Time was fragmented, split into shards of a picture that wasn't all there. The black, yawning gaps were forgotten and so unimportant. Maybe Dean lost more blood, gained a bruise or was suddenly standing in a bog and couldn't remember how he'd come to be there. He vaguely acknowledged it; time was messed up, "on some freaky shit" as he might say. Whatever.

He only had to keep note of one thing. Gordon and the Behemoth. Okay. Two things.

He'd been walking with his arm holding his upper body up, his back bent as if he could fall over at any moment, barely responding to Gordon when he came over. He kept his eyes half closed, his breathing uneven and watched as Gordon grew more alarmed. Who knew what effects Purgatory could have on a human, after all?

By the third night, Dean approximated (days seemed to vary in length, from infinity to hours and the light was a steady white that only occasionally dimmed to a dismal grey), Gordon finally ordered a stop at a lake, letting him rest and drink. While the water felt good, a cool, refreshing taste against his throat even if earthy, it wasn't needed. He didn't seem to need to drink, eat or sleep to survive but the less Gordon knew the better. He downed the water gratefully, sucking it from his fingers.

By the fourth day, Gordon made Rex carry him for a few hours of the day. Dean leaned on Rex completely, as if every movement may be his last. Rex let him, and didn't seem disgruntled when Dean lay flat on the creatures back, his arms dangling into the air, his pose having less elegance than a corpse. It was that night, Dean explicitly remembered Gordon not drinking from him, and instead Gordon having to feed him meat one of the other Suckers had caught. Dean considered it a victory, especially when Gordon allowed him to 'sleep' by him and not with Rex and the other monsters. Something Dean truly was grateful for, most of the time he felt they were only a sniff away from ripping his throat out for themselves. In fact, he was pretty sure if Rex didn't guard him like his own personal pup then that scenario would have played out already.

He 'slept' in a tight ball, shivering just enough to look frail but still worth the effort, or so he hoped. It was enough. Gordon talked all night and Dean was a good listener.

xxxxxxxxx

"Okaay…." John murmured, what was he going to say next? That Moriarty was actually Satan? That taking a piss would be dangerous from now on? He was actually reminiscing the simplicity of chasing murderers down alley ways and realizing the taxi driver may want more than just to take you home.

"Did Moriarty have any connections?" Sam asked, his tone becoming more formal, John imagined he did this a lot, probably in a suit, with a fake badge.

Sherlock snorted, making John jolt, wondering if Sherlock really can read minds before Sherlock answered.

"Most likely everyone had a connection with him, he revealed to me just a tiny portion of his 'enterprise', just enough to show me he's got a finger in every pie, so to speak."

"Like Roman Enterprises?"

"Maybe." John nodded, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want to say such a vague answer. He would want the facts, the cold hard proof with logical links, which was why John wasn't surprised when Sherlock jumped over the back of the sofa and started manhandling the telly.

Sam frowned but held his tongue; the Doctor just seemed to be binge drinking tea. An impressive skill.

"God damn it! Doesn't anything work around here?" Sherlock hit the telly, glaring at Sam as if he's to blame.

"I don't exactly use this base permanently, like you said, maybe the Doc has a setting for that as well." Sam half-heartedly joked, of course, the expression soon turned into the biggest 'bitch face' John had seen when the Doctor got the screwdriver out, twisted it a few times, gave it a hearty shake and pointed it at the TV screen.

'Seriously…?" Sam mumbled as the TV lit up, static and all.

"I have to get me one of those." John approved, taking a gulp of tea, imagining the beauty of not having to worry about electrocution by self-fixing.

The Doctor, however, shook his head, his expression deadly serious. "Say goodbye to your social life and loved ones, if you do. Apparently I missed out on the best of my teenage years making this."

"Something tells me you weren't that upset, Doc." Sam said, eyeing the telly now Sherlock had turned to CNN.

"Flights are being cancelled right across the states, no-one is allowed to leave the country, the Icelandic volcano is active again and this time the ash cloud is warned of being larger and more volatile. There are concerns this is only the beginning, internal flights may also be at risk and travel by plane may not be possible for up to a week, says the chief airline."

"They're already caging us in." Sam whispered, his thoughts blurring into panic. What could he do against this?

"There are also concerns an outbreak of avian flu has spread in Texas, anyone showing symptoms is advised to go to hospital immediately. Meanwhile Texas is being quarantined."

"He's not taking his time." John said, he was already taking over a whole state. His hand reached to cover his mouth as the truth of what was happening dawned on him. "This is crazy."

"No. This is organised and quiet. He has the power of Hell at his hands, he could unleash demons and chaos but he's…" Sherlock frowned at the screen, for the first time struggling for words, "he's going slowly, trying not to alert the public too much."

"Roman did the same thing; they had, like, a rule system and anyone who alerted the papers was immediately bibbed." Sam said, he met blank stares at the term 'bibbed'.

"Um – you know, he made them eat themselves."

The Doctor looked sick, putting down his tea as if it might have been poisoned with his own bodily fluids. Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow.

"Effective." He stated.

"Back to the point, you're saying he doesn't want the public to know so isn't that exactly what we should do?" John tried.

"Yes, we should tell the country that monsters have escaped from Purgatory and it's all a conspiracy to eat us like cattle because that doesn't sound crazy." Sam sighed; he'd had plenty of experience telling ordinary people about monsters.

"Let's not forget that scared people can be just as dangerous as the monsters. They may make it harder for us." The Doctor cut in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"What then?" John glanced back at the telly screen, the whole world was at risk and none of them had a clue. It was down to them. The four of them.

"We find Moriarty. He's supposedly the one organising the whole thing. We kill him, at least postpone things." Sherlock's eyes were sharp, his body lithe as he jumped to his feet.

"That's what we did last time, didn't take them long to find a new 'head'." Sam said, doubt lining his words.

"Last time, there were just three of you." Sherlock challenged.

"So, one more person is gonna change things?" Sam said, not bothering to point out he had Meg helping out last time too.

"Nope, but 50 more, maybe. Hunters, right? You start getting out your contacts, make phone calls, alert them, and tell them how to stall them. Meanwhile, we find Moriarty. We kill him and release the King of Hell." The words spilled from Sherlock as if he could barely keep up with his thoughts and Sam found himself nodding along, it was a plan, somewhere to start.

"Sounds good."

"I'm going to keep looking for your brother too." The Doctor nodded in Sam's direction. Sam smiled gratefully, glad that the Doc hadn't forgotten him.

"Let's get a move on then, shall we?" John pushed off the couch, trying not to think too much about how little difference they could really make. Surely if Sam was on good terms with Hunters, they'd have helped him last time, and how easy was it going to be to find Moriarty, and killing him? Moriarty had struck him as someone unafraid of death, as though it couldn't touch him.

"Where are you going to go?" Sam asked, already scrolling down a list of contacts on his phone. John didn't like the way Sam bit his lip doubtfully as he eyed the names.

"Back to Sucrocorp." Sherlock smirked, enjoying the shock that rang in Sam's eyes.

"You think that's a good idea?"

"The best one. Moriarty will have gone by now, we just need to see if he left any clues… he knows I'm still alive, and he's very fond of games." Sherlock said, his confident tone suggesting there was no point debating the point, not that anyone was given a chance, Sherlock was already walking away, heading to the TARDIS. The Doctor frowned, grabbing one more biscuit, mumbling a good luck in Sams general direction before following after him hurriedly.

John felt awkward, left alone with the slightly intimidating, huge American with a fetish for weapons but he needed one last thing.

"Uh, Sam, is it possible to borrow a, um-" John's sentence broke down as he realized what he was saying.

"A gun?" Sam finished for him, he actually seemed pretty happy he'd asked. "Yeah, makes sense. You should be prepared for anything, though don't tell the Doc, he might not let you in, but I'll get you sorted."

Sam pulled himself up from his chair and strolled into the kitchen, after a silent inner debate, John followed.

They walked through the kitchen and into a room laid out with campbeds and blankets. Only one had been used. The rest were now laden with an arsenal of weapons, enough to keep a small army content.

"Pssh, how do you get away with this stuff?" John had never seen such a large array of guns and he was an army doctor for god's sake, and it wasn't only guns, there were plenty of knives, shurikens, machetes and diesel containers full of who knows what.

"When you work in my profession, you wonder how we get away with anything. We're basically mass murderers," Sam shook his head, not for the first time, wondering about how freaking weird his life was. "But good ones." He quickly added when he saw John's expression.

"Good mass murderers… that's a first." John murmured, watching carefully as Sam picked a selection of weapons. A silver knife, a relatively small gun with some extra ammo, a syringe of what looked like blood and a bottle of questionable liquid.

"The blood is to use if you come across any vampires, we've come across a lot of them recently, they were holding back till we killed Dick but I don't know if they'll continue now he's gone." Sam ignored John's stutter at the word 'vampire', carrying on, "the bottle contains Borax. See someone suspicious, throw it at them and run." John nodded, putting the weapons in various pockets.

"And one last thing," Sam handed him a whiskey flask, "that has holy water in it, see the King of Hell or his hell hounds, douse them and run."

"So basically, run." John nodded, his heart jumping nervously at the weight of the added weapons. This was really happening. He opened up the gun chamber, feeling more confident as he handled the smooth metal. He closed it back up, popping it into his jacket.

"Yep, it's a lot to handle but as far as I can tell the Doc and Sherlock aren't really fighters." Sam clapped him on the back. "Good luck."

John nodded, "thanks, Sam, same goes to you."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"Come on, just tell me, what do you think?" The Doctor pleaded, twirling in his new coat, it was a heavy black thing that covered him down to his knees and looked three sizes too big. It was awful. John swore he'd only been gone a few minutes.

"I really don't care, Doctor, can we go? Look, John is back now." Sherlock sighed, looking dryly at the Doctor from his seat on the sofa.

"Oh, John! What do you think? Is it too much?" The Doctor grinned, and John almost felt bad for what he was about to say but it was for the greater good.

"Um, maybe just a bit. I liked what you had on before, Doc." The Doctor's smile slid.

"Not you too. Its Doc-tor. Two syllables, that's all. Like Sherlock but not." The Doctor shook his head, shedding his coat and throwing it across the floor. John tracked its progress; he didn't want to slip on the damn thing.

"What took you so long?" Sherlock muttered as he watched the Doctor type in their destination.

"I was just asking Sam how we could stall the leviathans if we came across any." John shrugged, walking up the stairs to join them.

"And?"

"He gave me a bottle of Borax, or something."

"Isn't that a cleaning product?" The Doctor asked, using his foot to press a far-off button. "I'm sure one of my companions had something with Borax in… she must have shown me once when joking about cleaning the place up…" The Doctor went quiet, and John noticed his face drop, his old age showing and then a second later it was gone, replaced by a jovial, enthusiastic smile.

"Do you have a lot of companions?" John asked, curious, also wanting to draw attention away from the Doctors pain.

"I used to, they move on though, they have to lead their own lives after all. What about you two? Is it just you guys adventuring or do you have a gang?" John cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

"Nope, just us."

"Don't need anyone else." Sherlock acknowledged, and John felt himself feeling kinda proud that Sherlock, with his weird high standards, thought John was all he needed.

"That's nice. You do make a wonderful couple." The Doctor glanced at them, beaming. John was about to stutter 'I'm NOT gay!' when without warning, the Doctor pulled a lever and the TARDIS jolted, and spun.

"Whoa there, girl. Calm down, sweetie." John vaguely heard the Doctor whispering sweet nothings to the machine as he jumped to grab hold of the rail; he kinda misjudged it though and landed on Sherlock's lap.

"Shit, Sherlock, I'm sorry!" He blurted out before instinctively grabbing hold of the end of the sofa, still half on Sherlock, as the TARDIS toppled, unfortunately it was in such a way that John was practically crushing Sherlock.

"John!" He heard Sherlock squawk from beneath him, he held his breath, hoping it would reduce his weight somewhat.

"Nearly there, gentlemen! I promise the ride will get smoother!" The Doctor half laughed, running against gravity as he leapt further up the console and swivelled a button, instantly the TARDIS righted itself and John pushed himself from Sherlock. He took deep breaths, eyeing Sherlock who looked ruffled and winded. Sherlock was concentrating on something else though, thankfully.

"I can feel it. We're travelling through space. I can feel it." Sherlock held tightly to the sofa, and he was right. Now the machine was less chaotic, he could feel the way it moved like it was weightless, pulling on him in all directions but not at all, like he imagined it was like being on Earth on a smaller scale. Spinning so fast, but being unaware.

The Doctor was watching them from the console, "it's amazing, isn't it?"

Sherlock didn't respond, just sinking in the feeling. John tentatively took a step off the sofa and though he wasn't completely steady, he revelled in the way he could move with some sort of control.

John could tell when they stopped.

"That's my girl." The Doctor patted the console, and then skipped to the door, beckoning John and Sherlock over.

"Ready, John?" The Doctor grimaced, and John could tell he was referring to the weapons he thought he'd hidden pretty inconspicuously. He nodded, his cheeks warming as he felt slightly shameful.

"Okay, we scout the place out and then we leave. Anything goes wrong, run back here." The Doctor commanded, his voice serious and then just as suddenly, his eyes glinted dangerously and he was flinging open the doors and striding out.

"Booyah!" The Doctor shouted, making John want to hit him but nothing happened. They'd landed in the corridor they'd seen Moriarty, it was empty.

"The room they were eating people." Sherlock pushed past, John followed after, the déjà vu making him feel he's being watched. He doesn't like this.

"Eating people?" The Doctor exclaimed from behind them, walking as if fear was something he'd defeated long ago.

"Er, yeah, turns out they don't just eat themselves." John said gruffly. The Doctor stayed quiet, John figured he was having mixed emotions about these monsters, being a pacifist and all.

"I can't hear anything." Sherlock called from up ahead.

"You did say they'd be gone by now." John mentioned.

"That was just a guess, Moriarty is unpredictable." Sherlock was pressed against the wall, and John remembered Sherlock's face when they'd looked into the room, it was the first time he'd seen him truly scared. He'd been horrified. Even now, he looked paler than normal.

The Doctor looked at John, sensing the difference in Sherlock, his natural confidence was draining.

"I'll have a look." The Doctor strode forward, John watched him as he stood beside Sherlock. He didn't push Sherlock; he knew he would want to pull himself together.

"Heh, not used to this." Sherlock mumbled as he looked at the ground.

"You mean people-eating monsters taking over the world? What about last Tuesday?" John rolled his eyes, smiling at the surreal idea.

"No, last Tuesday was when we were trying to stop people from being blown up." Sherlock smirked, and then chuckled, John joined in until they were both laughing, it wasn't the sanest laughter but it felt good to release the hysterics.

"There's nothing in here! It's empty, and there's definitely no sign of any people-eating activities." The Doctor shouted, John looked at Sherlock and offered a hand. Sherlock took it briefly before they were running to catch up.

The Doctor was right; the room was just a meeting room now. The chairs were in place, any blood had been cleared up, there were no tied up employees. John felt a twang of guilt at that; they had most likely been killed.

Sherlock glanced around, frowning. "He would have left something. A sign, a message, surely."

John shrugged, "Sam said it wasn't Moriarty anymore, maybe the new owner doesn't care."

"No, Moriarty is still in there." Sherlock remarked.

"Maybe he did leave a message." Sherlock turned, seeing the Doctor sniffing his fingers and then licking the wall.

"Um. Is that something you do a lot?" John's forehead lifted significantly.

The Doctor seemed caught by the question for a long moment, "uh, yes, actually. Big fan of walls, me, and doors, and… anything lickable."

"Sherlock, pass me your lighter." He impatiently shook his hand at Sherlock who reluctantly passed over his lighter, ignoring the judging looks John sent him.

"I thought you had quit."

"It's not as easy as that."

"Right, we'll save the world first, much easier."

"Shut up, you too! Seriously, it's like being stuck with an old, married couple!" John shut up abruptly, his ears feeling uncomfortably warm, Sherlock just rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked instead.

"It's acid, or something. Not lemon, in fact, I have a feeling I know what it is but I really do not want to think about it." The Doctor grimaced, "but if I put the light up to it, I can just about make out what it says."

John and Sherlock watched as slowly the lighter turned the sickly yellow wallpaper to a burnt brown, revealing one sentence.

I will burn the heart out of you

"He obviously doesn't know me very well." Sherlock commented after a tense minute of silence.

"Everybody has a heart." The Doctor stood back, regarding Sherlock with a heavy gaze.

"Yeah, I keep mine back home in the cupboard." He smiled tightly; John meanwhile tried not to think of how rotten the smell would be when they got home, he would have to call .

"Sherlock-"

"Let's just go, it's a stupid message anyway." Sherlock smoothed back his hair, glaring at the Doctor.

"Okay, going, we'll just leave the creepy message where it is." The Doctor held his hands up in surrender, walking out, and John went with him after a last look at the words. He did not feel good at all about that promise, it was definitely time to leave.

"Oh, so there you are!" John spun round, feeling the Doctor do the same just behind him. A woman in a tight, office skirt suit was studying them, chewing a pen idly, her eyes landing curiously on the Doctor before smiling lewdly at John.

"Uh, yep, wrong building. Just needed the toilet, sorry!" John garbled out, retreating hastily, while trying to remember in which pocket what weapon was.

"I don't think so." The woman grinned, and John felt sick, his heart felt like it was going to fall out of his chest, he was going to die. She was walking after them casually yet she was catching up weirdly fast. Her hand reached for him, her mouth opening to reveal shark teeth, he panicked, unscrewing the lid of whatever he had in his hand, he threw it at her.

Water splashed in her mouth, she gurgled somewhat before John watched her whole body launch-

And then fall in a heap.

"Sherlock?" John hissed, his vocal chords still hiding in the back of his throat.

Sherlock stayed quiet, still holding the syringe in place in her neck.

"What is that?"

"Borax. I took some stuff from you when you fell on me; thought two people with weapons would be handier, may have swapped the blood for Borax when I saw what was happening." Sherlock said calmly, but he hadn't moved, still looking directly at the leviathan. That was when its neck started bubbling.

"I don't think it'll last long." John thought out loud, he didn't know where he was going with it but Sherlock looked up, his eyes wide, scared.

"You have to cut off its head."

"What, you're kidding me. I can't do that."

"He's right, Sherlock, let's just run now." The Doctor was pacing, his face pale.

"No. We need to know what Moriarty is doing. We take it back. Cut its head off, John, or… I will." Sherlock swallowed, his eyes directly on him. John shook his head but even so, he was bringing out the knife, it felt heavy in his hands but as he brought it against skin, it felt so easy. It slid so quickly.

"Oh, no. no. no." John whimpered, trying not to think about what he was doing, but the knife kept slipping through the soft flesh like it was butter. It wasn't butter though, it was a human neck.

"Quickly, John."

"I can't. Sherlock, I can't do this." John bit on his tongue, feeling pathetic but he couldn't. Suddenly he felt steady hands on his and the knife was falling all the way through, meeting resistance briefly before, with a sickening thud, the head fell away and the knife dropped from his grasp.

John closed his eyes, just trying to breathe.

"Doctor, get a bag now." Sherlock instructed, his voice deep, emotional. John took another deep breath, just watching the dark behind his eyelids. He heard the Doctor running, he wanted to run too.

"It's okay, John." John nodded, not wanting to move anything else in case he touched something that reminded him of what he just did.

They sat in silence until the Doctor came back, John heard the rustle as the head was put away.

"John, you have to open your eyes. Help me pick up the body." Sherlock ordered quietly, and John did as he was told for once. Feeling sick at the sight of black goo smothering a stunted neck, he bit his tongue as he felt bile rising. He grabbed under her arms, and Sherlock took the legs. The Doctor was silent, John could feel his disgust and anger simmering under his stony expression but he was too busy stopping himself from falling to his knees to really care.

They made it to the TARDIS; John suspected for a moment that the Doctor wouldn't let them in but he walked in and left the door open. Sherlock hurried in after, and while they dumped the body by the door, the Doctor started pulling levers, wasting no time.

John fell to the floor, barely noticing as he saw the Doctor run his hand down his face, leaning on the console as the engines started; Sherlock muttered something under his breath. John took five large breaths, feeling the TARDIS move beneath him, the rattle of guns sounded in the distance and he winced, hearing the screams around him, he was running, trying to get to the injured at the same time as he tried not to become one of them. He had a knife in his hand, he was decapitating a man's leg that was infected with gangrene but the man wouldn't feel a thing. He was drugged up. He was helping him; he'd live the rest of his life.

"I didn't help her. She's dead now." He mumbled, not meaning to speak out loud.

No-one responded. John let go of the memory, and steadied the lolling body.

"We're here." The Doctor's steady voice said. He opened the doors, gesturing very clearly they needed to leave.

Sherlock grabbed the legs, lifting the bag containing the head to put on her belly, and John took the arms again, feeling his shame mount as the Doctor watched them. He kept his eyes cast down.

"You're already back?" John heard Sam call from somewhere inside; it didn't feel like it had been quick, it felt like everything had changed.

"Sam, help us!" John called, feeling his arms trembling; he didn't know if it was from the weight or the emotional strain but he was going to drop her.

"I'm here… What? What happened?!" Sam exclaimed, replacing John at the head, or rather neck, and guiding the body through the living room and into an empty space of a room.
"Grab a chair, John." Sam grunted, John brought the chair from the living room. The body was promptly dumped, Sherlock taking a step back closer to John, Sam picked up the bag.

"This is most likely what I think it is, isn't it? I told you to run if you came across anything and you come back with a leviathan body and detached head?" Sam seemed lost for words, but John surprisingly only sensed praise from the guy. Shocked admiration.

"We should have run. Killing like this isn't right." The Doctor growled from the doorway, John glanced up at him but he couldn't hold his gaze very long.

Sam's expression hardened. "This may be the difference between millions of people dying. We do what we have to. The woman was a monster anyway, that's black ooze right there, not the red blood you would expect. We kill monsters."

The Doctor shook his head, taking a step in, and John shivered, the room felt colder. The Doctor reminded him of an oncoming storm, from far off it looked fine, pretty harmless but suddenly it hit and you were running for your life, desperate to find shelter while the world is torn up around you.

"I know people who bleed blue. Who breathe water. I know creatures that live in perpetual darkness. I know people who have spikes on their skin and resemble cacti. And you know what? They're not monsters, they are people. What makes you think these are any different?" The Doctor snarled under his breath, his heated voice and dark eyes contrasting grimly with his red bow tie and the trousers that didn't reach his ankles.

"Because they're killing innocent people." John said, feeling calmer than before. He thought he was finally understanding something, this sort of pacifism only came from the worst kind of violence. War.

"Have you even talked to them?" The Doctor growled at him.

"Like you do?" The Doctor twisted as Sherlock studied him.

"You don't know anything about me."

"I know enough, and it hasn't taken me long to work the rest out. You have a big heart, Doctor, and you chose where your allegiances lied long ago. If it wasn't for you, I'm sure this world would have perished long ago. I bet you've done what we're doing right now hundreds of times before, putting innocent human lives first. Making whatever is against them the enemy and destroying it. You think you're that different to Sam, or any of us?" Sherlock's ice blue eyes flashed and the Doctor frowned.

"It's hard to remember why I do it when I see them commit acts like this." The Doctor's words were quieter, more resigned, the storm settling down to an overcast day. John cleared his throat awkwardly, his voice felt squashed, he wouldn't admit it but he had been intimidated by the Doctor's outburst.

"Well, maybe you'll remember when we finish with her and save some lives." Sam intoned harshly, leaving no time to dwell on the emotion. John was relieved, the sooner they got this over with, the better.

"What do you need?" John stood straighter, ready to take orders.

"First, how the hell did you take her down?" Sam eyed John and Sherlock, probably wondering if they'd suddenly admit to having magical powers.

"Easy. Swapped the blood in the syringe for Borax. Made sense." Sherlock shrugged. Sam snorted.

"Right, easy. How did you get close enough to give it a dose?"

"Me and the Doctor, err, distracted her." John filled in, if only that had actually been planned.

Sam whistled under his breath, "I'm impressed, guys. Well, if we're gonna make this happen then I'm gonna need to set up a drip of the stuff. Keep her dosed up." He glanced at the Doctor, "you wouldn't actually happen to be a doctor with actual doctor equipment, would you?" The Doctor snapped back to reality, his eyes focussing and his body going rigid instantaneously.

"Uh, well I can get some. What did you need?"

"A drip." Sam watched him carefully, but the Doctor just nodded, caught in his own thoughts.

"Sure, I'll get it right now." He spun round, his usual energy slowly coming back though it felt more forced.

"Be quick!" Sam called, and as an afterthought, "and safe!"

"Always am!" The Doctor called back, and they heard the TARDIS door slam shut.

"I really doubt that." Sherlock said under his breath as they heard the weird sonic sound of the TARDIS leaving.

"What do we do now?"

"Tie her to the chair. Keep that head far away and then wait, I suppose." Sam listed off like it was routine, walking to the room with the arsenal ready. Sherlock and John stayed near the door as Sam fetched rope, John felt smug as Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight. He was probably re-evaluating some deductions right now.

"How often do you do this?" Sherlock asked, his eyes running over each weapon.

"Um, depends really. Used to do a monster hunt almost weekly, without stopping, sometimes it takes a while to find a decent lead though. I did try and get out of it for a few years when I was younger," Sam grimaced, "but it didn't work out."

"The monsters came after you?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, looking up as he cut off a healthy length of rope. His face became earnest and almost child-like as he revealed a bit more of himself. "It isn't exactly an apple pie life."

"None of us have the apple pie life, Sam."

"Yeah, Afghanistan?" Sam smiled, John startled, glancing at Sherlock but he was gone. He looked behind him to see him heading towards the kitchen with the head-bag.

"Uh, yeah. How'd you know?"

"I saw you handle a gun and you seemed pretty relaxed with the weapons, though you don't strike me as a soldier, I don't think you're an assassin either though." Sam smiled warmly, humour infecting his tone.

"I was an army doctor." John walked back to the bare room, Sam in tow.

"Makes sense, what made you stop?" Sam curiously asked, starting to confidently wrap the rope around the limp body. John really couldn't stop thinking how surreal this whole thing was, how did a guy even get into this life?

"I was wounded; I got enteric fever and was promptly sent back. It was difficult to adjust back to civilian life but then I met Sherlock, so I didn't have to." John couldn't believe how much his life had changed in a year, he'd been worrying about his limp and the idea of living a boring, normal life for the rest of his years not so long ago and now he was going to attempt to save the world with a good mass murderer, a consulting detective and a time-travelling man.

"Heh, yeah, what does he even do for a living? Is he just the most annoying lawyer in the world or something?" Sam laughed, pulling the rope into complicated, tight knots that John imagined even the keenest ninja would struggle with, let alone a dead body.

"Consulting detective-"

"The only one in the world, not so much annoying as brilliant." Sherlock finished, stalking in, looking down at Sam.

"How modest of you." Sam smirked, standing up to admire his work.

"Just need the Doctor now." John murmured just as the distant wheezing of the TARDIS could be heard. "Speak of the devil, sounds like he's parking outside…"

"Go and get him, so we can get this over with." Sam said, gruffness returning as his thoughts returned to business.

"I'm on it."

Outside there was a drip. And nothing else.

The Doctor and his TARDIS were nowhere to be seen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's gotten bigger." The Doctor dragged a hand across his mouth; there was a definite gap between the cracks now though he could still only make out darkness on the other side.

"You're scared." Amelia's clear voice stated from behind him. The Doctor turned, crouching to Amelia's height, and taking her face in his oversized hands. Her big, amber eyes stared at him, completely trusting and innocent.

"No, I'm not! What makes you think that?" He grinned at her; keeping up a daring bravado. She was such a brave little girl. She was completely alone, in a big house in the dark, with a scary crack in her wall.

"You left your machine outside. You would have just come straight to the room otherwise, right?" Amelia cocked her head, her chubby cheeks and the nightgown that was too big made her seem so childish, hiding the fact she was unusually sharp for her age. The Doctor knew what it was like to be much older than you looked though.

"Yes, I did… its unsettling. You're very brave, Amelia Pond, the bravest person I know."

She smiled, and stared at the floor before she seemed to come to a decision.

"I can hear things coming from it at night."

"Like what?"

Amelia shuddered under his grip and when she looked up her eyes were glistening. He couldn't help himself, both his hearts were crumbling under her tortured gaze and he drew her in for a crushing hug.

"Where are your parents, Amelia?" He held her against his shoulder.

"At work."

"And when was the last time they came home from work?" He murmured into her shoulder sadly. Amelia wasn't all she seemed. She was quiet.

"What do you hear?" The Doctor asked after a few minutes, knowing she wouldn't answer.

"Screams, of pain and regret. They cry all night." She sniffed, pressing into him.

"It's okay. Do you know what they are?" He rubbed her back; he couldn't bear to watch a weeping child. She nodded, and he leaned closer so she could whisper.

"Tell me."

"Angels."