The Doctor, Amy, Rory, Catiel, Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson all sat around the dinning room table, each holding a fresh brewed cup of tea.
"This is delicious," Amy complimented trying to ease the awkwardness. Neither the young couple nor the landlady and renter had been properly introduced. Rory and Amy were waiting inside the TARDIS when the Doctor rushed in, asked why they had wandered off, and left before they could remind him he had told them specifically to stay inside the TARDIS. They had followed him out the time-machine only to stumble into a cramped flat in London.
"Thank you," Mrs. Hudson replied. There was a long silence as everyone took a sip of the tea simultaneously, except for the odd man in the frumpy trench.
Dr. John Watson hadn't looked away from Castiel once. It was as if he was questioning the existence of the man; the man who had appeared to him nearly two years ago in what seemed like a dream.
"So," Mrs. Hudson looked between John and Castiel "You two have met."
"Once," Castiel answered. "I was meant to warn him about the death of Sherlock Holmes, but my duties were relieved and I was called back to my place alongside the Winchester Brothers."
Another moment of awkward silence, Johns face beginning to look angry. "You knew Sherlock was going to die?"
Castiel nodded. "As it is written, 'He had remained on that three-foot path, with sheer wall on one side and sheer drop on the other, until his enemy had overtaken him.'"
Amy piped up, "Is this the detective guy who killed himself last summer?"
The Doctor rubbed his hands together that he often did when uncomfortable, Dr. Watson and Mrs. Hudson both looked solemnly to each other. John nodded. "Yeah, I was his blogger."
"Oh," Amy sat back. "I'm sorry for your loss."
It was Rory's turn now to ask a question. He turned to the trench coated man. "That line you just quoted, isn't that from a book?"
Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. "From a prophecy, yes."
"Prophecy? What prophesy?" The Doctor asked turning suddenly.
"The books of Doyle," Castiel answered.
Rory scoffed and everyone in the room was suddenly staring at him. "Really?" he asked looking between everyone else. "That's what this is about? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle? Sherlock Holmes? You have to be joking,"
The way everyone was staring at him in shock and confusion told him they weren't joking.
"How do you know that prophets name?" Castiel asked.
"Who?"
"Sir Arthur, he was never renowned for his writings." Castiel explained, awed how this human could know so much about a humble doctor from almost two hundred years before.
Rory laughed uncomfortably. "He wrote lots of famous stories; All the Sherlock Holmes books were written by him."
Now everyone looked totally lost.
"Rory," Amy said raising her eyebrows. "Sherlock Holmes was the detective who jumped off the roof of Saint Bart's last year."
"No," Rory said trying not to get frustrated. "Sherlock Holmes is the detective with the deerstalker and the pipe. I read the books all the time as a kid."
"Where were you able to get private documents of the angelic guard as a child?"
Everyone was completely confused at this point and John looked like he wanted nothing more than to kick everyone out of the flat.
"I can prove it." Rory chirped up. "I have the entire collection still in my old room."