Author's note: I still have no beta for this fic! If anyone is interested, let me know.
The bright crescent moon, hanging in the clear, night sky, provided just enough light for John to see as he sprinted through tall, auburn trees. The original group had separated on the run from the Weeping Angels, leaving Sherlock and John running amid the heavily wooded park and River, along with the Doctor, running back toward the darkened city. Large hordes of animated statues followed both pairs.
Watson, far ahead of his flatmate, darted from side to side among the lofty plants, avoiding fallen logs and hidden boulders. The physician ran right through several low hanging branches, and they snapped back hitting the angels that were chasing him. Still, the grey, stone women gained ground on him no matter what defenses he tried. He heard Sherlock's voice shouting out behind him, "John! JOHNNNN!"
Suddenly the cries stopped. John spun around rapidly, behind him stood a weeping angel, in place of his best friend. "No, no, no," the petite man muttered. Finally, impossibly loud and at the top of his lungs he screamed, "DOCTOR!" Then everything went black.
From where he stood with River, the Doctor heard John's cries. He made the quick decision to hurry back and aid the physician. He knew in his heart that he needed to help the detective and his friend.
River called after him, "Sweetie! You shouldn't go against the plan, and you can't go through that part of the park! The greatest concentration of angels is right through this line of trees!" She held a small device in her hand, which she used to scan the presence of alien life forms in the area. The little dot on the screen closest to her was her husband, but the rest of the local dots were angels.
Still darting forward, the Doctor turned his head round and replied, "Sorry, love, but I can't let him get hurt. Sherlock would never forgive me. He's the only thing keeping that detective sound."
River Song rolled her eyes and wished her disobedient husband well; "I know you have to go. Good luck! Be safe! I love you." Then she continued running as well.
When the lone Time Lord arrived at the scene of the crime, it was already too late. On the soft, cold ground where Sherlock and John had been just moments before, a single blue scarf rested in the dirt.
The Doctor picked up the piece of thin fabric, shook it off and wrapped it around his own neck. He took a deep breath, sighed, and then set off to reunite with his wife. His goal was no longer to protect his four friends, because now he needed find all the lost companions he couldn't save before.
"John. John. John." Dr. Watson awoke to the sensation of someone violently shaking him and incessantly repeating his name. He blinked and opened his eyes, feeling the piercing pain of the bright sun. Sherlock, awkwardly straddled over him, continued screeching "JOHN! JOHN!"
John groaned, "I'm awake Sherlock. Stop shaking the bloody life out of me already!"
Watson scanned the surrounding area. The park looked similar to the one where they just were, but daylight made it easier to see. Green trees and green grass filled the commons. Well-dressed citizens in vintage clothing walked around them. The woman wore dresses with huge skirts and the men all sported jackets and hats. The buildings and benches all looked much different from their modern counterparts. A barefoot boy handed newspapers to people on the street, while horse carriages darted by. John did not see any cars, cabs, buses, phone booths or stop lights. This London, if it was even London, seemed quieter than the one he knew and loved.
The detective backed away from his friend and explained, "I need to tell you my deductions. The only possible explanation leads me to believe that we've been sent back in time. I imagine this is Victorian era, from what I've deduced so far."
John sat up and mumbled, "Impossible."
"No, not impossible. Just highly unlikely based on the technology we have in our time. Time travel is possible, just very improbable. I think those angels did this to us. Those aliens have some sort of power to send people into the past, rather than killing them," Holmes clarified.
The other replied, "So you're saying those creepy, rock girls somehow propelled us back in time?"
Sherlock snapped, "Precisely Watson." The detective stood up and brushed the dust off his pants. John did the same. Passerby had now noticed the odd men lying in the middle of the park. People looked over and murmured comments about their odd appearance.
The detective turned to his friend and whispered, "We need to get out of here. Then, we need to find appropriate clothing. We can't draw attention to ourselves. After that, we will find a way to leave a message for the Doctor." He grabbed the physician's hand and pulled him along.
John growled, "Like this won't draw attention."