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"Mr Magnussen, please state your full name for the record," Lady Smallwood, a woman in her early sixties, requested.

"Charles Augustus Magnussen," Magnussen answered.

"Mr Magnussen, how would you describe your influence over the Prime Minister?"

"The British Prime Minister?"

"Any of the British Prime Ministers you have known."

"I never had the slightest influence over any of them. Why would I?" Magnussen asked.

"I notice you've had...seven meetings at Downing Street this year," Lady Smallwood looked down at her papers, "Why?"

"Because I was invited," Magnussen answered simply.

"Can you recall the subjects under discussion?"

"Not without being more indiscreet than I believe is appropriate."

A man, Garvie, leaned forward, asking a question, "Do you think it right that a newspaper proprietor, a private individual and, in fact, a foreign national should have such regular access to our Prime Minister?"

Information appeared in front of Magnussen's eyes such as it would Sherlock.

JOHN GARVIE MP ROCKWELL SOUTH

ADULTERER (SEE FILE)

REFORMED ALCOHOLIC

PRESSURE POINT: TBD

"I don't think it's wrong that a private individual should accept an invitation," Magnussen answered

PRESSURE POINT: > DISABLED DAUGHTER

Lady Smallwood continued, "Mr Magnussen, can you recall an occasion when your remarks could have influenced the Prime Minister's thinking in any way?"

Magnussen turned to Lady Smallwood, text appearing in front of his eyes.

LADY ELIZABETH SMALLWOOD

MARRIED

PRESSURE POINT: >SEARCHING

"No," Magnussen answered.

"Are you sure?"

PRESSURE POINT: > HUSBAND

"I have an excellent memory."

~*~

Electronic gates opened across a wide drive, and a black car drove through and moved along the drive. At the end of the drive was a large and almost futuristic-looking house.

Magnussen walked downstairs. He progressed to a glass wall with a glass door in it which lead into a room. He went in and walked to a double set of wooden doors. He paused, then opened them. He walked down a spiral staircase, lined with glass panels. The stairs led into a large library. The shelves were full of files and ledgers.

He walked through the stacks, his fingers raised and flicking towards various shelves as if he was trying to remember where he put something specific. Towards the back of the room is dark and creepy. Grotesque dolls, stuffed animals and sculptures were on display.

Magnussen flicked through a card index until he found what he was looking for, then moved on, looking at a file which had a photograph of Lady Smallwood on the inside. Next to her photo was a picture of a man of around her age, and now Magnussen slid under the paperclip a photo of a beautiful girl who looked to be in her late teens.

"Perfect."

~*~

Some time later Lady Smallwood was sitting at a table in a room with several other tables and chairs scattered around.

"Your car's waiting outside, sir. See you tomorrow." An attendant said from the doorway.

Lady Smallwood put down her papers and pen and looked across the table to Magnussen as he stood up and walked across the room towards her.

"May I join you?" He asked.

"I don't think it's appropriate."

"It isn't." Magnussen grabbed a chair and rolled it to her side of the table.

"Mr Magnussen, outside the enquiry we can have no contact," Magnussen reached out and grabbed Lady Smallwood's hand, "Please don't do that."

"In 1982 your husband corresponded with Helen Catherine Driscoll," Magnussen stated.

"That was before I knew him," Lady Smallwood said quickly.

"The letters were lively, loving – some would say explicit – and currently in my possession."

"Will you please move your hand?" Lady Smallwood asked uncomfortably, "I know what was in the letters."

"She was fifteen."

"She looked older."

"Oh, she looked delicious. We have photographs, too – the ones she sent him."

"He was unaware of her age. He met her only once before the letters began. When he discovered the truth, he stopped immediately. Those are the facts," Lady Smallwood said quickly.

"Facts are for history books. I work in news."

"I will call someone. I will have you removed."

"What is that?" Magnussen lifted Lady Smallwood's hand to his nose, sniffing it, "Claire de la Lune? A bit young for you, isn't it? I have the letters and therefore I have you."

"This is blackmail."

"Of course it isn't blackmail. This is...ownership."

"You do not own me."

The attendant walked across the room towards them but stopped some distance away. Magnussen half-rose, leaned towards Lady Smallwood, stuck out his tongue and ran the tip of it up the side of her face. She cringed. Magnussen sats back down.

"Claire de la Lune," he picked up a napkin and ran his tongue over it, "It never tastes like it smells, does it? Lady Smallwood's bill is on me. See to it."

"Yes, Mr Magnussen."

~*~

"Oh, God," Lady Smallwood whispered once she was in her car. She pressed a handkerchief to the side of her face where Magnussen had licked it.

"You alright, ma'am?" The chauffeur asked.

"Fine, yes," Lady Smallwood lowered her voice until she could only hear herself, "Magnussen. No-one stands up to him. No-one dares. There isn't a man or woman in England capable of stopping that disgusting creature..."

"Ma'am?"

"Turn the car around. We're going back into town," Lady Smallwood ordered.

"Where are we going, ma'am?"

"Baker Street."

~*~

"Chuck dangit Sherlock," (Y/n) muttered angrily under her breath, easily passing by the man guarding the drug den, "Sherlock Holmes!"

"(Y/n)," Sherlock sat up in the ratty bed he was laying on.

"Come on, right now, we're going back to Baker Street. I take a hour and a half to buy groceries and this is what happens!"

"Isaac, let's go."

"John?" (Y/n) asked in confusion.

"Ah, hello John," Sherlock greeted, John looked up at the two in shock, "Didn't expect to see you here."

John pushed Isaac up, motioning angrily for him to leave the house. John turned to Sherlock, before he could do anything (Y/n) grabbed Sherlock's ear and began to drag him.

"I can handle walking myself," Sherlock freed his ear.

"What the hell are you doing here Sherlock?" John nearly yelled.

Sherlock angrily punched open a temporary door, knocking it off all its nails and sending it crashing across the fire escape.

"For God's sakes! I'm on a case!"

"I thought you said you were going to watch him," John said to (Y/n) as Sherlock jumped off of the level.

"I was, Cas even checked the flat before the guys went back to America. I left to get groceries and this happened."

"I'm working."

"Sherlock Holmes in a drug den! How's that gonna look? On top of 'Sherlock Holme's Mysterious girlfriend! He Does Have A Heart!'"

"I'm undercover," Sherlock insisted.

"No you're not!" John shot back.

"Well, I'm not now!"

"In. All Of you, quickly."

John go the passenger seat, (Y/n) and Sherlock sitting in the back. A man cradling his arm walked towards them. With just a quick lookover (Y/n) could see he was divorced with no custody over his kids for obvious reasons.

"Please. Can I come?" He asked, "I think I've got a broken arm."

"Let him," John ordered.

"Why?"

"Just get in. It's a sprain."

"Anyone else? I mean, we're taking everybody home, are we?"

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, moving to sit on Sherlock's lap so there was enough room for everyone.

"All right, Shezza?"

"'Shezza?'"

"I was undercover," Sherlock shot back.

"Seriously? 'Shezza', though!"

"Don't take the car home," (Y/n) pulled out her phone, "We need to go to Barts."

"Why?" Mary asked.

"Because Sherlock needs to pee in a cup and have my gay angel friend clear his system."

~*~

"Is he clean?" John asked,

"Clean?" Molly took her gloves off and walked to Sherlock, she slapped him hard on the face twice, "How dare you throw away the beautiful gifts you were born with? And how dare you betray the love of your friends? The love of your girlfriend? Say you're sorry."

"Sorry your engagement's over, though I'm fairly grateful for the lack of a ring."

(Y/n) was the one to slap Sherlock this time.

"We have talked about this Sherlock. About different ways to handle withdrawal besides crawling back. You need talk to me."

"Please do relax. This is all for a case," Sherlock grabbed (Y/n)'s hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

"A ca-What kind of case would need you doing this?" John asked, furious.

"I might as well ask you why you've started cycling to work," Sherlock ignored John's question.

John shook his head, "No. We're not playing this game."

"Quite recently, I'd say. You're very determined about it," Sherlock continued.

"Not interested."

"I am," Bill spoke up, "Ow."

"Oh, sorry. You moved. But it is just a sprain," Mary continued to wrap Bill's arm.

"Yeah. Somebody 'it me. Just some guy."

"Yeah, probably just an addict in need of a fix," John said awkwardly.

"Yes. I think, in a way, it was," Sherlock looked at John pointedly.

"Is it his shirt?" Bill asked.

"Yes it's the shirt," (Y/n) mumbled absently.

"It's the creases, innit? The creases down the front. It's been recently folded but it's not new. Must have dressed in a hurry this morning...So all your shirts must be kept like that. 'Cause you cycle to work every morning, shower when you get there and' then dress in the clothes you brought with you. You keep your shirts folded ready to pack."

"Not bad," Sherlock complimented.

"An' I further deduce...You've only started recently, because you've got a bit of chafing."

"No– he's always walked like that," Sherlock disagreed, "What's your name again?"

"They call me The Wig."

"No they don't," (Y/n) rubbed her tired eyes.

"Well, they call me Wiggy."

"Nope."

"Bill. Bill Wiggins."

"Nice observational skills, Billy," Sherlock said, slightly mockingly. His phone sounded a text alert. He took out the phone and looked at the message, "Ah! Finally."

"'Finally' what?" Molly asked.

"Oh, excellent news, the best," Sherlock began to walk towards the door, "There's every chance that my drug habit might hit the newspapers. The game is on. Excuse me for a second."

"Cas," (Y/n) called when Sherlock was gone, no answer, "Cas?"

She pulled out her phone, calling Dean.

"What's up sis?"

"Where's Cas?" She asked.

"Out on some business, meeting with Chuck to fix Heaven or something. Why do you need him?"

"No reason," (Y/n) said quickly, not keen on revealing the issue to Dean, "Well, if you could tell him to stop over when he gets back that would be lovely. I'll talk to you later, it seems we have a case."

"Oh wait (Y/n)," Sam's voice came over the line,"Did he ask?"

"Did who ask what?"

"Nothing, nothing. Talk to you later sis."

~*~

"You've heard of Charles Magnussen, of course," Sherlock said while he was in a cab with (Y/n) and John on the way back to Baker Street.

"Yeah. Owns some newspapers– ones I don't read," John nodded, Sherlock looked to (Y/n).

"I'm from America," was her excuse.

The ride was silent until they reached 221 B Baker Street. Sherlock got out of the cab, immediately complaining.

"What is my brother doing here?"

"So I'll just pay, then, shall I?" John asked as (Y/n) followed Sherlock, "He's straightened the knocker. He always corrects it. He's OCD. Doesn't even know he's doing it."

Sherlock pushed the knocker out of center once again and let himself inside.

"Why'd he do that?" John asked (Y/n).

"You do anything you can to mess with your siblings. I pretended I was a witch to Dean once, he started crying."

"I don't think what you do to trick your siblings is the same as others."

"Well, then, Sherlock. Back on the sauce?" He asked.

"What are you doing here?"

"I phoned him," John said.

"The siren call of old habits. How very like Uncle Rudy– though, in many ways, cross-dressing would have been a wiser path for you," Mycroft turned his gaze to (Y/n), "You told me you would watch over him."

"I hunt ghosts and demons, but your brother is on his own spectrum Mycroft. I left for an hour and a half and he got high in a drug house."

"A bit more effort next time then. Now, save me a little time. Where should we be looking?

"We?" Sherlock questioned.

"Mr Holmes?" Anderson called from upstairs.

"For God's sake!" Sherlock yelled, storming up the stairs, "Anderson!"

(Y/n) rolled her eyes before they widened at the realization that they would be searching through everything. She soon ran up the stairs as well.

"You said he'd be taller," was the first thing (Y/n) heard when she entered, awoman turned to her, smiling, "Is that her?"

"Yeah, the other one," Anderson looked to Mycroft, "We aren't supposed to talk about how we met."

"Some members of your little fan-club," Mycroft entered, looking over to where Sherlock was sulking on his chair, "Be polite. They're entirely trustworthy, and willing to search through the waste dump that you are pleased to call a flat."

"Rude," (Y/n) muttered under her breath.

"You're a celebrity these days, Sherlock. So is (Y/n) now that you've been out together. You can't afford a drug habit."

"I do not have a drug habit," Sherlock grumbled.

"Hey, what happened to my chair?" John asked.

"It was blocking my view to the kitchen," Sherlock lied.

"He missed you," (Y/n) whispered.

"What have you found so far? Clearly nothing," Mycroft turned to Anderson.

"There's nothing to find."

"Your bedroom door is shut. Why would a man who has never closed the door without the direct orders of his mother bother to do so on this occasion?" Mycroft walked towards the door, reaching out for the handle.

"No, no, no," (Y/n) took a step forward as Sherlock objected as well.

"Okay, stop! Just stop. Point made."

"Jesus Sherlock," John sighed tiredly.

"Have to phone our parents, of course, in Oklahoma. Won't be the first time that your substance abuse has wreaked havoc with their line-dancing."

Sherlock sighed, standing up and walking to Mycroft, "This is not what you think. This is for a case."

"What case could possibly justify this?" Mycroft asked.

"Magnussen," Mycroft's smile dropped at the man's name, "Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"That name you think you may have just heard – you were mistaken. If you ever mention hearing that name in this room, in this context, I guarantee you – on behalf of the British security services – that materials will be found on your computer resulting in immediate incarceration. Don't reply, just scuttle," Mycroft said to Benji and Anderson, the two nodded and quickly left. Mycroft turned to (Y/n) and John, "I hope I won't have to threaten you as well."

"Well, I think we'd both find that embarrassing."

(Y/n) and Sherlock snorted.

"Magnussen is not your business," Mycroft said sternly.

"Oh, you mean he's yours," Sherlock frowned.

"You may consider him under my protection," Mycroft answered, "If you go against Magnussen, then you will be going against me."

"Okay. I'll let you know if I notice," Sherlock walked to the kitchen door, opening it, "Er, what was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Bye-bye."

"Unwise, brother mine. If I do recall I was the one to clear up the fake F-B-I agent situation."

Sherlock seized Mycroft's left arm just below the elbow. He twisted his arm up behind his back, he slammed his brother against the wall beside the kitchen door. Mycroft cried out in pain. Sherlock breathed rapidly, his voice venomous.

"Brother mine, don't appal me when I'm high," Sherlock warned.

"Mycroft, don't say another word. Just go. He could snap you in two, and now I am slightly worried that he might," John warned.

Mycroft pushed himself free of his brother's grip and held his left arm in pain. Sherlock turned and walked away. Mycroft turns towards John and (Y/n).

"Don't talk. Just leave," (Y/n) said.

John picked up Mycroft's umbrella from the floor and gave it to the man, closing the door as he left.

"Would you like to explain to me who this Magnussen guy is?" (Y/n) turned to Sherlock who was stretching in the living room.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked, ignoring (Y/n)'s question.

"About eight," John answered.

"I'm meeting him in three hours. I need a bath."

"What sort of case is this?" (Y/n) asked.

"Too big and dangerous for any sane individual to get involved in."

"So that's why we're here," (Y/n) grinned.

Sherlock closed the bathroom door. Soon after John and (Y/n) could hear the water running. John's eyes wandered to the closed bedroom door.

"What's in there some form of dungeon?" He asked.

"No, just...Come on," (Y/n) led John into the bedroom. She quickly kicked something into the closet and shut it, giving John a look that told him not to question anything, "I've been teaching Sherlock more about the supernatural which obviously, would look like we joined a cult." She pulled up the rug on the floor, motioning to the devil's trap painted in white paint.

"Yeah I can see how this wouldn't look the best."

~*~

"Now, Magnussen. Magnussen is like a shark. Have you ever been to the shark tank at the London Aquarium? Those floating flat faces, those dead eyes...That's what he is. I've dealt with murderers, psychopaths, terrorists, serial killers. None of them can turn my stomach like Charles Augustus Magnussen."

"Yes, you have," John spoke.

"Sorry, what?"

"You have a girlfriend."

"Well yes John, it is quite obvious."

"You two are happy?"

"When Sherlock doesn't run off and start doing drugs, yes, John, we are happy," (Y/n) smiled, "We should have dinner actually, I can clean and see how Mary is doing."

"You know Magnussen as a newspaper owner, but he's more than that. He uses his power and wealth to gain information. The more he acquires, the greater his wealth and power." Sherlock moved to the dining table and opened his laptop, "I'm not exaggerating when I say that he knows the critical pressure point on every person of note or influence in the whole of the Western world and probably beyond. He is the Napoleon of blackmail and he has created an unassailable architecture of forbidden knowledge. Its name is Appledore."

"Dinner."

"Sorry, what, dinner?" Sherlock asked.

"Me and Mary, coming for dinner...with...wine and...sitting."

"Seriously? I've just told you that the Western world is run from this house," Sherlock turned his computer to face John and (Y/n), "And you want to talk about dinner?"

"Fine, talk about the house."

"It is the greatest repository of sensitive and dangerous information anywhere in the world and none of it is on a computer. Computers can be hacked. It's all on hard copy in vaults underneath that house; and as long as it is, the personal freedom of anyone you've ever met is a fantasy."

There was a knock on the door and Mrs. Hudson entered, "Oh, that was the doorbell. Couldn't you hear it?"

"It's in the fridge. It kept ringing."

"Oh, that's not a fault, Sherlock!"

"Who is it?" (Y/n) asked.

"He says his names is Charles Magnussen."

"Send him up," Sherlock said immediately.

A minute later three men – clearly security men – walked into the living room. Sherlock, moved to stand by the fireplace, sighing and unfolding his arms.

"Oh, go ahead," Sherlock spread his arms allowing one of the men to frisk him. The other two walked to (Y/n) and John.

(Y/n) held out her arms, thinking nervously to the demon knife in her boot, and the gun on her waistline kept there out of habit.

"If I can just have a mo- Okay."

The security guard pulled the knife from her boot and the gun from her waist, giving her a stern look.

"She's safe I assure you. If you know who I am, then you know who she is...Don't you, Mr Magnussen?" (Y/n)'s security officer stepped aside, giving her a clear view of the man they were working against. "I understood we were meeting at your office."

"This is my office," Magnussen looked at John, information appearing in front of his eyes.

JOHN HAMISH WATSON

AFGHANISTAN VETERAN (SEE FILE)

STATUS: UNIMPORTANT

PRESSURE POINT: > HARRY WATSON (SISTER) ALCOHOLIC

MARY MORSTAN (WIFE)

"Well, it is now," Magnussen picked up a newspaper from the table and sat down on the sofa, his eyes wandered to (Y/n).

(Y/N) MILLIE WINCHESTER

HUNTER (SEE FILE)

STATUS: DANGEROUS

OFFICIALLY DECEASED: 2008

PRESSURE POINT:> MARY WINCHESTER (MOTHER)

JOHN WINCHESTER (FATHER)

SHERLOCK HOLMES

SAM WINCHESTER (BROTHER)

DEAN WINCHESTER (BROTHER)

ADDITIONAL: (SEE FILE) RECORDS CLEARED BY MYCROFT HOLMES.

"Mr Magnussen, I have been asked to intercede with you by Lady Elizabeth Smallwood on the matter of her husband's letters. She would like those letters back."

Magnussen looked at Sherlock, information appearing.

SHERLOCK HOLMES CONSULTING DETECTIVE

BROTHER: MYCROFT HOLMES

OFFICIALLY DECEASED 2011-2013

PRESSURE POINT: JIM MORIARTY (SEE FILE)

REDBEARD (SEE FILE)

HOUNDS OF THE BASKERVILLE

OPIUM

POSSESSION

JOHN WATSON

(Y/N) WINCHESTER

"Obviously the letters no longer have any practical use to you, so with that in mind...Something I said?" Sherlock asked as Magnussen snorted.

"No, no. I-I was reading," Magnussen adjusted his glasses, the pressure points appearing again and circling around, "There's rather a lot. 'Redbeard.'"

"Oh my Chuck," (Y/n) whispered, Magnussen was talking about pressure points.

"Sorry. S-sorry. You were probably talking?"

"I..." Sherlock paused before clearing his throat, "I was trying to explain that I've been asked to act on behalf of-"

"Bathroom?" Magnussen looked to the security guard near John.

"Along from the kitchen, sir."

"I've been asked to negotiate the return of those letters," Sherlock spoke again, more firmly, "I'm aware you do not make copies of sensitive documents -"

"Is it like the rest of the flat? The bathroom?"

"Er, yes, sir."

"Maybe not, then."

"Am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?" Sherlock asked.

"Lady Smallwood. I like her."

"Mr Magnussen, am I acceptable to you as an intermediary?"

"She's English, with a spine." Magnussen pushed the coffee table away and stood up, "Best thing about the English you're so domesticated. All standing around, keeping your little heads down. You can do what you like here. No one's going to stop you." Magnussen approached the fireplace and began to urinate. (Y/n)'s eyes widened and she turned away, her mouth opening in shock, "A nation of herbivores. I've interests all over the world but, everything starts in England. If it works here I'll try it in a real country."

Magnussen stepped away from the fire, zipping his pants and jumping up and down for a moment. The security guard next to John held out a pack of wet wipes. "The United Kingdom, huh? Petri dish to the Western world."

Magnussen threw his wet wipe into the fire, turning to face (Y/n). He slowly walked towards her, taking her face in his hands. (Y/n) held back the urge to raise a fist against the man.

"Perhaps I'll move to America next, they'll be a bit more challenging. Americans are...Feisty aren't they? I've always held a fondness for women who can fight, like you Miss. Winchester, I like you," Magnussen smirked, his eyes trailing to Sherlock. Magnussen stuck his tongue out and slowly ran it up (Y/n)'s neck. (Y/n) raised her hands, Magnussen catching them before she could stop him, "Tell Lady Elizabeth I might need those letters, so I'm keeping them."

Magnussen stepped away from (Y/n), taking her weapons from the security guard and placing them in the coffee table. (Y/n) let out a shuddering breath. John looked ready to step forward and kill Magnussen himself, Sherlock kept up his emotionless face, but you could see the rage in his eyes.

"Anyway..." Magnussen pulled the letters out of his jacket briefly before placing them back, "They're funny."

Magnussen left the room, his security guards following him. They could hear the front door open and close.

"Jesus!" John said as he was gone. John walked over to (Y/n), who had a hand on her neck, "Are you alright."

"This man is an even bigger assbutt than Uriel," she mumbled.

"You are alright though, darling?" Sherlock removed (Y/n)'s hand from her neck, gently wiping it with his sleeve.

"Fine."

"Did you notice the one extraordinary thing he did?" Sherlock asked.

"Wh-There were a few moments that kind of stuck in the mind, yeah," John gestured towards (Y/n) and the fireplace.

"Exactly, when he showed us the letters. So he's brought the letters too, he's ready to make a deal. Now, Magnussen only makes a deal once he's established a person's weaknesses," Sherlock put on his coat, "So, clearly he believes I'm a drug addict and no serious threat. And, because he's in town tonight, the letters will be in his safe in his London office while he's out to dinner with the Marketing Group of Great Britain from seven 'til ten."

"How do you know his schedule?" (Y/n) questioned.

"Because I do. Right, John, I'll see you tonight. I've got some shopping to do. (Y/n)." Sherlock headed out the door and down the stairs, (Y/n) following.

"What's tonight?" John asked, following after the pair.

"I'll text instructions."

"Yeah, I'll text you if I'm available."

"You are," (Y/n) called back, "I asked Mary."

"You're just assuming I'm coming?" John asked as Sherlock hailed a cab.

"Time you got out of the house, John. You've put on seven pounds since you got married, and the cycling isn't doing it," Sherlock opened the door to the cab, allowing (Y/n) to get in first.

"It's actually four pounds," John corrected.

"Mary and I think seven. See you later."

"Are you sure you're alright?" Sherlock asked as the cab began to drive.

"I've had angels dig around in my mind, and I've watched my brother's die. But that man...I know he'll be a demon someday."

"Yes, let's send him on his way sooner rather than later then."

~*~

"Welcome John," (Y/n) said creepily before smiling, breaking the tension in first floor of the CM News building.

"Magnussen's office is on the top floor, just below his private flat but there are fourteen levels of security between us and him two of which aren't even legal in this country. Want to know how we're going to break in?"

"Is that what we're doing?" John asked.

"Of course it's what we're doing," Sherlock motioned towards an elevator as they stepped onto an escalator, "Magnussen's private lift. It goes straight to his penthouse and office. Only he uses it and only his key card calls the lift. Anyone else even tries, security is automatically informed." Sherlock held up a keycard, "Standard key card for the building. Nicked it yesterday. Only gets us as far as the canteen. If I was to use this card on that lift now, what happens?"

"Er, the alarms would go off and you'd be dragged away by security. Get taken to a small room somewhere and your head kicked in."

Sherlock pressed the card against his phone, "If you press a key card against your mobile phone for long enough, it corrupts the magnetic strip. The card stops working. It's a common problem, never put your key card with your phone. What happens if I use the card now?"

"It still doesn't work."

"But it doesn't read as the wrong card now. It registers as corrupted. But if it's corrupted, how do they know it's not Magnussen? Would they risk dragging him off?"

"Probably not."

"So what do they do? What do they have to do?"

"Check if it's him or not."

"There's a camera at eye height to the right of the door. A live picture of the card user is relayed directly to Magnussen's personal staff in his office– the only people trusted to make a positive ID. At this hour, almost certainly his PA."

"S-so how's that help us?"

"Human error." Sherlock looked to (Y/n), handing her the card, "(Y/n) has made a new friend."

(Y/n) walked to the door, pressing the card against the scanner. She took in a deep breath, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

"(Y/n) you realise you don't exactly look like Magnussen."

"That definitely helps me here."

"(Y/n), you complete loon! What are you doing?" Janine's voice came over the speaker near the camera.

"Janine, c-can you let me up?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Please," tears began to fall down (Y/n)'s face, "Mary is off with John and Sherlock is out on a case and I didn't know who else to go to- I-I'm pregnant Janine. God, I don't know what to do and you're one of my only friends in England and-"

The red dot on the screen turned blue, showing that the card was accepted. (Y/n) wiped her eyes, stepping away from the camera and turning back to the boys.

"High school theatre, comes in handy doesn't it?"

"You see? As long as there's people, there's always a weak spot," Sherlock walked into the lift with the other two following.

"That was Janine."

"Yes, of course it was Janine. She's Magnussen's PA. That's the whole point."

John looked to (Y/n), "Did you just say you're pregnant to break into an office?"

"Yep, not the weirdest thing I've ever done either. Lucky, meeting her at your wedding."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Tell her I'm not pregnant and I lied to save England's government. She might not want to be friends with me after this."

The elevator opened and (Y/n) cleared her throat, stepping out and looking around for Janine.

"So where did she go?" John asked when there was no sign of Janine.

"Well if I really were pregnant it;s nice to know she'd be there for me," (Y/n) said sarcastically.

"Sherlock, (Y/n)," John found an unconscious Janine near the window, "It's a blow to the head. She's breathing. Janine?"

"Another in here," (Y/n) found a security guard, "Security."

"Does he need help?"

"Ex-con and white supremacist," (Y/n) said, spotting the tattoos on the man, "Who cares?"

Sherlock looked around the room and walked to the nearby glass desk. He bent down, holding his hand over the top of it while looking at it closely, then worked his way round to the other side, looking carefully at everything.

"Hey. They must still be here," John whispered, walking towards the two.

"So's Magnussen. His seat still warm. He should be at dinner but he's still in the building. Upstairs!"

"We should call the police," John pulled out his phone.

"During our own burglary?" (Y/n) questioned, "You're really not a natural at this, are you?"

Sherlock sniffed in deeply, "Perfume, not Janine's. Claire-de-la-lune. Why do I know it?"

"Mary wears it."

"No, Lady Smallwood wears it," (Y/n) closed her eyes, "I wasn't there when she gave you the case, but I could smell it when I got back."

Sherlock looked up the stairs, and began to run up. (Y/n) looked after Sherlock, shaking her head. She leaned down, smelling around the room herself this time.

"Smallwood sprayed it generously, it burns the nose to be in the same room as her. This is fant, it was meant to accentuate the beauty that was already there, it was meant to- Mary."

(Y/n) heard a gunshot from upstairs. (Y/n) stood up and ran as fast as she could up the stairs, following the metallic scent of blood. She gasped when she entered the room the blood was coming from. Sherlock was convulsing on the floor, on his back.

"Sherlock," she bent down next to the man, the bullet wound was just above the V of his vest, "John!"

John quickly ran to the room, bending down next to (Y/n) and patting Sherlock's face.

"What happened?" John asked.

"He got shot," Magnussen answered weakly .

"Who shot him?" (Y/n) asked, ready to shoot whoever shot Sherlock back.

Magnussen put on his glasses, but he didn't answer. John pulled out his phone, dialing emergency services. (Y/n) looked over Sherlock's wound. No shock, and he wasn't bleeding out. He used his, perhaps 3 seconds, of consciousness to figure out how not to die.

"(Y/n) you need to go," John prompted.

"No, no I can't leave him!"

"(Y/n) you need to call Castiel," John insisted. While it was true she should call upon the angel, she also knew John didn't want her there if Sherlock's effort to stay alive didn't work.

(Y/n) left the room, leaning against the wall outside, "Cas get your gay ass away from Chuck and out here to London. Please..."

~*~

"Mary," John approached his wife in the hallway of the hospital, "He's only bloody woken up! He's pulled through."

"Really! Seriously?" Mary's eyes traveled to (Y/n)'s slumped figure in a waiting room chair, "Well we should wake her shouldn't we?"

"She hasn't slept in at least twenty four hours," John mumbled, "She was praying to Castiel all night. He never even showed up. He'll have a lot to explain for when he finally arrives."

"Do we wake her then?"

"Let her sleep, now we know Sherlock will still be here when she wakes up."

~*~

"Cas still hasn't answered me, I don't know what's going on up in Heaven, but it must suck."

"Yes, well, I'm touched you tried to contact Cam-"

"Cas."

"To heal me, but I was able to pull through just fine."

"I can see that now. Janine called me a back-stabbing, lying, no good arse of a friend. So we're cool." Sherlock attempted to sit up in bed, grunting in pain, "Hurts doesn't it? Might have messed with how much morphine you get."

"What did I ever do to you?"

"Almost died, now we're even but I took the chance to get back at you for going to the drug house. Who shot you Sherlock?"

"A secret agent," was all Sherlock said.

"Mary?" (Y/n) put the pieces together, "What would Magnussen have on her that John doesn't know already?"

"I don't know, but we need to find out."

"Well then, I think it's time we get-"

"Married? Yes, yes, Drake and Samantha gave their stamp of approval."

(Y/n) sighed, wanting to believe that it was the morphine Sherlock was on that led him to call her twin a girl, but she knew how high his drug tolerance was.

"Marriage never ends well in my family," (y/n) rubbed her hand over her face, "But, whatever. By the way, hiding the ring in your skull? Very easy to find, were you even trying? Who did that belong to anyways?"

"John Watson."

(Y/n) chuckled, "Funny."

A colleague gave him to me, he told me it was until I met John in person, is time travel really that hard to believe."

"No, Dean's traveled before. So, who gave him to you?"

Sherlock began pulling the connections to the monitors from his body. (Y/n) stepped back, pulling out her phone to text Mary and ask where she was.

"The Doctor," Sherlock grunted as he stood up.

"Doctor who?" (Y/n) looked up from her phone in confusion.

"Precisely," Sherlock smirked, opening the window, "You won't tell of course?"

"Well, not at first, I'll text you."

~*~

"He got out, do you have any idea where he might be?" John asked over the phone as (Y/n) sunk down in the bath.

"He always loved the docks, said they gave him ideas on how to expand his mind palace," (Y/n) said calmly, "Have you got any ideas from anyone else?"

"A few, yeah, I'm on my way right now."

"Damn," (Y/n) cursed, sitting up and grabbing her bathrobe.

She quickly dressed, in the nick of time too, as John barged into the apartment as she was buttoning her flannel.

"Sherlock's going after his killer no doubt," John said to Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, who were standing behind him, " The bullet wound was here, so he was facing whoever it was."

"So why not tell us?" (Y/n) gave Lestrade a look, answering his question for him, "Because he's tracking them down himself."

"Or protecting them," (Y/n) suggested.

"Protecting the shooter? Why?"

"The question you should be asking is who would he be willing to protect?"

"Call me if you hear anything. Don't hold out on me, either of you," Lestrade ordered.

"Yeah. Yeah, right," John said distractedly, noticing his chair back in the sitting room.

"Good night, then."

"Wh-why did Sherlock put my chair back?" John asked.

"Oh I moved it back, looks much better doesn't it?"

"Yeah," John looked over to the side table, where a bottle of Claire-De-La-Lune sat. (Y/n) smirked, pulling out her phone and texting Sherlock.

She'll come to you.

Sherlock soon replied, giving (Y/n) all the information she needed.

Counting on it. Leinster Gardens.

"John, I know where Sherlock is," (Y/n) grabbed his arms, "And where you'll find his shooter."

~*~

"Why do I need to be here?" John asked as (Y/n) motioned to the chair he was to sit in.

"You already know Mary was an agent," (y/n) stated, "But you don't know for what, do you? For the C-I-A, for a different country, if she was independent, what she specialized in."

"Wha-"

"Shh," (Y/n) crouched down next to John, the lights going out. Mary soon began to walk down the hallway.

"What do you want, Sherlock?" She asked, looking at John.

"Mary Morstan was stillborn in October 1972. Her gravestone is in Chiswick Cemetery where – five years ago – you acquired her name and date of birth and thereafter her identity. That's why you don't have 'friends' from before that date." (Y/n) heard Sherlock's voice in her earpiece. "It's an old enough technique, known to the kinds of people who can recognize a skip-code on sight. Have extraordinarily retentive memories. How good a shot are you?"

Mary reached inside her coat and pulled out her pistol, coking it.

"How badly do you want to find out?"

"If I die here, my body will be found in a building with your face projected on the front of it. Even Scotland Yard could get somewhere with that. I want to know how good you are. Go on. Show me." Mary reached into her bag and pulled out a fifty pence coin. She flicked the coin into the air and fired.

"May I see?"

"It's a dummy," Mary looked down the hallway., "I suppose it was a fairly obvious trick."

Sherlock walked from the hallway, bent down and grabbed the coin, "And yet, over a distance of six feet, you failed to make a kill shot. Enough to hospitalize me, not to kill me. That wasn't a miss. That was surgery. I'll take the case."

"What case?" Mary asked.

"Yours. Why didn't you come to me in the first place?"

"Because John can't ever know that I lied to him. That I wasn't just an agent for the government. It would break him and I would lose him forever – and, Sherlock, I will never let that happen. Please...Understand. There is nothing in this world that I would not do to stop that happening."

"Sorry," Sherlock flipped one of the switched on the fusebox, "Not that obvious a trick."

John and (Y/n) stood up, walking down the hallway towards Mary.

"Now talk, and sort it out. Do it quickly." The two remained silent, looking at each other, "Baker Street. Now."

~*~

"Oh, Sherlock! Oh, good gracious, you look terrible," Mrs. Hudson fretted as the team entered 221B.

"Get me some morphine from your kitchen. I've run out."

"I don't have any morphine!"

"Then what exactly is the point of you?" Sherlock asked angrily.

"What is going on?" Mrs. Hudson questioned."Bloody good question."

"The Watsons are about to have a domestic, and fairly quickly, I hope, because we've got work to do," Sherlock said boredly.

"Oh, I have a better question. Is everyone I've ever met a psychopath?"

"Yes," (Y/n) answered immediately.

"Shut up!" John yelled, "And stay shut up, both of you, because this is not funny."

"Before you continue, I was you to know that I found out my mom was a hunter a while ago, and I was mad."

"How does that help anything?" John asked.

"I knew my mom was caught up in demon business, just like you knew Mary was an agent, but I didn't know she was a hunter. Try to keep an open mind."

John turned back to Mary, "What have I ever done? My whole life to deserve you?"

"Everything," Sherlock answered, "Everything you've ever done is what you did."

"Sherlock, one more word and you will not need morphine."

"You were a doctor who went to war. You're a man who couldn't stay in the suburbs for more than a month without storming a crack den and beating up a junkie. Your best friend is a sociopath who solves crimes as an alternative to getting high. His fiance feels the need to put salt on the window sills. Even the landlady used to run a drug cartel."

"It was my husband's cartel. I was just typing."

"John, you are addicted to a certain lifestyle. You're abnormally attracted to dangerous situations and people, so is it truly such a surprise that the woman you've fallen in love with conforms to that pattern?"

"But she wasn't supposed to be like that," John said tearfully, "Why is she like that?"

"Because you chose her," (Y/n) smiled.

"Why is everything always my fault?" John raised his voice to a shout.

"Oh, the neighbors!" Mrs. Hudson hurried away.

"John, listen. Be calm and answer me. What is she?"

"My lying wife? And the woman who's carrying my child who has lied to me since the day I met her?"

"No. Not in this flat, not in this room. Right here, right now, what is she?"

"Your way," John grabbed the client chair and placed it in the middle of the room, "Always your way. Sit."

"Why?"

"Because that's where they sit. The people who come in here with their stories. Th-the clients – that's all you are now, Mary. You're a client. This is where you sit and talk and this is where we sit and listen, then we decide if we want you or not."

(Y/n) sat on the arm of Sherlock's chair, watching in anticipation.

Mary put what looked like a pen drive onto the table at the side of John's chair, then withdrew her hand.

" 'A.G.R.A.' What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"Er...My initials. Everything about who I was is on there. More specifically, what I did. If you love me, don't read it in front of me."

"Why?"

"Because you won't love me when you've finished...and I don't want to see that happen."

John took the flash drive from the table, putting it in his pant pocket.

"Magnussen knows your secret," Sherlock spoke, "Who you worked for, what kind of agent you were, which is why you were going to kill him, and I assume you befriended Janine in order to get close to him."

"The stuff Magnussen has on me, I would go to prison for the rest of my life."

"So you were just gonna kill him," (Y/n) said simply.

"People like Magnussen should be killed. That's why there are people like me."

"Perfect! So that's what you were? An assassin? Not just an agent? How could I not see that?"

"You did see that," Mary smiled, "And you married me. Because he's right. It's what you like."

"Mary," (Y/n) gained the blonde's attention, "Any documents that Magnussen has on you, you want extracted and returned."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because...You saved my life. When I happened on you and Magnussen you had a witness. The solution, of course, was simple. Kill us both and leave. However, sentiment got the better of you. One precisely-calculated shot to incapacitate me in the hope that it would bide you more time to negotiate my silence. Of course, you couldn't shoot Magnussen. On the night that both of us broke into the building, your own husband, and best friend, would become a suspect, so, you calculated that Magnussen would use the fact of your involvement rather than sharing the information with the police as is his M.O. and then you left the way you came. Have I missed anything?"

"How did she save your life?" John asked.

"She phoned the ambulance," (Y/n) realized.

"I phoned the ambulance."

"She phoned first. (Y/n) didn't find me for another two minutes. I would have died. The average arrival time for a London ambulance is," Sherlock lifted his watch, looking at the door where two paramedics ran in.

"Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"Eight minutes. Did you bring any morphine? I asked on the phone."

"We were told there was a shooting."

"There was, last week, but I believe I'm bleeding internally and my pulse is very erratic. You may need to restart my heart on the way." Sherlock's knees buckled, (Y/n) grabbed his arm.

"John, (Y/n) Magnussen is all that matters now. You can trust Mary. She saved my life."

"She shot you."

"Er, mixed messages, I grant you."

3 Months Later

"I have to go, dinner is starting soon. I love you guys, tell everyone I say hi too. My gifts should be there within the next week or so."

"Love you too sis, out Christmas present was allowing Sherlock to propose."

(Y/n) chuckled, ending the Christmas call with her brothers and walking to the kitchen of Sherlock's parents cottage.

"How can it only be two o'clock? I'm in agony," Mycroft complained.

"Mikey, is this your laptop?" Mrs. Holmes asked.

"On which depends the security of the free world, yes. And you've got potatoes on it."

"Well, you shouldn't leave it lying around if it's so important."

"Why are we doing this? We never do this."

"We are here because Sherlock is home from hospital, and he's engaged, and we are all very happy."

"Am I happy too? I haven't checked," Mycroft said sarcastically.

"Behave, Mike."

"'Mycroft' is the name you gave me, if you could possibly struggle all the way to the end."

"Mrs Holmes?" Bill held out a glass of punch.

"Oh! Thank you, dear. Not absolutely sure why you're here."

"I invited him," Sherlock explained.

"I'm his protégé, Mrs 'holmes. When 'e dies, I get all his stuff, and' 'is job."

"No."

"Oh. Well, I help out a bit. If 'e does get murdered or something..."

"Probably stop talking now," (Y/n) advised.

"Lovely when you bring your friends round," Mycroft glared at Sherlock.

"Stop it, you. Somebody's put a bullet in my boy and if I ever find out who, I shall turn absolutely monstrous," Mrs. Holmes picked up a present from the counter, "Ah. This was for Mary."

Sherlock looked down at his watch, "Seven minutes."

"Lovely," (Y/n) muttered absently, looking at her ring finger, she was getting married to Sherlock Holmes in two months, it seemed absolutely unreal, but it was happening.

"A smoke, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked, the two got up and left the cottage to stand outside. (Y/n) sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Where did the tow go?" Mrs. Holmes asked, entering the kitchen again.

"Outside," (Y/n) answered.

"Those two could only ever get along when they were smoking together."

Mrs. Holmes grabbed a present from the counter, setting it in front of (Y/n). (Y/n) slowly began to unwrap it, gasping at what was inside. A beautiful wedding veil.

"I know it's tradition to wear something of your mother's, and I thought we were close enough to it," Mrs. Holmes smiled.

"Thank you," (Y/n) whispered.

"Welcome to the family," Mrs. Holmes wiped her eyes, "I best check on the boys."

When Mrs. Holmes and Mycroft came back in they sat down in their chairs and closed their eyes soon after, unconsciousness taking them over. Sherlock soon entered the house, walking to the room Mary and John were in.

"Did you just drug my pregnant wife?" John asked, following Sherlock into the kitchen.

"Don't worry. Wiggins is an excellent chemist."

"I calculated your wife's dose meself. Won't affect the little one. I'll keep an eye on 'er."

"He'll monitor their recovery. It's more or less his day job."

"What the hell have you done?" John questioned.

"A deal with the devil," (Y/n) glared at Sherlock and he corrected his former statement,"Not the literal devil of course."

"Oh, Jesus," John sighed quietly, "Please tell me you haven't just gone out of your mind.(Y/n), "And you're his fiance, how could you have let this happen?"

(Y/n) shrugged, "Too busy with wedding planning to notice."

"I'd rather keep you guessing," Sherlock picked up Mycroft's laptop from the table.

A helicopter could be heard outside, "Ah. There's our lift."

"You coming with us John?" (Y/n) asked.

"Where?"

"D'you want your wife to be safe?"

"Yeah, of course I do."

"Good, because this is going to be incredibly dangerous. One false move and we'll have betrayed the security of the United Kingdom and be in prison for high treason. Magnussen is quite simply the most dangerous man we've ever encountered, and the odds are comprehensively stacked against us."

"But it's Christmas," John complained.

"I feel the same," Sherlock grinned.

"No, it's actually Christmas," (Y/n) facepalmed.

"Did you bring your gun?" Sherlock asked (Y/n).

"Why would I bring my gun to your parents' house for Christmas dinner?"

"Is it in your boot?"

"Yes," (Y/n) grabbed her gun from her boot, moving it to her coat.

"Off we go, then."

"Where are we going?" John asked.

"Appledore."

~*~

(Y/n) jumped from the helicopter, walking with the two boys up to Magnussen's home. It was much too bright for her taste, everything hurting her eyes.

"I would offer you a drink but it's very rare and expensive," Magnussen said as the three entered the room.

Sherlock sat down on the couch, putting the laptop near Magnussen. Footage began to play on the wall opposite the group. The Clip was of Sherlock pulling John from the fire set on a past case, the other was of Sherlock and the gang rescuing (Y/n).

"Very hard to find a pressure point on you, Mr Holmes. The drugs thing I never believed for a moment. Anyway, you wouldn't care if it was exposed, would you?" Sherlock quirked his mouth and shrugged, "But look how you care about John Watson and (Y/n) Winchester. Your damsels in distress."

"You..." John walked closer to Magnussen, his voice tight and angry, "Put me in a fire...for leverage?"

"Oh, I'd never let you burn, Doctor Watson. I had people standing by. I'm not a murderer, unlike your wife. Or Miss. Winchester's brothers. Let me explain how leverage works, Doctor Watson, Miss Winchester. For those who understand these things, Mycroft Holmes is the most powerful man in the country. Well, apart from me. Mycroft's pressure point is his junkie detective brother, Sherlock. And Sherlock's pressure point is his best friend, John Watson, and his fiance (Y/n) Winchester. John Watson's pressure point is his wife, (Y/n)'s is her brother's. I own John Watson's wife, (Y/n)'s brothers, I own Mycroft. He's what I'm getting for Christmas."

"It's an exchange, not a gift."

"Forgive me, but, I already seem to have it," Magnussen grabbed the laptop.

"It's password protected. In return for the password, you will give me any material in your possession pertaining to the woman I know as Mary Watson, and Sam and Dean Winchester."

"All three of them are bad ones. So many dead people. You should see what I've seen."

"I don't need to see it," John growled.

"You might enjoy it, though. I enjoy it. Especially the parts where the Winchester pretend to die to evade the F-B-I."

"Then why don't you show us?"

"Show you Appledore? The secret vaults? Is that what you want?"

"I want everything you've got on Mary and the Winchesters."

Magnussen chuckled, before it turned into a full out laugh, "You know, I honestly expected something good."

"Oh, I think you'll find the contents of that laptop-"

"Include a GPS locator. By now, your brother will have noticed the theft, and security services will be converging on this house. Having arrived they'll find top secret information in my hands and have every justification to search my vaults. They will discover further information of this kind and I'll be imprisoned. You will be exonerated, and restored to your smelly little apartment to solve crimes with Mr and Mrs Psychopath. And soon to be Mrs Detective. Mycroft has been looking for this opportunity for a long time. He'll be a very, very proud big brother. "

"The fact that you know it's going to happen isn't going to stop it," (Y/n) crossed her arms.

"Then why am I smiling? Ask me."

"Why are you smiling?" John asked.

"Because Sherlock Holmes has made one enormous mistake which will destroy the lives of everyone he loves and everything he holds dear," Magnussen stood up, "Let me show you the Appledore vaults a pair of double doors. When he opened them they expected vaults and rows of files, but there was nothing."

"Okay, so where are the vaults, then?" John asked.

"Vaults? What vaults? There are no vaults beneath this building," Magnussen sat in the chair in the middle of the room, "They're all in here. The Appledore vaults are my Mind Palace. You know about Mind Palaces, don't you, Sherlock? How to store information so you never forget it , by picturing it. I just sit here, I close my eyes and down I go to my vaults. I can go anywhere inside my vaults. My memories. I'll look at the files on The Winchesters." Magnussen chuckled, moving his hands as if he were actually holding files, "This is one of my favourites. Oh, it's so exciting. All those demon hunts and deals. I can really see why you like her, Sherlock. You see?"

"So there are no documents. You don't actually have anything here," John stated.

"Oh, sometimes I send out for something if I really need it, but mostly I just remember it all."

"You just remember it all?"

It's all about knowledge. Everything is. Knowing is owning."

"But if you just know it, then you don't have proof," (Y/n) said.

" Proof? What would I need proof for? I'm in news, you moron. I don't have to prove it, I just have to print it. Speaking of news, you'll all be heavily featured tomorrow, trying to sell state secrets to me. Let's go outside. They'll be here shortly. Can't wait to see you arrested."

"Do we have a plan?" John asked.

No one answered.

The group exited the home onto a patio.

"They're taking their time, aren't they?

"We missed everything," (Y/n) whispered, closing her eyes, "Cas you gay angel get down here."

"I quit like your face when it's hopeful, bring it over here a minute."

(Y/n) looked at Sherlock, Sherlock avoided her gaze, nodding slightly.

"For Mary, and your brothers. Bring me your face."

(Y/n) slowly walked towards Magnussen, leaning forward. Magnussen leaned forward and licked (Y/n)'s cheek. She closed her eyes, shuddering. Magnussen continued to lick her other cheek, nose, and lips.

He only stopped when a helicopter was heard. Armed police marksmen ran towards the patio. The helicopter dropped down to hover some yards away, its spotlight aiming towards the group on the patio.

"Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and (Y/n) Winchester," Mycroft's voice came over the speakers, "Stand away from that man."

"To clarify, Appledore vaults only exist in your mind, nowhere else, just there."

"They're not real. They never have been."

"Sherlock, what do we do?" John asked.

"Nothing! There's nothing to be done! Oh, I'm not a villain. I have no evil plan. I'm a business-man, acquiring assets. You happen to be one of them! Sorry. No chance for you to be a hero this time, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock reached past (Y/n)'s coat, grabbing her gun, "Oh, do your research. I'm not a hero, I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Merry Christmas!"

Sherlock raised the gun and shot.

"Get away from me!" Sherlock yelled raising his hands above his head, "Stay well back!"

"Do not fire on Sherlock Holmes! Do not fire!"

"Might need to postpone the wedding (Y/n). Tell Mary she's safe now."

~*~

A black car drove along the runway towards where an executive jet was stationary on the tarmac. Mary, John, and (Y/n) got out of the car, walking towards Sherlock and Mycroft. (Y/n) was wearing a trenchcoat similar to that of Cas'.

Mary hugged Sherlock first.

"You will look after him for me, won't you?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll keep him in trouble."

John was up next, "Since this is likely to be the last conversation I'll have with John Watson, William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"Sorry?"

"That's the whole of it, if you're looking for baby names."

" No, we've had a scan. We're pretty sure it's a girl."

"Oh."

"The game is over."

"The game is never over, John, but there may be some new players now. It's okay. The East Wind takes us all in the end."

"What's that?"

"It's a story my brother told me when we were kids. The East Wind, this terrifying force that lays waste to all in its path. It seeks out the unworthy and plucks them from the Earth. That was generally me. He was a rubbish big brother. John, there's something...I should say, I-I've meant to say always and then never have. Since it's unlikely we'll ever meet again, I might as well say it now. Sherlock is actually a girl's name."

John chuckled, "It's not. Now, you wanker, you best say goodbye to your wife."

"She's not my wife," Sherlock said in confusion.

Sherlock turned to (Y/n), freezing. She had taken the trench coat off, revealing a wedding dress. On her head was the veil Sherlock's mother had given her. Mary's phone was on, recording, and there was a laptop on top of the car with Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade watching from 221B.

"Dearly beloved," Mycroft said boredly, flipping open his laptop where everyone from (Y/n)'s side was sitting, wearing dresses or suits, "We are gathered here today to celebrate one of life's greatest moments, the joining of two hearts and to give recognition to the worth and beauty of love, and to add our best wishes to the words which shall unite this couple in marriage. Should there be anyone who has cause why this couple should not be united in marriage, please keep your mouth shut we're on a schedule."

A strange warbling noise could be heard from near the plane. Everyone looked over in shock as a man with spiked brown hair ran out of a blue police box, a blonde woman following him.

"See, I told you Rose, we would make it on time. Maybe a bit late, but we can go back."

"Always switching bodies," Sherlock muttered, "You're Ten then?"

"Yep, Rose here told me Nine told her to remind me to come to the wedding," the strange man turned to (Y/n), "Lovely to meet you, I'm the Doctor. Anywho, carry on."

Everyone but Sherlock looked at him strangely before Mycroft continued, "Who gives this woman today to be married?"

"That's me," Bobby moved forward in the chat, "I love you, you idjit."

"Today we have come together to witness the joining of these two lives. For them, out of the routine of unordinary life, the extraordinary has happened. They met each other, fell in love and are finalizing it with their wedding. A good marriage must be created. It is never being too old to hold hands. It's remembering to say I love you every day and it is not just marrying the right person its being the right partner."

"I, Sherlock Holmes take you (Y/n) Winchester to be my wife, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever." Sherlock spoke the vow from memory, entirely caught up with what was happening. They were getting married on a runway.

"I, (Y/n) Winchester take you Sherlock Holmes to be my husband, my partner in life and my one true love. I will cherish our friendship and love you today, tomorrow, and forever."

"(Y/n) Winchester, do you take this man to be your husband?"

"I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect him, forsaking all others and holding only unto him?"

"I do."

"Sherlock Holmes, do you take this woman to be your wife?"

"I do."

"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish and protect her, forsaking all others and holding only unto her?"

"I do."

Mary stepped forward and pulled two rings out of her pocket, "Wedding rings are an unbroken circle of love, signifying to all the union of this couple in marriage."

"This ring is my sacred gift, with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you and honor you all the days of my life. And with this ring, I thee wed," Sherlock slipped (Y/n)'s ring onto her finger.

"This ring is my sacred gift, with my promise that I will always love you, cherish you and honor you all the days of my life. And with this ring, I thee wed."

"By the power vested in me I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Sherlock leaned down and kissed (Y/n) gently, their first kiss as a married couple also being their last for at least 6 months.

"Come back soon alright?" (Y/n) grinned, "We've got a honeymoon to make up for."

Sherlock got onto the plane, a married man. He sat down at a window seat, looking outside. (Y/n) was speaking with Sherlock's side, and her side on the computers, smiling sadly at them.

"Yes, yes, we're all very happy," Mycroft said sarcastically, "Now, (Y/n), don't worry about all the documents, they've been taken care of. You're a British citizen, congratulations."

"Lovely seeing you again Sherlock, watch out for Sherrinford as well. Don't know when we'll be seeing each other next so congratulations, they're beautiful."

Mycroft got into his car, and the plane began to move down the runway. Rose and the Doctor entered the blue box again, and with a flash it was gone. Within the next minute, Mycroft got out of his car, phone at his ear.

"What happened?" John asked.

"Moriarty," Mycroft mumbled.

"He's already back?"

(Y/n) pulled the veil off her head, "There's an East Wind coming."