Location: London – 509 St. Cross Street

Time: 10:00 AM BST

The engine wheezed as the Doctor parked the time-machine in the lobby of 509 St. Cross. Like excited children on Christmas, the Doctor and Amy bolted through the doors of the TARDIS, with Rory running after them. Sherlock looked to John, this time, with a hint of curiosity in his eyes, "The game is on." His coat flicked out behind him.

The air in the warehouse sat stale and quiet. The open room itself was dark. The gang of time and space travelling detectives stood on the landing overlooking the warehouse. By the sound of it, it was made of metal. As their eyes adjusted, the group could make out a metal stairway that descended to the floor below. And upon further investigation through squinted eyes, they could see stacks of boxes piled up on tall shelves.

Sherlock was first to find the light switch and after a few confused attempts to flick the lights on were all for not. The Doctor spoke up, with the strange ringing of his sonic screwdriver humming under his voice, the green light on the end bright enough to illuminate most of the Doctor's face, "I think you'll find that the lights are off for good."

"What, whatdoyoumean?" John raised his eyebrows and waved his hand once to make eye contact with the Time-Lord, "'For good?'"

"Well," The Doctor swished his sonic back into his jacket pocket, the landing falling to darkness once again, "The thing about Weeping Angels is they draw their power from sources of energy. And—from what I can gather about this room is that they keep their generator in that cupboard there." He pointed across the dimly lighted warehouse to a door with emergency lights on over the frame.

"Oh." The colour drained from John's face and Sherlock stared at the Doctor in disbelief.

"But Doctor?"

"Yes, Amy!?" For someone confronting almost certain death—in John's opinion—the Doctor was in a rather cheery mood.

Amy stepped toward the Doctor, "Well, those Angels we came across in the Byzantium; they were feeding off of radiation, weren't they? Unless regular office park generators are radioactive, what are they really feeding on?"

This made the man in the bowtie stop and think a moment. Amy looked at him desperately, with an expression that read she knew that he had no idea.

Sherlock, however, began turning his gears. He rested his hands on the railing of the landing as he went over everything they knew about the case in rapid thought: The statue from the fountain was moved into storage, Matt—foreman—after several disappearances claims to know nothing of the angel moving from point A to B etc. Upon investigation, Christopher, facilities manager, claims that there's no way in hell he's going into the warehouse. Now, that could only mean one of two things; one, we aren't dealing with an angel at all and Matt the foreman is a deranged scientist and professional serial killer or; two, and seemingly more likely the statue of an angel is in fact a Weeping Angel that the Doctor here describes and as several employees have disappeared because of an energy-seeking, quantum-locked being. It could only be…

"It's taking the life forces of the workers as an energy source." Sherlock turned around, all-admittedly to proud of his crime solving abilities.

"That would be one way to describe it , yes." The Doctor's face was hard to see, but by the sound of his voice he was discontent. "The angels, as I've said, are quantum-locked beings, when they touch a person, they can send them back however many years in time. There the person sent back lives out the rest of their lives in a different time period."

"Well, that doesn't sound too bad," Rory spoke up. After all, he had yet to encounter any Weeping Angels on his journey's with the Doctor and Amy.

"Aside from the fact that you die in this time and none of your loved ones know what happened to you." The Doctor continued grimly, "There isn't a body to bury. Leaving everyone wondering…what happened?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, until this point the Doctor had seemed overly cheerful and content, it wasn't until the thought of death came up that he turned melancholy. Truthfully, the moment caused Sherlock to realize that he and the Doctor might not be so different after all.

Rory looked uncomfortable. It would be hard to feel any different. Living in a time where you don't know anyone, technology in all senses of the word would be less advanced tenfold.

The Doctor continued, lost in his thought, "Then, after you die hear they feed off of the energy of the life you were meant to live."

His last word echoed throughout the warehouse.

The Doctor and Sherlock, now with a similar mind set, stared into the darkness looming in the building.

"We stick together." The Doctor said as he began to lead the group down the stairs. He stopped suddenly, with a new realization in mind, "Oh, and whatever you do…don't blink."

Amy and Rory followed the Doctor just behind his heels. Sherlock and John—at a separate glance, each with a look of concern in their eyes—slowly followed the Doctor down the steps into the darkness.

"John?" Sherlock asked in the darkness.

"Yeah?" John could feel Sherlock walking down the steps behind him.

"Have you got a torch on you?"

"Ah, let me see,"

The Doctor reached the bottom of the stairs, their footsteps ringing throughout the warehouse, as the sound of John fumbling through his pockets met their ears.

"No, no, Sherlock, I haven't got it, but, I think…" He took his mobile out of his jacket pocket, the light giving a faint glow into the room, then a brighter flash-light-type light blared out of the mobile. "That'll do it, yeah?"

Sherlock grinned a sly grin that he thought John couldn't see. Of course, he couldn't see that John smiled happily at the sight of Sherlock's hidden cheery face.

"What was that!" Rory backed into John, suddenly.

"Ow!" John exclaimed, Sherlock quickly did a one-eighty, he hadn't seen anything.

"Sorry, mate." Rory pat John on the back apologetically. "Did none of you hear that?"

The five of them stood for a moment, which lead to seconds, on to minutes in silence. Waiting to hear something, anything…but hoping that they would hear nothing at all.