Author's Note: Do not fear; I am alive, and back. Allow me to make a few notes before the story continues. First of all, I moved the second chapter to the end of the first one, just to make the first chapter long enough to be considered such. I'm letting you know so that you don't get confused. That way, you have more to read in the chapters, but less chapters with which to deal. This warning is also in the 'new' Chapter Two.

Disclaimers are as mentioned in the prologue. Thanks to all who have reviewed so far, especially to the anonymous crowd. I welcome all reviews, even the ones that are more critical.

Thanks to those who have previewed, and to Gollum Slayer 576, my real-life not-so-beta-reader!

Sincerely,

TARDIS Blue Carbuncle

January 6, 1891 marked the first step on our journey into the impossible.

That day was a particularly strenuous day at my practice, and I was eager to return to my wife and Kensington home. After leaving the final house of my round, I hailed a cab, for the ground was blanketed with fresh snow and my old wound ached in protest to the cold. I climbed into the first hansom that approached and gave the cabbie my address; the cab slowly rolled forward and merged with the London traffic. Wearily, I watched the landscape outside. The sun, which had turned a warm shade of orange, was a mere sliver on the horizon, a dying light against the darkening sky. The bitter cold wind invaded the open cab and snow brushed at my cheek; despite the warm jacket I wore, I shivered violently. The gaslights appeared unfocussed and dim, and cast unearthly shadows. I turned my thoughts to my dear Mary, and the warm fire that would surely be burning when I arrived home.

The hansom suddenly lurched to a stop, jerking me from my reverie. "'Ere you are, guv'nor," the cabbie growled.

I slowly climbed out, only to find that I was not in Kensington at all, but in a small, trash-ridden cul-de-sac.* "Sir," I said, rather dumbly, "This is not Kensington."

"Oi know," said he as he climbed down from his perch on top of the hansom. He was a man of roughly six feet and powerfully built. The clothes he wore were threadbare, and a dirty, worn cap sat on top of a mess of sandy hair, concealing his eyes. His florid face twisted into a sinister smile, revealing a set of rotting teeth below a sandy moustache. His voice was low, scratchy and tinged with malevolence as he added, "Oi know this t'aint Kensingtun. And oi know who ye are, Sawbones Watson."

I was momentarily taken aback at the mention of my name. I stammered, "I... I do not believe we are acquainted. Why are we here?" For a moment, I was certain that this rogue brought me here to rob me of the few shillings I had on hand. Of course, I took into consideration that I was accosted because of my connection with a certain consulting detective, yet that seemed less likely. I did not have to wait long for an answer.

"Oi've got nuthin' against ye, nuthin' a' t'all," the cabbie sneered as he wiped his bulbous nose on his sleeve, "Just tha' your friend, tha' Consultin' D'tective, 'e is getting' too close for me an' me boss." As if on cue, another man emerged from behind the hansom. This man was far shorter, thinner and his hair was of a reddish-brown hue. His eyes were a dark brown, and an ugly scar ran across one of them. His lips curled into a sneer, and with one small forefinger, he pointed to the cabbie.

From behind his back, the cabbie drew his horsewhip and slapped it against his bare palm. "We've gotta teach 'im a lesson," the cabbie said, shrugging.

I had only my stick with which to protect myself, and recognizing the immediate danger, I moved into a defensive position. My own skills at self-defense were better than the average man; my time in Afghanistan and many years by Holmes' side taught me the importance of such proficiency. "Sirs," I said, slowly advancing and keeping my voice steady, "I do not wish to engage you, but if you continue to treat me in this threatening manner, I shall be forced to defend myself."

I raised my stick for a blow to the skull of the taller man.

"My dear Watson," a well-remembered voice said, laughing, "I would never dream of harming you. If we were to engage me, you would surely lose."

I gaped at the cabbie before me, whose Cockney accent disappeared, replaced by a cultured accent of the West End. The cabbie then flung his cap off his head, along with the sandy hair, the moustache, the bulbous nose, and the rotting teeth. Gone was he, and in his place stood the tall, emaciated form of Sherlock Holmes.

I stood still, with my stick above my head, flabbergasted. "Holmes," I sighed, dropping my arm, "I must confess, old chap, I was about to strike you! What the Devil are you doing in that get-up?"

"A case, Watson, the conclusion played out not an hour ago. It was a trivial problem, but not without some interesting details. Suffice to say that the criminal, a young man who put his talent of ax-wielding to nefarious uses, hired this hansom to claim his next victim. However, upon exiting the cab, he found himself at Scotland Yard." He laughed for a few seconds, then continued with, "Lestrade was quite surprised to see his quarry walk straight into him. I continued my act of the cabbie, intending on proceeding to Baker Street. However, when I caught sight of you attempting to hail a cab, I could not resist the chance for a dramatic appearance."

"Your penchant for dramatic appearances will one day be the death of me," I muttered. I then remembered the other man. "If you were posing as the cabbie," I asked as I pointed to the short man, "then who, pray tell, is this?"

"This man," Holmes explained as he turned to face the man, "is Mr. Seamus Aherne, the real driver of this particular hansom." Politely, the shorter man stepped forward and bowed to me. Holmes asked, "Watson, would your wife be so indisposed as to prevent you from accompanying me to Baker Street? I have a little problem that might require your assistance."

I thought over his proposition for a moment. No doubt, Mary would become concerned when I fail to arrive home, yet the thrill of the chase was far too much to ignore. I inhaled deeply and said, "Not at all, Holmes. Mary understands the importance of your cases. If she fails to—"

"If she fails to, tell her I abducted you."

My eyes widened and I gaped at my friend, wondering if he had taken leave of his senses. Before I could reply to his outrageous statement, Holmes held up his hand and explained, "Watson, I had commandeered the cab in which you were a passenger, did I not? I then took you to an abandoned alleyway, where no one could witness your death or hear you cry out, did I not? I then approached you in a manner that suggested that I meant to inflict serious bodily harm, did I not? Therefore, I believe one can say with utmost certainty that I had abducted you."

I replied, "Holmes, you have no need to abduct me. Since you are so insistent upon me accompanying you to Baker Street, I shall go willingly. This case must be of some interest; otherwise, you would not have bothered to stage this abduction. Besides," I said as I sidestepped Holmes and climbed into the hansom, "we shall catch our deaths if we remain out here much longer."

Holmes commented with a smile, "This is an unexpected and unorthodox abduction. I swear to God, I was certain I would be forced to solve another puzzle without you!" He too climbed in. Through the trapdoor above our heads, Holmes yelled, "Mr. Aherne, you may take the reins and proceed to Baker Street." To me, he whispered, "He shall give us the details of his case once we arrive."

"Do you mean to say Mr. Aherne is not only an accomplice of yours, but also your client?" I asked. Holmes, though, did not answer. His grey eyes were hooded and unfocussed, staring at something which no other mortal could see. His long, bony fingers formed a steeple on his lap, and his brow furrowed with concentration.

Mr. Aherne, on the other hand, made an amicable companion. Sensing the slightly uncomfortable silence and disliking it, he addressed me, saying, "Ye be wonderin' how I met Mr. Holmes, Doctor?"

I glanced up to him, surprised at the Irish brogue that tinged his words. "Yes, I am more than a little curious."

"As ye might tell," Aherne replied from his perch on top of the two-wheeler, "I was born and raised in Ireland. In the year seventy-eight, I came here to London for a better-paying occupation than what I had. Instead, I found trouble, in the form of a man that framed me for a murder I dinna commit." His deep voice filled with admiration as he said, "Mr. Holmes saved me from th' hangman's noose. From then on, if Mr. Holmes ever needed a cab, I would offer my services."

Aherne and I continued our engaging conversation until he pulled the cab in front of 221 Baker Street. In an instant, Holmes' eyes regained their inner fires; he shot out of the cab, ran to the door, unlocked it, and ran inside. As I climbed out of the cab, Aherne leaped from the top of the cab and landed next to me. I was shocked at his apparent disregard for his safety, but he merely laughed at my alarm. We proceeded to the door, where Mrs. Hudson was waiting for us. The perceptive landlady promptly noticed the signs of weariness and hunger in our faces, and with a resigned shake of her head, she silently led the two of us into Holmes' rooms.

Nothing had changed in the rooms since I had vacated them two years prior. A gentle fire was burning in the fireplace, casting a reassuring light in all corners of the room. The Persian slipper hung on its hook by the fireplace, the cigars lay in the coal-scuttle, and the jackknife remained embedded in the mantle. The chemical equipment sat on the laboratory table in one corner of the room, the couch and wicker chairs sat in their customary places, and the bullet-pocks V.R. still graced the wall. Strangely enough, the floor was cleared of the habitual clutter, and there was no sign of the newspaper that Holmes would throw upon the ground. Upon glancing to the dinner table, I saw three plates and three cups of tea.

"Mr. Holmes informed me that you were coming before he left this morning, Doctor," explained Mrs. Hudson as I settled myself in a chair by the fire. "I shall get dinner served shortly." The elderly woman gave a slight curtsy and departed.

Ah, I thought, Holmes lied to me. This was a premeditated kidnapping.

I took one cup and took a sip, thankful for one comfort that had been denied me all day. Soon, Holmes emerged from his bedroom, clad in his mouse-colored robe, and he settled himself in the chair opposite mine. Aherne sat upon the couch, and I noticed that for such an ebullient man, his face now displayed worry, anxiety, and fear.

Holmes was the first to break the silence, saying, "Aherne, this is not the first time you have brought a case to me; pray, give us the account. You know my methods; leave no detail out, no matter how insignificant."

"I shall, and it involves an encounter very much like Dr. Watson's."

"Hardly anything in this world scares me," Mr. Seamus Aherne began, "I am a God fearin' man, I hold no superstitions, an' I dinna fear what man might do to me. Yet, this dastardly business shakes me to the core." The man took another swallow of the glass of brandy in his hand before turning to me and asking, "Doctor, from what ye know of me, do ye think me a madman?"

Without hesitation, I shook my head.

Aherne turned to Holmes and again asked, "Mr. Holmes, ye bein' a rational man above bias, do ye doubt my sanity?"

Holmes leaned back, formed a steeple with his fingers, and answered, "I do not doubt your sanity and level-headedness any more than I do Watson's."

Aherne laughed; the laugh was shrill and nervous, and he cried, "Gentlemen, if only I could be assured o' that! Suffice to say, ye be free to commit me to Bedlam once ye hear my story. This whole mess started with poor Eddie's angels."

"Mr. Edward Marshall, Eddie as we called him, was a good friend of mine; loyal, punctual, predictable, stalwart, and brave as a man could be. Very, very English. Yet, sumethin' came over him about one month ago. It was the fifth of October, an' I was on my route, waitin' for someone that needed my cab. That was when I spied him; Eddie was in an abandoned alley, like he was lost. I stopped my cab, climbed off, and walked to him. I noticed somethin' strange; he was standin' still, starin' at a statue. The statue itself wasn't worth all that attention; it was a white statue; marble, I think; a statue o' an angel, with its hands coverin' its face as if it were weepin'."

"I called out, 'Eddie! Why ye starin' at that angel like it's gonna kill ye?'

"He replied, 'Seamus, beware!'"

"'Beware what?' I asked, slowly gettin' closer."

"'The angel,' he answered in a hiss, 'The angel statues, Angels of Death.' Without turnin' to me, he said, 'Seamus, stay back! The angel just killed that little girl!'"

"'What little girl?' I had reason to be surprised; I never saw a little girl leave the alley nor was there one among the shadows. I said, 'Eddie, I see no little girl.'"

"'The girl stood here not a second ago. All I did was blink, Seamus. A single blink, and... and she died! Her neck... oh, my God, Seamus; her neck was broken! The angel broke her neck! The angel moved; it moved from the corner there,' he pointed to a corner about twenty feet away, 'to where it stands now. It stood over her broken body like a wolf stands over its prey. It was horrible, so horrible I blinked again, and then the girl's body disappeared. Tell me I am not hallucinating! God! Help me, Seamus!'"

"I had never seen Edward so distressed before. Under normal circumstances, he would be laughing the whole thing off and boundin' right up to where anyone could be hidin' and pull them out. All I said in response was, 'Eddie, I think yer over-tired. Maybe ye should go home an' get some sleep.' I moved to the statue, thinking to prove to him that it couldna move. I reached out to touch it.

With a shriek, Eddie was upon me. He grabbed my outstretched arm and he cried, 'Do not touch it, for God's sake, do not! It might kill you, too! What if that is how this angel kills?'"

"'Yer sayin' that this harmless angel statue broke a nonexistent girl's neck. By God, Eddie, yer made o' more than this!'"

"'Seamus, I saw it with my own eyes. That statue killed a girl, and made her disappear. I am not crazy! All I did was blink-' In his terror, he kept stepping backwards, away from me, and before he could finish the sentence, he 'ad backed straight into the statue."

Aherne paused, swallowed the rest of his brandy, and stared into the fire. Holmes eyes, which had been half-closed when Aherne began his testimony, were wide open. In a tone that I used only upon the most distressed of patients, I muttered, "Aherne, what happened?"

Aherne glanced up, and whispered, "All Hell broke loose."

Holmes raised one eyebrow, and then he leaned forward and asked, "Aherne, before I ask you to elaborate on that statement, could you tell me the conditions of that day? Was it morning or evening? How well could you see? Was the fog heavy, light…?" Sherlock Holmes' sentence died on his lips, and he ended it with a shrug.

Aherne said with determination, "It was noon, and there was little fog, so light tha' nothin' could hide in it. Even the shadows o' the alley weren't dark enough to hide anythin'. There was garbage, but there was no body, no girl, no killer statues. Yet, a second after Eddie bumped into the statue, I wish I coulda taken back my words."

"The second Edward came into contact with the statue, as I said before, all Hell broke loose. The wind picked up faster than I ever imagined it could, and the garbage in the alley swirled about. A searin' beam of light, almost like lightning, went from the sky, into the statue, and then into poor Eddie, and he shrieked in pain and terror. The light burned my eyes, an' I brought my arm up to cover my eyes. When I lowered my arm—" Aherne paused again, but this time only for a second. He inhaled, then said, eyes wide in terror, "He was right. The statue had moved. Now, instead of both hands over its face, it had one hand around Eddie's neck, the other at his forehead. And the screams; God the screams, Eddie never stopped screaming. In about a minute, it was over. One more flash o' light blinded me, and then, it was just Edward an' me. I was unharmed, but Eddie—"

Aherne sighed, and then murmured, "Eddie was weepin' an' moanin' like a child. I bundled 'im up into my cab, an' took him straight home. All the way, he was mutterin' more nonsense than the House o' Lords!" Aherne laughed again, and even Holmes smiled slightly. "I apologize," Aherne said, "This whole business has me questionin' my sanity. To continue, Edward's missus told me the next day tha' she had him committed to Albion Hospital for the Criminally Insane."

Aherne glanced into the empty glass he held, placed it on the table beside him, and took Mrs. Hudson's cup of tea into his hands. Holmes asked, "Aherne, how long did you have your arm covering your eyes at the initial burst of light?"

"No more than a second or two. I asked meself the very question, for my initial thinking was that someone had two statues, an' replaced them when Eddie an' I werena lookin'. But nothin' can move that fast in two seconds, and it was just Eddie an' me in the alley." Aherne drained the cup of tea and asked, "Mr. Holmes, anythin' else before I continue?"

Holmes shook his head and motioned for Aherne to continue. "The next step in this sequence of madness," said a calmer Aherne, "happened at Albion."

"Over time, I had written the whole affair off as somethin' we ate or drank that made us hallucinate. Edward may have seen somethin' I dinna, but if I were to believe that there were angel statues wanderin' about snappin' little girls' necks, may God see me rot. Unlike those of my soil, I am not prone to believe the old stories of faeries and the like; I needed proof that what I saw was true. About two months ago, which woulda been the eleventh of November, I gathered my courage and drove my cab to Albion Hospital to see Eddie. At first, the fat man at the desk wouldna let me in. I started yellin' at him, demandin' that I see Eddie, givin' him all the Gaelic oaths I knew, when someone placed their hand on my shoulder."

Mr. Aherne visibly shuddered. "I shut my large mouth and glanced up. There, towerin' above me, was a man whose appearance I was slightly familiar with. That man was Eddie's employer, a man who was the topic of so many dark whispers in the East End, accordin' to Edward when 'e was in his cups. The man's grey eyes, mere slits and deeply sunken into his white, domed forehead, bored straight through me. That giant head of his oscill... oscill... oscillated back and forth like a snake about t' strike. Baring his gleamin' white teeth, he smiled at me."

"'Ah, you must be Mr. Seamus Aherne. Edward Marshall has told me so much about you,' he said in a calm, yet slightly sinister voice, as if he knew everythin' about me. 'Such fiery spirit.' He turned to the man at the desk, gave him his name, and without another word, the two of us were allowed through."

"Ye wouldna believe the things I saw. Institutions like yer hospitals are supposed to help people... ah, I digress. Suffice to say, the place stank of excrement, far worse than the dirtiest streets of London or the barns where we keep the horses. The air rang with the cries of the mad; some called out names, some screamed at the top o' their lungs, and others muttered absolute gibberish. 'Twas all I could do not to run out o' the place."

"As we ascended a flight of dilapidated stairs, I asked Edward's employer, 'Why are ye here, mister? So far as I know, not even Edward's missus has come t' visit him. Why do ye, the least likely o' people?'"

"'And why do you?' he replied in that strange voice o' his, 'But we both know the answer to that question. You are his friend, concerned for his safety. I suppose that is why I am here; it was a result of my decision that he is confined here in the first place.' I tried to ask him what he meant, but the man continued with, 'You see, Mr. Aherne, for a few months now, something disturbing has been happening underneath my very nose. I do not know if Mr. Marshall has told you the extent to which I control. No? Very good; his discretion is vital to me, and he has never betrayed my trust. What you need to know is this: My employees have been disappearing. One day, they would be doing my bidding, and the next, they were gone, without a trace. I was at my wit's end; almost forty of my men were missing, and at the end of two months I had not a clue as to their whereabouts. Therefore, I had enlisted your friend to trace them, and discover what was happening. Not even I could have predicted this!' Those long fingers of his clenched, and his knuckles turned white, whiter than the walls o' the hospital, or what was left o' the white paint. Both o' us remained silent until we reached Eddie's cell."

"For a moment, he dinna know we were there. He sat in one dark corner, slender back toward us and bent in concentration, as if he were writing somethin'."

"I whispered, 'Edward?' But o'er the din o' his other cellmates, I wasna surprised that he dinna hear me. I cleared my throat and half-shouted, 'Eddie!'"

"The sight that beheld me made my blood run cold. The man before me wasn't even half the man he was. That once-muscular body was reduced to nothing; each limb, each finger was nothin' but a twig. His blonde hair was matted to his head, which was covered with dried blood. His face was sallow, his brown eyes dull and sunken deep into his head. His clothes were too large for him; they were nothin' more than rags, and they hung about his frame. He grinned at me, like a proper madman, and his once-white teeth were either rotting or missing. This change all took place in about two weeks. His employer's eyes widened. I gaped at him and asked, 'By God, Eddie, what happened?'"

"'The angels,' he replied. His voice had lost its jovial ring, and was nothin' but a croak. 'The Weeping Angels, the Lonely Assassins, whatever one may call them. The angels watch us through time... seeing all that was... all that is... and all that will be. They defy the laws of nature, Seamus, never growing older, never dying... always there. No one can conquer them, but they conquer all...' With speed that I wouldna have guessed he possessed, he lunged for the bars of the cell. I flung myself back, and Edward's employer retreated a couple o' steps. Eddie grasped the rusted bars with his wraith-like hands and screeched, 'Do not blink, Seamus. If you want to live, do not blink. I do not wish upon you the fate that had befallen so many others, and will befall millions more. Come closer; I need you to understand me.'"

"His employer and I did as he bid. He whispered, 'The angels... they are everywhere... they pervade every civilization, rooting themselves into whatever peoples they find. They are hunters, Seamus. The angels hunt every person of that civilization until the latter becomes extinct. They have done so on so many worlds... So many unknown worlds far beyond the reach of the imagination... so far flung. I hear them... they talk to each other, yet not moving their lips... their heathen language... so old...' Edward then began ramblin' to himself. Suddenly, his eyes cleared, and in a voice that resembled his voice of old, he hissed, 'The angels cannot be observed, Seamus. I do not know how, but as long as someone is observing them, they cannot move, they are stone. But beware, Seamus. The moment you turn your head away... the moment you blink... you die. They move so fast... as fast as lightning in the sky... we are doomed to die like their other victims...'"

"I waited while he continued on, mutterin' nonsense that made sense only to him an' his angels. 'The eyes… Eyes not the windows... they are the doors...'** he sang over and over. Once again, the light of sanity gleamed in his eyes, and he ran back into the depths of his cell. When he emerged from the darkness, I saw that he carried a book o' some sort. 'I wrote down everything the angels said, sir,' Eddie gasped to his employer, 'Everything they revealed to me in dreams… written in this journal. This explains everything, why everyone… is disappearing. I completed your task, sir! But at what cost? My sanity is shot, sir, I am gone!' He shoved the book into his hands. 'The angels have already begun their march of conquest,' Eddie continued in a madman's high-pitched voice, 'The angels began in the East End. This journal of a madman will solve some of your problems...' Eddie ended with a series of mutterings that I dinna understand. I opened my mouth to ask him somethin', anythin' to get his mind off the angels, when one o' the doctors barged into the hallway."

Here, Aherne shrugged. "That Doctor," he chuckled, "was probably madder than his patients! The man was a total whack! If anythin', he needed his own cell."

Holmes interrupted, "Aherne, can you please describe this Doctor? What was his name? And who is Edward Marshall's employer?"

"I'll be gettin' to the employer soon. As for the funny doctor, the man dinna give me a name. 'Just call me the Doctor', he half-giggled. His dark brown hair was tousled about, he wore a strange brown suit, a brown overcoat, and a pair of white shoes, the likes of which I'd never seen before. He marched straight to Eddie's cell and asked, 'Is this Edward Marshall?'"

"'Yes, it 'tis,' the employer replied, waving his hand to Eddie."

"'Edward, nice to meet you!' he cried, pumping Eddie's shadow of a hand. The mad Doctor grinned at me and said, 'D'you mind if I spend a tick alone with him? I'll just be talking with him about his Angels.'"

"'That is fine, we were just leavin',' said I. It took all my willpower to keep me from runnin' out o' that excuse for a hospital. Edward's employer's face remained stony, yet I could see in his eyes tha' sumethin' disturbed him. I hesitantly asked, 'Sir, what's botherin' ye?'"

"'Many things,' he replied, his mouth a thin line, an' his brows furrowed, 'The first thing I shall do is read the journal. Any information, even that of a madman, is better than none at all. Then, I shall have many things to think upon, but one thing above all.'"

"'An' what is that?'"

"The man turned to me, and stared right into my soul. 'Twas like he was tryin' to decide whether I was worth what he 'ad to say. Then, he whispered, 'Mr. Aherne, you knew Mr. Marshall, and from what Mr. Marshall claimed of you, you are a trustworthy and logical man. So if you can enlighten me, answer me this: what on earth could drive a man like Mr. Marshall to madness?' When I dinnae give an answer, he hissed, 'Precisely… nothing on Earth.' He stressed those two words, as if he were implying sumethin'. Then, we left the asylum. The employer went down one street, toward the East End. I offered to give him a ride to wherever he was walking, but the man just shook that snake's head o' his. I climbed onto my cab and drove to the stables, thinking over the events that surrounded poor Eddie. Then I remembered the name of Edward's employer. The man's name is Professor James Moriarty."

* For those who think French looks like Greek, 'cul-de-sac' is the French word for 'blind alley', loosely and in this story it translates as 'dead end'.

** The journal that Edward writes and this line is from the Doctor Who episode "The Time of the Angels". This is significant; I did not risk Moffat suing me so that I could have a dramatic line. No, Edward Marshall says this, and writes a journal, for a reason...