In Another Place (SuperWhoLock Big Bang) Part 3
Fic Masterpost
Part 2
The "cellar" was really just an awkward little storage space under the floor. A heavy metal trapdoor opened to a short staircase. At the bottom of the stairs there was an upright wooden door. Moriarty slammed the door after his hostages, and a few seconds later they heard the heavy sound of the trapdoor closing above.
Castiel peered through the darkness and spoke for the first time since their rematerialization. "What are you doing here?"
The darkness was so complete that he couldn't make out Sherlock's form at all, but the smug tone of the answering voice made Castiel sure that Sherlock was still smiling. "A sports car with the steering wheel in European configuration deserves investigation. Deducing that the car belonged to Moriarty was simple enough, but it wasn't until I found sulfur residue on the window that I had to conclude that he was working with a demon. Moriarty, clever as he is, does not have access to space travel, so it must have been the demon who brought down Mr. Harkness's ship. Now…"
"Sherlock," said Castiel testily as he edged around the cellar wall, blindly mapping the room they were trapped in. "Please answer my question."
"I'm getting there," said Sherlock. "Where was I? Ah, yes. If the demon was powerful enough to forcibly board an orbiting spacecraft, then why didn't she pursue her prey when it ran? Mr. Harkness and the younger Winchester were allowed to globe-hop for most of a day without Moriarty or the demon making themselves known. Most likely, the demon was running short on power after her little space-walk, and was strategically waiting for her quarry to become stationary before she made her final attack. Since I had no way of knowing what form that attack would take, I waited outside the hotel in order to better assess the situation."
"So you saw Meg enter with me and Sam as her hostages?" Castiel asked, still waiting for Sherlock to get to the point.
"Of course I did," said Sherlock. "I'm no match for a demon, obviously, and with both of you at gunpoint I reasonably assumed that she would soon gain the upper hand and escape with the vortex manipulator. After that, it was just a matter of timing to hitch a ride, as it were, with you and our kidnappers."
"But why?" Castiel growled, becoming increasingly frustrated. He had circled the room and come back to the door. The cellar was five paces wide and less than ten deep. Not much space to work with, but there were some shelves toward the back and some boxes near the door that might hold something of use. Castiel began to investigate the boxes while Sherlock continued.
"With her powers dwindling," said Sherlock, "I assumed that the demon would not be able to travel far. With myself along for the ride, her range was even more limited. By keeping us within a few hours' drive of the hotel, I ensured that our respective friends would have time to retrieve us and the vortex manipulator before Moriarty had time to enact his plan."
"That was very unwise of you," said Castiel. "We are unlikely to escape this place alive." The boxes held only foam packing peanuts. He moved back toward the shelves.
"Nonsense," said Sherlock, "John will find us."
"How?" said Castiel. It would have been too much to ask to find salt on the shelves, but at least there were several cans and cases that felt heavy enough to be of interest.
"I've taken care of that."
-----
After Meg dematerialized with her passengers in tow, John found himself in a strange state of calm. Even as everyone around him began to shout and panic, he stood quietly, letting the cogs of his brain turn.
Sherlock must have done what he did for a reason.
But what?
The Doctor and Jack were busily shouting at each other while Rose tried to drown them both out:
"You don't even have a way to track the vortex manipulator? What were you planning to do if you ever lost it, sit around and hope someone would bring it back to you?"
"Why would I put a trace on something that I own while I'm trying to stay off the grid? That's like asking for someone to use it against me! I thought you were supposed to be smart."
"STOP ARGUING BOTH OF YOU, YOU ARE NOT HELPING."
Dean looked like he was only still on his feet by sheer force of anger. Sam had a grip on his brother's arm and was saying over and over, "Hey! Hey, look at me. We're gonna get him back, okay? He's gonna be fine."
And then John figured it out. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and began tapping away at it with a single finger.
It took a few moments for the others to notice John's odd serenity, but it eventually made them fall silent as they watched him work.
"How about showing a little concern here?" Dean growled. "They took your boyfriend too, you know."
John didn't bother correcting Dean on the nature of his and Sherlock's relationship. He just held up his phone, where a map application was steadily showing a beacon somewhere in western Kentucky.
"Sherlock went with them on purpose," John explained."To tell us where they'd gone."
"You put a trace on his phone?" said Rose, peering over John's shoulder in wonder.
John lifted his eyebrows. "You would too, if you had a friend who ran off into dangerous situations without telling you as often as Sherlock does."
Rose's eyes flicked toward the Doctor as she said, "That's not a bad idea."
But Jack stepped forward, saying, "It's no good. They would have searched him for a phone. If they haven't already destroyed it, then it's lying on the side of a road somewhere and they're long gone."
"It's Sherlock; he'll have thought of something," said John confidently, holding up the phone with its map. "This is where they are. I'm sure of it. And if I'm wrong, then it's not as if we have any other leads to follow."
There was only a moment more of silence before Dean clapped a hand on John's shoulder, nodding in solidarity. "Let's get back to the cars!" he said to the others.
-----
As much as Dean didn't want Sam out of his sight, Sam insisted that, if they were about to go up against Meg, everyone needed to know the basics of demon self-defense. He rode in the van with John, the Doctor, and Jack. Since none of them had any experience with demons, he gave them a crash course in the uses of salt and holy water. He also handed out anti-possession hex bags from the Impala's trunk.
Rose rode with Dean in the Impala again, this time taking Cas's place in the passenger seat. Dean grabbed her hand, slapped a hex bag into it, and gruffly told her not to lose it.
"So, this will keep me from being possessed?" Rose asked as Dean fishtailed the Impala out of the parking lot and after the van.
"Honestly, sister?" Dean sighed. "If this goes the way it's going then getting possessed is gonna be the least of our worries."
Rose fidgeted with her hex bag. "Do you think we stand a chance of winning?"
"I'll worry about winning later," said Dean. "Right now I'm gonna get Cas back. That's what I care about. Saving the world can wait." Then he noticed how nervous Rose looked and added, "What're you so jumpy about? I got the impression before that this wasn't your first rodeo."
"It's not," said Rose. "But every other time, I had the Doctor with me."
Dean gave her a look. "He's right in the next car."
"I mean…" Rose stammered. "Yes. I know. He's the Doctor. But no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, he's not really the Doctor, is he?"
"Youuuu…" Dean trailed off. "You lost me."
Rose sighed, burying her head in her hands. "Do you know what I whispered to him?" she said. "When he wouldn't give up the vortex manipulator? I told him, 'The real Doctor wouldn't have hesitated.' And yeah, it was cruel, but it was true. And I shouldn't have to remind him of what he used to be. He should remember. He should be better than he is, but he's not. I fell in love with a Time Lord, and now he's so bloody human that it kills me to look at him."
Dean said nothing, and they were silent for a time while the two vehicles sped out of town and onto the freeway.
Then, more calmly than before, Dean said, "You want my advice?"
"Why not?" Rose said.
Dean was silent for a moment longer while he gathered his thoughts. Then he said, "I'm not saying it's the same thing, cause it's not, but… well, listen. I've got a human boyfriend who used to be a little more than human, so let me see if I understand where you're coming from. The guy you fell in love with was really powerful, right?"
"Yeah," said Rose. "I guess."
"He always seemed to know what was going on, and even when he made mistakes he always had a way out of them. You didn't really have to worry when he was around, because you knew he would always have a plan. And he had the juice to back it up."
"Yeah."
"And you felt safe, because you knew he'd protect you no matter what. Cause he cared about you. And even if it could never go further than that, it was okay as long as you got to stay with him. Right?"
Rose was looking up now, intrigued. "Right," she agreed.
Dean nodded. "But now you've got a human version of him. He can't protect you like he used to. In fact, sometimes he needs you to take care of him. He screws up sometimes. Gets things wrong. Acts like a dick. And worst of all, he can get hurt or killed now if you're not careful, so you're scared as fuck every time he's in danger."
"Yeah," said Rose.
Dean took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her. "He's operating on your level now," he said, "And it's freaking you out."
"That's not…" Rose started to say, but then she stopped and stared out the window for a while. "Okay, yeah. Kinda." She paused before adding, "But the problem isn't just that he's human. It's that he's selfish and petty and… and…"
Dean managed a half-smile. "Sounds an awful lot like humanity to me," he said.
"I just want him to be the way he used to be."
"So keep reminding him," said Dean. "He'll get it right eventually."
Rose didn't look convinced. "And if he doesn't?"
Dean shrugged. "Then you love what's there. Or you leave him. Not a whole lot of other choices."
Rose crossed her arms and sat back dejectedly.
"Here's how I see it," Dean continued, noticing her expression. "Things with Cas are different now, but I don't love him any less. And if I had the chance to get the old Cas back - like, grab Cas from three years ago and pull him forward in time - I wouldn't do it. I've been through a lot with Cas since he became human. I wouldn't undo a second of that, not for anything. And yeah, sometimes I think about the way things used to be, but I'm not gonna waste time missing what I used to have when I can love what I've got."
"You were right before," said Rose flatly. "It's not at all the same thing." Dean looked discouraged until she added, "But thank you for the advice."
-----
It had been two hours, and time travel was still not occurring. Moriarty was beginning to lose his patience.
"He said that it was fixed," Moriarty pouted. "That's what the Doctor said. It's had an hour to recalibrate. It should be working by now."
Meg, who was getting more and more fed up with her co-conspirator, fiddled with the buttons and dials on the wrist strap. They remained dull and lifeless. "Maybe he pulled a fast one on you," Meg suggested, hitting the buttons in a different sequence.
"No one pulls a fast one on me," Moriarty informed her.
Meg slammed the device down on a wooden workbench, defeated. "Then it looks like we need the Time Agent again. He must have put some kind of lock on it."
"We don't need him," said Moriarty as he grabbed it back up and began turning it over in his hands, looking for any kind of working mechanism that they hadn't tried yet. "I'm a genius. I can figure this out."
Meg rolled her eyes. "You had your turn," she said. "You couldn't even get it to turn on. We need Jack."
"We could have traded him for the angel," said Moriarty, frustrated. "If you hadn't been so keen on tormenting the boy you have a crush on."
Meg's face darkened. "Ew, gross," she hissed. "Say that again, and I'll smear you all over the walls."
Moriarty smiled like a snake. He fiddled with the anti-possession pendant where it now hung loose over his suit jacket. "I invite you to try."
For a moment they stared at each other. Meg's hands clenched at her sides, twitching, waiting to rise and strike. Moriarty became very quiet and still as he waited for Meg to attack, already thinking ten moves ahead.
But instead of clashing, they both turned away. Moriarty pivoted neatly as if nothing at all had happened. Meg preened like a cat convincing itself that it had meant to let that mouse get away.
"Let's ask our hostages," Moriarty suggested.
Meg sneered. "They won't know anything," she said.
"Probably," said Moriarty. "But torturing people for information that they don't have can also be fun, and I need some cheering up before we go after Mr. Harkness."
Meg stared for a moment before a smile split her face. "Suddenly I remember why I liked you in the first place," she said.
-----
Sherlock and Castiel hadn't wasted the two hours they had spent in the locked cellar. By their smell, two of the cans on the shelves near the back contained paint. Castiel had taken one and begun drawing something on the concrete floor near the door. Sherlock couldn't see it, but Castiel assured him that even in the dark, he was capable of completing a devil's trap.
Besides that, Sherlock didn't see much point in preparing. Either John and the others would reach them before Moriarty decided that they had outlived their usefulness, or after. He and Castiel were at such a disadvantage in the dark cellar that any plans they might have made were ultimately futile. This would not be a game of brawn, but of wits, and that game could not start until Moriarty once more showed his face. In the meantime, Sherlock waited.
At least he tried to wait, but he couldn't help commenting when he heard Castiel moving about near the door again. "Are you balancing a can of paint above the lintel?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes," Castiel said. "It won't hurt Meg, but this can is heavy enough to incapacitate her accomplice if he walks through first."
Sherlock couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "James Moriarty will not be defeated by such a juvenile prank."
Castiel sounded testy when he answered. "If it's that laughable, then he might not see it coming. Besides, I don't see you offering any suggestions."
"That's because I don't have any," said Sherlock, "Save the assurance that Moriarty will not kill me. Whatever he has planned for the vortex manipulator, he will want me alive to witness it."
"Meg will have no qualms about killing me," said Castiel flatly.
Sherlock had been so fixated on Moriarty and so dismissive of Meg so far, that that honestly hadn't occurred to him. "Oh," he said. "Well, sorry about that."
Castiel sighed heavily. "So will you help me get ready to defend ourselves when they come back for us?"
"It hardly matters at this point," said Sherlock as he noticed the sound of footfalls approaching the cellar door, "Seeing as they are already on their way."
First they heard the grating of metal as the rusty trapdoor on the main floor was opened. Then came the sound of two sets of feet making their way unhurriedly down the concrete staircase. Finally, the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked and thrown open.
The can of paint on top of the doorframe teetered and fell. Meg caught it easily in one hand, looking unamused. Moriarty stood just behind her. He tilted his head and stuck out his lower lip as he tried to see where the paint can had come from. When he saw where it had been perched, he grimaced as if in secondhand embarrassment.
Sherlock and Castiel stood tensely in the middle of the cellar. Now the only thing that stood between them and their captors was the devil's trap drawn just inside the door. True to Castiel's word, it was flawless. However, while it might have been overlooked in the low light if it had been painted in black or brown, the paint that Castiel had chosen turned out to be bright red. The trap was painfully obvious and, moreover, since it didn't quite touch the edges of the door, it was easily avoidable. Meg looked down at it, then up at Castiel. Her eye twitched once. Now she seemed embarrassed for them, too. "Really?" she said as she scooted around the edge of the trap and into the cellar. "That's all you've got? I'm kinda disappointed in you, Clarence."
"What do you want with us?" said Castiel, his voice going deep. He shifted his weight just a little, putting himself between Meg and Sherlock. He might not have been an angel anymore, Sherlock noted, but the heroic instinct was still very much in evidence.
Meg made a show of thinking about it, tapping her finger against her chin, before saying, "Well, I was gonna ask you how to work the vortex manipulator, but we both know that you don't know that. I'm gonna have to go back and get Jack for that. So I figure, why not grab a souvenir to give to Dean while I'm there? Like a finger. Or one of those pretty eyes."
Castiel said nothing, but he took an involuntary shuffling half-step backwards as Meg moved closer.
"If you harm us," said Sherlock, "It will go very badly for you." He was pleased to note that his voice did not hold a trace of fear. After all, logic stated that he was perfectly safe. Castiel may have been slightly less so, but as long as Moriarty stood slouched by the doorway, holding Meg's metaphorical leash, the risk remained slight. Moriarty was in control of his accomplice, Sherlock was sure, and Moriarty didn't tend to kill people unless their deaths served a purpose in his plans.
"Oh yeah?" Meg replied. "What are you gonna do about it? Run and tell your boyfriends?"
"John is not my boyfriend," said Sherlock matter-of-factly.
Meg smirked. "But you knew who I was talking about."
But Sherlock had ceased to be interested in Meg. His eyes were on Moriarty, who had pushed off the doorframe to stand upright. He stared intently at Meg, then at Sherlock, then at Meg again. At once Sherlock knew that he had let his confidence betray him, because he could see the wheels turning in Moriarty's brain as he put it together.
"My dear," said Moriarty to Meg. "Check your pockets, if it's not too much trouble."
Meg stared blankly, but not for long before she began patting herself down. She soon located a lump that hadn't been there last time she had checked. A murderous expression crept over her face as she pulled a cell phone out of her jacket pocket. It lit up with the push of a button, and Sherlock could pinpoint the exact moment that Meg figured out that it was transmitting its position.
"How…" she stammered.
"I relied on your violent nature to get you close enough to me so that I could drop it into your pocket," Sherlock explained. Now that the jig was up, he couldn't help but brag. "Although it was a lot easier to get you to hit me than I thought it would be."
"So the Dream Team is on the way here?" Meg growled, throwing the phone against the wall to punctuate her question. The case cracked open and electronics showered the floor.
Sherlock made a show of checking his watch. "Considering the unorthodox driving habits of the Doctor and that idiot in the Chevrolet, I'm rather surprised that they haven't arrived already."
Meg looked like she was about to punch Sherlock's head right off his shoulders, but she barely had time to drop her weight and curl her hand into a fist before Moriarty stopped her with a sharp clearing of his throat.
"Oh, right," Meg laughed darkly. "You called dibs on this one."
Moriarty shrugged. "Go ahead and rough him up a little," he allowed. "Just leave him in one piece. And try to avoid his head; I like his brain."
But Meg was already shaking her head. "I've got a better idea," she said, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "I'll just ride his ass out to meet them. As much as I would have liked torturing that spaceman for information, I gotta admit that a little subterfuge will be a lot faster." She turned to Moriarty and added, "Don't worry. I won't damage the goods."
But before she could stretch a hand out for Sherlock, Castiel stepped forward to meet her. "I won't let that happen," he said.
Meg just grinned at him like a cat. "I'm sure Dean got you one of those pretty tattoos as soon as you fell, right?" she said sweetly, "So you're useless to me. In fact, you're worse than useless - you're in my way."
Castiel took a swing. Sherlock had to admit that it was brave, even though it was also incredibly stupid. Predictably, Meg snagged his fist out of the air. A quick twirl and a flip of her wrist put her behind him, his arm twisted back. Meg kicked his knees out to force him to the floor. Castiel was immobilized in seconds with Meg bending over him gleefully.
"Hey, remember when you dropped me into holy fire?" Meg crooned into Castiel's ear. "Consider this my payback." With that, she gripped his arm by the shoulder and wrist and wrung it like a wet dishrag.
There was a burst of sharp cracks like splintering wood, and Castiel hit the ground with his elbow facing the wrong direction. He didn't make a sound. He just lay there, his feet scrabbling helplessly at the concrete floor. A cable of saliva ran from his gaping mouth to the ground. His chest heaved, but no breath passed his lips as he choked on pain so intense that he couldn't even scream.
Sherlock swallowed once, but gave no other indication of fear.
Meg stood, dusting her hands. "Now that that's taken care of…" she said, and then, without warning, a cloud of thick black smoke poured out of her mouth.
"Get back!" Castiel warned through clenched teeth, but Sherlock stood motionless as the cloud swooped toward him, leaving its former vessel to fall lifelessly to the ground. The cloud almost seemed to roar in triumph as it dove toward Sherlock's face…
Only to bounce ineffectively off of it. If a cloud of smoke were able to look confused, Meg did at that moment.
Smugly, Sherlock lifted the left leg of his pants to reveal a small pentagram surrounded by a sunburst tattooed on his ankle. "A lifetime of investigating strange deaths in London," he reminded her. "Did you really think I'd never come across a demon before? And that I didn't take reasonable precautions?"
The smoky cloud that was Meg turned back toward her abandoned body. But before she could pour herself back into it, Moriarty sprang forward and used the toe of his gleaming shoe to roll the body over and into the devil's trap, out of Meg's reach.
The cloud hovered, frozen. Moriarty shrugged at it apologetically. "I saw an opportunity," he said. "And now is really as good a time as any to betray you."
The cloud swirled angrily.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Moriarty pouted. "You should take this as a compliment. I could have killed you. But I like you well enough that I'm letting you escape. So go. Escape." He waved his hands in a shooing motion.
Castiel had managed to curl up on his side, cradling his shattered arm awkwardly against his chest. His face was so ashen that it was almost tinged with blue. Sherlock was somewhat surprised that he was still conscious. But he was clearly listening, because he choked out so that only Sherlock could hear, "Dean… She'll go after Dean and Sam."
Sherlock knelt and whispered back, "They can take care of themselves. This is good. I can deal with Moriarty, but Meg is unpredictable. With her out of the picture, we stand a chance."
For a moment Sherlock thought he had managed to reassure Castiel, but then, "No. I won't put them in danger. Not if I can stop it." And before Sherlock could stop him, he surged to his feet.
Castiel wasn't really standing in the strictest sense. As soon as he was upright, he began to fall again. But as he fell, he managed to stagger for a few clumsy steps. He closed the distance between himself and Moriarty before he lost his balance completely. On his way back to the ground he reached out with his good arm. His fingers hooked into the chain of Moriarty's anti-possession pendant. As he hit the ground, giving a strangled scream as his arm was jarred horribly, the chain snapped. The pendant hit the ground beside him.
Moriarty was left defenseless.
"No!" Moriarty cried, his face crumbling as he tried to backpedal away from Meg. "Noooo!" Meg wasted no time in streaming toward his cowering form, aiming herself at his mouth.
But Sherlock had already recognized that it was far too theatrical to be true. As the smoke rebounded from Moriarty's face the same way it had from Sherlock's, Moriarty composed himself again so quickly that it was a little eerie. "Did you think the pendant was my only trick?" he chuckled. "What do you take me for?"
Faced with three bodies that she could not use, and one that she could not reach, Meg took the only option left to her. She fled, swirling her way out of the cellar, through the outer doors, and into the open air.
Moriarty dusted his hands, looking pleased with himself. "Looks like it's about time for me to make my getaway with the spoils of my conquest and all that," he said, sounding almost bored about it.
Sherlock stepped forward. "I'll stop you," he said.
"Oh, but then I'll have to shoot you," Moriarty whined, pulling a pistol out of the inside of his jacket and waving it in Sherlock's general direction, "And that would defeat the whole point of this. Really, what's the use of being the master of space and time if you're not around to worship me?" He began to back up the staircase. As he went, he called down into the cellar, "You just stay there and look after your little friend. He's not looking so good right now."
Sherlock only paused for a second to look down at Castiel where he lay gasping on the concrete.
"Go!" Castiel barked.
Sherlock gave a curt nod before rushing after Moriarty, leaving Castiel alone in the cold, dark cellar.
-----
The van was tense and silent as the Doctor tore down the freeway. John sat in the passenger seat hunched over his phone, giving directions as he watched the beacon of Sherlock's transmission as if it were a lighthouse in a storm. Sam and Jack were in the back, taking their pick of the arsenal there. The Impala followed close behind.
"It…" said John suddenly, uncertainly. Then his voice rose, panicked. "The transmission stopped! It's gone!"
The Doctor peeked over at the phone, nearly causing the van to swerve into the next lane. The Impala's horn blared a warning at them from behind. "So it has," said the Doctor. "Not to worry. We're not far now, and I'm sure you remember where it was."
"Yes," said John. "But this probably means that Moriarty has found the phone. He'll be expecting us. We're walking into a trap."
"Won't be the first time," said the Doctor flippantly.
Even as the Doctor sped up to truly worrying speeds, he began wiggling uncomfortably. He shifted back, and then forth, and then pulled out of his pocket the thing that was digging into his hip. It was the hex bag Sam had given him, to protect him from possession. They all had one - John's in his trouser pocket and Jack's tucked inside his coat.
The Doctor eyed the bag suspiciously. He'd already inspected it. It was nothing but a scrap of cloth tied with a leather string, containing a few bones and herbs. The Doctor had seen many unlikely methods of protection in his travels, but this was a bit beyond the pale. He was, after all, a man of technology and science. Demons he could handle. But the idea that a sack full of the scraps from someone's kitchen could save his life was close to laughable.
Rather than putting it back in his pocket, the Doctor set the hex bag down in the center console of the van.
John stared at his phone, waiting to see if the signal would return. He didn't notice when, a few minutes later, a tendril of black smoke flowed in through the open window. The Doctor only noticed it right before it began to force its way into his mouth, far too late to cry out a warning. His throat and lungs burned as if he had just taken a great breath of campfire smoke, but he was too paralyzed to so much as cough. Soon the burning sensation spread beyond his lungs, taking grip of every muscle and neuron in his body.
In seconds, he was locked inside himself, watching helplessly as the new master of his body began to make herself at home.
"It's not as pretty as my last meatsuit," said Meg in a way that only the Doctor could hear. "But it'll do."
The Doctor could see the hex bag just beside his elbow. If he could only reach out and pick it up… But his limbs were no longer his own. Reading her vessel's mind with ease, Meg discreetly swept the hex bag off the center console and onto the floor, where it rolled under the seat and out of sight.
"Take the next right," John ordered. "We're nearly there."
Meg smiled and pressed her foot down harder on the gas pedal as she made the turn. "I know," she said.
The Doctor looked on helplessly.
-----
The beacon had last transmitted from a lonely stretch of road in Kentucky. There was a gas station and several squat buildings, all of which looked abandoned. The only place with lights in the windows was a convenience store with half the windows busted out. The van slid to a stop on the dusty asphalt. John tried to tell himself that Moriarty hadn't had enough time to escape, that Sherlock must be nearby. But he couldn't help but wonder what he would do if they found all the buildings empty with no clues to lead them onward.
But he didn't have to worry for long. The door of the convenience store slammed open and Moriarty strode out of them purposefully. The vortex manipulator was in his hand. Sherlock Holmes was following close behind him.
Sherlock was about to catch up when Moriarty spun around and pointed a pistol at Sherlock's head. "I thought we'd been over this," he said. "This is the part where I make my getaway."
John didn't realize that he was moving until he was already out of the car with his own gun drawn. "This is the part where you drop your weapon," he shouted, taking great satisfaction from Moriarty's genuine flinch of surprise.
The others quickly joined him, Dean and Rose emerging from the Impala with their guns drawn. Sam and Jack jumped out of the back of the van. They were armed to the teeth with all the most exotic-looking weapons from the arsenal. The Doctor stepped out of the van too, slowly. Even though John was somewhat preoccupied, he couldn't help but think it was out of character that the Doctor was also holding a pistol.
Moriarty put his hands in the air, looking bored again. "Oh, no," he said. "You've caught me and I have absolutely no backup plan whatsoever." Then his face twisted into a sort of humored grimace as he said, "Now, does that sound like me?"
John scanned the street, looking for whatever backup plan Moriarty was about to activate.
His hands still in the air, Moriarty dipped his head down and said to the collar of his shirt, "Give them a warning shot, Seb."
Less than a second later, there was a sound like a firecracker and a rooster-tail of dust and asphalt kicked up from the ground right between Moriarty and Sherlock. When the dust settled, there was a little crater left in the street.
"Sniper!" John growled in frustration.
"I don't have to tell you all to drop your weapons, do I?" Moriarty asked pleasantly.
John raised his hands, his gun dangling harmlessly from his thumb, as he edged forward and grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve. He dragged him back behind friendly lines and away from the divot left by the bullet.
Dean lifted his pistol so that it wasn't pointed at Moriarty's head, but he didn't drop it. "Where's Cas?" he demanded.
Moriarty made a great show of sighing. "Oh, it's so hard to keep track of where I leave all my things…"
"Cheekbones?" Dean barked, turning to Sherlock instead.
Sherlock, to his credit, wasted no time in saying, "Inside, against the back wall, twenty meters to the left. There's a trapdoor to a cellar."
Only pausing to give Sherlock a grateful nod, Dean took off toward the warehouse doors. Sam was close behind him, shooting Moriarty a dirty look. Moriarty shrugged, not looking terribly interested in the Winchesters or where they were going.
Once the brothers were gone, Moriarty whined, "Can I go now?"
It was only then that the Doctor stepped forward. "Oh, I wouldn't. You'll miss the best part."
It took a moment for John to realize that the Doctor’s eyes were gleaming black.
-----
Rose could feel it as soon as the Doctor stepped forward, like a shift in the air between them. His swagger was not his familiar swagger. His smile was not his familiar smile. Instead he exuded a smooth, comfortable sort of cruelty.
This was not her Doctor. Not even close.
"The demon!" Rose lifted her weapon, But she quickly lowered it again. Her arms stuttered indecisively. Shooting Meg would also mean shooting the Doctor. Besides, she wasn't even sure if her gun would work against someone like Meg.
"Look," said Meg with the Doctor's mouth, striding with the Doctor's long legs out into the open street. "This wasn't supposed to be all that complicated. A nice, handsome psychopath offers me a boatload of souls and the chance at a ticket for a free do-over of the Apocalypse. Hell, as it turned out, I even got a chance to fuck with the Winchesters. But then my favorite meatsuit gets put in a devil's trap, and now I'm all out of laughs."
"I was just making my move," said Moriarty. "You knew it was coming eventually." He tried to sound unconcerned, but a nervous edge had crept into his voice. Meg couldn't be easily put down by his friend with the sniper rifle.
Meg smiled, making the Doctor's face look frighteningly unhinged. "Doesn't stop me from being pissed about it," she said.
While Meg was turned toward Moriarty, away from the little group by the van, Rose plucked up her courage and sprinted into the street. She pulled the hex bag Dean had given her out of her pocket as she ran. When she reached Meg, she shoved the bag into her hands.
They stood for a moment, Meg’s forehead wrinkling in confusion as Rose pressed the bag into the Doctor’s hand. But Meg was not repulsed by the talisman as Rose had expected. As it slowly dawned on Meg what Rose was trying to do, she laughed.
"Aw, Blondie," she said sympathetically. "That was a nice try, but it's no good locking the door now that I'm already inside."
The gentleness of Meg's voice almost made Rose think that she was going to let her go. But then Meg raised her hand, lightning-fast. The butt of her gun slammed into Rose's left temple. Rose hit the ground before she even realized that she was falling.
Even with her face pressed into the asphalt, the ground seemed to pitch and spin under her. Her ears rang. Rose barely managed to focus enough to hear what happened next.
"Maybe I can't beat you," Meg was saying to Moriarty, "Maybe you really have planned for everything. But I'll tell you what. If you're gonna get away with your prize, I'm gonna make sure you don't get to enjoy using it."
With that, Meg pointed her pistol at Sherlock Holmes and pulled the trigger.
-----
Sherlock watched the pistol rise toward him with a sort of morbid fascination. In that split second between the moment at which he knew he was about to be shot and the moment at which the bullet actually left the gun, his mind ran a bit wild.
First of all, he decided that all things considered, he would really rather not die. But that wasn't looking like much of an option considering the fact that Meg was aiming at his gut. Even if no major arteries were damaged, which would be a very big "if," a bullet wound to the abdomen didn't exactly have a good survivability in these circumstances. He was looking at the unenviable choice between bleeding out within minutes and dying somewhat more slowly of sepsis secondary to a ruptured bowel.
Secondly, he allowed himself a moment to marvel at the very unique circumstances of his death. Sherlock had often thought about the manner of his own demise, but he had to admit that he'd never considered this particular scenario. Though he wore his anti-possession tattoo, the truth was that the supernatural played a very small role in his business and it was more than a little strange that this case - with its demons and aliens and angels and whatnot - was the one that was finally going to do him in.
And thirdly, he supposed that if he must die, at least he was enjoying the expression of utter horrified rage that was now gracing Jim Moriarty's face. He had to hand it to Meg. Her mind may have been more of a blunt instrument compared to the precise scalpels wielded by Sherlock and Moriarty, but in the end she knew how to hit where it hurt. The idea that Moriarty would probably get away with the vortex manipulator, only to find no use for it without a worthy adversary, was deeply funny to Sherlock. He could almost feel sorry for Moriarty.
A flash of dusty-blonde hair intruded on his view of Moriarty's apoplectic face. It was only then that Sherlock realized that while he had used that split second to ponder, John had used it to act. With all the reflexes of a retired military man, John stepped in front of Sherlock just in time for Meg to shoot.
The boom of the gun didn't quite mask the wet, fleshy thud of the bullet as it hit John just above his navel. John didn't make a sound. He simply staggered back half a step, his back hitting Sherlock's chest. And then he was sinking, sliding downward, and Sherlock was doing everything he could to keep him up, his hands made clumsy by desperation as he grasped wildly at John's shirt and tried to fight the irresistible pull of gravity.
"No, no," muttered Sherlock, running a distraught hand through his hair as he finally gave up and laid John down on his back in the dust. He pressed his hands to the hole in John's shirt, but they were still shaking, and somehow they had become covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood, in fact, and the sight of it made Sherlock feel something that he didn't often (or ever) feel: very stupid indeed.
John lifted his head weakly, but he quickly dropped it again when he saw the blood pouring freely from beneath Sherlock's ineffectively pressing hands. He had a sort of serenely resigned look on his face. Sherlock found it as infuriating as he did terrifying. "Well," said John. "That's that, then."
A shadow fell across John's face. Sherlock didn't even look up as Meg spoke. "That's quite a friend you've got there. Really, I'm touched."
When Sherlock finally raised his face to look at her, Meg had her gun pointed between his eyes. "I won't miss this time," she promised.
Part 4
Part 2
The "cellar" was really just an awkward little storage space under the floor. A heavy metal trapdoor opened to a short staircase. At the bottom of the stairs there was an upright wooden door. Moriarty slammed the door after his hostages, and a few seconds later they heard the heavy sound of the trapdoor closing above.
Castiel peered through the darkness and spoke for the first time since their rematerialization. "What are you doing here?"
The darkness was so complete that he couldn't make out Sherlock's form at all, but the smug tone of the answering voice made Castiel sure that Sherlock was still smiling. "A sports car with the steering wheel in European configuration deserves investigation. Deducing that the car belonged to Moriarty was simple enough, but it wasn't until I found sulfur residue on the window that I had to conclude that he was working with a demon. Moriarty, clever as he is, does not have access to space travel, so it must have been the demon who brought down Mr. Harkness's ship. Now…"
"Sherlock," said Castiel testily as he edged around the cellar wall, blindly mapping the room they were trapped in. "Please answer my question."
"I'm getting there," said Sherlock. "Where was I? Ah, yes. If the demon was powerful enough to forcibly board an orbiting spacecraft, then why didn't she pursue her prey when it ran? Mr. Harkness and the younger Winchester were allowed to globe-hop for most of a day without Moriarty or the demon making themselves known. Most likely, the demon was running short on power after her little space-walk, and was strategically waiting for her quarry to become stationary before she made her final attack. Since I had no way of knowing what form that attack would take, I waited outside the hotel in order to better assess the situation."
"So you saw Meg enter with me and Sam as her hostages?" Castiel asked, still waiting for Sherlock to get to the point.
"Of course I did," said Sherlock. "I'm no match for a demon, obviously, and with both of you at gunpoint I reasonably assumed that she would soon gain the upper hand and escape with the vortex manipulator. After that, it was just a matter of timing to hitch a ride, as it were, with you and our kidnappers."
"But why?" Castiel growled, becoming increasingly frustrated. He had circled the room and come back to the door. The cellar was five paces wide and less than ten deep. Not much space to work with, but there were some shelves toward the back and some boxes near the door that might hold something of use. Castiel began to investigate the boxes while Sherlock continued.
"With her powers dwindling," said Sherlock, "I assumed that the demon would not be able to travel far. With myself along for the ride, her range was even more limited. By keeping us within a few hours' drive of the hotel, I ensured that our respective friends would have time to retrieve us and the vortex manipulator before Moriarty had time to enact his plan."
"That was very unwise of you," said Castiel. "We are unlikely to escape this place alive." The boxes held only foam packing peanuts. He moved back toward the shelves.
"Nonsense," said Sherlock, "John will find us."
"How?" said Castiel. It would have been too much to ask to find salt on the shelves, but at least there were several cans and cases that felt heavy enough to be of interest.
"I've taken care of that."
-----
After Meg dematerialized with her passengers in tow, John found himself in a strange state of calm. Even as everyone around him began to shout and panic, he stood quietly, letting the cogs of his brain turn.
Sherlock must have done what he did for a reason.
But what?
The Doctor and Jack were busily shouting at each other while Rose tried to drown them both out:
"You don't even have a way to track the vortex manipulator? What were you planning to do if you ever lost it, sit around and hope someone would bring it back to you?"
"Why would I put a trace on something that I own while I'm trying to stay off the grid? That's like asking for someone to use it against me! I thought you were supposed to be smart."
"STOP ARGUING BOTH OF YOU, YOU ARE NOT HELPING."
Dean looked like he was only still on his feet by sheer force of anger. Sam had a grip on his brother's arm and was saying over and over, "Hey! Hey, look at me. We're gonna get him back, okay? He's gonna be fine."
And then John figured it out. Without a word, he pulled out his phone and began tapping away at it with a single finger.
It took a few moments for the others to notice John's odd serenity, but it eventually made them fall silent as they watched him work.
"How about showing a little concern here?" Dean growled. "They took your boyfriend too, you know."
John didn't bother correcting Dean on the nature of his and Sherlock's relationship. He just held up his phone, where a map application was steadily showing a beacon somewhere in western Kentucky.
"Sherlock went with them on purpose," John explained."To tell us where they'd gone."
"You put a trace on his phone?" said Rose, peering over John's shoulder in wonder.
John lifted his eyebrows. "You would too, if you had a friend who ran off into dangerous situations without telling you as often as Sherlock does."
Rose's eyes flicked toward the Doctor as she said, "That's not a bad idea."
But Jack stepped forward, saying, "It's no good. They would have searched him for a phone. If they haven't already destroyed it, then it's lying on the side of a road somewhere and they're long gone."
"It's Sherlock; he'll have thought of something," said John confidently, holding up the phone with its map. "This is where they are. I'm sure of it. And if I'm wrong, then it's not as if we have any other leads to follow."
There was only a moment more of silence before Dean clapped a hand on John's shoulder, nodding in solidarity. "Let's get back to the cars!" he said to the others.
-----
As much as Dean didn't want Sam out of his sight, Sam insisted that, if they were about to go up against Meg, everyone needed to know the basics of demon self-defense. He rode in the van with John, the Doctor, and Jack. Since none of them had any experience with demons, he gave them a crash course in the uses of salt and holy water. He also handed out anti-possession hex bags from the Impala's trunk.
Rose rode with Dean in the Impala again, this time taking Cas's place in the passenger seat. Dean grabbed her hand, slapped a hex bag into it, and gruffly told her not to lose it.
"So, this will keep me from being possessed?" Rose asked as Dean fishtailed the Impala out of the parking lot and after the van.
"Honestly, sister?" Dean sighed. "If this goes the way it's going then getting possessed is gonna be the least of our worries."
Rose fidgeted with her hex bag. "Do you think we stand a chance of winning?"
"I'll worry about winning later," said Dean. "Right now I'm gonna get Cas back. That's what I care about. Saving the world can wait." Then he noticed how nervous Rose looked and added, "What're you so jumpy about? I got the impression before that this wasn't your first rodeo."
"It's not," said Rose. "But every other time, I had the Doctor with me."
Dean gave her a look. "He's right in the next car."
"I mean…" Rose stammered. "Yes. I know. He's the Doctor. But no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, he's not really the Doctor, is he?"
"Youuuu…" Dean trailed off. "You lost me."
Rose sighed, burying her head in her hands. "Do you know what I whispered to him?" she said. "When he wouldn't give up the vortex manipulator? I told him, 'The real Doctor wouldn't have hesitated.' And yeah, it was cruel, but it was true. And I shouldn't have to remind him of what he used to be. He should remember. He should be better than he is, but he's not. I fell in love with a Time Lord, and now he's so bloody human that it kills me to look at him."
Dean said nothing, and they were silent for a time while the two vehicles sped out of town and onto the freeway.
Then, more calmly than before, Dean said, "You want my advice?"
"Why not?" Rose said.
Dean was silent for a moment longer while he gathered his thoughts. Then he said, "I'm not saying it's the same thing, cause it's not, but… well, listen. I've got a human boyfriend who used to be a little more than human, so let me see if I understand where you're coming from. The guy you fell in love with was really powerful, right?"
"Yeah," said Rose. "I guess."
"He always seemed to know what was going on, and even when he made mistakes he always had a way out of them. You didn't really have to worry when he was around, because you knew he would always have a plan. And he had the juice to back it up."
"Yeah."
"And you felt safe, because you knew he'd protect you no matter what. Cause he cared about you. And even if it could never go further than that, it was okay as long as you got to stay with him. Right?"
Rose was looking up now, intrigued. "Right," she agreed.
Dean nodded. "But now you've got a human version of him. He can't protect you like he used to. In fact, sometimes he needs you to take care of him. He screws up sometimes. Gets things wrong. Acts like a dick. And worst of all, he can get hurt or killed now if you're not careful, so you're scared as fuck every time he's in danger."
"Yeah," said Rose.
Dean took his eyes off the road for a second to look at her. "He's operating on your level now," he said, "And it's freaking you out."
"That's not…" Rose started to say, but then she stopped and stared out the window for a while. "Okay, yeah. Kinda." She paused before adding, "But the problem isn't just that he's human. It's that he's selfish and petty and… and…"
Dean managed a half-smile. "Sounds an awful lot like humanity to me," he said.
"I just want him to be the way he used to be."
"So keep reminding him," said Dean. "He'll get it right eventually."
Rose didn't look convinced. "And if he doesn't?"
Dean shrugged. "Then you love what's there. Or you leave him. Not a whole lot of other choices."
Rose crossed her arms and sat back dejectedly.
"Here's how I see it," Dean continued, noticing her expression. "Things with Cas are different now, but I don't love him any less. And if I had the chance to get the old Cas back - like, grab Cas from three years ago and pull him forward in time - I wouldn't do it. I've been through a lot with Cas since he became human. I wouldn't undo a second of that, not for anything. And yeah, sometimes I think about the way things used to be, but I'm not gonna waste time missing what I used to have when I can love what I've got."
"You were right before," said Rose flatly. "It's not at all the same thing." Dean looked discouraged until she added, "But thank you for the advice."
-----
It had been two hours, and time travel was still not occurring. Moriarty was beginning to lose his patience.
"He said that it was fixed," Moriarty pouted. "That's what the Doctor said. It's had an hour to recalibrate. It should be working by now."
Meg, who was getting more and more fed up with her co-conspirator, fiddled with the buttons and dials on the wrist strap. They remained dull and lifeless. "Maybe he pulled a fast one on you," Meg suggested, hitting the buttons in a different sequence.
"No one pulls a fast one on me," Moriarty informed her.
Meg slammed the device down on a wooden workbench, defeated. "Then it looks like we need the Time Agent again. He must have put some kind of lock on it."
"We don't need him," said Moriarty as he grabbed it back up and began turning it over in his hands, looking for any kind of working mechanism that they hadn't tried yet. "I'm a genius. I can figure this out."
Meg rolled her eyes. "You had your turn," she said. "You couldn't even get it to turn on. We need Jack."
"We could have traded him for the angel," said Moriarty, frustrated. "If you hadn't been so keen on tormenting the boy you have a crush on."
Meg's face darkened. "Ew, gross," she hissed. "Say that again, and I'll smear you all over the walls."
Moriarty smiled like a snake. He fiddled with the anti-possession pendant where it now hung loose over his suit jacket. "I invite you to try."
For a moment they stared at each other. Meg's hands clenched at her sides, twitching, waiting to rise and strike. Moriarty became very quiet and still as he waited for Meg to attack, already thinking ten moves ahead.
But instead of clashing, they both turned away. Moriarty pivoted neatly as if nothing at all had happened. Meg preened like a cat convincing itself that it had meant to let that mouse get away.
"Let's ask our hostages," Moriarty suggested.
Meg sneered. "They won't know anything," she said.
"Probably," said Moriarty. "But torturing people for information that they don't have can also be fun, and I need some cheering up before we go after Mr. Harkness."
Meg stared for a moment before a smile split her face. "Suddenly I remember why I liked you in the first place," she said.
-----
Sherlock and Castiel hadn't wasted the two hours they had spent in the locked cellar. By their smell, two of the cans on the shelves near the back contained paint. Castiel had taken one and begun drawing something on the concrete floor near the door. Sherlock couldn't see it, but Castiel assured him that even in the dark, he was capable of completing a devil's trap.
Besides that, Sherlock didn't see much point in preparing. Either John and the others would reach them before Moriarty decided that they had outlived their usefulness, or after. He and Castiel were at such a disadvantage in the dark cellar that any plans they might have made were ultimately futile. This would not be a game of brawn, but of wits, and that game could not start until Moriarty once more showed his face. In the meantime, Sherlock waited.
At least he tried to wait, but he couldn't help commenting when he heard Castiel moving about near the door again. "Are you balancing a can of paint above the lintel?" he asked incredulously.
"Yes," Castiel said. "It won't hurt Meg, but this can is heavy enough to incapacitate her accomplice if he walks through first."
Sherlock couldn't hold back a snort of laughter. "James Moriarty will not be defeated by such a juvenile prank."
Castiel sounded testy when he answered. "If it's that laughable, then he might not see it coming. Besides, I don't see you offering any suggestions."
"That's because I don't have any," said Sherlock, "Save the assurance that Moriarty will not kill me. Whatever he has planned for the vortex manipulator, he will want me alive to witness it."
"Meg will have no qualms about killing me," said Castiel flatly.
Sherlock had been so fixated on Moriarty and so dismissive of Meg so far, that that honestly hadn't occurred to him. "Oh," he said. "Well, sorry about that."
Castiel sighed heavily. "So will you help me get ready to defend ourselves when they come back for us?"
"It hardly matters at this point," said Sherlock as he noticed the sound of footfalls approaching the cellar door, "Seeing as they are already on their way."
First they heard the grating of metal as the rusty trapdoor on the main floor was opened. Then came the sound of two sets of feet making their way unhurriedly down the concrete staircase. Finally, the wooden door at the bottom of the stairs was unlocked and thrown open.
The can of paint on top of the doorframe teetered and fell. Meg caught it easily in one hand, looking unamused. Moriarty stood just behind her. He tilted his head and stuck out his lower lip as he tried to see where the paint can had come from. When he saw where it had been perched, he grimaced as if in secondhand embarrassment.
Sherlock and Castiel stood tensely in the middle of the cellar. Now the only thing that stood between them and their captors was the devil's trap drawn just inside the door. True to Castiel's word, it was flawless. However, while it might have been overlooked in the low light if it had been painted in black or brown, the paint that Castiel had chosen turned out to be bright red. The trap was painfully obvious and, moreover, since it didn't quite touch the edges of the door, it was easily avoidable. Meg looked down at it, then up at Castiel. Her eye twitched once. Now she seemed embarrassed for them, too. "Really?" she said as she scooted around the edge of the trap and into the cellar. "That's all you've got? I'm kinda disappointed in you, Clarence."
"What do you want with us?" said Castiel, his voice going deep. He shifted his weight just a little, putting himself between Meg and Sherlock. He might not have been an angel anymore, Sherlock noted, but the heroic instinct was still very much in evidence.
Meg made a show of thinking about it, tapping her finger against her chin, before saying, "Well, I was gonna ask you how to work the vortex manipulator, but we both know that you don't know that. I'm gonna have to go back and get Jack for that. So I figure, why not grab a souvenir to give to Dean while I'm there? Like a finger. Or one of those pretty eyes."
Castiel said nothing, but he took an involuntary shuffling half-step backwards as Meg moved closer.
"If you harm us," said Sherlock, "It will go very badly for you." He was pleased to note that his voice did not hold a trace of fear. After all, logic stated that he was perfectly safe. Castiel may have been slightly less so, but as long as Moriarty stood slouched by the doorway, holding Meg's metaphorical leash, the risk remained slight. Moriarty was in control of his accomplice, Sherlock was sure, and Moriarty didn't tend to kill people unless their deaths served a purpose in his plans.
"Oh yeah?" Meg replied. "What are you gonna do about it? Run and tell your boyfriends?"
"John is not my boyfriend," said Sherlock matter-of-factly.
Meg smirked. "But you knew who I was talking about."
But Sherlock had ceased to be interested in Meg. His eyes were on Moriarty, who had pushed off the doorframe to stand upright. He stared intently at Meg, then at Sherlock, then at Meg again. At once Sherlock knew that he had let his confidence betray him, because he could see the wheels turning in Moriarty's brain as he put it together.
"My dear," said Moriarty to Meg. "Check your pockets, if it's not too much trouble."
Meg stared blankly, but not for long before she began patting herself down. She soon located a lump that hadn't been there last time she had checked. A murderous expression crept over her face as she pulled a cell phone out of her jacket pocket. It lit up with the push of a button, and Sherlock could pinpoint the exact moment that Meg figured out that it was transmitting its position.
"How…" she stammered.
"I relied on your violent nature to get you close enough to me so that I could drop it into your pocket," Sherlock explained. Now that the jig was up, he couldn't help but brag. "Although it was a lot easier to get you to hit me than I thought it would be."
"So the Dream Team is on the way here?" Meg growled, throwing the phone against the wall to punctuate her question. The case cracked open and electronics showered the floor.
Sherlock made a show of checking his watch. "Considering the unorthodox driving habits of the Doctor and that idiot in the Chevrolet, I'm rather surprised that they haven't arrived already."
Meg looked like she was about to punch Sherlock's head right off his shoulders, but she barely had time to drop her weight and curl her hand into a fist before Moriarty stopped her with a sharp clearing of his throat.
"Oh, right," Meg laughed darkly. "You called dibs on this one."
Moriarty shrugged. "Go ahead and rough him up a little," he allowed. "Just leave him in one piece. And try to avoid his head; I like his brain."
But Meg was already shaking her head. "I've got a better idea," she said, pointing a finger at Sherlock. "I'll just ride his ass out to meet them. As much as I would have liked torturing that spaceman for information, I gotta admit that a little subterfuge will be a lot faster." She turned to Moriarty and added, "Don't worry. I won't damage the goods."
But before she could stretch a hand out for Sherlock, Castiel stepped forward to meet her. "I won't let that happen," he said.
Meg just grinned at him like a cat. "I'm sure Dean got you one of those pretty tattoos as soon as you fell, right?" she said sweetly, "So you're useless to me. In fact, you're worse than useless - you're in my way."
Castiel took a swing. Sherlock had to admit that it was brave, even though it was also incredibly stupid. Predictably, Meg snagged his fist out of the air. A quick twirl and a flip of her wrist put her behind him, his arm twisted back. Meg kicked his knees out to force him to the floor. Castiel was immobilized in seconds with Meg bending over him gleefully.
"Hey, remember when you dropped me into holy fire?" Meg crooned into Castiel's ear. "Consider this my payback." With that, she gripped his arm by the shoulder and wrist and wrung it like a wet dishrag.
There was a burst of sharp cracks like splintering wood, and Castiel hit the ground with his elbow facing the wrong direction. He didn't make a sound. He just lay there, his feet scrabbling helplessly at the concrete floor. A cable of saliva ran from his gaping mouth to the ground. His chest heaved, but no breath passed his lips as he choked on pain so intense that he couldn't even scream.
Sherlock swallowed once, but gave no other indication of fear.
Meg stood, dusting her hands. "Now that that's taken care of…" she said, and then, without warning, a cloud of thick black smoke poured out of her mouth.
"Get back!" Castiel warned through clenched teeth, but Sherlock stood motionless as the cloud swooped toward him, leaving its former vessel to fall lifelessly to the ground. The cloud almost seemed to roar in triumph as it dove toward Sherlock's face…
Only to bounce ineffectively off of it. If a cloud of smoke were able to look confused, Meg did at that moment.
Smugly, Sherlock lifted the left leg of his pants to reveal a small pentagram surrounded by a sunburst tattooed on his ankle. "A lifetime of investigating strange deaths in London," he reminded her. "Did you really think I'd never come across a demon before? And that I didn't take reasonable precautions?"
The smoky cloud that was Meg turned back toward her abandoned body. But before she could pour herself back into it, Moriarty sprang forward and used the toe of his gleaming shoe to roll the body over and into the devil's trap, out of Meg's reach.
The cloud hovered, frozen. Moriarty shrugged at it apologetically. "I saw an opportunity," he said. "And now is really as good a time as any to betray you."
The cloud swirled angrily.
"Oh, don't look at me like that," Moriarty pouted. "You should take this as a compliment. I could have killed you. But I like you well enough that I'm letting you escape. So go. Escape." He waved his hands in a shooing motion.
Castiel had managed to curl up on his side, cradling his shattered arm awkwardly against his chest. His face was so ashen that it was almost tinged with blue. Sherlock was somewhat surprised that he was still conscious. But he was clearly listening, because he choked out so that only Sherlock could hear, "Dean… She'll go after Dean and Sam."
Sherlock knelt and whispered back, "They can take care of themselves. This is good. I can deal with Moriarty, but Meg is unpredictable. With her out of the picture, we stand a chance."
For a moment Sherlock thought he had managed to reassure Castiel, but then, "No. I won't put them in danger. Not if I can stop it." And before Sherlock could stop him, he surged to his feet.
Castiel wasn't really standing in the strictest sense. As soon as he was upright, he began to fall again. But as he fell, he managed to stagger for a few clumsy steps. He closed the distance between himself and Moriarty before he lost his balance completely. On his way back to the ground he reached out with his good arm. His fingers hooked into the chain of Moriarty's anti-possession pendant. As he hit the ground, giving a strangled scream as his arm was jarred horribly, the chain snapped. The pendant hit the ground beside him.
Moriarty was left defenseless.
"No!" Moriarty cried, his face crumbling as he tried to backpedal away from Meg. "Noooo!" Meg wasted no time in streaming toward his cowering form, aiming herself at his mouth.
But Sherlock had already recognized that it was far too theatrical to be true. As the smoke rebounded from Moriarty's face the same way it had from Sherlock's, Moriarty composed himself again so quickly that it was a little eerie. "Did you think the pendant was my only trick?" he chuckled. "What do you take me for?"
Faced with three bodies that she could not use, and one that she could not reach, Meg took the only option left to her. She fled, swirling her way out of the cellar, through the outer doors, and into the open air.
Moriarty dusted his hands, looking pleased with himself. "Looks like it's about time for me to make my getaway with the spoils of my conquest and all that," he said, sounding almost bored about it.
Sherlock stepped forward. "I'll stop you," he said.
"Oh, but then I'll have to shoot you," Moriarty whined, pulling a pistol out of the inside of his jacket and waving it in Sherlock's general direction, "And that would defeat the whole point of this. Really, what's the use of being the master of space and time if you're not around to worship me?" He began to back up the staircase. As he went, he called down into the cellar, "You just stay there and look after your little friend. He's not looking so good right now."
Sherlock only paused for a second to look down at Castiel where he lay gasping on the concrete.
"Go!" Castiel barked.
Sherlock gave a curt nod before rushing after Moriarty, leaving Castiel alone in the cold, dark cellar.
-----
The van was tense and silent as the Doctor tore down the freeway. John sat in the passenger seat hunched over his phone, giving directions as he watched the beacon of Sherlock's transmission as if it were a lighthouse in a storm. Sam and Jack were in the back, taking their pick of the arsenal there. The Impala followed close behind.
"It…" said John suddenly, uncertainly. Then his voice rose, panicked. "The transmission stopped! It's gone!"
The Doctor peeked over at the phone, nearly causing the van to swerve into the next lane. The Impala's horn blared a warning at them from behind. "So it has," said the Doctor. "Not to worry. We're not far now, and I'm sure you remember where it was."
"Yes," said John. "But this probably means that Moriarty has found the phone. He'll be expecting us. We're walking into a trap."
"Won't be the first time," said the Doctor flippantly.
Even as the Doctor sped up to truly worrying speeds, he began wiggling uncomfortably. He shifted back, and then forth, and then pulled out of his pocket the thing that was digging into his hip. It was the hex bag Sam had given him, to protect him from possession. They all had one - John's in his trouser pocket and Jack's tucked inside his coat.
The Doctor eyed the bag suspiciously. He'd already inspected it. It was nothing but a scrap of cloth tied with a leather string, containing a few bones and herbs. The Doctor had seen many unlikely methods of protection in his travels, but this was a bit beyond the pale. He was, after all, a man of technology and science. Demons he could handle. But the idea that a sack full of the scraps from someone's kitchen could save his life was close to laughable.
Rather than putting it back in his pocket, the Doctor set the hex bag down in the center console of the van.
John stared at his phone, waiting to see if the signal would return. He didn't notice when, a few minutes later, a tendril of black smoke flowed in through the open window. The Doctor only noticed it right before it began to force its way into his mouth, far too late to cry out a warning. His throat and lungs burned as if he had just taken a great breath of campfire smoke, but he was too paralyzed to so much as cough. Soon the burning sensation spread beyond his lungs, taking grip of every muscle and neuron in his body.
In seconds, he was locked inside himself, watching helplessly as the new master of his body began to make herself at home.
"It's not as pretty as my last meatsuit," said Meg in a way that only the Doctor could hear. "But it'll do."
The Doctor could see the hex bag just beside his elbow. If he could only reach out and pick it up… But his limbs were no longer his own. Reading her vessel's mind with ease, Meg discreetly swept the hex bag off the center console and onto the floor, where it rolled under the seat and out of sight.
"Take the next right," John ordered. "We're nearly there."
Meg smiled and pressed her foot down harder on the gas pedal as she made the turn. "I know," she said.
The Doctor looked on helplessly.
-----
The beacon had last transmitted from a lonely stretch of road in Kentucky. There was a gas station and several squat buildings, all of which looked abandoned. The only place with lights in the windows was a convenience store with half the windows busted out. The van slid to a stop on the dusty asphalt. John tried to tell himself that Moriarty hadn't had enough time to escape, that Sherlock must be nearby. But he couldn't help but wonder what he would do if they found all the buildings empty with no clues to lead them onward.
But he didn't have to worry for long. The door of the convenience store slammed open and Moriarty strode out of them purposefully. The vortex manipulator was in his hand. Sherlock Holmes was following close behind him.
Sherlock was about to catch up when Moriarty spun around and pointed a pistol at Sherlock's head. "I thought we'd been over this," he said. "This is the part where I make my getaway."
John didn't realize that he was moving until he was already out of the car with his own gun drawn. "This is the part where you drop your weapon," he shouted, taking great satisfaction from Moriarty's genuine flinch of surprise.
The others quickly joined him, Dean and Rose emerging from the Impala with their guns drawn. Sam and Jack jumped out of the back of the van. They were armed to the teeth with all the most exotic-looking weapons from the arsenal. The Doctor stepped out of the van too, slowly. Even though John was somewhat preoccupied, he couldn't help but think it was out of character that the Doctor was also holding a pistol.
Moriarty put his hands in the air, looking bored again. "Oh, no," he said. "You've caught me and I have absolutely no backup plan whatsoever." Then his face twisted into a sort of humored grimace as he said, "Now, does that sound like me?"
John scanned the street, looking for whatever backup plan Moriarty was about to activate.
His hands still in the air, Moriarty dipped his head down and said to the collar of his shirt, "Give them a warning shot, Seb."
Less than a second later, there was a sound like a firecracker and a rooster-tail of dust and asphalt kicked up from the ground right between Moriarty and Sherlock. When the dust settled, there was a little crater left in the street.
"Sniper!" John growled in frustration.
"I don't have to tell you all to drop your weapons, do I?" Moriarty asked pleasantly.
John raised his hands, his gun dangling harmlessly from his thumb, as he edged forward and grabbed Sherlock by the sleeve. He dragged him back behind friendly lines and away from the divot left by the bullet.
Dean lifted his pistol so that it wasn't pointed at Moriarty's head, but he didn't drop it. "Where's Cas?" he demanded.
Moriarty made a great show of sighing. "Oh, it's so hard to keep track of where I leave all my things…"
"Cheekbones?" Dean barked, turning to Sherlock instead.
Sherlock, to his credit, wasted no time in saying, "Inside, against the back wall, twenty meters to the left. There's a trapdoor to a cellar."
Only pausing to give Sherlock a grateful nod, Dean took off toward the warehouse doors. Sam was close behind him, shooting Moriarty a dirty look. Moriarty shrugged, not looking terribly interested in the Winchesters or where they were going.
Once the brothers were gone, Moriarty whined, "Can I go now?"
It was only then that the Doctor stepped forward. "Oh, I wouldn't. You'll miss the best part."
It took a moment for John to realize that the Doctor’s eyes were gleaming black.
-----
Rose could feel it as soon as the Doctor stepped forward, like a shift in the air between them. His swagger was not his familiar swagger. His smile was not his familiar smile. Instead he exuded a smooth, comfortable sort of cruelty.
This was not her Doctor. Not even close.
"The demon!" Rose lifted her weapon, But she quickly lowered it again. Her arms stuttered indecisively. Shooting Meg would also mean shooting the Doctor. Besides, she wasn't even sure if her gun would work against someone like Meg.
"Look," said Meg with the Doctor's mouth, striding with the Doctor's long legs out into the open street. "This wasn't supposed to be all that complicated. A nice, handsome psychopath offers me a boatload of souls and the chance at a ticket for a free do-over of the Apocalypse. Hell, as it turned out, I even got a chance to fuck with the Winchesters. But then my favorite meatsuit gets put in a devil's trap, and now I'm all out of laughs."
"I was just making my move," said Moriarty. "You knew it was coming eventually." He tried to sound unconcerned, but a nervous edge had crept into his voice. Meg couldn't be easily put down by his friend with the sniper rifle.
Meg smiled, making the Doctor's face look frighteningly unhinged. "Doesn't stop me from being pissed about it," she said.
While Meg was turned toward Moriarty, away from the little group by the van, Rose plucked up her courage and sprinted into the street. She pulled the hex bag Dean had given her out of her pocket as she ran. When she reached Meg, she shoved the bag into her hands.
They stood for a moment, Meg’s forehead wrinkling in confusion as Rose pressed the bag into the Doctor’s hand. But Meg was not repulsed by the talisman as Rose had expected. As it slowly dawned on Meg what Rose was trying to do, she laughed.
"Aw, Blondie," she said sympathetically. "That was a nice try, but it's no good locking the door now that I'm already inside."
The gentleness of Meg's voice almost made Rose think that she was going to let her go. But then Meg raised her hand, lightning-fast. The butt of her gun slammed into Rose's left temple. Rose hit the ground before she even realized that she was falling.
Even with her face pressed into the asphalt, the ground seemed to pitch and spin under her. Her ears rang. Rose barely managed to focus enough to hear what happened next.
"Maybe I can't beat you," Meg was saying to Moriarty, "Maybe you really have planned for everything. But I'll tell you what. If you're gonna get away with your prize, I'm gonna make sure you don't get to enjoy using it."
With that, Meg pointed her pistol at Sherlock Holmes and pulled the trigger.
-----
Sherlock watched the pistol rise toward him with a sort of morbid fascination. In that split second between the moment at which he knew he was about to be shot and the moment at which the bullet actually left the gun, his mind ran a bit wild.
First of all, he decided that all things considered, he would really rather not die. But that wasn't looking like much of an option considering the fact that Meg was aiming at his gut. Even if no major arteries were damaged, which would be a very big "if," a bullet wound to the abdomen didn't exactly have a good survivability in these circumstances. He was looking at the unenviable choice between bleeding out within minutes and dying somewhat more slowly of sepsis secondary to a ruptured bowel.
Secondly, he allowed himself a moment to marvel at the very unique circumstances of his death. Sherlock had often thought about the manner of his own demise, but he had to admit that he'd never considered this particular scenario. Though he wore his anti-possession tattoo, the truth was that the supernatural played a very small role in his business and it was more than a little strange that this case - with its demons and aliens and angels and whatnot - was the one that was finally going to do him in.
And thirdly, he supposed that if he must die, at least he was enjoying the expression of utter horrified rage that was now gracing Jim Moriarty's face. He had to hand it to Meg. Her mind may have been more of a blunt instrument compared to the precise scalpels wielded by Sherlock and Moriarty, but in the end she knew how to hit where it hurt. The idea that Moriarty would probably get away with the vortex manipulator, only to find no use for it without a worthy adversary, was deeply funny to Sherlock. He could almost feel sorry for Moriarty.
A flash of dusty-blonde hair intruded on his view of Moriarty's apoplectic face. It was only then that Sherlock realized that while he had used that split second to ponder, John had used it to act. With all the reflexes of a retired military man, John stepped in front of Sherlock just in time for Meg to shoot.
The boom of the gun didn't quite mask the wet, fleshy thud of the bullet as it hit John just above his navel. John didn't make a sound. He simply staggered back half a step, his back hitting Sherlock's chest. And then he was sinking, sliding downward, and Sherlock was doing everything he could to keep him up, his hands made clumsy by desperation as he grasped wildly at John's shirt and tried to fight the irresistible pull of gravity.
"No, no," muttered Sherlock, running a distraught hand through his hair as he finally gave up and laid John down on his back in the dust. He pressed his hands to the hole in John's shirt, but they were still shaking, and somehow they had become covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood, in fact, and the sight of it made Sherlock feel something that he didn't often (or ever) feel: very stupid indeed.
John lifted his head weakly, but he quickly dropped it again when he saw the blood pouring freely from beneath Sherlock's ineffectively pressing hands. He had a sort of serenely resigned look on his face. Sherlock found it as infuriating as he did terrifying. "Well," said John. "That's that, then."
A shadow fell across John's face. Sherlock didn't even look up as Meg spoke. "That's quite a friend you've got there. Really, I'm touched."
When Sherlock finally raised his face to look at her, Meg had her gun pointed between his eyes. "I won't miss this time," she promised.
Part 4