Disclaimer: All mistakes are my own and I do not own these characters

Chapter 4

Sherlock lurched forward, barely managing to catch Dean as the man slumped forward, unconscious. Sherlock distantly heard John calling his name, mind focused on the man in his arms and the events he just witnessed. This was nothing like the Hound of Baskerville case, he was not drugged or hallucinating and the woman's head on the ground clearly had a second set of razor sharp teeth.

"Sherlock," John gasped by the detective's side as Sherlock turned to look at his friend with a calculating, if still not a little wide, eyes.

"Take him. Where's the other man?" Sherlock snapped out, heaving Dean over to John who stumbled under the large man's weight.

"He's over there, he's in shock. Sherlock what the hell is going on?" John demanded, leaning Dean against the building wall, checking his vitals.

Sherlock didn't answer as he took out his phone and sent a quick text before addressing the nervous wreck of a man who was almost a victim.

"What happened?" Sherlock bit out, icy tone snapping the man to attention.

"I don't know. One minute she was all sweet and the next, fangs were popping out of her mouth and I was being held down with my head ripped to the side," the man wailed, shaking uncontrollably, "is she, it, dead?"

Well seeing as how her head is no longer attached to her body, I would say yes," Sherlock rolled his eyes before leaving the man to head back to John and Dean, sirens sounding around the corner.

Police cars along with a nondescript black car pulled up along the entrance of the alley as Sherlock bent down to inspect Dean.

"Concussion along with multiple bruises around the throat and most likely a few cracked ribs," John told Sherlock as the EMTs and Lestrade approached them.

"What the bloody hell happened here?" Lestrade practically shouted incredulously.

"Female aggressor, that man over there was the intended victim. I'm sure you will see his profile matches the other victims found in the area," Sherlock stated, standing up to face Lestrade.

"Right, and Dean?" the Detective Inspector nodded towards the American who was still unconscious and being evaluated by EMTs.

"Was lucky enough to get the upper hand," Sherlock stated, voice daring Lestrade to challenge him.

"Upper hand. She lost her head," Lestrade exclaimed.

"Unfortunate, yes," a new smooth voice drawled, followed by the click of an umbrella.

"Mycroft," Sherlock nodded to his brother receiving a dip of the head in return.

"Perhaps we should focus on getting this man to a hospital and then you can question him when he is conscious," Mycroft gave a condescending smirk as Dean was hoisted on to a stretcher and loaded on the Ambulance, John close behind. Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other, ignoring a thoroughly confused Lestrade.

"Shall we Sherlock," Mycroft turned and walked back to the car.

"Yes, of course," Sherlock spoke, following his brother to the car, ignoring Lestrade's indignant calls.

"What is going on Mycroft?" Sherlock asked once they were on their way to the hospital. His brother was silent for a moment before speaking.

"I have some interesting information on your new housemate," Mycroft stated in lieu of answering. He passed a thick file over to Sherlock who rolled his eyes before leafing through it.

The first page was a mugshot of Dean taken a few years prior. The photograph showed a much more carefree young man than the one Sherlock had met. The following pages consisted of FBI reports and witness accounts revolving around Dean Winchester. The FBI reports depicted one Dean Winchester as at worst a serial killer and at best a low level con artist, Sherlock easily believed the latter. The reports also spoke of a Sam Winchester, Dean's younger brother with two mug shots attached to the last page. Sherlock's eyes widened when he came across Dean's supposed deaths and resurrections. The files were extensive and clearly depicted a man capable of immense violent acts with little to no remorse. Sherlock could understand how the FBI came to this conclusion based on what he observed earlier. The FBI, however, got one thing very wrong, Dean Winchester was not a threat to humanity, he was a threat to those things that haunted humanity.

"They call themselves 'Hunters'. There are a few groups operating here in England, but apparently America is a bed of supernatural activity," Mycroft commented, shooting Sherlock a significant look as they pulled up to the hospital. Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement to his brother before stepping out of the car, file in hand.

John was in the waiting room when Sherlock walked in, speaking to the nurse at the front desk.

"He's in room 310," John said as Sherlock approached before they both headed to the elevators.

"FBI's most wanted, been declared legally dead multiple times and is considered to suffer from religious psychosis and extremely dangerous," Sherlock summarized the contents of the file to John as the elevator pinged and let them out.

"Well, we sure know how to pick them," John blinked owlishly and sighed, rubbing his face.

"He said it was a vampire," Sherlock mused as they walked to room 310.

"You can't be serious," John stated, eyebrows furrowed as they stopped outside the door, hearing the doctor moving around inside.

"Religious psychosis," Sherlock murmured absentmindedly.

"Why don't we just go in and ask him," John said shrugging and pushing the door open.

Sherlock wasn't surprised to find Dean belligerently trying to get out of bed as the doctor calmly suggested otherwise. Sherlock was even less surprised as John took charge and forced Dean to remain in the hospital bed and took his chart away from the stuttering doctor.

"You are not going anywhere, you need rest and medication," John scolded the American as he proceeded to check Dean's vitals and chart.

"What did you mean 'vampire'?" Sherlock stated, ignoring Dean's grumbling towards John.

"You know monsters who like to drink blood, although they're nothing like Dracula or those pansy ass sparkly vamps teenage girls seem to love," Dean hissed out as John prodded his ribs.

"So I take it wooden stakes, sunlight, and garlic don't repel them," John grinned up at Dean.

"Beheading is the only thing that works, and deadman's blood acts like a paralytic," Dean commented.

"Oh, and uh thanks by the way, for the save with barbed wire back there," Dean gave Sherlock a grateful nod, green eyes catching the detective's blue ones.

"It was quite an impressive feat of strength, decapitating a person with only barbed wire," Sherlock remarked, eying the injured man speculatively.

"So you both are taking this rather well," Dean eyed Sherlock back while John snorted at the hunter's comment.

"When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth," Sherlock declared.

"Right, thanks there Spock," Dean smirked, "so what do you want to know?"

"Everything," Sherlock affirmed giving Dean a cheshire smile of his own as John rolled his eyes at the both of them.

"It's a long story," Dean groused, rubbing the back of his head disbelievingly, body deflating.

"Well, maybe we are just crazy enough to sit here and listen," Sherlock's deep voice murmured causing Dean's head to snap up, green eyes wide as they met the detectives.

"Alright," Dean agreed with a sigh.

"But first, you're getting me out of this hospital," Dean's bright, cheeky grin lit up his face as John groaned in defeat.