Hello again guys. I am so sorry this took so long to be published. Easter was a busy time and school's been a real pain, but it's no excuse. I hope you enjoy the second to last chapter of the story. It's been so much fun to write, despite all the stress of getting it out on time. I hope you've had fun reading, and even if you've read it and only thought "eh", I love you and you are amazing for even taking the time out of your day to read it. Cheers, everyone!

Chapter 9

Sam crept forward slowly, his gun raised. Dean was beside him, watching his back and making sure no angels crept up on them. "I'm beginning to really hate this place," Dean muttered.
"Yeah, you and me both," Sam agreed.
"Quiet," Sherlock whispered harshly from behind them.
Dean and Sam turned to glare at the consulting detective.
"It's not like we're planning on sneaking up on him," Dean reminded him.
"Still, we want to have at least a tiny element of surprise," Sherlock said stiffly.
John remained silent, watching ahead of them as Dean and Sherlock argued with each other under their breath. "Some things will never change," he murmured to himself.
"Ssh, guys," Sam waved his hand, attracting their attention. "Crowley's out on the porch."
There wasn't another sentence that could have been said in that moment that would have made Sherlock and Dean stop arguing as fast as that one. "Shall we move forward?" Dean whispered.
"No," Sherlock murmured. "Wait a couple of minutes to make sure he's alone."
"He's the King of Hell, I don't think he'll be alone," Sam said.
"Fine, at least alone enough that we can take them on without many difficulties," Sherlock sighed.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Dean said.
John shushed them from where he was standing in front of them. "He's going to hear us and then it'll all be blown," he hissed.
"Why don't you boys just walk up and say what you need to say?" Crowley's voice carried on the small breeze that had blown in that moment, its tone full of arrogance.
John glared at them with an I told you look in his eyes. Annoyance flickered through Dean's eyes when he heard the voice, though Sam just shrugged and Sherlock looked faintly amused despite it. Dean pulled out his knife and started walking forward. "Well, you if you insist," he said, not bothering to raise his voice.
"By all means," Crowley was standing on the porch where they had seen him moments before. The only difference was that there were no other demons in sight and there was a small table covered in bead and various jams. Sam's eyebrows shot up when he say it. "Are you going to invite us to breakfast? At this hour?" he asked skeptically.
"Laugh all you want, but I enjoy a nice toast with jam at any hour," Crowley informed him.
"Well, you know what they say," Dean began. "Once you eat someone's bread and salt, then they are bound by the laws of hospitality and cannot harm you."
Crowley snorted. "Then consider me a Frey, and I'm not offering any to you besides," he said coldly.
"Then why bring us up here?" John spoke up.
Crowley shrugged. "You four were the ones standing at the edge of the property," he pointed out. "I just wanted you to move up here so that we could get this over with and then go on our own merry ways."
"Why the weeping angels?" Sherlock asked suddenly.
Crowley turned to him, a look of surprise on his face. "What do you mean?" he asked, a flash of suspicion crossing his features.
"The weeping angels. Why try to control them? There's so much risk involved, why bother with them? Why not settle for some creature that is so much easier to control and much less dangerous?" Sherlock listed off.
Dean glanced at Sam, both of them remembering the conversation they'd already had in the sewers. John kept his gaze on Crowley, eyes unwavering. "Well, isn't that the question of the hour," Crowley murmured.
The King of Hell's own gaze turned towards the angel statues that were stationary in the yard behind them. "They're definitely a risky choice," he admitted. "But they're unbelievably loyal when you give them the right...motivation. And God knows I need more loyalty," he added under his breath.
Sam caught on to the undertone in his words. "You're having doubts," he realized. "You think that maybe this was a bit too much for you to chew."
Crowley glared at him. "I can chew anything I want," he snapped.
"He's right," Dean chuckled. "You're out of you league here, Crowley."
"Am I? Says the one who is surrounded by enemies, many of whom can't be killed," Crowley growled, gesturing towards the graveyard.
Sherlock spoke up again. "You still haven't answered my questions," he said. "Why them? Loyalty isn't what brought you to them, there are plenty of other creatures who are out there who are loyal. Why the weeping angels?"
Sam glanced at Sherlock in surprise after hearing the sharp tone in his friend's voice. He wasn't the only one who heard it. John was turned toward him, a look of concern in his eyes. Dean had a look of curiosity on his face, but also a look of understanding. Apparently Dean knew what was going on before Sherlock's own best friend did. Crowley's eyes narrowed. Clearly, he expected there to be an ulterior motive to this line of questioning. Sam hoped there was, because at the moment they had no other plan.
"I'm not sure I should be divulging my evil plan to you," Crowley said slowly. "It seems to me that in the movies once the villain does that, then hero knows exactly what happens next and can stop it. I'd rather not give you the opportunity. Nothing personal."
"Aw, come on," Dean said. "What's the harm? Make the game a little more interesting, no?"
Crowley turned to Dean, but Sam turned his attention away from them. His gaze went to Sherlock, who was moving slowly towards John. As he got near his best friend, Sherlock straightened, eyes straight ahead towards Crowley's back. But his lips were moving, murmuring something to John. Sam tried to read his lips, but Sherlock talked so fast normally that is was practically impossible to get any words out of watching him, even if Sam was good at lip reading, which he wasn't.
Sam looked away as Crowley turned back to him. "What do you say, moose?" the demon said snidely. "Shall I take the deal? I am a crossroads demon, after all."
Sam glanced at his brother. Dean shook his head slightly, mouthing there is no deal, he's playing you. That was much easier to understand than lip reading for some reason. Sam chuckled, his gaze darkening as he looked back at Crowley. "There is no deal," he said softly.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Looks like he was paying attention after all," he said snidely.
Dean shrugged. "How else did he survive for so long in college?" he said casually.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam noticed John beginning to move slowly towards Crowley. Sherlock moved in the opposite direction, coming up behind Sam. Crowley glanced at the both of them, eyes narrowing once again. "I wouldn't continue whatever you're trying to do," he warned them. "Even if I was alone, I could take you all on and still come out on top."
Sam snorted despite himself. "I doubt that," he said.
"I can think of many occasions that would prove that wrong," Dean added.
Crowley rolled his eyes. "Was I talking to you two?" he said exasperatedly.
Dean shrugged. "I can never be sure; you can never seem to focus on one thing at a time."
Crowley turned away and looked back at Sherlock. He pursed his lips, and then smiled suddenly. "You know what," he began. "I think I'll answer your question. Maybe then we can get somewhere in this discussion."
Sherlock paused, his eyes widening slightly. Sam groaned internally. This was exactly what Crowley wanted; he knew Sherlock would be fascinated by the idea of understanding the motivation, even if he only started the questioning as a ploy. "Go on," Sherlock said smoothly, sending a small warning glance towards John.
John stopped as well, annoyance flickering in his gaze. Like Sam, John knew exactly what Crowley was doing and there was nothing he could do to stop it because Sherlock was Sherlock. The thirst for knowledge was greater than practically anything else.
"Simple really," Crowley said, almost gliding forward as he moved to stand in front of Sherlock. "They were there, I had a means on control, I took advantage of it. Plain and simple, no superior motive, no secretive history that influenced to me. Sometimes it really is cut and paste I wanted power so I took it," he hissed.
Sherlock leaned down and closer to him until they were practically nose to nose. "Oh, I doubt that very highly," he breathed. "There's a reason behind it, and unlike many people think, I don't care."
There was a pause. Crowley's composure melted for a second, revealing his surprise and dismay. Clearly, Sam thought, he had been counting on that drive for knowledge to get the upper hand against Sherlock. Then the King of Hell grinned, shrugging. "All right," he said simply. "Fine by me, too much talking makes me weary anyhow."
Something silver flashed in the lights on the porch. Sam noticed it too late, the silver that came speeding towards the consulting detective from seemingly out of nowhere. "No!" Dean shouted, throwing himself forward the same instant Sam realized what was going on.
It would have been too late. The dagger was going directly into the detective's heart, and even if Sherlock had noticed it beforehand, there was nothing he could do about it. He surely would have died, had it not been for John. The small man had noticed something was amiss before any of them. Perhaps it was instinct left over from Afghanistan; perhaps it was simply his nature telling him something was wrong. Whatever the reason, he saved Sherlock Holmes' life that day.
John leaped forward, arms outstretched as he grabbed the arm and hand that held the knife. He crashed into Crowley and they both fell to the ground, struggling against each other. Dean turned his movement into another direction, slamming into one of the demons who had appeared in the doorway at the sound of all the commotion. Sam took out his phone and started playing the exorcism on it. Crowley wasn't affected by it as he probably couldn't hear it over John and him fighting, but the other demons could hear it very well.
They screamed as the smoke coursed from their bodies, forming thick clouds of smog that circled the group and then disappeared into the night. More demons were coming up the path that the group had entered on. Sam and Dean turned to them, raising their weapons. "Let's do this," Dean murmured.
As one, the brother rushed towards them, making no noise as they attacked. The demons put up a decent fight, but they were no match for the Winchesters. Sam struck down the first one as Dean came up behind the second as he was distracted. That let only two more. The third one got in a few punches on Sam before Dean stabbed it, then Sam got the fourth as it came up behind Dean.
Adrenaline from the fight surged through Sam's veins as he turned back towards the porch. Sherlock had moved to where his friend was struggling with Crowley, trying to find some way to help. Sam hurried over and grabbed Crowley, forcing his arm back. "The rune!" he shouted into John's ear as best he could. "Use the knife to cut the rune!"
At first he didn't think John heard him, but then the knife started to be forced towards Crowley's arm. The demon realized what he was trying to do and panic flared in his eyes as his struggles became more frantic and energized. "Don't do it!" he exclaimed. "You don't understand, I'll lose control-". His words were cut off with a gasp of pain as the knife sliced through a thin top layer of skin, directly in the middle of the design of the rune. The blood ran down his arm, mixing with the bottom.
All of Crowley's struggles ceased. Sam and John fell back, winded from the fight. "You bloody idiots," Crowley breathed. "They're free now. Do you realize what you've done?"
"Next time, I wouldn't try killing one of our friends," Sam told him. "Think the plan though a little better, maybe?"
Crowley glared at him. "If that's the way you want to play," he spat.
The demon straightened. The rest of the group gathered, each having a weapon out. Crowley glanced around nervously. "I'd love to say and having a pissing contest with you all," he said. "But I'm afraid now that I no longer control some of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, I'll be exiting stage left."
Dean moved forward. "Don't you dare," he snarled. It was too late. Crowley was already gone. "God damnit," Sam heard his brother swear.
"The angels," Sherlock murmured.
"The angels," Sam agreed.
"What are we going to do?" John asked.
The words were barely out of his mouth when a familiar screeching sound came from out in the middle of the night. The four of them turned, looking at the end of the porch. "You've got to be kidding me," Dean groaned.
"Impeccable timing," John rolled his eyes.
A blue police box was slowly fading into existence. Soon it solidified before the noise died away completely. "This better be good," Sam muttered.
A figure emerged from the box. Sam started in surprise. It was the Doctor, which was clear without a doubt. But he was much different. There was sadness in his eyes, a look of loss on his face. This was the Doctor, but it wasn't the Doctor that Sam knew. Another figure came out to stand beside the Doctor. This time it was a woman, curly hair, dressed in a black dress. Her face also had a look of grief on it, only it was much more hidden than the Doctor's. "Well," she said. "This is a surprise."
"What are you four doing here?" the Doctor asked.
Sam blinked. "What are-," he began. "What are you doing here?"
"And nice to see you too, by the way," Dean added.
The Doctor's face softened slightly. "It is good to see you, all of you," he said quietly.
The woman put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it for comfort. "We're here for the angels," she said in a no-nonsense voice. "They've done something very wrong to us, and we'd like to return the favor."
Sherlock frowned. "What do you mean?"
The Doctor chuckled slightly. "Don't look so worried," he assured them. "Nothing violent, not at all. I'm still quite against that."
The woman rolled her eyes. Sam smiled slightly. Clearly, she was more of the opinion of the Winchesters: shooting is a perfectly reasonable solution. Then the humor faded. "What happened, Doctor?" he asked.
"Yeah, Doc, you don't look yourself," Dean added, concern in his voice.
John stepped forward, his eyes going up and down the Doctor. Then he seemed to realize what the others did not and stepped back after grasping the Doctor's hand in comfort. "I'm so sorry," he murmured under his breath.
Dean looked at him. "What do you mean you're sorry?" he demanded. "What happened?"
Something clicked in the back of Sam's mind. He walked to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. "Leave it," he breathed into Dean's ear.
Dean glanced at him, and something in Sam's eyes must have told him exactly what he needed to know. Then he nodded, his eyes saddening. "Do you need any assistance?" he asked the Doctor.
The Doctor smiled again. It wasn't one of his old smiles, full of happiness and cheer, excited to be alive. This one was more of smiling because the motions felt right, that it was what he was supposed to do. "No, thank you, Dean," he said. "But River and I can handle it from here. The best thing for you four to do is go home," he added. "You've had quite the adventure."
There was a pause before Sherlock nodded. He strode to the Doctor and looked him in the eye. Then he murmured something Sam didn't catch and shook the Doctor's hand before turning away. John nodded to the Doctor before following his friend. Feeling the awkwardness of the situation, Sam looked at his brother. Dean shrugged slightly and then walked up to the Doctor. "I'll see you around, then?" he asked.
The Doctor hesitated, and then nodded slowly. "Perhaps," he whispered.
Dean's eyes sparked. "No," he said firmly. "I will. You're not alone, Doc, remember that."
The Doctor didn't say anything; only patted Dean on the shoulder. Sam walked up to the Doctor and shook his hand as well. "We're here for you, Doctor, whatever you need."
Then Sam followed his brother, pausing only to nod at the woman whose name was River. She nodded back, a knowing look in her eye. The group walked out of the cemetery, where the weeping angels still stood, despite being free. Before he walked out of the gate, Sam turned to look back behind him. The Doctor stood on the porch acing the angels, River at his side. They were apparently engaged in conversation, but there wasn't much heart in it from either party. Sam felt an overwhelming sadness that he couldn't explain. So much life was gone from his friend. His stance was different. He was beaten down by events so tragic his physical body was overcome by them.
Sam turned and walked down the road side by side with his brother. There was one question that was on all their minds but none voiced it. No one needed to. There had been enough lose in each of their lives that they all knew what to do. There was no voicing the question; there was simply moving on and not thinking about it until a later date. However, despite how he tried to distract himself, Sam's mind kept thinking about it, about them.
Where were Amy and Rory?