Deals

Summary: Post-reichenbach, John will do anything to get Sherlock back, even something he never knew existed...

Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since he'd stood on that roof top. Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since he'd jumped. Six months, three weeks, five days and thirteen hours since my heart shattered as though it too had fallen from such a height.
I tried to get over it, I really did. I didn't want to be moping around the flat, treasuring everything he ever laid a finger on, refusing to have everything packed away for good; but that what happened.
I moved back into my old flat, it wasn't easy and I didn't want to but I couldn't stay at 221B, that was our home, and we had become I. Mrs Hudson was the one who boxed it all up, she took it to a school I think, I didn't ask. I kept a few things through - the periodic table, the camera phone (even though it was a painful reminder of my failure to express my feelings before it was too late), even the hat. I couldn't decide what hurt more, keeping them or throwing them away; keeping things seemed illogical (that's what he'd say anyway) but I couldn't bring myself to discard all those memories.

In the first few months, I'd been desperate, in denial. I wouldn't believe it, I'd keep telling myself he'd walk back through the door and lecture me on the stupidity of my sentiment. He couldn't be dead. But he was.. is.
I'd even taken to looking up stupid myths about ghosts and spirits and people coming back from the dead. I knew it wasn't healthy, I knew it was ridiculous and implausible, but I did it anyway. It was mostly the same stuff, endless videos of 'ghost proof', dumb teenagers hunting 'spirits', miracle stories, it was a load of shit and I knew it. But one day I found something new: demons.
The idea, to me, that demons and devils and hell were real seemed even stupider than the rest of it, but some of it really did seem interesting, one sight I found seemed scarily legit. It was about deals. Apparently, an awful lot of switching and swapping went on downstairs, and it seemed rather simple. This suggestion that souls could be traded and signed away scared the living crap out of me, but after weeks of tossing and turning and a severe lack of sleep, I came to a conclusion. What options did I have left?

I left early morning, having booked a hire car the night before - I couldn't take a taxi for this. The back was loaded with everything I'd read about - candles, chalk and paint, salt, a crucifix in a bottle of water - plus my gun. I was still convinced it wouldn't work, it couldn't. But I had to try.

It took all day; it was well past darkness when I finally reached it. A small, desolate gravel cross roads. This was it.
The late summer days had been hot this year but the lack of clouds meant as soon as the sun retreated the temperature dropped dramatically. The cold night air clung close and clammy against my skin, empty stars seemed to mock my pathetic last attempt. The gravel crunched underfoot and the wind whistled hauntingly in the few barren trees. Haunting... It couldn't be true and I hated myself for being desperate enough to try. Shivering, I pulled my jacket closer and started work. I'd read that a Crossroads Demon is typically summoned by burying a container of ritual items, including a photograph of the summon-er, graveyard dirt, a black cat bone, and yarrow at the centre of a crossroads. Yep, I'd even managed to find a cat bone, i was that desperate (if you really want to know I went to the vets and hung around like a creep waiting for a dead cat. Yeah, really...) not to mention walking awkwardly into the local cemetery (I took the dirt from his grave as I figured it would go unnoticed and he wouldn't have cared anyway, plus it held some idiotic sentimental value). Feeling more and more stupid with every moment, I scooped a handful of gravel into the box, dug a shallow hole, covered it, and waited.
Nothing.
It was all stupid, just a bloody stupid internet fad id been an idiot to take seriously, how could I have been this desperate?! This ignorant?! I should just go right now before...

"Good evening John," a soft female voice came from behind me and I wheeled round, tense and holding up the only weapon I had, the gun. She was, quite honestly, beautiful. A smooth, reflective black dress clung to her tanned and unblemished skin from her shoulders to just above her knees. Shiny hair the colour of a raven cascaded in curls and ringlets down her exposed back; it reminded me of his, for god's sake everything reminded me off him. Her eyes were a deep hazel, almost charcoal, but I thought I saw a flash of scarlet as she whispered "That won't do you any good," and took a graceful step closer.
"Who the hell are you?"
She smiled mockingly, "I thought you'd at least have done your research, I am here to help you after all."
"Research, what..?" my mouth was dry, the adrenaline pumping round my body was different to any id felt before because this couldn't be real, in a minute I would wake up and it would all be back to normal.
She rolled her eyes, "I'm a demon, John. I'm the cross roads demon."
She was lying, she had to be... The gun was steady in my hands but I could feel my legs trembling slightly.
"A demon?"
"Yes. I'm the one who seals the deals," she grinned almost sheepishly, holding her palms outwards as if expecting laughter and applause.
"So, the deals. They're real? You can, you can do that?"
"No need to beat about the bush sweetie, I know why you're here."
"You do?"
"Of course," she said, twirling a lock of hair seductively, "you're here to make a deal for Sherlock Holmes."
It sounded totally ridiculous now she'd said it; the whole thing was totally ridiculous. Demons, hell, Lucifer, deals? I still couldn't quite believe it.
And yet here she was, offering me a chance to have my best friend back. And here I was over thinking and wasting time.
"Yes," I breathed after a moment.
"Oh John, John, I wish I could help you, I really do. And believe me, there are people downstairs who would kill for your soul, well, they kill anyway so that's not really a fair statement. And I really wouldn't mind kissing you at all... But I can't."
"Why?!" I almost shouted, raising the gun "I thought you could make a deal with anyone?! Didn't you just say people, uh, wanted my soul?"
"Oh we do, believe me," she reached out a cold hand and lowered the barrel slowly, "But you see, I can't make a deal for Sherlock Holmes, because I don't have his soul to swap for yours."
"What... what do you..."
"Sherlock Holmes is not dead."

Wow, drama! This is my first cross over fic so please tell me what you think :)