The sun had long set over the buildings in London when Amy, Rory and The Doctor walked into Barney's Pub and Grill.
"How were we supposed to know where to sit?" Rory asked, playing with his hoodie.
Amy took his arm and laughed, "Rory dear, you don't ask logical questions with you're with The Doctor." He gave me a quizzical look. Amy pecked his cheek and sighed, "You've been at this for long enough. You should just get used to the idea that most things tend to work out."
The Doctor licked his lip and looked around anxiously, "Well at least it's a public place. That's a good sign. Nothing to violent can happen here.
Amy nodded her head in agreement.
After another few moments of awkward silence, Rory spoke. "Should we get something to eat or-"
"Doctor!" A weary voice called. To our left, a tired waitress stood clutching a throng of menus. Her face was worn from too many late night shifts and her clothes stuck with desperation. A messy blond ponytail sat at the back of her head, the elastic ring that held it together barely surviving. Her mouth was slightly upturned as she saw us, her eyes gleaming with an exhausted hope. "Are you the Doctor?"
"Yesssss…" The Doctor responded, looking around suspiciously.
"Good." She smiled, relieved, "They said that there would be a doctor in a bow tie with a ginger and another guy. The others from your party are already here."
"Our… party?" Amy asked, giving the waitress a quizzical look.
"This way." The waitress said, ignoring the question. The waitress led the trio behind rows of tables and booths until they finally reached a room in the back that was walled in and unable to be seen except for a small window in the door.
"So much for public place," The Doctor whispered in Amy's ear.
Amy nodded slightly, just as the waitress opened the door to reveal three people already sitting. There was a tall man with unruly cheek bones, curly brown hair and an obnoxious coat. Next to him was a slightly older man with graying hair, kind eyes and a tired face. To his right sat a equally tired woman with blonde hair, high cheekbones and a cellphone in hand.
The waitress gestured for the trio to sit down and they did so solemnly, all eyes on the men and woman in front of them.
"Right," The waitress murmured, guessing at the tension. "I guess I'll leave you to it. The other three members of your party will be arriving shortly, along with the meal you pre ordered. The chef is already prepared it."
She gave one last blank stare at the grim faces sitting around her and turned to leave, acting as though she couldn't get out the room fast enough.
Once she had sufficiently closed the door behind her, all eyes turned to the Doctor. Amy bit her lip, knowing the questions that were to come.
"Who are you?" The blonde woman asked.
"Why did you call for us?" The one with the kind eyes questioned.
"Why are you here?" The curly haired one inquired.
"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah," Rory grunted, putting up his hands defensively. "We didn't do anything."
Kind Eyes and Blondy turned to Curly, there eyes full of questions.
"No," Curly murmured, almost to himself, "No you didn't." He paused for a moment, eyes flying over Rory, Amy and the Doctor's bodies. Amy's brow furrowed and she pulled her arms closer to herself. It was weird, the way he was watching them. It was like he could see straight through them, but not judgingly. Not in an artificial way at least. He was simply taking note of who they were and what they were doing.
It was obvious enough that he was having an easy time sizing up Amy and Rory, is eyes passing every angle like he was making sure things were in order. When his glance turned to the Doctor it was full of confusion and hesitation. You could practically see the questions forming in his brain. Yet Curly remained ever silent.
Seconds felt like hours as Curly turned away from the trio and let his hands fumble into his pocket. For Amy, it felt like the instant right before you were about to figure out if you passed or failed an important test, the moment before you learned if you hand cancer or not, the second before you discovered if someone on the verge of death was still breathing.
At long last, Curly pulled something out of his pocket. It was a yellow piece of paper identical Amy's.
"Please answer honestly, because I will know if you don't," Curly stated. "Did you receive a paper similar to this?" In his hand was a crumpled flyer for Barney's Pub and Grill with a familiar note written at the top. It was identical to the one in Amy's pocket.
Quickly she dug it out, her fingernails scraping the red handwriting. "Here."
Curly breathed heavily, reaching for it.
Suddenly the door slammed open, revealing the same waitress and three burly men. One had on a green jacket, with layer after layer of clothes on underneath. He was handsome though, in a rough and tumble soldiery way. He had light freckles, classy hair and an ever present, effortless smirk.
To be honest, all three men were rather good looking. The second, next to Freckles, had brown hair that went on slightly passed his ears and was dressed pretty similarly. Except for his larger abundance of flannel. The third man was the true odd man out. Clearly the oldest of the three, he hand on a beige trench coat and blue tie. Bright blue eyes popped out of his asymmetrical face and his expression seemed perpetually confused.
The waitress, once again, was eager to leave.
"I'll leave you to it!" She called hastily before closing the door behind her.
The three men stared at us silently before Freckles pulled out a matching piece of yellow paper from his pocket. "You to, eh?" He was an American.
Sherlock eyed the three cautiously before snatching the papers out of Freckles and Amy's hand.
"There written by the same person, that's obvious." Curly mused, mulling over the pages in his hand. After a moment he set them down on table. I glanced at Trenchcoat, Flannel and Freckles. Were we just not gonna say anything about their entrance? Who were they anyway? What the hell was going on here?
"All at different times," Curly continued. "There are some minor differences that prove that. I can't tell much from the hand writing, but it's pretty obvious that the writer was female. She doesn't do a lot of writing either, from the look of it, but it's clear she spends a lot of time typing. The letters aren't rushed, so the woman was probably planning this out. It wasn't a spur of the moment thing.
"Who are you?" Asked Flannel, his American accent thick and murky. "How do you know all that?"
"He's a detective." Kind Eyes sighed. Amy got the feeling that this wasn't the first time he'd had to explain what Curly could do.
Curly turned to Flannel, pulling his face into a false, wide smile. "The names Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps you've heard of me?"
Flannel shook his head, "Sorry Pal. I'm not that into British crime solving."
"Wait!" Rory exclaimed. "You're Sherlock Holmes?"
Curly, or Sherlock rather, threw Flannel a snide look. "You see-"
"No, no it's not that," Rory cut him off, "It's just, when we found the note, there were some… messages." Rory paused, looking around nervously.
"Go on." Blondy edged him on kindly.
"There were two of them. One was this weird Satanic symbol thing, I'm not really sure what it was." Amy watched as the Americans shared a worried glance, yet silent. Her eyes narrowed as she turned back to Rory's story. "But the other, it was in yellow and, well, it said-"
"Spit it out." Kind Eyes murmured under his breath.'
"Ssh, John." Sherlock gave Kind Eyes- er, John- a little nudge with his elbow. Amy could see Rory sweating slightly. Rory always got nervous when everyone was asking his about something. Well at least when it came to talking. The rest of the time he was pretty cool under pressure. It was just talking that made Rory start tripping over his words.
"It said I Believe In Sherlock Holmes. Do you know what that means?" Rory rubbed his hands together nervously.
"Do you have picture?" Breathed Sherlock.
Rory shook his head.
"Wait!" Amy cut in, "I do." She pulled out her phone and swiped a couple times until it displayed a close up picture of the I Believe In Sherlock Holmes. Amy looked at John and Sherlock expectantly, hoping for some sort of explanation.
John bit his lip, "It was something surfing on the internet a couple years ago, in relation to Sherlock." Amy could tell he was hiding something. She made a mental note to google it later. "But why would it be wherever you found the note?"
"Maybe it was an attempt to grab our attention," Flannel shrugged, "And connect us in some way. Can I, um, see the picture of the Satan symbol. I'm Sam, by the way. That's my brother Dean and our friend Cas." He pointed toward Freckles first and then Trenchcoat.
"I'm Amy." Amy smiled, swiping on her phone.
"Mary," Blondy volunteered, "And that's my husband John."
"I'm Rory." Rory said nervously, crossing his arms over his chest.
"That leaves me," The Doctor smirked, "People usually call me the Doctor."
"Here it is!" Amy cried, shoving her phone in Sam's face.
He stared at the odd pentagram with the flame around it and glanced suspiciously at Dean. Slowly he unbuttoned his shirt to reveal a tattoo.
It was the same symbol.
Sam buttoned his shirt back up and glanced around self consciously, "That's not all. There was also two symbols where we found our note."
"What were they?" The Doctor smirked, looking intrigued.
"One was etched into the car, it said I O U. Next to that, Bad Wolf was graffitied onto the hood."
The Doctor and Sherlock's face fell slack in almost perfect unison. Amy looked at the Doctor, confused. Neither phrase rung a bell, so why did he look so confused. Then again… the Doctor had more secrets that I could count.
Dean smirked, "I guess you recognize them."
"Yes," The Doctor's brow was furrowed, "But the real question is why you know what it is. I mean… to know about Bad Wolf…who could have written that?" He trailed off.
"What about you?" Rory asked Sherlock, "Were there any messages with you?"
Mary nodded, "The word Croatoan and a poster for 'Vote Saxon.'"
Again, Amy was confused. But she could see from the Doctor's expression that he recognized at least one of them.
"So what does it mean?" Rory questioned.
"Your meal's here!" A peppy voice called, opening the door. He brought in a whole chicken. Cooked, of course, but a whole chicken. "This is our specialty here." The server nodded cheerfully and set down a pile of plates. "Bon Appétit!"
We all stare at the chicken for a few painful moments before Dean finally spoke.
"So… should we eat it?"
Eight eyes turned to stare at him quizzically.
"Are you crazy, mate?" John asked, "It could be poisoned or, drugged or anything, honestly!"
The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver.
"What's that?" Mary inquired.
"Sssh." He smiled and turned the screwdriver on. It buzzed slightly and the Doctor looked up to stare at the other members in the room, his eyes confused.
"There's something inside."