Not too much to say here, except if you feel like you're confused half-way through this chapter, just keep reading. It will make sense, if you just hang in there.

The next morning was the same as ever, and no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. It was a beautiful, sunny Saturday and as Tara cleared the table from breakfast, Dawn hurried upstairs to get her laptop, anxious to have John read over her report. Sherlock talked briefly with Willow in the kitchen as Tara put away the last of the dishes. Spike hovered nearby, and chugged his morning mug of O negative, listening to the two chat about spells which Sherlock was interested in experimenting with.

"So, this spell. It freezes time? Or does it freeze the people?" Sherlock asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Not either really. It slows time. A-and the people. It makes everyone look like they're you know.. like walking in jello, kinda."

"I see.. Could be quite helpful then. For example, when chasing down a suspect."

"Yes, then we could just use the roads like everyone else in London, instead of rooftops." John chimed in sarcastically, as he slid past Willow to refill his coffee cup. "Ought to be careful what you tell him about. He'll be wanting to subject you to all sorts of dangerous and .. well, rather smelly experiments. Its his nature." John smiled and winked at Willow, then left the kitchen to return to helping Dawn. Spike smiled at the thought, then remembered the chip in his head, making him frown suddenly behind his near-empty mug. He knew the feeling of being poked, prodded and locked in a cage like some lab animal, and growled softly at the image in his mind of Willow in that situation. Even though he and the redhead hadn't always gotten on well, he didn't really want to see anything of the sort happen to her. His thoughts quickly turned to Sherlock, and devising a plan to keep him away from Willow. As he stalked off, Spike felt a sudden anger rising up in him. Kill 'im, I will.. He'd better keep his hands off her, bloody ponce...

John sat at the table, Dawn beside him, as he read the report on her laptop. He was only a page into the paper on Shakespeare when he suddenly turned to Dawn.

"Rubbish! You haven't any idea how terrible this is. Have you ever even read any of his work?" John stood suddenly, snapping shut the laptop and cursing under his breath as he stomped up the stairs. Dawn sat staring after him, bewildered and hurt by his words. But.. how could he..

"I HATE YOU!" Dawn screamed, grabbing the computer and running out the front door. She finally slowed to a walk once she reached the end of the street, where she turned and headed towards the cemetery. As she approached Spike's old crypt, a chill ran through her and she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest. Dawn pushed open the door and crept inside, finding it almost exactly as it had been when Spike moved into the house with them. There were cobwebs everywhere and the TV was gone, along with the fridge, but that was no bother to her. Her heart raced and she tripped a little on the stairs which led to the bedroom Spike had created. Once downstairs, she settled onto the old bed and began sobbing violently. The hurt threatened to tear her apart, as she wiped her tears on her sleeve. As she looked around the room, still shaking with pain and anger, something caught her attention under a pile of stones in the corner. It was silver and shaped like a handle, with little blue and white gems on it. The girl walked across the room and pushed away the rubble that trapped the object, which she discovered was an old, beautifully made sword. As she held it, looking at her reflection in the dusty blade, her face became unnaturally hot, and her sobs fell to a slight whine, which became a low, inhuman growl. Dawn grinned, and blew the dust off the blade, then spoke to her reflection. "That bastard.. I know how to fix him.."

John sat on the bed, shaking with rage as Sherlock entered the room. The doctor stood, and turned to face him, then dashed over and swung at the taller man's face. Sherlock caught the fist just as it was about to meet his nose, and twisted John's arm behind him suddenly. The two struggled, Sherlock carefully placing blows to John's side, and John kicking and flailing, his right arm still trapped. He pulled his left arm forward and rammed his elbow back, hitting Sherlock in the stomach hard enough to knock the wind out of him briefly. As he lay sputtering on the floor, he saw John pull a stake from his waistband, holding it over Sherlock with a threatening look in his eyes. He was trying to get to his feet, when he noticed John's eyes cloud over and become black, indicating something was terribly amiss. Sherlock crouched down and rolled to the right just as John brought the stake down with such force that it snapped when it hit the floor instead of the detective. John stood up, and turned to Sherlock who was now standing beside him. John rushed at him, causing them both to topple onto the bed as they both struggled to subdue the other. As Sherlock finally gained control of his friend, pinning him down at the shoulders, he couldn't stop the sinister thoughts that began to flood his mind. He'll die for this.. Ignoring me and pretending he doesn't care.. If I can't have him, no one ever will..

"I need a drink.." Spike grumbled as he covered himself with his ratty old blanket and raced out the door and to the manhole cover down the street. Once safely down inside the sewer tunnel, he extinguished the small flames that had broken out on his hands, then tossed the blanket to the side. He trudged off towards Willie's bar, where he same up through the basement and sat down at the bar.

"We're closed!" A shrill voice called from the back room. Willie appeared, and upon realizing who the customer was, hurried over to get Spike a drink. "Oh.. man. Sorry Spike. Didn't know it was you, ya know? Hey, I'm glad you came by, man. Had someone here askin' bout ya last night. She was pissed, man. Said she'd pick out my eyes if I didn't tell.. I hate to do that to ya.. Self preservation, ya know?" The short, rat-faced barkeeper shrank back as Spike downed the shot and slammed the glass down, shattering it on the counter.

"Who? And what did you tell her?" The vampire gripped the man by his shirt, nearly dragging him over the bar. His eyes faded from a crisp, piercing blue to their unmistakable yellow, causing the man to squeak in fear as he struggled to get away.

"Your girl! She was here, man.. Looked bout as psycho as ever, hair all messed up and that damn doll.. Thing gives me the fuckin' creeps... I-I told her the slayer's old house.. Last I knew you were there.. She was gonna kill me! Had to tell her something.. I panicked! Please, Spike, man.. Let me go.. come on.." Willie wrenched his shirt free, flinging himself backwards against the shelf of bottles. As they crashed to the floor around him, Spike jumped over the counter and wrapped his and around the frightened man's throat.

"I should kill you.. I should snap your neck right now.. Never EVER tell anyone where I am. Especially not HER..." Spike roared, then threw Willie to the ground before turning on his heels and disappearing into the basement stairway. Willie watched the long black coat whip around the corner, and once he was sure Spike had left, he flopped his head back onto the floor, sighing just as he passed out.

By the time Spike returned to the house, everyone was on the brink of either killing each other or killing themselves. Xander and Anya were screaming at each other in the living room, Williow and Tara were in the kitchen struggling for a frying pan that Tara intended to beat Willow with, and John and Sherlock were in a to-the-death fist fight upstairs. Spike stormed off to the basement to escape the insanity, where he found Dawn seated on his cot, the old sword at her side.

"Where have you been?" She said in a low, shaking voice as she stood to approach the vampire.

"Getting information.. You've been to my crypt?" Spike stood facing her, his arms crossed over his chest. He stepped closer to the girl, his eyes narrowed as he looked down at the sword.

"Yeah. So what? I go there to think. Not like you're using the place, now that you're all goody-two-shoes. You're pathetic." Dawn scoffed, as she passed him to check on the fighting upstairs. Once she had listened and could still hear the howls of pain coming from John and Sherlock who were throwing each other about, she sat back down. "Just waiting it out, you know. If Sherlock doesn't kill him, I will.." Her voice trailed off as her heard the front door slam upstairs and Giles stomping about breaking up the others. "Damn it." Dawn rushed upstairs, but was stopped near the kitchen by Giles.

"What the bloody hell is going on here?" He removed his glasses and silently inspected the teen to make sure she hadn't been hurt. Once satisfied, he questioned her again. "Dawn. Answer me. What's all this about?"

"We're all so stupid you know? Thinking we could all live here and get along.. And John.. He called my report rubbish..." Her eyes faded to black momentarily, before she started sobbing again. Giles saw the swift change in colour, and instantly pushed her back towards the basement door.

"You get down there, and stay put, you hear me?" As Dawn stepped down into the stairwell, Giles shut the door and rushed to the dining room, where he grabbed a chair to block the door with. He began rushing about the house, searching for anything that was out of place. As he stepped into the living room, he was tackled by Xander, who with Anya's help, hurriedly subdued the watcher and knocked him out. As everything slipped into darkness, Giles could hear Willow's voice in the distance, but could barely make out what she was saying.

"Its all... fault... way.. He was... watcher... Let.. die... his fa-..."

so, insane and confusing, right? Well, I promise I'll give you more to work with in the next chapter. Really. Just remember, at the end of ch 9, Druscilla was somehow involved with that mysterious gold stone that now sits on the mantle.. ;)