Not but a moment after Dean had spoken into the phone had a new arrival appeared in the room. Without initial detection or notice, and less than a stir of wind - in the room he stood. “I’m here.” Castiel spoke aloud, drawing attention from each set of eyes that occupied the room, and each with their own reaction. Sherlock’s grew wide, but his mouth remained closed and his tongue still behind his teeth. The Doctor's gaze fell upon him as though he had been an expected, but unwanted new addition to the room. And finally John’s eyes grew even wider than Sherlock’s had, before returning to a squint as he started to step back towards the kitchen. The man appeared normal enough. Short brown hair, with a pair of his own blue eyes that held a constant wayward stare of their own, basic suit and tan trench coat; sort of fellow you would pass on any street corner in any city at any time of day, but it wasn't his appearance that had John stepping back and swallowing hard on his rising anxiety, but rather his sudden arrival. “No – No, no thank you - that is it. You can’t fly me across an ocean and halfway across a country and talk about Demons and Angels and Magic and Aliens – and then have this guy just show up – No. Not anymore.” He said looking back and forth between Sherlock and the Doctor. “I’m sorry Sherlock, I’m sorry Doc.. Well, actually I’m not sorry in any way to you on the matter, whoever you are or whatever you’re supposed to be; I know I said we’d help, that I’d help, but no.” He said turning to leave, pausing by the entrance way, looking up at the Devil’s trap that was carved into the ceiling before glancing back at the men still standing in the room. “I’m sorry – but No, just no.” He said before finally making his way towards the porch.
“Can someone explain what just happened?” Castiel said looking over to Sam and Dean.
Sam scratched lightly and nervously at the back of his head as he looked to Sherlock. “Should we go after him?”
“Probably.” Sherlock replied a bit nonchalantly.
“Are you going to go after him?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock’s curious response.
“He’ll be fine on his own for a bit, he won’t wonder far, he never does. We flew across the Atlantic Ocean for this, I won’t walk away now.” Sherlock replied in a huff.
Dean shook his head clearly not approving of the attitude towards John he was witnessing. “Dude, go after him, I promise we'll wait, I just need to clarify a few things with Cas here. Probably better you aren't right here right now anyways.” Dean said aloud, voicing his feeling on the matter.
The Doctor nodded in agreement, looking towards Sherlock. “Go after him, we’ll wait – it’s a lot to take in. Everyone has a part to play Sherlock. We need him – you need him.” The Doctor added his tone more forgiving than Dean's had been.
Sherlock glanced to Sam and Castiel, both seemed to echo the encouragement that Dean and the Doctor had voiced. Still with a moment of hesitation, like a kid being forced upon an errand or a chore that was less than his choosing, he finally, with a huff turned to follow John out on the porch.
Outside Sherlock found John leaning against the wooden railing of the porch, resting his chest on his elbows, fingers laced and turned towards the ground, while his eyes turned towards the clear sky above. Sherlock took a deep an audible inhale before leaning against one of the porch’s supporting beams, beside John, but facing the house as opposed to John who would not. The two remained silent for a moment – and then, finally, John sighed. “Sherlock let's go home, back to England, back to Baker Street.”
“ We've come a long way to turn back now.” Sherlock replied, his tone softer than before, but his stance on the matter unchanged.
“But come on Sherlock, this isn't us. This is – well I don’t know what this actually is, but you were in there… this is science fiction and fantasy. This is Aliens and Magic and Superstition. This isn't me and it is certainly not you.” John replied, his tone as insistent as his words.
“What do you mean not me?” Sherlock asked almost mockingly. “We have a mystery on our hands, not just the Doctor and his stolen box, but the Doctor himself. Mysteries, John, we solve mysteries. Not every one needs to start over a dead body.”
“No, of course not, I know.” John said agreeing at first. “Still, I don’t think we are in our depths here – Not even a question of depth; Sherlock, mystery or not, these are not our waters.”
Sherlock gestured towards the house with an outward hand “So we live a little John, try something new. New is what makes life interesting – formulaic is boring John,.I’m tired of being bored.”
John pushed himself back off the railing. “And you know another thing I don’t understand, why Dean?” John began. “I mean here you are the world’s only consulting detective – on this great big, though in my opinion, boring mystery so far – weird yes, but I’m not the least bit interested thus far – and here we are encountering these different people, the Doctor and Captain Jack, real characters if I've ever known any and you just let it go. You had opportunities – but you let it go. Which is fine. I've seen you let things go before, bite your tongue – save the peace, but then here comes Dean, a man with a firearm aimed right for you and you go off on him, of all people. I mean why skip the Doctor and Jack and not Dean? I don’t understand, help me to understand Sherlock.” John pleaded in frustration.
“I could observe Dean. A plain and simple truth.” Sherlock replied as he folded his arms across his chest, sighing lightly. “The Doctor is a curiosity to say the least, as I told you before back in the flat. I can observe him as I observe any other man – I can read and take note, but when the moment arrives to deduce – I cannot connect the things I see. For me his is an anomaly – a mystery. One I would like to see through to the end.” Sherlock admitted, keeping his voice low.
“And Jack – Captain Jack Harkness? What about him?” John asked.
Sherlock’s lips pulled into a wiry grin “Everything I could deduce from Captain Jack suggested I should keep my mouth shut - though we really should introduce him to Mycroft, I think they would get along famously, perhaps to the detriment of half the free world, but it would free up our schedule a bit,”Sherlock answered only partially joking as he did so.
John smiled and chuckled lightly to himself over the pair
Mycroft and Jack would make. “Still, I want to go. I am going back to England –
you cannot make me stay.” John said
putting his foot down once more.
“And I won’t try. Do give Mrs Huddson my love will you, I’m
sure I’ll be along shortly after, once the mystery of the missing blue box is
laid to rest.” Sherlock replied as he pushed off the beam and started back into
the house.
“Sherlock” John began turning on his heels after him,
stopping him in the foyer, beneath the devil’s trap, just out of view of the
others. “Sherlock, be reasonable. We've come this far and it will be difficult
enough to turn back now and only God knows what is still in store, how much
further we have to go.” John pleaded, lowering his voice to almost a whisper.
Sherlock glanced back, pausing for a moment. “What are you
implying?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “That the Doctor may actually lead
us somewhere we can’t return from? Be reasonable John.”
John sighed. “Yes and No and I know how crazy that must
sound.”
“He’s already told us we’re going back to England, John.”
Sherlock argued and insisted.
“We’re not going home are we?” John asked with an even
heavier sigh, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands as he did so.
“Not without changing the definition of the word WE”
Sherlock replied before continuing into the main room of the house once more.
Dean looked up at the two with a smile as they reentered the room “Trouble in paradise?”
John responded with a cross look of his own. “Don’t start in with that – Starting that now would be a very bad idea, so just – don’t” He warned Dean before making his way over to the long sofa, taking a seat beside Sherlock who was sitting aside, but not overly close to Sam who was almost straddling the arm rest as he leaned in on his knee. Dean was seated the wrong way around on a chair, resting his chest against the chair’s backrest and Castiel stood nearby between the others. As for the Doctor, he had found a nice comfy chair to recline in behind the large wooden desk upon which, ever so coolly, his feet now rested with crossed ankles. “So – what have we missed?” John asked aloud, trying to be a good sport about things.
“Just some introductions” Sam began to explain. “We told Mr Holmes we’d wait, so we did.”
“You can refer to me as Sherlock” Sherlock replied.
“So, back to the matter at hand – Aliens Cas? Didn't we have some conversation once about aliens not being real? I mean that sounds like a conversation we would have had already.” Dean asked skeptically, glancing from the Doctor to Castiel.
Castiel shrugged his coated shoulders “If we did, I’m sure I only thought it was with the subject matter of the Milky Way. I wasn't fully aware that any would travel quite this far,” Cas replied, his line of vision moving from Dean to the Doctor. “Tell me, have you been visiting the planet long?”
The Doctor smiled and sighed lightly. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Castiel, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
“I would like to state for the record that though I do understand that reference it in no way makes it an accurate one.” Castiel spoke up in reply.
The Doctor pushed himself up and out of the chair, pulling his screwdriver out of his pocket as he did so; with a flick of his wrist the device lit up with life. He held it up so the others could see as he made his way towards one of the many book cases that lined the room. “Gentlemen, this is a Sonicscrewdriver.”
“A what?” Sam asked curiously.
“A torch that opens doors.” John chimed in.
The Doctor turned his head about revealing a slight frown
on his face – he was almost appalled at the suggestion his screwdriver was so
limited to doors. “It’s not a torch, and it can do so much more than open doors,” he replied.
John tilted his head in fained curiosity. “Like what, exactly?”
“Well, for starters it can find books, such wonderful books.”
The Doctor answered with a smile. “See, not all books are created equal – all
books are amazing, wonderful things really books, never go out of style no
matter how much changes in technology, you simply cannot beat the feel of a
well-made book in your hands, the smell of it! The sound when a page is
turned…”
“Yes I think we’re all aware of what a book is.” Sherlock
interrupted the Doctor, an attempt to keep him on course.
“Of course, parchment, ink, vowels and contents strung
together in series of words and sentences and into stories and yes, I’m sure
each of you know what a book IS. All are very special in their own right, but
some go a bit further. It’s how they are made, the information they contain. It
makes them stand out on so many levels, even a vibrational one.” The Doctor
explained as he began to fiddle with the gadget, tuning the tool. The light
would grow very dim and very bright and settle out again, the strange buzzing
noise it emitted would lower to a hum and settle somewhere between. “Most of
the books in this room actually fall into that category.” He commented looking
back to Sam and Dean.
“Well it’s not your typical collection.” Sam spoke up, a bit
of pride hidden in his tone, but not in his posture as he straightened his back
a bit as he spoke.
“Sammy” Dean said shortly.
“What?” Sam snapped back looking to his brother.
“Just because he’s not a demon doesn’t mean we can trust a
dude who claims to be an alien.” Dean
replied with a sigh.
“Whatever – go on.” Sam said turning his gaze from Dean back
to the Doctor.
“I’m looking for one of these books particularly; one I
believe you have in your collection.” The Doctor continued as he moved the
device past one row and then the next and next.
Sam stood up walking over to join the Doctor. “Most of these
books are very subject specific, dealing heavy with religion or the occult,
rare recordings of oral histories or how to books on everything you can
imagine, blessings, curses, hexes…Spells essentially. What do you plan to do
with this book when you find it?” Sam asked curiously, following the Doctor as
he moved from one book case to the next.
The Doctor smiled looking over to Sam. “Curious and clever –
you know you’d think that would be redundant in a lot like this, but here you
are the only one asking questions.” The Doctor pointed out glancing back over
at Sherlock, who may not be standing in line to ask questions, but was far from
idle in his mind – after all a mind like his was incapable of idle. The Doctor
looked back to Sam and to the books as he passed over them. “I lost something
and I think my best chance for getting it back lies within the pages of this
book and with you and your brother, but first I have to find the book,” he replied. As he glanced at the last book case, his eyes grew worried.
“Well, maybe I can help you find it. There are books all over
this house. These are just the ones we use the most. This book? Does it have a
name or do you know what it looks like at least?” Sam asked following the
Doctor to the next set of shelves.
“Old… very very old.” The Doctor replied in almost a
whisper.
Sam listened and smirked a bit “Hate to break it to you Doc,
Old is pretty much the most common denominator among this collection.”
“Doc? I like that Doc.
You know people have tried to call me Doc in the past, but never really worked
– must be the accent. Anyways moving on, yes I see what you’re saying, but not
like this; this book is old. The information in it is older than the parchment
and the parchment is older than the latest layer of ink, which in its self is
far older than the binding, but it’s the binding that is especially important –
the book will be well kept or at least far better kept than it should be since
there are not many around who should still be able to read it, but it will
reflect the respect it’s been shown none the less.” The Doctor continued,
though his tone and face began to show the frustration that was building inside
of him.
Dean, listening to the conversation between Sam and the
Doctor, just shook his head. “I don’t know Doc, I mean something like that sounds
a bit sacred. Sure something like that would be here?” Dean asked.
“Not initially no. I admit this isn't my first stop, but it
is my last hope.” The Doctor confessed stepping away from the case with a heavy
sigh. “Where is your next largest conservation of books?” he asked looking back
and forth between Sam and Dean.
“We have an upstairs storage area and some shelves here and
there” Sam replied.
Still, before anyone could do or say anything further,
Sherlock rose from his seat to join the two of them, Sam and the Doctor. “I’m
sorry but there has to be a way to speed this up – surely you keep things in
some kind of system?” Sherlock asked with a sigh looking to Sam.
“Well yeah, but with nothing to go on, old – even really
really really old, isn't much to work with.” Sam answered truthfully.
Sherlock rolled his eyes. “The difference between nothing
and something is that, nothing is truly nothing, and anything - no matter how
small is something,” he replied to Sam, and then turned towards the Doctor “Now
you said the information in it is old. When you said that did you simply mean
the information, meaning the subject matter, or do you mean the language
itself?” Sherlock asked. In his eyes for the first time since they entered the
house, a bit of life seemed to shimmer deep within them.
The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest as he nodded.
“Yes, the language, or in this case languages, would be very old indeed.”
“Okay, narrowing it down by like a quarter.” Sam replied with
a frustrated sigh of his own. “Older than Latin?” He asked, folding his arms across
the median of his torso as he thought.
“It may contain some Latin, but the bulk of the notes
would go even further back.” The Doctor replied.
“Good, so a book containing in its pages mostly a core of
dead languages, with more familiar rooted languages, Latin in the margins
perhaps?” Sherlock asked, he hands tucked into his pockets as he continued to
draw out the information in thought and conversation.
“Well, dead is a bit harsh, but dying.” The Doctor replied to
Sherlock looking over to Sam. “Any better?”
Sam shrugged, “Narrowing down to about half, would help if I
knew what languages were most prominent?”
Sam asked.
“Well, at least the basics…” The Doctor began, closing his
eyes in deep thought. “Aramaic, Phoenician, Elamite, Hittite, Ammonite,
Carrionite….” he continued, trailing a bit.
“That’s a lot of nites.” Sam commented.
“Yes, but all – well almost all, are very region specific.” Sherlock pointed out. “Middle east.”
“Yeah I know.” Sam replied with a smile “The region, being
the Holy Lands doesn't exactly narrow it down much, but the ages do.”
“How narrow?” the Doctor asked.
“Down to about a quarter of the collection, maybe less.” Sam
answered. At that point both the Doctor and Sam look to Sherlock to for his
brilliance once more.
“The imagery of the book? Is there anything you can tell us
about that?” Sherlock inquired of the
Doctor.
The Doctor paused for a moment in thought. “Well of course,
but nothing that would stand out too much, except…” The Doctor trailed off a
moment.
“Expect what? Tell us.” Sherlock almost demanded for the
both of them.
“It’s a language in the book, but its old, very old and very
advanced and very much not local. The characters are geometric in structure and
imagery, very advanced – highly unlikely it would be regarded as writing, maybe
petroglyphs, but even then unlikely ones that anyone on this planet could cipher.”
Sam’s eyes grew wide as he stepped back, “I know exactly
which book we need.”
Across the room Dean, Cas, and John all sort of had their
own unique look of amazement or shock. “That was…” Dean began trailing off.
“Uncanny…” Cas added.
“Brilliant – absolutely fantastic.” John exclaimed, though
he quickly lowered his tine when all eyes then turned to him. “Sorry, I've just
never heard it in stereo before.” He
explained a bit under his breath.
All three men, the Doctor, Sam, and Sherlock, couldn't help,
but smile a bit. Sam moved past Sherlock and the Doctor and made his way
towards a small stack of moving boxes that were huddled in the corner aside the
couch. Still, as he began to open each one, his face went from the one that held
the pride of victory, to one of growing panic which only ever stands as a for-bearer of disappointment. “No, no –
it should be here! Right at the top of one of these stacks – I mean I packed
them myself not two days ago for storage.” Sam said aloud in frustration. At
this point all the men had gotten up and now formed a group around the corners
opening, each with their own unique look of curiosity and suspense. “I know it was here. A simple book bound in
black well-oiled leather with a design embedded into the cover. I remember it.
I picked it up a few hunts back. It was beautiful, but I couldn't make heads or
tails of it, so I added it to the storage boxes for the next trip out, but it’s
not here. How can it not be here?”
Dean stepped back from the group. “Shiny black book with a
bunch of weird circles on the cover?”
Everyone looked back at him as Sam replied. “Yeah….”
Dean’s smile grew wide as he walked to the other end of the
couch, kneeling down and reaching underneath it and towards the back. A moment
later the couch shifted a bit and Dean stood up holding the book in his hand. “Back
leg gave out last week, storage pile so figured no worries - right?”
Everyone had their own reactions of course, but it was the
screwdriver still gripped in the Doctor’s fist that responded first. The light
flared and the humming shifted to a lively buzz, signaling to the Doctor that
he had finally found his book.
Dean handed the book over to the Doctor who began moving
through the pages with his thumbs. “Okay, but isn't the whole point of putting
it into storage is because we can’t read it?” Dean asked aloud.
“You can’t read it, but I can.” The Doctor replied. “Of
course I can read it all day, top to bottom and backwards and forwards and the
right way around again and it will do no good, I can’t use it. At least not for
what I need…at least not on my own.” The
Doctor continued to explain, as he looked to Sam once more.
“Doc, I’ll help out anyway I can, but Dean’s right; I had at
least two weeks one on one with this book and couldn't crack it.” Sam replied honestly, but not without a tone
of disappointment and inadequacy.
“Of course you can,”
The Doctor exclaimed. “You just need me to crack you first.”
“What?” this time Dean spoke up.
“Sorry, poor choice of words…” The Doctor replied to Dean as
he handed the book and his screwdriver back to Dean. “Hold these for me?” He then
turned back to Sam, taking a quick look over the figure before him, the nearly
half a foot taller than himself figure that was Sam Winchester. The Doctor
stepped back and walked into the kitchen out of view and a moment later
returned with a step stool, setting it up in front of where Sam still stood and
climbing onto its first landing. Everyone else in the room sort of looked on
with raised brows of curiosity. The Doctor looked about at all the faces that
looked upon him, then resting his eyes on Sam’s. “Do you trust me?”
Sam stood there; unsure about the situation or the question
he was asked, until finally he replied unsure of his own answer, “Well – No, but
I don’t feel guarded around you and you've impressed me even if I don’t
understand you entirely. Which is odd for me.”
The Doctor smiled, placing a hand on each of his shoulders.
“Good enough - now hold still.” The Doctor instructed, and before Sam could
question or react, the Doctor had taken a deep breath, reared his head back and thrust it forward once more into a quick collision with Sam’s forehead – a
head-butt that sent them both stumbling back as well as putting the others in
immediate defense mode.
Sam, in particular, stumbled back till he landed on the open
couch. Dean quickly taking to his side. “What the hell was that about?” Dean
shouted at the Doctor. “Dude are you okay?” he asked Sam in nearly the same
breath.
Of course Sam had taken knocks ten times worse than a simple
head-butt from the Doctor. Still he sat there holding his head in his hand.
“Yeah – Dean…. It’s okay – I think.” He sort of mumbled in response, rubbing
his eyes now.
The Doctor stood to his feet and started to approach the
couch. “It’s a lot to take in and I know some people don’t always cope with
telepathic transference well… are you sure you’re alright?”
“Whoa - telepathic what?” Dean snapped back looking to the
Doctor, his voice stern and demanding.
“Yes, I’m sorry but I have to second that question – I’m a
bit lost as to why that just happened.” John spoke up looking to the Doctor. Sherlock remained mostly silent.
“It’s like he gave me some kind of crash course in – I don’t
know the universe?” Sam answered aloud cutting off the questioning. “It’s
unreal.”
The Doctor smiled wider “See, there you are; clever.”
Castiel shook his head disapproving of the action. “That
could have seriously damaged his psyche – you shouldn't risk the minds of humans like that. I can assure you they are very fragile. Some more so than others.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s the first
time I've been to this planet or the first time I've transferred information
telepathically. It’s been at least six, maybe seven decade since I last burned
someone out. I was careful, I didn't give him everything! Just some collected
background necessary to push on with the spell.” The Doctor replied in his
defense.
“Cas man, it’s okay. It’s rough, but wow.” Sam said, smiling
almost to himself. “Just wow.”
The Doctor nodded “I know – want to do it again?”
“Why would anyone want to do whatever it was that – that was
again?” John asked aloud, still confused or unsure of exactly what had just
happened. He understood what was being said well enough, but didn't believe any
of it of course – the entire mess was just piling up in front of him, but
Sherlock had insisted on staying. He knew it was useless to try and leave
again.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.” Cas interrupted
“Sixty or Seventy years is hardly sufficient time to perfect such skill, he could damage you should you try again.”
“Oh come on, it’s been at least that long since my last
incident, I've been perfecting this skill set for over nine hundred years
now….” The Doctor pleaded in a huff of frustration. “Honestly leave it to an
Angel to stand lacking in faith,” he grumbled. “Typical really.”
“Sam, listen to Cas here,” Dean advised remaining at his
brother’s side.
“After what the Doctor just showed me? No way Dean. If he
says I need and can handle more, I’m in.” Sam replied as he stood up. He took a
deep breath and tried to steady himself and prepare himself for the next
strike.
The Doctor nodded. “I promise I’ll be as gentle as possible,
just a bit of language left, hardly take a tap this time.” He said, but again
before anyone else could even argue his head moved back once more and forward
again and again the collision sent both men backwards.
“Would everyone, please, stop doing that.” John exclaimed as
he walked over to Sam, pulling a flashlight from his pocket. “Let’s have a
real doctor take a look at you.” He suggested as he began to examine Sam’s
pupils, listening to some inaudible mumblings that fell from Sam’s lips at the
moment.
“He’s fine I can assure you.” The Doctor insisted.
“He’s concussed,” John snapped back glancing over to the
Doctor then back to Sam, shaking his head as he did so.
Dean smirked at the diagnosis “Actually Doc,” he began, referering
to John as the doc this time. “Concussions are sort of one the more preferable
of most of our work related injuries… I’ll get him some ice.” Dean added as he
stood leaving the book and the screwdriver on the couch as he did so.
“Right, Okay” John replied with a heavy exhale as he stood back up. “Not sure why I even bother with this lot.” He grumbled as he returned to Sherlock’s side. Sherlock, himself still rather silent, couldn't help but smirk over his partner’s frustrations.
Sam sat up slowly with a smile. “Thank you Doctor Watson, I’m
fine I promise, but thank you just the same. I wish the rest of you could see
what – what I have going inside my head right now, it’s a bit overwhelming.”
Sam confessed.
“Take up the book, put it all too good use – should straighten
it all out.” The Doctor suggested, gesturing to the book Dean had left at Sam’s
side.
Sam nodded, taking the book up and opening it in his hands
as he had done countless times before. This time, though, was different. This time
all the languages long since dead almost glowed with new life in his eyes, even
the petraglyphs seemed to unfold in his vision as it moved from one page to
another and another.
“I’m confused though,” Castiel spoke up as he looked to the
Doctor once more “If you had all that information in your head, enough to gift
it to Sam as you have, why not just take the book and perform the spell yourself?” he asked.
“Because, Castiel, like angels, Time lords are also notorious
for standing in lacking of faith.” The Doctor replied solemnly. His tone was
deep and echoed with hint of mourning. “Or at least we were… some things simply require more than the knowledge I have to offer.”
“And some things require items we simply don’t have.” Sam
added in as he finally looked up from the book. “I found the spell you want and
it calls for the feather of an angel.”
“Oh that won’t be a problem,” The Doctor began to reply as
Dean walked up handing an ice pack to Sam.
“Trust us Doctor, it will. See, I don’t know what Angels you've encountered in your day, but the ones here – ones like Cas, don’t have wings.”
Dean explained to the Doctor.
“He’s mostly right.” Cas began “Our wings are not corporeal.
We can’t actually produce a feather needed for the spell.”
“You know I think I've changed my mind on that beer idea,”
John said aloud. “Do you mind if I?” he asked as he began walking towards the
kitchen.
“Naw, help yourself.” Dean called out, before turning back
to the Doctor. “Well I s’pose this leaves things sort of dead in the water,
huh?”
The Doctor reached into his coat pocket pulling out what
appeared to be a feather made of solid stone. “Not quite, see you were right
about one thing Dean Winchester – you don’t know what angels I have encountered
in my day.” He added as he held the stone feather out for Dean.
Dean took the stone feather into his hand, holding it up and
looking it over. “What’d you pluck this off of some statue…. Not sure this is
really going to do the trick.”
“Yeah, I have to side with Dean on this one Doc. The spell is
very specific,” Sam added while looking at the stone feather as well.
“I can assure you that feather is very real and it will
work. It’s simply under quantum-lock at the moment, but that shouldn't matter,” The Doctor assured.
“Quantum-locked? That would mean it belonged to a Lonely Assassin?”
Cas asked aloud, taken back by the idea of what the feather actually was.
“Yes, and you won’t believe how hard that little endeavor quickly
became, but never the less we have it now.”
The Doctor replied assuring Cas of his suspicions concerning the stone
feathers origins.
“What the hell is Lonely Assassin?” Dean asked.
“In short it’s another alien; A Very old Alien, far older
than most anything else that calls this universe home – nearly as old as my own
race. I wasn't aware they were even still around,” Cas replied.
“Their ranks are thinning, but the Lonely Assassins, or Weeping
Angels aren't exactly easy to kill – not sure they will ever die out, not
entirely. See, they have this amazing defense mechanism; Quantum Lock. They don't exist when they are
being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature they turn
to solid stone – and you can’t kill a stone. It’s involuntary – sheer biology
with them, quark of their evolution.”
The Doctor explained.
“And when nothing’s looking at them?” Sam asked.
“Like when you turn your head or blink? They strike, and by
strike I do mean kill, in their own way. Still, that’s not important. What’s important
is that we have this here with us now, and this should work. It’s real enough
after all. If we all closed our eyes or turned our backs at this very minute, it
would revert back to a feather like any other. You can give it a go if you
like.” The Doctor suggested to Dean.
Dean looked to Cas, unsure what he should do. Cas simply
offered a shrug in return. Clearly he was more relaxed about this idea than the
last one. Sam’s unspoken reply mimicked Cas’ in nature, so Dean stood up, walking
over to a corner, his back turned towards the others, glancing down at the stone
feather in his hands one last time, balancing it upon his open palms as he took
a shallow breath and closed his eyes. In that moment the feather went from
heavy stone to a soft, light presence on his hand, just as the Doctor told him
it would. Startled, he fumbled the feather and opened his eyes just in time to
move and catch the now once more stone feather before it hit the floor.
Standing upright holding the saved stone feather up for the others to see, he
exhaled a sigh of relief. “This should do,” was all he could offer up after the
experience. His words stuttered a bit, which told Cas and Sam all they needed
to know of the conclusion.
“Okay – well that just leaves a few herbs, an object of
connection and the blood of the traveler – or in our case, travelers.” Sam said
aloud, looking to the Doctor.
The Doctor pulled a small silver key from his pocket handing it over to Sam. “The object of connection.”
The Doctor pulled a small silver key from his pocket handing it over to Sam. “The object of connection.”
Dean looked over the key now held in Sam’s hand “What
exactly are we connecting with?”
“A vehicle of sorts. My spaceship is the simplest
explanation I can offer you,” The Doctor began.
“You lost your spaceship?” Dean asked, smirking, clearly
still not entirely taking everything too seriously. “Alright Marvin, what does
this spaceship look like? I mean, something like that can’t be easy to lose,” he
asked and commented, referring to the Doctor as Marvin.
“Yeah, I’m not from mars – why does everyone always think
I’m from mars? I mean you can see Mars, you've been to Mars, do I look
martian?” The Doctor asked, slightly offended.
Sam shook his head. “No – at least I don’t think so. Not
really sure what to think, but you do look human.”
“Yeah, why is it, some sort of cloaking device or shape
shifting?” Dean asked curiously.
“I’m a time lord. I look like a Time Lord, and we were here
– here in existence first, so humans look like time lords. Not the other way
around.” The Doctor explained “As for my spaceship, it’s a blue box – just shy
of about seven feet tall. Not too big on the outside – less than five by five
I’d say. It looks like a Police Box.”
“Yeah that is kind of small for a spaceship – I’d imagine.
What the hell’s a Police Box?” Dean had to ask.
“It’s a box that British law enforcement would use as a sort
of makeshift mini police station. The public could use the phone to contact the
authorities when necessary, or the police could use it to phone for back up, or
even lock up criminals in a pinch until they could be transported to the actual
station. Everything an officer could need found in the convenience of a corner
– or at least it used to be, not sure if they around much anymore.” Sam explained.
The Doctor looked down at Sam with some curiosity. “I don’t
recall gifting you that sort of information,” he commented, referring to the
telepathic transfer.
“Yeah, there’s not too much Sammy doesn't know at least
something about – has to earn his keep in some way.” Dean explained.
“Right – Okay, clever. So herbs and blood is left?” The
Doctor asked.
“Herbs we've got, just give me a little while to get
everything together and we can begin. We’ll need blood from everyone who’s
attending, from what I can see the spell will draw out a lot of energy, but no
mention on the passenger restrictions.”
Sam replied as he stood, pressing the bag of ice Dean had fetched for
him against his head, his eyes glued to the book.
“And I’ll gather the blood.” The Doctor mumbled as he turned
around, his eye falling upon Sherlock and Castiel who were standing somewhat in
the same space, and glancing aside to John who seemed to be nursing his beer at
the kitchen table. “I think,” the Doctor further mumbled beneath his breath,
knowing where the real challenge laid before him, so with a wave, a gesture of
his hand he called Sherlock’s attention and the two of them joined John at the
table.
John, who had been sitting silently with his thoughts and
picking at the label that was tightly glued to the brown glass bottle that sat
in front of him, looked up when Sherlock and the Doctor took a seat on either
side of him. His eyes first fell on the Doctor, a face that just sparked a
moment of frustration within him, so with a heavy exhale he turned his stare
towards his flat mate, partner, and friend Sherlock. “Can we go home now?”
Sherlock looked puzzled with a brow line that really synched
his disappointment and confusion. “Go home? We can’t leave now, now when things
are finally getting interesting or at the very least - fun. You said so
yourself; Brilliant – absolutely – fantastic. We can’t walk out on that which
is absolute and fantastically brilliant, can we?”
“Funny you should bring up the word go, go as in to leave”
The Doctor began, bringing his hands together as he spoke “Because that is
exactly what I wanted to speak to you both about. Now I’m not sure how close
either of you were paying attention or listening,” he continued.
“I heard the word spell come up a few time more than I am particularly comfortable with,” John interrupted. “Sort of a wild guess that you
don’t really mean spell in the sense of a short span of time, a spell of a
moment, do you?”
“No, well not quite, more like a spell in the short cut sort
of sense.” The Doctor answered honestly.
“A ritual that should take us from here and relocate us, reunite myself and
introduce the rest of you to the object I lost and perhaps the man who took
it.”
“So spell in the other sense, the magical sense.” John
replied with a nod that quickly gave way to a head shake, that rested with his
eyes pinned upon the table and a heavy exhale, a release of his frustrations.
“Don’t be absurd Doctor. Magic? Magic doesn't exist, just a
word simpler minds use to label anything that lies outside their field of
comprehension. There is nothing in the universe that can’t be understood and explained
should one put forth the effort to try,” Sherlock scoffed in response.
“Yes, exactly” The Doctor replied agreeing. “A word we place
upon a skill or tool we can wield, an effort that produces a desired result
that we cannot at this time fully understand within the limits provided by the
science of the realm – also known as magic,” the Doctor reasoned further in his
reply.
A reasoned reply that couldn't help but inspire a smirk on
John’s face, no matter how briefly lived. “So you’re counting us in to come
along?” he asked, trying not to choke on the idea which carried the words.
“You did say you would help, both of you,” The Doctor
reminded them both.
“And exactly how is the magic
supposed to work?” Sherlock asked mockingly.
“A few items in a bowl and a quick incantation and abracadabra
– blue box,” The Doctor replied “Nothing to it -a feather, some herbs, bit of
blood,” he added, mumbling the last bit.
“Did you just say blood?”
John piped up in his seat “whose blood?”
“All of ours, a bit from each of us. Hardly more than a pin
prick’s worth,” The Doctor explained. “It’s the only way.”
“You’re joking – or you’re delusional.” John insisted in
short reply. “There is no way you are getting my blood, or his – if I know him
half as well as I think.”
‘You can have my blood,” Sherlock replied, cutting John off.
“What?” John was first to respond. “Sherlock, why – why would
you do that? Why would you take part in this – this is just far too far,” John
tried again to reason.
“It won’t work. Magic’s not real John, not even in these
terms. I don’t know what has driven this game to this point – and I have tried
my best to keep an open mind as I know you have – but whatever this is Doctor,
it is at an end. I’ll stake my blood on it,” Sherlock explained and challenged.
“Well this isn't really how I wanted this to sort out, but we
don’t have a lot of time to argue it out properly,” The Doctor replied with a
heavy sigh as he stood from his seat. “What says you John?”
John paused a moment, looking back and forth between
Sherlock and the Doctor. Finally, after a moment passed, he rolled his eyes. “Yeah,
yeah whatever – if it gets me out of here and home again- then I have one
question; is there a finger preference?”
A short while later, three men, one time lord, and one angel
stood around a small makeshift altar. A medium sized bowl sat securely upon a pedestal
that bore shapes similar to those that graced the pages of the book, now
clutched in Sam’s hands. Most of the ingredients were already placed in the bowl: a quantum-locked
feather, a TARDIS key, and a collection of herbs. All that was needed was the
blood and incantation.
Dean, the last to join the group, hurried down the stairs with a
medium duffle bag hoisted upon his shoulder. “Alright, left a note for Bobby and
have all the necessities packed.” He informed the others, taking his place around
the altar.
“What sort of necessities?” John asked curiously, unsure why he was even
bothering to question much of anything at this point.
“Basics really, holy water, salt, rosaries, lead pokers, a
gun or two, some ammo, first aid – laxities. Everything one needs when they’re
about to be zapped to only god knows where.” Dean replied very assured in his preparation
skills.
John felt as though he should venture one question further,
but decided to drop the habit then and there - for now. “Right – Okay, sooner we
get this over with the sooner I can go home.”
The Doctor smiled to himself as he took one last look at the
men who shared the space with him. “Sharp pointy objects at the ready.” He
announced.
Sam held his free hand over the bowl, his other hand holding
the book up as he read as Dean pulled a long silver knife from a sheath on his
belt, slicing a small and shallow opening into the side of Sam’s forearm,
allowing the blood to drip into the waiting bowl. Dean quickly followed suit
with his own arm. Next up was John and Sherlock, each with their own makeshift
lancet. Each swiftly pierced their own
finger producing a few drops of blood deposited into the bowl. Finally all that
remained was Castiel and the Doctor. Castiel spared his blood in much the same
fashion as the Winchesters had. Whereas the Doctor simply forced his thumb down
upon one of the edges of the screwdrivers crown, piercing that filled with
blood. Just a few drops ran down and dropped into the awaiting vessel and at
once, a blast of energy ignited in the space between them and in a flash the
room that just held 2 brothers, 2 friends, 1 angel, and 1 time lord, stood vacant
of souls once more.
Fan Art By: Lyndsey Gerlach 03/2013 "A New Look For An Old Time" aka "Work in Progress"
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