Sam chuckled as he watched Dean get off the ship. "You should really get over your fear of flying!" he yelled at his brother. "It would save us some time."
"Shut up," Dean retorted. "There's no way I'm ever getting back on one of those flying hell machines." He picked up his bags and started walking towards his brother. "Plus, with all the security check at the airport these days there's no way we could have brought all of our 'gear' along."
"Whatever," Sam smiled. The brothers started walking toward the parking lot.
"So, what do we have?" Dean asked.
"There are some strange murders going on in Alexa-" Sam started before getting rudely interrupted by his brother.
"No, I meant what car do we have? You can tell me about the case once we're driving to Lucas' house. That's where we're staying, right?" Dean asked.
Sam rolled his eyes and sighed. "Yes, and he lent us his old pick-up truck," he said, pointing to an old, dusty, green Jeep. Lucas was a friend of their father's, another hunter who had moved to Hastings, England. He had been a very capable hunter, but he was getting old and arthritic, and since he had not been able to find any good hunters near his new home, he had called for the Winchesters.
Sam threw the Jeep's keys to Dean and they climbed in the vehicle. "Anyway, as I was saying before your interruption," Sam glared at his brother. "There have been a string of murders throughout the past eighty years. On the fifth of November 1923 they found a young girl, Maria Smith, nailed to a tree, with her stomach cut open. Ever since then one person a year ended up having her same fate."
"And you think this girl started everything? So it's a vengeful spirit we're dealing with? Well, then it's easy, we find the bones and burn them," Dean stated as he wrote Lucas' address in the navigator.
"Not that easy. I think Mary was the spirit's first victim, I salted burned her bones anyway, but I still don't think it's her, and we've only got three days to find out who it was," Sam frowned.
Dean looked at him, with a slightly worried look on his face. "Did you get one of those psychic premonition things?"
"You know I've only been getting those when they have to do with other people… like me," Sam pointed out. Dean gave another worried glance at his brother before looking back to the road. "It's just," Sam continued. "A strange feeling I got. And you know, better safe than sorry, right?" Dean muttered his assent.
Sam felt a lot more secure about his feeling now that his brother wouldn't oppose him or try to convince him differently. Dean on the other hand was worried about his brother, he seemed more wary than usual, and it disturbed him more than he cared to admit. He didn't want to get in his younger brothers way when he was in this mood.
Sherlock and John were sitting on the train. Sherlock was deep in thought looking out the window, while John hadn't been able to sleep and was feeling quite irritable. He still hadn't been informed about the new case Sherlock had took, and since he had only informed him at dawn that they had to leave for Hastings in a few hours.
"So what's this new case," John asked. Sherlock looked at him for a moment, his thought pattern had been broken and John immediately regretted what he had done. Sherlock gave him a stern look before returning to his mind palace or wherever his thought brought him. John knew how Sherlock worked, and he was completely devoted to his friend, but he still couldn't help being a little bit annoyed at him. John decided that it would be best of he tried to get some sleep, he closed his eyes and slowly drifted into a light sleep, rocked by the train.
After an hour and a half Sherlock shook him awake. "What, what is it?" John asked.
"I believe someone will die in three days," Sherlock stated, and continued to tell him about the string of murders since 1923. "Do you have any insights on this case?" Sherlock asked, once he finished exposing the case.
"Well, it can't be the same person who killed these people, so maybe it's some criminal organization that kills these people to commemorate someone important of their gang?" John said.
"Mh… The thought had occurred to me," Sherlock answered. "but we can't know anything for sure until we see the case files and anything we can dig up on the victims. The first victim, Maria Smith, could be the one that caused the other murders or the first one to suffer from them. Unfortunately everyone who could possibly remember her is dead."
John looked confused. "Well then how do we find her killer?"
"We don't," Sherlock answered, looking at John as if he was an idiot, but John only looked more puzzled. "John, it doesn't matter who killed the girl, they're also dead. If we concentrate on the more recent murder and find whoever is doing this, they can explain the rest of the story to us… if they know it, that is."
"What do you mean if they know?" John asked, looking puzzled again, and still embarrassed about the stupid mistake he had made earlier.
"Well, it could be a copycat," Sherlock explained. "There never was a type of victim they chose which would make these murders easier. But the MO never changed one bit, and there never was a gap between the first killer and the other, or others, which make it seem like it's improbable that it's a copycat."
"But not impossible?"
"But not impossible," Sherlock confirmed. For the rest of the ride Sherlock was completely silent. When they arrived at Hastings they took a cab to go to Alexandra Park, the scene of the murders. The cab stopped at a traffic light, an old green jeep was in front of them.
"The last murder was almost a year ago," John pointed out. "Do you think you'll be able to find something there?" John asked.
"Yes," Sherlock replied, but gave no further explanation.
Wroop! Wroop! The TARDIS landed, making its usual sound. Out of her hopped the eleventh incarnation of the Doctor and Clara Oswald. "So, where are we now?" Clara asked, smiling. "And when are we?"
"Hasting, November 2nd, 2006," the Doctor answered, smiling.
"And what happens in Hasting on November 2nd 2006?" she inquired.
"The question isn't what happened," the Doctor smiled mysteriously. "It's what didn't happen."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Okay then, what didn't happen?"
"Well, okay, I don't know about what did or didn't happen today," the Doctor looked slightly embarrassed. "But on the fifth someone didn't die." At this point Clara looked utterly confused, and raised an eyebrow as to ask the doctor for further explanation. "Come on, Clara, have you never heard of the string of murders in Hasting, every year, and yet it suddenly stopped in 2006?" he prompted her. Suddenly Clara's eyes lit up.
"Yes! I remember now! It was one of the biggest mysteries in England, at the time!" Clara exclaimed. "So we're here to stop whoever, or whatever, has been killing these people?"
"Yes, or to see what stopped it," the Doctor said.
"But why not come here on the fifth?"
"Well, first because I love the feeling that something great is going to happen, when you can feel the excitement building up in the air," the Doctor had started walking down the road, Clara walked beside him. "And secondly I want to play detective," he gave her a big childish smile. Clara shook her head and let out a big sigh in fake frustration.
"So where are we going right now?"she asked.
"Victoria park, where it all started," the Doctor said, smiling sadly. As soon as she looked away his smile became a frown. They crossed a road, passing in front of an old green Jeep.