Director Nicholas J. Fury of The Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division, or S.H.I.E.L.D., was angry. A new, unknown enemy had attacked Washington DC that morning, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was rushing frantically to figure out who or what had attacked. So far they had nothing. The President had called several times trying to figure out what Fury knew, which was, again, nothing. That made Fury look bad, and by extension, S.H.I.E.L.D. And so Fury was furious.

The Avengers had each been informed about the attack and called to meet at the hellicarrier ASAP. Fury knew Bruce Banner would be late; he was on a sabbatical in Africa. Steve Rogers would most likely be early and end up sitting in the meeting room awkwardly, waiting for the team. Fury trusted The Black Widow and Hawkeye would show up right on time, most likely just appearing as if they'd been there the whole time. He expected Stark to come late, so he had made sure to alert Miss Pots that he had to be there on time, knowing she would get the job done. And finally Thor, whose whereabouts Fury was unsure about. He didn't know if the message he'd sent up to Asgard had actually been received or if it got lost on the way. He prayed Thor would show up. They needed him.

But the Avengers alone weren't going to do squat. No, the threat was too big. He needed help. So Fury picked up the phone and began dialing.

The Doctor danced around the TARDIS gleefully. Amy and Rory slumped against the railing that encircled to console, exhausted.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm going to bed. Goodnight Doctor." Rory said as he headed up the stairs to the bedroom he and Amy shared.

"I'm gonna go too Doctor. Someone's got to make sure he doesn't get lost. Again."

"Goodnight Amy, Rory," The Doctor called over his shoulder. "Sweet Dreams."

As the Doctor tinkered away at his beloved craft, his mind wandered. The beauty of the last planet they had visited had surpassed many others he'd seen. And he'd seen quite a few. The hills were rolling with a breeze that smelled like freshly blossomed cherries, the trees swayed to an unheard song. The birds soar among the cloudless crystal like sky. They sometimes flew so low that if you just reached out and-"

The Doctor's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill ringing. It took him a moment to place it, before realizing it was the telephone. He rushed up the stairs and snagged it off the console.

"Hello. Yes. Really? Ok. Mm-hm. Got it. Be right there. Bye." The Doctor hung up the phone and set the coordination for Earth.

"YOU SHOOK ME ALL NIGHT LONG!" Dean was singing to his favorite AC/DC album while it was blasting over the cassette player of the 1967 Chevy Impala. Sam was slumped against the passenger window, watching as the trees passed by. He was sick of listening to the same songs over and over again, but his brother refused to update the radio. It was torture, and Sam had been through actual torture, he knew how it felt.

"Dean come on man. You've listened to this song like 6 times. It's time to change it."

"Oh come on Sammy. You know you love it." Dean responded, cranking the music higher. Sam groaned. After a few minutes Sam realized he could hear something, something not in the song. Ringing.

"Dean, turn the music off." "Sam-". "Dean. I think Dad's cell is ringing." Sam pulled the old flip phone out of the glove box as Dean turned off the music. Flipping open the phone, Sam answered.

"Hello? No he can't come to the phone right now. May I ask who's speaking? Yeah ok I'll tell him."

"What was that?"

"Someone was looking for dad. A guy named…Fury?"

"Well, if he wants Dad, then he'll get the next best thing." Dean stated as he hit the gas and the Impala sped forward to the sounds of "Back in Black" consumed to air around it.

"John." Sherlock looked around the flat. "John, where did you go?"

John Watson was picking up milk at the supermarket. To be truthful, he wasn't sure why he was doing it. He hadn't been living with Sherlock for months now. But after knowing him for so long, he realized that sometimes (most of the time) Sherlock forgot to take care of himself. And so John had to take care of him instead. When he left 221b Baker Street, Sherlock was wrapped up in a kidnapping case. Simple, he'd said. Sherlock probably hadn't even noticed John had gone out. Typical.

John made his way back to the flat. Walking up the stairs, he heard Sherlock stomping around, most likely still in his pajamas. Which is why he was moderately surprised to see Sherlock fully dressed and putting on his great big coat and scarf. "Where have you been?" He asked, slightly annoyed. "The store. Where are you going?"John responded. "We." "We?" "Yes we John. We have a case. Bit of traveling to do. Might want to tell Mary you won't be home for dinner tonight."

"Where are we going?" John asked as he put the milk in the fridge.

Sherlock turned to him, a hint of a smile in his face. "America."