AN /: It appears that I'm multitasking now. That and I can't seem to keep my formatting consistent between stories. Oh well. I'll get there one day. Hope you enjoy the second chapter. I aim to scare.
O.o.O.o.O
The Angel, The Detective, And The Phone Box
Ch 2. Dangerous Finds
It is early evening two days later when Sherlock mentions the missing persons murder case again.
"I have to go back." He says decisively, just as John sits down with a steaming hot cup of tea.
"Why?" John asks, and Sherlock's reply is to slam down the lid of his laptop and dart off the couch, grabbing his coat and scarf.
"Are you coming?" he calls from halfway down the stairs, and John mutters a few exasperated words as he grabs his jacket and heads for the stairs. Less than a minute later they're sitting in a cab on its way to the crime scene, Sherlock glued to his phone and John staring out the window.
"You're lucky I don't have to be at work tomorrow,' John says, and Sherlock makes a strange noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as way of reply. John sighs to himself and watches the traffic fly past, wondering what Sherlock could possibly want so badly that he has to venture back to the old abandoned house right this very minute.
The sun is beginning to set as they near the house, and the cab pulls up right next to the gate. John is left once again to pay the driver as Sherlock darts out and pushes the gate open, striding into the old estate with a fierce determination. The place is completely deserted, no police in sight, and in the fading light the house looks just like the old spooky one that would frequently appear in old horror movies. John suppresses the shiver and keeps walking, jogging beside Sherlock as they approach the front door. Out of the corner of his eye John spots a small blue police box sitting under a few trees in the far corner of the garden, and he swears he hadn't seen it there the last time. He isn't left any time to ponder it, however, because the door is unlocked and Sherlock is already striding inside.
"Sherlock, what are we doing here?" John hisses through his teeth, because something inside his mind is telling him to be quiet and he feels a compulsion to obey it.
"There's something I've missed,' Sherlock replies,' something in this house. These disappearances don't make any sense, and I'm sure there's an answer. All the evidence so far would have me believe that the victims have disappeared without a trace, vanished into thin air, but something isn't right, something doesn't add up."
"Any idea what that is?" John presses.
"Everything points to the disappearances being unexpected. There are glass shards and splinters where photo frames have been dropped, torches that the victims had been using are abandoned, lying on the ground or under a dresser." Sherlock says, and the tone of his voice suggests that he is agitated. Sherlock keeps walking, examining the walls and bits of furniture as he moves from one room to another and eventually they wind up in the kitchen. The sun has almost set and there are only thin threads of light trickling through the window. Sherlock moves to open the door that leads to the cellar, and as he throws it open he freezes, and John lets out a surprised yelp.
Because standing behind the door, her arm outstretched to turn the handle herself, is the red headed girl from yesterday.
She shrieks in surprise and stumbles backwards, her fingers scrabbling along the wall for support. There is a muffled shout from below and suddenly a young man with light brown hair appears around the corner, followed by another man of about the same age who is for some reason wearing a tweed jacket and a red bowtie.
"Amy, are you alright?" gasps the man with brown hair as he leaps towards the red head, grabbing her arm and flicking his gaze quickly between her and Sherlock. The man in the tweed jacket takes a step forwards and glances between Sherlock and John, studying them with a keen gaze.
"Who are you?" he asks, locking eyes with Sherlock, who stares right back.
"I'm John,' John says, extending a hand, because he can almost hear Sherlock's brain ticking and he doesn't look like he's going to answer any time soon,' and this is Sherlock."
The red haired girl and the brown haired boy look at each other quickly, and the man in the tweed jacket keeps staring at Sherlock. Then John notices that the brown haired boy is looking back down the staircase with a determined yet frantic look, and suddenly a chill shoots down his spine.
"Sherlock. As in Sherlock Holmes?" the red headed girl asks, and John notes that she has a Scottish accent, unlike her friends.
"Sherlock Holmes. Nice to meet you." Sherlock says, and reaches out to shake the man in the tweed jacket's hand. The man takes it warily, his eyes darting between Sherlock and John, but he takes Sherlock's hand nonetheless.
"I'm the Doctor,' the man in the tweed jacket says,' and this is Rory and-"
"And I'm Amy,' the red headed girl says, sticking her hand out towards Sherlock as she eyes him up. Sherlock raises an eyebrow and shakes her hand, and John notices that the man behind her, Rory, is looking rather jealous as he continues to stare down the staircase.
"Well, it was nice meeting you all but I really have some work to get to,' Sherlock says, stepping past the Doctor and Amy and making his way down the stairs. The Doctor begins to look worried though, and calls out after him.
"Why do you want to go down there,' he says hurriedly,' there's nothing particularly interesting, just some rats and broken stone."
"Considering you don't want me to go down there then I take it that there is something interesting, so I think I'll go down anyway." Sherlock says, and before anyone can stop him he bounds off down the stairs. John smiles apologetically at the Doctor and rushes down after Sherlock, taking the steps two at a time and emerging into quite an ordinary looking store room. The walls are damp and any food that has once been held is now long gone. The shelves are rotting and falling apart, and really the only unusual thing down here is the statue of an angel that is illuminated by the light of Sherlock's torch.
"Hold this,' Sherlock says as he shoves the torch into Johns hand and then turns to examine a few of the shelves. John glances down to check his watch, and then as he looks back up he notices something is off. Before, the angel had had its face cupped in its hands. Now, it seems to be peering through its fingers. He is about to rub his eyes when he hears a shout from the stairwell, and turns to see the Doctor rush down the stairs, followed by Rory.
"Don't look away from the statue,' the Doctor shouts,' even for a second, even just a blink, look away from it and you die."
John is sure that he is being overly dramatic, but as he hears Sherlock shout in surprise he turns to find that the angel has one of its arms outstretched. It definitely didn't have an arm outstretched before.
"Whatever you do, don't look away,' the Doctor says in a low voice as Sherlock straightens himself and looks down at the angel. He is just taller than it, tall enough to just see the top of its head.
"Also, really, honestly, whatever you do, don't look into its eyes." The Doctor says again as Sherlock moves to gaze at its face, and the sincerity in his voice is enough to convince John to move his gaze to the statue's feet.
"Superstitious nonsense,' Sherlock mutters dismissively, but John notes that Sherlock isn't looking at its face.
"Why shouldn't we look at its face?" John asks, turning to the Doctor, who is still staring intently at the statue.
"You may find this difficult to believe,' he starts,' but that isn't a statue."
"If it's not a statue then what on earth is it?" John asks, the humour in his voice hiding a sly note of fear.
"It's an alien." Rory says matter-of-factly, and Sherlock snorts in disbelief.
"It is an alien,' the Doctor says, insists,' it's called a weeping angel. Whenever someone is looking at it, it quantum locks and turns itself to stone. That's why it covers its eyes, so it can't look at another of its kind accidentally. If you look away and let it move it sends you to another time, and then feeds off the energy left by what you could have ever been and done. It feeds off your potential. It's technically the only psychopath in the universe to kill you nicely... except if it snaps your neck."
"The man upstairs..." Sherlock says quietly, and the realisation hits John like a blow to the stomach. The victim was killed by this... this thing, this weeping angel. It had snapped his neck when he wasn't looking. Difficult to believe, but what was it that Sherlock kept saying about whatever remains being the truth no matter how unlikely?
"Have you taken any pictures of this statue, any of the statues?" the Doctor asks, seeming slightly less panicked.
"No, none." John replies.
"Good, because that's how they breed." Rory says, and John decides not to press the matter any further.
Right now this whole evening is starting to seem like a horror movie, complete with haunted house, innocent victims and horrible monsters. Every nerve, every fibre of Johns being is now screaming at him to run, and John notes that his hand is completely still, even though it had been trembling the whole cab ride over.
"John, I think it's time we left, don't you agree?" Sherlock says, and John nods in agreement.
"Rory, head up to wait with Amy,' the Doctor says,' John, Sherlock, you go with him. I'll follow behind and make sure this one doesn't sneak up on us.
John goes on ahead of Sherlock, and he can hear Rory humming to himself a few paces ahead. They reach the cellar door, which is closed, and Amy is standing with her back against the wall.
"What do we do now, Doctor?" she calls out, not taking her eyes off the door for a second.
"We need to get Mr Holmes and Mr Watson out of here as quickly as we can, then we can go back to the search.' The Doctor says as he brings up the rear, walking backwards and running a hand over the wall to feel his way up.
"What search?" Sherlock asks, a note of brightness in his voice.
"That's not really important,' the Doctor starts, but Rory cuts him off.
"But if he's really Sherlock Holmes, then he can help us!" Rory says, and John watches as Sherlock straightens, his nostrils flaring indignantly.
"He can't be Sherlock Holmes." The Doctor says.
"Maybe he is,' Amy says enthusiastically,' maybe the crack chewed up the books and spat them out as a real person."
By now John feels a little confused and a little insulted. Everyone is focusing on Sherlock, as usual, but all this talk of not being real is a bit insulting. He knows he is real... or is at least pretty sure, and he is not in the right mood to have an identity crisis right now.
"I wouldn't be the one lecturing about false appearances, Doctor,' Sherlock says scathingly,' seeing as you aren't even human, and don't have the decency to tell me your real name."
The Doctor stops and turns to face Sherlock, his face blank. Rory must be able to sense that the Doctor is preoccupied now, because he turns to face the staircase, taking guard duty into his own hands.
"How did you know that, you can't have known that." The Doctor says, and it seems more like a statement than a question.
"It's obvious,' Sherlock says, a smug grin on his face,' your knowledge about these... 'creatures' is the biggest hint, as you said yourself that they weren't statues, and are in fact aliens. Then there's your odd dress, which can be chalked down to either eccentricity or the inability to understand dress culture, more likely the latter given the current evidence. There's also the fact that there is a clearly alien device sticking out of your back pocket. And besides, who call their child 'Doctor'? It's obviously a name you took yourself."
The Doctor clutches at the back pocket of his trousers, his frown disappearing completely, replaced with a wide smile.
"That was absolutely magnificent,' he says, clapping his hands together excitedly,' you really must be Sherlock Holmes, even though that's impossible. Oh, that was just brilliant! What else can you work out, what else can you deduce?"
Sherlock's own smug grin stretches even wider, his ego dangerously boosted by the Doctor's praise. John hopes that the Doctor keeps the praise to a minimum, or Sherlock is going to be unbearable for the rest of the week.
"Doctor, tell him about the crystal!" Amy prompts, looking at Sherlock, delight lighting her face as if Christmas has come three months early.
"Oh, right, the crystal!" the Doctor shouts, clapping his hands together again. "We're looking for a crystal, small, black, about the size of an apple, contains enough energy to destroy the planet. We know that the angels haven't gotten it yet, but if they do find it they'll feed off it and be restored to their full power and go on a bit of a killing frenzy."
"Well,' John starts,' we'd better help you find that-" and he is cut off as the door swings open, revealing an angel that is staring straight at them, its arms outstretched.
"Don't look at its face!" the Doctor shouts, and immediately John darts his gaze down to the stone folds of its dress.
"I think they're onto us." Amy says, gazing at the angel's feet and tapping her fingers against the wall.
"That doesn't matter,' the doctor replies,' there are five of us now, and so as long as we all hold hands and walk together, and as long as nobody blinks, we should be okay."
"Who says we'll help?' Sherlock says suddenly, and John fights the urge to elbow the taller man in the stomach.
"Of course we'll help." John says, and the Doctor seems relieved at his assurance.
"Alright then,' Amy says as she makes a grab for Sherlock and Rory's hands,' let's stick together and get moving."
End Chapter Two