AN – **I just finished writing this, it's 2:30 in the morning and it's not proof read. I apologize for any errors but I got work tommorrow and I felt you've all waited long enough.

Hello! Long time, no update P: Sorry, life has been busy and work for the summer is very busy.

So, a very valid question was brought up by twitch'pjofan95 in a review in part 1 – why didn't Gilbert injuring Alfred didn't equal Germany declaring war on America. The answer is that by my headcannon (for most stories at least), this aspect of nationhood only comes into play when a nation is weakened dramatically economically/politically/agriculturally, etc. So if Alfred had been in the same state as he was in the Great Depression (high unemployment + collapsed economy + widespread drought...) then yes, but because he's not, it only resulted in the land reacting to his injuries instead of his people. If that makes any sense.

There are OC's kinda up ahead. Don't worry about the names, I just put it in for added detail.

***There is some violence ahead, much more so then I was first expecting to write. There is nothing too detailed (certainly nothing I would categorize as gore) but it is there. This is your warning.***

Anyway, I hope none of the characters seem OOC, I tried.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia and certainly do not own BBC's Sherlock and am not profiting from this in any way, shape or form.

Dr. John Hamish Watson was not freaking out.

No he was not and let no one – even a certain dratted Sherlock Holmes – tell you otherwise.

Not. At. All.

He had only been entrusted with performing brain surgery on a dead man who was supposedly not dead and in fact a nation. Something he had stupidly agreed to do in a moment's curiosity. Harry was right, one of these days curiosity was going to be the death of him.

When was the last time he had even done brain surgery anyway?

Oh, that's right. Never! Because, dammit, he was a doctor, not a brain specialist! It wasn't like he could just take a hammer or something and start whacking his patient's head with it and shout "Get better brain!" and expect him to miraculously heal! Seriously! What had he been thinking? The man was a corpse! This was clearly an elaborate joke that the universe was playing on him! He wasn't trained for this and he is presently being requested to treat a cadaver.

Clearly he needed to be locked up in the looney bin or some more therapy, serious therapy.

Luckily before he could really start to freak himself out, the part of his brain that had saved him many times over in Afghanistan kicked in.

Calm down John. Now, Try to remember your university classes where the professor had once covered it on a lark...

Let's see...ah. Yes. He supposed that they were all very lucky that John had been a very diligent student as he had nearly skipped the class due to an enormous hangover from the night before.

Taking a deep breath, he reached out with calm and steady hands and picked up the first of many tools he would need.

Step One – remove the hair on part of the scalp and quickly clean it...

Why did he agree to do this again?

Step Two – create a hole in the scull and create a bone flap.

Yes he was a trained professional

Step Three – Examine the MRI/CT on the wall to double-check of where he needed to go.

But there was a reason he didn't go into brain surgery!

Step Four – Quickly pray that he didn't mess this up.

This would be so much easier with someone helping him.

Luckily for him the fragment was fairly easy to find and he was able to remove the bone piece with little difficulty. Placing the small sliver of skull onto the tray beside him, John turned to begin putting the bone flap back on and clean up but as soon as the piece was in place, the cadaver's eyes snapped open and the once-dead man took a deep breath.

John dropped the small knife he had been holding and had to grab the nearby table to steady himself. Up until now, he hadn't really believed the duo's claim about what they were but now... how could he not?

He then felt his heart stop as the clone of Alfr-no, America, sat up and turned his indigo eyes towards him. Suddenly it felt as if a great weight had fallen his shoulders along with a wave of hate, fear and rage, pinning him like a beetle on a card.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move and why couldn't he get his lungs to breathe? His world was beginning to narrow and go dark.

"Whoa! Canada! Chill!"

Then the weight was gone and he collapsed to his knees, shaking and sweating as he gasped for air.

A gentle but strong hand began rubbing his back. "Deep breaths man, in and out. It's okay. It's okay." However, before more could be said, he felt himself be yanked backwards and found himself in the arms of Lestrade as Sherlock stood in front of him protectively.

"It is not okay! What on Earth did this...Canada, do to John?"

America sighed from where he was crouched before he straightened. "He didn't do anything. If you were attacked and knocked unconscious, what would your first reaction be when you woke up?" America didn't let them answer though and just ploughed on, "You would fight right? You would be scared and angry, right? It's the same for Canada but because of what he is and that he has been dying and reviving for the better part of the day, that feeling is...amplified? The best way I can think of to explain it would be killer intent. You recall how earlier I was saying that in cases such as this, more then the land is affected? His GDP was plummeting, mass layoffs were announced, I wouldn't even be surprised if his industrial sector or something has collapsed by this point. So, he just took all the feelings of himself and of his people and pushed them out which is more then any one human can handle...it's a defensive mechanism really."

Before anymore could be said, a whispery voice cut through the silence "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you alright?"

The four quickly looked over to where Prussia was helping up a considerably meeker looking Canada.

Watson, now breathing easily again, gave a weak smile and said "I'm fine, none the worse for wear anyway."

The blonde visibly slumped in relief before offering a similar watery grin. "Thank you for your help Doctor, I-"

Before Canada could continue to talk, Lestrade's cell phone began to ring causing the detective to fumble for it.

"Inspector Lestrade." He answered

"Hello. This is American Homeland Security, clearance code 94562102, could you pass the phone to Alfred F. Jones please?"

"Er...one moment please." He looked over to where the others were and whispered "Does clearance code 94562102 mean anything to you? Or should I go tell the big guys in suits next door that someone is masquerading as your Homeland Security to talk to you?"

America nodded and walked over, hand outstretched as he said "That's the right code, I'll talk to them."

Lestrade then passed the phone to the curious America before muttering "How did they even get this number?"

It wasn't long before the supposed-youth wandered back over to them , tension radiating over ever part of his being.

"We need to get to the Phoenix meet-up point."

As they began to walk off and none of the humans began to follow them, Prussia rolled his eyes and grabbed them. "You're involved, you're obviously coming with us."

"What? Where are we going?" Greg said.

"Do you remember the fifth of November, Inspector?" America said cryptically before helping to drag them out of the room..

"Wait!" John protested, "let me clean up! Or at least let me take off the scrubs!"

"That was quite clever of you. Phoenix. It took me a moment but the Phoenix in that... infantile book was called Fawkes and the fifth of November, that is the Gunpowder treason by Guy Fawkes that occurred under Parliament. Very tricky."

"Why thank you," Canada said, sounding quite pleased with himself, "a few of us put together a list of coded safehouses and checkpoints for each meeting location in case of emergency. That one was one of my suggestions."

They were presently weaving their way in the tunnels under parliament for reasons America had yet to divulge but considering the worried look on his face and that he had appropriated Lestrade's phone, it was serious. They came to a momentary halt when the three nations stopped to push in a sequence about ten bricks and a door swung open, revealing another corridor.

Once they were all inside, America slammed the door shut before turning on a flashlight and pointing it at the ground where a small trail of blood caught everyone's attention. There was a brief rustling of cloth then the sounds of a few pistols being loaded could be heard before they then they continued down the narrow corridor.

As they went, America began to whisper. "This should be safe enough to explain here. The phone call I just got was from the English internal affairs officer through my own government. Romania and England were to meet up with Thailand and Australia before proceeding to their own designated safehouse but..."his words echoed ominously off the barely lit stone, "they were attacked. They were to jump to the next safehouse, Oliver's Place."

"Jump?" Sherlock asked sharply, as he always did when he couldn't quite understand something, making him frustrated. "Is that how America got over to England so quickly despite having been in New York an hour before?" (AN- remember the train ticket stub in the last chap?)

It was Prussia who answered. "Yes. It's a skill of ours we use very rarely as it is both dangerous and costly. We have to visualize the place we want to get to exactly and can...jump there. However, if any mistake is made, you can end up anywhere, you could appear in front of someone which would potentially expose us and it is very costly on our own energy and draws some of the vitality from the soil. So it's a technique reserved for extreme emergencies as if overused, droughts or diseases or something of the like can occur."

"Ah. So that is why the trail of blood just appeared, correct? You said jump to the nearest safehouse but as this is apparently Pheonix's safepoint and is certainly not the most secure or safe of places, therefore this is not where they intended to go. As such, I would guess that your comrades are badly injured and couldn't make it all the way to... Oliver's Place. That is why you were contacted to go get them, one was able to call and ask for help. However, considering you haven't mentioned England, something has happened to him. That is why you insisted that we come with you because you need our help. If you had just left us with your secret service, you would know that whatever it is you have gotten us involved wouldn't be a problem."

America smiled grimly at the front, "You know Sherlock, you certainly live up to your reputation."

Before they could talk anymore, the tunnel which had seemed to stretch on forever began to widen and then they emerged into a small room where the heavy scent of iron clung to the air.

Immediately John and Greg began to curse, both the Doctor and Inspector being far too familiar with that smell, the harsh scent of blood unmistakable. After America's flashlight showed the room to be empty of any but them and two bloody figures, Watson ran forward.

At the sound of footsteps, the brunet struggled to his feet and got into a fighting stance, one hand clenched and the other holding a wicked looking knife; though it appeared to be a bit of a struggle to remain upright.

Prussia whistled admiringly, "That's the Aussie I know. Half-dead and still ready to put up a fight."

Canada held up a placating hand and began to speak rapidly in a tongue that only the nations seemed to recognize, though Sherlock might have understood as his expression was closed and unreadable. Australia gave a sharp nod before trying to step forward but had his legs collapse under him, America diving to catch him.

Immediately Watson ran forward and began to examine both him and the other unconscious figure.

America asked, "Australia, what happened? Where's Romania? Where's England?"

After a few moments, the Australian seemed recovered enough to brokenly speak as he struggled to remain conscious. "Grenade h-it and 'hen came outta, nowh-ere...,then their weapons, they...have som-e sorta poison... won' heal...Roma, on oth'r side o'room, he...jumped 'fore us 'nd Da' stayed ta' 'old them off."

Watson piped up "We need to get these two to a hospital. So far it's a miracle that neither of them are dead from blood loss."

America had a tight lipped smile on, his fists balled at his sides and a wild look was in his eyes, clearly afraid and angry while trying to hide it, just as Prussia and Canada were.

Prussia, it seemed, reigned in his emotions first and holstered his weapon. "I'll jump us back to that hospital – St. Bart's was it?" He held up a hand as America opened his mouth, concerned expression on his face, "and don't argue America, I haven't jumped today or hit a major recession as you have recently and Canada's GDP is too hard hit right now to do anything. I know you think I'm fragile because I'm technically dead but you forget I'm still part of Germany and I won't get taken down that easy so hurry up and grab my hand or arm and let's get on with it."

So America gently picked up Australia while Canada did the same to Thailand and, after a little prompting, Lestrade, Watson and Holmes all grabbed Prussia's shoulder along with that of one of the North American siblings.

Then the room spun around them and they were gone, only to end up in part of the nearby park. Luckily the sun was just beginning to come up and they were under the cover of a small bridge so very few people were about and they weren't seen. Prussia began to sway as the cost of jumping with so many caught up with him, only to be caught by Lestrade, for once accepting the help with no complaint.

America cursed, "I knew you shouldn't have done that! You are only half a nation, this weakened you far too much!"

Prussia growled as he took a raspy breath "America, you...talk...too much. 'M fine."

"You're clearly not." Canada countered, looking concerned.

"Don' *cough*, don't worry 'bout...me." Prussia quietly commented waving his hand in a it-was-nothing gesture, looking a little lost in how to respond. "Lass... uns gehen, quick...now."

Realizing they were wasting time arguing, they decided not to argue and instead simply nodded. Emerging from under the bridge, they then began to run to the hospital, doing their best not to injure the three being carried.

Their arrival threw the hospital into a frenzy as the receptionist took one look at them, covered in blood, dirt and who knows what else and suddenly doctors were everywhere, taking a now-unconscious Prussia, Australia and Thailand off with them. Canada also snuck off for a moment, before coming back, his hair cut off and dyed brown with some fake studs in his ears. At both Lestrade's and America's raised eyebrows and whispered, "If they weren't so concerned for those just brought in, I'm sure they would've noticed that I look like a body they had in the morgue up until a few hours ago."

Leaning back in the not-so-comfortable chairs, Canada, America, Lestrade and Watson began to wait while Sherlock paced, clearly lost in thought.

After an hour or so and doctors came out, saying that Gilbert Beilshmidt was able to receive visitors and that Steven Walker and Aran Thanasukolwit had been stabilized but were still in critical condition.

They sat in Prussia's hospital room as the unconscious nation lay there, connected to a respirator and looking considerably paler, something that most wouldn't consider possible considering Gilbert is albino.

"Now what?" Watson cautiously asked, clearly at a loss.

Sherlock stopped pacing, "That much is clear, is it not? We need to track down loose ends – we need to find the motherland. When we find England, we should find our answers."

"And how do we do that?" Canada asked, exhausted and exasperated while Lestrade nodded beside him.

"We need to find out where he was. Most of the clues that your comrades clothes could have told us was destroyed by mud and blood but there is still one other..."Here he paused, his brilliant mind clearly searching for something before he carefully continued. "There was...the Romanian representative there as well, correct? He has since supposedly made it to one of your safehouses, that would be a good place to start."

"Very well," America answered, "we'll leave once we get some secret service here to protect the three here."

However, before they could leave, Lestrade's phone rang once more and upon looking at the caller I.D., he was surprised to see it was his wife. Perhaps it was due to that since his promotion and increase in hours, they had rarely seen each other but he had warned her that he would not be coming home until this case was solved...so why was she calling him?

Only one way to find out, "Lestrade."

"What have you gotten yourself into this time?" She quickly whispered.

"Pardon?" He asked, confused.

"You heard me!" She whispered again, sounding terrified. "What. Have. YOU. Gotten. Into. Gregory Lestrade? What have you gotten me involved in?"

"Calm down dear, please! What's wrong?"

"DON'T tell me to calm down!" She shrilled into the phone, nearly hysterical now, "I just received a bloody finger in the morning post! Now either you find another job or find yourself another wife because I can't take this anymore!"

Lestrade felt his stomach drop and he suddenly felt numb, "We'll be right there." He promised before he hung up and looked up into the curious faces of the room.

He gulped, "We need to go to my flat. Now."

Canada returned to 221B along with a few members from the Yard to bring Mrs. Hudson back with him for police protection with the promise that they would meet back up shortly, that he also just had to get something. So it was just the four of them that went to the Inspector's flat – despite America's vehement protests of allowing Canada to go off on his own. Upon their arrival, Sherlock, Watson and America all quickly entered the small sitting room, the latter three because, upon entering, Lestrade was immediately confronted by his wife (who he was to convince to go join Mrs. Hudson at the Yard) and the trio wanted to avoid the awkwardness. Sherlock, on the other hand, just wanted to see the finger.

He examined the box carefully followed by the finger with fascination and began to muttering very rapidly.

"The man – for it belonged to a man – left hand, index finger, skin is fairly dark...from the Mediterranean area, calloused, used to work though of both kinds – being formed from holding tools and also pens – the dirt under the nails...he enjoys gardening in his spare time, particularly spices" He paused, taking a small pick to get some of the dirt from under the nail "cumin, cardamom and cinnamon certainly, along with a fondness for dates... slightly old-fashioned, using an old fountain pen as evidenced by the slight ink stains, partiality to rings...most telling though, is that it appears to be very fresh,as though was cut off on moments ago and moreover, judging by the slight scars left behind some modern, others...less so, I'd say he is one of yours. Know of any by that description? The Egyptian representative perhaps?

America stared for a moment completely blown away by how quickly the man had managed to determine all of that before he nodded, that sounded like Egypt.

Lestrade came back into the room looking considerably more exhausted and wordlessly sank into the nearby settee as Sherlock once again examined the box, finger and the simple note that said "Do not interfere further, Death awaits those who help the monsters."

Sherlock appeared lost in thought for a moment or two longer before smacking his clenched hand down upon his open palm. "That's it. They're in the Imperial War Museum, the building has been undergoing repairs recently and is closed off to the public. What a better place to hide? Especially considering the ones likely behind this, such symbolism...poetic even."

"...I'm not even going to ask." Lestrade wryly commented, just glad they had a location.

"You know the motive?" Watson cautiously asked.

"Oh course not John!" Sherlock lightly snapped, as they followed them down the stairs and out to where the car was parked. "I have a working potential, hence the likely in the sentence, meaning that there are many possible options as there are yet pieces missing to this puzzle. Theories to facts not facts to theories John, else you're contaminating the case with your own preconceptions... Stop being so dull and do try to keep up."

Despite it being a week day, the museum was deserted, leaving the grounds as an obstacle course of sorts with trenches and hills along with planks, nails, steel beams, tool boxes and heavy machinery everywhere.

As they cautiously made there way inside, things did not improve. As the building was under construction, all the exhibits had been moved elsewhere, giving the place a creepy abandoned feel. Especially with the broken glass and cement dust on the floor. Despite how quietly they were moving, their footsteps still seemed to resounded loudly, the sound bouncing off the different levels and walls.

They advanced as quickly as possible, checking out the different levels but each was abandoned...had Sherlock been wrong? Soon there was only the boiler room left, Sherlock picking the lock before the quietly made their may down the metal steps.

This place was different.

It was cleaner for one thing, no construction debris littering the ground and the pipes, ducts and wiring needed for the room all appeared intact and in their proper places. For another, there were electrical lights up and running, ominous in their presence and the boilers were running, making the basement type place a veritable sauna. The concrete dust that had made it to the room, however, was the most telling.

There were footprints.

Most clearly defined but also two sets that appeared to be caused by someone injured due to the stumbling and slight traces of blood that were left behind. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, they carefully negotiated around the corner, trying to remain hidden behind the pipes as they begin to hear murmured voices.

Negotiating down the corridor is somewhat tricky as the amount of piping at the ground level grows less and less instead joining up with pipes running along the ceiling but they managed and soon the voices were clear.

"Why haven't we just killed these freaks and be done with it?"

"Patience Akira. We need information."

"But this is getting us nowhere Gahiji!" The one now identified as Akira answered.

Before Gahiji could answer, a third voice snapped, "Quiet! Both of you!"

However, Akira, an older man was not about to just be quiet, "My family, all of those I knew have waited long enough for their vengeance from these cowards who just allowed such a fate to befall them Min-Jung! The one who I seek is not even here so can we kill these two and move on!"

"Akira. Do you not think it is the same for any of us? For Gahiji who lost his entire family right before his eyes and barely escaped with his own life? For Adrianna who lived in fear and narrowly escaped "disappearing"? ...

"Don't bring me into this please!" A forth, younger voice piped up but Min-Jung ignored her and kept talking.

"And for myself who, not even born yet, lost all of my family but my mother when the government turn against us in a witch hunt? For any of us? I know you have been waiting for a long time and that few others have been waiting just as long as you but that does not make our desire any less. It's not easy but we are all waiting for vengeance, patience."

Akira grumbled and his angered footsteps announced his departure from the group before the sound of flesh meeting flesh resounded and a cry of pain was heard.

America started. He sadly knew those cries of pain too well, he had heard them enough at meetings when the hapless nation continued the pursue the last representative of dictatorship in Europe, Belarus.

Lithuania was here also.

The others noticed his reaction, John placing a restraining hand on his shoulder while he and Greg looked at him worriedly (Sherlock just looking curious). So, through his best miming and with some sign language – why did the Brits not use American Sign Language? This would be so much easier – in order to communicate the presence of another nation. He then mentally sighed, the stakes just kept climbing...

Egypt awoke once more, dazed and in pain, though he forced his limbs to stay lax and simply listened, trying to learn more about what was going on. He and Lithuania had been taken captive where they were supposed to be meeting up with Canada and Russia, both of whom never showed. Instead it had been men with strange weapons that injured them and prevented it from healing. Worse yet, they had somehow managed to overpower the two of them and torture them. Even now, he could feel the dull ache in his left hand where his index finger used to be. Though the oddly warm room did help somewhat, the heat comforting him, reminding him of his home.

How strange this was, what did these people want from them? How did they know about them? Just what were they upset about? They didn't seem concerned with any specific action performed by the nations, their grudge, their anger was just directed to wanting to see them all dead.

Especially England for some reason.

All of their questions throughout all of their "questioning" had to do with the British nation and what sorts of abilities the nations had. It didn't take very long for Egypt to come to the conclusion that Britain had somehow warded all of the safehouses so that these ...terrorists, couldn't get in.

He heard angry footsteps followed by a harsh sounding punch causing Lithuania, a man who had endured Russia, to minutely cry out. Opening his eyes just a sliver, he was able to see that the middle-aged Japanese man had donned some brass knuckles and was presently taking out some of his frustration on his poor comrade. Well that just wouldn't do. He was certainly no masochist, but he was also no coward and would not let his fellow nation take the brunt of what was turning out to be an awful world meeting.

So, he then put on a show of "regaining" consciousness, sluggishly bringing his head up before allowing his eyes to widen and pretending to panic – acting very out of character, Lithuania was staring at him as he began to show emotion – shouting in his modern tongue and his mother's ancient one, tugging at his bonds, the whole shebang.

The man smirked, "Awake are we now sleeping beauty? Allow me to give you a kiss awake." With that, his fist "kissed" Egypt's face.

That did it.

With a nod from the Inspector, America charged with a roar going for the one beating up on Egypt and Lithuania. Lestrade and Watson followed a moment later, running to take out the other three lounging around the basement. Watson rugby tackling the Argentinian woman, the only one on her feet with a weapon handy while Lestrade managed to shoot the other two in non-lethal areas as they went for their own, giving him a chance to cuff them.

It was over in moments.

As Watson and America began to free the two chained to the nearby pipes and look after their wounds, Sherlock and Lestrade went to go question their captives. However, as they did so, they were astonished to see them all with blood around their mouths, something was very wrong.

However, he realized the true danger when the one woman (Korean, likely the one called Min-Jung) began to chuckle, a bone-chilling laugh. "We were expecting you Mr. Holmes."

Sherlock froze before his mind went into overdrive. They had swallowed something, a poison perhaps that would keep them and any information they had from falling into enemy hands. This theory was confirmed when one of them went limp as death took hold, his eyes glassing over. " Do you really think that we would so easily allow you to come here and rescue them? It is too bad you threw your lot in with the monsters Mr. Holmes, Inspector. The ones who did nothing to ease any suffering and languished in luxury as the citizens they were to protect died around them. Tell me, do you think even America is strong enough, powerful enough or that he even cares enough to protect you from what happens when all the safety features on a boiler fails, nevermind three?"

"Run!" Sherlock cried out, America and John helping Lithuania and Egypt to their feet, beginning to make a mad dash for the exit.

"Die!" She laughed once more before her eyes clouded over in death.

They were almost to the exit when at least one of the boilers blew, shooting up through the floor sending tile and various shrapnel everywhere. In that single instant, Watson felt himself be tackled to the ground by the nation that had dark brown hair (Lithuania was it?) and covered. When the dust finally settled, they were well and thoroughly buried under rubble.

Watson did a brief assessment of his own injuries and was pleased when he felt everything respond. He was sore but nothing was broken or worse, he was about to Lithuania when he felt something warm fall on his cheek. His heart stopped. The man...person...nation?...had been so injured before he shielded him from a falling building! National economy or whatever it was America had said helped them heal couldn't help everything he was sure.

So, in a shaken voice he asked, "Are you alright?"

However, Lithuania was prevented from answering when the concrete above them was shifted before being thrown and a very bloody and relieved looking America leaned down to help fish them out before doing the same thing for where Egypt and Sherlock were buried.

Only a few minutes after all of them were back up at the surface – and the nations had begun to remove all shrapnel from their skin and properly treat the injuries caused by the poison treated weapons, the surgeon inside John wincing as they did so –, Canada came running over, out-of-breath officers following close behind while sirens began screaming in the distance.

"Al! What did you do?" He said, once he was in earshot.

"Boiler room exploded." He answered as if that answered everything once he removed the last bit of metal from his skin, sighing as the skin closed properly once more.

Sighing, knowing he really wasn't going to get much more of an explanation, he turned to Sherlock. After a few minutes, he gave a self-satisfied smirk, the one he wore when things finally came together. They then began to talk; or rather, Sherlock began explaining, and they listened.

The terrorists were comprised of those who had suffered or who had had family suffer or were nationalists that were furious over certain events that had happened in their nations. They had somehow found out about the existence of the personifications and had been furious that these immortal beings that were supposed to represent them had done nothing to prevent their fate. Akira's twin and parents along with their entire neighbourhood had died in the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, he had only survived as he had been in a bunker when the blast occurred, running messages back and forth. Gahiji had lived through the Rwandan massacre, had felt the world betray him as they did not step in to stop the killings, not until his wife and child were dead. Min-Jung's family had been accused of being a communist sympathizer in the 50's in Korea and her pregnant mother had just managed to avoid death in the Bodo League Massacre. Adrianna was a rebellious student in the Dirty War in Argentina who still bore the scars from what had happened to her and the mental ones from what she had managed to avoid happening to her.

Then as Matthew had come to tell him, they had at last been able to find out who one of the victims was in the explosion in the car parking lot. Rajesh had been an Indian nationalist who's family had suffered greatly with British occupation and had wanted vengeance, the the blood sample they had been unable to make heads or tails of but Matthew knew, it had been Arthur's. He had also gone and done some of his own research and in his digging has found some recent arrests that might have something to do with their own problem.

Mykhaylo, a Ukrainian Chernobyl survivor had been arrested the day before as he had been trying to through some highly suspicious items into the river, namely one cell phone and some blood-stained sneakers. The cell was found to have the IP address from which the emails were then sent to Matthew's email. Yue was a Chinese refugee turned immigrant after having fled during the famine with her parents who had been working in Parliament, though she had recently been fired as she had been found to be wandering around the top secret part of the Internal Affairs department. Then there was Jack, who Matthew remembered as the man who had nearly killed him and taken his heart, a Cree-Canadian who resented what had been done to himself and his people through the residential school system. With his description, the Yard had managed to apprehend him as he tried to sneak over the Channel to France.

With them, the police had been able to track down a number of potential members of this terrorist group - including the embarrassing leak in their Internal Affairs department - and had already sent out a list to other governments of potential risks within their own borders. It had also been through these investigation that they had found a partially burned letter, the contents of which Canada had also been told.

These were angry souls, frustrated and betrayed had gradually managed to find each other and a common cause. The deaths (of a sort) of the symbols of the treachery that had befallen them. They wanted to collect the hearts of those they managed to talk out in order to enforce their own regime, one that they'd deluded themselves into thinking would put an end to the violence, suspicion and death.

No more war.

No more poverty.

No more inequality.

They had wanted to create a utopia.

Sherlock spelled these facts out, plain and simple, next pulling out a cellphone and a wallet he'd managed to nick out of the terrorists backpack and going over the contents with them. Sherlock could look at a name, the sorts of texts sent (though they were all encoded) and how they were sent could give away exactly where they were from. There were those from the Middle-East, from Iran and Iraq along with many others from Africa from areas like Ethiopia and Sudan, from all over Europe and North America (America's fists clenched as Sherlock pointed out names that were his) and Oceania.

That was just the tip of the iceburg though and they all knew it. History was not especially kind to those that weren't male, white and at least middle class and even then...If they, the personifications, had held onto all the grudges of their people then America was sure they'd have all gone insane long ago. There was only so much hate they could tolerate, they had always had to move on; not exactly forgive and forget but rather make their peace with the fact that it was in the past and nothing could now be done about it – because when they became too involved in an issue, so to did their citizens. It was too bad that these people had been unable to do just that because they were now on a destructive path, one that put them directly at odds were the oldest and most destructive-when-angered beings that still walked the Earth.

After all, the laws of celestial mechanics dictate that when two objects collide, there's always damage on a collateral nature.

And America intended to be the one to give out that damage.

Through what he had learned from Australia and Thailand and with the phone and receipts, Sherlock was able to pinpoint two different locations where he believed England was and where Russia's heart was being kept. Westminster Abbey and the Bank of England.

After receiving minimal treatment for their injuries, the two rescued nations insisted on remaining with them until the case was solved, despite efforts to convince them otherwise. So they divided, Egypt, Lithuania, Sherlock and Watson going to the Bank of England with Yard back up while Lestrade, Canada and America went to the Abbey.

As they walked up to the large doors, Watson asked, "The heart is here? How did they even sneak it in?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered "The receipt in Adrianna's wallet states that she deposited a parcel at 10:03, shortly after the time when Russia was attacked. Mykhaylo and she worked together and while he went to get rid of the evidence against them, she went her. The heart was kept in an airtight box, but, as you know, the teller is supposed to check the contents. So what then? Logically, the one who supposed to check the contents was on their side See the name? Hakim Krama, an Algerian name, judging by this, his signature and how it was written (graphology does have some valid points) he is past middle-aged and has experienced great trauma resulting in him becoming mentally unstable and develop a complete lack of empathy. Thus, the box is in a secure facility where no-one would think to look for it due to the security."

Watson took a long breath before asking, "So what now?"

"We break in and steal it." Sherlock smirked and answered matter-of-factly.

The police officer behind them looked surprised before he coughed to get their attention. "That will hardly be necessary Mr. Holmes, we have a warrant."

The consulting detective sighed and dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Dull."

Watson put his head in his hands and groaned "Sherlock."

"What?" He drawled back, sounding almost like petulant child. Almost.

"A bit not good." Watson reprimanded, sounding exhausted.

Sherlock looked put out before acquiescing, "Very well Watson. Let it never be said that I don't do what you want at times."

"Thank you Sherlock." John offered in turn, looking relieved that his flatmate had listened to him (for once!)

As the two had begun to talk, the officer along with had snuck around them and entered the bank, presenting the warrant to the manager of the building, the others running to catch up while their other three "escorts" remained outside.

They were brought behind the counter into a locked corridor which evolved into a great maze of lockboxes. "387 is the number!" Sherlock called out, and they began to search for the elusive security box.

Upon finding it, Watson gave out a call and Sherlock, being closest was the first to meet him there followed by the bank manager and the officer. The lock was swiftly opened by the master key and the box removed from it's hiding place before Sherlock opened the lid to reveal a still beating heart.

However, before the two uninformed men could even process what was contained within, two shots rang out from either side killing them as Watson tackled Holmes to the ground.

Looking up, Watson saw two bank employees on either side of the row running towards them, weapons levelled; one name tag read Hakim Krama while the other Drazen Tahirovic.

While he wished desperately that the manager had made him leave his own gun at the door, he heard Holmes sigh beside him, "Always something...there were two of them. How could I have missed it?"

They were now upon them, a gun pointing to either of their temples. "Hand the heart over." Hakim said.

"No." Sherlock said blandly, as though this was a great game.

His reward was to have his head slammed into the wall of security boxes behind him. "Now. Hand. It. Over. Do not make the mistake of betraying your race! They are not human. They do not care what happens to you..."" Drazen hissed through clenched teeth, leaning over him, making a vital mistake.

It was in that instant, two shapes jumped to the ground and four sharp blows caused Drazen to drop while a leg sweep followed by a haymaker to the jaw left Hakim unconscious. A decidedly unimpressed Lithuania and Egypt stood in their places.

"They never look up." Sherlock said after a moment, a grin in place.

"No." Lithuania answered calmly as the bank entered into lockdown and the British SWAT – the SO13 ATB – came running in to secure the building, "No they don't." They were then able to secure an escort back to St. Barts while the pair of terrorists were arrested.

They descended into the bowels of Westminster, weapons at the ready, far beyond where the public was typically allowed to go. Lestrade shook slightly, his skin sweaty where it came into contact with the cool metal of the gun.

Even he had never been this far and he had had to investigate a murder down here a few years ago. Yet the twins seemed to know every nook and cranny, each secret pathway, each tunnel behind a tapestry or alter and turning them down corridors that should be dead ends but aren't; deeper into what was seeming to become a labyrinth of stone. All along the walls stood ancient stone figures peering at them as they slunk by and the non-period lighting illuminating each area eerily.

He needed a vacation. After this case...he was more likely to have a mental breakdown then be of any assistance for the next few weeks.

Yes, a good long vacation was what the doctor ordered...

...Just how far underground did these passages go? They still continued to descend as they had for the past few minutes. It was getting a little disturbing honestly.

At last they emerged into what appeared to be an enormous cavern, a small lake to the side. However, it was not that that had Lestrade and the two nations stifling gasps. By the edge of the lake, hovering slightly within a cocoon of water was Arthur. His hands hovering in front of him as though about to grip the blade that rose from beneath him; which, upon closer inspection, was held by a lily white hand.

He couldn't stop the minute gasp that escaped him now. It was like the Arthurian legends told, the Lady of the Lake holding out Excalibur...

They were jolted out of their thoughts when a booming voice broke the silence "Balam! Have you figured out how to disable this...enchantment yet?"

The unfortunate Balam spoke up "No, it resists any sort of outside stimulation. It appears it must be broken from within."

The voice began to talk sarcastically "And how are we going to go about that? Excuse me, Mr. England, could you please lower your shield so we can kill you and remove your heart?"

"Shut up Hung," Balam retorted, "I don't hear you offering any suggestions."

The pair descended into bickering while the few other members lounged around the area, clearly used to the fighting, before Lestrade felt the cool metal of a knife kiss the skin of his throat.

"I have one." Came the voice behind him, "Perhaps, should someone important to him be injured directly in front of him, he would lower the spell."

"Oliver?" Hung said as all the others in the area turned to where the trio had concealed themselves.

America began to turn only to freeze upon seeing both Lestrade and Canada with dirks across their throats, poisoned no doubt and had a blade be lowered at their own throats.

"Come on now. Let the rats come forward." With some poking and prodding, the three reluctantly stepped out into the open.

America could barely hold it together anymore. He couldn't think clearly a haze setting over his mind muting Canada's and Lestrade's appeals for them to stop and sharpening the pain.

They had begun with him, thinking that he was closest to the England. With a deadly blade threatening his brother (and to a lesser degree Lestrade, after all he hadn't known the human for a few thousand years), America didn't dear move while he was hurt.

Each slash seemed to leave a wake of fire in it's wake, the minor injuries seeming more painful then the worst one he had ever had. Then, as though he was bored and tired of no visible reaction, Oliver lunged forward and Al screamed out in pain as the blade pierced his side while his head was simultaneously wrenched back to an unnatural angle.

However, before the violence could continue, a rumbling sound and quick as thought, tendrils of water swatted the terrorists to the ground. Looking over, he could see the watery prison that had held England slowly breaking apart, like spring runoff as snow melted. Blinking he missed the movement but he heard Balam cry out and suddenly America's rapidly darkening vision was filled by England's back and then Canada's face as he ran over.

The former British Empire was holding Excalibur perpendicular to the ground, his eyes glittering with fury and his voice laced with acid as he hissed until the still air. "You children are incredibly foolish to take on an old pirate on his home turf. How much do you know of nations? If you had truly done your research, you would know...it doesn't do to make us angry."

Lestrade felt a... tug. All call to arms while at the same time he was hit by a wave of overwhelming power and emotion, something felt his entire being down to his very core, his knees nearly buckling as he was exposed to the full fury of his nation. This was England. The terrorists had it worst though as everything Lestrade felt was but an echo directed at them. As England walked forward, it was as though the cave came to life, the earth swirling and bucking beneath their feet and plants growing from nowhere to tangle and trip their limbs. The next few minutes were almost to quick to follow as he darted around his opponents, quickly incapacitating those who had had managed to cause so much damage in so short a period of time.

That done, he then jumped the three of them back up to the surface and the ambulance while he then escorted the Yard once more into the depths of the Abbey to arrest those that had dared cross him.

Luckily the damage to their nations was minimal.

There were a few earthquakes, collapsed bridges and buildings, fires, extreme heat waves and a downturning economy but there was nothing permanently done. Already the nations that had managed to avoid capture were helping bail out those that had been and helping them rebuild. The task of recovering was also improved when Watson and a group of doctors were able to find a cure for the poison administered, allowing their injuries to truly heal.

However, the humans had still seen them injured and, to be quite frank, they all needed a break so they pretended to still be wounded and remained on bed rest at St. Barts.

It was when they were in Gilbert and Alfred's room once more that the police once more arrived. In the form of Watson and Holmes's favourite member of the police force, Sally Donovon.

"What have you managed to do this time Freak?"

Before anyone could say anything – though Lestrade put his head in his hands after shooting an apologetic look to Sherlock – Prussia opened his eyes and glared.

"Excuse me? Freak?" He growled, drawling on his old general's voice, the one that could even make Greece wake up and snap to attention."What is this? The Victorian Era?"

Sally managed to maintain eye contact with the furious red eyes for only a few moments before she had to look away, though she still defended, "Well he is! He gets off it all. He's a psychopath and one of these days, catching the killer won't be enough to interest him and he'll be the one killing! Whenever there's some sort of major case with lots of blood and gore, you can bet he'll be in the thick of it!"

Prussia stretched the truth somewhat as he commented "And I care, why? The Bundespräsiden trusted him enough to request help from him," Sally's eyes widened at the mention of the German head of state "and not only is helping solve an international incident but he also just managed to save the lives of some of my closest friends. Freak as you call him is not a title for one such as him..."

He then smirked causing both Canada and America to get a sense of foreboding, "In fact, I have one better. Sherlock Holmes, as ambassador for Germany in payment of the debt I owe you and your actions, I bestow upon you the title of Ehrenbürger von Deutschland."

Canada groaned and put his head in his hands with a mutter of "Far too impulsive." as the room fell into an astonished silence before Watson curious asked, "What did you call him?"

"Honorary citizen of Germany." Prussia answered, cracked smile on his face "So should you ever need help or a place to go, Germany will gladly answer...oh! Sherlock, can you come a bit closer for a moment?"

Sherlock paused for a moment before answering Prussia's crazed grin with a smirk of his own and did so, kneeling. Immediately, Prussia picked up his IV and tapped him on either shoulder. "Sadly I don't have my sword with me but... regardless. Rise now as Sir Sherlock Holmes of the Hoher Orden vom Schwarzen Adler...Oh! Watson! Lestrade! C'mere for a moment! I need to knight you too!"

America sighed from his own hospital bed and condemned the albino, "Ludwig is going to kill you Gil." He paused for a moment before musing "And they can become America's honorary citizens too!"

Sally just looked stunned and slightly faint as the two hospitalized representatives continued to try and give some of their nations greatest honours onto the trio with Watson and Lestrade humbly trying to refuse while Sherlock just looked amused by the proceedings.

Having had enough, Canada quietly declared "Arthur will murder you both for even trying to steal some of his prized citizens...and we're going to get kicked out if you continue to raise a fuss."

It had been a month since the case of the Disappearance of a Two-Headed Eagle - as Watson had taken to calling the case - and things had finally returned to normal at 221B Baker Street. Or at least as normal as they ever got around here, John still woke up to smoke alarms, violin and gunshots, found frozen toes in the fridge and weird experiments everywhere in the house, but still normal for them. The media circus had at last left them alone about the case and the role they had played. They were still subject to a few articles every now and again considering Sherlock being Sherlock and also due how many honorary citizenships and awards they had been granted by America, Germany, Australia, Thailand, Russia, Canada and others; but it was still an improvement.

With a grumbling Sherlock behind him (he had managed to trick him into coming to the grocer's with him), Watson climbed the stairs before juggling the groceries in his hands to fish out his keys but to his astonishment, he found the door unlocked.

Opening the door cautiously, both he and his flatmate came into their apartment and were startled to see a man in a suit with large eyebrows and sandy blonde hair was sitting on their couch, ankles crossed and sipping tea.

"Excuse me, but who are you and why are you in our flat?" Watson asked as politely as he could.

The man put his cup down on the saucer before setting both down on the side table with a click and lacing his fingers together on top of his knee. "Oh but you already know the answer to that."

His voice. It was many things, it held the sharp authority of a general yet also the loving embrace of a parent, it was inviting yet was laced with hidden power, it was so foreign yet so familiar. Each word seemed to resonate, draw them in and make them listen. Each deliberately articulated syllable called to something in their bones, to something they had known and loved all their lives...

"You're England aren't you?" Sherlock asked, deliberately as nonchalantly as possible, yet coming across as awe-struck.

England nodded slightly, small smile on his face. "Indeed. I have come to thank you lads for your assistance in that nasty piece of business."

"It-It was nothing." Watson stammered, before sitting down - hard - in the nearby chair. He was talking to his nation, one who seemed a lot more intimidating then the others they had met over their adventure.

England just finished his tea and smirked, "Of course. Regardless though ol'chap, you still have my undying gratitude and my support. Remember that if you should ever need assistance, England will never abandon you." Then he stood, quickly brushing of his pants before grabbing his coat, as though slightly embarrassed by what he had just said.

Making his way out, he paused at the door and turned slightly as he quickly commented, "Please keep making this century interesting Sherlock and Watson, your nation expects great things from you."

A few weeks later, they were contacted by Henry Knight over some gigantic hound in Baskerville.

AN- You know, this was originally going to be a Bones crossover but I couldn't quite get the characters right... I still feel like I haven't quite captured Sherlock either though in this. Ah well, hopefully this conclusion was worth the wait.

Yes, that was a Monty Python Flying Circus reference along with a Star Trek one. I hope you all got it or else I will feel very old. Don't do that to me! I have relatives where you live and I'm only in my twenties! Someone please get ittttttttttttttttttt D:

The names mentioned are as follows along with the event that caused their involvement (I didn't pick anything from the last decade to avoid some contention) : Akira – Japanese (1945 Atomic Bombic of Hiroshima and Nagasaki), Gahiji – Rwandan (1994 Rwandan Genocide), Min-Jung – South Korean (1950 Bodo League Massacre), Adrianna – Argentinian (1976-1983 Dirty War), Rajesh – Indian (1608-1947 British Controlled India), Mykhaylo – Ukranian (1984 Chernobyl Disastor), Jack – Cree/Canadian (in the 1830's until 1950's for cultural genocide in Canadian Residential Schools [though last one closed in 1996]), Yue – Chinese (1959-1961 Great Chinese Famine), Drazen – Bosnian (1995 Srebenica Massacre), Hung – Vietnamese (1955-1975 Vietnam War), Hakim – Algerian (1954-1962 Algerian War), Balam – Guatemalan (1962-1996 Mayan Indian Massacre), Oliver – Irish (1987 – Remembrance Day Bombing),

If you want to know more about those events, please look them up.

Lass uns gehen – (Ger) Let us go

Lion's Lair – The house England used in his Empire days.

Pheonix meet up point – near where Guy Fawkes attempted to blow up Parliament

Oliver's Place – England's house in Cornwall (Oliver Cromwell – Cornwall, get it? *shot)

Hoher Orden vom Schwarzen Adler or the Order of the Black Eagle was the highest order of Chivalry and continues to exist today. It was given to members of ruling houses, senior civil and military officials and other worthy figures appointed by the King of Prussia.

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