Superwholock- Broken Wings

Chapter Twenty One- Sounds Like War

"What?" John's voice echoed through the halls. The Doctor groaned. He didn't think he could take much more. Angels, demons, the devil... he rubbed his temples, a headache started behind his eyes. He knew they all existed, of course. He just didn't want to deal with them right now.

"He's Minister of the Elders," Mary explained. "Which basically means he is in charge of the entire Men of Letters." John gaped.

"I need a drink," he muttered. "Preferably not tea." The others nodded in agreement.

"Alcohol prohibits full use of the brain. Perhaps you should stick to tea," an emotionless voice stated behind them. They whipped round, John grinning as his eyes rested on the figure before him.

"Sherlock!" he yelled, racing towards his friend and throwing his arms round him. Sherlock hissed in pain, stiffening slightly before patting John on the back. He sank gratefully into a chair.

"Hello, John," he smiled slightly, nodding at the others."

"Hey, robot," Dean answered, but his tone was playful, not spiteful. "How you feeling?"

"As can be expected," Sherlock replied. "I checked in on Castiel. He is resting, and should wake up in an hour or two." Dean exhaled, a smile returning to his face.

"What was that? You scared the crap out of us!" Sam asked, looking intently at Sherlock. The detective sighed.

"I'm not sure," he said. "I was unconscious for most of it. I remember Castiel returning with the Angel blades, and then a high pitched whining noise. The glasses on the table shattered. Then we were thrown against the wall and I hit my head. I barely had time to sit up before some kind of knife was..." Sherlock swallowed. "It was serrated, with strange carvings on it. Like runes. I was losing consciousness when Castiel started screaming."

"Did you see who did it?" Meg demanded. Sherlock's eyes found the floor.

"I don't know," he whispered. "But... it radiated cold and fear. I couldn't see it, but it was everywhere."

"But what would it want with Castiel?" Amara wondered. Sherlock shrugged.

"Information?" John suggested. "Happens quite a lot in wars."

"But we're not at war," Chuck muttered.

"Aren't we?" the Doctor looked up. "Two of our men have been attacked. One was tortured for information. An army is attacking our home. That sounds like war to me." He felt sick, his stomach having dropped to his feet when he realised who they were up against. Weeping Angels, a raging shadow... who else could it be?

"Well, that's enough for me," Meg put her beer down. "I'm going to bed. Not that I need to sleep." She disappeared down the hall. One by one, the others filtered away until only the Doctor remained, staring into the shadows...

A/N: no, I'm not dead. I just ran out of mobile data. Anyway, here's another chapter. Please vote, comment etc. Love you guys xxx