As Sam and John stayed behind with the car, the Doctor and Sherlock went out to look for Rose and the others. The Doctor was worried about being separated from Sam and John, as they had already been through so much, but he cared about Rose more.

As they turned the corner, The Doctor saw Rose and began running to her while calling her name. Sherlock kept pace with the Doctor as Cas and Dean came into view as well. Dean stopped, hearing the Doctor. As they neared, the Doctor enveloped Rose, confusing her.

"It's nice to see you again, too," she laughed uneasily, wondering what had happened.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, narrowing his eyes. He knew the Doctor pretty well, and he could tell when the time lord was shaken up.

"It seems we have an illusionary problem. Sam and John have seen apparitions of us, but they seem to be out for blood," Sherlock informed as Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Are they okay?" Dean implored as Sherlock nodded.

"They are fine, but I think we need to find out what's going on before we lose someone," Sherlock suggested as Dean nodded.

"We need to get back to the impala now," Dean agreed as he started toward the street where Sam was. Cas quickly followed, wondering what exactly was going on. Rose only glanced at the Doctor before he dragged her along as well, with Sherlock close behind.

As they came back toward the impala, Sam and John pointed their weapons toward them, which caught dean by surprise. All of them carefully put their hands up, except for Cas, as Sam couldn't hurt him with a salt gun.

"Stay where you are!" Sam shouted before slowly approaching with an iron rod. Dean put his arms down, but stood where he was.

"Is this really necessary? If we weren't us, wouldn't have we attacked by now?" Dean suggested.

"You're the third one to tell me that today," Sam shrugged before tapping him with iron. Dean sighed as Sam tapped the others, making sure that they were all themselves. "Okay, we're clear!"

"Thank God!" John whispered, lowering his gun. "What did you guys find?"

"Really old houses in the new," Dean summed up as the Doctor nodded.

"That's what we found as well," Sherlock added as Dean ran a hand through his hair.

"What does that even mean?" Rose asked the Doctor, wanting to know why the houses were here. He bit his lip and looked at her without an answer.

"Doctor, you have a theory?" Sherlock prompted, needing an answer. The Doctor took a deep breath, thinking that now was good of a time as ever.

"I think we're dealing with a trickster," the Doctor announced as John blinked a few times, wondering what that could possibly mean. Dean and Sam shared irritated expressions as Rose gave the Doctor a curious look.

"With a what?" Sherlock implored, surprised.

"Trickster. As the Winchesters probably know, it's a creature that can create alternate realities," the Doctor explained as Dean nodded.

"We dealt with one twice a few years ago," Dean informed.

"It made relive Dean's death for over a hundred Tuesdays," Sam groaned, hating to think about it.

"Over a hundred Tuesdays?" John whispered, shocked at this. Sam only nodded, not wanting to talk about it.

"So you think we're dealing with a trickster?" Dean interrogated the Doctor.

"Yes. There is no residual time energy from these houses, so they're either elaborate illusions or someone built these. Although, I cannot imagine someone building these and abandoning them like this," the Doctor reasoned as Sam took a deep breath.

"Do we have any lamb's blood?" Sam whispered over to Dean as Rose gave him a look.

"What do you need that for?" she exclaimed.

"You need to cover a stake with it to kill it," Dean answered before turning back to Sam. "We don't. We used the last of it."

"Dammit," Sam grumbled under his breath.

"Dean?" Cas whispered before Dean turned around.

"What is-" Dean began before he saw the Trickster behind Cas, closing his eyes. "You get away from Cas right now!"

"I don't think that's a good idea," the Trickster admitted as Sam started towards him. "Ah ah ah. I still have your angel friend."

"This is the Trickster?" Sherlock demanded with a laugh. "He looks more like a Christmas elf!"

"Oi! Just because I'm short doesn't mean I can't wreak havoc!" The Trickster shouted, offended. Dean gave Sherlock a pleading look before Sherlock looked away, knowing when he needed to stop.

"What do you want?" Sam demanded, annoyed. "And were you the ones that set those ghosts one us?"

"Just to have some fun, and the ghosts were there to catch your attention. I hear you don't like Christmas, Sammy," the Trickster informed as Sam grew pale. Dean sighed, already knowing that. "Mind if I change that?"

"Even if I didn't care, what could you do to change my mind?" Sam argued, wondering how he knew that.

"Persuasion," the Trickster answered as the Doctor stared him down. The Trickster glanced over at him and winked, making the Doctor upset. "You go through with what I have in mind and I'll let your angel go."

"What?" John asked, wondering why he wanted Sam to like Christmas so badly.

"You go through my game and no one gets hurt. Look, I just want to have some fun, and maybe a little payback for embarrassing me last time we met," the Trickster answered as Sam rolled his eyes.

"I don't remember it going down like that," Sam hissed as it laughed.

"Of course you don't. Look, do we have a deal or not? 'Cause, it just so happens, I have an angel blade," the Trickster informed as Sherlock laughed again.

"No you don't," Sherlock whispered as the Trickster glared at him.

"Even if I didn't, I know where to find one. Besides, there's one in this lovely pocket," the Trickster answered, glancing down at the trench coat Cas was wearing.

"Cas," Dean grumbled, needing some advice.

"I really don't see a nice alternative here," Cas admitted before Dean began cussing under his breath. He looked over at Sam and John, who looked irritated, but knew that they had their hands tied. The Doctor looked like he was going to kill someone and Rose looked over all confused. Sherlock seemed to be taking the situation well, interested to see the outcome.

"Fine," Dean caved as the Trickster laughed. Just as he removed his hands, a blindfold appeared over Cas's eyes.

"You peek, angel, and I'll kill your boyfriend," the Trickster warned before Dean rolled his eyes. The Trickster held out his hand as Dean reluctantly shook it. "Perfect."

"Now when does this persuasion begin?" Dean asked as it smiled broadly.

"Right now. You better hold on," the Trickster whispered before a mist started to form around them. Sherlock unfolded his arms as he looked around, noticing their surroundings change subtly. John held up the gun again, not sure what to do. Sam just stared at Dean as he began to panic. The Doctor held Rose's hand as she coughed.

"What's going on!?" Dean demanded, turning toward the Trickster, who just laughed.

"You didn't think I would do this the conventional way, did you?" it laughed before he disappeared into the fog. Dean cursed before turning to Sam, who was dressed to the nines in mid nineteenth century clothing. He looked down at himself and found very different clothing. It was that of a woman's, but from the same time period. He grew upset and faced the sky.

"Do you think this is funny!?" Dean shouted as laughter replied, making him angry. Cas's blindfold faded as his clothes formed and changed. He looked similar to Sam, but it was dingy and ripped to rags.

"What's going on?" Sam whispered as he turned to find that the others had been lost in the mist. When he turned back, Dean was missing without another word and he was just standing here with Cas. "Can't you do something?"

"It seems that my powers are useless for whatever reason," Cas answered before Sam cursed. The fog began to disappear and the found themselves at a strange little counting house. Sam felt a force pull him into a chair at one end of the room, where there were huge piles of money everywhere. Cas, however, was pulled to the other side of the room, where it was dark, cold, and damp. He sat at a small desk with lots of papers and a quill.

"What?" Sam whispered, looking at Cas as the fog completely cleared. Soon, the Trickster's voice came through loud and clear, but neither were exactly sure from where.

"Holmes was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatsoever about that," it began as Sam grew angry.

"What?!" Sam shouted as Cas looked around the counting house. However, the voice continued.

"The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Winchester signed it. And Winchester's name was considered good for any piece of business he chose to put his hand to. Holmes was as dead as a doornail. Now, I don't know what there is particularly dead about a doornail. I would think a coffin nail would be a deader piece of iron; but, far be it from me to change the expression, or the country's done for. So, permit me to repeat, once again, emphatically, that Holmes was dead as a doornail."

"Oh, God," Sam whispered, growing pale. Cas turned to him.

"What?" Cas asked before the voice continued.

"Winchester knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Winchester and he had been partners for I don't know how many years. Winchester was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole friend, and the only man who mourned him...if Winchester can be said to have mourned at all. And the mention of Holmes's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Holmes was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate."

"The Trickster has pulled us into a messed up version of the Christmas Carol," Sam sighed before Cas nodded, actually knowing the book it originated from.

"Winchester never painted out old Holmes's name. There it stood, years afterward, above the warehouse door: Winchester and Holmes. The firm was known as Winchester and Holmes. Sometimes people new to the business called Winchester 'Winchester', and sometimes Holmes, but he answered to both names. It was all the same to him.

It was bitterly cold and the fog was thick as pea soup on that Christmas Eve of 1843, when Winchester sat busy in his counting house, with his clerk near by trying to warm himself at a candle. But since he didn't have much of an imagination, he failed," the voice finished as Sam stared at Cas.

"We're in bigger trouble than we thought," Sam grumbled before someone came at the door.