"Maybe we should road trip to England Sammy." Suggested Dean as he slid a day old USA Today across the greasy diner table. Sam tilted his head forward and read the bold black letters in the middle of the page; Britain's Blogging Detective on Winning Streak.

"Since when do we take notice of real detectives?" asked Sam, gripping his coffee tightly.

"I don't know, but it's gotta be something weird right?"

Sam shrugged. Checking his watch Sam pushed his long brown hair out of his face. "Were the hell is Cas, he's like an hour late." Dean looked briefly from side to side before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

"Oh Castiel! We pray that you may recover from you tardiness and get your feathery ass down here right now…"

"Hello Dean." Suddenly a trench coat-clad, fairly rough looking man appeared looking down on dean.

"No hurry flash. What took you so long?"

Cas looked at his shoes and replied. "I was…distracted."

"… uh right." Said Sam. "Any progress with the whole word of God thing?"

"The prophet Kevin Tran seems to be having a regrettable amount of trouble deciphering the last few lines."

"But you're certain he's out of Crowley's reach now, right?" inquired Dean.

Without hesitation Castiel answered "yes". He looked around the dawn-coloured room and noticed the lack of people for such a busy time in the morning. His focus once again returned to his shoes.

"Thanks Cas. We owe you one."

"I believe you owe me many Dean." A glance was thrown to Sam as Cas tried to think of the correct words to present his next statement. He cleared his throat. "I have been informed, recently, that there may be a second person who possesses the ability to translate the word of God."

"And you only thought of telling us this now!?" Exclaimed Sam.

"This never crossed your mind? You never thought to tell us 'hey, fyi there's another prophet!?'"

"It is not so simple." Cas took a harsh breath. "This, 'other' is notoriously hard to track down. However not impossible. Our job now, is finding this man before Crowley does."

"Crowley knows too!?" Shouted Dean.

"Not at the moment, but it's only a matter of time."

"Got anything else to confess Cas?"

"I am afraid I cannot even work a spell to track him. He is out of my jurisdiction. So to speak."

"okay. Uh Thanks Cas."

"So we have another prophet-"

"No Sam." Cas interrupted. "he is not a prophet." He looked at the pair of confused faces before him. Sometimes Cas found himself amused simple nature of humanity. He also tended to forget that humans couldn't read minds.

"uh… do you want to elaborate?"

"uh. Right. He is possession of a machine, that once it takes effect on anyone, it will give them the ability to automatically read the tablet. And any other ancient text for that matter. We must not allow Crowley access to this machine, or this man."

"okay. You got any ideas, leads?" Asked Dean sarcastically.

"Yes." Replied Cas simply, and with no fuss, he disappeared. Looking around the diner, Dean cussed.

"Useless son of a bitch."

"Now what?" asked Sam. "I mean its not like we've got any leads Dean. Do we look, or just pray that Crowley won't find out, and let it be?"

"Well, we've hunted harder. What'ya say you have a look through Bobby's old books."

Sam scrunched his face at dean and muttered sarcastically under his breath. "Okay, I'll get right on that Dean."

"Atta boy Sammy."

Sherlock rolled off the sofa and made his way to his desk. His train of thought had been unduly interrupted by a knock at the door. "John. Door." He shouted, despite the fact that John Watson was not home at that moment. Sherlock swivelled his chair around, opened his laptop, and upon swivelling back around again was stopped by a man standing over him. The Man was uncomfortably close and spoke in a rusty baritone American accent. "You are Sherloc k Holmes." Sherlock didn't move or speak. The American man took a step back, then allowing Sherlock to stand. "I tried to knock." Sherlock examined the man closely. Clothes that seemed to be at least five years old, suggest an expensive nature, but messy, untidy, ruling out one of Mycroft's men. He seemed like an ex-soldier, but his posture stated otherwise, his eyes confirmed this man had seen more than enough action. But Sherlock found this man very hard to sum up.

"How did you get in here?"

"I am Castiel." Sherlock looked down along his nose at Cas, whose blue eyes were fixed upon Sherlock's face. "Strange."

"What is strange?" Asked Sherlock, who for once, seemed to have the lower hand in this situation.

"You are nothing special. Just human."

"You don't know who you are talking to." Sherlock took a step to the side and he bean to pace across the room. "you speak as though you are not."

"not what?"

"Human. As if you are not just like the rest of them. See you feel misunderstood, like there isn't anyone else like you. You have certain… abilities that people resent you for am I right.?" Sherlock swept right up to Cas's face. "Let me tell you , and listen very carefully Mr Castiel, I've met someone like you before, and you cannot fool me. You cannot stop me, and you cannot win. You are just a man.

Cas took several dramatic steps backward toward the fire place of 221b Bakerstreet. "I am an Angel of The Lord."