"Are you sure you want to do this?" Molly wondered apprehensively, sitting in the driver's seat of her little red car and staring nervously at the house that sat on the corner, right where he had left it. Sherlock sighed heavily, but nodded, fixing his jacket cautiously and staring at the white front door.
"I've got to I suppose." Sherlock decided heavily.
"Why the sudden interest in your parents? Why now?" Molly wondered curiously, leaving her seatbelt buckled to show that she had no intentions of getting out and small talking with Sherlock's parents.
"The Aspiration, it told me something, it got me thinking." Sherlock admitted after a moment.
"What did it tell you?" Molly asked quickly, obviously finding this a lot more interesting than the exterior of the Holmes household.
"Nothing that you need concern yourself with. Call me if John wakes up." Sherlock instructed, and with that he clambered out of the car and marched up towards the door. Molly sped away with a final goodbye; obviously she didn't want to tangle herself up in the Holmes family issues, especially when the parents were probably blaming her for not telling them Sherlock was in town. Well, there was no turning back now, especially when that sad excuse for a getaway car was long gone. Sherlock rang the doorbell, and a cheery couple of notes rang through the house, the same doorbell chime he remembered from his childhood. The same chimes that announced Victor's arrival at his house. This house represented so much history between him and his first boyfriend, so many memories standing here on the front porch, trying hastily to think of a meaningful goodbye from a date or from school. Oh those days had been wonderful, back when Sherlock was in love with Victor and Victor was in the love with Sherlock and very much alive, oh what Sherlock would do to turn back the clock and stand here with him once more. Except now he was standing here alone, and he was terrified of what stood at the other side of this nicely painted front door. Finally the door opened, and his mother stood at the other side of the door frame, dressed in a little sunflower sweater with her hair done up in an elaborate bun on the back of her head. She gasped in surprise, as if she hadn't expected to see Sherlock standing on the welcome mat.
"Oh Sherlock, what a surprise!" she exclaimed, speaking loud enough so that her husband could hear from his office upstairs. It wasn't a very subtle summoning, but obviously it worked, because almost as soon as she was done speaking Mr. Holmes came parading down the stairs, looking at Sherlock suspiciously.
"Are you here for money?" he wondered bitterly, obviously not as warm and welcoming as his wife intended.
"No, I'm not here for money." Sherlock snapped back.
"Then why are you here?" Mr. Holmes wondered. Mrs. Holmes gasped, shooting her husband a very shameful look before turning her attention back to Sherlock, who stood rather awkwardly outside.
"Oh come inside Sherlock honey, you must be hungry, would you like some lunch? We're having tuna salad sandwiches." Mrs. Holmes insisted, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the house. Sherlock winced, pulling his arm away as her grasp tightened. His mother stopped in the hallway, looking back at Sherlock worriedly as he rolled up his sleeves to reveal to large bruises on each of his wrists. Well there was no question on where those had come from, the Aspiration last night pressing down on his wrists to immobilize him. Sherlock blushed in embarrassment, rolling his sleeves back up and pretending not to notice the horrible discoloration.
"What happened to your wrists Sherlock?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, leading the small troupe into the brightly lit kitchen. There was a cutting board sitting on the table with a couple of cans of tuna on top and a large onion, but other than that the counters were clean and spotless. It was so like Mrs. Holmes to keep everything clean, Sherlock always suspected she was a little bit crazy when it came to keeping the house spotless.
"Nothing happened." Sherlock lied.
"Well obviously something happened; you can just say that you don't want to tell me." Mrs. Holmes insisted, obviously already done with her son's secrets.
"It was just...it was an interesting night." Sherlock admitted heavily, sitting on the table and watching his parents as they bustled around, trying to get lunch ready.
"Sherlock off the table! As if I hadn't taught you anything in those eighteen years!" Mrs. Holmes exclaimed. Sherlock couldn't help but smile, getting back to his feet and walking over to the counter.
"This wasn't a social visit, I needed to ask you guys something." Sherlock admitted, leaning over the counter and watching as his father opened two cans of tuna, as if he were imagining Sherlock would be eating more than one half of a sandwich.
"What is it?" Mrs. Holmes wondered, looking up idly as she cut up the large onion.
"Was I adopted?" Sherlock asked quickly, trying to clear this up as quickly as possible so that he couldn't second guess such a stupid question. Both of the parents stopped what they were doing and stared at him, but whether or not it was a good stare or a bad stare, he had no idea. And suddenly Mrs. Holmes's face broke into a smile, and she laughed a little laugh of amusement.
"Well of course you weren't adopted Sherlock, why on Earth would you ask something like that?" she wondered. Sherlock sighed heavily, well that was a bit of a relief, but it didn't clear the air just yet.
"The client I told you about, John Watson, he's possessed by the spirit of a Satanist. It took control last night, and it told me that I came from Hell. I was wondering if that was a lie or not." Sherlock admitted. There was a tension that settled over the kitchen, and Mrs. Holmes's smile faded from her face.
"Well of course you didn't come from Hell, that's a horrible thing to say. Don't listen to...whatever it is that told you that!" she exclaimed.
"The spirit of a Satanist?" Mr. Holmes clarified, blinking for a moment to make sure he had heard correctly. That was exactly what Sherlock did when he was confused, blink. Obviously he wasn't adopted, how could he be? He had his father's face, his mother's eyes, his grandfather's laugh and his uncle's touch for the feminine side of life. How on Earth could he have ever suspected that he was descended from the Devil?
"Sherlock just because you have a magnificent gift doesn't mean you came from Hell, I don't know what that man is trying to tell you, but it certainly isn't true. Don't let the dead lie to you Sherlock, it's happened before." Mrs. Holmes warned.
"Oh come on, that world war two nurse was not lying! Mycroft did eat my cookie, she saw it happen!" Sherlock defended. Both the parents laughed, and Sherlock couldn't help but tempt a smile onto his face.
"To think that you still remember that, after all of these years." Mrs. Holmes said with a small smile.
"It was important, I was mad for like, a week." Sherlock insisted with a little bit of a pout.
"And we caught him the next time, didn't we? When we made you that birthday cake and caught him trying to sneak a piece the night before the party?" Mrs. Holmes pointed out.
"Ya, like I needed a cake." Sherlock said with a laugh.
"It was a fun party anyway." Mrs. Holmes defended.
"It was just the five of us and Victor, I would hardly call that a party." Sherlock insisted. He remembered that day vividly, his sixteenth birthday party. It wasn't really a party per say, but Victor gave him the best present anyone could ever ask for. That night Victor finally asked Sherlock to be his boyfriend, they finally made it official. Sherlock accepted who he was and he finally wasn't alone in the world any longer. What a wonderful day that had turned out to be.
"If the Devil didn't give me these powers then who did? Surely it's not natural; surely it's not some pathetic attempt at a genetic mutation?" Sherlock asked nervously, watching as Mrs. Holmes stirred up a very yummy looking tuna salad in a big bowl.
"No one except God grants mortals such magnificent abilities, and you're no different." Mrs. Holmes assured.
"But this doesn't seem like the type of thing God would give someone, it doesn't make sense. How does it in anyway benefit humanity?" Sherlock wondered doubtfully.
"Well of course it helps humanity; you go around everywhere helping people communicate with their lost loved ones. Look at this John Watson fellow, obviously he needs your help, that's why you're here in the first place, isn't it? Trying to help this man with his demonic problems?" Mrs. Holmes asked. Sherlock just laughed a little bit reluctantly, but nodded. Demonic problems really was a way to put it.
"Yes, I suppose so." Sherlock agreed. "But what has it done for me except bring tragedy? It killed Victor, it tore us apart, it deemed me as a freak in society."
"None of those things are your fault Sherlock, you're not a freak. Humanity just has a funny way a repaying us for the things we've done, someday surely you'll realize that. Someday this gift of yours will lead you down a road to eternal happiness." Mrs. Holmes assured. Sherlock couldn't help but remember what road this 'gift' had led him down recently. He had wandered down the path to the man of his dreams, just in time for that same man to be happily married with a family and a straying heart.
"I'm afraid that's never going to happen." Sherlock muttered, shaking his head doubtfully and pushing all thoughts of John Watson from his mind. It really wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity; right now he was trying to rekindle his relationship with his parents, no matter how poorly he was attempting it. They had a way of putting his mind at ease, however. Dispute his qualms about his past, his parents had an annoyingly optimistic approach to this curse that had been placed upon him years before. They ate their sandwiches in happy conversation, and for the first time in about seven years Sherlock felt like he had parents again. He felt as though he actually had a family, and he realized now that they could have a conversation without yelling at each other and hating each other's very existence. This was what life was supposed to be like; it was what normal people achieved. Cheerful lunch with your parents, talking idly about demonic possessions and hell spawn. They were in the middle of a conversation about Redbeard, Sherlock's childhood dog, when his phone rang, buzzing on the table next to his empty plate. Sherlock grabbed at it, accepting the call and holding the phone anxiously to his ear.
"Sherlock it's Molly, John's just woke up. He's mumbling complete rubbish, he's asking for you." Molly said without pause, talking as though this were a matter of extreme urgency.
"Alright, come pick me up, I'll take a look." Sherlock assured.
"We're not entirely sure it he's himself or not, we can't see the symptoms like you can. Please hurry." Molly begged from the other end.
"Ya, alright, but Molly I don't have my car, you dropped me off, remember?" Sherlock pointed out.
"I'll drive you over!" Mrs. Holmes offered, looking ever so happy to come invade on Sherlock's personal life. Sherlock sighed heavily, but nodded in agreement. That would be the most logical thing to do right now. They definitely didn't want to leave Mary and Rosie alone with John, because who knows what he might do? Who knows if it was even John?
"Alright, my mother will drop me off; we'll be there in a couple of minutes." Sherlock promised, and with that he hung up the phone.
"I've got to go to John's, he's, well, they don't know what he's doing. They just need me." Sherlock announced, getting to his feet and pocketing his phone importantly.
"Look at you Sherlock, all professional and needed." Mr. Holmes said with a laugh, getting to his feet as well.
"Mom, tell me you don't obey the speed limits." Sherlock asked hopefully.
"Never." Mrs. Holmes promised. Sherlock smiled proudly, now he was definitely sure he wasn't adopted. It was only about five minutes before Mrs. Holmes pulled up alongside the Watson's house, letting Sherlock jump out of the passenger seat and into the empty street.
"Sherlock honey, be careful!" Mrs. Holmes called at him as he started to dash up into the house.
"I will mom, course I will. Thanks for lunch!" Sherlock called, and with that he ran up the porch and through the front door.  When he walked into the living room he saw that John was indeed awake, sitting up on the couch with the washcloth draped over his head like some sort of crude hat. He looked pretty spacy, as if someone had given him a lot of drugs or something, but other than that he appeared fairly normal. There was no black smoke anywhere to be seen, and his eyes were back to white and brown, the way they should be. When he saw Sherlock, John tried to get to his feet, knocking the washcloth off of his head and trying to stand up. However, as soon as he tried to put his weight on his legs his knees gave out, sending sprawling back onto the couch with a yelp of surprise. 

"John, stay seated, it's alright." Sherlock assured, rushing into the living room with his coat on and sitting across John on the coffee table. He looked very out of it at the moment, as if his soul was working overtime trying to keep the Aspiration at bay.
"Should I call Father Franklin?" Molly offered, watching Sherlock's concerned face.
"No, not yet." Sherlock assured, thrusting a calming hand in the general direction of Molly's voice.
"John, can you hear me?" Sherlock wondered, placing a caring hand on the side of John's face and pulling one of his eyes open. It seemed normal, the pupil wasn't rolling around or anything, John's attention seemed to be focused purely on Sherlock's face.
"Sherlock, I'm sorry." John mumbled.
"There's no need to be sorry John, I wasn't busy." Sherlock assured. He was about to pull his hand away from the side of his face when John's hand came up and trapped it there, pressing Sherlock's hand into his skin so securely that he couldn't even nudge his fingers.
"I remember." John whispered fearfully, his eyes darting this way and that to try to see their audience. Sherlock's blood ran cold; he didn't know whether or not John was talking about the occurrence with the Aspiration or what happened prior to that. Either one, however, would surely prove to be difficult to explain without sounding guiltily.
"What do you remember John?" Sherlock wondered softly, not even bothering to try to move his hand.
"I remember what it did to you, the Aspiration, I was watching from its eyes. I heard what it said, I felt what it did, it was using me to get to you and I couldn't stop it and I'm sorry!" John exclaimed, a few tears leaking out of his beautiful brown eyes. Sherlock just shook his head, using his only free hand to wipe the tears away from John's soft cheeks, fully aware of the two women watching everything he did and listening to every word exchanged.
"It's alright John, it wasn't your actions. I'm alright now." Sherlock assured.
"You were scared, I saw it in your eyes, I thought you never got scared Sherlock, you've never been scared of me before." John whispered. Sherlock just laughed, shaking his head and trying to get a smile on John's face as well.
"Well excuse me if you're not a very scary person." He muttered.
"You don't deserve to be scared Sherlock." John whispered, one of his hands wandering up to Sherlock's face, his fingertips dancing along Sherlock's cheeks and lips shamelessly.
"John, John, come on." Sherlock insisted, pushing John's hand away from his face quickly. Maybe John wasn't aware that they weren't alone.
"Shush Sherlock, come on." John insisted, easing closer. "We can't wake Mary." With that Sherlock pulled his hand away from John's face, getting to his feet abruptly and leaving John sitting on the couch, looking very dazed and very confused.
"He's mumbling gibberish, I'm afraid I can't explain it." Sherlock announced, looking over at his female audience, both of which had their mouths hanging open in dumb shock.
"What the h*ll was that?" Mary demanded, getting to her feet as well and looking from John to Sherlock to Molly, as if wondering if anyone else had seen what she did.
"That was the ramblings of a crazy man Mary, nothing more." Sherlock assured quickly.
"He's talking as though you two...as though you two were having an affair or something!" Mary said with a forced laugh, trying to make it sound as though it were too crazy to believe. Sherlock just shook his head quickly, forcing out a smile as well.
"That's ridiculous Mary; he probably just saw what the Aspiration was doing and assumed that it was on his own will." Sherlock assured. Molly just sneered in confusion, looking around the room for clarification.
"Wait, what was the Aspiration doing?" she wondered in horror. They both ignored her.
"Why can't you wake me, what do you two do when I'm asleep?" Mary demanded.
"We talk, play games, drink coffee, nothing along the lines of an affair at all!" Sherlock insisted. John stumbled forcefully to his feet, raising up a finger to make a point.
"I love him!" he announced, speaking as though he didn't quite know how to. Sherlock just groaned, pushing John back onto the couch. He really wasn't helping anything.
"He's just talking, he's not saying anything." Sherlock assured with a small smile.
"Are you in love with my husband?" Mary screamed, shaking in rage as she started to piece everything together. Molly gasped, and Sherlock groaned loudly.
"WHY AM I BEING ATTACKED RIGHT NOW?" Sherlock exclaimed, turning around in a small circle of helplessness. Then again, he didn't deny it, simply because it was the truth.
"Cheerios." John mumbled in response, and finally Mary closed her mouth, staring at John and sighing heavily. Sherlock could finally breathe easier, forcing out a laugh and sitting back down on the coffee table in relief.

"Oh." Mary muttered, finally realizing that no sane man would ever mutter such a thing without context.