John Watson, standing at the grave of his best friend, Sherlock Holmes, cursing him for adulterating his life with sadness and making it bereft of happiness by foolishly and rashly jumping from the roof of St. Bartholomew's hospital did not notice the stolid form of the weeping angel behind him. Sherlock, watching John from a distance, did see the angel, however, and that was why the angel was frozen. You see, weeping angels are more than just statutes, they are far more. Weeping angels are aliens. They have been said to be the kindest psychopaths in the universe. Weeping angels, when being viewed by any life form- including another angel- take on the guise of a dour statue insidiously intending to lure their prey into a false sense of security. What once was pliable and alive is now stone. Then you turn your back, them you just blink; the angel comes back to life, and with their ambidextrous hands, they touch you and you are sent back in time and they feed on your potential energy.
"...stop being dead," John finished as he broke down into strangled tears. He gathered himself, straightened into his half-remembered military stance and saluted Sherlock's grave. John turned around and walked out of the graveyard. Sherlock stayed hidden, but kept his eyes on the statue which gave no intimation of its real form. As soon as John was safely out of the graveyard, Sherlock turned and walked away.
"I told you caring is not an advantage."
"Don't reiterate yourself, Mycroft, it's a waste of oxygen," Sherlock replied.
"Do you see what you did to him? He's a broken man now."
"And I'm trusting you, regardless of my instincts, to ensure he's not broken beyond repair. John is a man of fortitude, he's strong, but what I did to save him has hurt him more than I imagined. Care for him, Mycroft, one day I'll return and I want him whole and unharmed when I do.'
"I trust you know about the angel situation then?"
"Yes, Mycroft, and I've already asked someone to take care of it." Sherlock turned to walk away.
"You didn't," Mycroft gasped in horror.
"Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder at his brother who was clutching his umbrella for dear life.
"I did."
John passed the gates of the graveyard and went to stand by Mrs. Hudson.
"I'm sorry I kept you waiting," John said, "I don't think I'll be returning to the flat tonight. I'm sorry it's just...too many memories."
"It's quite alright, dear," replied Mrs. Hudson while holding back tears. "I'll have a cuppa ready if you ever want to come back.'
John hugged her and in that hug he tried showing all his gratitude for her and everything she'd ever done. In that hug he thanked her for turning the unkempt mess that was 221B into a home. He thanked her for always having tea and biscuits and a recorded episode of Connie Prince ready for him when Sherlock was in one of his moods. He thanked her for being the best landlady and not-your-housekeeper in all of London. He knew he didn't have to say goodbye to her, that with his job at the clinic he could afford the flat by himself, but John felt when Sherlock killed himself, he also killed the life he gave John.
"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson. I'll miss you," John said as he broke the hug.
"Goodbye, dear."
John turned and walked around the corner He had no idea where he was going, but he knew he wanted to get as far away from the graveyard as possible. He turned into a small side street lined with underground band posters and graffiti. As he reached the end of the street and was about to turn he heard a loud "whoosh-whoo" noise. John had never heard that nose in his life, but he had an instinctual feeling, the kind that's impossible to explain, that the noise was good. John ran to the noise and as he approached he saw a blue police box- the kind that used to be all around London in the sixties- materialize out of thin air. As he saw this miracle, John warily approached. John was about to knock on the door when it suddenly opened and a man in a tweed jacked and a red bow tie with perfect brown hair and cheekbones that reminded John painfully of Sherlock stepped out and ran into John's fist.
"OW!" the man exclaimed.
The two others who exited with the man, a tall red-haired Scottish girl and another man with a prominent pointy nose shouted with surprise.
"Who are you?!" John shouted.
"I think the real question is, who are you? You're the one who ran into my TARDIS and then punched me in the face," said the man with the bow tie clutch his forehead where a bruise was rapidly forming.
"I'm John Watson and I heard your- TARDIS, did you say? So I came running to check. And I didn't punch you, you ran into my fist."
"John Watson, you say?" asked the man, recognizing the name as the person he was supposed to find. "I'm the Doctor, just Doctor, nothing else, and this is Amy and Rory," he said gesturing to his two companions. "Now, John Watson, are you coming or what?"
"Coming where, exactly?" John asked tentatively.
"To fight the angels, of course."
The Doctor turned back into the TARDIS, followed quickly by Amy and Rory. John hesitantly followed then proceeded to gape openly at what he found on the inside.
"It's...bigger on the inside," John said in amazement.
"Yes yes, there are an opulent number of rooms. Your choice of bathrooms straight ahead and to the right. Swimming pool to the left and the library is to the right, then the left, then the second left, and the third right," said the Doctor as he turned knobs and pulled levers on the main console.
"But what is all this?"
"Rory, explain it to him."
"Why is it always me?" asked Rory, exasperated.
"Because you're the newest," replied Amy.
Rory sighed, still not used to his wife's playful gibes.
"Pretty much, the inside exists in a different dimension that the outside. There are an infinite number of rooms in here and they can augment themselves at will. This is a TARDIS- a Time And Relative Dimension In Space- it can travel through space and time. The Doctor is of an alien race called Time Lords who control the time vortex, which is what we are currently traveling through."
"Wait, you're not aliens too, are you?" asked John, looking back and forth between Amy and Rory.
"No no, we're humans. I was kind of dragged along into all this, to be honest."
"Good good, Rory!" shouted the Doctor from the console, "Now, John, I was sent here to protect you from the weeping angels. Don't ask who sent me because I won't tell you, just know that you must listen to whatever I say otherwise you will die, okay? Okay. Now, the weeping angels are aliens who can touch you once and pluck you out of your own time stream. They move fast, faster than you can believe. Look away, you're dead. Any statue can be an angel, so be wary. Now repeat after me, verbatim. Don't look away, don't even blink."
"Don't look away, don't even blink," repeated John.
"Good," said the Doctor straightening his bow tie, "Let's hunt some angels."