Eight

Implementation

"What a waste… What a terrible waste."

The noise of the jungle broke through the dam, washing the voice back into the realm of memories. The Doctor sat up, groaning, punching and kicking the air, as if his dream was a physical presence that tormented him during the night.

"Steven?" he called before he could stop himself. The name was foreign on his tongue; not to his mind. Part of him, disorientated from fatigue, had momentarily confused his previous time on Kembel with the present. It was only a moment before he realised that, however, and the string of names he was going to say afterwards caught on his tongue. No. he told himself. No Steven. No Sara, no Bret, no Katarina either. He shook his head and sighed, "Silly. Silly old Doctor."

The cave he was in was familiar, in the way that frittering of an anxious heart is familiar. The Doctor, Sam and Sherlock had resided here for the last two days. Behind him, crystallised rocks stretched the full length of the cave, barring a straight path, so that one would have to twist and turn to get through to the back of the cave, where their efforts where rewarded by a blank sheet of rock and no escape. The cave smelt damp, a wet musk that clogged his nostrils.

It made the Doctor uneasy - much like when a person remembers something, only to later doubt that it ever happened. Kembel was somehow different to how he remembered. He was certain his memory was not false, but the place he was in now begged to differ. Kembel didn't have hallucinogenic mist, he was sure of it, and yet here it was. Kembel wasn't populated by the Visians either, though they were here now. What had changed?

The Doctor shook his head again.

Beside the Doctor, Sherlock lay. He was on his back, one leg bent and the other straight, the latter of which was ripped apart, held together with scraps of cloth. The man's eyes were closed, his breathing calculated, his long fingers clenched so tightly the chuckles where white. He'd been this way for the previous two days, since they were separated from John, Castiel, and Dean.

After the attack on the mountain, they were forced to flee, much to their disgust, and soon after, they stumbled upon this cave. It was perfect for hiding. The cave was chiselled into the base of a craggy slope, covered in green, and would hide them from all eyes if they were quiet enough. The mouth of the cave was thin and low, and the men had to crawl to get inside, but the inside opened up into a vast chasm and went deep into the hillside. At the very back of the cave, a good ten minute walk, there was a pool of water that had spilled through the earth - the poison of the apple. They avoided that area completely and stayed by the cave's mouth. Not being able to clean their wounds, they went straight to sleep, each of them taking it in turns to keep watch.

Currently, it was Sam's turn. He wasn't there.

Frowning, the Doctor inched his way - the sound of fabric scraping against rock made him freeze for a moment - towards the cave mouth. He bent down onto his hands and knees, neck straining, to see what was outside. Beyond the grass and bracken, he could see the trees frozen against the night. After a pause, half expecting a monster to leap out, he inhaled deeply and dove under. His back hissed against the stone. His legs flailed behind him.

He remembered this from last time. The cave mouth was such an awkward shape, you couldn't just crawl through on your hands and knees. There was a lump halfway through and the Doctor twisted onto his side to try and evade it. He winced as the stone dug into a bruise on his hip. He ignored this and kept moving until finally he broke out into the jungle.

Standing slowly, the Doctor brushed off his clothes and straightened his bow-tie; all the while looking around with a cautious eye. The jungle was loud with bird cries and insects chirping - the occasion rustle as the wind picked up. The Doctor found Sam just outside the cave, sat on a rock, looking up at a split in the treetops where the sky burst through.

"Sam?" The Doctor called, "Are you all right?"

Sam jumped a little. The Doctor's voice was a sudden new sound, and it startled him. He said quickly, "Yeah. Fine." his voice was a little croaky, "Why wouldn't I be?"

The Doctor pushed his hair from his face, his fingernails scraping over the dried blood on his scalp, and jumped down into the undergrowth to sit beside Sam. There was a horrid gash on the human's face that travelled down to his neck, and bruising on his left temple. The Doctor knew the Visian, and he knew they were lucky to have escaped at all.

Sam shuffled up to give the Doctor room on the rock , but refused to look at him. He continued to watch the sky as if he was praying for a miracle to come down from the heavens. The Doctor looked over at him, lips pursed in thought - Maybe Sam was just looking for the way home. Something about that made the Doctor smile a little, and he smiled when he said, "From here, if you turn right a bit..." he licked his finger and held it up. Sam blinked at him in confusion. "Yeah, that's about right. If you walk that way for about - ooh - 24, 000 light years, you'll reach Earth. Then if you go that way..." The Doctor pointed into the jungle, "Um...left a bit, for about half the distance, you'll reach another planet called Mira. See? We're still in the Milky Way."

It took Sam a while before he realised that the Doctor was trying to cheer him up. He looked over at him. "You...You think I'm home sick?" It came out a little more accusing than Sam intended.

The Doctor's mouth opened, and then clamped shut again. After a pause, he asked, "Aren't you? I mean, that sometimes happens and I just thought..."

"Look, I just want to find my brother, okay!" Sam snapped, cutting him off.

The Doctor watched him, his eyes boring down into Sam's, lips pressed tightly together. Suddenly, the Doctor reached into his pocket and pulled out something. It was long and silver, fitting snugly into his palm, and had a green light at the tip. "Give me your phone, Sam."

Sam scowled, "Why?"

"Just gimme!"

Sam gave him a flat look, rolling his neck like one would grind a foam ball, before he pulled out a random phone from his pocket. He had two phones in his jacket, and one in his trouser pocket - and plenty more either in the Impala or in his bags, back at Baker Street. Having more than one phone each had gotten the Winchesters out of many tough situations, but the phones mostly steer the authorities off their scent. As Sam placed one of the phones in the Doctor's outstretched palm, he was reminded of the time he and Dean had to hide away from the whole world, and had to replace every one of their phones and credit cards. Sam suddenly realised, that same feeling of unease - eyes darting everywhere; hoping you weren't seen - had haunted him for the last two days.

The youngest Winchester watched as the Doctor pulled the back off his phone. He started. "What the hell are you doing?"

The Doctor didn't reply. He held the strange silver device in his fist and shone it's green light over Sam's phone. The light buzzed softly. After a moment, the Doctor slipped the back onto the phone again and handed it back to Sam.

Sam blinked, licking his dry lips. "Okay...what was that all about?"

"Try it."

"...what?"

The Doctor nodded at the phone.

Sam glanced at the phone, back at the Doctor, and then at the phone again. He noticed the signal bars were completely full. His eyes widened, as a surge of hope went through him. "You're kidding!"

The Doctor laughed as he threw the green light up into the air and caught it again. "Sonic upgrade!" he declared, "That phone can now ring anywhere in the universe, from any time period. Go on and try it, already!"

Sam had Dean on speed dial. He pressed the call button, and almost had a heart attack when it began to ring. "Oh my God!" he fumbled to press the phone to his ear. Hearing each shrill call echoing down his ear was agony. The rings kept going and going, until the voice mail activated with a click. Sam was not deterred. He tried another one of Dean's phone. When the phone went to voice mail, Sam tried again. And again.

"Come on, Dean. Pick up the phone, for once!" Sam sighed, clenching his fist around the phone. Normally, he'd just use the phones GPS - but how could he on another planet?

There was a click. Sam held his breath.

"This is Dean's other, other cell, so you must know what to do."

That was every phone Dean had. It took Sam every fibre of his self-control to stop himself from screaming and throwing the phone against a tree.

"It was worth a shot." the Doctor said, not doing well to hide the disappointment and shame in his voice.

Sam stared at him for a moment and then at the phone. He felt a stone in his stomach when that tiny glimmer of hope was snatched away so abruptly. But now, in an attempt to straighten out his thoughts, he found he was at least little grateful at the thought behind the gesture. He pocketed the phone and nodded at the Doctor, "Thank you."

The Doctor smiled, just as a shadow passed over his face, and the two of them glanced back to see Sherlock stepping out from the cave. The detective looked out at the jungle before looking at the Doctor and Sam.

"Evening." he said blandly. His right leg was stiff, and he walked with a limp. During the attack, the Visian had torn up his leg with what could only have been knifes, seeing the deep crimson gashes! Sam had patched it up best he could with torn fabric from his shirt, while listening to Sherlock muttering 'You're doing it wrong. John doesn't do that.' all throughout the process.

Seeing Sherlock walk like that, Sam asked, not without sympathy, "How's your leg, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked at him like he didn't know what he was talking about, and then said suddenly, "Oh! Yes. Fine." He wobbled as he said it. His knee was buckling under his weight. "You know, this looks like a nice place to sit. I think I'll...sit." He eased himself down onto the ground. His face crumpled in pain. "God, I miss morphine..." he groaned quietly, "Even John would give me morphine now. Do either of you have any cigarettes? No. No. You don't. I can tell. Although, you have look of someone who was once a junkie."

Sam scowled at this comment, then groaned quietly, pressing his fingers to his temple as a dull ache started growing there. "So, what now?" he asked. "I mean, we can't just sit here forever."

"Well, we can't just wander out into jungle either." Sherlock said, and his leg started bleeding again as if to emphasize his point. Sherlock ripped off the damp, hot, rags and cast them aside. He pulled off his scarf and wrapped it around the wound instead and then - zip - he did not flinch as he tightened the knot.

"Sherlock is right." The Doctor urged, "We can't go back out there - at least you two can't."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at him and Sam just stared.

"Seriously?" Sam said, "Go on your own? How are you supposed to find anyone by yourself? And what about the Visian? We'd have a better chance if we went together."

Sherlock pursed his lips. His eyes rolled up in thought. And then: "No, we wouldn't."

"Okay, so what then?" Sam glowered, "We're never going to find anyone if we just sit here waiting it out."

"We won't be sitting here for very long." Sherlock interjected, "We haven't ate or drank for two and a half days. We'll die before we're healed. If we drink, we'll hallucinate." he paused, blinked his dry eyes, and continued, "Moving will only make our situation worse. We have to conserve our energy. Every action we take has to be worthwhile."

"So wait..." Sam breathed. "We can't leave and we can't stay so what the hell do we do?"

The Doctor was shaking his head. His hand snapped upwards so suddenly that Sam and Sherlock flinched. "Okay, stop it, both of you!" He cried angrily. "I've met some real pessimists before, but you two are the worst! 'What the hell do we do' Sam? Well, to start off with, stop thinking about what we can't do, and start thinking about what we can do! We're not helpless! Just because we can't go anywhere, that doesn't mean we can't do anything. We can still help our friends from here. Or, in other words, if we can't go to them, then we draw them to us! All we need is a signal to lead them here. A big signal."

"This is a bad idea."

"No flies on the detective..." The Doctor sighed.

"What's wrong with with it? It sounds good to me."

Sherlock fixed Sam with a stern look. "Have you forgotten that we're not alone on this planet? A signal won't just draw John and others here - if it draws them here at all - it will draw the Visians to us."

Sam held up his hands. "Okay, before we start yelling at each other again, let me get this straight. Our options are either wait here and die, go out there and die, or wait here, trying to get the others to come to us, and possibly die while doing it."

"In a nutshell."

Sam huffed, "Okay, I'm all for the third option. Anyone else?"

The Doctor hummed in agreement. "Me too."

Sherlock didn't look convinced. "And there are no better options..."

"Sherlock, there isn't always a right answer." The Doctor said with sympathy, "This isn't a puzzle. Any answer will do."

Sherlock sighed, "Okay, fine. But, I recommend a small fire for our signal."

"Okay. Build a fire. Let's do it."

Haley didn't like Kembel. It was a stinking, squelching place in which, if she were alive, she'd borrow the phrase 'wouldn't be seen dead in.' But she was dragged here by an unbreakable force. Haley loathed being dragged about the place, and often found she empathised with whatever unfortunate animal was skinned to make the carpets to be 'walked all over.'

After Dean and John collapsed, she stood jittering beside them, unsure of what else to do - until she remembered why she was there in the first place and filled with so much anger that the force that was keeping her cemented within walking distance of Dean loosened it's grip and she was able to take a rather feverish march into the jungle to her clear her thoughts.

She hadn't gotten too far when she spotted it: A spiralling cloud of black rising above the trees. It looked like it was coming from somewhere over the hillside.

It must have been at least one of Dean's friends - but what could she do? She couldn't wake up Dean or John; they where too injured and too exhausted - being alive was awfully hard work, wasn't it? - and she didn't know if she could manifest long enough to explain to whoever that Dean and John were hurt and need help quick!

Haley bristled with annoyance and went to kick a stone - surprised when it bounced away from her. She tried again with another rock, but it didn't work. She couldn't stabilise. She wondered if it had something to do with her mood: Death had once explained to her how spirits manifest in the living realm through either complete calm, or burning-hot anger, the latter of which being extremely dangerous and could increase her risk of becoming vengeful.

Vengeful. Haley's fingers twitched. Nothing more than a monster.

Lacing her fingers in the waistband of her dress, Haley continued her wander through the jungle. The green and browns clashed together like splurges of paint that made Haley's head spin. Although - Haley squinted - there was a small rupture, barely visible, in the pattern. There was a clump of green that pulled together in a triangular shape, whereas the rest of the jungle grew in twisted spirals and random spurts. She couldn't help but feel disturbed by it, so she dashed through the undergrowth to get a closer look.

It appeared to be a den of some kind, a small tent made from leaves and branches strung sloppily together. She looked inside, expecting a beast. But no. A man was there. He was sleeping on a bed of leaves, his coat pulled tightly around him, his eyes twitching under his eye lids from haunted dreams. Haley stepped back in surprise.

Suddenly, she thought about Dean and John, unconscious in the jungle, and somewhere not too far away a fire burning from someone lost and - that was it!

Haley crept back into the den. "Wake up!" she told the man sternly. The man stirred uncomfortably but didn't wake.

As Haley drew closer, a puff of white air escaped the man's parted lips. Her ghostly presence dropped the temperature until the man was shuddering. At last his eyes opened and he sat up, rubbing his arms and looking very confused. He turned towards Haley, but looked through her rather than at her. Haley scowled. She was invisible to this man - at least at the moment. She hadn't predicted how difficult it was to simply appear in the realm of the living, with the lack of a flesh-bound to anchor her there. She simply wasn't calm enough, nor angry enough, at the moment.

The man yawned and shuddered as the cold air hit him. He didn't seem to be planning to leave the den, and instead curled himself up tighter.

Haley pressed her lips together. "I'm sorry I make you cold." she said even though the man couldn't hear. Death had always been polite even when he was being rude. It was an art that Haley hadn't quite perfected. "But, I need you wake up now. Please."

Haley looked over her shoulder at a nearby shrub and focused intently on it. The shrub shook. The man jumped. He was on his feet in the next instant.

Smiling triumphantly, Haley followed the man outside. Oh, but he hadn't spotted the smoke! And he was looking the wrong way... Haley rolled her eyes and looked over at another bundle of bushes, glaring at them, until they started shaking.

The man spun round at the sound. Then he looked up and saw the smoke. The emotions on his face were so quick that Haley could barely categorise them. His brow furrowed and then rose, his eyes narrowed and then widened - then he laughed! Then he was running. Haley watched his coat flap around his kneels as he charged towards the smoke, stumbling over rocks in his excitement, and then she turned away to find where Dean and John had gone.

"I said a small fire!"

It was an accident. Really, it was. One too many branches, or one too many leaves, and the beast had overgrown, far out of their control. Sam backed away from the flames, almost tripping over a log. The fire was roaring. Orange flames scratched away at a navy blue sky, competing against the sun's early light. Sam looked up. Smoke spewing. Thick. Black. Smoke.

Sam took another step away from the fire, breathing heavily. He was suddenly aware of other consequences to what they were doing. It was as evident as the weight on his chest, as his shirt clung to him. His heart turned over as beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Although, seeing that smoke, and with it the prospect of seeing his brother again, he hardly cared.

He told himself it was worth the risk - that, in doing nothing, he was betraying Dean - and it was almost enough to sugar-coat the bitter taste in his mouth. Should he lay the flames to waste? Drag away the branches and beat them down to ashes before the nightmare became worse? He supposed he should have; the heat was drilling into his skull. But what of Dean, then? Somehow, if Sam destroyed the only chance of finding him, would Dean feel it, and turn a vengeful face because his brother had, once again, let him down?

Over on the other side of the flames, Sherlock was glaring at him. "You're going to get us killed!"

Sam suddenly felt very dizzy. He took another step back.

To his right, there was the Doctor. His face was dark and the orange light danced demons across it. He seemed to sense that Sam was looking at him, because he turned away from the flames and met his stare. Sam's head began to ache against the heat. He took another step back, but every step made his head swim. His knees buckled.

Idiot! Why hadn't he been more careful when feeding the fire? The Doctor told him to be careful, but Sam had reassured him that it would be fine.

The fire was a thief. It's drumming heat crept invisibly on curls of smoke. It stole water from their bodies. The fire cackled at them. All three of them; dizzy, dry eyed, and coated in sweat.

The Doctor swallowed. His throat tasted like ash. The smoke had surrounded them in a meaty darkness. The Doctor's hearts were beating so quickly, they were almost synchronised. With each contraction, his hearts filled trepidation, until they were bursting, then the Doctor could feel that burning set his veins alight. He exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against a tree - that's when he felt it.

It was gentle at first, barely noticeable. It thrummed through his fingers; the tree shook with it. But then it became stronger, and the ground began to tremble. Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Thump-thud. It was audible now!

Oh, but he knew exactly what it was.

Sherlock had already pulled out two burning branches from the flames and passed one to the Doctor and the other to Sam. "Use these! You'll stand a better chance."

The Doctor clasped the branch. It was light, but powerful, in his grip. When he swung it, the fire sliced through the smoke. "Good call. Now, listen to me, both of you. The Visians are eight feet tall, so if you want to hit something, aim high. We won't be able to kill them, but we can fight them off."

Silently, they moved apart. Smoke shrouded their physical forms - but the orange light, hanging in the black, reminded them they were together. The Doctor looked at Sherlock's light, and then at Sam's, on either side of him. The lights trembled. The ground jumped.

They were close now.

Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Thump-thud. Blasting through the air! Each beat brought them back to the inception of nightmares; that time when bleary eyes peeked from clinging bed sheets and swore, without a doubt, that something was there watching them.

The beats fell silent.

The smoke moved - like someone punching a curtain. Leaves hissed under heavy feet. In the shroud, the lights hadn't moved - but there! A scuttle. Shattering the silence. The fire inhaled sharply through it's teeth. It stood licking it's lips in anticipation.

Inhaling slowly, the Doctor closed his eyes. Held his breath. Pushed back his anxieties until his mind was clear - until he could feel the spin of the planet. Kembel.

First formed over 10 billion years ago. Kembel was a quarter the size of Earth and span twice as fast - they were clinging to the skin of this world. Falling through the air. The Doctor concentrated everything on that movement: the fine brush against his skin. The rumbling of the planet's core under his feet. They are some real cowboys down there! The ground itself felt as though it was about to crack any moment. The Doctor ground his feet into the soil. The vibrations echoed deep down and bounced back again - there was a shift to his right, and the Doctor's eyes shot open.

He swung right, and smacked something hard.

An explosion of snarls shattered the quiet.

A jolt shuddered through the Doctor's bones. He tumbled to the ground. The fire reached for him. He cried out and rolled away, when something cut through his shirt. The Doctor pulled the branch over his head and smashed it above his head. Biting embers and angry splinters diced into his skin. He flailed his arms. Rolled onto his stomach. Crawled away, hands digging at the soil. He heard the beast follow. He felt it's claws against the soil.

The Doctor yanked another burning branch from the fire. He jumped to his feet, waving the branch blindly in all directions, but hit nothing. Where was it? His thoughts stuttered. Why was it suddenly so quiet? Where were the Visians? Where were the snarls? The Doctor spun round, still swinging, but hitting nothing! He squinted against the firelight. Panting. He sucked in another breath, gagging on the smoke.

Then he was punched in the shoulder. Body flung forwards, smacking hard against something.

No. Someone.

Sam cried out in shock swung round to defend himself from his attacker. He only realised it was the Doctor, seconds before he burnt him. Sam gasped - his throat filled with smoke. He doubled over, coughing. His eyes were streaming. He stumbled. Twisted. Where was the Doctor? Was he okay? Sam scrambled to his feet. Picked up his branch. Glancing round through all corners of his eye.

Then screamed as a blow exploded across his face. His bones rattled against the hard ground.

"Sam!" someone cried.

Blood. Blood in his eyes. Sam swung the branch left and right. Blood was in his mouth now. Or was it smoke? The two were so thick and strangling that it made no difference; Sam choked and stumbled. He could hear Sherlock's grunts as he fought, followed by the hiss of a Visian. He felt a hand on his shoulder. Then a voice calling his name. "Sam!"

The Doctor!

The blood cleared away but it was still so very dark. Sam coughed soot. He could only faintly see the Doctor's face in the smoke. Then he was gone again. He had been shoved aside. Sam sucked in a startled gasp and then started choking again. He dropped and crawled, desperate for air.

In front of him, the flames were roaring! The monster towered above them, spewing red, black and white. Sam reached for the fire, the heat sucking strength from his limbs. He grabbed a new burning branch, took a deep breath, and stood.

Aim high.

Sam swung and stumbled. His vision blurred. He heard a hiss - and took a chance.

Sam swung his branch - and hit something! The Visian snarled. His arm was scratched. Three bloody slashes. Sam yelled in pain, dropping the burning branch once again. His arms flew up just in time to stop the Visian from killing him! Sam could feel the creature's bony arms in his fists as he fought against it. He could hear it's long claws clicking together. He could smell the putrid meaty breath, mixed with the choking smoke.

The Visian wrestled against him, pushing him nearer the flames. Sam ducked down and dived to the side, hoping gravity would save him. The Visian's weight was used against it, and Sam managed to twist away from the flames. He hit the ground. He felt that hard fragile flesh leave his hands before he heard the terrible screeching. Sam yelled with terror, as the flames bit him, but something grabbed his collar and yanked him out of the fire. The Visian continued to scream, and the fire surrounded the humanoid shape, chewing away the flesh until the screams finally ended.

Sherlock pulled Sam away from the flames and helped him pat them out. "We have to put out the fire!" he shouted against the rising panic.

Sam nodded. "In the cave!" he said but he didn't get time to finish the sentence before his voice broke into a fit of raged coughs.

In the cave. What was he talking about? Sherlock pulled his hands through his hair. Then he realised: There was water at the back of cave!

There was a scuffle nearby.

Sam looked at him, pulled out a knife, and gave an instinctual shove in the opposite direction to the sound. Sherlock's heart was in his throat. No logical thoughts came to his mind now - not when he was blind to the enemy. He had no idea how to fight when he couldn't see a weakness!

He tried not the panic. Panicking was stupid. If he had tripped, dropped the branch, and scrambled backwards through the dirt, until his fingernails dug into the bark of a tree against his back, it would definitely be something to delete from his memory. Sherlock pressed himself against the tree. Eyes darting all around. All he could see was smoke. His eyes burned with the heat. He shook himself, forcing himself to focus.

Was that movement? Instinct sent Sherlock to the ground. He heard the bark splinter and rolled away. When he looked up, he saw the incision in the bark. His hand went into his coat. Shaky hands groping - but there was nothing. Sherlock's heart stopped. No gun. He always took John's.

He had seconds. What was the best course of action?

Use their strength against them. Become invisible.

Sherlock ran and disappeared into the smoke. Pain shot up his leg. He held his breath. Gritted his teeth. He stopped running barely before he started. The pain was just too terrible! He whirled round and watched the smoke. Any quick and sudden movements would push against the smoke and then he could see if a Visian was nearby. The only problem was it worked both ways. Sherlock would have to be slow and careful or else he'll reveal his whereabouts.

It was quiet - but not too far away he heard the fire crackling. How far had the smoke and flames spread? It needed to be stopped before it killed them. That's if the Visians didn't kill them first.

Slowly, Sherlock began backing away, watching the smoke for movement. His lungs were burning, now. His toes curled, digging his shoes into the ground. When he breathed then, it was slow, controlled, and silent. His inhale was just that, though shorter because the ash made him gag. He dug his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from making a sound. If the Visian were out there, he had to stop them from finding him, if they hadn't already. Sherlock knew the smoke would mask his scent. He just had to be silent.

He moved steadily. Backwards. Feet feeling the ground. Each step was carefully placed. Sherlock refused to turn. He watched the smoke like he had before, looking for a flicker to give the Visians' position away. Sherlock swayed a little, as the ground lifted slightly beneath him, but he ignored this and kept going. He couldn't make any sudden movements or the smoke clothing him would give him away.

Sherlock was inhaling another calculated breath when he felt something against his back. He gasped - air hissing into his lungs - then froze. Was it a Visian? No, it was cold. Stone, maybe? But was it the cave? Sherlock didn't risk looking away from the smoke. He knew the Visian would have heard his gasp. He didn't risk breathing again. He felt the rock for an opening, slender fingers moving as quickly as they could. There was nothing.

But...the mouth was lower, wasn't it? Sherlock knelt down. Stretched out his hand.

Just as Sherlock's hand broke through, the smoke curled.

Sherlock felt a shock of blood shoot through him. He dove under the rock, scrambling to get through, right leg flailing to push him to safety. Where the Visians following? There was no way to be sure, but he kept shuffling through - until he couldn't.

He couldn't move. The mouth had suddenly changed shape and he couldn't get through! Which way did he turn again? Panic rose up his throat. His head filled with noise.

Sherlock struggled. The rock pressed down on him, suffocating him. He twisted round in an attempt to get free. Pain electrocuted him from his injured leg and Sherlock yelled in agony. Sweat beaded his face. He gritted his teeth, breathing as slowly and quietly as possible. Had he been heard?

When he looked, Sherlock saw that he was almost through. He reached out, blindly feeling for something to hold and pull himself through. There! A rock crystal. He clung to it, took a deep slow breath. This was going to hurt. But he had no choice unless he wanted to remain trapped there until a Visian clawed him out as one would claw out a muscle from it's shell. He licked his lips. Clenched his jaw. Clung harder to that stone spike. Then he pulled.

Sherlock roared with agony! The stone ground through his bandages, deep into the flesh and bone. He was panting by the time he pulled himself free. He glanced over at his leg - then turned away.

Fire. He had to remind himself. Needed water. He paused to gulp in the air. Clean, safe air! The cave mouth was so low, the smoke could not enter.

Sherlock struggled to his feet. His leg was throbbing like a warning. One Sherlock ignored. Reaching out to the next crystal, he propped himself upright. Then he reached for the next nearest crystal and began the tremendous crawl, using the crystals to carry him. He stopped again not long afterwards. His heart thumping inside his head. Sherlock pressed his head against the stone, desperate to cool down and preserve water.

Water. Right.

Sherlock groaned as he reached for the next stone spike, dragging his leg behind him like a rag doll; very much with the same careless manner for such a precious item. His skin was soaked with sweat. His jaw was aching. He kept going. No other choice. He reached out for the next crystal, throwing his body after his arm. And again. Reached out for the next crystal - this one further away, and he tumbled into it, but clung fast. He body came next. Again. Again. And again. Finally, he reached the pools of water.

Then Christ, he thought suddenly - he couldn't touch the water!

He stared at the pool. The solution was right there in front of him, and he couldn't see it. Feverish words knocked about inside his head. Don't touch the water. Fire. Need water. Hallucinations. Mist. Water droplets suspended in air. Danger. Don't touch. Don't touch! Don't touch!

Sherlock looked down at his hands. They were black and aching. Perhaps he could risk it? No. No. Stupid! What are you thinking? He couldn't carry enough water in hands! There was no time. Think. Think! Think!

CRACK-AK. The cave mouth exploded and rocks clattered behind him as something big and powerful burst through. Sherlock knew in an instant that a Visian had entered the cave. He had barely five minutes. He weighed his options. No weapons. Dehydration. Injured leg. Invisible enemy. Probability of survival - 18%

Then there was the Doctor and Sam. Fire out of control. Dehydration. More Visians on their way. Probability of survival - 17.3%

Typical.

Sherlock turned around. He felt himself tilt, but resisted pressing his hand to wall so he wouldn't look weak. He had no clue where the Visian was. Or even if there was only one of them. He looks round, trying to listen for the tiniest sound that would give away the Visian's position. A thumping had started up in his head. He dug his fingernails into his palms until he could feel the blood seeping out.

He only realised he'd been hit when his face broke the pool's surface. Water filled his lungs. It felt like fingernails against his throat. When he opened his eyes, he could see his blood swirling in clouds in front of him.

Just as soon as he was pushed in, he was dragged back out. Sherlock turned and spat out a mouthful of water - where it stopped, suspended in air. Blood and water splattered out inches from his face - revealing a similar shaped face directly in front of him, before it slunk away. The Visian snarled. Confused, Sherlock watched as, before him, the stain of pale red flew from one side of the cave to the other, until it turned and soared away, followed by the thundering off footsteps.

Water. The water affected the Visians too.

But that doesn't make... No! There was no time to think about that! He had to tell Sam and the Doctor. Sherlock forced himself to his feet. The cave was spinning. Had the hallucinations started, or was this just his dehydration?

"I can't say I was expecting the location."

His brother's merciless taunting reached his ears. Mycroft was abruptly towering over him. That disinterested, yet somehow always amused, smirk acting as a painted face. He was wearing a suit, as usual. He always did like to dress smart. "But I always dreamed you'd die in a pathetic state such as this."

"Shut up!" Sherlock snarled. He moved to get up but found the cave wall bending away from him, like it was fleeing from him, preventing him from using it to pull him up.

"You're hallucinating, Sherlock, remember?" Mycroft tutted, now behind him. He seemed to be everywhere at once. Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and shook himself. "Honestly, you always were so stupid."

"I have to..."

"Oh dear. Your - what do you say - 'enhanced' senses have gone. And so is John. You have nothing left. Although, I suppose you've been enlightened, haven't you? After all that time being bored, you've discovered a fantastic new world right under your nose. The possibilities, the knowledge, is endless! It was all a little intimidating at first, wasn't it? But you're better now. You're enjoying this."

Sherlock groaned as he forced himself to stand. His knees buckled underneath him.

Mycroft pressed his lips together. "Well, not this per se - but that's okay. I am. Would like a hand?"

"You appal me, brother." Sherlock snarled at the hand offered to him. Mycroft stuck up his nose, curling his fingers back to his chest. Sherlock turned away from him. Mycroft was just as untrustworthy as he would be if he was really there.

"Not sure about John, though." Mycroft droned on, his voice grating against Sherlock's nerves, "The poor fellow had to live with you - a sociopath - all because he couldn't adjust to civilian life. Although, I'm not really surprised. You'll find that the sound of bullets is much more soothing than all of that...noise." he sneered with disgust.

"They are noisy."

Sherlock's breathe snagged at the new voice.

"Ordinary people. All of them yelling 'I'm right. Me, me, me!'. It's adorable!" Moriarty bent down in front of Sherlock, dark eyes positively glowing, teeth stretched into a grin. "Now, now, Sherlock. Don't be scared."

Sherlock shoved his face away - but his hand just went straight through and into the skull. His eyes went wide. And Moriarty was still smiling! Sherlock growled. He shoved his hand further inside, fist tightening round something hard inside and yanked his arm away. Moriarty looked as though nothing had happened at all - his face unmarked. But Sherlock still felt that warm, hard thing in his hand. Opening his palm, Sherlock stuttered. Inside his hand lay a bullet, warm with blood. It was the bullet Moriarty used to kill himself. Sherlock's head pounded.

"You haven't figured it out yet, have you?" Moriarty said, taking the bullet from him and turning it around in his fingers. "How I did it? How I fooled you? You disappoint me. I thought you knew this game."

"I don't have time for you!" Even as he said it, his eyes were drooping. He head was aching. His leg bleeding. His throat burning.

Moriarty chuckled, "Oh, Sherlock. You don't have time at all."

Sherlock sank into an ocean of darkness.

As Haley followed the all too familiar pull that guided her through the jungle, while tiny rays of golden red sunlight filtered through the leaves. She pulled the orchid from behind her ear, letting her curls spill forwards, and watched as the sun varnished the white petals. She stared at it for a long time, remembering when Death gave it to her, asking it it was anything like she'd pictured - to which she'd said no; for some reason she imagined it would be bigger, perhaps the size of a tree - until she realised that the bushes were trembling around her with the energy she was making. She forced herself to calm down. She pushed her hair back and tucked the orchid behind her ear again, out of sight, out of mind. Soon the bushes stopped shaking and the jungle fell quiet.

Maybe too quiet. She stopped.

The source of the pull - the force keeping her here - was nearby. She spotted Dean and John a moment later - and then, sketching themselves one by one, she saw the clawed footprints surrounding them.

A.N: I seem to be knocking everyone out *shrugs helplessly* What happened to Cas you may be asking? Well, you'll find out in the next chapter!

Chapter Notes: The names mentioned at the top are companions of the First Doctor who starred in the episode involving Kembel; 'The Dalek's Master Plan.' Mira is also a planet they visited in this serial, where the Doctor first encountered the Visian. I've recently discovered a reconstruction of the 'The Dalek's Master Plan' serial on Youtube and they're really good so I recommend you check them out if you can. I included this in this chapter because the Doctor has always been haunted by his past in some shape or form. It was also really fun playing around with the characters fears in this chapter. Was I bullying Sherlock a little more than the others here? Meh. He's new to this so I figured it would be harder for him.

But anyway, until next time, thanks for reading!