By the time Sam and Dean made it to the kitchen, Sherlock was munching on his own sandwich. He'd gone with a simple turkey and mayo with a bit of lettuce, on a toasted slice of white bread folded in half. John's was halfway assembled on a plate with deli-sliced chicken, lettuce and tomato, and he was frying a few slices of bacon to top it all off.

Sherlock noticed their return first; since John was busy the detective became the self-appointed lookout, leaning on the table facing the counter he'd found the brothers on all those weeks ago. He was in the middle of a large bite when they appeared, and he alerted the doctor with a muffled grunt around his food. John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock before noticing the Winchesters.

"Oh, hey," he greeted, nodding at the spread of sandwich ingredients he'd laid out. He'd even flattened a slice of bread as best he could; the humans didn't exactly own a rolling pin. "I figured sandwiches would be manageable enough. Help yourselves." He grinned, sliding the freshly cooked bacon onto its own plate to cool for a second.

Dean hesitantly stepped around a large beaker on the counter, staring down at the spread of food laid out for their 'lunch.'

It was so much food.

The last time they'd seen food laid out for them, they were just regular kids eating at Pastor Jim's. John was busy helping on a case, and they'd been mostly left up to their own devices until dinner, which was closer to a smorgasbord of delicious flavors.

This time, naturally, the food was a lot bigger than they were, so it meant they could eat until they were full and keep going if they wanted to. They'd never had access to this kind of food since they were cursed. Dean barely knew where to start, and he found his mind wandering to thoughts of how much they could possibly slip into their bags when John and Sherlock weren't looking, hoping to restock some of their supplies.

Sam rubbed his neck surreptitiously behind Dean, instinctively trying to not draw attention to himself. He was unnerved by the feeling, though it was getting better. He smiled at John. "This is more than enough," he said gratefully, though his eyes were drawn more to the fresher ingredients, the lettuce and tomato, than the bacon which Dean perked right up to see.

John chuckled; seeing the brothers next to the food made it all look like enough to feed an entire clan of people their size. Even as he left one slice of bacon on the plate, putting the rest in his sandwich, he didn't have to worry about leaving enough for Dean and Sam. Dean was about half the size of that lone piece of bacon.

Assembling his sandwich at last, John made his way toward the table. He shooed Sherlock out of the way of the chair and pulled it out to sit sideways. This way he could easily look at the detective, who settled down in the chair opposite John, or the brothers on the counter.

"I was just telling John about St. Simon," Sherlock told Dean, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet up on the edge of the table. Then he pulled his phone from his pocket and clicked it on with a faint smirk. "Sent another email while we were chatting. Apparently she explained everything, and still left. His message seems less than pleased, but he asked me to thank you for him. For your input."

Dean snorted. "He can be less than pleased all he wants, it's not going to get her back anytime soon." He caught Sam eyeing him up. "What?" he asked snippily.

"So you talked to him?" Sam asked with a pointed look.

Dean held out his hands. "Just talked. Over the phone. He has no idea who I really am." He sent a scowl towards Sherlock for good measure. "The good detective so magnanimously let me in on the conversation."

"Clearly, you wanted to participate," Sherlock shot back. "Having you actually join in was far less annoying than hearing you mutter to yourself the entire time."

Dean's lips thinned. "Wanting to participate ain't the same thing as talking to another giant," he grumbled. "And it's not like anyone but Sam ever wanted to hear what I have to say before."

"Well, that list is a little longer now," John pointed out with a friendly smile. If one thing was for certain, he and Sherlock would never brush Dean or Sam off. Not after all their help.

A moment ago, he'd been in the same boat as Sam, appalled that Sherlock would involve Dean so closely with the client. But after Sherlock explained the precautions he took to ensure Dean's true identity would remain hidden, the doctor was actually quite impressed by Sherlock's quick thinking and consideration.

"You are still getting paid, though, right?" John pressed, digging into his sandwich.

"Oh. Yes," said the detective, dismissively waving it off. "I should be receiving a cheque in the mail sometime soon. Apparently heartbreak doesn't factor into breaking contract."

"Good," said John with a nod after he swallowed. "We need the rent."

With Dean as a distraction, Sam sank to his knees to begin putting a sandwich of his own together. He wasn't sure how he felt about Dean taking such risks, but he didn't want to give up his chance to grab some food. Some extra food.

Sending one surreptitious look over his shoulder to see Dean's constant bristle, Sam took his knife out of his jacket to cut some bread down to size. The sharp edge of the blade, kept honed with a whetstone Dean had acquired for them a few years back, sliced clean through the bread, and followed suit on the lettuce and tomatoes. He piled some on his bread and slipped the rest he'd cut down into his bag, using the cling wrap he'd saved from his impromptu breakfast with John weeks ago to keep the juices from seeping into the leather.

Adding in a few bits of chicken to his sandwich and his bag, Sam finished it all off with several crumbs of bacon and bit down on the sandwich, his eyebrows going up in appreciation of the flavor. Certainly, better food than they'd had in a long time.

John glanced in Sam's direction and did his best not to stare. Not only was it fascinating to watch him work, but it was good to see the kid packing away a little extra for later. If they both did that, at least they wouldn't go hungry for a while.

Not on John's watch.

Dean didn't have a witty comeback for John's friendly offer, so he simply nodded back at the man. Sam appeared by his side, happily munching away at his sandwich.

"You better have saved some for me!" Dean said, his attention flipping back to the food like a switch, and he pushed past Sam.

Sam shook his head in bemusement. Personally, he found it hard to believe that Dean would chose arguing with Sherlock over food, but then again those two did have the strangest relationship he'd ever witnessed.

With Dean making a sandwich of his own, slipping any food he thought he could get away with into his bag just like Sam (weighing heavier on the meat end of the food pyramid compared to Sam's vegetables), Sam sat down on the countertop to enjoy his meal.

John stifled a chortle, finding the idea of Sam using up any of the food in one go hilariously ridiculous. Sherlock smirked and finished off the last of his sandwich, kicking back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head.

If John didn't know any better, he'd think the detective was relaxing, but he was almost certain Sherlock Holmes was incapable of such a thing. Whenever he was off a case, even as freshly as this one, he was always so agitated and impatient for the next one. Perhaps it hadn't hit him yet, John reasoned.

Or, he realized on second thought, more likely it was that with the Winchesters around, he'd finally found something to occupy his mind in between.

"Seems like you had fun, though," John commented, picking at his sandwich for a smaller bite.

"First time outside in over a decade, you bet I had fun," Dean said, strolling over to where Sam was eating away at his sandwich, his duffel bag hanging noticeably heavier at his side. The leather strap on top strained to hold it shut.

"Want some vegetables to go with that?" Sam snickered as he saw Dean's sandwich, as much meat as could fit between the two compressed slices of bread.

"Dude, putting vegetables on this would be a crime," Dean said as he sank to the countertop next to Sam. He took a huge bite, closing his eyes in gastric ecstasy to savor the taste of real chicken, turkey and freshly-cooked bacon. "This is what I'm talking about!"

It was quiet for a moment as Dean thoughtfully chewed his food, his mood turned serious. "Our lives ain't exactly thrilling, y'know," he said. "We get by, and sometimes we get to help solve a case, but it just wasn't the same. Dark paths and hidden entrances, make sure nobody can find us. I got to go outside and feel the breeze, and that's something after so long."

John's lunch was set aside in favor of listening to Dean. Hearing more about the brothers' perspectives wouldn't cease to captivate him for a long time.

Dean had a point, one John hadn't considered in the scope of Sherlock and his misadventure. The doctor had primarily been focusing on the dangers the elder Winchester had faced, and hadn't given any thoughts to the potential benefits.

"I reckon more fresh air could do you some good," he mused. "Both of you."

John hummed reflectively and glanced between Sherlock and Sam and Dean. "Y'know, the more I think about it, the more I feel like we'll be alright. That it'll all turn out… okay."

"We always find a way," Dean said firmly. "Don't we, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes, resigned. "It's Sam," he insisted, sounding like he'd said it a million times before. Dean just grinned and took another bite of his sandwich.

"I wouldn't mind taking a look at the laptop one time," Sam said shyly, his ears red but his eyes eager. "It's been a long time since I could actually read a book, and technology's come a long way since we were kids." He glanced towards the main room, thinking of the bookshelf their home bordered. There were too many books crammed into it to make reading a viable activity even if he could manage to shove one open.

"Er, yeah!" John's brow shot up, unprepared for this turn of events. Sam was asking for something, the same kid who had dodged around letting John share what amounted to crumbs from his breakfast not too long ago. "Absolutely, yeah, anytime you like. I'll, ah, show you how to work it one of these days. Of course, you're welcome to the books as well. It might take a bit of trial and error, but I'm sure we could work out something doable."

Sherlock lazily opened his eyes and glanced over his view of the main room. Part of the bookshelf on John's side could be seen and most of the one on Sherlock's. Between the pair of them, there were no small books in 221B. There were large novels and thick tomes, mostly hardcover. Nothing that even the taller and stronger of the Winchesters would be able to shift on his own. And while his counterpart was caught up in the emotions of the moment, the detective's gaze darted around what he could see of the room and he theorized the possible solutions John and Sam might come up with. Not that he'd bring them up right that second, it'd be no fun if he didn't let them experiment on their own.

But it brought a small smirk to his lip to deduce the most likely method they'd choose to allow Sam easier access to the books of his choice.

"Geek," was Dean's response to Sam's hopeful question, and Sam elbowed him in the side, making him miss his next bite.

"Least I studied in school!" Sam shot back.

Dean hid a smile in the remainder of his sandwich. It was fun to tease Sam, but he often caught his younger brother staring wistfully at the tomes that lined their entrance in and out of the walls. It was good to know that Sam might be able to find out what was in those books now, after months of wondering.

"Guess I'll just have to try and keep up," Dean mumbled around a mouthful of food that Sam gave him a glare over.

John smiled at their banter, pondering the mutual trust and understanding needed to be able to playfully tease and fight with a sibling, and still have a healthy level of comfort between them. It almost made him want to call Harry up sometime, but that feeling didn't last. John was perfectly aware that he and his sister weren't nearly as close as Sam and Dean.

"You two would be college kids right about now, wouldn't you?" John surmised with a nibble at his sandwich. He was beginning to think he hadn't been as hungry as he thought. Realizing he might be dipping his toe in unfriendly water with that question, he added, "I mean, if, y'know… nothing had happened."

Dean huffed with laughter. "Trust me, doc, we weren't bound for any academic success, if you catch my drift."

Sam frowned at him. "We coulda made it! Bobby always said you picked things up faster than any other person helping him with cars."

Dean waved his hand dismissively. "Because two kids who drifted to a new school once a month had an opportunity to go to college," he said. Though he'd never set his sights on higher education himself, he'd resented the fact that every time they switched to a new district, the school was on a different syllabus, meaning no matter how well Dean knew the material at the old school, he was left in the dust in the new one.

Sam stared down at the table. "Maybe dad would have left us at Bobby's one year. Finished out class with the same people."

"Well… you never know, something could have turned out," John shrugged, unsure if it helped at all. He still knew very little about what Sam and Dean's lives were like before the curse, apart from a vague understanding of their life on the road.

The name Bobby sounded familiar to John, and he distantly recalled Sam bringing him up once or twice. Sherlock perked up a little at the mention of a new person, but he refrained from grilling the brothers about him. He did start paying more attention to them again, trying to figure out who he was to them. He guessed family friend, but even John had gathered that.

"What do you think you would have done, had you gone to uni?" asked the doctor, curiosity budding.

Sam shrugged helplessly. He'd loved school, but never really gave much thought to where he was going all those years ago. Back then, there was so much time to think it over. Years before he even had to graduate. "Somewhere I could make a difference," he said wistfully. "I always wanted to help people."

John nodded. "I was the same," he admitted. "Helping people, saving the world… Coming from a line of army doctors didn't hurt, either."

He remembered being young and fancying himself a hero in the making. Growing up hearing his father and grandfather's war stories, reveling in the notion that thatwould be his destiny. The 'family business.' As he got older and more savvy about how the world really worked, John decided that the world, and certainly his family, had plenty of heroes.

He still became an army doctor, but not for glory anymore. Like Sam, John had wanted to make a difference in the world, even if no one would know his name.

He supposed that helped being invalided home smart a little less.

Dean finished off his sandwich and brushed his hands off. "That's all that matters, ain't it?" he asked wisely. "Helping people, no matter how we do it."

He pushed himself up from the counter and glanced around at the spread of food still waiting. There was no room in his stomach for seconds after his first enormous sandwich, and no more room in his duffel bag, strained as the leather was. And, based on the look of Sam's satchel, no room in there either.

"Guess we should probably head back home," Dean said, thinking of the shelves they could fill with the food they'd squirreled away in their bags. It would go a long way between the two of them, but they couldn't save it for long without a fridge of their own. He looked at John, and then Sherlock. "We'll see you both around."

"Certainly will," Sherlock agreed, finally lowering his feet to sit properly in his chair. He folded his hands and gave the brothers one last once-over before they vanished again, probably for the rest of the day. He suspected a fascinating chapter of his life was just beginning.

John smiled at Sam and Dean and gave a wave as they left. He still wasn't entirely sure if 'goodbye' was appropriate since they weren't technically going anywhere far. They would still be somewhere in the flat, hidden from John and Sherlock's sight.

Once they were gone, John let out a long breath, still gobsmacked; he and the detective had engaged in an active partnership with the Winchesters. After everything they'd been through, they were still willing to work alongside humans because they cared. He ran a hand through his close-cropped hair, quietly anticipating the days to come with great eagerness.

"Are you gonna finish that?" Sherlock's baritone cut straight through John's thoughts.

The doctor quirked an eyebrow at his flatmate, who was pointing at what remained of John's sandwich. Sherlock was never one to share food. He refused to eat during cases, insisting that digestion slowed him down, and when he did eat he was very particular and almost territorial about his own food. Asking for John's leftovers was certainly a new one.

"I dunno if I'll ever understand you, Sherlock," muttered John, shaking his head as he slid his plate over.

Sherlock smirked and picked up the sandwich. "You're just getting that now?"

FIN

A/N

Bigfoot's a Hoax has officially won the poll, but tonight we bring you the epilogue from the first story of the Brothers Consulted series, fully wrapping up The Study of the Four!

Next: A Burglary at Baker Street, COMING SOON!

BROTHERS CONSULTED WILL RETURN