You gave me no choice."

John snorts. "Oh no. This is not my fault. I am trying to keep Sherlock out of danger, not throw him in it."

"Because his life style is so safe before?"

"There is a difference between running after a serial killer and charging after demons. One is stupid, but the other is suicidal and it's not the former of the two."

Bryan grins at Lestrade. "We tend to be extremely overprotective too."

Lestrade nods. "Noticed. Explains a lot actually."

"If you say it's why I put up with him, I will break your nose." John threatens. There is no reason I wouldn't have found him just as amazing if I was just a human. He is an incredible person. People are just too idiotic to see it behind the mask.

"Right." He considers. "Then why haven't you said anything to Anderson and Donovan yet?"

"Because if I start, I wouldn't stop. Could get bloody."

Sherlock kisses the top of his forehead. "It's precious when you get worked up over them." He mummers.

"They're gits." John grumbles.

"Indeed."

"Oh... so you two really are...?"

"Not as such no." Sherlock answers.

"But... you two..."

Sherlock sighs. "I'm asexual Greg. Surely you figured this out by now. You aren't that incompetent. So no, we aren't shagging each other's brains out like everyone assumes."

"But you are together? Like a couple?"

Sherlock nods.

"So is that why...?" Lestrade waves his hand vaguely in John's direction.

"I became human to keep him safe. This is just a pleasant bonus."

He shakes his head. "Christ... er, sorry."

Bryan snorts. "Wouldn't be the first. You should hear how John speaks to Father sometimes. It's hilarious."

"Right... can we please get back on subject?"
Bryan nods. "John, Sherlock we need you."
John glares at him again.

Bryan holds up his hands. "Just come and look at the body. That's all I'm asking."
Sherlock looks down at John for permission. He practically begging with his eyes for John to let him.

This is a terrible idea. Horrible. Something is going to happen. It's never just a look, it's a full investigation the second his interest is caught. But Sherlock is giving him his puppy eyes and it's totally cheating, but John gives in. "Fine!"

Sherlock grins, ecstatic.

Such a bad idea.

"Hello Freak." Donovan greets as usual, although a bit more abated. "Nice of you to finally show up."

John grits his teeth. He is absolutely in no mood to deal with this today. And if she keeps going on like that, he is going to punch her. Damn the consequences because he doesn't want to be here anyway, especially not with Sherlock.

Lestrade seems to realize this. "Sally." He says sharply. "Now's not the time." The DI had been glancing at him the whole way here. When he wasn't looking over his shoulder that is. Bryan had disappeared again when they had left the flat. Being introduced seem to have made his slightly self-conscious. John would have been amused if the situation wasn't so serious.

Now though- It should never be the time. What gives her the right to judge my ward like that? Nothing that's what.

Sherlock rubs the side of his arm comfortingly. For all that he wants to rush in and investigate, he makes sure John is right at his side at all times. John is grateful beyond words for this.

They enter the abandoned warehouse- of course it's an abandoned warehouse, because isn't that the most sensible place to start all horror films- to see the body spread out. The tattoo stands out plainly on his hipbone. His position looks like he fell over mid jumping jack. If you ignore the burns over him.

And the smell. The scent of burnt flesh makes John want to gag. A closer look shows that a pattern has been burnt into his chest- an inverted pentagram. Other, minor burns cover the body. John focuses on the pentagram though, sensing something different about it.

"Oil." Sherlock mutters to him.

John curses under his breath. Oil. Holy oil. He traced the burn with holy oil and than lit it. How the hell are these demons able to touch these things? They shouldn't be able to... Unless they aren't as strong as they should be? Or the Princes aren't as affected by things ordinary demons are? Damn, I don't know enough about this stuff.

"Which one is it?" Sherlock asks.

"Satan."

Sherlock nods. They get up to look around the room. It's pretty bare, which is to be expected. But there's hardly any trace of a struggle when there should be. They were there at the last crime scene, although not as many as John would expect. Now...

"I can only pick up a couple of spots where his guardian fought back. Other than that, nothing."

"They were taken by surprise. He wasn't hunting at all then."

Fuck. As if the last wasn't bad enough. Now this one wasn't even looking for any demon, let alone being tricked into following a lesser one.

"How's that theory of revenge holding up?" H asks sourly.

"It's not." Sherlock replies flatly.

"Well?" Lestrade asks.

"Ambushed. He wasn't expecting it at all, his bag is missing. If he was hunting, he would have had it with him and not just the bottles of oil and water, plus a rosary with him. Whoever did it took his oil to draw the design and set it on fire."

"Cause of death?"

Sherlock gives him a look.

"Just making sure mate."

An eye roll is his only answer.

"Right. Do you have all of the information you can get?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go home than before you give John a panic attack."

"Like you're handling this any better?" He mutters in reply.

"Come John, you need tea."

John snorts but follows Sherlock out the door and into a cab the man always manages to hail so easily.

It's not until they are back at the flat that John feels some of the tension seep out of him. Sherlock actually makes him a cup of tea and they cuddle together on the couch. John closes his eyes. "Any ideas?"

"Are demons suppose to be able to touch a Hunter's equipment?"

"No. I don't know how they are. Unfortunately I don't know enough about any of this. All I know is that something very wrong is happening."

"How can you find this information out?"

"Either ask a Hunter, Father or Michael." He pauses. "Michael would probably be the easiest if I can get Father to send him down."

"Can you?"

He shrugs. "Maybe. I haven't tried talking to Father since I got here."

Sherlock looks at him expectantly.

"Don't expect anything fancy." He warns before closing his eye. "Our Father, who is chilling in Heaven. Please tell Michael to get his arse down here now because we need him. Yes he can bring his sword. Amen"

Sherlock shakes with laughter. "You John Watson are one in a million."

John shrugs. "I never said I was good at respecting authority. Besides, it gets my point across pretty well wouldn't you say."

"Indeed."

"And it's a source of constant amusement I assure you." The two look up is see Michael leaning against John's usual seat. "Hey little bro. Heard you need my flaming sword."

John grins. "You know it."

Sherlock looks between the two. "Why is that so funny? It's clearly a joke between the two of you."

"Between most angels really. You get some that have a very interesting sense of humor. They all seem to find my sword hilarious. I can't imagine why." Michael answers with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"We need to know more about the Princes." John informs him then.

Michael gives him a sharp look.

"Two Hunters have been murdered by Leviathan and Satan respectively. The first Hunter wasn't expecting to fight a Prince. The second one wasn't expecting a demon at all. Both used the Hunter's equipment to kill them. How are they touching it?"

"Are you sure they are touching it?"

John frowns. "How else would it have happened? No humans are involved with this. I'm sure."

Michael hesitates.

"Oh. Oh!" Sherlock exclaims then looks away form John.

"Sherlock?"

"You aren't going to like it."

"Tell me."

"The demons can't touch the equipment, but they can touch the Hunters. And the Hunters can touch their things."

John gags and buries his head in Sherlock's neck as he begins to shake. No. No that can't be right. But it makes sense. Why does it have to make sense? Why?!

Sherlock rubs his back.

"Are you sure? There isn't a chance they developed enough immunity to touch it themselves?"

Michael shakes his head. "No. We make sure the Hunters have the most potent weapons we can provide. Even a Prince shouldn't be able to touch them without getting burnt."

John feels sick. "Why?"

Michael shrugs. "War, fighting, violence. What else?"

"So they're trying to take over something? What? Heaven? Earth? London?"

"The latter two are more likely in this case. They could be using this as a starting point. Or they could just want London. It is an interesting place."

John growls. "No one messes with my city." It's probably a ridiculous notion to consider London his since there is a population of over 8 million living here. But he does. It comes from being Sherlock's angel. If anyone knows London, Sherlock does. He knows every alley, every tunnel, every inch of the city. It is his hunting ground. And John always thought of Sherlock as his, so it wasn't a hard leap to make.

Sherlock smiles. John can feel it because his face is in his hair. "Your city?" He asks in amusement.

"Well, ours technically, but details."

"Those are the most important things John, you know that."

"How could I not? I'm constantly being reminded of it."

"Oh how I love watching an angel and his ward."

"Shut up Michael. What do we do?"

"Stop them."

Both Sherlock and John give Michael an identical look that practically screams 'Really? I would have never thought of that. You're so smart. Please impress me more'.

Michael grins. Guardians and wards always begin to look like each other after a time. It's always fun to see.

"Focus Michael." John tells him. "You can think about how cute we look together later. How do we stop them?"

Michael sighs. "Obviously we have to banish them. But first we need more information on what they are trying to do and how to trap them to banish them. Give me a couple of days to get back to you. I'll bring backup. In the mean time be careful. If you can, stall the investigation so the officers don't get in the middle of this."

John nods and Michael vanishes.

"Well that was informative." He says drily. He still feels a little nauseous by how the demons forced the Hunters to hold the items that killed them. Sherlock continues to rub his back, not saying anything.

John just wishes this whole thing was over.

Lestrade comes the next day and John knows its bad. The DI is pale and shaking slightly. Bryan is wrapped around him and he is leaning into him even though he can't see him.

John wants to run. Because Bryan has the same shaken look on his face as his ward.

Damnit! When will this end?

Sherlock hands John his coat silently and grabs John's hand after he puts it on. He doesn't let go of it even after they arrive that the crime scene. John watches Sherlock all the while. This has stopped being fun for him. He no longer wants to solve the case for the puzzle. He wants it over with. This whole thing terrifies me and that makes it something to finish quickly instead of something enjoyable.

The thought makes John feel warm. That Sherlock would feel this way about a case is a tremendous compliment.

No one says anything when they arrive. The scene is an abandoned house in a bad neighborhood. I'm sensing of theme. The thought is giddy and John fights not to giggle. The urge leaves him though when they see the body.

It's... well... John takes one look at it, runs over into a corner and throws up. That is basically the only response he has. That he can have. The other murders were sacrilegious and vengeful, no doubt. But this... This is a mockery of the very foundation of our faith and belief. John starts to shake and can't stop. Oh God, please let him have been dead before this happened.

The third victim is another male Hunter. Surrounding him is an upside down cross.

He's... arranged so he's... to the floor... with his iron nails. One arm is free which supports Michael's theory that the demons handle the Hunters and not the equipment. John glances as it quickly and looks away again. He can't. He can barely be in the same room.

Sherlock comes over and cocoons him. John breathes in his scent.

"Tell me which one and we can go home."

"Beelzebub." He whispers.

Sherlock nods and guides John away.

Lestrade follows. "Well?"

"How dare you." Sherlock's voice is low and dangerous. "How dare you bring me here when you knew how John would react! What was the point? You could have simply told me which demon and how it was done without subjecting John to this." The detective is furious, eyes burning with intensity. The whole time he doesn't let go of John's hand.

Lestrade doesn't say anything.

Bryan looks regretful. "Sorry" He says.

John ignores him. Then Sherlock is pulling him away again and guiding him into a taxi. He doesn't remember the way home or going into the flat. When he finally comes back to himself, he is on Sherlock's bed, both stripped down to their pants, Sherlock curled around him. John moves impossibly closer, finding the skin to skin contact reassuring.

"Thank you." He mummers.

Sherlock strokes John's hair. "I've never wanted a case to disappear so badly before. Some I have wished over because they are tedious. But none have I wished away. You inspire new emotions I didn't think I was capable of. Never have I felt protectiveness over anyone before. It feels out of character, yet right at the same time."

John is silent.

"Is that what you feel? A fierce desire to do anything to protect me from hurt and harm? Even stand in it's way?"

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

They lay there for a while longer before getting up. John makes tea and they eat Chinese while watching crappy telly. The whole time they are never more than three feet from each other. Together they fall asleep wrapped around so tightly it's impossible to tell where one starts and the other ends.

The next morning John is feeling steadier. He gets up to make tea, Sherlock trailing after, having already been awake before John, but not wanting to move and wake him.

There is a note on their table, propped up against a beaker.

J,

L, S and B are planning to use London as their starting point. Already finished with first part. Need heart of the city of finish. No idea what that means. Ideas? Be there tomorrow with others.

M

"His grammar is horrifying." Sherlock comments over his shoulder.

"It gets like that when he's in a hurry." John replies. He knows because Anthea complained about it one time. Why she was working with Michael he doesn't know.

"Hmmm."

John looks over to see Sherlock staring at the note intently, clearly trying to figure it out. "Any ideas?"

"A place perhaps, or a person. Either has to hold significance and influence over the city. Going by that, it could be connected to the government or the palace. But that seems a bit to obvious. Attacking the Queen, while obviously easy for them, lacks a certain creativity. They have to be at least somewhat clever to rule Hell. So it has to be a lesser known location or person. A person is more likely the case. A location can hold importance, but it's people that give it that importance. And people tend to hold more importance to other people than places, giving the choice."

"There are eight million people in London. How are we going to find just one?"

"They may have the same problem. If they do not know the person they need, they will need to search. If they do, they still need to find him or her."

John nods.

"Now the person. They need to be important, but not too much. So not famous, but people need to know or at least hear about them. They need to be involved in the city in some way- politics, although unlikely, up-keeping/ resorting, architecture, a popular business perhaps. They need to have a large sphere of influence. It can't just be one social group or another- they have to be able to touch all their lives in some form or another."

"A social worker maybe, or a volunteer at a shelter. Maybe someone who works for the law. A popular business sounds like a good idea." John pauses. "I can't think of any other people."

Sherlock doesn't answer. He is sitting on the couch clearly going through his mind palace. John sighs. He isn't going to get anymore out of him for at least three hours minimum. He sits down and tries to think of ideas as well.

After an hour of nothing, he gives up. He gets up and orders Thai. When it comes he sets a plate down in front of Sherlock. The detective eats it, seeming not to noticing that he is. John does this only on occasion because he doesn't want Sherlock to realize what he's doing. The tantrum would be one of epic proportions.

But if a case lasts more than four days, or is especially dangerous, John will set a plate of food near the man. When he's so far in his palace, he tends not to notice anything else. Even what his 'transport' is doing.

John spends the rest of the day on his lab top, looking for ideas. Google is a marvelous thing. Nothing pops out at him when he finally gives up around midnight. Sherlock is still in the same position. Getting up, he stretches and walks over to him.

"Sherlock... Sherlock..." He gently shakes him. "Hey, come on... Sherlock."

Sherlock finally responds in a form of a 'how dare you disturb my oh so important and obviously more superior thinking' glare.

"Come on genius. You can think in bed. It'll be more comfortable."

Sherlock doesn't move, but he doesn't protest when John pulls him up and into him bedroom. Bloody git. He knows it should sound more annoyed than fond, but it's in him head so who is going to know. They lay down on the bed, Sherlock curling around John, continuing to think without a pause. John smiles, runs a hand through Sherlock's hair and goes to sleep.

John wakes up abruptly to an empty bed. Glancing at the clock, he sees it is 3:27 am. A sense of panic fills him. Sherlock could just have gotten up to use the loo or something equally as mundane. But John doesn't think so.

He reaches out and curses in a colorful manner. Every guardian angel has a connection with their ward. In an odd case that they get separated, an angel can find their ward anywhere.

And currently Sherlock is in an abandoned house. Unconscious.

It takes only a second for John to get up, look for his gun, doesn't find it and take off running. That idiot. What was he thinking? He knows that I didn't want him involved to begin with and he still goes off on his own. With demons looking for the same person he is.

Because it's obvious that he figured out who the person is. There was no other reason he would have gone off on his not with John's gun. He better not get himself killed or I'm going to bloody kill him myself.

But than a thought occurs to him. Heart of the city. What had he been thinking earlier? That London was his city because Sherlock was his. Dread fills him. Enough people have heard of him, he keeps the city safe, he has had clients from the government down to the poor, he has a homeless network... If anyone was the heart of the city, it was Sherlock. 'It is his hunting ground'.

Fuck.

John picks up speed, going faster than a normal human could manage. I'm going to kill that stupid, suicidal bastard.

He arrives at the house in record time, not even out of breath. Ah the perks of being an angel.

The house is two stories with windows that show a basement. The top floor is empty. So is the ground floor. Great, they're in the basement. This whole thing is turning into a bad horror movie. The one where the creepy music plays and the audience scream for the dumb blonde not to go in there even though she does. John runs a rueful hand through his sandy blonde hair. At least I'm in character.

He walks cautiously around, surveying the grounds. One window gives him a view of the inside. Half of the room is filled with shadows and boxes. The other half is lit. Against the wall are Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson. What in the world are they doing here? He sighs. Great, more people who are going to know. Wonderful. All three are unconscious and so are their angels. Maybe if he gets lucky they'll stay like that.

Then he sees Sherlock. He's tied up, hands behind his back, ankles bound so they rub. On the ground around his is painted another inverted pentagram with a circle encompassing it. Candles light the five corners.

In front of him are the Princes- Beelzebub, Satan and Leviathan.

John's blood boils. No one- and he means no one, demons included- threaten his ward and get away with it.

He creeps to the window behind the boxes and slides down, hidden from view. He doesn't think he's ever been so thankful for his powers as he is now. A chill goes through him at the sheer bloody power in the room. It makes his heart beat in terror, but he won't let that stop him.

Not now.

"What an interesting little human you are." Leviathan hisses. "So curious, willing to do anything to find out. It's not the people you care about, it's the puzzle."

"People are idiots." Sherlock answers.

Of course Sherlock is being snarky with a demon who wants to kill him. Git better be doing it to buy time. But probably not. The man has no self-preservation.

"Yes. We rather agree with you. But they can be entertaining to watch. So hopeful even as they continue to destroy their own lives. It will be fun to crush that hope."

"Where's your angel little freak? Don't you have one? Or did he abandon you? I wouldn't be surprised if he did. Who would want to be stuck with you? You don't care enough, but you have too many feelings to be a proper sociopath. Such a disappointment."

John clenches his fists until his hands bleed. His ward is not a freak!

"Oh poor little freak. No one wants you."

"But don't worry, we do." Satan purrs. "We have the perfect way you can finally be useful." He winks.

Is he... flirting? That scares John even more than the death threats.

The demon... well the only word for is it is sashayed... over to Sherlock. He runs a hand possessively through his hair to cup his face. "You will be mine. We'll show everyone what idiots they were to scorn you. Together we will rule the European empire. You will be my right hand. All will know how brilliant you are, you beautiful creature."

John can't see Sherlock's face, but he can see the slight tensing of his shoulders. The desire to tear Satan's head off is almost too much for John to resist. How dare he flirt with his ward. And 'beautiful creature'? That's suppose to be a compliment? Please.

"Satan, stop playing with your food."Beelzebub says from his place, leaning against the wall.

"You're just jealous."

"Hardly."

Satan rolls his eyes. "Just because you choose to make your human into a mindless slave doesn't mean the rest of us find it appealing."

"You always go for the freaks." Leviathan comments.

John looks around for weapons to use. He spots his gun, but it's kicked against the wall by Beelzebub. Useless. No other options present themselves. Which means John has to take them on. Alone. Weaponless.

Right.

But then he notices movement to his right. The angels were stirring slightly. Not enough to draw attention to themselves, but enough for John to know they are awake. He moves closer.

"Bryan." He whispers quietly.

Bryan opens his eyes enough to see John.

"Can you fight?" He mouth, not wanting to chance being heard.

He gives a slight nod.

"The others?"

Nod.

"We need to move quickly."

John watches as Bryan subtly signals to the other two to get ready to move. All four gather their power, preparing for a fight for their- and their wards- lives. They nod when they are ready.

John launches himself at Satan without a second thought. He is aware that the other three have gone after the other two Princes, but only vaguely. Right now all his attention is focused on the demon who dare touch what is his.

The Prince is taken by surprise and is thrown backwards. He gets up chuckling. "The cavalry has finally arrived has it?"

John is silent, watching him.

"What do you expect to do? How can you possibly hope to win?" Satan asks, sounding genuinely curious. He steps forward. "Wouldn't it simply be easier to join us? If you do, you can have whatever you want." He takes another step forward.

John throws a fire ball at him. Or, it's not exactly a fire ball, but that's the easiest way to describe it. And it sounds better- and more threatening- than a ball of light.

Satan blocks it easily. "Is that really the best you can do?"

John smirks. "Try me."

"With pleasure." Satan sends a fire ball of his own- a real one.

John, instead of blocking it, catches it and throws it back. It doesn't do any damage, but it makes the Prince grin insanely.

"Oh this is going to be fun."

The fight begins in earnest then. They grapple with each other, not managing to stay upright for more than a few moments. John thanks God for every bit of fighting skill and experience he has, or he would already be dead. Princes are immensely powerful. He knows that. But its one thing to know and another thing to battle that power.

Some fire comes too close to Sherlock and John rolls Satan away. He would love nothing more to get Sherlock away from this, but that's not possible.

It's this move that finally clues Satan in on who he really is. How he missed it before John doesn't know.

"So Leviathan was wrong. He does have an angel, just a rather unconventional one." He throws John and moves to touch Sherlock.

John tackles him. "Don't touch my ward."

"Do you really think you can beat me? You're just a guardian, what can you do?"

"Save him."

"Think you can?" Satan changes his tactic. His goal is now to distract him long enough to get to Sherlock.

John has no idea what will happen to him if Sherlock becomes a vessel of the Prince's power. He doesn't want to either. He will die before he lets anything happen to his ward. He fears that is what will happen.

He spares a glance at the others to see they are doing only marginally better than he is. Dread fills his stomach, but he keeps going with a desperation he has never felt before.

Finally Satan gets lucky- because he's getting tired- and throws him against the wall. All of the air in his lungs leaves him in a rush.

The Prince laughs. "Poor little angel. Can't even do his job right." He stalks forward to stand in front of Sherlock. "Now my pretty, where were we?"

Sherlock shifts away, avoiding him touch. His gaze is locked on John with the same desperation John feels.

"Now lovely, don't be like that. I can take much better care of you than your poor excuse of a guardian."

Satan's hand glows. John gathers what is left of his strength and launches himself between the two just in time. Instead of the demon's hand going through Sherlock's heart, it goes through him stomach.

John gasps in pain. The power meant to control Sherlock has no affect on him. But that doesn't mean the wound isn't a problem.

"John." Sherlock says frantically.

John doesn't respond. He knows this body is dying. He can feel it quickly becoming weaker and weaker.

This ends now.

He looks up at the at the Prince.

He takes a deep breath. Please give me the strength. "Recéde ergo daemon." Once.

Satan laughs. "You think you are strong enough to banish me? Only an Archangel has that kind of power."

"Recéde ergo daemon." Twice.

He continues to laugh.

"Recéde ergo daemon." Three times.

He gives John a startled look as he felt something.

"Recéde ergo daemon. Quas eieci te venit!"

"No, no you're not strong enough!" He lets out a scream and vanishes in a dramatic puff of smoke. Drama queen, er Prince.

John breathes a sigh of relief.

"John." Sherlock says urgently.

It's in that moment that Michael arrives with the backup he promised.

Of course. He couldn't have gotten here sooner? Like when I was battling a bloody Prince by myself.

"Someone call for a flaming sword?"

John snorts in amusement.

He watches as they group battles the Princes with much more ease than they had been managing on their own.

"John." Sherlock repeats.

"John. Tell me what to do." Sherlock's hands are pressed against the wound in hopes of slowing down the blood flow.

Wow. My name three times in a row from someone who hates repetition. I feel special. He giggles somewhat giddily. Wait, how did his hands get free in the first place? Must have banished them too. "Nothing. It's too severe."

"No!"

John reaches up and cups his face. "The body is dying, but not my soul. I'll still be with you."

"Don't be an idiot. There will be a difference and you know it."

"I will always be with you."

A tear slides down Sherlock's cheek.

"Here let me." Both turn and see an angel approaching them.

"Raphael." John greets. Thank you.

"John. Still getting into trouble I see."

"Of course. Have you seen my ward?"

The Archangel laughs. "Yes. A perfect match I must say." He kneels down and places his hands over the wound. It glows briefly than is gone.

Sherlock breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. No one wants to see you two separated, you're too cute together." He winks and gets up.

They look around. The battle had ended without them noticing. "Good." John mutters.

"Hey little bro." Michael greets.

"Took you long enough."

"I was expecting a little more time before you threw yourself into danger."

"So was I." John stands up and turns toward Sherlock, who is wrapped around his tightly. "You idiot! What were you thinking?!" John manages to move his arm enough to hit him in the shoulder. "You could have been killed! It was almost worse!"

Sherlock buries his face is John's shoulder. "Heart of the city. You said someone who worked for the law. I thought... Lestrade."

John's anger softens at this. He may act like he doesn't care, but Sherlock could be ferociously protective of those he considered his. The DI was one of those people.

"And it never occurred to you that you were the one?"
Sherlock shakes his head.

John sighs. "Idiot genius." It comes out more fond than anything.

Someone clears their throat. John looks up to see Lestrade, Anderson, Donovan and the rest of the angels watching them in various degrees of shock and affection.

"Bloody hell." Donovan says. "You're his guardian angel?!"

"Yes. Have a problem with that?" I swear, one rude comment and I am going to lose it.

Sally looks at her own angel and shakes her hand.

Anderson wisely keeps his thoughts to himself. Or rather it's Lucas' wisdom because he has a hand over his ward's mouth.

Lestrade nods. "Good job mate. You have no idea how relieved I was to see you."

John shrugs. "Sherlock was here. Of course you're going to see me."

"Touching as this is, we should wrap this up." Michael says.

Raphael nods his agreement. "John needs to rest. And we need to get back."

"Thanks again." John says.

All of the angels nod. They are gone in an instant. In the next one, John and Sherlock are back in their flat. "Convenient." John says.

Sherlock nods from his place behind him. "Thank you." He says quietly.

"I would do anything for you."

Sherlock tightens his grib in reponse.

"Besides" John continues "someone has to save your sorry arse when you almost get yourself killed."

"I love you too John."