Witchy Woman

by ValerianCorvidae

Investigating a crime scene uncovers deeper secrets, and a new threat - Author's note: There is a story between Dance with the Devil and Witchy Woman. The title is Explorations, and I cannot upload it here as it violates the TOS. You can find it over in AO3: /series/12769

Witchy Woman

It didn't seem to matter. No matter where you were, no matter what you did, there was always going to be paperwork. At least the department streamlined it - forms were all online, all pre-generated, and for every eventuality. Even John, with what Jim had termed his spastic chicken typing skills, could get through his paperwork in a matter of a leisurely-spent hour. Assuming he wasn't interrupted.

"Uncle John?"

John jumped, then looked sourly at the small speaker on his desk. The first thing Jim had done when he'd taken over Baz's old role as head of security had been to design an internal communications system. It could be pinpointed to a single person, or give a general alert; from the sounds of it, this was a personal call.

"Yes, Livvy?"

"Uncle Lock is on his way down."

"What? Why? Is something wrong?" John waved one hand over his desktop, shutting down the system.

"He didn't say. He should hit the Hub at the same time you do."

John was out the door before she finished speaking.

#

Sherlock was already in the Hub when John got there, and was talking intently to Mycroft.

"... yes, I can see how this might be something you would want to refer to us," Mycroft was saying. "This does seem to be more than your average murder."

"Murder?" John repeated as he came up next to his husband. "Hello, love. Case?"

"One on which I want your opinion," Sherlock confirmed. "It is, I think, something more suited to your areas of interest than my own."

"What? Medical?" John asked with a frown. Sherlock usually didn't need his input for medical questions.

"No. Esoteric. You've been doing that ridiculous research-"

"Which seems to be paying off now," John interrupted. Ever since his first meeting with Willow Rosenberg, he'd been reading up on magic and the occult - he wanted to understand what it was that she was doing. He was no closer to understanding, and he knew he'd never be able to actually do anything of the things that Willow could, but she now considered him to be something of a well-educated layman.

"It appears to have been some sort of ritual sacrifice," Sherlock continued. "Lestrade called me this morning. The time of death was something in the last twelve hours. But without more information on why, it becomes difficult to ascertain who."

"I'll called Miss Rosenberg, as well as our usual charter, but the flight to Scotland and back will take about three hours," Mycroft added. "Sherlock did say that you might be able to help, Doctor."

John nodded. "Let me get my coat. What do you know about the victim?"

"Victims," Sherlock corrected. "There are at least three. Anderson was still sorting them out when I left."

"You don't know?" John asked, shocked.

"The scene... you'll understand when you see. Lestrade says that he lost two officers to rather visceral reactions when they first arrived."

"Sounds like fun!" John turned to see Jim coming towards them. "Heard you were here. May I tag along?" He glanced over at Mycroft. "Sir?"

"If you like. I can only imagine what Greg will say," Mycroft said with a nod. "Something along the lines of 'This is a crime scene..."

#

"...not a bloody circus!" Greg snapped. John had to bite his lip to keep from laughing; Mycroft had the intonations perfect.

"There is an expert on her way," Sherlock said. "In the meantime, John has been doing some research-"

"You've been reading up on this?" Greg stared at John. "Why?"

"Curiosity. You weren't in the room when we had Miss Rosenberg do... whatever it was that she did to find Mycroft," John answered, and watched Greg look away. Understandable - nothing had been the same for Greg or Mycroft after the events of a year ago. Greg had asked Mycroft to marry him, and Mycroft had refused, for what reason no one knew. Their relationship had been strained ever since. "I asked her to give me a reading list. She's a good teacher."

"So now you're going to be a wizard?" Greg scoffed.

"No. Just a researcher," John answered. "I don't know that I'd be able to tell you anything, really. But I might see something. And I do know enough to know that if we're looking at some sort of ritual sacrifice, then this is exactly the wrong time of the month for it."

"Why?" That was from Sherlock.

"Wrong moon," John answered. "Look, most of the groups who might be behind ritual building of power, which is what I assume happened here, since you have multiple victims. Those groups have rules. Things have to be done right, or it's just so much theater. For this to have been one of them, it would have had to have been either the full moon, or the new moon."

"Interesting. Last night was the quarter moon," Jim volunteered. "So what does that tell you?"

"That this probably wasn't a group of real witches," John said. "Not anyone who follows this kind of thing as a religion. Probably not power seekers, either, and for the same reason."

"Great, we're looking at amateur Satanists," Greg muttered.

"Probably not, no. They have rules, too. Let's see the scene, see what we have." John suggested.

"How's your stomach? Eaten recently?" Greg asked, waving them under the tape.

"Had lunch a couple of hours ago," John answered. "Why?"

"You might regret that."

#

The scene looked to John like something out of a horror film. It took a moment before he remembered which one - Carrie. The prom scene. There was a blood-stained table in the center of the room, with rusty, brown ropes dangling from loops set into the corners, and all walls were splashed almost to the ceiling with now-rust colored gore.

"My god," he murmured, stopping just inside the door. "It's like Jackson Pollack went mental in here."

"I read this comic book," Jim said from behind him. "Absolute nutter, had to keep killing people so that he could paint a wall with their blood."

Across the room, Anderson looked up. He looked, John thought, rather green, but his voice was steady when he came over to talk to them.

"Updated body count. At least five victims. All male."

"At least?" Sherlock asked.

"We've found five heads. But we've found thirteen hands," Anderson answered. "And the damnedest thing is that there wasn't a single brain. Not anywhere in this room. Do not say it, Sherlock. I am not in the mood right now."

"I wasn't going to say anything," Sherlock answered mildly. "No brains?"

"None," Anderson confirmed. "Each of the heads had the top sliced clean off. It reminded me of what we found in that place we found you last year. What's his name... the one that went missing? Oh, right. Garrity."

Sherlock grimaced, then frowned. "Have you identified the victims yet?"

"Surprisingly, yes. We found this after you left," Anderson led them across towards a panel in the far wall that was partially open. "There's another room, and... well, this reminds me of that other place, too." He opened the panel and led them inside, into a small room. The walls were papered from floor to ceiling with pictures and printouts. The pictures were all of men, and Anderson pointed to one small grouping.

"Five of those are our victims," he said.

"Fascinating," Sherlock breathed. "What about the others?"

"We've got a team out looking for the rest," Donovan said from behind them. "So far, no luck. Hello, Doctor. Sherlock. Who's your friend?"

"Jim?" John asked, turning around. Jim was no longer behind him. "Doctor Jim Moran. He's a profiler," he answered, remembering the backstory that they had concocted for Jim.

"Really? Like in those American cop shows?" Donovan asked. "What's he doing, then?"

"No idea, since I don't even know where he is."

"Out in the main room. He's careful. Demanded boots, so he wouldn't track dirt over the scene."

John looked out into the blood-splashed room to see Jim crouching down in a corner. "Jim?"

"Remember that comic I mentioned?" he called back. "Painting the wall?"

"Yeah?"

"There are brush marks here." He pointed with his pen. "Someone painted this wall in blood. I'm not sure if we should be looking for Johnny the Homicidal Maniac or Jhonen Vasquez."

"Or a copycat," Donovan suggested. "Someone who read the same books?"

"I doubt it. There aren't enough similarities." Jim rose slowly, brushing his hands off on his trousers. He tipped his head to one side, looking thoughtful as he turned to look around the room. Sherlock joined him, and the both stood for a moment, studying one of the walls.

"Two here," Jim murmured.

"Yes. They shared the brush," Sherlock said, and pointed. "See there? Left handed. The other is right."

"Yes, I see. Only one brush?"

"Poor planning?"

"Possibly. Or this was spur of the moment," Jim said, gesturing towards the other walls. He turned and looked down. "They killed them here, but they didn't bleed them out here. There's not enough blood on the floor." He looked up at the ceiling. "No. There's another room."

"You both went too fast for me," John admitted. "How can you tell? That there is another room, I mean."

"When you slaughter pigs, you hang them upside-down, slit their throats, and let them bleed out," Jim answered, still looking up. "It's the best way to do it. Messy, though." He looked down, then laughed. "My grandfather kept pigs, Doctor. Honestly, the look on your face..."

John grinned. "Not something I'd have expected. All right. What else can you see?"

"Five, I think," Jim said, looking around. "And I'd wager they were all men, but I can't swear to it."

"Six," Sherlock corrected. "No indications of gender."

"Six? How do you figure?" Jim asked.

"One, approximately my height, left-handed. One, smaller. Much smaller, from the looks of it. That was our brush-man. There was another, here. You can see where he left footprints. Not large enough for our tall man, too large for our smaller one. Anderson, evidence bag and tweezers." Sherlock held one hand out imperiously. Anderson sniffed, then pulled out a small bag and a pair of tweezers and handed them to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded and used the tweezers to tease something out of the dried blood on the wall.

"Not brush fibers, not here. This is splattered, not brushed. However, it might belong to one of the victims," he said as he handed the bag back to Anderson. "Moving on. Number four. Look here, at the end of the table," he pointed to the corners of the table, where there were three small marks in the blood on each side. John peered closer, then looked up at Sherlock.

"Those are someone's finger marks."

"Very good, John. Yes, someone held one of the victims down. Apparently, they fought too much. We can infer another person doing the same at the other end of the table - that's five."

"And six?" Greg asked. He'd been taking notes the entire time.

"Six would have been the person with the knife," John answered. "The one running the sacrifice. The priest, if you will."

"Doctor Anderson, have you found any other rooms?" Jim asked.

"There isn't another room. There's no blood trail. If they were carrying disemboweled bodies and buckets of blood from place to place, there would be splatter. Something that we could trace."

Jim looked at Sherlock, who chuckled. "You see what I have to put up with?" he asked.

"And he was doing so well, too."

John shook his head and looked around - Sherlock had been behaving so well. And now he had Jim doing it, too. He'd have to remember to send an apology to Anderson later...

"Sherlock!" he gasped. "Look!" He pointed at the ceiling, where a small patch of darkness was just starting to drip.

Sherlock pulled his notebook from his pocket and tore a page out, catching the drip before it hit the floor and letting the droplet run, creating a crimson trail. "Blood," he said, looking up. "There isn't another room, Anderson. There's an attic!"

"Nothing on the ceiling here," Greg said, looking up. "In the other room?"

"No," Anderson answered. "Hidden stairs?"

"Very good, Anderson!" Sherlock crowed. "Yes, we have a hidden trapdoor." He pulled his pocket torch out of his coat and trained it towards the ceiling, frowning as he slowly walked around the room. Jim fell in next to him, craning his neck as he searched.

"Aha!" Sherlock said at last. "Here. We'll need a ladder."

Several minutes later, someone found a folding ladder, and Sherlock scrambled up and gingerly moved the trapdoor out of the way. His head vanished into the attic, then he reappeared.

"Anderson?" he said as he came down the ladder.

"What's up there?"

"Another victim. They left him hanging up there. Something or someone must have interrupted them."

#

Greg stared at Sherlock, then turned, snapping "Fan out! Find me that killer! Whoever did this is still close! Check the surrounding buildings!"

"Greg, you're getting quicker every day," Sherlock said pleasantly as he came towards them.

"Self-defense," Greg muttered in response, and Sherlock grinned. Greg ignored him, turning to Anderson. "We need to know how long he's been dead."

Anderson nodded and started towards the ladder. Curious, John followed him. In the attic, Anderson glanced over at him. "Can you hold the torch?" he asked, moving gingerly across the exposed ceiling joists.

"Yeah, sure," John answered, following Anderson and taking the torch. He played the light over the victim and winced. The poor kid had been tortured before he'd been killed.

"He's still warm," Anderson murmured. "Rigor hasn't even set in yet. How could they have been up here and we didn't hear them?"

"Don't know. But that means there's a good chance we'll catch at least one of them,"John answered. "Just a minute..." he turned, pointing the torch into the darkness. More exposed beams, cobwebs, the glint of metal and the green reflection of eye-shine...

"Down!" John shouted, dropping the torch and drawing his gun. He fired twice into the darkness, heard something yelp and fall, then the darkness was no longer dark as whatever it was fell between the beams and broke through the ceiling, falling into the room below.

"John!" Sherlock shouted, and John heard clattering on the ladder. "John!"

"I'm all right," John called. "We're both all right." He grabbed the torch and swept the attic, relaxing when he saw nothing. He holstered his gun, then looked back at Anderson. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. What the hell was that?" Anderson stammered.

"Good question," Jim's voice sounded from down below. "You two might want to come see this."

John looked at Anderson, who shrugged, and together they made their way to the ladder. Back on the ground, John could see a small group around what he assumed was the man he'd just shot. But when he joined Sherlock and Jim, he saw that what he'd shot wasn't a man at all.

"It's blue. The blood is blue! What the fuck has blue blood?" Donovan was saying.

"Lobsters," John answered, his eyes never leaving the body. "Spiders. Snails. Anything with copper in the blood instead of iron." He knelt down and turned the body over onto its back. It looked human.

"Jim?" he said.

"Yes?"

"Call Mycroft. This isn't a job for New Scotland Yard any more. This is for Torchwood."

#

"So what are aliens doing running Satanic rituals?" Greg asked. "And what's wrong with him?" he added, nodding towards Sherlock. Ever since the call had been made, and NSY had withdrawn, Sherlock had retreated into a corner, his arms folded over his chest, his head ducked. Donovan had teasingly said he was sulking as she left, and John had scolded her.

But, John admitted, she was right. His husband was sulking.

"This breaks his world-view," John answered. "He doesn't like things that he can't explain. Aliens... how do you explain that?"

Greg grunted, then sighed. "How long do we need to wait?"

"It takes three hours to get here from Cardiff. Not even Jack Harkness can change that," John answered.

"John?" Jim came up to them. "I'm going to take His Highness home. Call us when Torchwood gets here, will you?"

"Sure. Not going to hang about for Willow?" John asked.

"She'll probably still be here when we get back," Jim said. He smiled at Greg, then took Sherlock by the arm and led the taller man out. A moment later, John's mobile buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen.

We'll be upstairs if you decide to come home to wait. -M

John shook his head and returned his mobile to his pocket. Trust Jim to take the most direct method to bring Sherlock out of a mood. It would be interesting to see what state he was in when they returned.

"How are things between you three?" Greg asked softly.

"We're still feeling things out. Setting boundaries," John answered. "We're still in the honeymoon stage, if that makes any sense."

"I remember those days," Greg said, nodding. "Wish..." he stopped and looked away. "Do you know what the hell is going on with Mycroft?" he asked, finally.

"No," John answered. "I wish I did."

"I love him, John. And I know he loves me. I just... I don't understand why he keeps pushing me away!"

John sighed, hearing the frustration and pain in Greg's voice, and wishing that he could do something. His mobile buzzed again, and he pulled it out to see another text.

On our way. -LH

"Willow is on her way now," John said as he put the mobile away once more. "Maybe we'll get a bit more of an idea of what is going on when they get here."

"Which brings us back to the question, why the hell would aliens be doing ritual sacrifice?"

John shook his head, and fervently hoped for an answer.

#

A moment later, John received another text:

Heard from Liv. On our way back. -M

"Sherlock and Jim are heading back, too. This should be interesting," John said. "Greg, before we go back to business, do you want me to talk to Mycroft?"

Greg shook his head. "No. I'll work it out. But thanks." He looked down, then dug his own mobile out of his pocket. "Lestrade. Oh, Anderson. What? No, that's fine. Get the report ready, and we'll hand it over to Torchwood. Thanks." He hung up and put his mobile away, frowning. "This just gets weirder and weirder."

"What?"

"Anderson decided to run some tests on the victims. The usual basic tests," Greg answered. "And every single one of them had the same blood type."

"The same... that's statistically impossible!" John protested.

"It gets better. He pulled the records of the seven bodies we found in Garrity's basement. Same thing. All the same blood type." Greg looked towards the door. "Someone's here."

John nodded and headed towards the door. Then he stopped, a chill creeping up his spine. "What blood type?" he asked.

"O Negative," Greg answered, his face grim. "I think we finally have our reason why Garrity targeted Sherlock."

"But how did he know?" John asked.

"How did who know what?"

John turned to see Jim and Sherlock coming back into the room, Jim slightly in the lead. Jim frowned and repeated the question, "Who knew what?"

"Garrity," John answered. "There's no possible way he could have known Sherlock's blood type."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Unless he tested me after I was unconscious. Why are you bringing this up now, John?"

"Because all of the victims here, and all of Garrity's victims, were all O Negative blood." John looked at Sherlock and sighed. "And you knew about the ones Garrity killed."

"Of course, I did," Sherlock scoffed. "It was in the autopsy reports. There was nothing I could do with that information, so I filed it for later analysis."

"And you never came up with anything?" Jim asked.

"No." Sherlock glanced at him. "Where did you leave him, anyway? I never asked."

"Shallow grave just over the border into Kocaeli," Jim answered. "Why? After all this time, I doubt there's anything left to find."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Sherlock pulled his mobile out of his pocket and started tapping. "A car just pulled up," he said absently.

"Must be Livvy." John headed outside and smiled as four women got out of a black car. "Hello, Anthea. Being the chauffeur today?"

"It gets me out of the office," Anthea said with a smile.

John grinned and turned to the red-haired woman who was smiling broadly at him. "Hello, Willow. Good to see you!"

"Good to see you, too! What do you have for me?"

"Ritual sacrifice and something that bleeds blue," John answered.

Willow made an appreciative sound and turned to the blonde next to her. "Blue blood. We've seen that before, haven't we, Buffy?"

"Yeah. Sounds like a Nexus Demon. Let's take a look." She nodded to John, all business, and headed for the door. John, Willow and Livvy followed her inside, and Willow smiled at Sherlock when she saw him.

"Hi, Sherlock. Remember me?" she asked.

"No. Should I?" Sherlock answered sharply.

John blinked, confused for a moment. "Sherlock, you've met Willow before. She was at the wedding. Don't you... you deleted her. Why did you delete Willow?"

"Don't worry about it, John. I'm used to it," Willow said, grinning. "This is the sixth-"

"Seventh," Buffy called over her shoulder. She'd gone straight to the body in the corner and turned back the blanket that Greg had tossed over it.

"Seventh time I've had to come in and investigate something for the department. And I've met Sherlock every time. Mycroft explained that magic bothers him, and that he's trained himself to forget me every time I leave." She laughed. "Reminds me of home, actually. People were always forgetting things that didn't make sense. It was just... safer for them, I guess. They didn't have to deal with things they couldn't explain. Nexus Demon?"

"Yep. Low-grade nasty. About on the same level of intelligence as a chimp, or so Giles tells me. No way they're behind all this." She stood up and looked around. "Wow. This is...majorly icky."

Willow turned slowly in place. "Yeah. Blood on the walls? Major ick. John, what do you know so far?"

"Wrong moon, and we interrupted them. There was still a fresh body in the attic. That was where they were bleeding them out." He nodded towards the table. "That was the altar."

Willow nodded. She walked over to the table, examined the surface for a moment, then crouched down and looked underneath it. Then she held one hand out flat over the surface and started muttering something under her breath. After a moment, she frowned and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, sounding puzzled. "There's nothing here."

"For those of us who have no idea what you're talking about, can we have more than a one word explanation?" Jim asked.

Willow nodded. "Sure. Umm... real world examples. Radioactivity. When something is put too close to something radioactive, it picks up some of the radioactivity, right?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

"Magic is similar. When you use something in magic, it picks up traces of the magic."

"You mean, like consecration, in Mass?" Jim asked.

"You're Catholic?" William asked. "All right. This will be a bit easier, then. When something is consecrated, even if you desecrate it, it still maintains a bit of that holiness. A bit of the power. Same with anything else used in religion or in magic. All of this..." she waved one hand at the items in the room. "These have been in use for a while. But there's no consecration. No magical signature. There isn't a trace of power left on any of this stuff."

"Wills, I thought you couldn't do that?" Buffy asked. "Not without some major cleaning equipment."

"What, an industrial hoover?" Greg asked. Sherlock snorted.

Willow smiled. "Salt and water. Certain herbs. That's the simple way. And yeah, if you interrupted them, there would still be a lot of power left here. Death energy is really potent..." she hesitated for a moment, and the look she shared with Buffy spoke volumes of some shared past that John wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"So, they weren't really doing a ritual here?" Livvy asked. "This was all window-dressing?"

"Window-dressing, maybe. But they were looking for that energy. There's none here, no residual death energy, no traces of the dead souls. Something absorbed it completely."

"All right. So what does that add up to?" John asked. "Something is using demons as watchdogs, killing people with specific blood types for their death energy, and then hoovering up all that energy to do... what?"

Willow shook her head. "I don't know. It's been really quiet for the past few months. Demon activity has been down-"

"Not that we're complaining," Buffy chimed in. "Been a nice vacation. But the pattern is that it gets really quiet before something goes boom."

Willow was nodding, her normally expressive face solemn. "Based on how long it's been quiet, and the scope of this... I think we're looking at a really big boom."

"Magical boom or physical boom?" Jim asked.

The women looked at each other again, and Willow shook her head. "Both?"

"Right. Wills, why don't you check with the local covens?" Buffy suggested. "See if they've heard or felt anything? I'll call Giles, see if he's come across anything." She stopped, playing with the cross around her neck. "Should I call LA?"

"Probably wouldn't hurt to warn them," Willow said gently. "If something is coming, it will probably be coming on multiple fronts. And maybe he's heard something."

"He might have. All right. John, is there anything else you need us for?"

"You would know better than I would," John answered. "I still don't know what we're looking at. Except that it isn't an alien, so I should probably call off Torchwood."

"I'll text Mycroft," Jim said from behind him.

"Willow," John turned in surprise at the sound of Sherlock's voice. "All of the victims were the same blood type. Is there a significance?"

Willow frowned, shaking her head. "Not that I know of."

"Really picky vampire?" Buffy suggested. She grinned at the look of disgust on Sherlock's face. "Sorry. We'll look into it. That's weird, though."

"All right," Greg said. "John, who is doing the clean-up here?"

"Mycroft said the department would handle it," John answered. "Anthea?"

"The clean up team is on their way. You all can go. John, the keys are in the car."

"Thanks."

#

Getting everyone in the car was a bit of a squeeze, but they managed, and John pulled out into traffic before speaking. "So you were along for the ride today, Livvy?"

"Anthea is a good driver," she answered. "I'm comfortable with her."

John nodded, and had to refrain from turning around when Jim asked, "And how is Martin?"

On cue, Sherlock piped up. "Martin? Who is Martin?"

"Jimmy, I am going to strangle you," Livvy muttered. John grinned, looking at her quickly to see that she'd turned beet-red.

"The charter company that we use brought on a new pilot since we last used them, love," he said without turning. "And apparently, our Livvy's taken a fancy to him?"

"She has?" Sherlock sounded shocked, and Livvy groaned and put her hand over her face.

"Slowly, Jimmy. I will be strangling you slowly. With a shoelace, so that it fucking hurts more."

"Love you, too, Liv."

"You know, I seem to remember a certain consulting detective mooning over a certain army doctor, and vice versa, and neither of them noticing the other doing it for nearly a year. And a certain former consulting criminal blowing things up so that a certain consulting detective would notice him. So maybe you all can stop taking the piss, yeah?" Greg snapped.

"Thanks," Livvy said, looking over her shoulder at Greg. "And... he's fine. He's not stammering anymore."

"Stammering?" Sherlock asked.

"He's very shy. I make him nervous." She smiled. "Papa terrified him. I have no idea what he'd think of you, Uncle Lock."

"He'd probably faint," Jim muttered.

"He's adorable," Buffy added. "Today, when he saw Liv on the tarmac, he got all pink and sputtery. It was just so cute."

"I like Martin," Willow put in. "He's sweet."

"Competition?" Jim asked.

"Who, me? Oh, no. Gay."

"Oh, honey, join the club!" Jim said with a laugh. "He's kind of cute, but he's a bit of a wet rag."

"No one asked you, Jimmy. I like him," Livvy said. "He's smart, and he's funny. And he sings." She turned back to face the front of the car. "He's just... he needs to find his spine. And the owner of the charter company treats him like a moron. Apparently, a lot of people do. So he doesn't have the best self-esteem. When he does stand up for himself, he's wonderful."

"You've seen him stand up for himself?" Buffy asked. "Wow. Even the steward walks all over him."

"Last time I was out there, when I flew out to Cardiff. Mrs. Knapp-Shappy, the owner, she's..."

"A bitch," Jim muttered.

"Well, yes. She got her back up with me over something. I don't even remember what, but she was all up in arms. And Martin he was the perfect white knight... with a red face." She smiled. "And after, he looked so surprised. Like he didn't know he had it in him." She stopped and pulled her mobile out of her pocket, then laughed. "I don't know how he does it!"

"How who does what?" Greg asked.

"Jack Harkness. And how he manages a three hour drive in..." she stopped and looked at the dashboard clock, "...one hour five minutes. He's waiting at the Hub."

#

Jack was sitting at the long table when they all reached the Hub. He had his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee, and was deep in conversation with Mycroft, but he looked up and smiled as the small group came into the room.

"Well, it's my lucky day!" he proclaimed. "Slayers and witches and gorgeous men, oh my!"

"Hi, Jack," Livvy called out. "Are we having council of war, or should I head off to the Web?"

"Sit, my dear. I want your input," Mycroft said. He waited until everyone was seated, then looked at Buffy. "Miss Summers?"

"The thing in the attic was a Nexus Demon. Fairly low on the nasty scale. And definitely lowest rung on the brains scale. They're the demon equivalent of chimps. So this wasn't something they were responsible for. More like, they were someone's guard dogs."

"Which explains how that many victims didn't band together and overpower their captors," Jim mused. "There was probably more than one of those things, wasn't there?"

"I'd think so," Buffy agreed. "At least six - they're pack hunters. We'll contact the local covens, have them keep an eye out for the rest of the pack."

"Now, the weird thing-" Willow started to say.

"There was just one?" Jim asked.

"-was that there was absolutely no residual energy there at all," Willow continued as if Jim hadn't said anything. "Something absorbed the power from those deaths, and I don't have any idea what."

"Interesting," Mycroft said. "Any thoughts on the fact that all of the victims were the same blood type? Doctor?" He looked at John, who leaned back in his chair and frowned.

"Well, barring Buffy's picky vampires, why would something want specifically O Negative blood? And then use it to paint a wall... was there anything under the blood?" He sat up straight. "We looked right at the blood on the walls, and never thought to ask if the blood was there to cover something over!"

"John, you're brilliant!" Sherlock said appreciatively.

Mycroft nodded and tapped something into an iPad sitting on the table in front of him. After a moment, he nodded again. "Very good, Doctor. There is something under the blood. We have pictures. Miss Summers?" He pushed the tablet down the table, and Buffy studied it a moment before passing it to Willow.

"I don't know that script," Willow said slowly. "Is it writing? It looks like circuitry."

"Let me see that?" Jack asked, suddenly serious. He took the tablet from Willow, and his eyes widened. "Oh, this is not good."

"What? What's not good?" Sherlock leaned over Jack's shoulder to get a better look at the pictures. "Yes, I can see that this is circuitry. But for what?"

"Drawing off energy," Jack answered. "Collecting energy from the blood. Why O Negative?"

"Because it's purer?" Jim offered. "No antigens?"

"Maybe," Jack muttered. He cocked his head to the side and nodded. "Could be. More efficient transference."

"Two questions," John said slowly.

"Doctor?"

"In order to do this, they'd need to be using alien technology, wouldn't they?" John asked.

"I would assume so," Mycroft answered. "Captain?"

"Definitely. Given a few hours, I might even be able to tell you where this came from."

"Right. Next question." John pointed at the tablet. "Was there anything like that in Garrity's place?"

#

"There weren't any painted walls in Garrity's flat. In either flat," Greg said slowly. "I don't remember seeing anything like this anywhere on the walls."

"It wouldn't have to be on a wall," Jack said, leaning forward. "This is some pretty crude work. Suppose that they had a chance to do it right, to do actual circuitry, instead of what looks like conductive paint?"

"It would be much smaller," Sherlock said. "Greg, what exactly was found inside Garrity's flat?"

Greg frowned, then shook his head. "I'd have to get the reports-"

"Two minutes, while I pull them up," Livvy interrupted. She got up from the table and headed down the corridor towards the Web. Greg watched her go, then looked at Mycroft.

"Do I want to know how she has copies of confidential files?" he asked. Mycroft just smiled.

"Greg, after all this time, why do you even ask that question?" John asked.

"Honestly, I don't know why I bother. It's not like I get a straight answer," Greg said sharply. He leaned back and folded his arms over his chest, and John was certain the temperature in the room dropped a good ten degrees. Mycroft somehow managed to maintain his calm, but John felt Sherlock flinch. He looked at his husband, and saw that he was looking down at his mobile. Which was, oddly enough, turned off.

"There was a lot of strange stuff in Garrity's house," Livvy said as she came back with a thick file. "There..." he hesitated, then stopped and looked at the group around the table. "I missed something?"

Mycroft broke his facade enough to look at Greg, then looked back at his daughter. "No, my dear. What do you have?"

"Lots of pictures," Livvy answered.

"Give them to the Captain."

Livvy nodded and handed the file to Jack, who started sorting the pictures into two piles, muttering as he worked.

"... Chelonian... Sontaran... huh, that's from Adipose 3. How'd that end up on a level 5 planet? Let's see... Oh, Willow, you'll like this one!" He shoved one photo across the table. "That's Carrionite tech. Interstellar witches. Nasty lot, those. What else? Oh..." He stopped and looked down at one photo in particular, licked his lips, then looked up at Buffy. "Picky vampires?"

"It was a joke," Buffy answered.

"Maybe not." He turned the picture around and pushed it towards the middle of the table. "That's Plasmavore technology."

"Plasmavore?" Buffy frowned. "You mean vampires?"

"No," Jack shook his head as he answered. "Plasmavores aren't human. Never were. They do drink blood, though, and when they drink the blood of a certain species, they change forms. They become that species. It's the perfect camouflage." He looked back at the pictures, and started a third pile. "This is all Plasmavore technology. A lot more than can be accounted for by someone scavenging boot sales and trading with travelers. I think our Mister Garrity wasn't human at all."

"But he was married!" Greg protested. "Had a daughter!"

"She was adopted," Livvy answered. "I was curious, so I looked at his background and his family."

Mycroft looked thoughtful, then picked up his mobile and pressed a button. He held the mobile to his ear, then smiled and said, "Good day, Carolyn! Yes, it is. I'll be having need of your assistance again. Today, yes. Where? Istanbul. Which airport?" He looked at Jim, who answered immediately

"Sabiha Gökçen. It's closer."

"Very good. Sabiha Gökçen International Airport, Carolyn." He looked around the table, then nodded. "Seven passengers. Yes, we'll be along in an hour. Will that be enough time for you to refuel and prepare your men? Very good. See you then."

#

"So, why are Willow and I heading off to Istanbul, if this thing is an alien?" Buffy asked as the car headed towards the small airport where MJN Air was located.

"Because the aliens are using demons as weapons?" Jim offered. He frowned, looking at Sherlock and said "That is a question I never even considered asking before. I never even thought to string those words together, ever!"

"I have another one," John said. "If these aliens eat blood, then why are they painting walls with it?"

"Food fight?" Jim asked innocently.

"Jim!" John fought back the urge to laugh, and saw Buffy and Willow both snickering.

"Plasmavores drink blood, yeah. They need the salt to survive," Jack said. He looked distant, his brow slightly furrowed. "They're supposed to have evolved from the Great Vampires, monsters that were destroyed by the Time Lords thousands of year ago. Which, by the by, is where terrestrial vampires came from. They were created by the Great Vampires."

"Wow," Buffy said. "So, those Great Vampires are the reason for the Slayers. That means... we're talking prehistory."

John let the conversation wash over him, glancing over at the unusually silent Sherlock. He nudged his husband gently. "This is a bit much for you, hm?" he asked. "You don't have to come. Go home."

"And let you walk into danger alone?" Sherlock asked. "I don't think so, Doctor Watson-Holmes. As much as I... dislike the situation, I am coming with you. The sooner we end this, the sooner I can delete this whole messy business."

"Brother, if you opened your mind to the unexpected, you would be so much more effective as an investigator," Mycroft said from the front seat. To John's surprise, Mycroft had volunteered to drive. Livvy was sitting next to him, her eyes down, presumably at the iPad in her lap.

"He does have a point, Sherlock," Jim agreed. "Think of how many more cases you would have access to, if you were investigating things that involved magic or aliens?"

Sherlock didn't answer, and when John looked at him, he was looked determinedly out the window, acting as if he'd heard none of the previous conversation. John glanced at Jim, and the pair started laughing.

"Sherlock, perhaps it would be best if you did stay here," Mycroft's voice cut through the laughter.

"Why?"

"Because they tried to kill you once already, Brother. We should not give them another chance."

John swallowed hard and looked at Sherlock. "He has a point. All of the victims-"

"Have been male and had O Negative blood. I am aware," Sherlock said drily. "Mycroft, the one question that I have not been able to answer was why. Why me? There was no obvious commonality between me and the other victims, and no way that Garrity could have known-"

"Vampires know," Buffy interrupted. "They can smell blood types. I assume Plasmavores can do that, too?"

"Yes, they can," Jack confirmed. "Sherlock, stay here."

"No."

"Ah... we have a problem," Livvy said abruptly. "We may be taking two potential victims into a danger zone."

"Two?"

"They finished cataloging the pictures on that wall. The victims, and the potential victims. They've contacted the families of the victims, and..." she hesitated, then looked back. "And they've put the potential victims under guard. Uncle Lock, you were on that list. And... so is Martin."

"Martin? You mean Captain Crieff?" Mycroft asked, sounding shocked. "Olivia, since when are you on a first name basis with Captain Crieff?"

"I met him when I went to Cardiff, Papa," Livvy answered, her voice unusually meek. "And... we went to dinner and the cinema, when I got back. He's a friend."

"And he has O negative blood," Jim chimed in. "That will certainly be convenient."

"Jim," John murmured, a warning tone in his voice. Shut up, Jim.

"Convenient," Mycroft almost purred the word, and John could see the color creeping up Livvy's throat. "Convenient... how?"

"Jim!" John's voice was sharper now, and the warning was echoed by Buffy. Jim smiled sweetly at both of them, opened his mouth... and passed out cold.

"Oops," Willow murmured. "Sorry. Must have put a bit too much into that one."

Mycroft hummed softly. "Yes, I see. Well, Olivia, I think we'll be having a bit of a chat before you leave."

Livvy nodded slowly. "Yes, Papa."

"No one's answered my question," John said, hurrying to change the subject. "Why use blood on the walls?"

"Why are we assuming that it is a Plasmavore?" Willow asked. "Just because they're using the technology doesn't mean that we're going to find one. Maybe they just... borrowed it. Like all that other stuff."

Sherlock looked at her sharply. "So, it may not be an alien at all? Whoever it is may be human, using whatever tools are at hand."

"No way to tell, until we find more breadcrumbs," Jack said, then smiled as Jim groaned and started to stir. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty is waking up. Anyone mind if I kiss him?"

"Yes," John and Sherlock said at the same time. They shared a smile as Jack arched an eyebrow at them.

"Well, that's a shock," he said, laughing. "I should come visit you boys more often, if that's what's going on at 221B."

"No, you shouldn't," John said softly. "You really shouldn't." He met Jack's eyes, and it was Jack that looked away.

"Right. Here we are," Mycroft said as he stopped the car in front of a small building. There was a mid-sized jet waiting on the tarmac nearby, and Jack frowned as he looked out the window towards it.

"That?" he demanded. "That is what we're flying to Istanbul in? That?"

"That's GERTI," Livvy answered. "She's comfortable."

"She's a tin can!" Jack proclaimed as he got out of the car. "That plane is at least a dozen years out of date!"

"Jack, you of all people should know better than to judge something by its age," John said mildly as he got out of the car. "GERTI is a good, solid plane. And her crew are good men, all of them."

"Thanks, Doctor John!" a bright, cheerful voice chirped from behind them, and John turned to see a smiling, excruciatingly earnest young man coming out of the building.

"Hello, Arthur," John said. "How are you?"

"Great! I've never been to Istanbul before. Can't wait to see it!" Arthur crowed. "Mum says that you'll be ready to go in about fifteen minutes. We had a bit of a mix up with the weather reports from Istanbul. Got the wrong airport. Won't take long to fix."

"It will give us a chance to get settled," Sherlock said, helping Jim out of the car. "John, would you mind...?"

"Oh, off course," John answered, nodding at Arthur and taking Jim's arm. "Jim?"

"What hit me?" Jim asked. "My head feels like it is going to split."

"I believe Willow calls that a levin-bolt, actually," John answered. Behind him, he could hear Jack starting up again, complaining at great volume about GERTI. He ignored it, looking into Jim's eyes, checking his reflexes. Not bad. Just a little off-center. "You'll be fine once you get some food into you."

"Levin-bolt?" Jim repeated. Then he looked at John sharply. "She used magic on me?"

"Yes, and you deserved it," John answered, his voice flat. "Let me let you in on something that you may not have known, Jim. In the past year, Livvy has seen exactly no young men. There have been no nights out at the cinema or the theatre. There have been no coffee-dates, or dinner dates, or dates of any kind. She's been practically a nun."

"Really?" Jim blinked in surprise. "That's surprising."

"To you? Really? You didn't know how she felt about Baz?" John shook his head and stopped himself from strangling Jim right there. "She was in love with him, you git. She was in love with him, and he broke her heart. And then he died before she had a chance to resolve anything between them. It's taken her this long to start even considering seeing anyone else. So leave off."

Jim licked his lips and looked away, towards where Livvy was standing with Mycroft and Sherlock. The three were deep in conversation, and Livvy was blushing. Jim shook his head and sighed.

"We used to twit each other like that all the time," he said. "I didn't know..."

"Maybe you should ask first next time, hm?" John slung his arm over Jim's shoulder and turned, just in time to see an older woman coming out of the building, umbrage written all over her. "Oh, boy."

"Jack is going to get taken down, isn't he?" Jim murmured.

John nodded. "We don't have time to sell tickets."

"Pity."

Jack was still complaining, pointing out any flaw, real or imagined, in GERTI's shining silver-and-white skin. He had stopped to take a breath when an icy voice sliced across the tarmac.

"So, you have a problem with my plane?" Carolyn Knapp-Shappey demanded. "Well, then, I assume you plan to fly to Istanbul on the wings of that ridiculous coat?"

Jack turned, looked at Carolyn, smiled broadly, and bowed from the waist. "Madame-"

"Do not Madame me, young man," Carolyn cut him off. "And don't bother fluttering those eyelashes at me. I'm certain that you get far on your looks and those eyes, but it won't work with me." She looked away, cutting Jack out as if he didn't exist, and started towards the knot of Holmes'. "Mister Holmes, is that great idiot one of yours?"

"Sadly, he is. Would you rather I left him home, Carolyn?" Mycroft answered.

"Well, I don't know. Do you absolutely need him?"

Mycroft looked as if he were considering it, then sighed and tipped his head to one side. "I'm afraid that we do. But you have my permission to throw him out if he becomes a problem."

"Hey!"

"Oh, good. I'll tell Douglas. Miss Holmes, it is good to see you again. May I ask a favor of you?"

Livvy looked surprised. "Of course, Mrs. Knapp-Shappey. What can I do for you?"

"Try not to distract my pilot too much, will you?" Carolyn sighed. "Douglas started making jokes about the Mile-High club after your last flight, and I had to explain that to Arthur. It wasn't pretty, and I think the poor boy is scarred for life. Now, do call me Carolyn."

Livvy bit her lip and looked as if she was trying not to collapse into giggles; Buffy and Willow weren't so virtuous, breaking into peals of laughter. "I'll try, Carolyn," Livvy said.

"Very good. If you all will come with me, I'll see you on board."

#

Arthur was waiting just inside the plane, beaming at them as they came onboard. "Welcome to MJN Air," he pronounced. "I am Arthur Shappey, your steward, and I'll be taking care of you on this flight. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

John moved into the plane, setting the heavy case he was carrying down, then putting his personal kit bag on top of it. The case was one of three that they had taken from the boot of the car - one belonged to Buffy, one to Willow. This one, Mycroft had given to John before they'd left the Hub.

"You haven't moved the baggage compartment since the last time I flew with you, have you?" he asked Arthur. Arthur laughed.

"No, Doctor John. Right through to the rear."

"This is nicer than I thought it would be," Jack said appreciatively as he claimed one of the armchairs.

"Ah, pardon me, sir. But that's Miss Olivia's seat," Arthur said.

"I have an assigned seat?" Livvy said, sounding surprised. "Since when?"

"Skip said to put you there," Arthur answered. "I think it's because when the cockpit door is open, he can see that seat from the captain's chair."

Livvy looked startled; she sat down, then looked past Arthur towards the cockpit door. Then she turned ever so slightly pink. "Thank you, Arthur. This will be lovely."

Arthur nodded and turned back to John, "Can I help you with the case?"

"Thanks, but no. I've got it." John picked up the case and his bag and headed towards the rear of the plane. Once the bags were stowed safely in the baggage compartments, he headed forward, noticing that Sherlock had claimed the long couch, and Jim one of the two chairs facing it. John brushed his fingers over Jim's shoulder, then through Sherlock's curls before joining Mycroft, Carolyn, Buffy and Willow. The four had all taken seats around the small conference table that marked the halfway point of the plane. Carolyn was frowning; it was an impressive sight.

"I won't have you sending my plane into danger, Mycroft Holmes."

"I doubt there will be any threat, Carolyn," Mycroft said smoothly. "You'll be in Istanbul a few hours, if that. All of the paperwork had been prepared for you." as he said it, he set a thick folder down and pushed it across towards Carolyn. "You'll find your payment in there as well."

Carolyn flipped open the folder and looked down at the check resting on top of the pile. Her eyes widened. "Mister Holmes! Are you chartering my airplane, or buying it outright?"

Mycroft simply smiled. He looked at his watch and shook his head. "I must be going. Carolyn, it's been a pleasure as always. Oh, and Mummy sends her best."

Carolyn smiled. "She's off to Nice in two weeks, is she not?"

"Yes, and looking forward to the trip."

"Good. I look forward to seeing her," Carolyn said as she rose and tucked the folder under her arm. "Who is in charge of this little venture, Mister Holmes?"

"Captain Doctor Watson-Holmes," Mycroft answered.

"Good. Someone with some good sense," Carolyn said. She sniffed and turned to look at John. "Now listen to me, young man. You make certain that everyone comes back unharmed, and that my GERTI comes back without a scratch. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," John answered crisply. On impulse, he saluted, and saw Carolyn's lips twitch. She turned away, and John glanced at Mycroft, who nodded once.

"May I escort you out, Carolyn?" Mycroft asked.

"No, no, thank you, Mister Holmes. I need to roust out my flight crew... oh, there they are." As she spoke, John heard the voice of two men coming closer.

"It is not my fault that we got the weather report for the wrong airport!" one of the men was saying. "And really, does it make much difference? The airports are only sixty-five kilometers apart! It's not like there's going to be snow-" he walked into view, revealing himself to be tall, gangly and ginger. He looked around, and stopped, his eyes going wide as he noticed his audience. "Oh. You've boarded. Well... I... Good... good afternoon, Mister Holmes."

"Captain," Mycroft said, inclining his head slightly. "I must be off, but it's good to see you again."

"Good to see you, too, sir. Sorry you can't stay. It's always a pleasure to fly with you." Martin nodded as Mycroft moved past him and left the plane. He was, John thought, doing an admirable job of not looking at the single occupied seat. Not that Livvy was going to put up with being ignored.

"Hello, Martin," she said, smiling up at him when he turned towards her. He immediately turned pink. But, as Livvy had said, he didn't stammer when he answered.

"Hullo, Liv."

"I like my seat," she said.

He turned even more pink. It clashed horribly with his hair. "You don't mind? I mean, you could sit anywhere you like. I just..." he petered off when he noticed Carolyn glaring at him.

"Martin, if she's going to be that much of a distraction, she's going to sit in the rear of the plane, and I'll sit in that seat."

"I'll be good, Carolyn. I promise. All business," Livvy said firmly. "No distracting the Captain." She put a slight stress on the terminal word, and John watched as Martin drew himself up a little taller and nodded at her.

"Right. No distractions. Seven passengers, Carolyn? Oh, yes. Miss Summers, Miss Rosenberg. Back so soon?"

"Business is booming," Buff answered with a smile.

"In your line of work, that's a terrifying notion," Martin answered. He glanced at John and held out one hand. "We haven't met yet. I'm Captain Martin Crieff."

"John Watson-Holmes," John answered, taking the offered hand and shaking it.

"Doctor Watson-Holmes? The blogger?" Martin asked. When John nodded, he smiled. "I read your blog, when I have the time. Is he..." Martin glanced around.

"In the rear, on the couch. I'll introduce you, if you like," John offered.

"Oh, please, don't," a more familiar voice said. The First Officer came into view, nodding pleasantly at John. "Sir gets flustered when faced with notables, doesn't Sir?"

"Douglas!"

"Hello, Douglas," John said. "How's Helena?"

"Right as rain, thank you. And yourself and the Mister?"

"Fantastic, thanks. He's in the back."

"So I heard. I'll drop in and say hello, let him growl at me before we take off. Why Istanbul?"

"Usual procedure, Douglas. Explanations in the air," Livvy said. Douglas nodded once and shook his head.

"Right. Once more into the breech. If I don't come back, tell my wife I love her," he said as he headed towards the rear of the plane. "Mister Holmes, how lovely to see you!"

"You'll have to excuse my first officer," Martin said softly. "He's a prat."

"I've met Douglas before," John said, and Martin nodded. "Why does he call you Sir like that?"

"Because he's a prat?" Martin offered. John grinned.

"Probably. Two more to introduce. Captain Jack Harkness and Doctor Jim Moran." He turned and looked around, found Jack sitting across from Jim at the rear of the plane. He heard a slight intake of breath next to him, and when he turned back, he had to hide a smile. Livvy had risen from her seat and taken Martin's hand.

"I thought you said business?" Carolyn asked.

"You've met Jack," Livvy answered. "I'm just.. staking a claim?"

"Oh, look at that. We'll be able to use him as a beacon," Carolyn commented. "All right. I'm off. Arthur, do try to keep your head down, will you?"

"Sure thing, Mum."

"Good. Remember what I said, Doctor. Not a scratch." Carolyn nodded at them all, then hurried off the plane. John sniffed and led the way towards the back of the plane, passing Douglas as he came forward.

"You live with that all the time?" Douglas murmured. "You've the patience of a saint, Doctor."

John smiled and passed through the privacy barrier into the rear of the plane. Sherlock scowled up at him, then rose and demanded, "Did you tell that idiot to come and bother me?"

"Sherlock, Douglas is not an idiot."

"Of course he's an idiot. He wants me to deduce the winning lottery numbers."

From behind him, John heard a long-suffering sigh. "Mister Holmes, if I might apologize for the behavior of my first officer?" Martin offered.

"And you are?" Sherlock asked. He glanced at Livvy, then nodded. "Oh. You would be Martin."

"Yes, sir. Captain Martin Crieff, at your service."

Sherlock looked puzzled. "Why would I want your service? Other than for this flight, of course."

Martin looked blank, and John leapt to the rescue. "He's being polite, Sherlock."

"Oh. Right. Thank you, Captain," Sherlock smiled pleasantly, his I'm-pretending-to-be-one-of-you-idiots smile, and John shook his head.

"Somewhat archaic, too." Jim added. "Hello, Captain."

"Oh, Doctor Moran. I thought your name was familiar. It's good to see you again," Martin said.

"That's right. You did say you'd met him," John said, remembering the discussion in the car earlier that day. "And this is Captain Jack Harkness."

Jack looked up, and his eyes warmed as he smiled at Martin. "Hello, Captain," he almost purred.

Martin's eyes widened, and he looked tremendously like a deer in the headlights. Then Livvy put her other hand on his arm, looked at Jack and snapped one word.

"Mine."

Jack pouted at her, then grinned and leaned back in his chair. "All right, Captain, you're safe from me."

"Ah...good. Good. Now... ah... we'll be three and a half hours to Istanbul. And there will be a car waiting for you. I've been told your usual procedure is to brief the crew in the air?"

"Yes, Captain," John answered.

"Good. Very good. Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll get the final checks finished and get us off the ground." He nodded, smiled briefly at Livvy, then went back forward.

"So, that's Martin?" Sherlock murmured.

"That's Martin," Livvy agreed. She looked up at Sherlock. "And?"

"And... he has potential," Sherlock said. Livvy turned.

"Papa said the same thing. But he wanted your opinion. And I wanted your blessing."

Sherlock snorted. "As if you'd wait for that."

"You know I would."

"You have it."

Livvy hugged Sherlock, murmured, just loud enough that John heard her, "Thank you, Daddy."

A soft chime rang out, and Arthur's voice followed. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Doctors and Captains and Detectives and Slayers, welcome aboard MJN Air. Oh, and witches too! Sorry, Miss Rosenberg. If you'll all take your seats, we'll begin the safety briefing."

#

They'd been in flight a half an hour when Livvy finally called for the briefing. "Arthur, could you ask Martin to join us?" she asked. "And have the cockpit door open. I want Douglas to hear this, too."

"Sure thing, Livvy." Arthur bounded away, and Jim muttered something about oversized puppies. John elbowed him gently, and he subsided. A moment later, Martin came out of the cockpit.

"Liv? Arthur said you wanted me?"

"I thought we determined that the last time!" Douglas called from the cockpit. Martin glared over his shoulder, then turned back.

"I'll need to bring you up to speed first. Do you remember, a little over a year ago, the news story about the brain-eating doctor?"

Martin made a face. "I wish I could forget it. It was all the boys were talking about for weeks. Why?"

"Because what the papers didn't tell you was that the last victim was very nearly Uncle Lock," Livvy said. Martin's jaw dropped, and he turned to look at Sherlock.

"Good Lord! I...and you're all right?"

Sherlock inclined his head. "John found me in time."

"Good. That... that's good." Martin dragged his fingers through his hair, then looked back at Livvy. "All right. What next?"

"This morning, we discovered another rash of murders. These were done as ritual sacrifices, and there was a long list of potential victims. We discovered a commonality among all the victims. They were all the same blood type." Livvy looked down at her iPad, then back up at Martin. "Martin, can you look at these?" She passed him the tablet, and Martin frowned down at the pictures, scrolling through them for a moment before stopping. "Wait... me? I'm on their list?"

"You're O Negative."

"Well, yes. But... me? How do they even know about me?" Martin looked down, then blinked. "This... this is Dennis. He lives downstairs from me." He handed the tablet back to Livvy, and she bit her lip. John immediately know what that meant - Dennis had been one of the victims.

"Captain, when was the last time you saw Dennis?" John asked slowly.

"Ah... two... no, three days ago. We went to donate blood together. He got me started, donating blood. He said it was our duty, as universal donors. And it paid well." Martin swallowed and looked down. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"Captain, sit down," Jack said gently, standing up. He pushed Martin into a chair and looked around. "Arthur, something to drink-"

"Water. Just... just water," Martin interrupted. "I... God. Poor Dennis. He..." He frowned, looked down, then sat up and looked at John. "What can I do to help?"

"Right now, we're not sure. We still don't know what or who we're looking for," John answered. "There was rather a lot of extra-terrestrial technology in both places-"

"Extra-terrestrial. It isn't enough that we have to deal with vampires?" Douglas said. "Now we have to deal with the thing from another worlds"

"I saw that movie!" Arthur blurted out. "Cracking good film."

"Thank you, Arthur," Martin said drily. "So, if this happened in London, why are we going to Istanbul?"

"Because that was where Garrity - the brain-eating doctor - ran. And that's where I killed him," Jim said. Martin blinked, looked at Jim, then licked his lips quickly. Jim smiled and mimed blowing a kiss towards Martin, who cringed slightly.

"Right. Well... again, what do you want from me?" Martin asked slowly, obviously trying to regain his composure. "I'm a pilot, not a fighter, nor a computer person or a witch."

"We need you to keep GERTI hot. We might need to get out of Istanbul fast. The papers that Mycroft gave to Carolyn should cover any eventuality. Once we're on the ground, Livvy will remain here with you and the flight crew. She'll be tracking us on her computer. Ah..." John looked around, frowned. "I can't leave anyone for a rear-guard."

"We'll seal the hatches," Martin said firmly. "No one in or out of GERTI until you come back. Will that suit?"

"That should be fine. And we'll leave you a sidearm," John said. He started to look down, then noticed Martin's pallor.

"I don't know how to shoot," the pilot admitted.

"I'd be surprised if you did," John answered. "But Livvy can shoot."

"As can I," Douglas added.

"I'll put a warding on GERTI, too," Willow added. "To keep out anything magical. Just in case."

"Good. So, we've got the plane protected. And the crew. What will you be doing?" Martin asked.

"Digging up a body," Jim answered.

"Martin," Sherlock said, leaning forward. "You said that this Dennis introduced you to blood donation for money. Where?"

Martin frowned. "There's a clinic, down in the East End. They said it was illegal to pay us, but to get more universal donors, they offered... they called it an honorarium."

Sherlock nodded, steepling his fingers and leaning back. "Saint Francis?"

"You know it?" Martin gasped.

"I donated there once. Years ago. I'd no idea they were still in operation." Sherlock looked distant, then nodded. "Well, now we know how they found their victims."

"The clinic. Of course," John groaned. "They paid for universal donors. So they knew exactly which ones were the right blood type."

"But we still don't know why," Sherlock pointed out.

"We'll figure it out, love. And we'll stop them."

#

They landed in Istanbul well after dark, and Arthur served coffee as John and Buffy retrieved their cases from the baggage compartment

"All right, everyone," Buffy said briskly. "Who wants a non-bangy weapon?"

"Non-bangy?" John asked.

"Not a gun. Non-bangy."

"Right," John muttered. He opened his case and lifted a gun from the padding. "Well, then. I suppose I have the bangy ones."

Guns, knives and stakes were handed out, and John handed a pistol to Douglas before drawing him off. "Douglas, do not leave the plane. Understand?"

"Of course, Doctor. I will not leave the plane. It will make filing the return flight plan difficult, though. I'd send Arthur, but he might wander off in search of camels."

"Douglas, I am serious," John hissed. "He's one of the potential victims. We don't know what to expect, or what is waiting for us out there."

"I'm serious, too, Doctor. The return flight plan does need to be filed, and we need to arrange for refueling. I'll be gone half an hour, tops. If they keep GERTI locked up tight, they'll be fine."

John considered it, looking back towards the group. Livvy was standing with Martin, away from the others. His body language shouted insecurity and fear, until Livvy took his hand. She smiled up at him, and he smiled in return and slowly relaxed.

"What I don't understand is why would they want him?" Douglas asked.

"Other than his blood type? I don't know," John answered.

"Skip?" Arthur called out. "There's a car coming towards us."

"That's probably the car that Mycroft ordered for us," Jim said. "Let's go. I'll drive."

"Fine," John agreed. "Anyone have any questions before we go?"

Arthur held his hand up. "I do!"

"Arthur?" John said, turning towards the steward, who was nearly bouncing in his eagerness.

"Yeah, ah... is it still the Mile-High club if you're on the ground?" Arthur asked. "Cause... well, if we're gonna leave Skip and Miss Olivia here..."

"Arthur!" Martin and Livvy both yelped simultaneously. In the silence that followed, they looked at each other, and collapsed into giggles.

#

Extra weapons were repacked into cases, and the cases carried out to the waiting car. For some reason, both Martin and Douglas started laughing when they saw the bright yellow Land Rover, but neither would explain the joke to John. As they were preparing to leave, Sherlock touched John on the arm.

"John, may I borrow you for a moment? It's... personal."

John looked at his husband, saw an unusual tension in him, and nodded. "Sure. What is it?"

"Just come with me."

Intrigued, John tagged along with Sherlock, who cut Martin out of the group and dragged the bewildered pilot off towards the rear of the plane. When Livvy moved to follow, Sherlock stopped her with a glance. Which told John what to expect.

Sherlock led the two of them into the baggage compartment and closed the door, then turned towards Martin. "Well, now, Captain. I believe that this is the point where I am supposed to ask what your intentions are towards my... my niece?"

Martin's eyes went very wide, and he gnawed on his lip for a moment, then drew himself up and said. "Your daughter."

Sherlock blinked, startled. "What?"

"She's your daughter. Your eyes, your hair. God, you have the same cheekbones! She doesn't look anything like Mister Holmes... the other Mister Holmes. But she looks just like you. And she told me that we have the same blood type. You do, too, or you wouldn't have been a target. I didn't do well in the sciences, but... well, you needn't pretend."

Sherlock snorted, looking amused. "Very good, Captain."

"I'm not an idiot, Mister Holmes," Martin said.

"No. No, you're not. Nor are you a very good liar. Livvy told you, didn't she?"

Martin smiled slightly. "I asked her. She confirmed it. I did figure it out on my own, really."

"You said he had potential, Sherlock," John pointed out.

"So he does," Sherlock agreed. "Well, Captain?"

Martin took a long breath, looked everywhere but at Sherlock, then cleared his throat. "I... don't rightly know, sir," he said slowly. "I... I've never been... look, she's... I don't know!" He flushed, and looked down. "She's magnificent. She's amazing, and wonderful, and gorgeous, and... and I'm lost as to just what it is that she sees in me. I mean... I'm not the best at anything. No one takes me seriously, no one even thinks I'm the captain of my own bloody plane whenever they see Douglas around. But... she keeps telling me that she thinks I'm wonderful. I've never had that before. No one - no one! - has ever thought I was wonderful!" He looked up, met Sherlock's eyes. "D'ye know what that's like?"

Sherlock looked over at John and smiled. "I have an idea, yes."

"I want to make her happy. I have no idea how to go about doing that, but it's what I want," Martin said firmly. "Is that enough?"

"More than enough," John said gently. "Just... keep on doing what you're doing. You're doing fine."

"You think so?" Martin asked, sounding almost desperately eager.

"I know so," John answered. "You'd never have gotten this far if she didn't think you were worth it."

Martin smiled, straightened, and looked at Sherlock. "I'll do my best by her, sir. It's... all I can promise."

"It's all I can ask," Sherlock responded. He held one hand out, and solemnly shook Martin's. Then he looked at John.

"Shall we?"

"Right," John answered. He opened the door and headed towards the open hatch. From behind him, he heard Martin's voice:

"Be careful, sirs."

#

The drive took a little over half an hour, and John was blessing Mycroft's foresight - there were half-a-dozen torches in the boot of the car. If there'd been anyone around, they'd have seen the lot of them poring over the small forest clearing that Jim swore was where he had buried Garrity's body. But there was no one around... living or dead.

"This is where I left him!" Jim swore for the third time. "I promise you! I remember those trees, right there."

"How did you kill him, Jim?" Buffy asked.

"Slit his throat, cut his head off after," Jim answered, his frustration showing in the strength of his brogue. "Johnny's got pictures, if you want to see."

"I'll pass, thanks. And there was a body to bury, so he wasn't a vamp." Buffy scowled and turned slowly in a circle. "This place is dead."

"Why do you say that?" Jack asked absently, looking up at the trees.

"I know we're making a hell of a lot of noise, but there isn't any wildlife here," Buffy answered. "No night birds, even. It's creepy."

"Reminds me of Sunnydale," Willow said. "Remember, Buffy? That area in the woods where no animals lived?"

"Yeah. But that was..." Buffy stopped, her eyes wide. "Oh, shit. Back to the car!"

"What?" John demanded. "Buffy, what is it?"

Buffy turned, walking backwards, her eyes scanning the darkness. "That place in Sunnydale where nothing lived? It was because there was a nest of vampires living underneath it."

"Right." John drew his gun, saw Jack do the same. He looked around, saw Willow, her hands glowing. Jim, his own weapon drawn. "Sherlock?" John looked around, unable to see Sherlock anywhere in the clearing. "Sherlock!"

"Willow..."

"On it." Willow threw one hand into the air and shouted something. Instantly, the clearing was flooded with light. Something screamed... and John saw Sherlock laying on the ground. He needed no other reason - he opened fire on the screaming thing that was rolling around on the ground, clawing at it's face.

"Willow, we want it!" Buffy shouted. The light slowly dimmed, until the thing was laying there, whimpering. Buffy headed for it. John ran for his husband, dropping to his knees in the dirt and rolling Sherlock over, feeling at his throat for a pulse, only to find his fingers warm and wet. He looked up to see Jim standing over him.

"Is he alive?" Jim asked. John nodded, then turned slightly.

"Buffy! He's been bitten!"

"Is he alive?" Buffy called back.

"Yeah."

"Then don't worry. He'll be fine."

"What are we going to do with this one, hm?" Jim asked, picking his way around John and the unconscious Sherlock, going over to where Buffy stood over the still-moaning vampire. "What are we going to do?"

Buffy looked at Jim, then smiled. "You want to ask him some questions, Doctor Moran?"

"Oh, you know me so well, Miss Summers. May I?" He gestured to the stake she held in one hand, and she passed it to him. He smiled, then went and straddled the vampire before calling over his shoulder. "Willow? Could you give me a light?"

"Where?"

He held up the stake. "On the end of this." A moment later, the blunt end of the stake was glowing like a small sun. Jim laughed. "Brilliant." Then he crouched down over the vampire. "Well now, you great bloody mosquito. Now you answer my questions. Then... I might let you die."

"He's already dead," Buffy volunteered.

"Oh, I know," Jim crooned. "But he doesn't. And by the time I'm done with him, he'll wish he really was."

John did his best to ignore what was happening behind him, focusing on stopping the bleeding from the two round punctures on Sherlock's throat, then helping his dazed and confused husband regain his footing. As he helped Sherlock to stand, Jack came over to join them.

"He... I'm glad he's on our side."

"Who?" Sherlock looked around. "Jim? Why, what is he... oh."

"Yeah. You all right?" Jack peered at Sherlock. "Quart low?"

"Very funny. How do we know this is the only one?" John asked.

"He already said he's alone. He's the sentry," Jack said. Behind them, they heard a yelp, then silence. "Buffy?"

"He's been dusted," she answered. "It's safe for you big, strong men to come look. Jim, that was... artistic. Gruesome, but artistic."

"It's wonderful to be appreciated. So, what did it mean?" Jim asked.

"What did he say?" Sherlock wanted to know. At the sound of his voice, Jim dropped the stake and came over to them. He grabbed Sherlock's chin in one hand and forced his head up, studied the small wounds, then growled.

"Buffy..."

"We'll find another one for you to dust. Promise," Buffy said soothingly. "It's some kind of cult. Humans, demons and vampires, all working together. He wasn't all that clear as to why, but he said the others had gone hunting. For the One."

"For some ceremony," Jim added. He looked at Buffy, frowning. "This is where Garrity was coming, the whole time. He wasn't a vampire, but he was one of them. Part of the cult."

"Hunting. Hunting for the One. The one what?" Sherlock asked. He looked around, his eyes narrowed. When he looked at the car, he stopped. "The One. Martin. They've gone after Martin."

"Martin?" Jack asked. "Why him?"

"They want him for a sacrifice," Sherlock answered. John turned, looked at Sherlock, and realized why Martin was so important.

"Oh... oh," John breathed. "Oh..."

"Of course, John! Even I know-"

"And he all but told us himself, didn't he?"

"He did. We need to get back to GERTI." Sherlock turned and nearly fell; Jim caught him and steadied him.

"You lost more blood than you thought," Jim said. "Now, what are you two talking about? Why Martin?"

From behind them, John heard Willow gasp. "Oh. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. We need to hurry."

"She's got it," John murmured.

"She does. The rest of us don't!" Buffy said. "Can someone explain in words of one syllable?"

"Two syllables," Sherlock said. "Virgin."

#

Martin came into the rear of the plane, set a cup of coffee down on the table in front of Livvy, then collapsed bonelessly onto the couch with his own cup. "Quiet. A half an hour of quiet. God, what a luxury!"

Livvy grinned and looked over at him. "I know where Douglas has gone," she said. "But why did Arthur go with him?"

Martin smiled. "Arthur has just now realized that we are in Turkey. Which is where Turkish Delight comes from. So he wants to get real Turkish Delight, from Turkey, as a present for Carolyn."

"Oh, that's sweet," Livvy said with a laugh. "And here I thought you were going to tell me he was in search of something... well... Arthurish."

"Arthurish?" Martin echoed. "Oh, such as?"

"A real turkey sandwich?"

Martin stared at her for a moment, then started giggling. "Oh, oh, yes. He would say something like that, wouldn't he?"

"I shouldn't tease. He's so very sweet," Livvy said, sipping her coffee. She rose and moved over to sit on the couch with Martin. "He just... oh, some of the things that come out of his mouth! It's like he has no filters at all. Anything that pops into his head comes right out."

"I know. And I am so sorry for before. That..." Martin shook his head. "That was horribly embarrassing, Liv."

"I wasn't embarrassed," Livvy said slowly, setting her coffee on the table. She turned towards Martin. "Would it?"

"W...would what?" Martin asked.

"Count for the Mile-High club if we're on the ground?"

Martin sputtered for a moment, nearly spilling his coffee before Livvy took the cup away from him and set it on the table. She turned back to him, shifting until she was sitting astride his legs and resting her hands on his chest.

"Martin, you know I'm attracted to you, don't you?" she asked. "That I'm very fond of you?"

"I... I know that," Martin said. He swallowed and met her eyes. "I feel the same way. I'd... I'd hope you think of me as something more than a friend, Liv."

"I do," Livvy murmured. She cupped his face in her hands and leaned forward, kissing him gently. He responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to him as she started to fumble at his tie. She whimpered against his lips as his hands slipped underneath her shirt, then cursed softly as someone pounded against the side of the plane.

"Damn it," she muttered, pulling back. "What now?"

"Probably Arthur," Martin answered, sighing. "The end of privacy."

More pounding, and Livvy moved off of Martin's lap. "We should let him in, then. I'll go. You... ah... think of multiplication tables?"

"I hate maths," Martin groaned. "I'd rather think about you!"

"Think about getting back to London?" Livvy suggested, and went to open the hatch.

#

In the car, no one spoke much. The silence was starting to grate on John's nerve when it was finally broken by Willow.

"Were we set up?" she asked. "Was this all just to get Martin here, so they could grab him?"

Sherlock hummed softly, then shook his head. "No. They've been watching every universal donor they could get their hands on for quite some time - I haven't donated at that clinic for seven years. They didn't know which donor was the right one, until Martin went in last week. That was when they targeted him. If we hadn't come to Istanbul, more than likely they'd have taken him from the airfield, or from his flat. The application has all of that information. When we left London, whoever was watching him there must have alerted their partners here. Which leads to the question - just how large a cult is this?"

"And what's the purpose?" John added. "Cults have some reason to exist, some kind of draw. Something that the people believe in. That American nutter-"

"Which one?" Jim asked.

"The one that ran to South America and forced his people to drink the poison?"

"Oh, yes. Jim Jones."

"That's the nutter," John said, nodding. "Every cult has something that the people follow. So what's this one? Jim, did you find anything out?"

Jim drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment. When he spoke again, it was with a strong Turkish accent, "We need the One. We've nurtured the Ancient Mother, and she is ready to rise. She needs the One." He shook his head and grimaced. "That was fucking weird. Never done that on a demon before."

"You got a lot in a short time, if you could get into his head like that," John murmured.

"It's easier when they're screaming. That help?" Jim asked.

"Ancient Mother. That sounds... big," Willow answered.

"We need more," Buffy grumbled. She pulled her mobile out of her pocket and hit a button. "What time is it in Scotland?" she asked.

"Two hours difference between here and London," Jack answered.

"Great. He's going to bite my... Giles! Listen, we've got a situation. I need everything you can get on a cult of the Ancient Mother. Vampire cult, I think. Yeah, this is related to that ritual sacrifice thing. What? Oh, we're in Istanbul. I don't know when we'll be back. They kidnapped our pilot. Yeah, Captain Crieff. He's... just this Ancient Mother's type. Call me when you have something. Thanks." She hung up and put the mobile away. "He'll find something. He usually does."

"In the meantime, we need to get to GERTI before they do. Has anyone tried calling Liv?" Jim asked.

"No answer," Sherlock said. John reached through the darkness and took Sherlock's hand, squeezed it tightly.

They reached the airport in twenty minutes, with Jim cursing softly during the last five, as they reached major roads and traffic. When they finally pulled onto the tarmac and sped towards the hanger where GERTI was waiting, Willow pointed out the window, towards a man running in the same direction.

"Look! That's Douglas!"

"Damn it!" John swore. "I told him not to leave them alone!"

Jim pulled the car to a stop near GERTI, and everyone piled out. John heard Douglas calling as he opened the door.

"You're back! Thank God-"

Before the man could say anything else, Sherlock had grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him into the side of the car. "You were supposed to stay with them!" he thundered.

"I had to file the flight plan!" Douglas protested. "The damned idiots in there locked me in an office! I'd still have been there if Arthur hadn't come and found me!" He looked over his shoulder at GERTI. "Oh, dear God. The hatch is open... tell me one of you has-?"

"No. We only just got here," John said. "Sherlock, let him go. They were waiting for us."

"You guys might want to see this," Buffy called from inside the plane. John looked around and saw that he and Sherlock were the only ones still on the tarmac. Sherlock cursed and ran.

"Don't touch anything!" he shouted as he reached the door. "You'll contaminate-" he stopped, took a step back. John reached his side and looked around him, into the plane.

The first thing he registered was the sheer amount of dust covering the seats and the tables. He frowned, then realized what he was seeing.

"Vampires," he breathed.

"At least two. Maybe three," Buffy confirmed. "They fought like hell." She knelt down and ran her fingers over the carpet. They came up wet with blood. "This is still fresh. They haven't been gone long."

"Sherlock?" John turned, and saw Sherlock staring. Shaking his head. He looked at John, and his eyes were enormous.

"I... don't know," he said slowly. "Too many variables. Too many things I can't account for, things I don't know. I can't... there's no clear picture!" He drove his fist angrily into the wall, and would have done it again if Jim hadn't caught his wrist and pulled him out of the plane.

"Did they really take Skip? And Miss Olivia?" a small voice said from outside the door. John turned and saw Arthur, half hiding behind Douglas.

"Arthur, where were you?" John asked gently.

Arthur looked around, then held up a box. "I wanted to get a present for Mum. Real Turkish Delight, from Turkey. I made Skip promise to lock the hatch. I did! Then I came back, and they were gone, and Douglas didn't come back. So I went to find him, and he was locked in. Took forever to find someone with the key." He bit his lip and looked around again. "Do you think they put them on the other plane?"

"Other plane?" Sherlock appeared next to Arthur as if conjured there. "What other plane?"

"It took off... ten minutes ago?" Arthur said. He scrunched his face up ferociously. "I'm not sure."

"What about the plane? Arthur, what did you see?" Sherlock demanded.

"Ah... she was smaller than GERTI," Arthur said. "Really sleek-like."

"The registry number, Arthur. Did you see the registry number?" Jack said.

Arthur scrunched his face up even harder, then shook his head. "No."

"How many planes have left here in the past half an hour? We'll never be able to track them all!" Douglas snapped.

"We will," John said. He crossed over to stand in front of Arthur and put one hand on his shoulder. "Arthur, listen to me. This is important, and I know you can do it. Martin and Livvy's lives depend on this. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Doctor," Arthur said, as sober as John had ever seen him.

"Close your eyes. Picture yourself where you where when you saw the plane taking off. Do you have it, Arthur?"

"Yes."

"Did any other planes take off since we got here, Arthur?"

"No, Doctor."

"Good. You saw the plane taking off. What kind of plane was it, Arthur?"

Arthur smiled. "Embraer. The Phenom 300. Brilliant little plane."

"Very good, Arthur. Now, tell me the registry numbers. You're looking at the plane. The registry number is clear. It is-"

"Golf Victor Alpha Romeo Foxtrot," Arthur answered crisply. His eyes flew open, and he looked startled. "I... I did it."

"You did. Well done, Arthur," John said warmly. He clapped Arthur on the shoulder and looked around. Douglas was staring as if Arthur had suddenly grown another head.

"That was extraordinary," he finally gasped.

"And you are wasting time. Get on the radio and find out where that plane is going. Sherlock, call Mycroft. Tell him what happened, and see what he can do. That's a British registry number. I'll bet that they're going back to London. We need to beat them there."

"Beat them?" Douglas sputtered. "How! The Phenom is... well, phenomenal. There's no way GERTI can catch a Phenom!"

"Willow?" John asked.

"I... maybe?" Willow hummed softly. "I've never done it before."

"Right. Everyone on board. Douglas, get us in the air!"

#

Livvy woke up in pain, her right arm numb where she was laying on it. She tried to move it, feeling something metal digging into her wrists, something over her mouth. She blinked, opening her eyes into darkness. The noise was deafening, and she wondered for a moment where she was, what had happened. She heard a muffled groan, recognized Martin's voice, and remembered.

The first vampire had driven her back, knocking her onto the floor and going for her throat. Martin had saved her from that one, barreling into it and using one of the stakes Buffy had left behind to dust the demon before Livvy had gotten back to her feet. She'd gotten the next one as Martin tried to close the hatch, and he'd killed the third when the demons had driven them further into the plane. She remembered Martin falling, blood staining his hair, then... nothing.

Following the sound, she bumped into warmth, recognized the scent of Martin's aftershave. He stiffened as she touched him, moaning softly until she brushed her cheek against his, and he knew her. She curled up next to him, her head resting next to his, and wondered where they were going. What was going to happen.

Would they be found?

#

It was a flight that John never wanted to repeat. He had no idea what Willow was doing, but GERTI was doing her best impression of a supersonic jet. Douglas was a better pilot than John would have expected, and he wondered why the man was only a First Officer. He'd find out later. For now, he fretted, staring through the open cockpit door at the back of Douglas' head.

The plane that Arthur had seen was indeed heading for London, and Air Traffic Control was being very cooperative with tracking them and reporting their location and their destination. John didn't even want to think about what kind of strings Mycroft was pulling, or what he was going to have to do in order to clear their crazy flight from the records at Air Traffic Control.

"Golf Echo Roger Tango India, do you copy?"

"This is Golf Echo Roger Tango India. We copy, Air Traffic Control," Douglas answered.

"Golf Victor Alpha Romeo Foxtrot has landed at TAG Farnborough."

"What?" Douglas yelped. "You said they were going to Luton!"

"They diverted without permission. The authorities have been notified and are en route."

"En route," Douglas snapped. "Which means that by the time they get there, who knows where anyone will be? Thanks for nothing, Control."

"Apologies, Golf Echo Roger Tango India. Will you divert to TAG Farnborough?"

"Hold that thought, Control," Douglas said. He did something, and a moment later was talking to Carolyn.

"The damned plane diverted to TAG Farnborough. Control wants to know if we're following."

"TAG Farnborough? Why on earth go there?"

"Because they can get Martin and Livvy out and away without anyone the wiser," John answered. "Do we follow them?"

"Negative." The voice belonged to Mycroft, and John blinked in surprise. What was Mycroft doing at MJN? "By the time you land there, I've no doubt there will be an ambush waiting. We have the airfield under surveillance."

"Come home, the lot of you," Carolyn added. "We'll figure it out from here."

#

GERTI rolled to a stop, and John heard the engines powering down. A moment later, Douglas came out of the cockpit, visibly sweating.

"Let's never do that again, shall we?" he said. "Making a three and a half hour flight in under three hours... I didn't think the old girl had it in her!"

"Where's Willow?" Buffy asked.

"Catching her breath, she said. Poor girl looks knackered."

"That's not good. We're going to need her," John said.

"I'll be fine," Willow's voice came from behind Douglas. "I'll get some sleep, and something to eat and I'll be fine."

"I'll just get something for Miss Willow," Arthur said, pushing past Douglas into the galley. "Oh, look! There's Mum!"

John peered through the window and saw Carolyn heading towards them, Mycroft in her wake.

"Oh God. She's in a state," Douglas murmured. "Oh, well. Better to get it over with." He opened the hatch and people slowly ducked out of the plane. John got out just as Carolyn reached GERTI; she pushed past Douglas, stalked right up to John, and smacked him across the face. The blow caught John off-guard, and he staggered back a step, hearing Sherlock's startled voice, "John!"

John glanced back, saw the fury on Sherlock's face was mirrored by that in Jim's, and waved his hand. "It's all right! Back off, you two," he said. "It's all right." He turned and looked at Carolyn, who glared at him.

"You were supposed to bring them all back," she said, her voice low.

"We'll find him, Carolyn," John answered calmly, meeting her eyes. "I promise you. We'll find Martin."

She drew herself up, the picture of dignity, and snapped, "See that you do! And Olivia, as well."

"Both of them," John agreed. Carolyn nodded once and walked away, collecting Arthur and heading back to the office. John looked at Mycroft, who had been watching the entire exchange with half-lidded eyes. "What do we know?"

"The plane in question is registered to Felicia Merrick. Deceased, as of two weeks ago. Her heirs were not aware that the plane was missing until we brought it to their attention. When the plane landed at TAG Farnborough, surveillance shows five people leaving the passenger compartment... and two taken from the baggage compartment."

"Martin and Livvy," Jack murmured.

"Quite so. Both were bound, but appeared unharmed. They were put into the rear of a van, which is now being traced and followed."

"Who?"

"Mister Solo is tracing. Anthea is following, with the assistance of Gwen Cooper."

"You brought the rest of the team down?" Jack said, nodding. "Good. We'll need the firepower."

John felt a touch on his shoulder, and turned to see Sherlock, and behind him, Jim. Without being told, he tipped his head back so that Sherlock could see his cheek. Feather-light fingertips grazed over his skin, and he heard Sherlock grumble softly.

"It will bruise," he said.

"Doesn't matter."

"She shouldn't have hit you, Johnny," Jim muttered. John glared at him, and he went silent.

"She's worried," John said softly. "Worried and scared, and she doesn't want anyone to see. I doubt even Martin realizes how much she cares for him."

"She? Cares for Martin?" John turned to see Douglas standing at his shoulder. "Carolyn doesn't care for anything but her money and her plane. Well, maybe Arthur."

"Wrong," John and Sherlock said simultaneously. John looked up at his husband and grinned. "Would you care to, love?"

"No, you're doing so well. Continue."

John nodded and looked back at Douglas. "MJN. My Jet Now, you told me. She got it in the divorce settlement. From what I can see, a nasty, bitter divorce on both sides."

"Yes," Douglas said slowly. "If I understand it correctly, and mind you, I'm not supposed to know this. But Mister Shappy had... a bit on the side, if you take my meaning."

"Right. So, here's Carolyn. Betrayed by her husband, then made into the villain for taking his plane. She's got you and Martin. Both of you are damned fine pilots. How long before you two leave her behind, too? Betray her the way her husband did, and leave her for someone else?" John shook his head. "Martin isn't that much older than Arthur - she probably looks at him like another son."

"She doesn't treat him any better than she treats Arthur, that's for certain," Douglas scoffed.

"If she doesn't let you in, it won't hurt as much when you leave," Jim murmured. John nodded.

"Well... maybe you're right. Maybe..." Douglas said slowly. "But the question is, what do we do?"

"You? You stay here. Stay with her. Right now, you are the only one of her boys that she's got who is strong enough to support her," John said. He looked over at the closed office door. "She's probably going to be vile to you. Take it. Show her you're not leaving her. Convince her, Douglas."

Douglas looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Right. I'll call Helena. Have her bring around a bit of something. What else?"

"See if you can get her to sleep," Jim suggested. "And clean the plane before she sees the blood."

"Oh, yes. That would send her right round the twist, wouldn't it?" Douglas nodded. "Right. You will bring him back, won't you? Because... well honestly, he's a bit of a muppet, but I do rather like him."

John smiled slightly. "We'll do our best," he said.

"Umm... guys? You might want to hear this," Buffy's voice rang out over the tarmac. John turned to see her standing in GERTI's door, her mobile in her hand. Suddenly worried, John headed back into the plane. He stood between Sherlock and Jim, and felt Mycroft behind him. Jack draped himself over one of the seats.

"Where's Willow?" Jim asked.

"Napping. Listen, Giles got back to me, and you need to hear this," Buffy said. She tapped her mobile, then said, "Giles, you're on speaker. Everyone, this is Giles. Giles, everyone."

"Oh. Well, hello," a man's voice came over the speaker. "Yes, Buffy called me to do some research into the Ancient Mother. A vampire cult, she said."

"That's what the vampire was... persuaded to tell us," Jim said.

"Do I want to know how you persuaded a vampire to tell you anything?" Giles asked.

"He did is creatively, Giles. Moving on," Buffy insisted.

"Right. Well, I did some research into the Watcher files, made some calls. And I appear to have found your cult. There are journals from the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries that refer to prophecies among some groups of vampires. Religious groups of vampires, I might add, who were worshiping a being they called The Ancient Mother. She was said to be sleeping at the heart of the world, and she would wake when her followers brought to her the One."

"And then what?" Jack asked. "What happens if she gets the One?"

"She'll destroy the mortal planes, and usher in a new paradise for her children," Giles answered.

"That sounds like most religious proselytizing," Sherlock said. "Glory and paradise for the believers, death to the infidels."

"Yes, well, they apparently came close twice before," Giles said. "Once in Russian, in the early twentieth century. You may have heard of the aftermath - they call it the Tunguska Event."

"No way!" Jim gasped. "I thought that was a meteor!" He glanced over at Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock, did you delete Tunguska?"

"Delete one of the most enduring mysteries of the last century?" Sherlock sniffed. "Of course not. How big was this creature, that stopping it caused an explosion of that magnitude? What did they have to do to stop it?"

"A whole heck of a lot of magic," Willow answered, coming forward and slumping into the chair that Jack was leaning against. "Hi, Giles!"

"You sound dreadful, Willow. What have you been doing?"

"Being a jet engine. Go on. Stopping this thing once made a big boom, and a lot of trees fell down. When was the other time?"

"Two years prior, in San Francisco."

John's jaw dropped. "Early twentieth century, San Francisco... you're talking about the San Francisco earthquake?"

"Yes."

"You didn't answer how big this thing is," Sherlock said. "Do you know?"

"He doesn't have to," Jack said suddenly, his voice low. "I... think I know what this is. Oh, boy. This... oh, boy..." he shook his head and laughed, the sound sending chills up John's spine. "We," he said after a moment, "are going to need a lot of help."

"Why? Jack, what are you talking about?" Buffy asked.

"Remember, we were talking about Plasmavores?" Jack asked.

"Oh, dear God," John murmured, suddenly knowing what Jack was going to say. Behind him, he heard Mycroft shift, and turned to look - Mycroft had pulled his own mobile from his pocket and stepped into the empty cockpit. John turned back to the conversation at hand.

"Yeah. Remember I told you where they came from?"

Buffy frowned, then nodded. "Space aliens. You said... oh."

"Said what? Buffy, what did he say?" Giles demanded.

"Great Vampires. We're dealing with a Great Vampire," Jack said. He shook his head again and pulled his mobile out of his pocket, walking towards the rear of the plane. As he moved away, John heard him talking. "Martha? Hi, yeah. Sorry for the late call. Just... emergency, Martha. We need him. Now. Please tell me you still have access to that mobile?"

"What, exactly, is a Great Vampire?" Giles asked.

"From what Jack says, space aliens that created terrestrial vampires. And interstellar ones, too," Willow answered. "He... didn't say much more."

"Like how do we stop it," Buffy added. "I mean, if it's a vampire, we should be able to dust it, right? I mean, we killed the Turok-han, and those were pretty nasty."

"Turok-han?" Jack asked as he came back.

"Neanderthal vampires," Buffy answered. "Right, Giles?"

There was a long suffering sigh from the mobile. "Close enough. Vampires that are far older than what you would normally encounter. Immune to crosses and holy water, and they have a thicker sternum, so they are harder to stab through the heart. Beheading is the best way to kill one."

"Ah... yeah," Jack ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "The Great Vampire? From the legends I've heard, one can kill a planet. Just one."

"A planet? Oh."

"Yes, Giles. So... got anything in your journals on how to stop it without taking out an entire city?" Jack asked. Buffy glared at him, and he sighed and nodded. "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

"Not at all. I understand that you're worried. Any news about Captain Crieff and Olivia?"

"Nothing yet, Giles," Buffy answered. "See what else you can find for us?"

"Of course. Keep me informed."

"Will do." Buffy tapped a button and looked around. "All right. Big nasty. How do we fight it? What weapons do we have?"

"Hopefully, we have reinforcements on the way," Jack said. "He'll know what to do."

John wasn't sure what reinforcement would be able to help them, but he was sure he'd find out. "All right. In the meantime, have we heard anything? Mycroft?" he turned to see Mycroft coming out of the cockpit, his eyes down. "Anything?"

"They tracked the van to a warehouse in Lambeth. There, Captain Crieff and Olivia were transferred to another vehicle, which appeared to take the A23. Anthea and Miss Cooper were attacked when they attempted to follow," Mycroft said. He swallowed and looked up. "The vehicle is being tracked from the Hub."

"But you're not sure that you've got the right one," John finished.

"No. Napoleon isn't certain. He has alerted New Scotland Yard, and they are attempting to locate the vehicle."

"Damn it," John swore. He turned, and saw Sherlock looking at Mycroft, an odd intensity in his eyes.

"The Long Man?" Sherlock said slowly. Mycroft looked at his brother and blinked.

"You think so?" he asked. He frowned, as if considering, then nodded. "Yes. Yes, it must be."

Sherlock nodded. "Can we, do you think? With three?"

"It will not be stable. Father said never with any less than six."

"We don't have six. Not any more. Mycroft, we have no choice!"

"No choice in what?" John jumped at the familiar voice, and turned to see Greg Lestrade standing in the open door. "Came as soon as I heard. My, what do you have no choice about? What can I do to help?"

Mycroft went pale, and shook his head. "Greg, there isn't anything you can help with right now. Except to find my daughter. Please."

"I've got every man on it. But it would help if you could tell me what we're facing. This morning, it was vampires and space aliens. Now it's-"

"Still a vampire. Just a bigger vampire," Buffy said. "A lot bigger."

"Right. Great. So what do we do?" Greg asked. "Mycroft, you're the one with the brains and the connections and the fancy toys. Tell me what do we do?"

Mycroft shook his head. "I don't know."

"What were you two talking about? The Long Man? And what can't you do with three that you can do with six?" Jim asked.

"The Long Man of Wilmington," Sherlock answered, not looking at Jim. "A chalk figure, in East Sussex. Rather close to our estate, actually. But the dates on it are wrong. It's older than the other chalk figures in England. Much, much older."

"We used to explore it, when we were boys," Mycroft continued. "Father told me once to watch the Long Man. That it was our duty. I never knew why, and he died without telling me the rest of the story."

"You think this is related?" John asked.

"There's a fragment, handed down in our family. For centuries, it seems," Mycroft says. "The earliest versions I've found were written in Middle English, but it appears to be older. It instructed us to ward against the coming of the Ancient One, the Long Walker, who would drink of the world and drain it dry."

"You were warned about a Great Vampire?" Jack asked, his eyes wide.

"Not so much warned as order to watch. And there isn't any more to the fragment," Sherlock answered.

"But it gives us an idea of where they're going," John offered.

"But who gave it to you, I wonder?" a new voice asked. A young man stepped into the plane, looked around, and smiled broadly when he saw Jack. "You rang? Now, don't think this is going to be a habit, Jack Harkness."

"Never," Jack answered. "Thanks for coming, Doctor."

John blinked, stepped over to the window and looked out. There was a blue police box on the tarmac, one that hadn't been there before. He straightened, turned and looked at the man.

"You're him," he said.

The Doctor smiled. "Yes, I am. And you..." he frowned, looked into John's eyes, and laughed. "What's your name?"

"John. John Watson. Doctor John Watson."

"Well, John Watson," he grinned broadly. "Look at you, John Watson."

"Doctor?" Jack prompted gently.

"Right. Right. We'll chat later, hm?" The Doctor turned and looked around. "Let's get to work!"

#

GERTI seemed to be the best place to have a council of war - it had enough seats - so everyone sat down. They were joined by a pretty red-haired woman that Jack greeted warmly and introduced around as Donna. She smiled at them all, her smile growing just a touch predatory when she saw Greg, and sat down next to the Doctor.

By the time the Doctor was brought up to date, he was shaking his head. "No, no, that can't be right. What would a Great Vampire want with a virgin sacrifice? They don't make fusses over trivialities like that."

"It may not be the Vampire that wants the sacrifice," Willow offered. "It may be whatever is holding it prisoner."

The Doctor looked at her and nodded slowly. "You're a witch," he said.

"Yes. There's magic involved in this, too. We think that this Ancient Mother was bound by magic. And that is what they need Martin for. To break the lock."

"So your Martin, he's the key," Donna said.

"Exactly."

"Why him, though?" The Doctor mused. "What's so special about him? He can't be the only O Negative male virgin in London. Why..." he stopped, frowned, then looked at Sherlock. "You've the same blood type. You were one of the victims, too."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes."

The Doctor looked at him intently, then asked, "May I touch you?"

Sherlock looked startled, then looked at John. Without hesitation, John nodded.

"Very well," Sherlock said, turning back to the Doctor.

The Doctor rose, crossing to stand in front of Sherlock. Gently, he laid his hands on either side of Sherlock's face and closed his eyes; Sherlock gasped slightly, then relaxed, his own eyes fluttering closed. The two remained in silent communion for almost a minute before the Doctor let his hands fall. Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at the Doctor in something very like wonder.

"I always thought someone of them must have survived. Who was she?" the Doctor asked gently. "You know of her, but you don't know her name."

"Mummy knows," Mycroft said. "She has the journals. It's passed on from mother to daughter, you see. In time, it will go to Olivia."

"Knows what? Who survived?" Jack asked. Then he blinked. "Oh. Doctor, you're not saying-"

"No. I'm not saying. Not saying anything. We have work to do. Come along." He turned, then stopped as a strident ring filled the cabin. Greg pulled his mobile out of his pocket. "Lestrade. Go." A moment later, he sighed and looked at Mycroft, nodding. Mycroft's eyes went wide, but he said nothing until Lestrade finished, "Right. We'll meet you there."

"You found them?" Mycroft asked.

"Outside Tooting Bec. Donovan called in the locals, and they cleared the road and set up stop strips. Got them right enough..." he hesitated, and John felt Sherlock tense.

"But?" John prompted.

"But the kidnappers tried to power through the strips. They lost control of the car and it rolled. Livvy and Martin were in the boot. Neither is seriously hurt, thank God. But they're on their way to the hospital now to be checked over," Greg slipped his mobile into his pocket and held his hand out to Mycroft. "Come on. I'll take you."

"Which hospital?" John asked.

"St George's."

Mycroft looked at Sherlock, who nodded once. "Go. Tell her we're coming. But go."

"Thank you, brother." Mycroft was out of the plane with Lestrade at once, and Sherlock slumped in his seat and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.

"They've lost their sacrifice," he said at length. "They have to know that we'll never let them get close to Martin again. And once Livvy finds out... she'll be certain to take care of that one small condition."

"If she's not up for it, we could draw straws," Jim murmured.

"Jim!"

"Oh, come on, John. He's adorable," Jim answered. "You know, he reminds me a little of our darling here. But ginger." He reached out and tousled Sherlock's hair; Sherlock absently batted away Jim's hand.

"What are you thinking?" John asked. "No. That's not what I want to know. What were you talking about, earlier? You need six? Six for what?"

Sherlock looked up. Not at John, but at the Doctor, who met his eyes with a sober expression. Then Sherlock looked at John and shook his head. "I can't answer that."

"Can't? Or won't?"

Sherlock sighed. "Makes no matter which. I will tell you, John. When I can. I promise you that."

"All right."

"Who gets to tell Carolyn?" Jack asked abruptly. "That Martin is headed for the hospital?"

"I will," John said, getting to his feet. "Ah... Jack, would you take the Doctor and Miss Noble to the Hub? Buffy, Willow, you go, too. Get some rest. We'll need you later. We'll meet you there as soon as we can."

#

Carolyn, on hearing that Martin was alive, safe, and on his way to the hospital, surprised the life out of John by bursting into tears. John hugged her and patted her back, looking at Douglas, who shook his head and looked completely mystified. When Carolyn finally sniffed and backed away from John, she looked around and snapped, "Well, what are you all standing around for? Let's go and fetch him back."

There was some confusion as to transportation - Greg and Mycroft had already left, and Mycroft had not left the keys to his car. With Jack taking the Doctor, Donna, Buffy and Willow back to the Hub, that left John, Sherlock and Jim with no car. Or so John thought. When he brought it up, the Doctor gave him a reproachful look, then herded Jack, Buffy and Willow into the police box, which proceeded to wink out of sight. John watched it go with a pang - he wanted to see the inside of the TARDIS.

"Coming, John?" Jim asked. He looked at the space where the TARDIS had been and grinned. "I used to watch it, too. It's crazy, that he's really here. That's he really real. Did you know?"

"Yeah. I knew. Didn't think I'd meet him, but I knew. All right. We've got a drive. Let's go. You keep Sherlock busy."

Jim laughed. "Oh, that will be fun."

"Keep it legal, Jim."

"Spoilsport."

#

They met Carolyn, Douglas and Arthur at the entrance to St. George's hospital, and Greg just inside.

"Mycroft is with Livvy," Greg told them. "She had to be sedated. Poor girl had a panic attack. Otherwise, she's all right. Minor bumps and bruises."

"Not surprising," John said. "And Martin?"

"He's being discharged. Dislocated shoulder, which he apparently got trying to make sure Livvy didn't get hurt when the car rolled. And a minor concussion. I've seen him, and he's shaken up. But he's stubborn. Won't stay put. It wouldn't surprise me if he's with Livvy, instead of where I left him."

"Dislocated shoulder?" Carolyn repeated. "That means he's grounded, doesn't it?"

John nodded. "For a few weeks, until he gets some mobility back. We'll check with the attending, see what they say. I'll come with you, all right?"

"Yes. Yes, thank you, Doctor."

John smiled at her, then turned to Sherlock and Jim. "You two, go check on Livvy. I'll be along in a few." He kissed Sherlock on the lips, kissed Jim on the cheek, then turned to Greg. "Where am I going?"

"Down that hall, make a left. Third room on the right."

John nodded and offered his arm to Carolyn. and together they led the procession down the hall, stopping outside the room Greg had indicated. John knocked on the doorframe, then opened the curtain.

"Anyone at home?" he called, and smiled warmly when he saw Martin, sitting on the side of the bed. Then he frowned. "And what do you think you're doing?"

"Putting my shirt on," Martin answered, grimacing. "I can't go waltzing through the halls half-naked, and I want to see Liv. No one will tell me anythi- Carolyn!" Martin's eyes went wide when he saw who was with John. "Douglas, you... you flew back?"

"And are my arms tired," Douglas quipped. "Really, Martin. The lengths you go to so that girls notice you."

Martin blushed. "I didn't have anything to do with it, Douglas. Not like I wanted to be knocked over the head." He looked down and sighed. "I'm sorry, Carolyn."

"Whatever for? It was hardly your fault," Carolyn said briskly. "Now stop that. Put your coat over your shoulders. No one will care, and I won't see you hurting yourself worse than you already are."

"They had to cut my coat off," Martin said quietly.

"Oh," Carolyn frowned. She turned to Douglas, who was already taking his own coat off. He draped it over Martin's shoulders.

"There now. Would Sir like to go and find Sir's lady?"

"Knock it off, Douglas. I'm too tired, and I've got a splitting headache."

"Concussions do that," John said. "Arthur, would you go and ask for a wheelchair, please?"

"Sure, Doctor." Arthur headed for the door, then stopped and looked back. "Good to see you, Skip. You had us all scared."

Martin blinked in surprise as Arthur left, then looked at the others. "You were?"

"Of course we were," Carolyn said. "We were worried."

"No one worries about me," Martin said. "My brother and sister don't even worry about me."

"Well, then, they're not your family, are they?" Douglas asked. "We are."

Carolyn glanced at Douglas, then nodded and looked back at Martin. "Yes. Yes, we are. Now, I think that would be Arthur and the wheelchair. So let's go find Olivia, shall we?"

It took Martin a moment to find his voice, and when he did, there was a slight quiver to it that John pretended not to hear. "Yes. Let's go. And... thank you."

#

Martin's discharge went quickly, once the attending physician learned that John was Martin's doctor. No one mentioned that John had been Martin's doctor for all of five minutes at that point, and John left the room with a copy of Martin's records under his arm, the attending's instructions, and recommendations for physical therapists. Douglas insisted on pushing the wheelchair through the halls, and refused to listen when Martin protested that he could go just a little faster, couldn't he?

"Would Sir like to push himself?" Douglas asked at one point. "It would be amusing to see Sir going around in circles."

"That would be funny," Arthur added with a grin.

Martin looked up, winced as the movement put stress on his wounded shoulder, then looked forward and grumbled, "Fine."

Carolyn, marching next to Martin, patted his left shoulder and chided, "Patience, Martin. She's not going anywhere."

Martin looked up at her, then past her to John. "She wasn't hurt, was she?"

"No, you saved her that. But she was frightened, and badly. Has she told you-?"

"About the car accident? Only that it happened," Martin answered. "Oh. Oh, is that why... oh."

"What happened?"

Martin frowned, then shook his head. "I'm sure I'm going to have to tell this story to her father, so I'd rather not have to do it more than once."

"Understandable."

"There you are!"

John smiled as Greg came around the corner towards them. "Was wondering what was keeping you. Come on. She's starting to come around and My wants to get her and Martin somewhere safe before whoever is behind this has a chance to regroup."

John nodded and followed Greg around the corner, seeing Jim standing guard outside a closed door. He smiled as they came closer. "Good. You're here. I'm going to go find something to feed our favorite idiot. He hasn't eaten today, and what with the attack, he damn near fainted."

"Sherlock?" John asked, realizing that in his worrying over Martin and Livvy, he'd neglected his husband.

"Yeah. You'd think that as old as he is, he'd realize that he needs to eat at least once a day. And you'd think I'd have noticed that he hadn't, since I'm the one doing the cooking." Jim sighed dramatically and looked around. "Anyone want anything?"

The rest of them politely refused, and Jim disappeared down the hall. John pushed the door open and gestured for Douglas to wheel Martin inside. He followed behind, lingering near the door, taking in the scene.

Sherlock sat in a chair at the foot of the bed, and Mycroft sat in another chair near the head of the bed, on the far side. In the bed, still asleep, was Livvy, her face bruised, and both her hands bandaged past the wrists. Without a word, Douglas pushed the wheelchair to the side of the bed, then stepped back to stand next to John. Martin looked across at Mycroft, who nodded; Martin smiled slightly, then reached out with his left hand and brushed a stray lock of hair from Livvy's forehead.

"How badly is she hurt?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"Not seriously. Would you tell us, Captain, what happened?" Mycroft asked.

Martin swallowed hard and didn't look up. "I don't remember much of Istanbul. We thought it was Arthur, come back to GERTI. Livvy opened the hatch and was attacked by a vampire. I... did what Miss Summers told me to do. Then I tried to get the hatch closed, and I couldn't. There were too many of them. I got another, I think, before they hit me. The next thing I remember, we were in the air. Handcuffed. Tape over our mouths. I don't know how long I was unconscious, or if they drugged us. I think they did. I remember, when they pulled us out of the plane, I couldn't... I knew I should be fighting them, trying to stop them, but... I couldn't. I just couldn't. They put us into a van. We drove for a while, and then they stopped and moved us into the boot of a car. I heard... I think it was shooting, but I'm not sure-"

"It was," Mycroft interrupted. "I had some of my people following, and they were seen."

"Oh." Martin frowned. "Are they all right?"

"They are. What happened then?"

Martin frowned deeper. "We drove. And... I heard something. Explosions. The car fishtailed, and then... we were rolling. Even through the gag, I could hear Liv screaming..." he stopped, his eyes closed. He licked his lips quickly, then shook his head. "Then... then I landed on something, and she landed on me, and my shoulder exploded, and I don't remember anything else."

Even from where he was standing, John could see Martin shivering. He stepped forward, and was cut off by Douglas, who moved to stand behind Martin, resting his hand on Martin's left shoulder. "You did well, Martin," he said, his voice firm. "I don't think anyone could have done better."

Martin shook his head again. "You'd have gotten the hatch closed."

"More likely I'd have pissed myself when the first vampire came at me."

Startled, Martin turned and looked up. "Ow! Don't make me do that! Really? You really would?"

"Martin, you did the best that anyone could have hoped for," Douglas answered. "Better than I would have done, I can tell you that." He smiled and patted Martin's shoulder. "Well done."

"Indeed. Very well done, Captain," Mycroft agreed. "You have my deepest thanks."

Martin flushed slightly, looking back at Livvy. "Begging your pardon, sir, but I didn't do it for you."

Mycroft arched an eyebrow, glancing at John, who fought back a laugh. Martin didn't seem to notice. He yawned, then looked down at himself. "Carolyn? Could I trouble you for a lift back to the airfield? I'll need to... oh, damn."

"What?" Douglas asked.

"I can't drive one handed!"

"Oh, right. Your van is manual," Douglas said. "Well, don't worry about it. We'll leave the van at the airfield. You'll come stay with Helena and me until the wing heals."

Martin looked surprised. "Douglas! I... I don't know what to say!"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Richardson," Mycroft said. "Until this is over, and he is safe, Captain Crieff will be lodged under protective custody."

"I will?" Martin asked slowly.

"Yes. Everything will be taken care of. I've already sent one of my aides to your flat for clothes. And we do have an excellent doctor on staff," Mycroft said, looking at John.

"Thank you," John answered.

"I... really, sir... I can't..." Martin sputtered.

"Have I mentioned that Olivia will be under the same restrictions?" Mycroft added.

"Oh," Martin stopped. He nodded slowly. "Very well, then."

"Really, Martin. You could have tried harder. For form's sake, at least." Sherlock chided from his seat.

"Why argue?" Martin asked in response. "If I'm going to be locked away like the good silver for the duration, at least it's going to be with..." he stopped and looked at Livvy again. "Shouldn't she be waking up?"

"Soon. Unless you'd like to try waking her yourself?" Mycroft leaned back in his chair, obviously expecting Martin to kiss Livvy. Martin looked at him for a moment, clearly puzzled, then shook his head, obviously refusing to take the bait. He leaned forward brushing Livvy's cheek with his fingertips. Then, to John's surprise, he started to sing, in a quiet, very pleasant voice:

Come with me, and we'll be in a world of pure imagination...

Mycroft looked stunned, and Sherlock sat upright in his chair as Martin softly sang to Livvy. By the time he was finished, Livvy's eyes were open, and she was smiling sleepily.

"Hi," she murmured.

Martin smiled and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Hello, darling. Are you all right?"

"Everything hurts," she answered. She frowned, reaching out and touching the sling that crossed his chest. "You're hurt?"

"I'm fine-" Martin started to say. Then he stopped, looking up. "What was that?"

"What was what?" John asked. Then he heard it, too - a deep rumbling, sounding like a train coming from a long way away. He started to ask Sherlock what he was hearing when the floor bucked underneath him, throwing him to the ground. It went on for what felt like an eternity, at least several minutes. Then it stopped, and John struggled to get to his feet, stopping to help Carolyn up.

"Is everyone all right?" he asked, turning around. Everyone else was slowly standing up. Martin, John noticed, hadn't fallen to the floor. He'd thrown himself across the bed, using his body to shield Livvy from the equipment that had untethered itself from the wall. His back was covered in plaster dust, which cascaded to the ground like snow when he straightened.

"What the hell?" Greg demanded. "An earthquake? In London?"

"That was no earthquake," Sherlock said. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft leaned against the wall, brushing plaster dust from his hair with one hand while he held his mobile up with the other. He nodded and looked up.

"No natural earthquake, no," he confirmed. "The epicenter was in East Sussex. Near Wilmington."

#

In the chaos following the quake, Mycroft avoided the sheer impossibility of getting Livvy discharged by simply picking her up out of the bed and carrying her out of the hospital. The rest of them followed, with John lingering near the rear, trying to ignore the panicked hospital staff, who were obviously unprepared for anything of this nature.

"There's nothing you can do for them, John," Sherlock murmured. "And it will get worse if we don't stop the cause of it."

John nodded, taking Sherlock's hand. "Are you all right?"

"A little light-headed," Sherlock admitted. "Jim. Where did Jim get to?"

"He said he was going to find something for you to eat," John said. "The hospital kitchen is closed, so he probably had to go out. I doubt they're letting him back in, for safety's sake."

John was right; as they left the hospital, they found Jim, pacing frantically and haranguing a security guard who refused to allow him into the building. He saw them coming, pushed past the security guard at a run, and flung himself at Sherlock.

"You're all right?" he gasped, looking at Sherlock, then John. "You're both all right?"

"We're fine, Jim. You okay?"

"Yeah. I was on my way back. Lost the sandwiches, though."

"I'll eat when we get back," Sherlock said.

"Yeah... about that," Jim said. He nodded his head off to the side. John turned and looked... and saw the blue police box, and the man standing in front of it, his hands jammed into his pockets. When he saw John looking at him, he nodded and started towards them.

"I see," John murmured, then raised his voice. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked back at John, and saw the police box. "Ah. Unexpected. Doctor."

"Everyone is all right?" the Doctor asked as he reached them. He looked around, and his gaze lingered for a moment on Martin before he nodded. "I thought it might be a good idea to speed things along."

"Quite. That was no natural quake."

"No. Whatever is under the hills in East Sussex is shaking the bars of its cage," the Doctor said. "Mister Holmes, I want a word with you over this... department."

"Of course. But perhaps not here?" Mycroft shifted his armload of girl, then looked at Martin. "We have injured to get out of the night air."

"Right," the Doctor agreed. He looked around, noticing Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas.

"I'll explain," John offered. "Get everyone else settled. I'll catch you up."

The Doctor immediately starting herding people towards the TARDIS. Martin frowned, looked at the police box, and his jaw dropped.

"Is that...?" he started. He looked at John, then at Douglas. "No!"

"Yes. Yes, really. Go on, Martin."

"Inside?" Martin grinned, looking for a moment like he was all of five-years-old.

"Let me guess," Douglas said drily. "Before you wanted to be an airplane, you wanted to be-?"

"Him. I wanted to be him!" Martin said with a laugh. "My mum had a picture of me, with my dad's winter scarf wrapped around me twice." He gestured, making large circles around his neck, and Douglas laughed.

"We need to go," John said gently. "Douglas, once you get home, do not open the door for anyone, under any circumstances, until sunrise. Carolyn, you too."

"You don't think something would come after them, do you?" Martin asked.

"I think we're not taking chances," John answered. "Vampires can't come in if not invited."

Douglas nodded, suddenly serious. "Yes, yes. But human invaders... Carolyn, perhaps you and Arthur would care to spend the night at Chez Richardson?"

"Douglas, that's very thoughtful of you, but whyever for?" Carolyn asked.

"Because you don't have a shotgun, and I do."

"Oh," Carolyn murmured. "Yes, I see your point. We'll stop at the house and pick up a few things on the way. You'll let me pay for dinner?"

"If you insist," Douglas answered. "Are the roads safe, do you think?"

"We'll drive slowly. Martin, you try and stay out of trouble, do you hear me?"

Martin smiled. "I'll try, Carolyn. I'll call when this is done."

"See that you do," Carolyn said firmly. She patted Martin on the arm, then gathered up Arthur and Douglas. The three of them headed towards Carolyn's car, and John took Martin's arm and led him towards the Doctor and the TARDIS.

"Well, John, who have we got here?" the Doctor said as they reached the door.

"Doctor, this is Martin Crieff," John said, nudging Martin gently. Martin stopped staring, smiled nervously and offered his hand.

"Sir, it's a pleasure," he said quickly. And, John noticed, without stammering.

"Nice to meet you, too, Martin," the Doctor said with a smile. He took Martin's hand, looked down sharply, then up, meeting Martin's eyes. "Oh. Oh, it is very nice to meet you, Martin. Come along, then."

Martin blinked and looked at John, who shrugged and followed them inside. He closed the door behind him, turned, and stopped.

"Don't say it," the Doctor murmured.

"Wasn't going to," John answered. "I knew it would be. Just... it looks just like it did on the program."

"Oh, that cover story?" the Doctor scoffed. "Well, it worked to put off the curious. Don't touch, Martin!"

Martin jumped back, looked sheepishly at the Doctor, and slipped his left hand into his pocket. "I was just trying to get a closer look," he said.

"I'll show you later. Right, then. Everyone comfortable?" the Doctor looked around, then flipped a switch. The central pillar on the control panel started to move, and John heard an odd grinding sound. He moved around the outside of the room towards where Sherlock and Jim were standing side by side against the wall. Sherlock was looking back and forth between the controls and where Mycroft and Greg were standing on either side of Livvy.

"She's all right, Sherlock," John said softly.

"I know," Sherlock said absently. He shook his head slightly and looked at John. "I'm worried about Mrs. Hudson, actually. And Mummy. She was at the house in Sussex, and we had no time to call."

"Go ahead," the Doctor said without looking up. "You'll get through."

Sherlock immediately pulled his mobile out of his pocket. As he dialed, John and Jim both moved away to give him some privacy. Jim headed over to talk to Livvy, and John went towards Martin, who was standing halfway between Livvy and the control console.

"Two bales of hay?" John asked.

"What?"

"There's an old story, about a donkey who couldn't decide which of two bales of hay he wanted to eat first," John answered. Martin looked at him, puzzled, and John smiled. "He starved to death. So, which first?"

"I want to see how it works!" Martin sounded like a child at Christmas, and John grinned. He glanced at Livvy, who looked amused. She nodded, and John nudged Martin.

"She's fine. Go on. Just don't get in his way."

Martin took two cautious steps forward, then stopped, watching the Doctor with an intensity that was almost scary. The Doctor looked up, then waved Martin closer, and a moment later, they were standing side by side.

"Just a short hop, really," John heard the Doctor saying. He turned away and went to the larger group. "How are you feeling, Livvy?" he asked.

"Bit of a headache. All over," Livvy answered. She looked fondly at Martin. "Do we know why they want him yet?"

"Ah... yeah," John said, rubbing the back of his neck. "About that. We... ah..."

The TARDIS lurched; John stumbled and swore, turning to see the Doctor pushing past Martin and studying something on the control console.

"What happened?" Greg demanded.

"Something outside the TARDIS," the Doctor answered. He flipped switches, moving quickly around the control consoles until he was opposite Martin. "Something... some force... is pulling on the TARDIS." He pulled on a lever, and the TARDIS jerked again. "Everyone hold on. I'm going to try and break free."

John braced himself against a metal upright, saw Sherlock doing the same. The TARDIS shook again, then dropped violently and twisted like a storm-tossed boat - John saw the Doctor tumble backwards, away from the console, crashing into another upright. He pulled himself to his feet, nearly falling again as the TARDIS tipped once more. Then... everything stopped. John turned, and saw Martin standing at the console, his hand on a lever, looking panicked.

"I... I didn't break it... did I?" he gasped.

The Doctor jumped to his feet and darted around the console. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"That," Martin said, pointing. "That, and this one. And this lever."

The Doctor looked at the console, then at Martin, then back at the console. "That was exactly right. Exactly. Martin, how did you know?"

"I... it was right?" Martin asked. He stepped back, running his hand through his hair, and nearly jumping out of his skin when Livvy moved in next to him. He slung his arm around her shoulders and hugged her tightly, then shook his head. "I don't know. It just... seemed the right thing to do."

The Doctor stared at him for a moment, then smiled broadly. "Martin Crieff. Well done, Martin Crieff."

Martin turned slightly pink. "Thank you, Doctor."

#

The Doctor flipped a switch, pulled another lever, then looked around. "Right. Here we are."

Before he could say anything else, the door opened, and Donna rushed in, "Doctor, where have you been?" she demanded.

"Why? How long has it been?"

Donna rolled her eyes. "How long has it been, he says. You've been gone four hours!"

"Four hours? Four? No... really?" the Doctor sighed and thumped the console. "Poor old girl. Something tried to grab us out of the time stream."

"What?" Jack came in behind Donna. "I didn't think that was possible."

"Jack, if the universe ran by what you thought was or was not possible, then it would be a very boring place. Come on. I want to know the whole of this." The Doctor led the way out of the TARDIS, and John was relieved to see that they were inside the Hub. Napoleon appeared, saw the police box, then put away the gun he was carrying.

"Welcome back," he said. His eyes narrowed as Livvy came out of the TARDIS on Martin's arm.
"Everyone all right?"

"We're fine, Uncle," Livvy said.

"But just to be on the safe side, I'll be giving them both a quick check before we go haring off to do whatever it is we're going to do in Wilmington," John added. Martin looked at him.

"Wilmington?" he asked. "In East Sussex?"

"Yes," John answered. "Why?"

"My mother's family was from down there."

"Is that so?" Mycroft asked. "And your family?"

"Huggett. Her name was Marjorie Huggett," Martin answered.

"Oh," Mycroft breathed. "Now it makes sense."

"Not to me, it doesn't," the Doctor said sharply. "None of this makes sense to me. So, why don't you start explaining, Mycroft Holmes. Just what is it that this department is doing? Off-world technology, meddling in world governments, interfering-"

"I wouldn't think you would object, Grandfather," Mycroft said coolly. The Doctor stopped, staring at him. He shook his head slowly.

"No. Not possible. I left her-"

"In the 22nd century. Yes, so she wrote," Mycroft interrupted. "It's not direct, by the way. Grandfather by courtesy more than anything else. The degree of separation is... well, we're hardly related at all, in truth."

"How? And how do you know? You said-"

"I said that Sherlock didn't know. I do. I've read the journals. Mummy... worried that she might not live to see Olivia reach her twenty-first year, that we would lose the thread of continuity that linked mother to daughter back to the beginning. Mummy taught me, that I might teach my daughter when the time came. Now, from the journals, we know that you left her, that she married, and that she helped to rebuild, investigating and disarming Dalek artifacts. While on such a mission, she met another of your kind, one that she called The Master. He kidnapped her, took her to another planet. To save her own life, and the life of her unborn child, she killed him and took his TARDIS. She returned to Earth, lived with her husband and son until they both died, then used that TARDIS to travel to an earlier time. She knew, Grandfather, what we are about to face."

"So she broke the rules," the Doctor said.

"She learned from the best," Mycroft said with a smile. "She settled in East Sussex. Married again. Bore many children, and died a very, very old woman. The Holmes are all descended from her. From you."

#

"And apparently, so are the Crieffs, hm?" the Doctor asked, glancing at Martin, who was watching the conversation in silence. "He's got a stronger strain of it, somehow. He knew how to fly the TARDIS."

"The Huggetts were an off-shoot line. Very distant cousins, by now," Mycroft said. "From the looks of it, they've lost the knowledge of where we came from."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "Right. Well, that's all well and good, but what exactly are you doing here?"

Mycroft sighed and answered, and it sounded to John as if he was quoting something, "'It is the hour of the knife. Someone must be on guard if the race is to live; there is no one but us.'"

"Heinlein." John turned to see Willow coming into the room. "I like that story. Gulf, isn't it?"

"Yes. You see, Grandfather? There must be someone who watches. And you cannot be everywhere."

"We're related, then?" Martin asked. He wasn't looking at Mycroft when he spoke, John saw. He was looking at Livvy.

"No more so than any two members of the royal family," Mycroft answered.

Martin snorted. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Huggett was an offshoot from Holmes seven or eight generations back," Sherlock offered. "I've seen Mummy's genealogy charts. There's no risk of consanguinity."

"Wait a moment!" Livvy gasped. "We haven't even gotten that far yet! Technically, this is still the first date! We're not getting married yet."

"Yet?" Jim asked. Livvy's eyes widened, and her face went red.

"Enough of that!" the Doctor scolded. "Courting on your own time. All right. I concede that there having someone watching is a necessity. Earth seems to attract more than its share of trouble. But now, we've got magic, and we've got a Great Vampire. How are they connected?"

"Mum was a witch," Martin said abruptly.

"According to Mummy, a Holmes daughter married the son of an old Sussex line of witches. That was where the prophecy came from. That power didn't remain in the main bloodline," Mycroft said. "But apparently, it did in the Huggett line."

"Oh. Oh, now I see!" Willow blurted. "I get it! That's why they wanted Martin! It wasn't because he's a virgin, it's because he's of the bloodline that imprisoned the vampire in the first place! They need the right bloodline..." Willow's voice trailed off as she noticed Martin staring at her, his face white. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked.

"You... didn't need to say that out loud," Martin said, his voice low and harsh.

"I'm sorry. I just thought... we put it together in Istanbul-"

"You all know?" Martin gasped. "All of you? Oh, God..."

"If you'll excuse us, I'm going to take Martin down to the clinic," John said firmly. He took Martin by the elbow and dragged him down the hall, not letting go or slowing his pace until they were behind a closed door. There, he pushed Martin into a chair and went to a cabinet, coming back with a glass. "Drink this."

Martin looked at the amber-colored liquid and shook his head. "I shouldn't..."

"It's all right, Martin. It's not enough to get you drunk, or to interfere with any medication they might have given you." John proffered the glass again. This time, Martin took it, gave a cautious sip, then drained it in a single swallow.

"She didn't have to say that in front of everyone," Martin muttered. "In front of Liv."

"I've learned that Willow Rosenberg has a faulty governor on her mouth when she gets excited," John said slowly. "She means well, but-"

"She's like Arthur, then." Martin leaned back and winced. "Doctor, is there anything you can do for this? It hurts like hell."

"Let's take a look," John said, gesturing to the inner door. Inside, Martin stopped. He stared at the equipment for a moment, then shook his head.

"I'm too tired for this, Doctor. Just... too many things have happened today."

John smiled. "Trust me, I do know the feeling. Let's get you squared away, then we'll find a bed for you. Step up here. And you can call me John."

The scan took only a moment, and showed John that there was no major damage in the shoulder. He nodded and set the scanner down. "You'll be fine in a few days, Martin. Who popped the shoulder back in?"

"The doctor at St. George's. He did... some procedure. He told me the name, but I forget. Massage, and I had to move the arm-"

"Cunningham. He did it well. There's no tearing, so you won't need surgery. Looks like the pain is all from residual swelling. We'll ice this, give you something so you can sleep." John looked up at a sharp knocking on the outer door, then smiled as Jim came into the office. "In here!"

"Oh, there you are," Jim said as he stood in the doorway. "Willow is looking for you, Martin. She's feeling about this big..." he held his fingers a scant inch apart. "She wants to apologize. And... you're going to want an escort in the halls, because I do not trust that Donna woman."

"Donna? The Doctor's Donna? Why not?" John asked.

"You did not see the way her eyes lit up when she heard Willow. Someone is on the prowl, Johnny-boy."

"Oh, God..." Martin groaned.

"Could be worse. Donna is ginger, too. You'd have lots of cute little ginger babies," Jim said.

"That is not helping!" Martin snapped. "I am not looking to... to sleep with someone because we'll have lots of cute little ginger babies. And in case you hadn't noticed, Liv's father is ginger, so we'd still have a chance at ginger babies and dear God, I can't believe I just said that!"

"When I told Liv I was coming down here, she asked me to tell you that it didn't matter to her," Jim said quietly. "She just wasn't sure that you'd want her to tell you that. That she didn't want you to think she was being patronizing." Jim came into the room and perched on a console. "You know, she'd take care of that little detail for you-"

"No!" Martin blurted out.

Jim looked puzzled. "All right. Now I'm confused. You don't want to?"

"I do!" Martin protested. He groaned again and rubbed his face with his hand. "Look. This is coming out all wrong. Let me start over. I... I adore Liv. I can't believe that she wants me. I keep wondering if I'm dreaming, and I don't want to wake up. I thought... I'd never meet anyone, and then, there she was. She's perfect. And I'm not. I'm a mess. I can't afford a wife. I can't even afford a ring!"

Now John was confused. "I thought pilots make good money?" he asked.

"Real pilots, in real airlines, they make good money," Martin answered, turning towards him. "Fisher-Price pilots in airdots don't make anything. And I mean that literally, MJN does not pay me."

"Fisher-Price pilots?" Jim asked.

"Something one of the passengers called me once," Martin admitted.

"Moron," Jim muttered. "American?"

"Yeah, well, he's a dead American moron, now."

"Really?" Jim perked up and laughed. "Martin, I didn't think you had it in you!"

Martin blinked, looked startled. "No! No, I didn't... well, I suppose I sort of did... accidentally."

"Later, you two," John interrupted. "You can compare body counts later."

"I'll win!" Jim crowed.

"Jim," John said, and waited until Jim settled down. As he looked at Jim, he caught a slight movement outside the door; he arched an eyebrow, and Jim smiled. "Right. Martin, care to explain?"

Martin nodded. "I... it took me seven tries to pass my exams. When I finally did, no one would hire me. Except Carolyn, and she only took me on because I offered to fly for no salary at all. I just wanted to be a pilot."

"What do you live on, then?" Jim asked.

"Icarus Removals," Martin answered. "On my off days. I make enough to pay my rent, barely enough to eat, and not nearly enough to even think about getting serious with anyone. Especially not someone I love as much as I love my Olivia."

"That's the first time you've said that," Livvy said, moving into view. Martin jumped, scrambling to his feet and looking at Jim as if he'd just been kicked.

"You could have told me!"

"It was my idea, Martin," Livvy said quickly. "I just... I wanted you to know it didn't matter to me. Hearing the rest... none of that matters. You. You matter. I love you, Martin Crieff."

"But-"

"No. No, Martin. Stop looking at the externals. I don't care how much money you make, or what you do, or where you live. Although I do like your little attic. It's cozy." She blushed slightly and looked down. "I don't care how much experience you have. Or don't have. We'll make it work."

"Liv-"

"We will make it work!" Livvy insisted, barreling on as if she hadn't heard Martin. Who rolled his eyes, stepped forward, grabbed Livvy and pulled her into a one-armed embrace that quickly turned into a passionate kiss.

John smiled and gestured to Jim, who followed him out off the room. John closed the door and let out a long breath. "Well, let's go see what else is happening."

#

Sherlock was sitting at one of the long tables, an empty plate in front of him. He looked up as John and Jim came in, then looked past them. He arched an eyebrow, and John smiled at him.

"Well, that's one variable taken care of," Sherlock said, pushing the plate away.

"Where is everyone?"

"The Doctor and Mycroft are in his office, talking to Mummy. Jack has taken the Torchwood people to Sussex. Willow and Buffy are off doing... something, and I freely admit that I have no idea what, with Donna. Do you know that she made a pass at Greg?"

John burst out laughing. "Really? And who handed her head back to her?"

"Surprisingly, no one," Sherlock said. He drummed his fingers on the table and looked up. "We'll be leaving for the estate once Mycroft and the Doctor are finished."

"Or once Liv is done with Martin," Jim muttered. John looked at him, and the three men burst out giggling.

#

John fetched coffee for himself and Jim, and sat down next to Sherlock. As he drank, he watched Jim, who sipped his own coffee, and every so often slid one hand over and touched Sherlock's. It was as if he was assuring himself that Sherlock was safe, that he was all right, and it didn't taken John long to realize that this was exactly what Jim was doing.

"How's the neck?" he asked quietly. He'd examined the twin puncture wounds while they were in the air, but there hadn't been a moment to do it since. Sherlock loosened the scarf he'd wound around his throat and tipped his head back, exposing the long column of his neck.

"It doesn't hurt any more," Sherlock said. John rose and leaned over the table, peering at the wounds. Satisfied, he leaned a little further, kissed Sherlock's throat, then sat back down and picked his cup up. Sherlock smiled at him and reached over, taking his free hand, running his thumb over the simple gold band on John's finger.

"Oh, no!" Jim called out. John looked up, and to his surprise saw Livvy and Martin coming towards them. Martin had somewhere found a change of clothes, and was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt, and trainers. "No, no, no. That wasn't nearly enough time. Go back and do it again, and this time do it right."

"Shove off, Jimmy," Livvy called back, grinning. She slid one arm around Martin's waist and leaned into him. "We decided to wait."

"An admirable show of restraint, but why?" Sherlock asked.

"Martin had two reasons, neither of which I can refute." Livvy looked up at Martin, who put his arm around her shoulders.

"First, I'd rather our first time be something a little more meaningful," Martin said. "Quite frankly, we're neither of us in any shape to enjoy it."

"Good point," John said, nodding. "What's the other reason?"

"Well, that one was largely for your benefit," Martin told him.

John sat up straighter in his chair. "Mine? What do I have to do with it?"

Martin and Livvy shared a mischievous look, then Livvy said, "Well... Martin figured that you'd never be able to use your desk again..."

Jim got it immediately, and dissolved into giggles. Sherlock looked at Jim, then at John. Then he smiled broadly and snickered. John stared at the two of them for a moment, knowing he was missing the joke, and incredibly annoyed. Then the penny dropped.

"Oh," he said. He looked at Martin, then at Livvy, then closed his eyes. "Good lord..."

"John does have an excellent imagination," Sherlock proclaimed. That set Martin off, to the point that he had to sit down. The five of them were still laughing when Mycroft walked in with the Doctor.

"Well, at least someone is having some fun," Mycroft said. The sarcastic tone in his voice only served to trigger another wave of laughter.

"Sorry," John gasped, fighting back to sobriety and wiping his eyes. "Sorry."

"How long have you lot been awake?" the Doctor asked.

"Ah... what time is it?" Jim looked around, craning his neck to see the clock on the wall. "Is that the time? It feels like I've been awake for days. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours yet."

"Right, then once we get to Sussex, every single one of you is getting some sleep. Alone." The Doctor looked at Martin and Livvy, and Martin looked for a moment as if he was going to lose the battle to hold back even more giggles. Livvy rested her hand on his arm, and he took a deep breath and nodded.

"Doctor, there you are!" Donna came into the Hub, followed by Buffy and Willow. "What's the plan?"

"We're heading to East Sussex," the Doctor answered.

"All right. Then what?" Donna asked.

"That is an excellent question," the Doctor said.

"Let's start at the beginning. What kind of weapons do we need?" Buffy asked.

The Doctor looked at her, "And who are you?"

"Buffy Summers. I'm the Slayer," Buffy answered. "Killing vampires is kinda what I do."

"Buffy... Summers? Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, I have heard that name. You're the Twice-Born Slayer," the Doctor said thoughtfully. He was silent for a moment, then spoke, his voice low. "When my people fought the Great Vampires, we defeated them by using bowships that fired great arrows of steel. It was the only way to destroy the vampire's heart, the only way to kill them."

"We need to stake this thing?" Buffy nodded. "Right. How big is it?"

"Great Vampire kind of implies big, Buffy," Willow said.

The Doctor looked at her for a moment, then asked, "If she is the Twice-Born, would you be the Great Witch?"

Willow blinked. "I don't know. Would I be? I mean... I'm just Willow."

The Doctor nodded once more. "The Twice-Born. The Great Witch. A family of diluted Gallifreyans. And John Watson. This just might work. Mycroft, what do you have hidden away in Sussex? Your mother said that everything would be ready. What did she mean?"

"Wait a minute," John interrupted, getting to his feet. "What was that?"

"What?" the Doctor asked. "What was what?"

"That whole list. 'And John Watson.' Like I'm important or something-"

"You are important, Johnny-boy," Jim murmured.

John grinned at him quickly, then looked back at the Doctor. "Before, when you met me, you looked at me like you'd found some kind of treasure. Why?"

The Doctor looked at him, his face serious. "You don't know. You have no idea what it is that you are."

John went still, for a moment uncertain that he wanted the answer. He looked down, slowly walked around the table. Then he nodded, once. It wasn't in him to back down. "What am I, Doctor?"

"A Catalyst. You, John Watson, are a Catalyst." He met John's eyes and smiled gently. "You're a doctor. You understand what a catalyst is, yes?"

"Yeah, it's something that causes change without changing itself. What-?"

"A Catalyst - and I haven't seen a human Catalyst in..." the Doctor frowned, hesitated, let out a puff of air. "... well... ever. A Catalyst looks at people. That's all he does. He looks. And he sees. He sees the potential of that person. What they could be. What they might be, if they tried. If someone looks into the eyes of a Catalyst, they won't see their own reflection. Oh, no. They'll see themselves as the Catalyst sees them."

"I..." John's voice caught in his throat. He licked his lips and clasped his hands in front of him, the better to control the shaking. "I change people?"

"No, no, no. You don't change them. There's no manipulation, no forcing anyone to do anything. You simply show them the best that they can be. They either accept that, become that... or they turn away. Run away, usually." The Doctor ran his hand over the back of his neck. "I imagine you had a lot of those. Most humans aren't strong enough to deal with that."

John licked his lips again, thinking about Harry. The last time he'd seen her had been his own wedding. He'd told her how proud he was of her that she'd stayed sober, that she'd reunited with Clara. A month later, she was drunk again, alone again, and had cut him off completely. He swallowed, started to look away, and stopped when a hand came to rest on his shoulder. He looked to see the Doctor standing in front of him, smiling slightly. It was a somehow reassuring.

"This isn't something that you do, John Watson," he said firmly. "This is something that you are. This is something that you have always been. And look. Look around you." He took John by the shoulders and turned him around. "Look at these people, John. If it weren't for you, for how you see them, would any of them be here?"

John looked, but the only people he saw were Sherlock and Jim. Jim was standing, his hands on Sherlock's shoulders. The both of them were smiling, and as he watched. Sherlock rose, came around the table, and held his hand out. Grateful, John took it and let Sherlock pull him into a warm embrace. A moment later, he felt another pair of arms as Jim joined them.

"We have a chance. But not if we stay here," John heard the Doctor say. "Let's go."

#

This time, the trip in the TARDIS was uneventful, and John walked out into dawn, and recognized the great house of the Holmes estate. Standing on the steps, impeccably dressed as always, was Violet Holmes.

"Good morning, my dears," she said sweetly. Sherlock smiled and climbed the steps to meet her and kiss her cheek. She looked at his throat, sighed and shook her head. "Darling, honestly. When will you learn to duck? Hello, John."

"Hello, Mum," John answered. He came up the stairs and kissed Violet, then got out of the way for Mycroft, who greeted his mother warmly, then took her hand and led her down the stairs.

"Mummy, if I may, I'd like to introduce you-" Mycroft started. He stopped when Violet waved him silent.

"You already did, Mycroft. On the telephone, remember. Doctor, it is a pleasure," she held her hand out to the Doctor, who smiled and bowed over it. Violet beamed, then stepped back and looked at the others.

"The rest of the introductions will wait; I've been told you've all had very long evenings, so there are rooms ready. Edmund will show you where. Why, Olivia, who is this?" Violet asked in surprise as Livvy led Martin towards her.

"Martin, ma'am. Martin Crieff." Martin bowed slightly from the waist.

"The name is familiar," Violet mused. "One of the Huggett girls married a Crieff lad."

"My mother, ma'am," Martin said.

"Well, then. Welcome home, my boy. Now, no more conversation. You're hurt, and you need to rest. Inside, all of you. Shoo." Violet waved them all inside. As John took Sherlock's arm, he heard Violet's voice again. "Doctor, if you don't wish to rest, I've taken the journals out of the safe. I thought you might wish to read them."

"Am I expected to sleep alone?" Jim asked, coming up and taking John's other arm.

"Of course not. You're coming with us," John answered.

Jim laughed low. "That was the idea. What do you think, Sherlock? Shall we have Johnny in the middle?"

Sherlock chuckled, and the look he gave John was positively devilish. "Oh, I think so."

"Wait a minute," John protested weakly. He knew he wasn't going to win, but the game wasn't as much fun if he didn't at least try. For form's sake. "I thought we were supposed to sleep."

"Oh, we will. Eventually." Sherlock smirked.

"So, Sherlock?" Jim asked. "Which do you prefer? Heads or tails?"

#

It was past noon when John wandered down to the dining room. He was pleasantly stiff, and far more awake than he'd expected given how little sleep he'd had. And hungry - he couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. In the smaller "family" dining room, John found the Holmes' butler, Edmund.

"Good morning, Doctor," the man said pleasantly. "The usual?"

"Do you remember my usual, Edmund?" John asked, sitting down at the table.

"Of course, sir. That is my job, after all." Edmund turned away, and proceeded to prove that he did indeed remember what John preferred for breakfast, right down to how he took his coffee.

"Where is everyone?" John asked as Edmund set plates in front of him.

"The Mistress and the Doctor are in the library. Master Mycroft is on the veranda, smoking-"

"He smokes?" John interrupted. "Since when?"

"Only when he is deeply disturbed about something," Edmund answered. "None of the others have come down yet. And Master Sherlock is behind you."

John tipped his head back and smiled up at his husband. "Good morning."

"Good afternoon, actually. Thank you, Edmund," Sherlock said as he accepted a cup of coffee. "Doctor Moran will be along in a moment. Edmund, he takes his coffee light, with two sugars. And he is allergic to bees."

"I will make a note, Master Sherlock," Edmund said. He nodded and stepped out of the room, leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"Mycroft is smoking," John said.

"I know. I may join him once I drink this."

John made a face. "Don't expect me to kiss you until you get the taste out of your mouth," he said.

"Perhaps I'll just keep him company, then," Sherlock answered quickly.

"What's next, Sherlock? How do we fight this thing?"

Sherlock was silent, looking down at the clouds in his coffee cup. "I expect the Doctor will know. And there are things... things that Grandmother Susan salvaged. Things we've protected for a very long time, waiting for this. Mummy will explain."

"She's in the library, Edmund said. With the Doctor." John looked up as the doors opened - Edmund came in, then stepped out of the way to allow Buffy, Willow and Donna to enter.

"Good morning!" Willow chirped. "Is there coffee?"

"Yes, Miss," Edmund answered. "How will you have it?"

"Oh, wow. Never met a real butler before. Neat." Willow sat down and let Edmund bring breakfast to her before leaning forward and whispering, "What do we do now?"

"Eat," Sherlock stage-whispered back. Willow giggled.

"Have either of you seen the Doctor yet?" Donna asked.

"He's with Mummy in the library. Once you've eaten, we'll go meet with them. Knowing Mummy, she'll have the answers to all the questions."

John applied himself to his food, stopping to smile at Martin when he came in, and to accept a kiss from Jim. As he finished, he looked around. "I haven't seen Livvy yet. Martin?"

"She looked in on me while I was washing up," Martin answered. "About half an hour ago, I think."

"Olivia doesn't usually eat breakfast," Mycroft said as he came in, Greg at his side. "She is with Mummy. Who would like to see all of you."

John looked around the table, seeing plates being pushed away and cups being set down. He nodded and set his serviette on the table, standing up and falling in between Sherlock and Jim. In silence, they left the dining room and followed Mycroft and Greg to the library.

#

The last time John had been here, the library had left him awe-stricken; it was easily the largest room in the house, and the sheer number of books was breath-taking. Today, it was even more moving - seated at the head of the long table was Violet Holmes, with Livvy sitting on her right. Standing behind them, looking distant, was the Doctor.

"Please, come in," Violet said, gesturing to the empty seats. Mycroft sat down at her left, with Greg next to him. Sherlock sat next to Livvy, and John sat next to him, with Jim on his other side. John looked around as he sat down.

"Where's Torchwood?"

"Been and gone. They're monitoring the Long Man," Mycroft answered.

"They're quite delightful, Mycroft," Violet said. "Especially that young Ianto. I hope they make it through this."

"Ma'am, can you tell us what this is?" Willow asked. "You seem to know a lot more about what we're going in to than the rest of us. Mycroft said there was a prophecy, and there are journals-"

"The journals are... personal," Violet said briskly. "Things of interest to the family. What we face under the hill... that comes from the other side of the family. Thousands of years ago, a ship landed not far from here. A ship belonging to one of the Great Vampires. It was escaping the war waged on them by the Time Lords, and it was wounded, almost dead. It attacked the people, drained as many as it could, and was beaten and imprisoned by a local family of powerful witches. The prison was marked by what is now known as the Long Man, and the family vowed to watch, and to make certain that they thing that they'd captured would never again rise." Violet looked down at her hands, then smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, the gifts are all but gone in our line - the last Holmes witch was my grandmother."

"Well, I can help," Willow volunteered. "I mean... I'm supposed to be the Great Witch, right?"

"It may not be that simple, my dear. This thing has had thousands of years to heal. When it breaks free of its prison, it will not be so easy to defeat."

"Doctor, you said this thing could be killed," Buffy said. "And you said something about bowships?"

"The bowships of the Time Lords were manned by crews of a thousand men or more," the Doctor answered, not looking at her. "The bolts were a hundred meters long."

"Can we do something like that?" Martin asked. "I mean... that sounds like a missile!"

"My?" Greg asked.

"No, Greg. We cannot get a missile. Not on such short notice."

"We do have something," Violet added. "Although.. I do not know if we can use it. And if all else fails-"

"No," the Doctor cut her off. "No, I will not allow you to use it."

"Grandfather," Violet said gently. "There is hardly a choice. Weighing our lives against that of the world?"

"Wait, what?" Greg gasped. "Your lives? What are you talking about?"

Silence, until Mycroft cleared his throat. "There is... a machine. A device. This house was built over it, to hide it. It is, I believe, Time Lord technology. It may have been a weapon."

"It was," the Doctor murmured.

"We have only ever had to use it twice, in all of our family history," Violet continued. "The last time..." he voice trailed off, and John felt a chill. "Mycroft and Sherlock were not my only children," she said finally. Mycroft reached across and took her hand; she smiled slightly and continued.

"Mycroft was six. Sherringford and Merewald were fourteen. They were twins, my oldest son, my only daughter. There was an invasion fleet in the outer atmosphere, and Alistair came to us for help. Siger refused to allow Mycroft into the machine. So we were four when we went into the meld. We destroyed the fleet... but Merewald died in the link. Sherringford... is still alive. But his body is all that lives - he has the mind of an infant. After that, Siger refused to allow the meld to be used. He determined that it was unsafe for anything less than six. And yet... if we must..."

John swallowed, turning to see Sherlock's stony profile. Livvy was staring at the table top, and Mycroft had his eyes closed.

"That's why?" It took a moment for John to realize that the choked, harsh voice belonged to Greg. He was sitting sideways in his chair, staring at Mycroft. "That's the reason you've been pushing me away? That's why you said no?"

"I saw you, after the kidnapping. I saw the pain you were in. I... could not put you through that again, Gregory," Mycroft said. "I thought-"

"You didn't, did you?" Greg snapped. "You didn't bother to think. You didn't bother to think about what it was like, to have you pushing me away." Greg rose, his anger clear, his fists balled tightly. "Now listen to me, you stupid genius. I put my life on the line every day, and I learned how to live with that. I learned not to waste a minute of my time. I love you. I have fucking loved you for years now. Now you've wasted an entire year that we could have had, because you were afraid of hurting me?"

"Greg-"

"No, My. I'm going to have my say. We could have had this year. Now... I'll take what I can get. But you will not turn me away. Not again. Let me know what you decide." Greg looked around, nodded to Violet. "Sorry, ma'am. Look, I'm not going to be much use here. I don't know monsters, or missiles, or anything useful. I'll... be someplace else."

"Greg?" the Doctor said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Sit down," the Doctor turned and pointed at Greg's abandoned chair. "Sit down, and listen. This.. meld, this is the last resort. I will not allow it to be used unless we have no other choice. Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"And you," the Doctor looked at Mycroft. "Don't throw it away. Trust me, Mycroft. Do not throw it away."

Mycroft nodded, looking down at the polished table top. "Yes, Grandfather."

"Good," the Doctor nodded, then looked back at Violet. "Now, Violet? You said we had something else? What?"

"We have the Great Vampire's ship."

#

"You what?" the Doctor sputtered. "You have the what?"

"The ship," Violet repeated. "It's been hidden away. Preserved. Perhaps... if we could use it?"

"Is that even possible?" Martin asked. "I mean, if this thing is as big as you seem to be saying, what kind of scale are we looking at for the controls?"

"And would we have time?" Willow asked. "I mean... this thing, it's about to break free, isn't it? And we have the rest of the cult to deal with. This is all going to happen tonight, isn't it?"

"She's very good," Jim murmured.

"All right, so this is happening tonight." Buffy leaned forward, resting her arms on the tabletop. "We're not going to be able to get any more Slayers in place before sunset. Not enough time. So, how many?"

"Jack said he counted sixty-five in the cult's base," Greg answered.

"At what time?" Buffy asked. "If it was after dawn, he was counting humans or Plasmavores, not vampires. We need to figure on twice that, at least. Too many for one Slayer, even with Torchwood to back me up."

"Unless..." Willow was drawing intricate designs on the tabletop with one finger. "Unless I can hold them. Use that same spell I used in Istanbul to take out the vamps. Hold the rest of them in place until you can mop up?"

"Could we get UNIT to help?" John asked.

"Possible," Mycroft answered. "I'll make some calls. But this is peripheral. We need to address the main problem. The Great Vampire. How do we stop it?"

"Papa, can we use the meld to control the ship?" Livvy asked.

"We're only four-"

"Five," Livvy interrupted. "Martin makes five. He's of the bloodline, he should be able to join the meld. And he knows how to fly. He can control the ship."

"What?" Martin squeaked. "Me? Control a spaceship?"

"You did it with the TARDIS," Livvy pointed out.

"She has a point, Martin," Jim agreed. "You're a pilot. Really, how different can it be? We're dealing with aerodynamics, not interstellar travel."

"And essentially, you're just aiming the gun," Sherlock added. "There's not going to be a lot of fine work. Just... aim and shoot."

Martin frowned, drumming the fingers of his good hand quickly against the table. He tipped his head to the side, then looked up. "Would I be able to see the controls? Before we do this?"

Violet smiled, "I'll show you myself."

"Doctor, would you be able to join the meld?" Livvy asked. "To bring it to six?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No. First, because we are not risking all of your lives. I know what this machine is, and I know what it can do. You won't be using it. I will."

"No, Doctor!" Mycroft protested. "If we cannot control it with four, then with only one, even one Time Lord, it would be suicide. The meld is meant to be used in concert. If anyone knows that, you do."

"I do know that," the Doctor snapped. "And I know that I am not risking all of your lives-"

"If we keep arguing, we'll go right on into the night, and then it won't matter any more," Jim interrupted. "Doctor, why can't you go into the meld with them?"

The Doctor looked at Jim, then nodded. "Because the mind of a Time Lord is too different. There would be no balance. It would destroy all of us."

"So... the choices are to risk the Holmes family, to risk you, or... to add another mind to make it six." Jim leaned back in his chair and smiled. "When do we start?"

It was that question that broke John free from his horrified silence. "Wait, what?" He turned and stared at Jim. "You can't!"

"Why not?" Jim asked. "Look, you're the one who says that you can't tell sometimes which of us you're talking to unless you're looking at us. Sherlock and I think alike."

"No, Jim," Sherlock said softly. "This isn't something you can do."

Jim just smiled at him. "Anything you can do, I can do better," he sang, then laughed. "Isn't that how we met?"

"This isn't a joke, Jim!" John snapped.

"No, no, it isn't," Jim answered, suddenly serious. "It's survival. I'm supposed to run and hide, when I can stand and fight? I'm supposed to let him risk his life for us, for all of us, without even trying to help?"

John turned, looking at the Doctor, hoping for some kind of help, only to have Mycroft take over the discussion.

"Very well, then. We will use the meld to control the ship. We will use the ship to destroy the Great Vampire. I'll see what I can do to get UNIT troops in place to deal with the followers. Is there anything else?"

"How about the fact that you are not doing this?" John snapped.

"John-"

"Don't 'John' me, Sherlock! There has to be another way!" He stood up quickly, pushing away from the table, turning away from the rest of them. They'd all accepted this, they were all ready to stand and fight. That had been John, once. Once, and it had broken him.

He couldn't live with being broken again.

"I can't... Sherlock, I can't... I can't lose you," he said softly. "I know we live with that. I know that someday, it might be some nutter with a knife, or a gun. But... I can be there, I can stop them. I've done it before. This..." he turned to see Sherlock standing, just out of reach. "I can't protect you from this, Sherlock. Please, don't. Please."

"Doctor?" Violet's voice was calm. "Could John take Olivia's place in the meld?"

"What?" John, Sherlock and Jim all chorused.

The Doctor looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. They're already very much bound together-"

"Honey, you have no idea," Jim murmured.

"Oh, was that really necessary?" the Doctor demanded.

"Yeah... yeah, that is. That's just Jim, under stress," John answered.

"Come here. The three of you." The Doctor gestured to Jim to join him. He positioned the three men so that they were standing facing each other in a rough triangle. "Join hands. Then relax."

John felt Sherlock's hands in his, then Jim's, surrounding them both. Lover, beloved, protector - somehow the titles had become interchangeable. He closed his eyes, feeling only a little ridiculous. Then another pair of hands were added... and the three became one.

...Dear God!... Extraordinary!...Is this what it's like in your head?... How can you tell?...Whose head?...Which one is mine?... Does it matter?...Don't be silly...Of course not...Why should it?...I never knew...Never realized...Christ, how much you love me...Didn't you know?...That goes without saying...Don't be an idiot...Of course-

"... I love you," Jim finished. He staggered, and Sherlock caught him before he fell. John blinked, feeling suddenly, strangely alone inside his head. He glanced at the Doctor, who looked oddly smug.

"We're going to be just fine," he said, and turned away.

"Am I understanding this correctly?" Livvy asked. "Uncle John is going into the meld, and I'm not?"

"Yes, my dear," Violet answered. "Given this possibility, I'll have you as far from the meld as possible."

Livvy licked her lips and looked down the table at Martin. "I think I know the answer why. Because I'm the last Holmes daughter, no?"

"Yes, Olivia," Mycroft answered.

"Then... you may want to excuse me for an hour or so. And Martin."

"Excuse you? And... oh," Mycroft looked surprised. "Olivia!"

"Papa, if you're going to take him into the meld, he might not come out-"

"No, Olivia," Martin said firmly. She looked at him, biting her lip. He shook his head gently and smiled. "No. I am not going to get you pregnant because you are afraid I'm going to die. You can call me old-fashioned if you like, but we're not having babies until we're married."

Silence. Livvy stared at him, her eyes huge. He nodded once, and she burst into tears. Violet immediately went to her, pulling her granddaughter into a warm embrace.

"Mate, you do know that everyone in this room heard you propose, right?" Greg asked.

"I know. Trust me, I know," Martin answered. He looked down, then shook his head. "You have no idea how much I'm shaking right now. I couldn't stand up if my life depended on it."

"Good thing it doesn't then," Greg said. "Word of advice with this lot? Nail it down as fast as you can."

"Right. I'll remember that. Liv, I don't have a ring. I'm sorry... I'll... I'll come up with something."

"Never you mind it, my boy," Violet said. "Mycroft? Would you object?"

"No objections, Mummy," Mycroft said. "Martin, would you accept the gift of Olivia's mother's engagement ring?"

"Oh!" Martin gasped. "Oh... I..." he paused, took a long breath and straightened in his chair. "No. No, thank you, sir. I'll find a way to do it myself."

"He's got balls," Jim murmured. Sherlock nodded, slinging one arm around both Jim and John and holding them tight to his sides.

"Any objections, Sherlock?" John murmured.

"Not a one. We're going to survive this." His lips twitched slightly. "I'm going to see my daughter get married."

"Right. Well, now that we're all settled, let's get started. We have to have this done before sunset," the Doctor announced to the room at large. It took several minutes before anyone listened - Buffy, Willow and Donna all clustered around Livvy, whispering congratulations and hugging her. Greg dragged Mycroft off into a corner for what looked like an intense private conversation. And Violet took Martin off into another corner, for what looked like an informal conversation, but John knew was anything but. He leaned into Sherlock's side, then looked up and asked, "So, which of those thoughts were you, and which were Jim?"

"Does it matter?" Sherlock asked.

"I guess not. I was just curious."

"Violet?" The Doctor's voice cut through the low murmur of conversation. "Where is that ship?"

"This way, Doctor," Violet answered. She took the Doctor's arm and led the way out of the library. Edmund met them in the hall, and Violet paused just long enough to say, "It's time, Edmund." The butler bowed deeply.

"Very good, Ma'am. And if I may say, it's been an honor to serve."

"Thank you, Edmund," Violet answered. "I will, I hope, see you in the morning."

"God willing, Ma'am. God bless." Edmund bowed again, then turned and walked down the hall. He turned and was gone, and John looked up at Sherlock.

"What was that?"

"She's sent him away. He'll get to safety, and return in the morning to see if we're all still alive. If we're all gone, then he has his instructions as to what to do with the artifacts in the house," Sherlock answered. "If none of us survive, the house will be destroyed as well."

"Oh." It was all John could think of to say. Sherlock tightened his arm around John's shoulders and sighed.

"I'm going to visit my bees. Come and find me when you're ready."

"You go ahead." John kissed Sherlock and watched as he walked off down the same hallway where Edmund had gone. A hand slipped into his, and he squeezed Jim's fingers.

"Come on, love," he said. "Let's go see what we're getting ourselves in to."

#

They caught up with the rest of the group in the front hall, where Buffy and Willow were putting on their coats.

"You're going, then?" John asked. Buffy nodded.

"I want to see what the lay of the land is. It isn't a long walk, Mrs. Holmes says," she answered. "We'll meet Torchwood there, see what they've found. Good luck."

"You, too."

Buffy smiled at him, then she and Willow left. As the door closed, the Doctor looked around.

"Right. Where is it?"

"Under the hills and far away," Violet answered, smiling. "Actually, not that far. Come along. We're all going to the same place. Ah... Olivia, are you armed?"

"No, Grandmother."

"Gregory?"

"No, Ma'am."

"We'll stop by the armory, then," Violet said. "Olivia, you know what to do to secure the house, but I would be more sanguine if both of you were armed. Grandfather?"

The Doctor looked up, then gave a small shake of his head. "No. I don't."

"I thought not, but I must offer. Miss Noble?"

"I wouldn't know which end was which," Donna answered. "Better not."

Violet smiled and nodded. "Very well. This way, please?"

"Where's Sherlock?" Greg asked as they followed Violet down the hall and into a part of the house that John had never seen before.

"He's gone out to the hives."

"He's mucking around with his bees? Now?"

"I think he's saying goodbye," John answered softly.

"Oh," Greg murmured. "I... damn. That's something I'd never have expected - that he'd be sentimental about bugs."

"I like bees," the Doctor said. "Fascinating creatures. Aerodynamically impossible for them to fly, did you know that?"

"Really?" Martin perked up. He turned, walking backwards a few steps before he stumbled. Livvy caught his arm and steadied him. "I never thought about it before. But those little wings... how do they do it?"

"Ask Sherlock," the Doctor said with a smile. "Once we're done."

Martin nodded. "I will. Where are we going?"

"Through the wine cellar," Violet answered. "Down this way." She led them down a long staircase, then through the cool cellars to a heavy door. Opening that door revealed another, smaller room, one that was dominated by a large console that reminded John of the one in the TARDIS.

"This is it?" he asked, walking around the perimeter of the room. "This is... what we're going to use?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered, going to the console and peering at it. "This is in marvelous condition. How did you know how to maintain it?"

"We were left excellent instructions. Some of the parts were hard to come by, but Torchwood and UNIT both helped in that regard," Mycroft answered. "Mummy?"

"This way." Violet went to the far wall and touched a panel - another door opened, revealing a long passage. As they walked down the hall, lights came on, illuminating the way.

"This... this is old. How old? How long has this been here, Violet?" the Doctor asked.

"I'm not entirely sure," she answered. "It was old when I was a girl, and my grandmother brought me down to see the ship for the first time. I think it was old when she was a girl. When it was built, or how, that I do not know."

"How long is the tunnel?" Jim asked. There was an oddness to his voice, and John noticed the hand in his was trembling. He looked at Jim, and noticed the sweat on the other man's face.

"Jim, are you all right?"

Jim looked at him and smiled slightly. "A bit claustrophobic. Never really bothers me, usually. But this... ah... why don't you go on ahead? I need to see a bit of sky."

"Can you find your way back?" John asked.

"I'll take him," Greg volunteered. "Come on. We don't need to see this part."

"Thank you." Jim gave John a shaky smile. "Take notes, will you?"

"You're a complete arse, you know that?" John shook his head fondly. "Completely."

"Oh, of course. I don't know how you put up with me. And him."

"That's easy. I love you both. Now go. Don't get too close to the hives." He kissed Jim gently, then turned and nudged him back the way they had come. "Go on."

"You're involved with both of them?" Donna asked as they started walking.

"Yes," John answered. "I'm married to Sherlock. Jim... just happened."

"Boy, some people have all the luck," Donna grumbled.

"What about you? Aren't you and...?" John nodded towards the Doctor's back. Donna's eyes widened, and she laughed.

"Oh, no! Me? And him? No!" She shook her head and grinned. "No, we're friends."

John nodded. "Just friends."

"Absolutely. We're best mates, really!"

John grinned. "Good. You'll find yourself someone. Just you wait."

"You a fortune teller now?" Donna teased. "Or some kind of hopeless romantic?"

"No. A very hopeful romantic." John looked down the hall and blinked. "Look. End of the tunnel."

Donna immediately asked, "Oncoming train?"

John grinned. "God, I hope not!" He started towards the door, stopping when Donna took his arm.

"John... they're going to be all right, aren't they? Martin and Olivia?"

John took a deep breath and shrugged. "I wish I could answer that. If it were up to me, I'd have them both locked away someplace safe."

"Inside the TARDIS, yeah." Donna nodded. "I'll keep an eye on Olivia, okay?"

John smiled. "Yes. Thank you, Donna. Come on. I want to see this ship." He headed out of the tunnel, and found himself inside a room that his mind insisted on identifying as being outside. Which was impossible, and he frowned, reorienting himself and looking around for the space ship. He saw nothing but the others, who were standing near a railing, so John stepped up to stand next to Mycroft. He was about to ask where they were when he looked down... then closed hsi eyes and took a step back.

"Doctor?" Mycroft sounded worried, and it occurred to John that Mycroft had been sounding worried for a good portion of the day.

"You know, you could warn a person," he said. He shook his head, opened his eyes, and stepped back to the railing. This time, when he looked down, he was ready. "How high up are we?"

"About... two hundred meters?" Martin answered, looking over the rail and frowning. "Give or take? It's hard to tell looking down, and without any idea of scale on that thing."

That thing was a long, rust-colored vehicle that reminded John a little of the designs he'd seen for a single-stage-to-orbit space plane. he said as much, "It looks like... what was it? The VentureStar?"

"You're a step behind. Martin already said that," Livvy said. She was standing next to Martin, holding tightly to his arm.

"It's been buried here, all this time," the Doctor murmured. "How do we get down there?"

John had just enough time to see the control panel before Violet pressed a button, and the platform they were standing on shuddered and started to sink. His stomach rebelled, and he stepped away from the rail, looking pointedly upwards at the rapidly retreating ceiling. Once it was moving, the lift was smooth, and in only a few minutes, they were standing on the floor next to the enormous ship.

"The thing that flew this was huge," Martin said. "What do the controls look like?"

"I'm curious to see the inside myself," the Doctor said. "There must be more information here about which Great Vampire we're dealing with."

"Is that important?" Mycroft asked.

"It might be. I thought they were all dead. I thought I'd killed the last one."

"You've killed one of these things?" Donna asked.

"The King Vampire. Five...? Yes, five regenerations ago. And much the same way we're talking about killing this one. I used a scout ship to destroy its heart." The Doctor looked distant, staring off into his memories. Then he shook his head and looked at them. "If the Vampire has taken any hosts, killing it will destroy them as well. Come on. We haven't got a lot of time."

It was only Martin, John and the Doctor who entered the ship; Livvy started to go inside with them, then stopped and refused to go any further.

"Martin... I don't like this place," she said, her voice thick with fear. "It... It feels wrong."

The Doctor turned, going to stand in front of Livvy. He looked into her eyes, then took her face between his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. She gasped, catching his wrists in her hands as he pulled back.

"Donna?" the Doctor called out. "Take Olivia out of here. Now."

"Why? What's wrong?" Martin demanded.

"You don't sense it. None of you do. There are residuals here, traces of the Vampire that used this ship. Even after all this time, she's still here. And Livvy can feel it."

"She's so hungry," Livvy added. "So hungry, and so cold. Doctor, this... this is what she's feeling now, isn't it?"

"Yes. So I want you as far from this ship as possible. Donna!"

"Doctor?"

"Take Olivia to the TARDIS. Stay there, the both of you, until I come for you. Understand?"

"But... the meld." Livvy looked at the Doctor, then at Martin. "I don't want to leave you alone."

"I won't be, Liv. I'll be fine. Go on. Be safe." Martin ran his fingers over Livvy's jaw. "Please? For me?"

She scowled up at him. "You cheat."

"I have to do something to keep up with you!" Martin leaned down and kissed her. "I'll see you in a few hours, darling."

"All right. I love you." Livvy let Donna lead her away, and the Doctor turned to look around the inside of the ship.

"Does it bother you?" John asked. "What she was feeling, you feel it, too."

"I feel it. And yes, it bothers me. But I was ready for it. I know what these things can feel like, what they can do. I've seen the destruction they can cause. It is the duty of the Time Lords to destroy them at any cost." He took a deep breath, then looked at John and Martin. "Well, gentlemen? Shall we?"

#

The ship's controls were on the same scale as the rest of the vessel, and positioned so that the only way for Martin to get a good look at them was to lay flat on his back on what the Doctor called the command couch. John watched as, for several minutes, Martin scowled, squinted, frowned, and made arcane gestures that made absolutely no sense to John. They did, however, remind him strongly of Sherlock and his mind palace.

"Do you do that?" he asked the Doctor, nodding towards Martin.

"What? That? No," the Doctor answered, then frowned. "I don't think so. No. Why?"

"Because Sherlock does it, too. I was wondering if it was some kind of family resemblance." A thought occurred to him, and he blinked. "Oh. When Martin and Livvy get married, they'll be recombining the bloodline. What are their kids going to be like?"

"You needn't worry about that," the Doctor said without looking at him. "Their children will be extraordinary."

"Really? You're sure?"

The Doctor gave John an impish grin. "The pilot of the first manned vessel to Mars will be Captain James Sebastian Crieff."

John stared at him for a moment, then looked at Martin, oblivious on the couch. "Their son?"

The Doctor just smiled, then walked away. "Martin?"

"I've got it, I think." Martin sat up, then looked down at the couch and grimaced. "I think I understand what Liv was feeling. This thing, just being here for this long makes me feel filthy. Like a need a week-long shower."

"You'll feel better once we get you out of here." The Doctor helped Martin to his feet, and Martin looked up once more.

"It's not that different, really," he said in wonder. "How much else is the same?"

"Quite a lot, actually," the Doctor said. "Really, quite a lot. Perhaps when this is done, you'll see for yourself?"

Martin's jaw dropped. "Is that... are you... was that an invitation?"

"Once around the universe, back in time for tea. What do you say?"

"I say that if I'm not invited, I'm going to be very put out," John called out. The Doctor laughed.

"Don't be silly. Of course you're invited. One big family outing."

#

They left the ship, and found Mycroft waiting for them. "Mummy went with Olivia and Miss Noble. They were going to collect the weapons from the armory before Olivia went off to the TARDIS," he said. "Did you find what you needed, Captain?"

"Yes, thank you," Martin answered. "I'm a bit more... well, I suppose confident is the word. That I can at least guide this where it needs to go."

"You're a fine pilot, Martin," John said. "Better than you give yourself credit for."

"I did tell you seven times, didn't I?" Martin asked as they started up on the lift.

"Yes, yes, you did," John answered. "And you know, I don't think that has anything to do with how good a pilot you are. The same way that my not passing driving test twice had nothing to do with what kind of a driver I am. You're just pants at taking tests."

"You didn't pass your driving test?" Mycroft repeated, sounding shocked. "I've driven with you. You're a fine driver."

"Still, I had to take it twice. Do not tell Livvy - she'll never ride with me again." John nodded, then looked at Martin. "She's ridden with you, right? Both in the air and on the ground?"

"Yes," Martin answered. "Yes, to both. You know that."

"Right. Then she thinks you are a fantastic pilot. And driver. She wouldn't be in the car or the air with you if she didn't."

"Quite so," Mycroft agreed. "Martin, if she is allowing you to drive her, she feels safe with you. That makes you one of a very select few."

"Oh," Martin nodded. "Right. Well, if Liv thinks so, then she's right."

"You have good survival instincts," Mycroft said drily. "You'll go far as a married man."

The four were all still laughing when the lift came to a stop.

#

There was no one in the tunnel, no one in room with the meld. They were on the stairs out o the cellars when they finally met someone.

"There you are," Greg said from the top of the stairs. "We were starting to think you got lost."

"Don't be ridiculous, Greg," Mycroft said, and John heard the fond note in his vote. "It's a long hallway and a hole in the ground."

"Sure, and it took you the better part of an hour to find your way out." He turned and fell in step with them as they came out into the butler's pantry, and John smiled when he saw Mycroft take Greg's hand.

"Where are Sherlock and Jim?" he asked.

"That's the other reason I was looking for you," Greg answered. "It's the damnedest thing. Sherlock is out there, in the middle of the hives, and... well, you'd best see for yourself." He led them into the dining room, and from there out onto the wide terrace that John knew overlooked the meadow where Sherlock's beehives were located. Jim was standing at the stone railing, leaning on it with both arms, watching, with Sherlock's coat tossed over the railing next to him. John walked over to him, looked out towards the hives, and felt his breath catch in his throat.

Sherlock stood among the hives, in his I'm-being-laid-out-for-burial pose - arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And surrounded by a cloud of what had to be thousands of bees.

"He was still in the house when Greg and I came out of the cellars. So we all came out here together. He told me to stay here, and he went down to the hives. He hasn't moved, not once, not since we came out here," Jim said softly. "He went down there, and the bees came."

"That's what I wanted you to see," Greg said from behind John. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Sherlock has always had a way with bees," Mycroft murmured. "With other animals, too. Dogs, horses. You should have seen him on the hunt."

"I'm not surprised," the Doctor said, nodding. "As sensitive as he is?"

"Sensitive? Sherlock?"

The Doctor looked at Greg. "Yes. Sensitive. He's as close to telepathic as you humans get, and let me tell you, you humans are a loud lot." He looked away, back out at Sherlock. "All those thoughts, all those raw emotions running unchecked all the time, it's like trying to hear one note in a symphony played off-tune. It can drive a person mad. Being out there, with the bees? It's probably as close to quiet as he ever can reach."

Jim hissed, and John knew why. So, apparently, did Greg. "Quiet. That's why he started using," Greg said. "That's what he told me."

"Using? Using what?" the Doctor demanded.

"Cocaine."

The Doctor looked at him, then looked back at Sherlock. "Oh. Oh, no. How long?"

"He's been clean six years. Nearly seven," John answered.

Jim coughed and added, "And... we find other ways to help him."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow, and John met his gaze and refused to let himself blush; the Doctor laughed and shook his head in response, leaving John wondering just how telepathic Time Lords were really?

"Something's happening!" Greg said, breaking the reverie. John turned back to the railing to see Sherlock lower his arms and tip his head back to watch as the great swarm of bees rose into the air and flew away towards the forests. And yet, Sherlock didn't move. John frowned, then patted Jim on the shoulder and moved away, heading for the steps that led down to the grass.

Sherlock had to have heard him, but he didn't turn, gave no sign that he knew John was approaching until at last John touched his sleeve. He jerked, glanced at John, then looked away. But not before John saw the tears on his face.

"Sherlock?" he said gently. "Love?"

"They didn't want to go," Sherlock said softly. "They wanted to stay. But if they stayed, and we failed, they'd be killed. So I told them to go."

John nodded and slipped his arm around Sherlock's waist. "You did a good thing, love. They'll be fine. And when we're done, you can call them back, can't you?"

Sherlock smiled brokenly. "Maybe. I don't know. I've never tried. I never tried to... to talk to them before. Not like that."

John nodded, hugging Sherlock to his side. "There's more, isn't there?"

Sherlock nodded, absently wiping his face. "I never knew my sister. Sherringford is a man in a hospital somewhere. They weren't real to me. You are real. Jim is real. Mummy and My, they are real. Martin is real, now. We are going to go into that machine, and I might lose any of you."

"Hey, none of that. We're all coming out. You hear me?" John turned Sherlock so that they were facing each other. "We are all coming out."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "I do love you, Doctor."

"I love you, too," John said. He started to say something else, then saw movement coming out of the forest. He stepped to the side, and his eyes widened as he realized it was Buffy and Willow, coming up the hill at a dead run.

"Buffy! What's wrong?"

"They're moving! They're heading this way! Everyone into to the house!"

#

"Where's Torchwood?" John shouted as they started running towards the house.

"No clue! We never got there!" Buffy shouted back. She crested the top of the stairs and stopped, panting like a race-horse. "Those woods, there's an army out there."

"Shit," Greg breathed. "Right. What do we have?"

"What? What's wrong?"

John jerked and turned to see Livvy, Donna and Violet coming out of the house. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"We've just come from the armory. What's wrong?" Livvy repeated. She looked around, finally seeing Buffy and Willow. "You're not supposed to be here. Does that mean-?"

"It means that we need to get you and Donna into the TARDIS now," the Doctor cut her off. "Come on." He grabbed Livvy by the arm and started towards the other side of the terrace and the other set of stairs at a dead run. Only to skid to a stop at the top of the stairs. Following behind them, John almost ran into the Doctor, and saw past the man to the front lawn and the long drive that led down to the gates... and the crowd coming towards them, already passing the TARDIS as they marched. Their approach was surreal in its silence.

"How many are there?" Livvy gasped.

"Too many. Violet, how secure is this house?" the Doctor asked.

"Very. Everyone inside. Mycroft, Sherlock? You know what to do." Violet turned and led them back inside, and Mycroft and Sherlock both disappeared into the house. Violet closed the doors firmly and locked them, then turned and started towards the butler's pantry. "The boys will meet us," she said over her shoulder. "Olivia? The weapons?"

"In the pantry, Grandmother. I don't think we have enough."

"We won't need anything unless they manage to breach the walls. Which I doubt they'll be able to do," Violet said. "And then they would need to find us. Sherlock, that was very quick." Violet smiled as Sherlock came running towards them.

"The back of the house is secure," Sherlock reported. He held a key out to his mother - she took it and slipped it into her pocket. "You've updated the system."

"I do so hate being bored. Where is Mycroft?"

"I'm here," Mycroft called as he came into view. "I do apologize, Mummy. Apparently someone rearranged the furniture. I had to move the writing desk in the parlor to get to the panel." He passed his key to Violet, and looked around. "We're all here?"

"Looks like it," Buffy answered. "Now what?"

"Now, we start the meld," Violet answered. "Grandfather, will you monitor?

Before the Doctor could answer, the house shook violently. John grabbed onto Sherlock's sleeve, felt someone grab his own arm, and they clung to each other as the walls danced around them and the sound of breaking glass echoed down the halls. As quickly as it started, the shaking stopped, and John looked around to see everyone finding their footing.

"Everyone all right?" he called out.

"We're fine," Martin answered, hugging Livvy tightly to his side.

"Okay here," Buffy chimed in.

"That was awful!" Donna cried. "What was that?"

"That was the Great Vampire," Greg answered. "It happened before. What did you call it, Doctor? Shaking the bars of its cage?"

"I don't think it's just shaking anymore," Willow said. She had stepped away from the group, and was standing in the dining room door. "Unless sunset comes really quickly here?"

"What?" Sherlock moved to stand behind her, and John heard him gasp. That was enough to send him to stand by his husband, and he cursed - the skies outside the windows were midnight-dark.

"They found a sacrifice," Willow murmured. "They broke the spells. God, I hope everyone in Torchwood is all right."

"And now the Great Vampire is free," the Doctor added. "We need to get into the meld."

"Come along, children," Violet called. John slipped his hand into Sherlock's, and they turned to follow her through the pantry, collecting weapons before descending into the wine cellars.

Mycroft closed the door firmly behind them, shooting the bolt and turning another key. As they made their way through the cellars, he murmured, almost as an afterthought, "I do hope the system will still work. We never thought to test it against tremors."

"You left a variable out?" Jim teased. "You?"

"An egregious lapse in judgment. One that we'll have to rectify."

"Assuming we all survive," Donna muttered.

"We're all going to be fine," John snapped. "It's too late for doubts. We'll survive."

"We'd better. We've got weddings to plan," Greg added.

Mycroft coughed. "Weddings? Greg-"

"Shut up," Greg snapped. "Listen to me for a minute. When you come out of this thing, that's it, right? That's the major threat you've been living your entire life under? The reason you keep saying no?"

"We don't know-"

"You do know. You know damn well. You have a prophecy, and a time-travelling grandmother who told you exactly what to prepare for, and left you the weapons. Well, once you're done, once you come out of that machine, you're officially retired. I'm right, aren't I?"

"You're right, Greg," Violet answered. "This is the reason that Grandmother Susan left the journals and the machines. Barring unforeseen threats, we will never have to use this again."

"Good," Greg said. He folded his arms over his chest and turned to look at Mycroft. "D'ye hear that, My? Once this is done, you have no reason to tell me no. Unless you've just been stringing me along for five years."

"You know I have not!" Mycroft snapped, looking insulted.

"Then you damn well better say yes."

"Mycroft, do stop being a stick in the mud and say yes?" Violet said, sounding impatient. Sherlock laughed, and Mycroft gaped at his mother.

"Mummy!"

"Say yes, so that we can go on and save the world!" Violet insisted.

Mycroft harumped, straightening his coat and drawing himself up. "Well, when you put it that way, I don't see how I can refuse."

"That's a yes?" Greg asked slowly.

"Yes, Greg. That is a yes."

"And you all heard him, right?" Greg turned and looked at the rest of them. "So now he can't say it didn't happen?"

"We heard him, Greg. Can we save the world now?" Buffy asked.

"Right. Yeah. Suppose so." Greg ran his hand over his hair, looking sheepish. "Sorry. I shouldn't-"

"Oh, yes, you should have," Sherlock answered.

"Brother-"

"Enough!" the Doctor's voice echoed through the cellars. "Enough," he repeated, a bit lower. "We have more important things to do." He turned and stalked towards the heavy door.

"Don't mind him," Donna said, her voice low. "He gets tetchy before he saves everything. Nerves, I think. Congratulations, the both of you."

"Thank you, Miss Noble," Mycroft answered. "But Grandfather is right. We have important work to do."

"Not more important than kissing him," Donna answered. "Go on, then. You just got engaged. Kiss him!"

John was about to say something, to tell Donna to leave Mycroft alone, to agree with the Doctor. Then Mycroft stepped forward, grabbed Greg by the front of his jacket and pulled him into a far more passionate kiss than John would have ever given the elder Holmes credit for being able to do. Donna cheered, then fanned herself.

"Is it hot in here?" she asked the air, drawing giggles from Buffy and Willow.

"Are you done?" the Doctor asked, his voice low. "Because while you're playing matchmaker, there is a Great Vampire preparing to drain this planet dry."

Greg stepped back, breaking the kiss and running his hands down Mycroft's arms. "Time to go to work," he said softly.

"Yes. It is time to go to work," Mycroft agreed. They headed towards the machine hand in hand. Sherlock followed, and John lingered near the Doctor for a moment.

"It gives him something more to fight for," he said softly. "Martin has Livvy. Sherlock, Jim and I have each other. Violet has her sons and her granddaughter. Mycroft needed someone."

"Other than his daughter?"

"She's getting married. She's not just his any more. I know Mycroft well enough now to know that he's probably thinking he's the superfluous one. If he dies, she'll still be all right. Especially... well, you know whose daughter she is. You saw it in Sherlock's mind."

The Doctor nodded. "I did. And you're right. But we have no time."

"Funny thing for a time traveler to say," John murmured.

The Doctor scowled at him, then nodded again. "Fine. Point made. Go get into the machine."

#

John walked into the room, stopping just inside the door to take in the changes. Before, the machine had looked like the center console of the TARDIS. Now, there were six platforms, each wide enough for body, extending out from the sides. Martin was already laying down, whispering intently with Livvy. Violet and Mycroft were standing off to one side, and Sherlock and Jim were waiting just inside the door for John to join them. Without a word, John walked into Sherlock's arms, resting his head on his husband's shoulders, holding his own arm out so that Jim could join their embrace.

"Someday we will look back on all of this and laugh," Jim murmured, making Sherlock chuckle.

"Jim?"

John looked up, and Jim turned to face Mycroft. He smiled slightly, then took a deep breath. "You do not have to join us, Jim. This is not your cross to bear. We cannot know what this will do to someone not of the blood."

"You do realize that you've just admitted that your family is completely inbred, don't you?" Jim asked archly. John elbowed him in the ribs, and Jim snorted and continued. "Somewhere, back in your history, someone not of the blood used that machine. Statistically speaking, it had to have happened."

"We know that," Mycroft agreed. "What we don't know is if they survived the experience."

Jim nodded, looking thoughtful. Sherlock leaned down slightly, his arm creeping around to cross Jim's chest, and whispered, "You don't have to prove anything, Jim. Not to me, not to anyone."

"I'm not," Jim answered, his hand coming up to touch Sherlock's arm. "I want to do this."

"But you are not one of us," Mycroft insisted.

Jim looked up, turning to look at Sherlock, and spoke in a soft voice, "What I am, truly, is thine and my poor country's to command."

"Oh, Jim," Sherlock breathed. He kissed Jim gently, then looked at Mycroft. "We're all three going in, brother."

"So I see. Very well. Take your places."

John looked at Sherlock, met his eyes and held them. Sherlock nodded, and they flanked Jim as they walked to the machine. In silence, each of them lay down on one of the platforms, John on one side, Sherlock on the other, and Jim in the middle.

"That's so cute," Jim murmured as he lay down. "You're trying to protect me. How very sweet."

"Shut up, Jim," John growled. Jim giggled, and John felt a hand taking his. He turned to see Jim smiling at him. He smiled back, squeezing Jim's fingers. Then the Doctor stepped into view.

"Ready?"

John looked at him, wondering just how much of Sherlock's north-north-west madness came from this man. "I have no idea what I'm doing. I have no idea what is expected of me, or how I'm doing to accomplish any of it." He sniffed, folded his hands on his stomach and nodded once. "Of course I'm ready."

The Doctor smiled. "John Watson. I'll see you on the other side." He touched something that John couldn't see, and a clear shield lowered itself over John's head. John blinked, started to turn, but a bright light flashed - he felt like he was falling, and his body went away.

#

The Doctor finished bringing Violet into the meld and looked up from the console to see Livvy watching him closely.

"Now what?" she asked. "Is there anything else we can do?"

"Monitor them closely," the Doctor answered. "That is your job. Keep a sharp eye on all of them. I want to know if any of them are in any distress."

"Yes, sir."

"Is the door barred?" The Doctor turned to look at Buffy, Willow, Donna and Greg. "Make sure everything is locked down tight. I don't want anything getting in here."

"Doctor?" Greg asked. "What happens when they move that ship? It's going to leave a big fucking hole in the ground, isn't it?"

"Probably. Why?"

"Because the damned geniuses didn't put a lock on that door."

#

John fell into darkness for what seemed like forever, until he felt warm arms around him, pulling him close. He could see nothing, but he knew who held him.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes. We're all here."

As he said that, John realized that he could feel the others around him: Sherlock's indomitable will, Jim's puckish humor. Martin's shy self-deprecation and Mycroft's confidence. Arching over all was Violet, shelter and love.

"I can't see," John murmured.

"Sight isn't necessary. Nor is speech. We are thought and will alone," Mycroft answered. "At the moment, we are one."

"And pretentious as all fuck," Jim sang out. John laughed.

"When we are ready, Martin will take control of the meld," Violet added, as if Jim hadn't spoken. But John felt the gentle chastisement, and Jim's silent apology.

"Right. Can we get on with this?" Martin asked. "I want to run some checks on the ship-"

"Do we have time for that?" Mycroft broke into the thought.

Immediately, the meld was filled with acid indignation, and Martin snapped, "Oh, right then. Of course. Let's just take our only weapon and fly it off without having any idea how it works or how to control it. I'm sure that will work brilliantly. And if it crashes, then that's just too bad, isn't it?"

Mirth filled the meld, tinged with sudden, sharp embarrassment. "Oh, don't feel that way, Martin," Violet said gently. "And do not apologize. You are absolutely right. Mycroft, do not try too school the expert. You know better."

"You're absolutely right, Mummy. Martin, I do apologize. What do we need to do?"

"I'll know better in a moment..."

#

Buffy looked at the locked door, then turned and looked at the other door. "Willow, can you bar this one? Something?"

"I can seal it, but not for very long. Especially not if they start trying to break it down," Willow answered. "I just... I have the feeling that I shouldn't be putting a lot of power into anything just yet."

"We won't need it yet. We're not going to need it-" Livvy broke off at the sound of a distant rumbling. It grew louder, especially when the Doctor moved over and opened the door, peering down the long tunnel. He closed it before the plume of dust flooded the room.

"Right. That tunnel is open to the outside now. It won't take them long to find it. What do we have for weapons?" Buffy asked.

Livvy frowned, looking around. "Greg and I both have guns. There's a crossbow, with extra quarrels. Various knives. And... Donna, where's the bag?"

"Oh, no," Donna murmured.

Livvy's eyes went wide. "Donna! Where is the bag?"

"I must have put it down," Donna answered. "Stupid! I can't believe I was that stupid!"

"What was in the bag?" the Doctor asked.

"Stakes," Livvy answered. "We have no stakes."

#

Working in concert was fascinating - John had never seen Sherlock and Mycroft work in tandem together before, and the way they threw their combined strength behind Martin without hesitation impressed him beyond all expectations. Violet made certain that none of them over-exerted themselves, keeping the meld balanced with a deft touch, and directing Jim and John into areas where Sherlock and Mycroft were weakest. And Martin was in his element - coolly competent, giving exact directions as to what he wanted and when, and how much; John was suddenly very aware of just what Livvy had seen in this man, and approved highly.

When they brought the ship out of its hiding place, Martin set it to a steep climb, taking it into the clouds to provide cover. John wondered how he could see what he was doing.

"He's interfacing with the ship's sensors," Violet murmured. "At this moment, Martin is the ship."

John remembered Douglas' comment about Martin wanting to be an airplane, and laughed. "Dream come true," he said softly.

"Now, John. Don't tease," Violet chided.

"Yes, Mum. I'll-" He stopped. Had the meld... shivered? "Mum?"

"Something is wrong. Martin!"

Martin's voice rang out, sounding confused. "Something is happening with the ship! I'm not sure... Mrs. Holmes, does this thing have an auto-pilot? Because it's trying to cut me out of the controls!"

"Fight it, my dear!" Violet's urgency was clear, and John threw himself into the fight. Whatever it was that was trying to take control must not be allowed to succeed. Whatever it was, he could feel it crawling across the edges of his consciousness, dark and cold, slowly seeping in no matter how hard they tried to keep it out.

"Oh, God... it's the Vampire," Martin breathed. "Why the hell didn't anyone tell me it could control the ship remotely?"

#

"Doctor! There's something wrong!"

The Doctor jerked at the alarm in Livvy's voice and dashed across the room to her side. She was leaning over Jim, her fingers touching the pulse in his wrist. She looked up at the Doctor, then back down at Jim.

"All of them - rapid breathing, increased heart-rate. Something is wrong."

"What's happening?" Greg demanded. "Can you tell?"

"No," the Doctor answered, his eyes darting over the console. As he watched, the lights all dimmed, then flared to brilliance. The Doctor backed up a step, reaching back and wrapping his hand around Sherlock's wrist. He closed his eyes, just for a moment. "Oh, no. No, you are not going to win that easily."

"What? Doctor, what are you going on about? What is the Vampire doing?" Livvy asked. She jerked as something started pounding on the locked cellar door. "They found us."

"Because the Vampire told them where to look." The Doctor moved across the console, doing something that made the clear shield over Martin's head rise and retract. "It has a link to its ship, a mental link-"

"It can do that?" Buffy demanded. "And you didn't tell them?"

"I didn't know!" the Doctor shouted back. "I didn't know. The one I killed didn't have access to a ships. This one is using that link to take control of the meld. That's what's wrong - they're fighting it. Fighting the Vampire for control."

"Can they win?" Willow asked.

The Doctor was quiet for a moment, then looked up. "No. Not without help. Livvy, I need you and Willow."

"Of course," Livvy answered. "What can we do?"

"You have the bloodline of the witches that trapped the Vampire in the first place," the Doctor answered. "I need you to act as a bridge to bring Willow into the meld."

"Me?" Willow squeaked. "Oh... okay. Then what do I do?"

"Link with Martin. You, Livvy and Martin combined should have enough magic between you to hurt the Vampire enough to drive it out of the meld."

"Right," Livvy said with a nod. "Then what?"

"Then we use the meld to destroy it," the Doctor answered. "One of you on each side of Martin." He looked up, meeting Greg's eyes. "You and Buffy are foing to have to protect us until we finish. They won't be able to come through that door, but if they find the tunnel-"

"We'll be ready," Buffy said firmly.

"Donna-"

"Don't worry about me, Doctor," Donna said firmly. "Go save the world."

"All right, but you keep your head down," the Doctor warned. "I mean it, Donna!"

"You're wasting time..."

"I'll keep an eye on her," Greg added.

"Doctor, now what?" Willow asked, not even coming close to drowning out the sound of Donna and Greg bickering.

"Take his hands." He waited until Willow had Martin's left hand clasped in both of hers, and Livvy had gingerly taken hold of his right. Once they were ready, the Doctor reached out and rested his hand on Martin's forehead.

#

The sudden, unexpected rush of power was dizzying after what seemed like days of unrelenting battle. It left John gasping, thrown just enough off-center that he was certain he would be the first to fall. They'd formed a barrier around Martin, fighting to keep the Vampire from overwhelming him and stealing control of the meld, freeing him to attempt to keep control of the ship. But they were flagging, growing weaker as the attack on their minds grew increasingly stronger. But the next attack didn't come. It grew quiet, and John could feel the weak spots in the meld slowly drawing strength from the new source of power. From the new minds, John realized.

Apparently, he was just a bit slow.

"Olivia Lenore Addington-Holmes!" Mycroft sounded absolutely horrified. "What are you doing?"

"I brought her." John jerked in surprise at the sound of the Doctor's voice. "to provide a bridge. We need access to Martin. Let us pass."

"Who is we?" Sherlock demanded.

"Livvy, Willow and myself."

"Doctor, you said you could not join with us," Violet said, sounding worried. "You said your mind was too different."

"There is no other choice. Now, let us pass."

"We sure this is really him?" Jim asked. "Really him and Liv and Willow?"

"It's me, Jimmy," Livvy answered, and John felt a faint brush of warm affection, one that was finely targeted.

"Well, that proves that," Jim said.

"Quickly now. Before she notices," the Doctor said. John felt the walls they had built open, felt the gaps widen to allow the newcomers to pass.

Felt the rising attack as the Great Vampire took advantage of their inattention...

"No!"

John felt something - someone!- rise to meet the attack, something made of anger and hatred and an almost primal need to defend. The Vampire howled adn fell back, and the walls slammed closed once more, sealing the meld against the alien mind.

Except...

"Who did we lose?" John demanded. He could feel the absence in the meld like a gaping wound, but they had pulled together so tightly that he could no longer distinguish one mind from the other. Before Mycroft had proclaimed them one. Now, they really were one. But part of the one was missing. "Jesus Christ, who did we lose?"

Silence. No one answered. And a moment later, John realized that no one needed to.

#

Livvy swallowed the fear and the pain, and forced herself to focus. "Martin?"

His shock echoed through the meld. "Liv! What the hell are you doing here?"

"We're here to help, Martin. Let me take the ship. Willow-"

"I know what to do, Doctor," Willow interrupted, her voice eerily calm. "Come here, Martin."

"All right," Martin said slowly, and Liv felt his presence joining her and Willow. "What are we doing?"

"We're stopping that thing," Willow answered. "I need you both. Martin, you said your mother was a witch. What about you?"

"I... don't know. She said it was all in the female line, so she never tried to teach me anything."

"Right. Livvy, your great-grandmother was a witch, too. So you both have the potential, at least. I'm going to use it."

"Wait, the way you used the potential in the Slayers to make them all Slayers?" Livvy asked.

"How do you even know that... nevermind. You're a Holmes. Of course you know things you're not supposed to know. Yeah, kind of like that. Okay? So, we're going to be one, and you just need to let me lead. Got it?"

"Yes," Livvy said, and Martin echoed it a moment later.

"Now, just relax..."

Livvy felt herself being surrounded by warmth. She could feel Martin in front of her; she moved into his embrace, sinking into his mind, feeling the touch of his thoughts as intimate as a caress. Around them, she could hear Willow chanting, but the actual words weren't important. The only thing that mattered was the power. And Martin.

Without warning, there was a shout, a great rushing of power and light that poured over and through her. She heard Martin screaming, knew that she was screaming, too. Then...

#

John felt the rush of magic piercing the barrier, rushing through him and leaving him breathless. He heard the screaming from within the barrier, echoed from with as the Vampire screamed in rage and pain. Then... everything went quiet.

"Doctor?" John called. "Are they all right?"

"We're all fine," the Doctor answered. "It is time to finish this. Willow?"

"I/we understand, Doctor." The voice that answered was oddly harmonic - John could hear the blending voices, pick out Martin from the combined voices of the women.

"What the hell?"

"I/We are one," the voice answered. "I/we have combined. We/I will take the ship. You must guard us/me. If we/I lose the ship again, we/I will not be able to regain control."

John steeled himself for another battle, feeling the meld closing around the three inside. He felt the Doctor's strength, filling the gaps left in the barrier, and fought down an wave of grief. Was that even from him? No way of knowing. No time to grieve. Time only to dive into the fight once more. The Vampire howled as they turned the attack on her, pinning her down and holding her in place.

"Oh, no," the Doctor murmured.

"What?" John shouted. "What?"

"Willow! We're out of time! They found the tunnel!"

"Then we/I will finish this," the voice answered. The meld shifted, and John felt himself fading into the others, the combined power fueling the ship as it dove out of the clouds, screaming through the dark skies until the dagger-thin prow of the ship found a sheath in the Vampire's heart, driving the creature into the ground and destroying them both in a ball of fire. The unearthly howling stopped, and John felt himself relax. It was over. The Vampire was dead. But...

"What about the rest of them?" he asked. "The Plasmavores, and the vampires?"

"I/we will take care of those now," the voice answered.

"Willow. Willow, what are you doing? Willow, stop! Will-"

The Doctor's voice cut off abruptly.

"Doctor?" John called. "Doctor?"

There was no answer.

#

The shattered door had at least provided Buffy and Greg with a handful of shards of wood long enough to act as stakes. The pair hovered on either side of the door, staying out of the line of fire, and dusting any vampire that made it through.

"How much longer?" Greg shouted, pulling back as a bullet 'pinged' against the wall near his shoulder.

"No idea!" Buffy snapped back. Movement caught her eye, and she turned just far enough to see Willow straighten and stretch. "Willow!" Then she saw Willow's face, and went pale. "Oh, no. Oh, no. Not good. Willow... talk to me!"

"No," Willow answered, her voice oddly resonant. "No time for talking. Stand away from the door." She pointed towards the doorway as Greg and Buffy scrambled out of the way, not even turning as Greg grabbed Donna and pulled her down behind the scant cover they'd been able to rig. Fire crackled from Willow's fingertips, flooding the tunnel and filling the air with screams that stopped very abruptly. When the fires died, the tunnels were empty.

"Nice trick," Donna said as she got to her feet. "Hey... what's wrong with her face?"

"Willow," Buffy said, he voice low and intense. "Willow, let go of Martin. Let the magic go."

Willow looked at Buffy, revealing eyes that had gone completely black. She giggled. "I'd forgotten what this feels like. What it feels like to be powerful."

"Willow, you need to stop this. You need to stop and let go before you hurt someone."

"Oh, you're awake." Willow turned and smiled at the Doctor. "I thought I left you inside."

"Willow, do not do this. You can let it go. Let Martin and Livvy go-"

"They were wasting their power. She barely has any, but him... he'd be really good. If anyone ever bothered to teach him. It's a shame to let all that power go to waste."

"He's your friend, Willow," Buffy insisted. "You can't hurt him."

"I won't. I'll just... take his magic. He'll never miss it."

"She doesn't know what she's doing," the Doctor said, speaking over his shoulder. He reached out and slapped a switch, and the lights on the machine all died. The shields retracted, and he nodded. "Get them out of the machine. Before she drains all of them."

Greg started towards the platform closest to him, then recoiled. "Doctor!"

"I know," the Doctor answered, his voice heavy with grief. "I know. Help the others."

"You can't have them," Willow snapped. She gestured, and a shimmering blue globe surrounded her, Martin and Livvy. "You can have the rest. They're no use to me. But you can't have the power. I'm not giving it up. Not again."

"What is she talking about?" the Doctor asked.

"Back in California," Buffy answered shortly. "Years ago. Willow... she was addicted to magic. It... it was bad."

"Define bad."

Buffy swallowed, looked up at the Doctor. "Really bad. Destroying the world bad."

"And how did you stop her then?"

"A... a friend. Xander. My brother-in-law, actually. He's been friends with Willow forever. He told her that if she was going to destroy the world, she'd have to kill him first. She couldn't do it."

The Doctor nodded. "Would she kill you?"

"She wouldn't let me stay dead," Buffy answered. "I'll try." She lay down the stakes and stepped up to the barrier. "Wills, let me in. You can't take their magic, it will kill them."

"No, it won't," Willow scoffed. "They'll never notice that its gone." She looked down to where Livvy lay on the floor. "Now that you mention it, she doesn't look good. Oh, well-" Willow gasped in shock as a hand closed around her wrist, then laughed. "Well, look at you! Fighting me. How cute! You can't win, Martin. I've been doing this longer than you have."

Through the barrier, Buffy saw Martin's eyes open slowly. He blinked twice, then scowled. "You can't have her," he said, his voice sounding rusty. "You can't have her, and you can't have me."

"Go back to sleep, Martin," Willow told him. "It will all be over when you wake up."

"No," Martin growled. There was a bright flash, and the blue barrier dissolved. Willow staggered back a step, her wrist still caught in Martin's hand. Slowly, Martin sat up, never letting go of Willow, who suddenly looked frightened.

"How did you do that?" Willow stammered. "You don't have any training, how did you do that?"

"What's he doing?" Greg asked, looking up the clear spot on the floor from where he and Donna had laid the unconscious John.

The Doctor shook his head and stepped forward, leaning down and picking Livvy up off the floor. He paused, just long enough for Martin to look at him, and nod once, then carried her away from the machine.

"This is his fight now," the Doctor said softly. He looked towards the still-locked door. "Do you hear that?"

After a moment, Greg heard what the Doctor meant - a voice, far in the distance, shouting "Doctor!"

"That's Jack!" Donna gasped.

"About time," the Doctor muttered. He passed Livvy to Greg, then moved towards the machine. "Martin?"

"Not. Now," Martin snarled through clenched teeth. "Busy."

"No..." Willow whimpered. "Give it back.

"Her face is changing. Look at her eyes," Donna murmured.

"Doctor, is he... glowing?" Greg asked.

"He's draining her power," the Doctor said in wonder. "He's doing to her exactly what she was doing to him." He stepped closer. "Martin, that's enough. Let her go."

"Not... not yet," Martin answered. He closed his eyes, swallowed, then pushed Willow away, hard enough that she fell into the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. She curled up into a ball, wrapped her arms around her head, and started to cry.

"...sorry!..." she gasped out. "'m sorry..."

Buffy hurried over to her and dropped to her knees, hugging her tightly. "It's all right, Willow. It's all right. It's over."

"How did you know what to do?" the Doctor asked.

Martin looked up, wincing a little as he moved. "I saw what she was doing. I wasn't going to let her hurt Livvy. So... I pushed back."

"You could have killed her," the Doctor said softly, resting his hand on Martin's shoulder.

"I know," Martin answered. He shook his head and took a shaky breath. "I know. I... I feel sick. Is it over?"

"Yes, Martin. It's over."

#

John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, wondering where he was. Wondering when it was. Wondering just who the hell was talking to him.

That one was easiest to answer.

"...nothing I've ever experienced before. I have never been so close to anyone, not even you or Sherlock. Until now. But now... I feel so alone in my head now. You've been there. He's been there. How do I stay alone like this?"

"Jim-"

"And it will never happen again. Never. The day after, he found a sledge somewhere. I have no idea where. But he took it into the cellars and he smashed that wondrous machine into pieces no bigger than my thumb. It took him an hour, and he never stopped swinging the hammer. And then... then he sat in the middle of the room and cried." Jim fell silent, looking distant and lost. Then he met John's eyes and smiled. "I'm glad you're awake."

"How long?"

"It's been just over a day. And, I'm told, we missed the fireworks at the end. Did you know you could be a magic addict?"

John frowned, licked his lips then rubbed his hand over his face. "Jim, if we're going to have this talk, I need food, tea, and a shower. Where's Sherlock?"

"They're all sequestered. Sherlock, Mycroft and Liv. They're all in the library, and no one's gone in or come out except that butler. I wish I'd had the chance to know her better."

John felt a pang of loss at the thought of the woman who allowed him to call her 'Mum'. "She liked you."

"I know. I felt it. I just wish..."

"She knew, Jim. She was in your mind, too. She knew."

"And she forgave me, too," Jim said, more than a hint of wonder in his voice. "I tried to kill you once. Tried to kill her sons. And she forgave me. She... loved me. She didn't even know me, and she loved me."

"Because you make Sherlock happy."

"I wish... do you think they'd mind if I made a call? I seem to have lost my mobile in the mess."

"Phone is over there." John pointed to desk. "I don't think anyone would mind."

Jim looked, then nodded. "All right. After I see to you."

"I don't need seeing to," John protested.

"Honey, you don't see you right now. I do. You need all the seeing to you can get."

#

Showered and shaved, John leaned on Jim's arm as they made their way down the battered stairs to the main level in search of food.

"How bad was the damage?" John asked.

"Not terribly bad," Jim answered. "The house was built to withstand a bomb going off, if you believe Mycroft. So all the damage was cosmetic, really. And the government has been falling all over itself trying to explain things. It's been quite amusing, really."

"I can imagine," John murmured. "And where is everyone else?"

"Buffy and Willow left. Willow is... not in good shape right now. Too bad. I liked her. But she tried to kill Liv and Martin-"

"What?"

"You didn't want that story until you'd eaten, remember?"

"Jim..."

"All right!" Jim quickly sketched out what had happened, leaving John shaking his head in amazement.

"So that... black-eye thing that she does... that's a bad sign? That was why Buffy made her break off the scrying?" John sighed. "I never knew. And Torchwood?"

"Cleaning up around the countryside. Jack says he needs to make up for his cock-up."

"Cock-up? What did he do?"

Jim grinned. "Got caught."

"Got caught? What... oh, no. Jim, are you honestly telling me that Jack was the sacrifice that freed the Vampire?"

"Apparently, they decided that, barring a Holmes or a Crieff, any warm body would do." Jim stopped, frowning. "Or... you've read Jack's file, right?"

"Yeah. That he's from the future... oh." John shook his head firmly. "Right. Stopping that line of thought right there. Food. Now."

"Yes, sir, Captain Doctor, sir."

#

The dining room looked as if it had been untouched by the invaders. Greg looked up from his coffee-cup as John and Jim entered.

"Good to see you awake," he said. "Now sit down before you fall down."

"I look that good, hm?" John asked as he sat down. "Jim, stop fussing!"

"No," Jim said shortly, and kissed the top of John's head. "Deal with it."

"Is Edmund back, or are we fending for ourselves?" John asked.

"He's back. The whole house staff is back. Apparently, Violet had sent them all away before we got here." Greg looked down into his cup. "You know?"

"Yeah, I know. Felt it. We were all still in the meld when..." John swallowed around a lump in his throat. "How... how are they?"

"Sherlock... I've never seen him look so... so lost," Greg said. He fell silent, considering. "You know, I never considered it before, that he was the baby of the family. He and his mum were close. And My. God, John, Mycroft is only a year older than me. I've never thought of him as old before. But now... he looks old."

"And Livvy?" Jim asked as he sat down next to John.

"She's all right, in spaces," Martin answered from behind them. "When she forgets. Then she remembers, and... she sort of crumples." He joined them at the table and sat down.

"How's the arm?" John asked.

"Fine. And the least of my worries, right now." He looked intently at the tabletop, then glanced up at Greg. "They're gone?"

"A few hours now."

Martin nodded. "Good."

"Martin?"

"Let him be, John," Greg said. "He's had a rough time of it."

"And did beautifully," Jim added.

Martin smiled slightly. "Thank you, Jim. It's just... we trusted her. I..." He shook his head. "I don't know. I can't think about it for very long without wanting... wanting to scream! How could she?"

John took a long breath, let it out slowly. Counseling wasn't his strong suit. He had no idea what to say. He heard a footstep behind him. Then Donna moved in behind Martin and hugged him gently from behind.

"You fought back, Martin. And you won. You stopped her," she said, her voice warm. "You saved all of us, and you were great."

Martin smiled and blushed slightly, patting Donna's arms. "Keep telling me that, will you?"

"Every time you need it," Donna agreed, sitting down on Martin's other side. "I have to say, I feel sorry for her. Poor thing."

"Poor thing?" Jim scoffed. "That poor thing damn went completely off her nut and could have killed us all."

"She knows it, though," Donna said. "She knows what she did, and she knows it was wrong. I don't imagine there is anything like AA for witches, now is there? So she's on her own to get herself back under control. If she can. If she can't... well, I asked Buffy. If she goes too far into the addiction, she'll burn herself up. Literally, burn herself up."

"For a very obvious reason, Donna, I'm not feeling all that charitable towards her," Martin snapped. "As a matter of fact, I'm going to do my level best to forget that I ever knew Willow Rosenberg."

"And what about your magic, hm?" Donna asked. "She said you'd be good, if you learned how. You going to ignore that?"

"I don't know. I want some time to think about that." Martin fell silent, watching as Edmund came in, leading a small army of maids carrying steaming trays and bowls. The silence reigned as the food was served, and it was only after Edmund and the maids had left that Martin spoke again. "Right now, I'm not sure how I feel about magic. Or anything. I just... don't know how I am supposed to feel!"

"Violated," the Doctor's calm voice came from the doorway. "Angry. Hurt. All of which are perfectly normal." He came the rest of the way into the room, standing across the table from Martin. "Confusion is also normal, by the way. Especially if you've never been in a violent situation before. You're wondering about yourself. Why you? You're wondering about your reactions. Yours especially, I would think, since I think this is the first time you've ever really fought for yourself. And you're wondering what will happen if you ever find yourself in that situation again. Facing someone who is willing to kill you, or someone you love."

Martin nodded slowly. "And then what happens, Doctor? I... I could have killed her. I wanted to, for a moment. Maybe more than a moment."

"I know. Oh, I know, Martin. But the thing is, you didn't. You did just enough to stop her. To drive her back into her senses without hurting her or anyone else. If, and I do hope that I am wrong and it will never happen, but if you ever find yourself in that position again, you already know what you'll do. Because you've done it. And you came out the other side still a good man."

Martin licked his lips and leaned back in his chair. After a long silence, he spoke to the ceiling. "I don't know what she thinks. And I've been afraid to ask her. I mean... was it my fault? All of this, was it my fault?"

"Martin?"

Martin jumped, turning in his chair to stare at the doorway. Livvy stood there, flanked by Mycroft and Sherlock. "Liv?"

"Don't be an ass, Martin," Livvy said. "None of this was your fault. And you can stop thinking that I'm going to change my mind, because I'm not. I still want to marry you."

Martin went dead-white. "How did you know I was thinking that?"

Livvy just shook her head. "I love you. Even when you're an idiot."

John snorted, then looked at Sherlock and sobered. His husband looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, and was completely unkempt. To John's surprise, he could see that Sherlock hadn't shaved, something he never neglected to do. He looked infinitely saddened, and the larger-than-life personality was somehow dimmed.

And Mycroft... John could see what Greg meant now. Mycroft looked old. His face was care-worn, and the normal, icy-cold facade was gone completely. This was a man in mourning, and he didn't care who knew it. He cleared his throat before he spoke, and for the first time in John's memory, Mycroft's voice broke.

"Greg?"

Greg rose at the sound of his name. "Yeah, My?"

"Would you come with me, please?"

"Of course, My."

Mycroft nodded once, then looked around the room. "I... we... are not to be disturbed, please."

"Of course," John said firmly. Mycroft took Greg's arm and turned towards the door.

"Sir?"

Mycroft turned back. "Yes, Martin?"

"I spoke to Carolyn," Martin said. "She... asked me to send her condolences. And she wanted to know when the arrangements were made, and if she could be of any help."

Mycroft nodded once. "When you speak to her, please thank her, and let her know that someone will be in touch?"

"Of course, sir."

Mycroft and Greg left, leaving Livvy and Sherlock standing in the doorway. She took his hand, squeezed it, then moved away, going to Martin. Without a word, she took him by the hand and led him out of the room. John rose as Martin did, walking gingerly towards Sherlock, uncertain of the reaction he was going to face.

"Sherlock?" he said softly, and held his arms open. "Come here, love."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, then almost collapsed into John's arms, clinging to him like a lost child.

#

It took John and Jim both to get Sherlock back to their bedroom, and finally onto the bed. They held onto each other for comfort as Sherlock cried himself to sleep. John dozed next to him, waking finally when someone touched his cheek. He blinked, then smiled.

"Hello, love."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He ran his fingers over John's cheek again, then rolled away, throwing his legs over the side of the bed and getting up in one smooth movement. He stalked over to the window and looked out. And frowned. "It isn't raining."

John frowned. "Ah... no. It hasn't rained at all today."

"Mummy used to say that it always rained on the day you buried someone you loved," Sherlock answered. "I remember. It rained at my father's funeral. But we didn't bury him, though." He frowned, looked confused. "I don't know where he's buried."

"Do you want to?" John asked.

"No, why would I? It's not like he's there," Sherlock answered sharply. "He's not... anywhere. And now, neither is Mummy." He swallowed, turning his back to the window, his face in shadow. "I tried to stop her."

"I think we all did," Jim said.

"She shouldn't have done it," Sherlock said, his voice cracking. "We need her here. She shouldn't have... thrown her life away. Not like that. We could have stopped it. We could have."

"She was protecting us, Sherlock," John offered. "If that thing had hit us, it would have shattered the meld. We all would have died. Even Mum."

"We could have protected her!"

"She was protecting us," John repeated. "Sherlock, that's what mums do."

"We were her boys," Jim added. "I felt that, when we were all together. Even me. I was one of her boys, and she loved us. Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends."

Sherlock sniffed. "You're quoting again. Who said that?"

John blinked in disbelief, then had to bite down a laugh at Jim's answer.

"Some guy named John. Come on, let's get you through the shower and get that fuzz off your face."

#

Once Sherlock had showered and shaved, he declared himself starving, so John and Jim each took an arm and escorted him out of the room.

"Should we check up on Liv, do you think?" Jim asked as they walked.

"Good idea," Sherlock said. He pulled free and stalked to one of the closed doors, throwing it open. "Livvy, I-" He stopped, his jaw dropping.

"Daddy, you didn't knock," Livvy's voice was clear in the hall. Jim snorted softly, and John felt a slight tickle in his chest. He coughed, trying to quell the tickle. It didn't work.

Without a word, Sherlock closed the door. He turned to John and Jim, looking baffled. "Well..." he said, jamming his hands into his pockets. Then he straightened. "Food?" he asked brightly.

They giggled all the way to the dining room.

#

The next several days were quiet. Torchwood reported in, then left, taking with them unmarked samples that John refused to ask about and did his level best to keep Sherlock from seeing. The Doctor and Donna stayed - the Doctor having promised to stay until at least the funeral. He spent hours closeted away with Mycroft, walking through the woods with Sherlock, talking or not talking as they needed, about what John never knew. He spent one long evening locked in the library with Martin, after which Martin seemed to be much more comfortable with himself. Then, one morning over breakfast, the Doctor appeared in the doorway and nodded to John. John understood immediately - it was his turn.

They walked out onto the terrace, then down into the dew-wet grass. John purposefully looked towards the house, away from where the hives had been; they'd been destroyed when the mob of vampires and Plasmavores had marched up the hill from the forest.

"Where will you go from here?" John asked once they were past the house.

The Doctor shrugged. "Where I'm needed. It usually works like that."

John nodded. "Will you be back? Livvy will be hurt if you don't come to her wedding."

The Doctor grinned. "I'll do my best. And what will you do now, John Watson?"

John's turn to shrug. "Go back to work. The department will keep on, and we'll do what we can to protect people. Keep on helping Sherlock. Keep loving him."

"Good. Good."

They walked on in silence for a little while, until they were under the canopy of trees, and John remembered something. "Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"Willow. You called her the Great Witch. Why? What did she do, that she earns that title? Was it from making the Slayers?"

"No. No, it wasn't. She hasn't done it yet," the Doctor answered. He stopped, leaning against a tree.

"Will she be able to? Now?" John wanted to know. The Doctor looked at him intently, then looked away.

"The time will come, John Watson, when you have to make a choice. The fate of the world, or the fate of one person. It can be only your choice, and you'll have to live with it."

A chill ran down John's spine underneath his heavy sweater. "What does that have to do with Willow?"

"Nothing. Or everything. Now, let me ask you a question. What do you think of her? Of Willow Rosenberg?"

John leaned against another tree, giving the question some thought. "She's still a friend. She went into a bad situation, knowing that she was a recovering addict, knowing that she could fall. She put herself at a huge risk to help us, more than once. She almost fell a year ago, when Mycroft was kidnapped-"

"Sherlock told me about that."

"Did he?" John scratched the back of his neck and looked up at the leaves. "What do I think of her? I still like her. She's a good person, fighting a hard fight. She beat it once, Buffy says. I think she can beat it again. I just wish she'd told us. I wish she'd told me. I could have helped her."

"You can still help her," the Doctor said quietly. "As a matter of fact, it is vitally important that you help her."

"Why?" John straightened, facing the Doctor. "Doctor, tell me why."

The Doctor went quiet again, obviously considering his words. Then he met John's eyes, "I can't tell you more, not without damaging the time stream. What I can tell you is this. Go to Scotland. Sit down with Willow Rosenberg. Listen to her. And look into her eyes. Let her see herself the way you see her."

John swallowed around the tightness in his throat. "When?"

"As soon as possible."

#

To John's surprise, no one asked him about his time with the Doctor. Sherlock met them as they came back onto the terrace, nodded to the Doctor, and said nothing at all.

The funeral was the next day, a quiet, somber affair attended only by family, a few close friends, and the MJN crew. It was a shock for John to see Arthur without a smile on his face. Martin greeted them soberly, but stayed with the family throughout. After the service, Martin excused himself and took Carolyn, Arthur and Douglas off to one side. They spoke for some time, and at one point, when Livvy made to join them, Martin waved her off with a gentle smile. She looked confused for a moment, then nodded and walked away, coming over to stand near Sherlock. He put his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

"He needs some privacy, Poppet."

"Funny, coming from you," she teased.

"Do what I say, not what I do."

Jim and John both snorted, and Sherlock glared at them. "No giggling, the pair of you."

"Right. No giggling," John agreed. "It looks like it's just us now. Where's the Doctor?"

Sherlock looked around, then let Livvy go and started towards the door, moving quickly. John followed him, hurrying out onto the terrace and down the stairs leading towards the front of the house. Sherlock had already caught up with the Doctor, about halfway to the TARDIS.

"You're leaving? Without a word, without even a goodbye?" Sherlock demanded. "Grandfather-"

"I thought it would be better. Less... painful."

"No, it isn't. It's too much the way she left us." Sherlock sounded petulant, like a small child. John came up next to him and took his hand, not surprised to find it shaking. "You can't just leave."

The Doctor looked down, then nodded. "You're right. I'm sorry, Sherlock. But it is time for us to go."

"Will you come back?" Sherlock asked.

"Considering that I already have a wedding invitation? You can count on it."

"Which wedding?" John asked. The Doctor grinned.

"Both. Mycroft asked me to escort him down the aisle." He held his hand out to Sherlock. "I'll be back, Sherlock. And I am very, very proud of you. All of you. You did a magnificent job."

Sherlock took his hand, looked down at it for a moment, then smiled. "Thank you, Grandfather."

The Doctor tugged him into a quick, tight embrace, then let Sherlock go and stepped back. "Take care of yourself, Sherlock. And take care of John."

"I will."

"Good. I'll see you again." The Doctor nodded and turned away, disappearing into the TARDIS. Donna smiled and hugged Sherlock, then John.

"It was lovely to meet the both of you. I just wish it had ended better. Say goodbye to everyone for me, will you? And if you're ever in Chiswick... well, I might not be there, but my Grandad will. His name's Wilf. Wilfred Mott. You'd like him, John. He's an old soldier."

"We'll look him up," John said.

"When you do, tell him I said hi."

"Of course," Sherlock said. "Thank you, Donna."

"Right. Okay. Bye!" Donna headed into the TARDIS, closing the door behind her. A moment later, it was gone. Sherlock looked at the dry, crushed square of grass, then turned and headed back to the house.

#

Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade were married in a small, civil ceremony that took place in the Visitor's Room of the Diogenes Club. The ceremony was attended by the extended Holmes family, the members of the department, by members of New Scotland Yard, and succeeded in scandalizing the entire population of the Diogenes. It was to be expected, Sherlock muttered, from a bunch of old sticks. And the shock, according to Mycroft, would be good for their blood pressure.

The Doctor did not make an appearance, and John overheard a conversation between the Holmes brothers.

"He promised."

"Perhaps he was otherwise engaged?" Sherlock suggested.

Mycroft sniffed. "He's a time traveler, brother. How could he be otherwise engaged?"

"It was only a suggestion," Sherlock answered sourly.

At that moment, a serving man entered, looked around, then walked over to Mycroft.

"Excuse me, Mister Holmes, but this was left for you." He held out a tray, on which there was a folded card. Mycroft picked it up, opened it, then smiled. He passed it to Sherlock.

"Apparently, you were correct, brother. I apologize."

Later, John asked Sherlock what the note had said. Sherlock simply smiled and turned towards Jim with a comment about the new recipe that Jim had made for their dinner. Jim rolled his eyes and nodded to John. They'd never know.

#

There was no way to keep the Holmes-Crieff wedding a small affair, however much the bride and groom wished it to be. To the bride's surprise, on her twenty-first birthday, she not only inherited the family journals, but the majority of the Holmes' holdings. Inheritance in the Holmes family, Mycroft explained once Martin was capable of comprehension once more, was traced through the female line. His own fortune and Sherlock's had come from their father. Everything else now belonged to Olivia.

So the wedding became a lavish society affair, when the young heiress married her knight. That in and of itself had come as a shock to everyone, not the least of which was Martin himself. He later told John that the very last thing he'd ever expected to happen was to have Mycroft show up at the airfield, order Martin into a suit that somehow fit him perfectly, then escort him to Buckingham Palace. The meeting was brief, and the reasons could never be admitted in public, but "for distinguished, albeit unspecified, personal services to the Crown" Martin Crieff was awarded the rank of Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order. John most pointedly did not mention that the honor had been offered, and that he, Sherlock and Jim had all refused it, on the grounds that it had not also been granted posthumously to Violet. Mycroft, to John's great surprise, already had a knighthood.

On the morning of the wedding, John went on to visit the bride. He tapped on the hotel room door, and opened it to find her sitting at the window, looking down at the street. She smiled as he came in.

"It's finally here," she said, sounding awed.

"It is. And you look beautiful." He cocked his head to one side. A little pale, but that could pass for nerves. "Anything?"

"Nothing. We did it." She beamed at him. "Martin is so happy. He can't wait."

"Good. Now, your father will be here soon. I should get back downstairs. Any words for Martin?"

"Just tell him I love him, and that I wish all this frippery was done with."

John laughed and headed out, going down one floor to the room where the groom was getting ready. He let himself in to find Martin fussing with his new regalia.

"How are you holding up?"

"Wishing I didn't have to wear all of this," Martin grumbled. Douglas sighed and batted his hands away, laying the collar and medal neatly on Martin's snowy-white shirt.

"There. Now Sir is presentable," Douglas said firmly. Arthur, sitting on the bed, snickered.

"She's as fed up with all this as you are. And she said to say she loves you."

Martin smiled. "That makes it all worth while. And..."

"Nothing."

"Oh, good,"

"What are you two up to?" Douglas asked.

"Why, Douglas, why would you say such a thing?" Martin asked with exaggerated innocence.

"All right, you two. No fooling about. No mussing up the groom," Carolyn announced as she came in. She stopped and smiled broadly. "How handsome you look. Captain Sir Martin Crieff."

Martin blushed slightly. "Thank you, Carolyn. For everything."

"It's my honor," Carolyn answered. "Shame on that family of yours, not coming to your wedding."

"Let's not talk about that," Martin said with a quick shake of his head. "What time is it?"

"Almost time to go. I'll just pop off and see about the car," John said. He left, grinning from ear to ear.

#

Everything went off without a bobble - the ceremony was perfect, the groom didn't forget his vows, the bride was beautiful, and the bride's biological father managed to restrain himself for the ceremony. The fact that Jim had kept him on a very short leash helped, but they still slipped out of the church as quickly as possible. And ran right into the Doctor.

"Doctor!" Sherlock crowed. "You made it!"

"I can't stay long," the Doctor said quickly. "Just came to wish the bride and groom well." He passed Sherlock an envelope. "Give that to her, will you?"

"You're going? That quickly?" Jim asked.

"No choice," the Doctor answered, looking away. "I've... got other people to see."

"Doctor, are you all right?" John asked. "Where's Donna?"

"Home. I sent her home. And if you love her, John Watson, do not go looking for her. Understand me? She cannot see you. Any of you."

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"It might kill her."

"Doctor!"

"Just promise me that, John. Sherlock, delete her. I mean it. If you can do this one thing for me, just this one thing, do it."

Sherlock looked bewildered, but he nodded. "If that is what you want, Grandfather."

"Thank you. I've got to be off. Be well, all of you. And thank you."

"For what?" John asked.

"For giving me a family again." The Doctor smiled sadly, then turned and walked away.

"What was that all about?" Jim murmured.

"No idea. I doubt we'll ever know."

"He's dying," Sherlock said softly. "He came to say goodbye."

"Sherlock!"

"I'm sure of it, John." Sherlock looked down at the envelope, then tucked it into his pocket. "I'll give this to Livvy later. Come on. We'll be late for the breakfast."

#

The wedding breakfast was kept small, limited to family and close friends, both by the instance of the newlyweds and by strict attention to security by the bride's father. Therefore, it was far more relaxing than the ceremony, and it was with a great sigh of relief the groom took his place in the back of the limousine.

"Where are we off to?" he asked.

"It's a surprise," Mycroft answered, sitting down on one side of the car. Greg sat down next to him, then John, Sherlock and Jim clambered in after. The rest of the wedding party boarded another limousine, and followed as the car set out.

"I don't know that I can deal with any more of your surprises, Mycroft," Martin said slowly, touching the medal on his breast.

"It's for your honeymoon," Mycroft added.

"Oh." Martin looked at Livvy and smiled. "Well, Lady Crieff? Where are we going?"

"Honestly, Sir Darling, I have no idea. Papa's been all mysterious these past couple of weeks, and I've gotten nothing out of him," Livvy answered.

"Because, my dear, I may have taught you everything you know, but I have not yet taught you everything that I know," Mycroft said. Greg laughed and reached across to the bar, picking up a bottle of champagne.

"Enough of that. Let's have a toast. To the happy couple."

"The happy couple has had truly enough to drink," Livvy answered. "But if there is sparkling water, I wouldn't say no."

"Right. Water for the bride. What for the groom?"

"Water is fine for me. If we're going on our honeymoon, did someone pack for us?"

"It's all been arranged," Mycroft said, smiling at Greg and not speaking again. Shortly, it became obvious that they were heading towards the airport, but instead of going to the main terminal, the limousine detoured off to one of the service roads, heading into the airport with no signs of where they were going. Martin peered out the window and shook his head.

"We're going to Vanguard House? Why?"

"Why, to pick up your plane," Greg answered.

"My... my what?" Martin gasped. "Not a flight. A plane?"

"Yours and Olivia's. Consider it a wedding present." Mycroft pulled papers from his inside pocket and passed them up the line to Martin. "You'll find everything there. As well as a flight plan and all the necessary arrangements. You're expected in Paris in just over three hours. That should give you enough time to familiarize yourself with the craft and get underway." The car stopped next to a small jet, and Martin's jaw dropped.

"A Phenom 100!" he breathed. "Oh, Mycroft, she's lovely!"

"Enjoy her, Martin," Mycroft murmured. He glanced at Sherlock, and his smile widened.

Sherlock sighed and drew an envelope out of his pocket. "First, Livvy, we had a visitor, just after the ceremony. He asked me to give you this." He passed the envelope to Livvy, who opened it, then looked at Sherlock.

"He was there? And he didn't stay?"

"He said he couldn't," John answered. "But he said to give you his best."

Livvy smiled and tucked the envelope away. The door opened, and she and Martin got out of the car. The others joined them, and Martin smiled down at Livvy. "Now, Liv?"

"Now."

He grinned and took a pair of envelopes from his own pocket. "Our present to you. But you have to wait until we're off." He passed one envelope to each, shaking hands as he did so. There were hugs and kisses, and John had nearly forgotten about the envelopes until they were all back in the car.

"So, what does it say?" Jim asked. Sherlock pulled his own envelope out, but Mycroft was quicker. He tore his open, drew out the card, then blurted, "Good lord!"

"What? What does it say?" Greg demanded. He grabbed the card and started to laugh.

"You knew!" Sherlock accused. John nodded and smiled.

"Saw it in a scan." He picked up the card that Sherlock had dropped. "Violet Lenore is a lovely name for a girl, don't you think?"