Lestrade had been one of the first to acquire a car that ran on something other than petrol so it didn't take them much time to get to Kensington Gardens, where most caravans came in. John felt like he had a live salmon flipping around in his stomach and from the look of Greg he wasn't much better. "It'll be alright, John. I know it." The DI said gently.

"How do you know, Greg? How can anyone..." John clamped his jaw shut. If Sherlock was alive he would have demanded to be brought here; even injured he had always pushed away any help but John's. So if a pair of Questers were here, and without Sherlock, it was because the detective *couldn't*.

"I have faith, John." Lestrade said seriously, keeping his eyes on the street to make sure they took the quickest route.

"Faith? In what Greg? The whole world, the universe, has gone to complete shit, so what is there to have faith in?"

"Maybe just that things can always change towards the better. The proverb I've heard is, Questers carry change under their cloaks. So at the very least we'll be able to get some questions answered. I've been giving every caravan that comes in a description and a message to pass on to Sherlock to tell him to get his ass back here. "

John tried for a grin, "And you think he'd listen to you?"

"Nah," Lestrade's grin was impish, "I forged your signature, mate." When John turned to him with an astonished look, the DI's grin got wider. "What you think I haven't picked up a thing or two myself? I've been a cop a long time and got to be a detective quite a bit before I met the great Sherlock Holmes. And a good cop knows just enough dirty tricks to get his job done."

"You're trying to distract me." John accused.

"Is it working?" Lestrade pulled into a cordoned off parking area.

"A bit."

"Good. Now let's go see what news there is to be had." Lestrade got out of the car and contemplated the teeming crowd.

John could count the banners of at least six caravans fluttering in the wind and security was having a hard time keeping people from trying to grab goods as they were being offloaded. "Fuck," he said feverently, "How are we going to find anyone in this?"

"Welcome to my daily grind." Lestrade chuckled, "Let me try to tag someone who can lead us directly to the right people." He got out a radio and started to inquire of his people. John, in the meanwhile contemplated the crowd. He wasn't surprised at the barely controlled savagery of some of those trying to get more than their fair share of the food and other goods brought in. He had seen scenes much the same in Afghanistan. It just saddened him to see it in his own home city. Most of the time he was insulated from this, dealing with a slightly more legitimate madness in the people who suddenly had perceptions they had never had before and couldn't control. He was suddenly glad he didn't have Lestrade's job. Having to deal with this sort of thing every day would have made John ready to shoot something. And he wasn't sure whether it would have been one of the crowd or himself.

"Okay," Lestrade said, "We can go around all this. The ones we want asked for a bit of a secluded area to rest. Apparently they aren't used to a city environment. Come on."

The two men skirted the massive crowd carefully. Some fistfights were breaking out around a wagon that looked filled with casks. "Christ, every time." The silver haired man said almost to himself. "There are more fights over any alcohol that comes in than the food. The IQ of a mob is the IQ of the smartest person divided by the number of assholes in the bloody mob."

"You say that a lot." In fact, John thought he could remember Lestrade saying it just about every time he had to share a report at their planning sessions.

"It's true a lot." Lestrade shot back, "And believe me it barely matters what species comes through the Gate with supplies. People are people no matter what shape they take."

"Is that how you keep your head when non-humans come through?" John nodded towards a griffin that came in for a landing on top of the cask wagon and gave a raptor's screech that had most of the crowd scrambling away, their fights forgotten.

"Partly. If his nibs would just let a few of the ones like that stay if would make handling all this a lot easier."

"We can barely house and feed what people we have and we don't have much to trade."

"Mycroft's got you believing that has he? Well, let me tell you the first few caravans that came through were charity pure and simple but to keep the food coming in we had to *find* something to trade. There wasn't much here that was really wanted or needed in the world splinters who have the more land under the plow but the caravanners needed people who had a way to find Gates and a way of dead reckoning. We found that among London cabbies there were quite a large group that can sense Gates and all of them can sense where they are in relation to here. That was why a lot of cabbies suddenly decided to emigrate. Most of the single ones work in teams with one caravan or another."

John felt his jaw drop, "Why haven't you told me this before."

Lestrade snorted, "First, the service of the cabbies was the only thing we had to trade that would bring in enough food to keep the rest of the city alive. Two, it was my division and I didn't want to get in an argument with you. And three, they were all volunteers. I negotiated to make sure they all rotated here every three months for R & R. You had your hands full, John, and I know how to do my job."

"Right, yeah, sorry, Greg. I don't know why I immediately started thinking it was some sort of underhanded scheme."

"Cause Mycroft would do it if he thought he could get away with it. But all the caravan masters insisted on volunteers and they had ways of checking to make sure it was all right and tight. As cabbies these people were in one of the lower rungs of society; now they are some of the most valuable people on any world. A lot of them may never come back here to stay. They like the privileges of being a valuable commodity."

"Brilliant." It still felt odd to say that to someone other than Sherlock but Lestrade exuded a confidence here that he had never shown at a crime scene. John couldn't figure out how but it was pretty plain in the way Greg guided him around the edges of the crowd. Even the caravanners made way for him respectfully.

It took them a while, but finally they managed to get around the various clusters of wagons and people to where a young man in a constable's uniform waited. "They are this way sir." He said to Lestrade.

"Thanks Philips, lead the way please."

"Yes, sir."

The young patrolman led them away from the slightly organized chaos. John hadn't been to any of the parks in a long time and the ascetic beauty of the bare winter trees with the light dusting of snow that had fallen last night struck him to the core. It made him think of Sherlock's strange beauty, something John would have never admitted to when they had run through scenes like this after some criminal.

John swallowed down the bitterness of the chances he'd missed; mostly through his own stubborn denial. He'd never been attracted to a man before Sherlock. He had admired and respected other men, but none of them had drawn him in like the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes. Up until the Fall John had mistaken their relationship for a particularly intense friendship, something like what happened between army mates who had to rely on each other for their very existence. But the pain he had felt at Sherlock's 'death' was unlike any other; not even the grief of fellow doctors dying under his hands could compare. Losing Sherlock had been startlingly like losing a limb, losing a half of himself. So after one particularly dark night filled with alcohol and remorse, John finally admitted to himself what had been impossible before. Irene Adler was right; Sherlock and he had been a couple. All the girlfriends had been a blind to him and to the Great Detective that John was heterosexual and still looking. John finally admitted he was closer to bisexual and Sherlock had been all that he really wanted. Excitement, danger, mystery all wrapped up in an ethereally beautiful package.

That had been the night that Lestrade had talked John's gun out of his hand, confiscated it, incurring a debt of gratitude that John could never repay. It was more or less the tie that helped them work together so well now and in such a different world.

Turning the corner, both the men stopped at the sight in front of them and John heard Lestrade gasp. It wasn't the troika like sled that stunned John, although it's carvings of Celtic designs were quite gaudy to his eyes, it was the animal that was harnessed to it. John had become somewhat more familiar with horses since they had been more employed around the city as the petrol ran out and others could not get the magical equivalent that Lestrade had but this was not a horse. John's mouth opened in shock at the huge, swept back, ebony wings that stretched from the equine's back and he gulped at the blue, softly glowing, horn that spiraled up out of the broad forehead of the beast. It looked more dangerous to John than any weapon he had ever seen.

Lestrade's reaction was quite different to John's own. After the initial startled gasp of he sprinted to the thing. "Stinan!" The DI yelled like a boy encountering a long missed schoolmate, and ran to hug the muscular neck of the thing. John stood frozen, unable to get a hold of just what was going on.

"Greg!" John heard an oddly resonant voice answer Lestrade and was shocked further to realize it came from the harnessed equine. He sounded as excited as the DI and nuzzled the man like John had once seen a beloved horse nuzzle a favorite rider in the Queen's guard.

Out of the troika stepped a tall slim figure of a woman; or rather, he noticed after a moment, of an Alfain female. The elflike ears and brows and the gold tinged skin and her height all identified her as such. She looked startled herself for a moment then seemed to recognize Greg. "a'Strade?" She asked her cool, high voice shaded delicately with her surprise.

Lestrade lifted his face from the neck of the strange equine, "Lyra," he grinned, the cocky grin John had usually seen during a fake drug bust at 221B. "You travelling with this old reprobate? I was wondering when he would find me." Greg lifted his hand to scratch around the horn of the equine. "You're late. Could have used you months back." He accused laughingly.

The Alfain tilted her head, confusion wrinkling her delicate features, "You are mistaken a'Strade. I am on Quest, tracking one John Hamish Watson."

"Ah yeah, that's me." John stepped forward, totally confused. "Do you know me?"

Lyra's cool brown eyes looked deep into his and for a moment John was frozen by them. Then she nodded once and whispered to herself "Yes, you are the one." Then her eyes widened with amazement. She shifted her gaze to Lestrade, "This is your John Watson?"

"Yeah," There was a strange look in Greg's eyes, joy, astonishment and determination mixed, "And we are missing a Sherlock Holmes."

This time the horse-like creature spoke, the voice trembling with something John couldn't guess at, "We have a Sherlock Holmes who needs his Dr. Watson after a Great Fall."

John wanted to speak but the strangeness of the scene held him frozen. Something was happening here beyond all that he had ever guessed was involved with finding the lost detective. Lestrade's eyes were filled with an anticipation that John couldn't understand. "May I be released then?" The DI asked.

"Yes Greg," Stinan said, "I have something that belongs to you." The equine tuned his head around to pluck from his harness what appeared to be a Scotland Yard badge. He swung around and pressed it to Lestrade's shoulder. The coat that John's friend nearly always wore began to *change*. The color lightened to a silvery grey and the sleeves disappeared while the entire garment became longer. A hood appeared at Lestrade's back and the whole thing became a voluminous cloak.

"Christ," John breathed, taking a step back, "You are one of them. A..."

"A Child of the Quest? A Quester?" Lestrade said quite calmly, adjusting the cloak around him. "Yeah I am and for quite a while too John." The silver haired man John thought he knew, straightened and seemed to start on a speech long prepared. "Years before I met Sherlock I was a beat cop. I stumbled upon a group of Questers being attacked by a bloody Wyvern that had somehow stumbled through one of the old Gates. That started my journey to...well this." Lestrade brushed his hand down the cloak. John saw that it picked up muted shades of the snow, trees, and even John's garments as it shifted.

"But you never said, never even hinted that you knew what Questers were much less was one of them!" John shook his head, disgusted by the feeling of betrayal.

The Alfain stepped forward, wrapping her own grey cloak around her garments that were shades of green and brown, her long straight black hair flowing out behind her. "Dr. Watson, he could not. Once it was known that he was a Lestrade who would encounter a Sherlock Holmes gaesa, spells of restraint were placed upon him so that he would not be able to speak of us, or even to remember when in the company of a Holmes. He has been highly honored for being willing to be so restricted, preserving the story that he would be a part of. a'Strade could have chosen to leave this world. Instead; he made the choice to remain."

"And to stay I had to make sure that Sherlock or his brother would never even get a hint that I was anything other than a *slightly* more intelligent cop." Lestrade leaned against the Stinan's broad, coal black shoulder. "But think about it for a second. I first knew Sherlock as a kid who had gotten in way over his head with drugs. I bent and broke rules to let him on to crime scenes and then let you in on his say so without even taking a look at your ID to check that you were really a Doctor? Didn't that seem even a little odd for you?"

John was taken aback, "I...you said you needed him."

"I did. No one can work his way through a case like a Sherlock Holmes and my closure rate was the highest in the Yard. But none of that explains why I simply accepted *you* without even inquiring into your credentials." Lestrade gave him a steady look, "You assumed Sherlock dominated me and that's exactly what you were meant to think. That doesn't mean it was the truth. I had been waiting for Dr. Watson to walk in to the life of my Sherlock Holmes and I was damn happy when you finally showed up."

"Your Sherlock Holmes. You say that like there are Sherlocks all over the place!" John clenched his jaw; too much information was flooding his mind. He felt like he was drowning in it.

"May I a'Strade?" The Alfain asked.

"Knock yourself out Lyra." Lestrade said, turning back to comb through the rich black mane of the entity John supposed he must now think of as Stinan. "If I keep going now I'll basically be apologizing for my whole life and that's not on my list of things to do today."

John knew he had hurt his friend, but this story was far too much for him to handle calmly. "Yes, please, could someone turn my whole world over again and shake it, I find the whole experience invigorating as hell!"

"Please, Dr. Watson," Lyra's demeanor did not change at all. Her expression was calm, a bit distant, but also fascinated. It reminded John abruptly of Sherlock when he was thinking over a case, and that refocused the Doctor. Sherlock was somewhere and the way to get to him was to assimilate this information as quickly as he could so he could get to wherever his friend was. He could do that. The Alfain saw this and so continued. "You may have encountered the idea that there can be many alternate universes perhaps?"

John nodded shortly, "Of course, yeah, Sci-Fi and Fantasy writers use them all the time."

"They are not wrong. Universes deviate, sometimes from small occurrences, sometimes from larger ones. This planet, Earth, had a very large occurrence just before its last Ice Age that caused it to become the focus point of more alternate universes than any other planet in the known cosmos. Other planets may have a few alternate versions, but no one has ever been able to count how many alternate Earths there are."

John nodded, "That's why all the things that were thrown at us during the invasion were so different."

"And why none of your technology will work beyond the borders of the city. London, all of the Londons have remained intact during the Shattering because the 'occurrence' that caused the Earth splitting off happened here." Lyra recited this as if it were primary school knowledge. Perhaps to her people it was.

"Your people did it." John said, "I read something about that on the link that was left with us. Couldn't make it out really. Something about a Spell of Balance?"

"Hell I almost choked on my drink the night you told me that you got it to respond to you." Lestrade put in, still leaning against his Stinan's side. "Those things aren't supposed to react more than minimally to someone not cloaked."

"A'Strade, please. We have only a certain amount of time." Lyra turned back to John. "That being said, with the multiplicity of alternates it means that there are alternates of people as well as places. They are not carbon copies. A soul cannot be cloned, but because they are often molded by similar lives they tend to *be* similar. So my friend Greg Lestrade is not the only one, nor is Sherlock Holmes, nor are you, John Watson. On some Earths you may be woman, or even non-human. On others you may even be a character of stories on the page or the screen. But you are always much the same at heart and you are always are seen with Sherlock Holmes." She folded her arms over her chest, "And Sherlock Holmes always needs his Dr. Watson."

"We, the Questers, have something like a scientific law about this, John." Lestrade said softly, "For every reality there is a fiction and for every fiction a reality. I was pretty young when I had to accept the fact that my life was driven by what was or would be a story in another universe. I had the option to pop myself out of it when I accepted the cloak of a the Lady of the Quest took me aside and explained to me what could happen if I did. She had met a Sherlock Holmes, you see, and she knew how hard it could be for him. Harder in our 21st century society than the 19th century that she had met him in. She explained it all to me and what spells she would have to cast over me if I chose to stick with it."

"The Lady is always thorough in that regard." Stinan added, "I was involved as well because during the time Greg was preparing to take the cloak, he and I found we were suited to each other as Partners. It is a profound connection between an Allyrian such as myself and another that is usually life long."

"And she made sure I realized what price I would have to pay to stay here and be the DI that Sherlock Holmes would come to for cases." Lestrade shrugged, "I made the choice to stay and watch out for him...and you. It was worth it."

"So you knew...all along what was going to happen. Me showing up? Moriarty?" John again felt the need to accuse his friend.

"Well sort of. I wasn't allowed access to the stories of other alternates, that's generally not a good idea anyway. At first I was just told to watch for Sherlock and then watch for you. But 15 years ago..." he glanced at Stinan and Lyra, "by our reckoning anyway; there was a big gathering of Questers. We call them Conclaves and this was one of the largest that there had ever been. The Lady was going into seclusion for a while and wanted to celebrate with all of the Quest's Children before she did."

"Seclusion?" John shook his head, "Like a nun or something."

"More like protective custody." Lestrade said, "She was pregnant and so vulnerable. Questers have opposite numbers, Wayfinders, and they aren't the nicest people." Lestrade scratched behind his ear, "I suspected Jim Moriarty once of being one of them, but he turned out too chaotic. Wayfinders believe in Order."

"You're a cop, Greg. Don't you believe in law and order?"

"Well yeah, but I also believe in people being able to make their own choices. Wayfinders don't like that concept. And some take that to an extreme. The Lady had a good reason to hide. She took the time to have another long talk with me at the conclave though and was able to give me three pieces of advice. One, she reminded me to keep an eye out for you. Two, that Baskerville could be more than you and Sherlock could handle and three..." Lestrade stopped and put his hand over his eyes, "There was nothing I could do about the Fall. *That* I never understood until the moment I got the call about Sherlock. I don't think I was meant to."

"But now we are left with the results of the Fall in a way never before known. Your Holmes was found in an alternate London, one very far removed in kind from this one. Magic thrives there and science is relatively unknown. He was very ill...Gate sickness." Lyra said grimly.

John felt his stomach fall into a cold pit; he'd seen someone come in with that from...another place. She had been delirious and they had never been able to find out where she came from. They couldn't do anything about her fever or other symptoms and she died during an unstoppable series of seizures. John had never known her name but her face as she died now floated before his eyes, "No." He said, uselessly.

"He is receiving the best care we can give, Doctor." Stinan somehow had moved so that John could brace himself against the warm, comforting side of Allyrian. John felt the brush of feathers against his face and it startled him out of the haze that had threatened to descend. "His Gate sickness is complicated by his innate inability to comprehend a magical universe but the topmost specialist in the field of handling such cases is most likely even now at his side."

"Why?" John cleared his throat, "why couldn't he and this specialist come here?"

Lyra and Lestrade shared a glance, "Mycroft?" His friend asked the Alfain.

"Exactly." Lyra turned a bit more towards John to explain when a sound penetrated the seeming bubble of isolation that had been around them, the once familiar thumping of helicopter blades. No one had had petrol enough to waste on such vehicles in months.

Lestrade turned fast to Lyra, "No Helicopters here since the Shattering. The Wayfinders?" He said, suddenly taking command.

"No, they were travelling via gate. The agreement called for us to coordinate precisely. It must be a third front!" Lyra ran scrambling up one of the surrounding trees like a squirrel. "Three incoming, "She yelled down, "They are on all three sides."

"Fuck!" Lestrade pushed John back against the troika as the .30 caliber weapons of American Apache attack copters opened fire, shredding some of the decorations of the troika. They avoided Stinan however, for whatever reason John couldn't figure out. "They're not coming to kill, they're coming to capture." Lestrade assessed the situation quickly.

"Capture? Capture who?" John asked, the sweet thrill of adrenalin running in his veins. He reached for a gun he hadn't carried in months, swearing when he didn't find it.

"You, John. I dunno why they want you, but you are the most important of the four of us. We gotta get you out of here." Lestrade, pulled the door of the enclosed sleigh open without ceremony and pushed the Doctor in. "Lyra, get your ass down here!"

"Here!" John heard a thud; the crazy woman must have made a leap from the tree right onto the troika roof.

Lestrade opened what looked like a small cabinet in the interior of the troika and threw a leather harness with locking carabineers to John. "Strap in, John. This isn't going to be a pleasure ride. "Stinan!" He called through the strangely transparent front of the troika, "Damage?!"

"Deflective shield gone! All the weaponry is in the usual places. Lyra's locked in already." Stinan started making huge sweeps of his wings, pawing at the ground with his hooves. He reared up with a challenging neigh to the men in the helicopters that John felt should ring throughout the park if not the city.

"Right, right." Lestrade muttered and dug into another cabinet to grab a bag of what looked like small copper discs.

"Pennies? Greg what the hell?" John was fastening the harness around himself and locking in to rings set into the panels of the troika.

Lestrade gave him a half crazed smile, "Yeah, they wouldn't suspect a penny to blow up in their face would they. Old trick. Stinan duck under the bastards and get into the skies!"

John felt a heavy jolt as they were lifted off the ground seemingly by Stinan's wings. He didn't doubt that magic was involved somehow but when the next spray of bullets seemed to slingshot around them to shoot right back at the helicopters he wasn't of a mind to complain about magic. Lestrade grinned at him again, "Lyra's a shield specialist. She can keep three types of shields active at a time...good to have on your side."

"Yes, "John gulped, "God yes. Nice to know we have some advantage."

"Don't get too nervous." Lestrade put a handful of pennies in each pocket, strapped himself into a harness, and opened the door of the troika. "Stinan and I used to win all the reindeer games."

"What?" John asked but his friend had already swung out and up onto the top of the damn troika. "Fucking idiot!" John muttered but then couldn't help himself. He locked on to the rings by the door so he could see out.

"Stinan, I have an idea. Head for the Tower!" Lestrade was yelling as he got himself into a good position. Stinan managed to do a ducking maneuver that had gotten them out of the surround of the three copters. He made a tight circle coming around to the west and making more speed than the copters could manage. Somehow the draft horse sized creature managed to slip like a falcon around the buildings in their way. The machine gun fire behind them never make it close.

Lyra yelled, "Second shield up, full deflective!" As the Allyrian practically tripped over the rooftops he stayed so low. The machines behind them couldn't manage to keep up but they started to get above them. They were still firing but all the bullets ricocheted off a force shield that John couldn't see.

They were close though, close enough for Lestrade to fling a handful of those pennies at them. Three explosions blossomed, causing one of the copters to wobble but recover enough to stay close. "Third shield!" Lestrade ordered.

"Absorption up!" Lyra cried back, John couldn't see her but she must be somewhere up beside his friend on the flat roof of the troika.

"Dammit Stinan, they are getting too high! Ground!" Lestrade called. He threw five more of the penny missiles. This time the resulting damage caused one of the helicopters to draw back.

"Brace for landing." The resonant voice replied shortly. John took a firm hold of the sides of the door. The sudden drop to the street rattled him. The Allyrian didn't break a stride, galloping through the carriage and car traffic, weaving his way towards the goal Lestrade had set out for them.

The DI was swearing when he reached over the edge of the troika's roof and grabbed a couple of long spears that had been hidden among the carvings on the side of the vehicle. John couldn't believe it when Lestrade attached one of the pennies to the point with what looked like chewing gum. John ducked back inside as the troika side swiped a carriage then lifted himself further up to see the man he thought he knew take an expert throwing position on the flat top of the troika. "Come on you bastards!" Lestrade yelled at the pilots of the copters. "Are you hard enough?"

Lyra who had been kneeling with her hands flat on the sleigh roof snapped her head up. "They are targeting us with light!"

"Lasers, make us dark!" Lestrade snapped out to Lyra. "Stinan we need to go back to the crow's path line, dammit!"

"Right, hold on!" Again the Allyrian and his vehicle ascended into the sky, this time taking a steeper angle. John was grateful for the harness that held him but was impressed that Lestrade managed to keep his throwing stance. As they passed close to one of their pursuers, Lestrade launched the long spear. It hit right in the rotor assembly. The ensuing explosion crippling the copter as the pilot tried to compensate for torque he had lost.

"Invisibility?" Lyra asked.

Shit no," John cried, "They are targeting missiles on us!"

"Light reflection." Lestrade snapped just before a missile was launched. It went in a straight line over them and then dove in an arc into the nearby Thames. The damaged copter made a bad landing behind them. It seemed vaguely ridiculous that Lestrade spoke calmly into his radio for a security squad to apprehend the pilots and capture their helicopter.

"Almost there!" Stinan cried, "This better be good Greg!"

"It's fantastic Stinan," Lestrade yelled back as Lyra pitched some of the copper missiles at the two remaining pursuers. He was calmly attaching a penny to another spear. "Lyra, shield your radio against a magic surge. I lost a good phone the last time I stepped over the line here."

"What!" John cried, totally confused.

"The Spell of Balance was cast right where the Tower of London stands, John. The abrupt surge in magic will take out any tech not specifically shielded against it. Stinan!" Lestrade ordered with grim satisfaction, "Land right in the courtyard." He threw the spear but it wasn't as lucky a shot as the last one. It still blew near enough to rock the copters in their path.

"Brace!" Stinan called and they bounced on the grass in the courtyard of the Tower.

Lestrade watched in satisfaction as the missiles that had been shot at them simply dropped from the sky right at the curtain wall. The remaining Helicopters couldn't come any closer. "Let's not linger, a'Fellarell." He said with utter calm to Stinan.

"I don't have the coordinates of the enclave we are supposed to go to as yet." Lyra said.

"I don't want to wait do you?" Lestrade shot back.

"I know a place." Stinan said and a mist descended obscuring everything. John had the opposing senses of movement and stillness at the same time. Then they were in a place John had never seen the like of before in his life.

"This isn't London." He said dully.

"And you aren't Toto either, John." Lestrade grinned back at him, looking every inch the triumphant warrior.