And now we are back to the beginning of the story, to explain how it all began. Enjoy! Don't forget to review!
Disclaimer: Still not mine nor will they ever be.


The alarm rang out in the man's ear. He bolted upright in bed. The music, Heat of the Moment, it brought back bad memories for the younger Winchester. He looked over to find Dean grinning at him, tying his boots up. "Rise and shine, Sammy!"

Sam rubbed his eyes as he swung his legs over the hotel bed, slamming a palm down on the alarm. "How long was I out? And please tell me it's not Tuesday?"

Dean laughed, walking out of the bathroom with his toothbrush in hand. "Awhile… that shapeshifter had you down for the count. The long count too… it's been two days, Sammy." Another chuckle passed his brother's lips. "No, it's not Tuesday. I am not going to randomly die in the shower, if that's what you're worried about."

Sam sighed in relief, packing up his laptop and his books. The hunt was finished. It was time to get out of this town.

As they walked down the stairs of the Amber Hotel, Sam glanced up at the lawn across from them. He squinted against the bright light of the sunrise and made out what looked to be a man in a tan trench coat. He nudged Dean in the ribs. "What?" When the older brother looked up, the man was gone.

Sam threw the bags into the trunk of the car, along with the shotgun he'd been carrying. He closed the trunk and got into the passenger side of the sleek '67 Chevy Impala. Dean clambered into the driver's seat, cranking up the Led Zeppelin on the radio. A sudden voice rang out from the back seat, making Dean nearly jump through the roof. He frantically switched the radio off and spun around. "Cas! Good God man, don't do that…"

The angel seemed unphased by the man's actions. "Dean. I have news about the angels. Reports say that some of them have turned to stone… they are weeping about some celestial grief. I need your help, Dean."

Dean looked back at Castiel. "Wait.. You're saying that your brothers and sisters are being hit with some kind of Medusa mojo?"

"I highly doubt that Medusa is behind this. But I need your help investigating."

Dean shook his head but shrugged. "Alright… where do we start?"

"The latest report is from London."

"What? As in.. London.. London?"

"No, London, England."

Dean regarded the angel for a moment. "Never mind.. Yeah.. Alright. London, England. And you propose we get there how? I'm not flying!"

Sam snickered. Dean scowled at him. "What, you think something is funny? People die in plane crashes, Sam. I don't want to be another statistic! No way!"

Cas spoke up again. "I can just transport us there, it'll be a lot faster…"

"No way. Last time I didn't poop for a week. We have to find another way. We can't exactly drive, seeing as there is an ocean in the way."

"Dean, if you let me send us-"

"No, Cas. Just… no." Dean shook his head.

Sam looked over at his brother. "Dean… come on man, it isn't that bad. Don't tell me you're afraid of angel teleportation mojo now?""I am not afraid, Sam. I just don't like it…"

"Well. Tough." Sam said. Cas tapped Dean's forehead before he could fight back, leaving the Impala sitting in the parking lot of the Amber Hotel, abandoned.

Dean looked around, suddenly feeling himself be pulled backward from the oncoming trail of a red double-decker bus. Cars honked and traffic raged around him. They weren't at the hotel anymore. He snarled to himself. "God damn it Cas!"

He spun around, seeing Sam leaning against the building behind him, Cas was standing on the step next to him. "As I said before. It is faster."

Dean glared at Cas, pointing a finger at him. Cas didn't seem perturbed. "Is there a problem, Dean?"

The older Winchester rolled his eyes and tugged on his coat, straightening it. "Yeah. Quite a few actually, but I'll deal with it later. Now that you got me here and constipated for at least a month this time, what do we know?"


Sherlock Holmes sat in his usual place at the lab table in St. Bart's mortuary, his thoughts brooding over the sample of a virus he was studying. Molly walked in, her hair fluffed up, makeup recently refreshed, and as she walked over to him readjusted her top. "Morning Sherlock."

The detective made no reply. He continued sitting there, brooding over what was on the small glass slide at the other end of the microscope. "Interesting… this strain doesn't seem to… brilliant!"

Molly turned around. "Sorry?"

"Um… nothing. This strain of virus is totally opposite of the one found at the crime scene. The man isn't suffering from a virus… neat. It's a bacterial infection of the police population… and pretty soon the whole of Scotland Yard is going to be under the weather from it." He grinned happily, that weird bit of adrenaline that he got anytime a case was odd, or just plain whacked out of proportion, coursed through him. He jumped up, grabbing his black coat on his way out of the door. Molly stood there a few moments after he was gone, slightly confused, yet still completely used to it all the same.

Sherlock was on his way back to the Yard when his phone notified him of a new text message.

Sherlock. I have a case for you. Something you'll be interested in. Mysterious disappearances. No evidence. People just vanishing. -MH

Sherlock regarded the text for a moment. Impossible. He smirked. He liked those kinds of cases, but he was quite reluctant to help his older brother. He read it a couple of times, not sure why he did. He'd gotten the entire meaning of the text the first time. Finally he sighed and tapped a reply on the screen. It depends. -SH

In an instant he received another response. Did Mycroft really need him that much that he had to text him before he did anything else? Fine. I will be at your flat in an hour. I hope you are done at the Yard by then. -MH

Holmes rolled his eyes. Of course, his brother was spying on him, again. There was never a time he wasn't. He didn't respond. There was no need. Mycroft would be at Baker Street whether he wanted him there or not.


"Aw come on! Don't do that! Not now! Come on, Sexy!" The Doctor pounded the console with a fist as the TARDIS sparked in disagreement. He had tried to send the box to Space Florida for a relaxing trip away. Clara was out of the box for the time being. He hadn't seen her since Trenzalore. He hadn't talked to her in months.

But he didn't care about that now. The console sparked again, sending a shower of heat his way. He shielded his eyes with an arm, only for his arm to receive the full blast. Some of the sparks even caught on his shirt and turned into a full flame. His eyes widened as he frantically rushed to put out the small, raging fire that had started on his forearm. "Blimey… it just isn't my day…"

The Doctor turned back to the problem at hand, his sleeve still charred and smoking from the previous ordeal. He glanced to the scanner, it had switched itself on and was showing a map, with a flashing radius and a red dot in the center. Looked like London… it was London. "What's the matter there, eh old girl? Hmm, never mind that. To London it is!"

The Doctor carefully maneuvered the box to London, the TARDIS actually let him go there, just because he needed to be there.

Upon arrival, the Doctor slung on his purple coat to cover his burned shirt, it looked terrible but he didn't have time to change. With a quick adjustment of his bowtie he stepped out of the box, closing the door behind him. With a quick clap of his hand he set off for the newly intended destination.

The Time Lord tugged on the lapels of the purple tweed jacket, walking forward with that usual skip in his step. His long legs carried him through the small park before ending up on a busy street. He squinted against the bright daylight to make out the sign, but to no avail. The sun was too bright and glared against the street sign, making it impossible to read it. He shrugged and continued down the sidewalk, but before he made his way completely to the end of the block, he turned around, and that's when he saw it.

Hidden in a small alcove of the park, standing there in all its malevolent glory, was a stone statue of an angel. Her hands covered her face, as if she was mourning something. No, weeping. The Doctor knew she was weeping. And he now knew why the TARDIS sent him here.


Hope you enjoyed it! :)