"They have the perfect defence system. They are quantum locked. They don't exist when they are being observed. No choice it's a fact of their biology, in the sight of a living thing, they literally turn to stone. And you can't kill a stone. Course, a stone can't kill you either, but then you turn your back, then you blink, and oh yes it can. And I'm sorry, I am very sorry, but it's up to you now."

"I was in the middle of a case, Lestrade," Sherlock Holmes said pulling on his latex gloves as DI Greg Lestrade led him and the army doctor to the strange building outside of town.

"Yes, but you'll like this one," Lestrade said. "That's what you like, isn't it, the interesting cases, the ones that are funny?"

"He doesn't have a case," John Watson said as the police officers raised the tape and let them through. "He's just saying that so he doesn't have to be breathing the same air as Anderson."

"That makes a lot more sense," Lestrade said. "Has he fired shots at the wall yet?"

"Oh yes," John said grimly knowing that this month's rent would be higher than usual. "And there are, currently, seven disembowelled rats on my kitchen counter. Where I cook."

"It's an experiment," Sherlock said sulkily as Lestrade showed them to a silver car.

"What do you make of that?" Lestrade said.

Sherlock took one look at it. "New, about 3 months old, the driver is a rather fat man with sweaty hands, so working in a stressful situation. The seats behind look like they've been occupied but by no one heavier than 80 pounds so we have to assume children. Maybe one toddler but difficult to say. The passenger seat has been rarely sat on, so he doesn't carpool nor does he have a wife. So, divorced or widowed, difficult to tell-"

"Rodney Davenport," John said, rifling through some papers that he had found in the glove compartment.

Sherlock looked up and narrowed his eyes. "What?"

"Rodney Davenport. 54." John said. "Lives on Marchmont road in Richmond with his three daughters. Accountant."

"How on earth did you know that?" Sherlock asked, perplexed.

John smiled and held out the forms to Sherlock. "Insurance details and a photo of him and his kids." He said.

"We've phoned his estranged wife," Lestrade said. "Apparently, he was taking them up to see their grandmother who loves not far from here. Why they stopped here we have no idea."

"Obvious," Sherlock said.

"Sorry?" Lestrade asked.

"Obvious," Sherlock repeated. "Can I ask, when the car was found, was it still running?"

"No," Lestrade replied.

"Were the keys still in the ignition?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes."

"Obvious," Sherlock concluded.

"You think they broke down?" John asked.

"Something like that." Sherlock replied.

"It's not the first time this has happened." Lestrade said. "This house has a lot of history of people just disappearing. The local policeman who was investigating it, disappeared less than a month ago. We have no idea where he is. Had to take over."

Sherlock licked his lips.

"Anything?" John asked, shoving the files back into the glove compartment.

"Ten," Sherlock said. "Each as unlikely as the next. Show me the house."

Lestrade nodded and led them into the creaking despairing house. The floorboards were so dusty that even with seven dozen police officers barging through the floor still remained covered in dust. John climbed after Sherlock and the Detective inspector, trying to take everything in. The house was a buzz with noise and electricity and people.

"We found this though." Lestrade said, pointing them into a room. Sherlock entered quietly, his footfalls barely making a noise. John followed and stared at the words written across the wall.

"BEWARE THE WEEPING ANGELS"

"OH, AND DUCK"

" REALLY DUCK!"

"SALLY SPARROW"

"DUCK NOW"

"LOVE FROM THE DOCTOR 1969"

Sherlock was skulking around the room. He found a heavy rock and weighed it in his hands before going over to the broken window and examining it, the cold freezing his breath. Outside was a broken ugly statue of an angel that had lost all sense of shape and form.

"Thoughts?" Lestrade asked.

"Slowly dissolving," Sherlock muttered. "Do we know who Sally Sparrow is?"

"Yes," Lestrade replied. "Actually. She filed a report with the police department before Shippton disappeared. She now owns a rare book shop with her best friends brother. It's called 'Sparrow and Nightingale'."

"How quaint," Sherlock muttered. "John, take note."

"Already doing it," John replied, pulling out his notebook and scribbling the information that they had already gathered.

"And this Doctor," Sherlock said. "Do we know who he is?"

"He's on record," Lestrade said. "But nothing concrete I can tell you."

"There must be something," Sherlock said.

"The last known record of the Doctor was in U.N.I.T in the 1970's," Lestrade said. "I doubt he'd be any help to us now."

Sherlock's jaw tightened. He was thinking, his brow furrowing into a crease. "Mm."

"U.N.I.T?" John asked. "Not the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce?"

"The very same," Lestrade said.

"You know it?" Sherlock asked.

"It's a branch of the British army." John said. "Very hush hush, like Baskerville, but more to do with homeland security. Or should I say world security."

"What aliens?" Lestrade scoffed.

"There are over 2 billion stars in the sky, inspector," Sherlock said, leaning down to check the skirting boards. "Each one has the potential to preserve life. Simple logic."

Lestrade rolled his eyes moving away from the private detective as Sally Donovan entered the room.

"Hello freak," She said.

"Sally," Sherlock said, not looking around.

"Sir," Sally turned to Lestrade. "There's something odd in the basement, I think you should see."

Sherlock looked up. "Show me."

Sally looked pleadingly over at Lestrade. "Can we not go one case without bringing the freaks in?"

"They are just consulting," Lestrade replied. Sally sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Come on then," She muttered leading them downstairs and into the basement. She clicked on the lights and in the middle of the room stood four very large angels, teeth baring and staring at each other.

"So?" Lestrade asked. "They're just statues."

"Yeah, but look at them!" Sally said.

"Not exactly a great piece of artwork," John observed as Sherlock moved between them.

"And not displayed," Sherlock said. "Doesn't that seem a bit odd, Detective?"

Lestrade sighed. "Have you got anything useful?" He asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Give me until this afternoon," He said. "I should have something of use then."

Lestrade nodded stiffly as Sherlock and John moved away. John tucked his notebook into his pocket.

"So, where are we going?" He asked.

"You are going to go visit Sally Sparrow," Sherlock said. "Ask her everything to do with Western Drumlins and this Doctor. And these weeping angels. Text me when you get the details."

"Where are you going?" John asked.

"To visit my brother." Sherlock said.

"Well, could you warn me when the missiles launch and cause a nuclear war? I built a bunker for it in our attic," John said.

Sherlock stopped, his hands in his pockets. "Sarcasm?"

"Sarcasm." John nodded approvingly.