This is based off of a Tumblr post I saw a while ago... Enjoy!
The streets were packed with rushing people, milling about on their way here and there. They were hurrying to work, or school; taking their children to the doctor, and running errands that they'd put off until the last possible minute. Cars honked as lights turned green and they couldn't wait a second longer to go on about their way.
In the flurry of rushing people, no one stopped to look at the seemingly normal person strolling slowly, not in a hurry, not with intent. Just passing by the shops with one hand in their pocket; the other one was full of letters. There weren't many, just three. Three letters to be mailed. They found their destination at last, and stopped before it.
A large blue mailbox, sitting along the side. It was hardly used anymore, who sends letters in this day and age. It had grown accustomed to receiving last minute bills and forced holiday cards. Well wishes and instant rebates. It longed for the days of yesteryear when people would use it multiple times a day, for heartfelt letters filled with longing and love. It now had to settle for generic Merry Christmas's and money notes.
Never in its years spent rusting on the street, had this blue mailbox receive something as unprecedented as what was about to be shoved into its opening. Three letters, for three separate parties. Three letters to bring them all together. Three letters... But from who?
London, Heathrow Airport
"Why did we have to take a plane?" The sick, yet calming down, angel swallowed as he followed the brother's Winchester out of the gate. His trench coat swished around him as he walked, his feet dragging against the floor. He breathed in through his nose, not something that he necessarily needed to do, but it helped to ease his queasy stomach.
"Because you can't actually fly anymore, buddy." Dean smiled sadly at him as he looked at him over his shoulder. He was leading them to baggage claim where they'd collect their duffles and be on their way.
Sam Winchester wasn't paying attention to his brother or their friend, he was still staring intently at the envelope in his hands. A little over a week ago they'd received this random letter at the P.O. Box they use in Lebanon. He wasn't even sure how, whoever it was, got their information.
It was a small yellowing square, some type of fancy stationary that had been forgotten for a while in the bottom of a drawer. Or at least that's how it seemed. There was no return address, just a mass of stamps from where it'd been sent. It was addressed to Winchesters & Co.; which these days meant the two of them and Castiel.
The message inside was brief, a set of coordinates and a date, along with a time. It ended with: Be there or be square. Dean had laughed and almost thrown the thing out. Sam however took it seriously and looked up the set of numbers, which led them to London, England. There's a first time for everything they'd figured. Against the angel's warnings, they decided to go; it had been a long time since something of import had happened to them, they'd grown complacent.
"What time do we have to be there again?" Castiel groaned, he sounded tired. It worried Sam, angels didn't get tired, but Cas seemed to, all the time.
"Uhh-" Dean reached over and yanked the letter out of Sam's hands, opening it and staring down at the card stock, "Noon tomorrow." He said before shoving the papers back together and handing them back over to his brother.
"Alright." Cas said, "We should find a hostel for the night." He rolled his shoulders slightly, Dean agreed with a grunt, still Sam said nothing, staring back at the papers in his hand. His brother had been careless when he took it, there was a small tear in the side. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much, but the sight made his eye twitch.
They reached baggage claim, got their bags, and set out on their way. The row of black cabs waiting to take people away made Dean eerily giddy. He yipped slightly and ran forward to grab one. Sam and Cas exchanged a fond glance and followed him with small smiles. They climbed in after Dean, Cas sat next to him, their backs to the driver, Sam across from them.
"Don't none of you tell Baby I'm cheating on her." Dean said, suddenly very serious as he stared at his brother and best friend. They nodded in slight confusion and Dean's smile returned shortly thereafter.
They directed their cabbie to Northern London, to find a hostel or cheap hotel near the place their coordinates had directed. Some place called Walthamstow, some place neither Winchester had heard of. Of course Cas knew about it and gave them the history. Dean had fallen asleep during that lesson while Sam drank it all in.
The three of them found cheap lodgings for the night and filed into the halls of the hostel, heading for their room. It had bunk beds, not something they'd ever slept in, but it would work for one night. Sam could fit on the bottom bunk of one if he curled in on himself. It would do.
He pushed out of the room to find an ice machine, or a vending machine; a machine of any sort really. He found one that luckily accepted credit cards, they hadn't thought to switch their dollars over for pounds yet. They were only going to be there for one night, so what was the point?
On his way back with an arm wrapped around plastic covered goods, he bumped into a girl. She was short, blonde, pretty. She stood with purpose when their shoulders brushed, like she was ready for anything. Then their eyes met and her guard was dropped slightly, she turned to him as she kept walking, she only stumbled a little. Sam stuttered a bit in his steps as well.
"Sorry." She said, "Wasn't payin' attention." Her accent was thick, she smiled up at him and he smiled back.
"It's alright." He said, she nodded and stepped around him. He turned to watch her go, and his vision blurred slightly. He shook it off and continued on his way back to the room.
He slammed the door behind him, Dean and Cas hardly looked in his direction from where they were gathered around a computer. He threw the acquired goods on a table and fell into his bunk, the letter in his hand once more, he continued to stare. He stared as though looking at it longer would reveal its secrets; as though it would tell him who sent it and where it came from. He looked for clues along its textured surface, but still came up with nothing. He stared until his lids began to droop and visions of blonde hair danced before his eyes. He fell asleep thinking of soft curves and bright smiles, the soft sounds of talking lulled him into a deep slumber.
"We aren't sure what we might face tomorrow." Castiel said warily, as he glanced over his shoulder to find Sam had fallen fast asleep, the letter clutched in his hand. He looked back to the elder Winchester who hadn't averted his eyes since Cas looked away.
"I know, but what can't we beat when we're together, Cas." Dean sounded oddly optimistic, it confused the angel, but he wasn't about to try and bring the hunter down when he was in such a good mood. He preferred a smiling Dean to a frowning, or even yelling one. He would take happy Dean over angry Dean any day, "I'm beat, I'm gonna get some sleep." He said, moving to lay down on his bunk, leaving Cas sitting alone at the small table in the room.
"I'll watch over you." Castiel said, it was a habit; he awaited the backlash, but it never came.
"I know you will, bud." Dean merely grumbled as he pounded his pillow into the shape he wanted and wriggled until he got comfortable. Castiel sighed and watched as his breathing turned from small, shallow, uneven breaths to deep and drawn out ones. He was asleep, and Castiel was alone with his thoughts. He stared out the window, across London, wondering what was going to happen next.
The next day they all got up and set out for the location. It turned out to be an old abandoned theatre. It was boarded up, but not too run down from the looks of it. Once they busted their ways inside, it wasn't as dark as they'd expected it to be; someone had gone through the trouble of setting up flood lights and large shop lights in its interior. It lit up the old, peeling wallpaper and the flaking ceiling. The dust along the fixtures sat untouched for years.
There were symbols spray painted everywhere, Dean paid close attention to be sure a Tulpa sign wasn't anywhere to be found, they didn't need an extra surprise. He stowed his handy dandy flashlight in his back pocket and eyed Cas and Sam before pushing through the large double doors past the concession area.
The main theater was huge; it sat over a thousand people, easy. The floor was carpeted and lined with hundreds of small LED push lights. The three hunters proceeded with caution when they saw two silhouettes turn and look in their direction when they entered.
"It seems we're not the only ones invited." The taller, baritone voiced stranger said.
"How do you know they're not the ones who invited us?" The shorter, tenor one replied.
"Oh, please, John. It's obvious whoever sent the invitations has a dramatic flare; they wouldn't enter from there." The man turned to the stage, "They're going to enter there!" He splayed out his hands and presented the main stage, which did happen to have a dropped curtain. All the lights along the edge were lit as if ready to light up a production.
"Alright." The man relented, "So there are other... Guests."
"It would seem so." Sam said, smiling, slightly wary, as they approached the two men. Dean felt his gun at the back of his jeans, holding the hilt like a safety blanket.
"Interesting." The tall one said, "American."
"Yes." Castiel replied, "And you're Londoners."
"Yes." The tall one tilted his head and stared at Cas quizzically, his eyes narrowed and flicking every which way.
"Wait, I know you!" Sam burst out, interrupting the man's weird action, "You're Sherlock Holmes, that super detective-" He looked to the short one, "Which means you must be John Watson, his blogger."
"And friend." John added, reaching his hand out to Sam, who took it eagerly. Dean rolled his eyes at his nerd of a brother, "You are?"
"I-I'm Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean-" He waved awkwardly, "And our friend, Castiel."
"Charmed." John smiled and held his hand out to Cas, who stared at it confused until Dean elbowed him and he remembered to shake it. Sherlock's lips quirked up a bit when he saw this; Dean hoped he wouldn't bring it up later. He really didn't want to have to explain the supernatural to these guys. Though perhaps, being investigators, they already knew.
"So, any theories?" Sam asked the detective, eagerly.
"Only about twelve, so far." Sherlock replied, seeming almost bored, Dean rolled his eyes at the non-chalance, but Sam seemed to drink it in, "We were just about to have a look on the stage, however, so that number is bound to change." He moved to head for the stairs, but John grabbed his arm and cleared his throat, an obvious signal. Sherlock turned back around and straightened his jacket from where John grabbed it, "If you wanted to join us..." He side eyed John who nodded, Dean nearly laughed at the exchange, it was familiar, somehow.
"We would!" Sam answered hurriedly, jumping at the chance to join his apparent hero. Dean shook his head, they were going to investigate anyway, why not bring along some famous detective. They were all making a move toward the stage when the doors opened once more and another two people shuffled in.
"Ah, see, I told you we wouldn't be the only ones." A man said in a rather pleasant voice. Dean noticed Sam stiffen slightly as the two drew nearer, and also saw the flick of the blonde girl's eyes. Did they know each other?
"Yes, you were quite right. Good for you." She smiled at him and he grinned back cheekily. She turned from the man to the rest of them, "Hello, I'm Rose Smith, this is my husband, John." He waved, his grin still wide.
"John Smith?" Dean asked, snorting, "Seriously?"
"What can I say, I had unoriginal parents." He shrugged it off, he'd probably heard the same disbelieving tone his whole life.
"Pleasure to met you John, I'm John-" Watson said, stepping forward, his hand extended; Dean was surprised by this guys politeness, "Watson, though. A bit more original." He smiled as the man took his hand.
"Oh, John Watson?" Smith exclaimed, eyes wide, smile growing again, "And I supposed you're going to tell me that the man in the trench coat with the calculating stare is Sherlock Holmes." He laughed as if it were a joke, which Dean found odd. He looked to who the man meant; he'd motioned to Cas.
"Actually-" The real Sherlock stepped forward, "That'd be me. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective." His hand wasn't held out, but smith took it anyway, shaking it vigorously.
"Sherlock Holmes, as I live and breathe!" He laughed a small chuckle and looked to his wife, brows raised, who was holding back her own smile.
"Who are you three, then?" She asked, eyes flicking to Sam again, "Baker Street irregulars?" Smith laughed again, Dean saw Castiel's glare intensify. His head was tilted, which could only mean that something was off about this pair.
"The what?" Watson was smiling with confusion, as if there was some joke he wasn't quite in on, but wanted to be.
"Nothing, sorry." Rose shook her head, tightening her lips in an obvious effort to stay serious.
"I'm Dean, that's Cas and that's Sam." Dean listed them off, pointing to the others, "Welcome to the party. Now, Sherlock, you said something about going back stage?"
The detective was obviously grateful to have the show back on the road and he smirked, "Yes, I believe I-"
"What universe are you two from?" Castiel asked suddenly, making everyone stop and stare at him.
"Pardon?" Watson asked, "What did he just say?" He looked to Dean, who felt a knot in his stomach, he opened his mouth to answer, but quickly shut it again.
"I asked what universe these two are from. They're not from ours; that much is obvious. And they knew of Sherlock and John, but didn't know what he looked like... But they're from London, so I'm assuming that's highly unlikely..." Sherlock stared at Cas in surprise, and then his eyes began flicking back and forth, as though he was going over the evidence himself, his brow was furrowed in frustration.
"So you've deduced-" He looked to Rose briefly, she rolled her eyes, "That we're from another universe?" Smith's voice became slightly nervous, "Is that all you've to go on?"
"Well-" Castiel looked at Dean before he continued, as if to ask permission to expose himself for what he was. Dean shrugged and Castiel turned back to the couple, "You're not fully human."
"How do you-" Rose elbowed her husband as Watson's voice interrupted with yet another, "Pardon?"
He licked his lips and stepped forward, his fingers rubbed together in a way that told Dean that this man also had a gun he kept as a security blanket. He was itching to touch it for reassurance.
"He's not human." Cas repeated, "His soul is strange. Golden, unlike any I've ever seen; but then again, hers also has the same slight golden sheen to it. Like they've touched something that no on else has. It's also-"
Cas' explanation was interrupted by a symphony of "His soul!?" followed by an astounded, "My soul?"
"Yes, your soul." Castiel replied plainly, as if it were obvious that he could see souls.
"I have a soul?" He asked, a small smile growing on his face again.
"Of course." The angel replied.
"And you can see it?" Watson asked, Cas turned to him, confused.
"Of course." He chorused.
"So-" Smith furrowed his brow and lifted his head as he stepped forward, as if to observe Cas, "What exactly are you? Used to be a time I could identify any breed at the drop of a hat. Not anymore. Can barely tell what year I'm in by the flavor of the wind."
It all sounded like gibberish to Dean, and apparently to everyone else as well. Save for Rose, Cas, and Sherlock, who snorted.
"The two of you are making absolutely no sense." Watson said, huffing slightly as he turned to Sherlock who was starting to laugh.
"Doctor, maybe we should go." Rose said softly; Smith, or Doctor, sighed and stepped back, lacing his and Rose's fingers together.
"Doctor!?" Sherlock exclaimed suddenly before groaning, "Oh God, not as in the Doctor?" The man stood taller and squared his shoulders, his jaw clenching.
"Who's the Doctor?" John asked him, looking between the two men, his fist flexing.
"I read about him in a file I stole from Mycroft; I was thoroughly interested until I saw the word 'extraterrestrial' and realized it was a hoax strategically placed because Mycroft knew I'd open it. Probably was tired of me stealing his cases." Sherlock sounded increasingly bored as he explained himself, Dean wanted to punch him.
"Mycroft." The supposed Doctor laughed, turning to look down at Rose, "The British Government has a file on me... I blame your father."
"Probably the work of Torchwood." Rose responded, it all still sounded like gibberish to Dean.
"Yes, which exists because of your father." He shook his head and turned back to the group, "Anyway, getting off topic! Sorry!" He looked at the angel, Dean's heart sped up minutely, "I'd like to know what species you are, Castiel. Coordinates! This is exciting." His jaw snapped closed, and he smiled at Cas.
"Uh..." Cas replied, brow furrowed in confusion, "I'm not sure what you mean?"
"Oh you know! Location in the universe, galaxy, home planet! All the details! It's really been too long." He looked at Rose as he said the last statement, she nodded, her eyes brightening a bit.
"Planet Earth? Heaven?" Cas said, looking briefly at Dean for an answer. Dean shrugged, this guy was obviously a psycho, one the hunter couldn't wait to get away from.
"Heaven? Not sure I've heard of-" He stopped and sucked in a breath, "Oh, oh you don't mean-"
"I'm an angel of the Lord." He stated, from behind them, Sherlock started laughing. It started as a small giggle and soon turned into a fit of hysterics; they all turned and stared.
"Is he ok?" Dean asked John Watson.
"I-I have no clue, I haven't seen him like his in a long while; I think he might be broken." John furrowed his brow with worried confusion as he turned to his friend, "Sherlock? Care to share with the class?"
"It's-just that-" Sherlock spat between deep breaths as he tried in vain to regain his composure, "Castiel-he said he can see the man's soul-the man who, according to my brother's files, is an alien! And it's golden, and a bit off! Do we all have souls? Is mine purple with blue polka dots?" He continued to laugh and they all stared a bit longer.
Dean felt Castiel tensed up next to him, no one liked being made fun of; the hunter suspected that the angel was no different.
"Sorry." Sherlock finally breathed deeply and stood up straight, wiping away his tears. John's jaw clenched as he looked at him.
"Good?" He asked, Sherlock nodded.
"Thank you for the laugh, you're clearly all insane. Have a nice day." He pushed through the group to make his way to the exit, John made no move to follow.
"Come on, John!" Sherlock called back to the shorter man, who was about to follow before a voice rang through the theater. It was deep, gravelly, British, and annoyingly familiar.
"If everyone would kindly shut up and sit down, the show will be starting shortly." They all looked at one another, Rose was the first to pull John by his hand to the rows of seats. Sherlock reluctantly returned and sat next to his John. Dean was the last to sit, choosing an aisle seat that Cas left open next to him. He took his gun out of the back of his jeans and sat down, fidgeting with the cold metal on his lap.
As soon as they were all seated, a spotlight clicked on. He saw Sherlock turn in search of it's source, the room was near silent as the sound of the curtains being drawn back echoed around them.
Dean's shoulders tensed as he saw who was standing int he middle of the stage; it was exactly who he expected it to be: the person he knew the voice belonged to.
"Crowley." He heard Castiel hiss next to him, and he found himself placing a hand on the angel's arm, as if he could stop him from going up there.
"Hello all. Old faces and new. Welcome, thank you all for coming. My name is Crowley, and I'll be ruining your lives today." He saw the king nod to someone and after a small commotion from the seats beside them, saw two henchmen appear around the King of Hell, holding Rose and Watson.
Dean was in the aisle seat, and as such, saw himself most fit to go up there and get them. He moved to get up but felt a hand on his arm.
"No, Dean, it's what he wants. He wants one of us to go up there to retrieve the hostages." Cas said, his eyes pleading for Dean to stay. He felt his stomach drop at the sight but swallowed the dryness in his throat. He placed his free hand on Castiel's and smiled sadly.
"I can't let them get taken." Dean said, and he felt Cas' grip release. He raised his gun and walked toward the stage, "Crowley, let them go, you don't have to do this."
"You don't even know what I'm going to do yet, former bestie." Crowley's response was sassy, exactly what Dean hated most about him, his smugness.
"I know it aint gonna be good." Dean replied, nearing the stairs.
"Please, come on up, Dean. There's room enough for you." Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly Dean was on stage, the short teleportation was enough to throw him off balance and before he knew it, the world around him had gone black.
His back slammed against the ground and he lost all ability to breathe. His chest ached as he tried in vain to draw in a breath, but the pain subsided as quick as it had come and he was able to suck in air. He sat up, the room they were in was dim, but not dark. There were dusty computers, ruined wires, a white wall, it was dreary to say the least.
"No!" He heard shouting, it was Rose, "No, no, no! Not again! I can't do this again! Not now!" Her voice was nearing hysterics, and he heard John Watson trying to calm her down.
"Come on, Rose, come away from the wall." He tried to coax her back, Dean finally caught sight of them. Rose had leaned her forehead against the wall, John was at her side, one hand on her back, rubbing circles, the other one on her arm, trying to pull her away.
"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, standing up slowly, his head began swimming and he almost fell over.
"Be careful!" John said, "I'll have a look at you in a minute, right now-"
"What are you, some sort of doctor?" Dean asked, laughing at his own joke. Rose let out another sob.
"As a matter of fact, I am." Watson replied, "And I don't think using that word is going to help at the moment."
"Alright, my bad." Dean rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. He shook off the pain and headed straight for the two people at the end of the room. He took Rose by her shoulders, effectively pushing John away, and turned the crying woman around to face him, "Wanna tell me what's going on, sweetheart?" He tried his least creepy approach, it didn't seem to help; John sighed beside him, he looked to him and shrugged.
"We-" She sobbed once more before sucking in an unsteady breath, "We've been sent to another dimension, an alternate universe." Dean looked to John who seemed just as dumbfounded as he felt, he looked back to Rose, questions bubbling to the surface, but he only found himself capable of one word.
"Huh?"