Wow. So...it's been a while. I offer my sincerest apologies. I went through a nasty bout of writer's block. I only barely managed to scrape my way past. I sort of...threw this chapter together as best as I could, which is basically the only cure for writer's block that I know.

Okay, enough rambling.

Disclaimer: Yeah, there's a copyright sticker on Supernatural, Doctor Who, and Sherlock. That's because they're not MINE. I pick pocket writers when they get annoying. Like...Moffat and the Ponds. *sniffles*

"Tea" or "a late lunch", according to Sam, was a surprisingly relaxing affair over some pizza and iced tea. The tea had ice because, as Rory said, "We've got to go American!" (John also added that hot tea tasted terrible with pizza.) The conversation was a bit heavy at first, as Rory and Sam explained what a Weeping Angel was and what had happened in the basement, but then it turned to lighter topics such as English football teams and the difference between cricket and baseball. When the waitress finally came to clear away their dishes, Sam briefly considered flirting with her, decided against it, and only asked, "Would you happen to know a man named Manuel Cordero?"

"Yeah, actually." The waitress said cheerfully, carefully reaching for Sam's plate, in such a way that her wrist just barely brushed over his. "He used to own this place, but he sold it after his wife died."

"Quick sale." Rory commented.

"Are you kidding? This place is like...the only popular restaurant in the area. Mr. Cordero had three people wanting to buy it from him for months."

"Why's that?" John asked. "I mean...why's it so popular?"

The waitress (Sam discovered from her name tag that her name was Lindsay) giggled. "You really wanna know?" She leaned in close. "'Cause our air conditioning is actually reliable." She gave a conspiratorial wink, and the three man gave a courtesy laugh.

"Well, would you happen to know where we might find him?" Sam asked, after the suitable amount of laughter had subsided.

It took some time, a couple of fabricated stories about being journalists and writing about small but popular local restaurants in small towns, and quite a bit of flirting on Sam's part, but they were finally standing outside a nice, spacious looking house with garden out front, filled with cacti and a trickling fountain. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a sometimes blinding glow over the white walls of the house and garden. Thankfully, though, the temperature was beginning to fall a little.

The members of TFW stood outside the door, feeling awkward and unsure of what they were doing. All of them were missing the prime spokesperson that they were used to, and knocking on doors had never been a speciality of any of theirs. So they argued for a few minutes over who was going to knock, growing more and more awkward, until finally, John, in a burst of confidence, raised his fist and knocked.

The team fell silent, and waited for some sort of a response from the inside.

"Maybe...nobody's home?" Rory asked, looking hopeful. Sam gave him a look not unlike one he'd seen Dean throw his way many a time, and resumed waiting.

It took nearly a minute, and John was about to suggest that they leave, when the door suddenly opened, revealing a dark haired man, with darker skin tones, in his mid to late thirties, who looked as though he hadn't slept the night before, if his bloodshot eyes and the bags below them were any testament. Despite his exhausted appearance, however, he still wore a professional looking polo shirt and well pressed khaki pants, as though he was about to go out golfing.

"Yes? Hello. Can I help you?" He seemed calm and professional, but his eyes kept blinking over and over again, giving him a slightly flustered appearance.

"Mr. Manuel Cordero?" Sam inquired, keeping his voice gentle but steady.

"Yes. And who would you be?"

"My name's Sam Winchester...this is Rory Williams and Dr. John Watson." He gestured to the two other men before continuing, "We would like to ask you a few questions about your wife, if that's alright with you."

"What's this all about?" Mr. Cordero's face currently showed straight up confusion, but the beginnings of suspicion and anger were glimmering behind the prime emotion.

Best not let it come to that. John stepped forward, keeping his posture straight and his gaze piercingly military. "Mr. Cordero, I'm actually Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. We're working with the police on these recent murder cases."

"Murder cases..." The man looked shocked now, as well as confused. "But the police said..."

"Extremely recent and not yet spoken about to the public." John continued, using that snappish, brisk tone that he'd used in the Army. "We may have found a connection to you and your wife's recent death. We'd like to ask you a few questions."

Cordero cleared his throat, obviously using it as a distraction so he could consider his options. He gave one last look at John, then stood up a little straighter, opened the door a little wider, and stood back. "Come in, then."

John, secretly pleased by the awed looks Sam and Rory were giving him, quirked his mouth. "Working with Sherlock...you learn things."

They were led into a spacious living room, with orange walls, brown leather couches and a large bay window, which allowed copious amounts of sunlight to stream in. The place was decorated with antique clocks and decorative cactuses in little pots. Manuel offered them all a seat, taking one himself on the couch opposite from the one he offered to them. Sam and John sat down, but Rory remained standing, surveying the room with slightly narrowed eyes.

"Now, gentlemen, before you say anything..." Mr. Cordero said slowly, shifting uncomfortably. "My wife's death was ruled a suicide. She had depression, she even left a note, and I don't see why it could possibly be connected to any..." He paused before saying much more quietly, "...murders."

"The investigation is still ongoing." Sam said, using a gentle tone. "We just need to know a few things, to help us...tie up loose ends. You said that your wife left a note?"

Mr. Cordero nodded. "In her journal. Her last entry. But before you ask, no, I don't have it anymore. After the investigation, I...well, I burned it."

Rory tensed, to the point where Sam saw him visibly stiffen; though at what, he had no idea. Attempting to ignore it, he continued with his line of questions, "Well, can you remember what the note..."

"Did your wife collect these cactuses?" Rory interrupted. Sam turned and stared at him, shocked by the abruptness of the question, not to mention the interruption. Mr. Cordero seemed mildly surprised, but nodded.

"Yes. Yes she did. She said the plant was a sort of role model for her. It...well, it's strong enough to survive the desert, it's prickly and harsh sometimes, but it bears beautiful fruit."

Rory smiled, but certainly not a genuine smile. "And the cactuses...she kept them all organized like this? You haven't moved them?"

"Rory." Sam muttered, giving him a look. Mr. Cordero looked confused once again.

"No, no I haven't moved any of them. Why does that matter?"

Rory looked as though he had something to say, but swallowed, licked his lips, and shook his head. "Never mind. It's um...profiling. Complicated."

John coughed, anxious to get past the interruption. "Mr. Cordero, can you remember what the note your wife left...what it said?"

Mr. Cordero ran a hand down his face. His emotions apparently changed almost instantaneously, for he now looked (though understandably) grief stricken. "I...I'm sorry, I really don't want to, it was..."

"We understand how difficult this is for you." Sam said gently, leaning forward in his seat and giving the man his dewey, innocent, puppy eyes. "But it would really help our investigation."

Cordero exhaled. A sheen of sweat, possibly from anxiety, was visible on his forehead. "Ahhh...she said...she could no longer stay in a world where...uh...where no one saw the flowers, they only saw the thorns. And she said she..." His eyes began to grow red and his voice thick. "...she said she was tired of being blamed for the wounds that others caused." He stopped, apparently unable to continue. "I'm sorry...I..."

Sam's mobile phone suddenly rang. A quick check of the caller ID revealed the caller to be Dean. "I'm sorry...I gotta take this." Sam said apologetically, getting up. "I'll be right back." He left the room and answered. "Yeah?"

"Sammy, hey. Soooo...Amy and I are at the graveyard, and we went in the Corderos' mausoleum. And uh...I betcha'll never guess what we found out."

Sam hated it when Dean got playful about graves and bodies. "What, Dean?"

"There was apparently...a recent theft from the place. According to the groundkeeper, the place used to have five stone angel statues on the roof in a sort of ring."

"...go on."

"Well, about three weeks ago, he shows up one morning and all five statues are gone."

Something was beginning to form a pattern in Sam's mind. Urgently, he asked, "Three weeks ago? What date? What exact date?"

"Uh...I think he said a Tuesday." Dean replied slowly.

Sam thought back to a Tuesday in the last week of January. "The...31st of January." Realization dawned on him, and he gasped, "Oh god...Dean, it...it's all connected! Somehow, someway, it's all connected! The first disappearance occurred on the 3rd... and then the murders all after the 5th...all after this theft of the angel statues from Julia's tomb...Dean, there's some connection here!"

"You think Julia had something to do with it?"

"I...I don't know. It's just...it's starting to make sense now. Look, Rory and I nearly got killed by those...Crying Angel creatures or whatever, and they totally looked like stone angels. Like, I thought that's what they were until they started chasing us and Rory said he saw the ghost or something. Maybe...maybe Julia's death isn't really a suicide and the Angels killed her?"

Dean sounded skeptical as he replied, "Ehhh, I dunno, Sammy. The groundskeeper said that Julia hung out around here a lot about a week before she killed herself. Sounds more suicidal than...you know, someone about to be murdered."

"Dean, I...look." Sam sighed into the phone and gestured uselessly, attempting to collect his thoughts into a clear pattern. "I don't know why Julia Cordero is connected to this case, or why her ghost saved me, or why these friggin' angels showed up for no good reason, but there is just no way this can be a coincidence. We're just missing pieces to the puzzle."

"Forget about puzzle pieces, we've just got the puzzle box. But I'll give you one thing. The timing. Definite pattern. I think I'm gonna hold off putting dear dead Julia to rest until we know a little more about this."

"Good idea." Sam agreed. He exhaled. "Right, I'm gonna see if Rory and John got anything more out of the husband."

"Yeah, alright. Call me if you find anything."

"Got it."

Sam hung up, took a deep breath, and attempted, yet again, to collect his thoughts. He breathed in deeply a few times, steeling himself for whatever the hell was coming next. With a mutter of "Dammit, Castiel, where are you?" Sam headed back into the living room.

He was met in the doorway by John, who was pocketing a small notepad. "Oh, there you are! Good, I think we have everything we need." He turned and smiled in a professional kind of way at Manuel. "Thank you, Mr Cordero, we'll be in touch."

"And, again, we are so sorry for your loss." Sam added, extending a hand and a pair of kind, understanding, puppy dog eyes. Mr. Cordero nodded silently, and shook Sam's hand, then John's. Rory stood over by the exit doorway, seemingly impatient to leave and having no desire to shake their host's hand. Which, Sam noted, was definitely not like Rory (well, what he knew of Rory, anyway), and probably meant the man had noticed something.

And, as it turned out, Rory had. The instant the door to the house had closed behind them, Rory turned to his two companions and said firmly, "Something's off about him."

"He did just lost his wife a few months ago under traumatic circumstances." John reminded him, heading down the path towards the street. "Give him a bit of a break."

"Did you see the cactuses?" Rory insisted, stalking after John. "His wife was obsessed with those plants, okay, they were her joy. He never moved them, he never touched them, they're still in the exact same place where she last left them."

"Rory, grieving family members never move a loved one's things." Sam said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "It's perfectly normal behavior for a grieving husband."

Rory, in answer, stopped, and pointed at Sam, nodding his head briskly. "Exactly. Exactly my point. But did you hear what he said about her journal? Eh? He..." Here he pointed an almost angry finger at the house. "...said he'd burned her journal. Her diary. A woman's diary is something close to her heart, and no proper grieving family member would ever burn one."

John furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well, he...he said his wife had left her suicide note in it; that's a little hard to..." his words trailed off as he realized that, no, family members don't just get rid of their loved one's last words. "Well so...he..."

"Something was in that journal." Rory stated. "Something important."

"Or he used it in some kind of ritual." Sam added, for the sake of having all the possibilities on the table.

"Or that. Either way...there was something in there Cordero didn't want us to see."

"Now we just have to find out whether he burnt the whole thing or if he's still got it somewhere." John said. He inhaled through his nose. "Might need Sherlock for that one."

Sam nodded. "You text him or call him, let him know what's going on. I'll call Dean." He grinned at Rory as he reached for his phone. "Nice work, Columbo."

Rory, his moment of severity in the limelight over, smiled with a certain amount of embarrassment and gave a shrug. "Welllll, you know. Perks of being a husband. An'...well, I guess studying humans habits for about two thousand years." He added, in a quiet sort of afterthought. "Some things we do will never change."

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed. :) Have a cuddly hedgehog and otter.

Heiress Grey: Well, it is, indeed, standard procedure for the Winchesters to automatically salt and burn bones if they find a ghost wandering around. Otherwise, the spirit may turn vengeful, which...means bad news. However, dear Julia's getting a chance here. :)