"And all my days are trances,

And all my nightly dreams

Are where thy grey eye glances,

And where thy footstep gleams –

In what ethereal dances,

By what eternal streams."

- 'To One in Paradise'

Edgar Allan Poe

X X X

"You boys are still there?" Bobby drawled, "I only sent you to find Crowley's bones, I didn't tell you to stay."

Sam put his phone on speaker so Dean could hear as well, "Bobby, we were just passing from Scotland to England –"

"– Because Sam insisted –" Dean interjected.

Sam glared at him, "– And we heard some talk about a few weird murders in London. It sounds like something we should check out."

Bobby sighed heavily, making the speakers crackle, "Fine, but you boys report back to me regularly, alright? And don't stay there too long."

"Roger that," Dean said, "I miss my baby already."

"It was either a bus or rent a car, Dean. And taking a bus is less expensive."

"I realize that Mr. Know-it-all," Dean bitched.

"Alright, alright!" Bobby said, cutting them off. "Look, just get this done and get back here, okay? And try not to kill each other."

"One more thing, Bobby." Sam said, "Have you seen Cas lately?"

"Not since you guys left, no. Why? Something happen?"

"Nah, we were just wondering." Dean said, "Bye, Bobby."

Sam pressed the end call button and sighed, "Did you read over the police reports for that last murder?"

"The one you found last night? Yeah, of course."

"I don't know about you, but it sounds like vampires to me."

"Vampires on steroids is more like it." Dean said, "I've never seen them cut up someone like that before."

"It's worth checking out." Sam said as the bus stopped, letting them off.

"I never said it wasn't," Dean retorted, but he quickly realized that his brother wasn't listening, and he only had to glance over to see why. Sam's eyes widened in wonder and excitement, and there was a look of awe on his face as he stared at the streets around them.

"Dean . . . we're – we're in London."

"Yeah, I know, Sammy." Dean chuckled, "Don't go all geek on me right now, though, okay? We're going to get this done quick and get out of here. I want to be back on American soil again."

"Yeah, but come on, Dean. We're in London."

"I heard you the first time." Dean straightened his jacket, "It's cold here too, damn it. And it looks like it's about to rain, and I'm friggin' hungry. Let's get some food." He paused and glared at Sam a moment, "And no fish and chips."

Sam just sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Jamie Wells."

John Watson looked up from the program he'd been watching on the telly. "What?"

Sherlock had been lounging on the couch, brooding silently as he struggled to piece together the clues from the case so far. There had been four victims, with the unidentified woman being the latest, and Lestrade had officially named it a serial killer case (something that excited Sherlock too much for it to be healthy.) So far, however, Sherlock had gotten nowhere on how to connect the case and the so called Doctor, nor had he been able to come up with any other clues regarding the murderer.

And when John asked, all he'd said was 'teeth,' something that still made John shudder when he thought about it. He hadn't expected Sherlock to say anything for the next few hours at least, though. He'd been lost in his mind palace, so for him to say something now, it had nearly made John jump in fright.

"Who's Jamie Wells?"

"The victim of the latest murder," Sherlock said. "Lestrade just texted me; they found out who she was from her fingerprints. Apparently she had a bit of a record."

"I see," John said, "Does her name give you any clues?"

Sherlock sighed, obviously frustrated. "No."

"And what about the Doctor?"

"What about him?"

"Do you think he'll come back?"

Sherlock sighed again, leaning back on the couch, "I do. I just don't know when. It's been twenty-three years since I last saw him; it might be twenty-three more."

"You said he had something to do with this case, though."

"I did." Sherlock murmured, his eyes now holding that far-away, glassy look, and John shook his head and went back to his program. Sherlock was lost in his mind palace again; he wouldn't get anything more from him for a while.

Sam and Dean ate a suitable dinner, but then afterwards they knew that there was a considerable amount of work to do, so they found a suitable hotel and holed up there, going off to do their individual work like always.

Sam found a few more reports on the previous murders and started checking to see how they sounded when compared to what they knew about vampires, and Dean decided to go check around and ask the families of the victims. The first he checked was the victim of the latest murder; a seventeen-year-old girl named Jamie Wells who apparently had no family left but an old grandmother who lived in a retirement home. Sam got him the address, and he took a cab to the location.

It was relatively easy to find the grandmother once he got to the retirement home, too. She'd rarely had any visitors, apparently, save for her granddaughter. But after the death of said granddaughter she'd been interview by many people, so his presence wasn't really questioned, which was a nice change.

Her room was quite easy to find, and once he did find it she answered all his questions easily. She didn't seem very upset about her granddaughter's death, though, and that was something that intrigued Dean.

"So, were you two close?" He asked.

The old woman sighed, "She wanted us to be. She visited often, and she was always buying me things. But I never did forgive her, and I think that was a huge wall in the way of furthering any sort of friendship."

"Forgive her?" Dean blinked, "What did you never forgive her for?"

"She's the reason my daughter's dead." The old woman said a matter-of-factly. "My daughter, Elaine, was talking on her cell while driving. I'd always told her it wasn't a good idea, but she never listened. Elaine and Jamie were fighting, you see, because Jamie always complained at how overprotective of a mother Elaine was. The fight was getting rather heated, apparently, and it was distracting my daughter . . ." She sniffed, tears filling her eyes, "She never did see that other car coming."

Dean frowned, "And so you blamed Jamie for it?"

"Well, of course." The old woman snapped, "If she hadn't been fighting over Elaine with something as trivial as a curfew, then my daughter wouldn't be dead!"

Dean was a bit unsure how to respond, so he just sat there awkwardly for another few moments before finally getting to his feet. "Thank you for your time," he said.

"She deserved it, you know." The old woman called out as he left, "Jamie got what was coming to her, in the end!"

Dean shuddered.

The sound of his cell phone ringing as he left the retirement home nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Dude!" He exclaimed when he flipped it open, "That woman is scary as hell!"

"Who, the grandmother?" Sam asked, pertinent as always.

"Yeah, she's all 'Jamie is the reason my daughter is dead and she deserved to die,' and ugh, I swear. I wouldn't be surprised if that lady had hired a hitman or something. She has to be a suspect."

"She's an old woman, Dean."

"Old women can still hire assassins."

Dean could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes. "Whatever. But I think I have some conclusive evidence that this is a vampire attack. I just want to research it a bit more, to be sure."

"Do you have the address for the family of the previous victim?"

"Yeah, Ethan Caldan. He was the first victim. But apparently he was the CEO of some big company here, so you might have trouble getting any additional info because they locked it up pretty tight."

"What does the case file say, though? Was the crime scene just like the one for Jamie Wells?"

"Yeah, and it was the same with the other two victims. In fact the Detective Inspector on the case from Scotland Yard has declared these murders to be official serial killings."

"Wait, so there have been four murders like this? I thought there'd only been two."

"So did I. But that was before I hacked Scotland Yard's databases."

"Scotland Yard," Dean grinned, "It's so weird hearing you say that."

Sam sighed, "Focus, Dean. Ethan Caldan had only a brother left, as both his parents died early deaths. Give me a second and I'll get his address."

"Alright, let's do this."

"One more thing, though, because this is weird." Sam said, "In the case file from Scotland Yard it says something about a consulting detective. Do you know what that is?"

"A detective who consults?"

"Don't be a smart-ass, Dean. Seriously, have you ever heard of a consulting detective before?"

"No. Maybe it's a British thing, who knows. The Brits are weird."

"Smooth."

"I know I am. Who's this consulting detective, then, if he's so big and bad?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"What kind of name is that?"

"No idea." Sam said, "Alright, I got Ethan's brother's address. So go interview him and then get back here. I should be done by then. Also, I don't think we need to worry about this 'Sherlock Holmes' character. I doubt he's anything special."

"Aye-aye, captain." Dean said as he shut the phone with a little grin and started off down the street. He caught a cab easily and gave him the address to the Caldan dude's place, wanting to get the interview over. This was always one of his least favorite parts.

Something nagged at him, though.

Sherlock Holmes, huh?