A/N: Thank you all so much for all of the continuous support and reviews! It really keeps me going! I really hope that you enjoy the next chapter (:
Sherlock Holmes, the Doctor and the angel Castiel stared at the remaining Weeping Angel, as its arms remained outstretched towards them.
"Mirror," Sherlock said, suddenly. "We need a mirror."
"Brilliant!" the Doctor grinned, patting the detective on the back, "You are fantastic!"
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Really, Doctor, you don't need to state the obvious all the time, it can get tiring."
"What?" Castiel said, "I don't—"
"A mirror would cause the angel to always be looking at itself, causing it to be frozen in time forever staring at its own reflection..." The Doctor stopped mid-explanation as Castiel disappeared suddenly.
Sherlock sighed, still staring unblinking at the Weeping Angel. "Well, he really is very useful—"
Castiel reappeared quickly, holding a large mirror. "You mean, like this mirror?"
The Doctor grinned again. "Exactly!" He excitedly grabbed the mirror from Castiel and pointed it so that the Weeping Angel was staring at its own reflection. "It should be stopped now."
Sherlock blinked carefully, and the angel did not move. The detective let out a breath he was not aware he was holding.
"There are still more of these creatures in the building," Castiel said, "I can take care of them. Wait here." He disappeared again.
"He does that a lot," the Doctor commented.
"It really does become irritating," Sherlock agreed.
The two stared at each other for a long moment.
"He doesn't expect us to actually wait here, does he? While our friends are who-knows-when?" Sherlock declared.
"Probably not," the Doctor answered, sighing deeply, and beginning to pace around the outside of the abandoned building, as Sherlock followed close behind him.
"You said Moriarty would leave a clue," the Doctor said, "But we found nothing. No clue, other than a bunch of demons and angels sent to kill us."
Sherlock frowned. "It has to be part of his game somehow..." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter right now, anyway, we have to focus on getting them back, and then we can stop Moriarty."
"Even if I did have my Tardis—" the Doctor began.
"Tardis?"
"'Time and Relative Dimension in Space.' It can travel through space and time. Even if I did have it—which I don't because Moriarty has it—they could have been sent back to anywhere at any time, I would have no idea where to travel to get them back."
"You promised you would get them back."
"I did, and we will," the Doctor replied firmly, "I'm just not sure how yet."
"So you're making promises to solve things that you don't even know how to solve yet. You have no plan at all. That's... that's highly illogical."
The Doctor shrugged. "It's worked for me most of the time. Logic doesn't usually factor into my life."
As if to prove his point, the Doctor could hear a faint whispering noise. He would have normally dismissed such a noise as the wind or some other natural occurrence, but he knew that it was not when he saw Sherlock's steady gait falter; the detective knew that something was wrong.
The two shared brief eye contact before turning around quickly to face an alarmingly large mob of at least ten figures, who's flashing black eyes bore into the detective and the Doctor.
The Doctor heard Sherlock laugh slightly, as he began to make a plan to most likely run away. "More demonic minions. How uncharacteristically boring of Moriarty. You have to have something better than that—"
But the Doctor's thoughts and Sherlock's speech were interrupted as both were thrown against the hard brick wall of the building, choking in the effort of attempting to breath.
A demon in the front of the crowd smiled widely as he held out a large hunting knife toward Sherlock. "Moriarty is going to be pleased with the pieces of you that I bring back to him," it growled.
The Doctor struggled within his invisible grasp to no avail, as he saw the demon plunge the knife straight into the chest of his new genius detective friend. No, he thought, no, no, no. This couldn't happen. I won't let it happen. Not again. Not to my friend. Please don't let it happen. There has to be some way. The Doctor knew he had little options left seeing as the knife was delving deeper into Sherlock's chest in every passing second, and the Doctor could feel his life slowly being choked out, and though he would last longer than the detective, it wouldn't be long enough. He had only one option left, and he was doubtful if it would work, but he was determined to try. He pushed all other thoughts from his mind and focused on sending another thought in the hopes that his prayer would be answered. Castiel, he thought, I am praying to the angel Castiel. This is the Doctor, and if you can hear me, Sherlock and I are dying. Please come. We need your help... The Doctor could feel his vision darkening now from a lack of oxygen, and he faintly wondered if Sherlock would even still be alive if the angel came to them.
But before his vision could fade, the Doctor heard a faint "yes" muttered from the detective dying beside him, and he was suddenly overwhelmed by a blinding white light accompanied by a nearly deafening whistling noise. The Time Lord could have sworn that in his fading vision he saw the outline of two shiningly bright white wings around Sherlock, before he was released from the demonic grasp that was choking him, falling straight onto the wet grassy ground.
The Doctor immediately coughed and inhaled large breaths of air, before stumbling clumsily into an upright position. He first noticed that the demonic horde was nowhere to be seen. Secondly, he noticed that Sherlock was staring at him with a piercing and unfaltering gaze, with no sign of the previously lethal stab wound, aside from a large hole in his clothing. But the Doctor knew that it was not Sherlock that was staring at him, as he felt the familiarly awkward sense of inhumanity surrounding him, in addition to the fact that he could see his eyes still growing faintly blue.
"Castiel," the Doctor breathed out once he regained the ability to speak.
"I have sent them to a place far away where they cannot hurt anyone," Sherlock's deep voice told the Doctor in an unnaturally even tone. "I knew you would not appreciate it if I killed them, and thought that it was the best option. Sherlock's body should be healed by now. Wait here while I return to my vessel."
"Okay," the Doctor said simply, as the blue light and loud whistling—that sounded a lot like screeching—returned again, and the Doctor could see the outline of wings around the detective, as the angel Castiel left his body.
Sherlock stumbled forward after the blinding light subsided, turning to stare questioningly at the Doctor. He put his hand through the hole in his shirt, frowning confusedly when the knife wound was no longer there. "What happened? What—what did you do?"
The Doctor couldn't help but grin at the confused detective. "I prayed for Castiel," he told him. "And then he—he healed you."
"Oh," Sherlock said, dumbly, as said angel appeared beside them, clad in his standard trench-coated form, and the Doctor caught another glimpse of the angel's shockingly beautiful wings.
"Thank you for allowing me to possess you for a short period. You were dying, and there was no other way to heal your fatal wound," Castiel's deep gravelly voice informed them.
"That's umm—" Sherlock looked uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Err—no problem. Thank you for—umm—the demon thing... and the healing thing."
"You're welcome."
The three stood in an awkward silence for a long moment.
"What did it feel like?" the Doctor broke into the silence curiously.
"Oh, I don't know, really. I don't remember much, aside from a bright glowing light and a knife being stabbed into my chest and then... well, dying..." Sherlock furrowed his brows. "I do remember after that feeling something foreign in my mind, like, almost like I was dreaming, and... I was talking to you." Sherlock grinned, suddenly. "I remember I told you—or, Castiel told you how he knew that you wouldn't want to kill them..."
The Doctor grinned back, clapping his hands together, "That's brilliant. Possessed by an angel! A once in a lifetime experience!"
Sherlock reluctantly grinned back at the Doctor. "It was rather exciting."
The Doctor smiled at Castiel only to find the angel frowning back at him, his head tilted slightly to the left. "Doctor," Castiel said, "I tried to possess you as well, but I was unable to because you are not human."
The Doctor laughed nervously. "Oh, well, yes, I suppose so—"
"Doctor." Sherlock was no longer grinning at the Doctor, and instead his greenish-blue eyes seemed to stare right through the Doctor, past his initial deception, or rather past everyone's silly assumptions that he was human.
"I have never encountered one like you before," Castiel continued, his deeply blue eyes also piercing through the Doctor.
The Doctor smiled awkwardly. "Well, I can explain this." The angel and the detective continued to stare at the Doctor expectantly. "I am not human, I am a Time Lord."
"Thanks for all the friggin' hospitality," Dean commented, as he shrugged his arm out of a guard's firm grasp, and into a large and nicely decorated guest room, along with Sam, John, and Clara.
"The court shall hear you after the meeting is over. For now you may stay in this room, but you cannot leave for any reason without an escort by an armed guard," the guard informed the four, glaring slightly at Dean.
"Thanks," Sam said before Dean could make another sarcastic comment, as the guards left the room, closing the large wooden doors behind them.
Dean discarded his suit jacket, sighing deeply as he plopped himself down on one of the two large and decorative king sized beds in the room. The mattress was unsurprisingly soft and comfortable as Dean sprawled out on it. "At least this is a lot nicer than the cheap motels we usually stay at, Sammy."
Dean saw Sam pull a face at him. "We have to get out of this timeline, Dean, we don't belong here."
"Can someone please explain to me what exactly is going on here!?" John interrupted, sitting on the other king sized bed.
"You guys got sent back in time by the Weeping Angels," Dean explained, "And I ran in after you, but the others are still back in the present... well, we hope so, anyways."
"We're sometime in Camelot," Sam added, "In medieval times. And that guy whose room we were stuck in, that's King Arthur, or soon to be him anyways."
"But, King Arthur is just a story," John said, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"Nothing is ever just a story," Clara commented, sitting down beside John.
"Well, there has to be a way to travel back somehow," Sam said, hopefully.
"Yeah Sam, let's just go find Marty McFly and ask him to take us back with him. I'm sure we'll find him hanging out in a tavern with the knights," Dean said sarcastically, earning him yet another glare from Sam.
"No," Clara said, sitting up straighter, "The Doctor can get us back. His Tardis—his time machine—if he had it he could come and pick us up."
"What do you mean, 'if he had it'?" Dean questioned, also sitting up on the mattress.
"Well, he kind of lost it and I think—I think Moriarty took it."
John groaned and rubbed his face into his hands. "Of course Moriarty has it."
"But the Doctor could get it back," Clara added hopefully, "If they can find Moriarty."
"Yeah," Sam said, "But even if he did find it, how would he know when we were sent back to? I mean, we could have been sent back to any time, right?"
Clara frowned. "I don't know."
"Well, that's perfect, our fate hangs in the balance of a crazy guy with a bowtie that we just met getting his magical time machine back from a demonic criminal and somehow knowing when to come and pick us up. We'd better get used to life without running water," Dean ranted, leaning back onto the mattress again.
"The Doctor will find us," Clara declared, glaring at Dean, "He will come and save us, I know it, he always will. That's what he does, he saves people."
"I really hope you're right," Dean said, quietly, after a short moment of silence.
At this moment, the doors of the guest room creaked open, and all four people in the room tensed. However, Dean climbed off of the bed and stood up, when two people entered the room, because he recognized one of them.
"Gwen," Dean greeted the woman as she walked in, "I'm sorry if I've gotten you into any trouble."
"No, you haven't done anything," Gwen replied, "I'm just glad you finally found your brother... and some other friends as well?"
"Oh yeah, they are John and Clara. Sam and I brought them along from America," Dean improvised.
Gwen smiled back at them as Clara and John said 'hello' and walked over to where the Winchesters were standing.
"And, this is, of course, my brother Sam." Dean introduced.
Sam raised his eyebrows at the woman. "Gwen as in Guinevere?" He shared brief eye contact with Dean and Dean rolled his eyes in response. "It's very nice to meet you."
"Umm, yes, it is Guinevere. It's very nice to meet you as well, Sam. Your brother has told me a lot about you."
A small man beside Gwen swallowed loudly, as if attempting to make his presence known.
"Oh," Gwen gasped, "I'm sorry, this is Merlin! He's Arthur's servant, and I thought that... he might be able to help you."
Sam furrowed his brows and stared at Dean meaningfully, but Dean just shrugged in response.
"It's a real pleasure to meet you, Merlin!" Sam enthused, shaking the little man's hand, and Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at his younger brother.
"Right," Merlin said, "It's good to meet you all, too. Gwen told me you guys got lost around here? And that you came here from some place called America for farmland?"
Now, Sam glared at Dean, clearly judgmental of Dean's cover story, but Sam sill said, "Yes. We got separated and we were just running around the halls trying to find each other and just happened to stumble into Arthur's room. We just got scared and hid, we really don't mean any trouble."
"Right..." Merlin stared quizzically at the four of them, "And you're defiantly not... you know... sorcerers or anything?"
"No!" all four exclaimed simultaneously.
"Err, we mean, we don't know anything about sorcerers or, umm... sorcery..." Sam continued, "I mean, can you use, you know, sorcery?"
"No, no," Merlin replied a bit too quickly, "That's against the laws in Camelot and I—I work for the King's court. That would just be... absolutely ridiculous!" Merlin laughed awkwardly, and Dean thought that it was almost a nervous laugh.
Gwen also laughed. "Merlin just likes to help people, that's all. He—we want to help you if we can."
"We do?" Merlin questioned, "Because I really should get back to that meeting..."
Gwen glared at Merlin. "Yes, of course we do! These people were wrongly accused and you've helped people like them before! Besides it's not like you can help much at the meeting Merlin."
"But I might need to help Gaius! He might need—err, herbs, or something to help save people..." Merlin argued.
"What do people need saving from?" Clara asked, joining the conversation.
"Oh, nothing, just a few suspicious deaths, it's nothing really—" Merlin ranted, nervously.
"They've been murdered by a ghost," Gwen blurted out.
"Well, that's just a theory..." Merlin continued.
"Wait, ghosts!?" Dean exclaimed, "Hold on, are you sure about that?"
Merlin sighed. "Well, yes it might appear that some sort of ghost could be involved, but that's not really—"
"What if we stopped the ghost," Dean interrupted, suddenly.
"Dean," Sam warned, but Dean shushed his brother.
"What?" Merlin replied, confused.
"I mean, theoretically, if we've had experiences with ghosts before—"
"Dean!"
"Shut it, Sammy! I mean, if we helped you with your ghost problem, could they forgive us for... our getting lost?"
"You've seen ghosts before?" Gwen looked surprised.
"Yes, we've actually had a lot of experience in... our old village in eliminating ghosts," Dean elaborated.
Merlin stared at Dean. "Well, we could always use the help... and it would defiantly show the King whose side you're on," Merlin considered.
"Great, we're happy to help, then!" Dean exclaimed, patting Sam on the back. "Right, Sam?"
"Err yes," Sam replied reluctantly, "We would love to help."
"Us too," John said suddenly, gesturing to himself and Clara. "We really hate ghosts."
"Yeah," Clara said, "We're like the Ghostbusters!"
Gwen and Merlin frowned at Clara. "Ghostbusters?"
"Is this your hat?"
In the flat at 221B Baker Street, the Doctor snatched a deer stalker hat from a nearby table, placing it on top of his head.
Sherlock sighed as he sat in his armchair. "It's a stupid hat. Now, put it down."
The Doctor glanced at a nearby newspaper, only to see a photograph of Sherlock wearing the hat on the front page. "Oh!" He held out the paper excitedly. "You're famous for the hat! That's brilliant! Everyone's got to have their own hat."
"I do not have a hat," Castiel said, curiously.
"Don't worry, I'll get you one!" the Doctor enthused, adjusting the hat on his head. "It's a pretty cool hat! Will it be known as the Sherlock Holmes hat? If I wear it does that mean I am Sherlock Holmes? Because I think I'd make a good detective—"
Sherlock angrily snatched the hat off the Time Lord's head. "It means nothing, it's just a hat. We have more serious problems to discuss."
"Fine!" the Doctor exclaimed, sitting in the chair opposite Sherlock's. "I think you like the hat, though."
"I do not."
"Then why do you care if I wear it?"
Sherlock glared at the Doctor intensely, as he sat back down in his chair. "Well, you're not even human."
"Well, then, you're an alien to me, too," the Doctor returned, and then gestured to Castiel. "And he's an angel! We have established this already."
"Of course, Time Lord," Sherlock replied.
The Doctor stared curiously at Sherlock. "You're taking this whole alien thing surprisingly well. You haven't even tried to kill me."
Sherlock laughed. "Oh please, I'm not a simple minded Winchester. Even if you were to suddenly turn against me, which you won't, as you have pointed out, I do apparently have an angel on my side." Sherlock looked over at the angel. "Right, Carl?"
"My name is Castiel."
"Castiel," Sherlock clarified, "Right."
"And you're not going to ask me if I have any special powers or anything?"
Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the Doctor. "Special powers? You? Are you serious?"
The Doctor sighed. "Well, it was worth a shot. I have lived for much longer than you, though, so you could say I have a longer life span. I've seen a lot more than you have. I do also, of course, have two hearts."
"No you don't," Sherlock replied, "That's silly."
"No, that's true," the Doctor said, seriously.
"I do detect a double heart beat rhythm," Castiel confirmed.
"See! The angel knows it's true." The Doctor absentmindedly sipped at a tea cup beside him, spitting it back out when he realized it was rather old tea.
"How does that work, then, two hearts?" Sherlock questioned.
The Doctor frowned at the detective. "Well, how does one heart work for you!? That's a rather rude question."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well, we'd better hope you have some way to find your 'Tardis' so we can travel back in time, but I assume you haven't come up with a plan for that yet."
"No, not quite. Unless you count finding Moriarty."
"I can travel back in time." Castiel said, and the Doctor and Sherlock stared at him.
"Really?"
"Yes, I was able to send Sam and Dean back before, to retrieve a weapon."
"So, if we knew what time they were stuck in, you could travel there and bring them back... I mean, bring all of them back?"
"Yes," Castiel confirmed, "It would use up most of my energy, but it would be possible."
The Doctor let out a huge sigh of relief, jumping up from his chair and engulfing the angel in a tight embrace. "That is fantastic! You are fantastic, thank you!"
"Err... you're welcome," Castiel managed, awkwardly patting the Doctor on the back in return.
"Well, It's great you two are happy, but I think you're missing something," Sherlock interrupted, "We still have no way of figuring out when they were sent to."
The Doctor thought for a moment. "That might not be entirely true..."
"You didn't bring this up before!?"
"Well, it is a long shot. You see, last time I was able to... to find someone who was sent back because they left a note. It was in a book," The Doctor explained levelly, pushing down the sadness associated with the memory.
"So, Sam and Dean have to write a book for us?" Cas asked, confused.
"Well, not necessarily," the Doctor explained, "They could notify us using anything. A book, a carving on the wall, a letter... as long as it can withstand the passing of time."
"So, wait," Sherlock clarified, "You're telling me we're depending on their ability to be smart enough to send us a message telling us what time period they got sent to."
"Well... yes."
"We're doomed," Sherlock proclaimed, slouching in his armchair.
"Sherlock!" The voice of Sherlock's land lady was loud enough to be carried into the flat.
"Not now, Mrs. Hudson, I'm having a meeting!" Sherlock called back to her.
But, it appeared that Mrs. Hudson was not listening to Sherlock, as the door to the flat opened to reveal her standing in the doorway. "Oh, Sherlock!" she exclaimed, "I'm very glad that you are making new friends—"
"Mrs. Hudson! We are busy. This is a very serious situation..."
"Oh, yes, of course, dear. I'll just leave your mail on the table..."
"Wait!" the Doctor and Sherlock exclaimed.
"Did you say the mail has come!?" Sherlock flew out of his chair and ran to Mrs. Hudson's side.
"Yes, it just arrived and it and one of these letters looks very old, Sherlock, it is rather odd... I don't know what you've gotten yourselves into now, but it is none of my business, I suppose."
Sherlock quickly grabbed the mail from her, and smiled warmly at her. The Doctor was surprised when the normally emotionally-distant detective kissed the old woman on the cheek sincerely. "You are my hero, Mrs. Hudson!"
A/N: Everyone loves Mrs Hudson, right?
