iprefertotext:

        As a child, you learn that the act of ‘sharing’ is polite, fair. In fact teachers would push it in your face even if you didn’t like to do it, you had to, without being defying. But now, that didn’t seem to matter as you got older. 

                                    Everyone was selfish. 

         Sherlock had every right to be selfish when it came to cases, to his crime scenes that he was investigating. Sharing was the last thing he wanted to do. Hell, he didn’t even like it when Lestrade’s team was there—believing that they would mess something up, distract him in some way. That’s why he stuck to just himself and John. It was less of a distraction, anyways. As for the two unnamed strangers that seemed to stalk every investigation—Sherlock didn’t know what to make of them. 

                                    But they didn’t go unnoticed. 

        It wasn’t like they were the ones who did the killings, from what Sherlock had observed by them, they weren’t the type to kill. Or at least these type of killings weren’t their modus operandi. Would be interesting if Sherlock was wrong, but when was he ever wrong? It wasn’t until this very moment, when he was actually face to face with these strangers, that Sherlock had realized they’ve killed. But…different circumstances. 
When he was grabbed, slightly irritated that the man was shooting at air? Sherlock shook his head, but stayed down. 

       ”What the bloody hell are you doing?!” Americans, he should have figured that out earlier on, but now he was giving the man a glare. “And I don’t know who you are, but you need to stop ruining the investigation…what are you even shooting at?” 

        _{hunting is in sam’s blood, but he is not genetically predisposed to deal with all the   d i f f i c u l t i e s   it carts along. there are moral qualms every once in a while, like madison and ruby and sam himself. it’s grey and fluid and fucking hard, okay? and there’s no guidebook, no special bible or gospel, except in the blood they spill and the lives they save.}

   _{and  t h i s . this is nearly impossible, because who in their right mind believes in ghosts and werewolves and things that go  b u m p  in the night? and now, he is in england and this man is with the police and none of his false identities and forged badges are going to do him any good. he’ll have to rely on himself for this, but how he is going to convince this man to leave this the hell alone remains to be seen.}

               _{❝ saving your  a s s . ❞}

                                                           _{not the most eloquent response, but it’ll do. especially while sam is waiting, ears pricked, for another sign of the spirit.  he doesn’t have long; salt can only dissipate the things for so long, and he has a feeling this spirit is strong.}

    _{❝ l o o k , i don’t really have time to explain, but you need to get out of here. ❞}

                 _{sam raises his eyebrows, reloading the shotgun. empty rock salt shells clatter against the floor, echoing in the empty building, but sam pays them no mind.}

                           _{❝ you’re in danger. trust me, man, you don’t want to be here right now. ❞}