SuperWhoLock: When the Shadows Rage

Episode 11: Into the Fire part 2

The vision literally knocked Sam off his feet. He pressed his back against the console, digging his free hand into his hair.

Moriarty. Burning something on the library floor, the flames reflecting in his golden eyes.

Moriarty. The Brit charged at Dean out of nowhere, knife flashing in his hand. Dean staggered back, hand going to his throat, blood spurting from the wound. Moriarty turned on Amy next. She jerked back, screaming as the knife slashed once, twice—

The TARDIS console room was covered in blood. Slick red puddled on the floor, trickling from the bodies of Sherlock. John. The Doctor—how had they killed the Doctor without him regenerating? Moriarty stood in the middle of the carnage, yelling something at a tall figure shackled to the console...

Sam uncurled, flexing his cuffed hand. The metal band had cut into his wrist sometime during the vision, and a warm trickle of blood slid down his hand.

Moriarty had been here. How? How had he—

Sam went cold. The case had been a trap, but not in the way Dean and Sherlock thought. He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, whispered a prayer of thanks that Dean hadn't taken that away from him as well. He dialed Dean's phone and leaned back against the console.

"Please pick up. Please, Dean, please pick up..."

This is Dean Winchester's voicemail. Leave your nightmare and number...

Sam redialed, got the voicemail, redialed again. Voicemail. This time he left a message. "Get back here. I had another vision. Dean, please, just trust me on this one. Please."

He ended the call and leaned back, rubbing his hand across his mouth. Of all the times for Dean to ignore his phone... Then he scrolled through his contacts and found Sherlock's number. He pressed call.

No answer.

Sam tried Amy, John, and the Doctor's phones all in quick succession. Amy and John didn't answer, and the Doctor's phone buzzed somewhere in the console room. He moaned and yanked at the handcuffs again.

Someone knocked on the door.

Sam froze.

The door handle jiggled.

Sam typed a text and sent it to Sherlock. GET HERE NOW. He punched Dean's number again.

The door burst open, chips of wood skittering across the floor. Sam ducked, covered his head.

"Well, well, well. Sammy Winchester."

Sam looked up, breathing hard. Moriarty stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, eyes glinting gold in the light from the TARDIS.

"Bet you didn't think we'd meet again."

"Sam?" Dean's voice echoed from the phone. "You'd better not be calling and texting everyone just 'cause you're mad."

Moriarty held up a hand, swarming with fine black particles. "Get him off the phone, or I'll possess you here and now, and we'll deal with the consequences later."

"Sam? You okay?"

Sam swallowed hard. "You shouldn't have left me," he snapped.

Dean's tone was flat and unamused. "Seriously. You're throwing a fit just because I didn't want to risk you getting hurt."

"Basically." Sam sighed. "Sorry. I'm just—irritated, y'know?"

"All righty, well, we can skip the heart-to-heart, okay? I got work to do."