Even Sherlock was silent upon the revelation. It was hard to tell, though, whether he was disgusted or fascinated. (Probably the latter.) But he still knew evil when he saw it, and this, no doubt, was not the 'side of the angels.'

He saw the look in Sam's eyes, too - like that of a wild animal about to attack, purely for the joy and thrill of it. Sherlock's heart immediately started racing, his fingers twitching. He felt the buzz in his pocket, already knowing it had to be Lestrade. He would have to wait.

Given John's distraction, he became Sam's target; the most vulnerable. He flung his machete with precision, having wielded the thing, Sherlock was sure, with experience from his upbringing on the farm. (The tan, the calloused hands - the chemical burns from mixing poison stood out against them.) The young man raised the blade.

"John!" Sherlock yelled, jumping out at Sam, ramming his shoulder into him. It knocked him back a few steps, thumping into a whole pig. He gave a shout of frustration, throwing his arm out, his fist slamming into Sherlock's face.

"Stop meddling!" he yelled.