Sorry for the delay in posting the next chapter lol XP

I lost track of many things but this chapter has actually been done for quite a while lol

Anyhow, I don't have much else to say so ENJOY! :D

Three days had passed since their encounter with Sherlock. Castiel was still nowhere to be found and the Winchester brothers had finally accommodated themselves to the time change. They had taken the opportunity to explore the foreign city and enjoy what time they could before the angel's return. However, the lack of news on Castiel's part began to inspire worry and the brothers soon found themselves restless and unable to relish the simple pleasures of vacation.

"God damn it." Dean muttered, stepping out of the coffee shop and handing Sam his drink, "What the hell do you think he could be doing?"

"Who? Cas?" Sam asked, sipping at his hot beverage.

"No the fuckin' pope." Dean said sarcastically, rolling his eyes, "Of course I mean I Cas. Like would it kill the guy to just give us a call or an update?"

"You sound like his girlfriend." Sam snickered as they began walking down the street.

"Shut up, you're worried too." Dean growled.

"Yeah but I know he's okay." Sam said with a playful smile, "I mean, he's an angel and he's definitely not easy to kill."

Dean didn't say anything. He accepted Sam's reasoning and decided to leave his complaining at that, knowing that Castiel wouldn't return any faster if he kept it going. "I still don't have to like it." He concluded.

The boys walked for a bit more before coming across a large crowd and police cars. They were all gathered around the perimeter of whatever they were trying to see and many cops were trying to usher them away. Out of mere curiosity but also because neither of them had a better idea of what to do, they pushed through to see what all the fuss is about.

"Sirs, please vacate the area." An officer told them as they stretched their necks to see the scene they were trying to block. "There's nothing to see here—"

"That's not true! Look!" A woman standing next to them exclaimed and she pointed to the left, "It's Sherlock Holmes! There's been a murder!"

Sam and Dean exchanged looks but their silent conversation was cut rather short when the people in the back began to shove them in order to see the famous consulting detective. They managed to push their way out of the chaos and separate themselves far enough from the crowd to talk in all seriousness without risk of someone eavesdropping.

"Do you think it's a goblin or whatever else they have here?" Sam asked.

"I don't know…" Dean mumbled, "Should we even check it out? I mean, murders aren't exactly out of the ordinary…"

"And Sherlock's job is to solve crimes…" Sam reasoned as well, "So it doesn't necessarily mean something supernatural is involved."

"Right." Dean nodded, "So I guess we just let it play it out and, tomorrow, we'll check the newspaper and if there's no mention of anything strange, we move on and keep waiting for Cas."

"Alright." Sam agreed.

And so the two left the scene, a part of them hoping it was a monster of some sort. Adventuring a foreign and reputed city was fun and all, but Hunting was their calling and it always felt strange to relax for too long.

"Sherlock…" John called as he trailed after the taller man, "I think I saw them…"

"Who?" Sherlock asked dismissively as he began hovering over the corpse.

"The Americans, Sam and…whatever his name was." John muttered as he thought, "Danny, Daniel…Dean! I think I saw them in the crowd."

"Really now?" Sherlock asked, straightening himself and peering over at the gathering along the perimeter. "I don't see them."

"Maybe they left." John suggested with a shrug. "In any case, if they were there then that would mean…"

"Yes." Sherlock said, understanding the insinuation. "And even if they hadn't been present, it would still be an option now."

"What are you blokes talking about?" Lestrade asked as he approached the two.

"Irrelevant." Sherlock declared and reached down to unsheathe the victim. He grimaced at the sight of her. The victim had been trampled to death in a most gruesome way. The bones in her limbs had been crushed first and she had been kept alive for as long as possible before the final fatal blows were delivered.

"Honestly," Lestrade said after a moment, "Everything points to a horse having done it. However, we've checked everywhere and no farms or zoos have reported a missing horse and even then it would have been impossible for it to have travelled this far deep in London without anyone noticing. So our next guess is a carriage driver gone rogue and murderous."

"Wrong." Sherlock concluded bluntly and left the corpse, "There are no marks on the ground to indicate that one had passed through during that time. In addition, if you don't find dung within a decent circumference of the crime scene, it will further disprove your thesis."

"Well what the bloody hell is it supposed to be?" Lestrade snapped.

"I don't know." Sherlock said dryly but John immediately noticed unrest. The detective began moving to the apartment crowded with more police officers. "I assume there's something else in the house?"

"Yeah." Lestrade said, following Sherlock.

John trailed after them once he had carefully examined the corpse as well. One thing that immediately hit him was the blood. Though there seemed to be a lot surrounding the victim, there typically would have been more especially considering the severity of the wounds and the time it took to find the body. Seeing as it also hadn't been moved, the wounds hadn't been treated to contain or stop the blood flow. By the looks of it, John would assume she was missing at least three pints of blood. The last peculiar thing John noticed as he left the body were these odd bits of flesh that seemed out of place. He couldn't quite tell much what with them being covered in blood and far too revolting to touch, but he was fairly certain they were rotten.

So far, John was almost ready to class the current murder as the most gruesome he and Sherlock had ever encountered until he had seen the condition of the apartment. Everything was perfectly intact and clean until he reached the kitchen. Four bodies, a man and three boys, were lying face down in a puddle of their own blood which also, for the most part, seemed missing. What made things all the worse was the message painted on the ceiling above: "Madison".

"I've seen enough." Sherlock concluded seconds later.

John and Lestrade were both surprised by how little time he had spent in the area but then reckoned the gore had probably finally gotten to him. John immediately chased after him whereas Lestrade decided to give them space.

"Sherlock—" John said as they found a rather secluded area within the perimeter of the crime scene. John paused upon seeing how strangely pale Sherlock had become. "Sherlock…?"

"The world's going mad, John." He muttered quickly. "Trolls, goblins and vampires are suddenly real, how is that remotely normal?"

"I-I…" John stuttered helplessly, "What's wrong?"

"Tell me," Sherlock said dismissively, "What did you noticed in regards to the trampled woman?"

"W-well," John said slowly and shifted in place, "Her limbs were crushed first so she felt a substantial amount of pain before finally dying…and about three pints of her blood were missing."

"What else?" Sherlock insisted.

John didn't know to add until he remembered the odd bits of rotten flesh, "There were pieces of flesh," he said, "And they weren't hers."

"They were rotten." Sherlock specified, "And it was horse meat."

John blinked in shock at the affirmation, he barely had time to dabble on the thought any more before Sherlock pelted him with new questions.

"Moving on to the second part," he said hastily, "What did you notice?"

"More blood seemed to be missing." John said, "Everything was clean and perfect until we reached the kitchen and a name was written on the ceiling."

"What else?" He insisted again.

"Nothing else." John said, "You didn't give me enough time to look around."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, "The plants, John!" he snapped, "They were dead, wilted and rotten. And if you look at the shrubberies standing next to the door, you'll see that they are also as lifeless as the others."

John looked at the shrubbery to confirm what Sherlock had declared and said: "What do you think did this?"

"It wasn't human." Sherlock said gravely, "And it wasn't alone."

"Hypothesis?" John probed.

"A nuckelavee." Sherlock answered, "A creature resembling a centaur but with rotten flesh and, in some legends, legs with fins. Supposedly they're from Scotland and are responsible for ruined crops, epidemics and droughts. They live only to make it Hell for the humans residing nearby. Their breath is so dreadful and riddled with sickness that it can wilt crops and sicken livestock."

"Do you realize how mad this all sounds?" John asked after a moment.

"Of course I do, John!" Sherlock snapped again, "But no human could have done this carnage! There were also no witnesses!"

"You don't know that—"

"Oh come on, John!" Sherlock growled, throwing his arms in the air, "If Lestrade had a witness or two he would have mentioned them! So if we assess what we know, a supernatural culprit is the only explanation."

"So what now?" John asked, frustrated, "We send Scotland Yard after a rotten centaur?"

"I don't know…" Sherlock sighed, and for the first time, he really didn't know what to do.

"What about the second offender?" John asked instead, "You said two creatures had done this."

"A vampire or something of the like." Sherlock said, "It would explain the missing blood seeing as nuckelavee aren't exactly known for consuming blood."

John sighed heavily and slapped a hand on his forehead in exasperation as he thought of how they could deal with the situation. "They're expecting you to tell them something." John said.

"I know." Sherlock said. "I suppose I'll just tell them I won't be taking the case."

"Right and what if they get killed by these things?" John asked angrily, "We have to do something, Sherlock."

"I don't know if you've noticed, John," Sherlock barked, "But I'm not exactly known for arresting or intercepting fantasy creatures!"

"Then we'll call Sam and Daniel—Dean to help us." John suggested, at a lost. "We can't leave this as it is and this is our home. We have to contribute to some extent to protect it."

"Everything's gone bloody mad." Sherlock hissed and began to walk away from the scene, "Fine. But I don't want Scotland Yard to get involved in this."