The chair creaked as the woman leant drunkenly on one side, even Sam felt uneasy looking at the state of her. Her skin had mostly melted away, revealing clotted black goo that oozed down her body. Her breath came out in harsh wheezes and her jaw was only barely kept together with fragile sinews of muscle. Her eyes were a wide poisoned red as if she had been crying, but apparently it was a side effect of having acid coursing through your veins. Sam had already been through the basics, monsters didn't give state secrets out for free.

She's a monster.

Sam kept his face straight, not revealing how much he wanted to heave. He had to keep it together for the others; they weren't going to do this, they weren't up to it. It was down to him.

"Tell me, and this will be over." Sam growled, thinking of his brother as he did, trying to mimic how he acted. Dean was always the one who did the interrogating, Sam had obviously done his part and done it well when he had to but Dean was better at it. Sam tried not to think of why that was.

""I'm going to enjoy taking my time ripping each of you apart." She spat a fat glob of blood and muscle on the floor, there was a spreading mass of it beneath her feet, one Sam had been consciously avoiding looking at. Sam wondered if her regenerating powers meant the pain was eternal, that her nerve endings kept being rebuilt just to be burnt and shrivelled again. The awful thing was that he was able to empathise with that pain.

"Sure, enjoy that thought while it lasts, before that though maybe you'd just like to tell us where Moriarty has gone to." Sam hoarsely muttered, his hands clenched into shaking fists. He was running out of patience, he felt disgusting and she had yet to tell him anything useful, except how many things he could shove where the sun don't shine.

She laughed, well, he assumed she laughed; it was a different sort of wheeze anyhow.

"You're just ants to us, nothing you can do to save your little species," she swallowed, moaning. "Mm, I taste alright. Salsa would be good though."

Sam grit his teeth, she wasn't taking this seriously. He punched her in the face, her bones crunched under his hand and her jaw wobbled dangerously. His hand was covered in gore; he wiped it on her blazer.

"Someone needs anger management." She grinned grotesquely, "I bet you're worried about your brother, I wonder if he and his angel have been eaten yet. Can't be long, nothing as tasty as human."

"Shut up!" Sam growled, his hand itching for the machete blade. "You have no reason to be loyal, tell me where Moriarty is and both our misery can end."

"Have you checked your pocket? When I can't find something, it's often there. Or it was for the woman who used to wear this." She swallowed another piece of her own flesh and this time Sam didn't quell the urge to chop off her head. The squelching thud as it hit the floor was gratifying.

Sam diluted the borax drip; hopefully she'd be back together enough that a few rounds with a baseball bat would loosen her up.

He sighed, stepping round the bloody mess and shedding his jacket, it was splattered in her guts. Right now he just wanted to enjoy a long, hot shower. She could wait a few hours. He opened the door and quickly shut it behind him.

'John, I'm just going to shower. Watch the door for me?' Sam grimaced as he left a footprint of slimy red on the wooden floorboards, he took his boots off.

'How's it going in there? Sounds, well, I'm glad it's not me.' John frowned, turning from his laptop screen and assessing the mess that Sam was. His long hair was stringy and matted, and his jeans were stained where he'd wiped the blood off his hands. He looked worn, tired, John was almost overcome by the urge to drag him to the shower and demand he have 10 hours sleep minimum, he might have, but Sam didn't look like he had ever slept 10 hours straight and he didn't look like he was going to start soon.

Sam shrugged, looking slightly more normal without his boots and large jacket, John could almost believe they were just staying with a welcoming American for respite, that those stains were from painting the fence outside and they'd soon be leaving, back to London and Mrs. Hudson.

"She has a big mouth on her; she's just not saying anything that's really putting a crack in Moriarty's plan. Where's Sherlock?"

"Went shopping." John squirmed uncomfortably.

"How? There's no..."

"I'm sorry! I only realised what he was doing when it was too late." John's eyes grew wide as Sam ran for the door, as if he could stop Sherlock who had left hours ago.

"Where did he go? If he leaves so much as a scratch, he is dead!" Sam held his forehead, staring at the empty drive. "And so am I." He mumbled, his eyes flicking back to John.

"He just said we needed to do more research and drove off."

"Great, two men down already. Can nobody just stay in one place for more than a second?" Sam turned back, shutting the door behind him and looking up at Johns face; he promptly reconsidered the question and laughed.

"Except you, John, you haven't even moved seat, have you?"

"Hey, I made some tea..." John blanched as he realised he really had been sitting on his ass all day.

"It's alright, did you find anything online?"

"Not much, they've completely cut Texas off, and 3 more hospitals are being built in Maine, Montana and California to 'cope with the sudden sweep of swine flu. Incidentally at the same time a load of fast food chains are popping up."

"Same company?"

"Nope, all different. It wasn't easy to find this out either, there could be loads more going on under the radar."

"Great." Sam sighed, since when had he become the world's guardian?

"Have a shower and rest, you look knackered, I'll watch the door." John made the universal sign for 'I've got my eyes on you' at the door and Sam must have been really tired, because he chuckled and actually felt a little better.

"Yeah, I won't be too long."

"Take as long as you want!" John called after him as he made his way to the bathroom, already imagining the slide of hot water against his tense muscles, cleaning off the clinging debris that made him heavier. Maybe he would sleep, just for a few minutes, a quick lie down. Sam nodded drowsily to himself, yeah, John could handle himself.

John watched as the huge guy trudged away, still pleasantly surprised that the 'Muscle Giant who killed monsters for a living' was actually quite nice, normal in a way a lot of people actually weren't. He was the kind of guy who would end up marrying a beautiful girl, build their home himself and have two kids and a dog; he probably would have that already if not for his occupation. John found himself hoping they'd survive this just so Sam could have that, and maybe him too. He was still young enough after all.

"Eh, time for a refill." John plodded to the kitchen, putting the kettle on for the third time. He started loading the sugars, but there was only so long he could sit at a laptop while everyone else sorted the world's problem, and he was just a tadge curious.

He left his mug and ignored the indignant screaming of the kettle, walked past his humming computer, and accidentally trod in the red slime that Sam had left in his wake. He ignored this too, biting his lip and turning the handle. He remembered the way the woman had looked at him; maybe she would be more willing to talk to him than the weapon wielding bad man. He smirked to himself; he was being the good cop then.

The room was barely recognisable from the plain, empty shell it had been, a table leaned against the far wall, layered with knives, bottles, needles and metal bars. John tried not to look too closely. The floor around the chair was covered in blood and other lumps of things; he thought he glimpsed one or two teeth peeking from within a mound of flesh. The drip now merely looked ironic, surrounded by its patient's insides.

He shuddered, to think that Sam had done this. Sam's jacket was thrown against the floor, forming a sticky clump next to the door, but he took all that in one second. His attention was quickly overwhelmed by the head that was slowly reconnecting itself. The flesh sewed itself back together, head attaching to neck in a flawless, easy manner. Her shoulders rolled, the movement rippling across her skin until she was twisting her neck, the bones popping into place again.

"Ah, that is such a nuisance." She sighed, her sight locking on John.

"Is it your turn now, sweetie? I promise I don't bite." She winked, and maybe that would've been an enticing offer in another situation where half of her face wasn't sagging and she didn't look like a half rotting corpse but right now John was halfway to throwing up.

"I wouldn't pop your bones like that, you'll get arthritis." He commented, his voice shakier than he liked. She laughed, finding the idea bemusing.

"Aw, thank you for the concern. How kind." She rolled her eyes, her tone cutting. John ignored her.

"Tell me what the message means." He stepped closer, his voice becoming more urgent, and she watched him like he imagined a hawk watched the unaware fish. He shivered, knowing this could go very wrong for him, but it was too late to leave now.

"Why should I?" She licked her cracked lips, and John swore he saw her tongue become forked.

"Why not?" He countered, unable to think as he watched her face begin to lift and her eyes become sharper. He looked at the drip but it was still almost full.

She smiled, pressing her lips together. "I think you already know."

"No, I don't. What does Moriarty want with Sherlock?" He pressed, Moriarty had left a message just like Sherlock had predicted and it could not be treated lightly, especially with Moriarty now being a People-Eating Monster.

"His heart. His achey, breaky heart." She sneered.

"Why?" John didn't consider how that would be impossible, Sherlock didn't get attached, emotion was a disadvantage.

"Because eating you folk is fun and all, but he's shown us that hunting you is even better, breaking you is the charm." She stared right into his eyes as she spoke, and John wanted to run, to call Sam, every nerve told him to GET OUT OF THERE. But he stayed.

"So, what, you're hunting us down?"

"One by one. Sherlock, Sam, little alien boy." She paused, her eyes glinting, "you first, though, sweetie."

"Alien boy… you mean the Doctor?" John growled.

"That's the one. He's got someone waiting for him back home." Her eyes drifted, looking behind him. John shivered but didn't turn; he hadn't heard the door open.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you really know about your 'partners'? About the man who destroyed his home, the brother who started the apocalypse, and the detective who relishes the thrill of that death and destruction?"

"I know who they are, what they have done isn't any of my business." John said sombrely, he knew they were trying to save the world, maybe right their mistakes; and it wasn't like he had shared his stories of the battlefield. He'd done things he wasn't proud of.

"How noble. I guess we'll soon see if they feel the same compassion towards you."

John hadn't fully registered the meaning of her words until it was too late. The rope split and he tried to run but she was on him. He felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck and then he was down.

Xxxxxxxxx

"Angels."

The Doctor pulled back, "Angels… again. That word. In Purgatory, a dimension supposedly full of monsters. Gah!" He ruffled his hair, grasping at chunks of it. "It's at the tip of my mind! What is it?"

Amelia wiped her eyes using the back of her hand, and tugged on his elbow patch.

"Yes?"

"Are you talking about your voice in the box?" She glanced behind her, at the window, where you could see the garden and his TARDIS waiting patiently.

"The voice… my TARDIS? No. No, this is something different." He frowned, confused. "What do you mean the voice?"

Amelia smiled, "she talked to me when you were here last time. She sounds like the Angels; she said I could trust you."

The Doctor was speechless, a rare phenomenon, of course these moments can't last forever.

"What are you, Amelia Pond?" He pressed his hands against her face, trying to see into her but something blocked him.

She shook her head, pushing his hands away. "You can't do that."

"Why?"

"You'll get hurt."

He sat back on his heels, just staring at her, and unlike other people she stared back, her gaze as unrelenting as his own. He sensed no fear or uncertainty from her.

He looked back up at the crack.

"What if I wanted to go in? Make it bigger?" He suggested, looking at her from the corner of his eye.

"No! No, you can't do that! You must make it smaller, must make it go away!" She cried, her voice becoming demanding and loud.

"But what if I can only do that from the inside? What if the problem is on the inside?" He kept going, knowing he was close.

"Doctor. No." She was backing away from him, going towards the crack.

He stood up.

"Amelia, you have to let me help and I can't do anything here." He took a step after her.

"Don't come any closer!" She screamed, her arms widening to stop him from getting near to the crack. She was so young but the Doctor actually hesitated, anxiety nestled inside his gut. But when did that ever stop him?

He took another step.

Amelia was no more, a column of spiralling flames had engulfed her, it burned the ceiling above them, crackling and spitting embers across the room.

"Amelia!" The Doctor shouted hoarsely, choking on the smoke. "I'm not leaving!" His eyes stung and he covered his mouth with his jacket in an attempt to breathe.

He waited, his eyes watering, not knowing if it would change anything.

Slowly, the flames became more solid, shrinking until the Doctor could see the blackened ceiling behind them. They didn't just go out like the Doctor had hoped though, instead a figure was formed, her body made of glowing white fire, her hair a cascade of red flames. When she opened her eyes, they were blue flares.

"You may not pass, Doctor." Her voice was crackly, but not ferocious, like distant thunder.

"I only wish to help, Amelia." The Doctor removed his jacket from his mouth.

"I am the gatekeeper of this dimension and only I get to say what leaves and enters. You are not permitted, you do not belong."

"What about the leviathans? Did they have your permission to leave? Do they belong here?" The Doctor shouted.

The flames fell, the blue of her eyes dimming slightly.

"I let down my Father." Her voice was softer, and the Doctor sensed more of Amelia, but when the Doctor tried to get closer she blazed more brightly, the Doctor jumped back, his fingers red where they ached from burn.

"I can't let anything else out." Despite the pain of his fingers, he could see how afraid, guilty and alone she was. So much like he had been. He could sense how long she'd isolated herself, guarding the gate.

"They all want out. They cry and suffer and they're so close, always trying to make it bigger. I have let too many escape already."

"There are two creatures in there that don't belong in there; you must feel them, know their presence. One of them is a brother to my friend. You know what it's like." The Doctor lowered his gaze, but her sudden silence infuriated him for some reason.

"Would you let your family rot in there?"

Amelia stiffened. Her flames freezing for an unnatural moment.

"I have to. Always."

"What if you had a choice?"

The figure was quiet except for the sizzle and sputter of her fire, and then the fire went out, smoke erupted around the room and the Doctor raced to open a window. He coughed violently, heaving smoke from his lungs.

"Amelia?" He managed as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Take the man and the angel and bring me back the Leviathans. I shall open the gate layer by layer. Be quick."

"Thank you, and we'll help you, okay?" The Doctor planted a loose hand on her shoulder and she nodded, smiling slightly.

"I believe you."

Xxxxxxxxxxx

"According to the hounds, the crack has moved not far from the Swamp City. Once we have made preparations, we should head that way." Gordon's voice was rough with excitement.

"With human?" The Behemoth grunted, his speech still uneven.

"I don't know. Who knows if the crack will take monsters? But a human, he doesn't belong here anyway, the place probably wants to spit him out, and maybe we could grab a ride. But then, I don't know if he'll even last that long, the sods dying out here. He could end up being more useful as money for provisions. Either way, we need to go the Swamp City first, we'll see how much anyone is willing to buy him for and decide that way." Dean felt sick at the evaluation; there wasn't a good end for him either way.

"Good. How long?"

"Two more nights at most. Almost home." Gordon sighed; it was almost in his grasp.

Dean absorbed this, the crack led home. That was his aim then. He would get back to Sammy.

Twice the pride, double the fall - MORIARTY :)

"Gosh, that takes me back... Or forward." - Doctor

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What are you…?" Sherlock crawling on floor next to bed/sofa? He's hurt? Drugged?

"What?"

"No, no. The bed. You'll be fine in the morning. Just sleep."

"Of course, I'll be fine. I am fine, I'm absolutely fine."

"Yes, you're great. Now if you need me, I'll be next door."

"Why would I need you?"

Wake up to find naked Sherlock? (had a revelation that was too urgent for clothes?)