Chapter 1 - Rain

The rain fell from the heavens in sheets. Pounding the grass, pavement, and city life in a torrential downpour. The autumn storm dumped its full potential on an otherwise busy London. Streets were crowded with cars; buildings crowded with people. All getting to where they needed to be to continue life through wind and rain. Children packed into classrooms and gyms for their lunch hour. Office workers kept glancing out the window as if willing the rain to stop before their afternoon commute. Rain was common in London, life didn't stop because of it.

Somewhere in the city, a couple was not at work and a child was not in school.

Mycroft Holmes stood in the doorway of his bedroom, his blue eyes fixed on the figure sitting in the chair near the window. She was wrapped in a blanket, her face turned towards sheets of water falling outside the window. She looked peaceful. Her head tilted just slightly as if listening to sounds that weren't there. Mycroft didn't speak, quietly watching the woman he loved till death parted them.

Her auburn hair was loose and wavy around her shoulders, her pale skin was even whiter after these days. Her blue eyes were free of makeup, but they had a hazy quality that was so unfamiliar to the people who knew her. Like a fog had wrapped her up. Her body was draped in a dressing gown as well, and her slippered feet stuck out from the navy blue blanket.

Naomi Holmes had grown ill two weeks previous. She'd started hearing voices, overwhelming voices that echoed in her head with unceasing persistence. Initially she'd dealt with it, but eventually it took its toll.

It'd been too much for even her. Her mind along with her body slipping into a fog that no doctor had yet been able to explain. Their current specialist thought it must have been a psychotic and nervous breakdown, and the mental decrease had put a strain on her body as well. In between talking nonsense and having little awareness of the world around her, she was wasting away.

He couldn't bear it.

"The angels are speaking again." Naomi's voice was soft, but Mycroft heard her still. She hadn't turned away from the window. "They're…busy. Their voices are loud."

"What are they saying?" Mycroft asked softly, for what must have been the hundredth time. They'd had this conversation before and yet he always continued it.

"Dean Winchester has been saved. It is beginning. Beginning. All of it. The good man raised from perdition. The beginning. All of it coming down."

Mycroft was beginning to hate that name. He'd looked it up, of course. Dean Winchester was a convicted felon in America. Reported dead more than once. And seen alive just as many times. Credit cards were traced, aliases were discovered. Mycroft found himself in a world that few knew existed. His contact at the London Chapter of the Men of Letters gave him the rest of the answers he needed on the supernatural. Save for one: how to help his wife.

He would have entered the room then, save for a little tug on his suit coat. He tore his gaze away from Naomi to meet big blue eyes a foot down.

"Daddy, is Mummy going to be okay?"

Zariah Hope Celestia Holmes was all of ten years old, with dark brown hair, dimples, and those bright blue eyes that twinkled behind glasses frames when she laughed. Beautiful like her mother, clever like her father, with the curiosity of a Holmes and a constant need to cuddle. Currently, however, she was frightened. Mycroft saw it in her quivering lip and decreased appetite, as well as in her disinterest in going out horseback riding.

Mycroft wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her in. "I don't know, love," he said honestly.

"I go in to talk to her, after school. But she's not the same. She's listening to the angels," Zariah said quietly, her little brow pinched in concern. "I wonder what they're saying."

"Why don't you find Mrs Warner and see if your dinner is ready. I'll be down as soon as I'm done here."

"Okay." Zariah nodded solemnly, waiting one more moment to simply be there in his embrace. Moments later she'd gone.

Mycroft straightened to his full height and walked into the room, braving the emptiness that had settled into his chest. He ached to see her like this. To see but a shadow of who she used to be. He missed her laughter and her coy flirting, the fierce anger and the deep love that went along with this beautiful force of a superiorly intelligent woman.

He stopped in front of her chair, kneeling down in front of her, hand on the armrest. He took her hand with his other. "Naomi?" He asked softly. "Darling, I'm right here."

"The angels are talking to me," Naomi said again, still looking out the window. "I don't know why."

Mycroft closed his eyes momentarily, gently running his thumb over the back of her hand. "I don't know why either, dear. Can you tune them out?"

"Oh, I don't know…" Naomi's spoken words smoothed seamlessly into a song, something old and from decades ago when she'd gone to church with her parents. A hymn for the children.

All night, all day.
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
All night, all day.
Angels watching over me.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
Angels watching over me, my Lord.
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
Angels watching over me…

Her voice was quiet, but she sang all the same. She'd always been a gifted vocalist and musician, but even that faded now. Based on past events, Mycroft was certain there was no talking to her now. She'd be stuck in the song. And with a gentle squeeze of her hand, he stood up without speaking. He'd come up later to be with her, try and coax her to eat something.

However, this time was different. Naomi did something else. Her eyes focused as they hadn't in weeks, and she gripped Mycroft's hand tightly. Wide blue eyes met his and her words came quickly, without the light quality of previous times. A warning, one that made her voice fill with serious dread.

"They're coming for me. For us. The demons are coming."