The three of them stood awkwardly in the street, after Sherlock had shooed them off, taken up entirely by his work. It was the worst case of workaholic Dean had ever seen. He wasn't even sure Castiel, let alone Sam could top such blankness to the rest of the world, as Sherlock was able to achieve, in a few moments. It was...almost scary and secretly Dean debated as to whether or not Sherlock was just a machine. He certainly acted like one.
"What're we supposed to do?" Sam asked. "We're stuck here, unless you want to zap us someplace."
"We could just wait here." Castiel suggested. Of course, Dean thought to himself, that the celestial being would suggest that.
"For three hours?! Look, there's a café over there, and they probably serve pie, and I'd love me some pie since Castiel ate all of mine."
Castiel face was stony as he said. "You never said it was yours. And it's not like you could have -"
"You don't even eat!"
"Ever since famine I've had a taste for food."
Dean watched Cas closely, detecting a faint trace of regret, in his now unsure features. And for now, that was enough. There were more important things on their plates. "Look," Dean smirked, gesturing towards the door with the smudged sigil he asked "What're we going to do about him? Everything about him suggests unstable nutcase."
"That's not much of a change from you Dean." Castiel pointed out.
Dean inhaled, closing his eyes, trying to make sure that he didn't punch the angel in the face, because he knew that he'd lose the fight. That'd been proven in the alleyway. The nerd angel certainly had some skills behind his slight frame.
"Let's just call Bobby and tell him what's going on," Sam said placently, trying to soothe Dean's bubbling anger, drawing out his phone. "We didn't give him much notice." He scrolled through his contact list, pressing call.
"Bobby. We found Sherlock, we should have an idea where the doctor is in three hours. How's Adam?"
"He's as stubborn as ever. I'm keeping a close eye on him. Well, since you're in the area, I've managed to find reports of something strange."/p
"Another omen?"
"What's he saying?" Dean whispered./p
"Shut up Dean," Sam hissed, before putting his ear back to the phone. Castiel stood patiently, waiting for the conversation to finish, unconsciously leaning towards Dean.
"Cas, do you mind? Personal space."
"Sorry Dean." Castiel apologised, trying to hide a small smile, a slight twitch of the lips.
Dean swallowed, and tried not to remember how Cas had taunted him earlier.
"Could you tell those idjits to shut up?" Bobby's voice bristled. "I don't think it's an omen. You said God was walking the earth right?"
"Yes that's what Joshua said,"
"Well, in Cardiff, there was a whole intensive care unit completely cured of their diseases, and for a one mile radius, there's been no reports of deaths or anything for months. Demons have been surrounding the immediate area."
"So you think it might be God?"
"That or perhaps a rebellious angel. I think you boys should check it out while you're there, once you find out where the Doctor is."
"Thanks Bobby," Sam flipped the phone shut before quickly explaining to Castiel and Dean. "What'd you think Castiel,? Do you think it could be God?"
"God is gone, as Joshua said. I don't know what it could be." Castiel said brusquely. "Maybe the angels are planning something."
"Well," Dean said, as he shook his empty flask, "Seeing as Cas, here zapped us here without any warning, I have no alcohol left, so I'm going find a bar and have a couple of beers, and just forget all of this for a couple of hours."
"I'm with you."
"Guys, please," Sam said following behind them, as they trooped around for a bar. "Can't we just figure out a plan of action –"
"That plan of action is beer." Dean grinned.
"You're proving Sherlock's point by going in there."/p
"Shut up Sam. I can drink when I want, but I'm sure my buddy Cas here will happily drink with me, and have a toast to our deadbeat dads."/p
"I don't see how that is a cause of celebration, but yes I will drink with you, seeing as you can't be trusted at the moment." Castiel deadpanned, as he withdrew his own flask of whatever spirit he was drinking and swallowed it down. Dean flinched away from his gaze, bravado gone, as his fingers reflexively brushed against his swollen jaw. His voice was flat, subdued, "I'm still on flight risk patrol?"
"You think?!" Sam interceded. "You ran off without telling us, if it weren't for Castiel, you'd be Michael's vessel right now!"
As Sherlock began to bridge a connection to the Tardis, using Mr Smith, his screen went black, and he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice . "May I ask why you are hacking into my communications system?"
"You can communicate with the Tardis correct?" Sherlock said into the monitor.
"The doctor is dead." The voice replied.
"We both know that what they say isn't true, he's also been deleted from history."
"Who are you?"
"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective."
"Scanning…" the voice said, as it processed all information on Sherlock Holmes. "You have quite the history, Sherlock Holmes. It seems that you have been a correspondent with Sarah Jane. She commissioned you to find the Doctor two months ago."
"I am aware, Mr. Smith."
"And why do you want to get into contact with the Doctor, if that's what you were really doing?"
"The apocalypse. I thought that'd be reason enough."
p"Perhaps I should refer you to Sarah Jane Smith and explain the situation."
"I'm respecting the Doctor's wishes. But this is important. I need you to make a connection to the Tardis."
"I can't guarantee my systems will be able to maintain such a connection."
"You're the most powerful computer in the world, if anything can do it you can."
"I'm under the impression that you are perfectly capable of finding the doctor yourself."
"The last time I found him I was fortunate. I can't leave this to chance."
"Might I suggest I leave you his phone number?"
Digits flashed across the screen. "I'm not able to sustain a strong connection, as the Tardis has a safe wall that is preventing me from doing so, but I was able to get a hold of his number." Sherlock could almost detect a resigned sigh in Mr Smith's robotic voice. "Please do knock next time Mr. Holmes. It makes it easier for the both of us, and I'm not under the impression that I'm being hacked by something that could destroy the whole planet."
"Thank you Mr. Smith." He said, furiously down the number on a nearby post it note, grubby at the edges from Sherlock's blackened fingers. He'd been experimenting with charcoal residues on clothes earlier, comparing them to blood and coffee stains.
"You are welcome, Mr. Holmes," the mysterious voice replied, before Sherlock's screen returned back to the normal blank screensaver. Sherlock smiled to himself, as he examined the digits that would lead the Winchesters to the Doctor. He was half an hour ahead of schedule, and this amused him greatly. He took a needle and prepared himself an injection of cocaine. It was the apocalypse, and he'd certainly earned it. The loss of a goal made everything incredibly dreary, and the dilute solution would tie him over, until the Winchesters returned.