"Sam!"
"Mhmff."
"Sam! Sam. Im going out. Ill be back tonight, probably."
Deans brother only stirred.
"SAM."
"Fffine..mm..go 'way..."
Sam turned in the bed towards the wall of the cheap hotel they were in.
The previous night had been eventful to say the least, and the Winchsters were glad to finally have a moments peace, if a bit uneasy.
They were in London on a major hunt, actually being sponsored by the British government, or rather, a certain Mycroft Holmes, to come and take care of it.
Dean stepped out int the bitter London air, missing the warmth of Arizona, where they had been before this case.
He wanted to try to find Mr. Holmes' younger brother, Sherlock, and see what all the fuss was about.
While they had worked on the tube-terror, as Sam liked to playfully put it, there had been a big scam going on with someone called Jim Moriarty, who had apparently broken into the Tower of London, Pentonville Prison, and the Bank Of England all at once, in ten minutes, and managed to have a little dance in the meantime.
Sherlock Holmes had been put immediately on the case, if the tabloids spoke true, and since they were finally done with all the tube mess, Dean was bored and curious, having heard snippets about the man during their rare and few meetings with Mycroft.
Dean hailed a cab about two blocks from the hotel, and settled into the warm leather seats, grateful for the shelter from the crisp London air.
"221 B Baker street."
The taxi man looked at him a bit scrupulously, then nodded and pulled from the curb.
"American, eh? What brings you to London?"
Dean snapped out of his thoughts and blinked a few times.
"Um, my brother and I came to.. um...we'r here on business."
The taximan examined Deans clothes through the rearview mirror tattered to say the least. Very old. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing more for a few minutes.
Dean tapped on the window glass, wondering how far away this place was. The taximan seemed to read his thoughts and said, "It's about a half hour drive with good traffic to 221b. Best make yourself comfy."
"Have you driven there many times?"
"No, but ev'ry one know the place. Its Mr. Sherlock Holmes lives there, the famous genius detective whose workin' on that foul Jim Moriarty fellow. He's gt a brilliant mind that Mr. Holmes."
Dean looked out the window again and watched the London suburbs roll past.
It ended up taking a little under an hour to get to the flat, and Dean had nodded off in the back.
"Oi. Oi, mate, we're here."
Dean snapped up, sniffed, coughed, and fished the cash out of his pockets. he had no idea how much it would cost.
"That'll be 56 quid, mate."
"Mmm."
Dean handed the man probably ten pound too much, and stepped out of the cab, being promptly body slammed by a man in a bow tie who was running towards the flat.
They both hit the pavement and the cab drove away. The man in the bow tie popped up off the ground right away and stooped to help Dean up as well.
Dean shrugged the man off.
"What the hell!"
The man jerked a bit, as if surprised at being yelled at for slamming someone to the ground.
A look of recognition passed over the mans face at seeing Dean, as if the man knew him and was very sad about it. But it passed and the man blundered to apologize.
"Sorry," he said with a funny voice. "Were you heading to two-hundred and twenty-one as well?" He flapped his hand at the door of the flat.
"Yeah. Why?"
"Well, seeing as I just hit you I should probably let you go first, but I must say I think my situation is more dire and I need to see Mr. Holmes very quickly."
As soon as the funny man had stopped talking, a tall dark clad man in a long coat and a significantly shorter man in a tan sweater stepped out of the flat.
"Ah! Mr. Holmes! We were just talking about you."
The man with the bow tie stepped up to Sherlock and shook his hand while gesturing to Dean. Mr. Holmes seemed to instantly recognise the funny man, and shook his hand warmly with a small smile.
"Hello, Doctor. How's things?"
"Oh, I'm sure you can tell exactly whats going on from the angle of my tie." The man, called the Doctor, apparently, smiled and said this with a joking way, then turned to the shorted man, who had smiled hugely as soon as he'd seen the bow-tie man.
"Captain John Watson! No more cane I see, well that's lovely!"
"Hello, Doctor, very good to see you again! Whats it been? Eight months?"
Dean had noticed that the taller man, who was Sherlock Holmes, had looked very worried as soon as the Doctor had turned from him. He spoke, interrupting the Doctors response to John.
"But there is something wrong, Doctor. What is it? Why are you here? You never come unless there's trouble."
The Doctor turned from John, looking hurt, and sad, and very remorseful.
"Mr. Holmes I think it's best if we discussed this inside."
They all three turned to go.
"Um, hello? Ah- I need to see Mr. Holmes too?"
The Doctor, Sherlock, and John turned half way through the door and looked back at Dean.
A strange look passed over Serlock's face and Watson looked at him and seemed to know exactly what that look meant and didn't like it one bit.
The Doctor stepped up to Dean and shook his hand.
"Ah! Yes, cabbie-man. What is your name? So sorry about that little tumble earlier I was, well, still am in quite a hurry."
"Dean Winchester. I need to see Mr. Holmes."
"Well it seems we all do."
The Doctor turned to Sherlock and John.
"May he come in with me? Consider him a client."
Dean looked at the Doctor confusedly, but didn't question it.
John nodded and the foursome stepped into the flat.
oOo
An old woman brought them tea once they were all in and upstairs. Dean and the Doctor were siting on a couch at one end of a large living room in a small, dusty flat, with Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson in separate chairs on the other end.
"So Doctor, whats going on. Why are you here."
It had been Mr. Watson that had spoken, but Sherlock was still eying Dean with a look that made him squirm in his seat like not many demons had made him before. And this was just a man.
"Theres..." the Doctor started, but almost seemed unable to speak. He had a sadness behind his eyes that Dean had only seen in one other place.
Dean shook thoughts of Castiel out of his head. He didn't need to be thinking about him just then.
The Doctor continued after about a minute.
"There's such a thing as a fixed point in time. A place in time that cannot be altered. I've dealt with them before. If it is altered, the fabric of reality begins to tear."
Sherlock and Watson just nodded like this was normal talk. Sure, Dean was used to strange things. But it was never about time and space and the fabric of reality.
Doctor Watson spoke next.
"Why are you telling us this?"
There was a pause, and the dread radiating from the Doctor was almost...palpable in the atmosphere.
"I have promised not to tell you both anything that could possibly alter your futures. Your destiny must be up to you. But I will tell you one thing."
His eyes darted to Watson, then back to the floor.
"Something is going to happen. Something big. Something...terrible. And I can't stop it. It's a fixed point, it has to happen. Theres nothing I can do."
He looked up at Sherlock and John. There were tears running silently down his face.
"I can't change what has to happen."
Sherlock and John looked very concerned by now. They didn't ask what it was that needed to happen- it seemed they knew that the Doctor wouldn't tell them.
There was a long silence and Dean was becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
He coughed.
"Um...well that's all...fine. But I need to talk to Mr. Holmes, too."
They all looked at him like they had forgotten he was there.
"Why aren't you letting yourself love him?"
It had been Sherlock that had spoken, and John covered his face with his hand, exasperated.
"Not now, Sherlock, please."
"I can't help it John! The man is very obviously in love with a supernatural being who happens to manifest as an attractive male. He thinks he's to masculine to be homosexual. It's also very disturbing to me that he hasn't bothered to buy a new toothbrush in over a year, but his personal hygiene is not my business, however revolting."
John continued to look considerably more agitated by the second.
Dean was on his feet.
"Who the hell do you think you are. Dont you dare have the fucking nerve to talk about Cas like that. Dot you fucking dare."
They were all watching him now, the Doctor the forgotten one this time.
Sherlock rose to his feet, and began circling Dean, who was seething now.
After a few minutes, Sherlock sat back down again.
"Good. Youre not an idiot. That would have been unfortunate. You are, I presume, responsible for taking care of the tube-monster fiasco?"
Dean blinked.
"What the hell are you."
Then he walked out of the flat.