'You sure you got the tickets?'

'Yes Dean! For the last time, I'm sure I've got the tickets.' Sam sounded amused, Dean was just so excited to be going away. They reached the airport and after a long queue, reached the desk.

'Passports and tickets please, you can put your luggage on the conveyable to be weighed and scanned.' The woman said efficiently, Sam complied, then glanced at Dean, who was looking a little uneasy. Officially, Sam and Dean were dead, so their passports were fake and their luggage was stuffed full of weapons because, you know, just in case. All together this could go horribly wrong very easily. Luckily she waved them through after briefly glancing at their fake passports, she didn't seem to care very much.

The airport was just waiting, followed by more waiting, until what seemed like decades later, they finally boarded the small plane.

'Man,' Dean said as they found their seats, 'I forgot how much I hate these things.' Sam smirked, the last, and first, time they had been on a plane was almost 10 years ago. It was one of their first demon encounters, just after Jess had died. They had exorcised a demon on board, before it tried to kill all the passengers. Hopefully this flight would be a little simpler.

'Where are you going?' came a voice from the seat next to Dean, he jumped slightly, and turned to see Castiel sitting there, looking confused in his trench coat.

'Jesus, Cas, why d'you do that?' Dean said relieved, 'And where've you been? We haven't seen you for weeks!'

Cas looked around for a moment then simply said, 'I've been busy.'

'Oh right, busy, and you didn't have time for a quick hello, just here to say I'm not dead?' Dean asked, slightly angrily.

Cas turned to face him again, 'As I said, I was busy.'

'Cas, why are you here?' asked Sam.

'I wanted to know where you were going.'

'London, that okay with you, Mom?' Dean asked sarcastically.

'Why?' Cas looked even more confused than before.

'To have a break, it'll be fun. Join us if you want, but I think someone else has probably booked that seat.' Sam said.

'Just angel zap yourself there and meet us.' said Dean.

'No, I'm much to busy for a...break' Cas trailed off, and as unexpectedly as he had arrived, he was gone.

Sam and Dean looked at each other; 'At least he's okay', Sam reassured.

'Yeah,' Dean sighed, 'I suppose.'

The plane took off as Dean took out a pair of headphones and what looked like a very old walkman.

'You still have that old thing?' Sam asked surprised.

'What's wrong with it?'

'I suppose its better than cassette tapes.'

00000000

'So this is exactly how you found the body?' Sherlock checked, as he walked around the woman, getting out his pocket magnifying glass, examining every inch of her.

'As I said, yes' Greg Lestrade stood next to the corpse, his arms folded, 'None of our guys can make head nor tail of it, you have any ideas?

'A few' he said vaguely. Sherlock couldn't think of anything. No motive. No reason. No clues. In front of him was a corpse of a woman, in her mid-twenties, it could have just been a mindless killing, except, her body was completely drained of all blood, it had been removed through a point on her left wrist. He could tell almost everything about the woman, but nothing about why anyone would want her dead, especially in such a precise way, or who could have done it.

Sherlock stood up abruptly, 'John, we're leaving.'

John looked at Sherlock, his eyebrows raised 'Why? We only just got here, I mean -'

'You have no idea do you?' Lestrade said quite shocked, 'This really is a weird one, even Sherlock Holmes can't crack it.'

'Just give me some time.' Sherlock said as he walked away, John followed after him.

'So?' John asked.

Sherlock turned to look at him, 'So, what?'

'Not still bored are you?'

'Why would I be bored John? The game is finally on!'

Back at the 221b, Sherlock continued to pace around, though this time in concentration, he was in his mind palace, trying to find a case that resembled this in anyway. Though, it was pointless, he'd never seen anything like it. All he could think of was to wait for the killer to strike again, which hopefully he, statistically more likely a he, would do very soon.

'I've got to go Sherlock, Mary just called.' John said as he picked up his coat.

'Hmp' Sherlock continued to pace, he wasn't interested in John right now, it was all about the case.

'Okay, I'll be off, I'll let myself out.' John left as Sherlock collapsed onto the sofa, his hands resting on his chin as he lay there, still deep in thought.

'Why?' he asked, 'Why?'

Sherlock stood up again and ruffled his hair aggressively. This was a tough one, but Sherlock Holmes was going to solve it.