As it turned out, finding a singular angel statue in London was exceedingly hard. To be perfectly honest, Sherlock didn't know what he and John were doing here. They were just humans. What could they possibly do to help against something so supernatural? Sherlock could bring criminals to justice, but this wasn't anything he was prepared to deal with.

Still, when he slunk away from the others, John followed him, expecting him to help or come up with some brilliant idea that would fix everything. He hated letting John down.

"Sherlock," John said, "Where are you going?"

"I'm..." Sherlock started.

What was he doing? He was walking down the street away from the Tardis, going back to Baker Street where he knew he could still help.

"I'm going to consult my contacts," he lied. But that was actually a good idea. A whole network of eyes on the London streets able to spot a statue and get back to him in a moment's notice.

"That's an outstanding idea," John said enthusiastically.

Sherlock grinned at his partner. As the walked down the street, it started to feel like old times. Just John and him solving unthinkable crimes side by side. It was nice...until John's phone rang.

"Sam? What? Slow down. Where are they?" John said into his phone.

Of course, Sam Winchester had John's number. It only made sense to keep in contact while conducting a search for the stony assailant. The concern on John's face annoyed Sherlock to no end, however. They barely knew these people if they were even people. Why did John care so much? The answer to that, of course, was just John's nature. He always cared. Even for Sherlock. He tried to find John's concern for the Winchesters endearing and remember that he was John's best friend and shouldn't be getting jealous over a phone call.

John pocketed his phone and said, "We don't need your network. Dean and Castiel found the statue."

"What? Where?" Sherlock asked.

"Regent's Park," John said, "They're staring it down right now. We have to go."

"Why?" Sherlock asked, "How can we possibly help in this situation? We're only human." Really, John probably was an asset because of reading the Supernatural books, but Sherlock had no business dealing with these completely irrational creatures.

"Sherlock," John said, "We need to go. At the very least, the more eyes on the angel the better. But we don't know how to kill or contain these things. You're the smartest person we've got. Maybe you'll come up with something. Even if you don't, it's better than just giving up because you feel overwhelmed."

"I do not feel overwhelmed," Sherlock argued.

John rolled his eyes, "I don't believe that for a second, Sherlock, but we need to go now." Sherlock nodded, grabbed John's hand, and ran back to the Tardis. Within seconds, Sherlock, John, the Doctor, Sam, and Gabriel spilled out of the Tardis and into Regent's Park.

"About time you guys showed up," Dean said, "Cas can only stare at a statue for so long."

"Actually, Dean, I have no need to blink," Cas said.

Sherlock stepped closer, circling the statue. It was certainly made of stone. Its wings were almost as tall as Sherlock, himself.

"So, what do we do with it?" Gabriel asked.

The Doctor shrugged. "The last time I faced these things, they got sucked into a crack in the fabric of space and time and erased their own existence," he said, "Before that, we got four angels to stare at each other, keeping them locked in their stone state. There's only the one angel here, and I have no crack in the universe to dispose of it in."

Sherlock continued to circle the statue. It must have some weakness, something they could work with. Normally, Sherlock could deduce something from objects or people. This statue was covering its face with its hands as sign of trying not to kill itself by staring at another angel or a mirror. Normally, Sherlock would think it was a sign of fear or submission, but watching the Doctor's video had been informative and explained the gesture. Its wings were splayed like it had landed just as Castiel had seen it. Could weeping angels fly? The Doctor said they could move faster than people could see, but was flying even a possibility for the statue?

Sherlock noticed Castiel look at him curiously. But if Cas was looking at him, was anyone looking at the weeping angel?

Before Sherlock could look at the statue or say anything to the others, they were gone. Or, more accurately, he was gone.

Sherlock was still definitely in Regent's Park, he could recognize the curve of the ground, but the trees were all different. He wondered how far back in time the angel had sent him and when thoughts of pondering his own trip through time had become commonplace. Surely, the Doctor could pick him up in the Tardis. He'd saved him before, he could do it again. But no blue box appeared. Sherlock sighed and tried not panic. He knew where he was, but if there would be a chance to get back, he needed to know when he was.

There was a man sitting on a nearby bench holding a newspaper.

Sherlock took a deep breath and hoped he wouldn't alter history too much. "Excuse me, sir," he said, "Might I take a look at your paper?"

The man looked up, startled. Sherlock looked from the short, mustachioed man to the paper in his hands, but the man made no move to respond to Sherlock's request.

"I said might I take a look at your-nevermind," Sherlock said.

He snatched the paper from the man's hands. August 12th, 1886. If no one rescued him, he'd be extremely lucky to live long enough to see his own time. Perfect.

He plopped onto the bench next to the man. 128 years in the past.

Sherlock thrust the newspaper back at the man and said, "Sorry about that. I just needed to-"

"You came out of nowhere," the man stammered.

Sherlock said, "Yes, I suppose I did. That's...new."

"Who are you?" the man asked.

"Sherlock Holmes. And you are?"

"I'm Arthur," he said, "Are you an extra terrestrial?"

Sherlock closed his eyes in irritation. He couldn't be a scientific anomaly or a magician or something slightly more reasonable. Arthur had to jump to the conclusion of alien.

"No, I'm a detective," Sherlock said.

"There you are!" Gabriel shouted. Sherlock and Arthur jumped at the sudden appearance.

"Is this something you people do?" Arthur asked, "Just pop out of nowhere?"

Gabriel put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and grinned at Arthur, "We don't just appear. We also disappear. Tootles!"

The next thing Sherlock knew, he was standing next to John and the Tardis. Gabriel dropped to his knees, gasping, as Sam rushed to his side. Time travel seemed to have taken a toll on him.

"Oh thank God," John said, seeing Sherlock in one piece.

The Doctor rushed out of the Tardis and dragged Sherlock inside.

"Do you realize what you've done?" the Doctor asked.

Sherlock said, "If you're referring to borrowing Arthur's newpaper-"

"Arthur! You're on a first name basis with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle!" the Doctor said, pointing at a screen in the Tardis.

"Should I know who that is?" Sherlock asked.

Obviously, Arthur was knighted for something, which did strike Sherlock as a bit odd, but...and then he saw it. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Author of the Sherlock Holmes Novels.

Sherlock said in utter disbelief, "What."

"Luckily, you only redirected the course of literature and pop culture," the Doctor said, "But if you ever get zapped back in time again, just wait for us. Don't go talking to people who might start writing books about you, hmm?"

Sherlock nodded, still staring at the screen. There were books about him. What. This information would take a lot of processing to deal with. Sherlock quickly left the Tardis to continue studying the angel statue, which made much more sense in comparison.

Sam and Dean were arguing quietly under a tree, Castiel occasionally interjecting, presumably to stop the fighting. Gabriel was watching the Winchesters while leaning against the Tardis.

John looked at Sherlock and asked, "Sherlock, what's wrong?"

"Someone wrote a book series about me over a hundred years ago," Sherlock said.

"What?" John asked.

Sherlock ignored him. "Where's the angel?" he asked.

Gabriel looked over to the spot where the statue had been. "I thought Cassie had it covered," he said, "But it disappeared the same time you did."

Castiel wandered over to them and said to Sherlock, "I am so sorry. I wasn't thinking. Your thought process was fascinating to watch, and I took my eyes off of it. It's my fault."

Dean put a hand on Cas' shoulder. "We'll find it again," he said.

Sam looked over at Sherlock with a less than sure expression on his face.

So that was it, then. The weeping angel was missing again.