*hides*
Title: Welcome To The Family
Authors: _ice_lady_ and sphinxofthenile
Fandoms: The Avengers, BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/Loki. Yes, you read that right.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Do not own. Earn no money. Mean no harm.
Summary: After a night of heavy drinking and debauchery, John wakes up to a day in hell. The world has ended.
Warning: No, not mpreg. But definitely everything else.
A/N: This is one hell of an introduction to both fandoms... HAI PEOPLE and please don't hurt us. Please?
Word count: 3717
---
It's not like last night hadn't been, for John at least... strange is a way of putting it. Not that he has much of a recollection of it, just enough to know that he'd come home to a flat full of people (then again, anything beyond he and Sherlock seemed to fall into that category). A couple claiming to be... searching for some necklace, or something. Claiming to be a pair of Norse gods. Searching for a necklace. People that Sherlock actually did not openly patronise. Or at least did not patronise one of them.
Then John was kicked out of the place, together with the bigger man. Bigger man who said his name was Thor, and who seemed to be more than happy with the idea of getting drunk on this fine night, and could John give him a nice little tour of inner London's pubs? Besides, not like they should return earlier than... well, tomorrow. Or maybe next week.
Sherlock and the other guy had some important business to take care of. Granted, John might have been willing to believe them, had he not been able to smell the tension in the air. Tension which he had been more than happy to drown in alcohol that very second.
For John, the entire situation was absurd. But this Thor fellow was more than happy to pay, easy to talk to (in that in through one ear and out through the other way) and, no matter how hard John tried, he could never outdrink him. All in all, the entire night reminded him of his college days. Nothing bad about that one, definitely.
And, just like in the college days, he'd woken up with a headache from hell, a foul taste in his mouth and more black holes in his brain than he'd had ten hours prior. Good night. If you were a teenager. Twenty something, maybe. Like this, John has his doubts.
He's in pain. The medicine cabinet is in the bathroom. As is the toilet. He could use a shower, but then again, he could use decapitation as well. Anything to stop the pain. And he wouldn't mind finding out just how on earth he's back in his bed without a single recollection of his way of getting there.
But nothing, just nothing prepares him for the moment when he steps out of his bedroom and spots an unknown man in the kitchen, bent over with his head in the fridge. Half naked unknown man in the kitchen, and the bottoms he's wearing are a pair John had seen before, but they're not too familiar. Which makes him conclude that they're Sherlock's, and he promises to himself this is the last time he's ever using deduction when hungover.
The last time he's using deduction, period.
John freezes, tries to think of anything in this flat that could be used as a blunt weapon. Can't think of a thing that he'd actually be capable of lifting. Then the unknown man turns around, shoots John a look that is eerily familiar even though the face is obviously different, and John remembers. Fucking Norse gods.
"You stink," the man drawls, makes sure that John feels like an animal about to be dissected.
Loki, is it?
And all John wanted was an aspirin.
"I see my brother is as good of a nanny as I thought." And with that, Loki closes the fridge, but it doesn't seem like the man pulled anything out of it. He's definitely not holding anything in his hands, and hands are surely a part of his body that John is having a hard time focusing on, all things considered.
Since when do half naked, shirtless men walk around his kitchen? He's afraid of even giving it a second thought. Lest he wakes up in an asylum in the next half an hour.
"Thor?" John asks, his voice raspy and throat raw. He could definitely use something to drink. And an ampule of arsenic, while he is at it.
"So let me guess," Loki continues with that bored-with-the-world drawl. "He's passed out in some deserted alley."
John mumbles something, rubbing his eyes with one hand and combing the other through his hair. Loki may be a god, or at least look like one, but this is the point in this not so fine morning where John decides that he's ready to risk his life for a drink. There better be orange juice in the fridge.
Then he hears a whistle coming from Sherlock's room. He glances at the clock for the first time, because his brain simply cannot process some facts without actually imploding. It's not noon yet. In fact, it's nine. Judging by the sun coming through the window, in the a.m.
And Sherlock is obviously up. Whistling. Stepping out of his bedroom with a barely tied bathrobe and a grin. No snarky remarks. No glares. No looking down at the common folk.
Just a grin. Which doubles once his eyes lock with Loki's.
The world must be ending.
John decides it's time to make some tea.
He doesn't even notice his hands are shaking until the moment he's fighting very hard to fill the kettle with water, while his two companions do their best not to say the words that are so very obviously on their minds. So obvious, in fact, that even John can see them. Even though he feels like a steam roller went over his face. Twice.
But the kettle is plugged in and John pulls a chair closer.
"Oh. John," Sherlock finally speaks, acknowledging him. Considering the dead quiet of the last half a minute, John almost falls off the chair. "Morning," the man adds.
John, again, mumbles something. Sherlock pays him little to no heed as he steps closer to... well, Loki probably. John decides that it's the kitchen counter instead. Seems safer.
"Don't open the fridge," Loki says, Sherlock makes a sign of recognition and hops onto a chair himself. John hopes his jaw hitting the floor doesn't make that loud of a crash as it seems to his own ears.
Correction. The world must have ended. As for some weird reason there are two Sherlock-like things in his apartment. Sherlock-like because John is more and more certain that the man sitting across the table and whistling is not the real thing.
Everything is just way too surreal.
"What did you do to our fridge?" John asks. He's not quite sure why, of all the things, his brain is focusing on that, but he's blaming evolution. Survival mechanism at its finest.
"Nothing," Loki says with a shrug. "Just playing tetris with it."
John's eyes dart at Sherlock, who doesn't see a thing wrong with it. "Everyone needs a hobby," he elaborates.
John is not sure which part of it kills his brain more.
He simply wishes it has anything to do with the fact that Sherlock is obviously gay. He wishes, oh does he ever, that he could only be surprised about that one. But now, he has to wrap his head around the... the...
Loki.
Who is he, anyway? Aside from self-proclaimed god of something and quite an extraordinary fellow who obviously sees nothing wrong with this situation. Neither does Sherlock, and it's breaking John's brain all over again. The oversized bear of a guy from yesterday must have been spiking his drinks with something. That's the only logical explanation.
Where the hell is he, anyway?
"Weren't you supposed to..." have that absolutely important business conversation that John and Thor could obviously not participate in, for whatever reason. Not that it stings, or anything. Instead of, well, this. Whatever this is. "... nevermind."
"I have no idea how you manage," Loki says then. John's eyes jerk towards the man, but it's not like it's John he's talking to. It seems like John's not even in the room. Which, John swears to god, if it at any point makes these two remove those few layers they have on themselves, there will be war.
"Oh, he's not so bad," Sherlock says, sounding a bit amused. Him sounding anything but patronising is cause for alarm on its own. "Once you get used to him."
"Ah yes, us puny humans," John decides to cut in, because he's too tired, too sleep deprived, too hungover (and too many other things no school so far taught him the proper words for) to let two people talk about him while he is right there.
"Not just humans," Loki adds with a smirk. And John swears, Sherlock actually looks proud for a second. Thank god for the kettle starting to whistle. He'd be hemorrhaging from a stroke right now otherwise. Think of the little things. The simple things. Sherlock has a point. Humans are so simple.
Don't think of Sherlock.
Doesn't matter that he's right there. Just... tea good. Kettle pretty.
He takes a sip of tea from his freshly filled cup instead. It seems worth noting that Loki isn't that much different in that regard. He walks to the kettle and pours himself a cup slowly. Sherlock looks at him expectantly and a filled cup materialises in front of the man as well.
John decides it is easier to pretend he didn't just see that (did he just see that?) than ask.
Then there is a knock on the door, perfect and impeccable and firing up John's nervous system better than any caffeine for reasons he can't identify. But that becomes painfully clear the moment the door opens and Mycroft steps in, suit, cane, that look and everything.
Suddenly the definition of surreal seems mighty relative.
"Sherlock, I believe we need to talk," Mycroft announces, obviously somewhat shaken despite his clothes being just as perfect as always, every strand of hair in place and just generally being, well, Mycroft. Still, John might not be as bright as Sherlock, but there are certain things that you learn on the battlefield fairly quickly.
Like when to pretend to be dead. Or something such.
"Mycroft," Sherlock deigns to acknowledge his brother's presence, and Loki smirks into his own cup. "Let me guess."
"This is a very serious matter, Sherlock." The tip of Mycroft's cane rises and touches the floor again, and John is starting to contemplate getting his gun. But that would require moving, and he knows better than that. Sherlock is obviously not that impressed though. In fact, he seems a little bored, and there is still that little smile on his lips that scares John more than anything else about this entire charade could. "You see, I just had a most remarkable visitor. Do you by any chance happen to know a certain Agent Coulson?"
Well, Sherlock might be unfazed, but Loki certainly is not, if the way he ends up spitting his tea all over the floor is any indication.
"Never heard of him," he deadpans the moment Mycroft looks at him in a way that makes even John uncomfortable.
"Then I presume you have not the slightest knowledge about the break in that occurred in the British Museum last night."
Loki shrugs and, from the little that John can see without actually having to crane his head, the man (god? Whatever...) also offers an innocent blink or two. Which on him looks anything but. To the point where John has to wonder whether that man has ever been innocent for a minute in his life.
Mycroft doesn't buy it.
Blind dogs wouldn't buy it. Blind dogs with brain damage.
"He's right," Sherlock interrupts, clears his throat, and suddenly Mycroft's eyes are on his brother. "He spent the night with me." Oh, that gloating. Sherlock looks in every way like a cat that got the cream. Then he takes a sip of his tea.
Enemy or not, John has to hand it to Mycroft, he is either holding it together magnificently or he deserves a grand prize for acting that well. "Sherlock, I am aware that your sense of humour is rather... questionable, but don't you think there are certain--"
"Please, Mycroft--"
"--limits to everything. You know how it upsets Mummy."
Sherlock looks as though he's about to roll his eyes and sigh with boredom.
Loki looks as though he'd discovered the meaning of life. John swears, he can see the light bulb over the man's head. Not like it matters. There are certain things John simply does not want to know. Like Norse gods and their relationships with their mothers.
Which gives him a flashback of last night that no pill could help with. Thor yapping about some fight he'd had with his brother, who then lied about their father being dead, then killed his real father, but their father is alright, and... all things considered, the man could have shared all the secrets of the universe with John, but when he sounded just so... ridiculous. And brain damaged.
Suddenly all those black holes in John's brain make sense. Not that this revelation is making him happy at any rate.
"I can assure you," Loki starts in that bored tone that John learns to heavily dislike. Suddenly, all eyes slide towards the man and John thinks about slipping out of the room. Then again, too many people. Too many observant people he's too afraid would notice him. "Nothing we did has any cause for alarm."
Mycroft looks a little taken aback. For half a second maybe. John wishes there was something that could break that endless cool, but he knows the Holmes brothers a bit too well. "And might I ask, who are you?" It's rather interesting seeing Mycroft try and outmatch a deity in a glaring contest. A deity so powerful that all it took Sherlock was a five sentence exchange, and he had been kicking John out of the flat with light speed.
Loki offers a curt bow but John is just too busy staring at that little smirk on Sherlock's lips. "Loki Silvertongue," he says and Sherlock's smirk grows a fraction. The man is surely surprised. John refuses to ponder on it. Whatever the two had been doing, it sure as hell had little to do with formal introductions.
John shudders and hopes they don't see it.
"A fitting name," Sherlock observes. Loki brings gloating to a whole new level while Mycroft for the first time looks like he's about to wince.
"God of Mischief, at your service. And who might you be?" he quickly adds. Not that Loki is even remotely interested, but he's obviously happy enough to humour the puny little pawns that keep him amused this fine morning.
John needs more tea. John also needs a hole in his head.
"Mycroft is my brother," he hears Sherlock say instead. "Regretfully." And why is John not surprised?
"I feel for you," Loki adds, not all that surprised himself.
Neither is Mycroft, but then again the man rarely is.
Then there's another knock and the door slides open without an invite. "Sherlock." It's a woman's voice, and one that John knows far too well and he feels like slapping his face for being so stupid and not disappearing when he'd had the chance. "Oh, I see you've got company. You're not in trouble, are you?" Mrs Hudson smiles, steps aside and suddenly the entire situation turns a lot more absurd. And to think a minute ago John thought that was impossible. "Because there is this nice young man that said he couldn't find his key last night, so I let him stay on my couch."
Good grief, what next?
The nice young man enters the flat and grins. Yes, John indeed needs another cup of tea.
"Brother!" Thor exclaims, but for some reason freezes mid step. "Why are you naked?"
John feels like slapping his face all over again. "He spent the night." Suddenly there are eyes on him and John clears his throat. "Obviously." He's not quite sure why he said it (sarcasm is such a remarkable coping mechanism), but it certainly is not supposed to make the grin on Thor's lips grow even wider as the man darts towards Sherlock and pulls him into a tight embrace.
Almost knocks the cup out of Sherlock's hand. Almost knocks his lungs out too.
"Welcome to the family!" Thor continues, taps Sherlock's back. John swears, Sherlock looks a little green. Sherlock looks like he's going to cough out his ribcage any moment now. But luckily, Thor releases him instantly, and turns towards the rest of his audience. "And to think that all these years we were worried there was something wrong with him. This demands a celebration!" Thor continues. "Woman, bring alcohol!"
"Not your housekeeper, darling." John cannot but roll his eyes and stare at his tea. It tastes perfectly normal, but then again, wouldn't be the first time Sherlock is experimenting with weird untraceable substances. "But there is this bottle of sherry I've been keeping for notable occasions, if you wish. But just this once," Mrs Hudson warns, and John just cannot help himself for reasons beyond his grasp. Aside from the obvious.
"Some extra glasses would be nice, if you have them."
"Not your housekeeper." Her voice carries back from the staircase, and John just knows he is going to wake up from this. Any moment now.
"Sherlock," Loki says flatly the moment the footsteps down the staircase wane. "Meet my brother. Regretfully." The sarcasm makes John want to take a shower. It's not just the sarcasm, of course, but it's easier to pretend that way.
"I feel for you." Sherlock's words are sharp and levelled.
Thor, on the other hand, is completely unperturbed. Then again, after last night, John is the last person to be surprised about that one. "Oh, brother," he says instead, smacking Loki over the shoulder. John remembers that from last night, with a sudden realisation as to why his shoulder hurts as well. "Always so moody in the morning," he adds.
"Sherlock." It's Mycroft. John almost forgot about the man altogether. Then again, Thor himself is a handful. Loki and Sherlock... not going there. Simply not. "How can you do that?" It's probably the first time that John has ever seen Mycroft's composure crack, and it's a remarkable thing to observe.
Sherlock just looks bored. Maybe a bit sore, but that has everything to do with... the other brother.
"What about John?" Mycroft presses. "He's such a decent fellow."
"No, I'm not," John deadpans instantly and Mycroft glances at him in a way that would make everyone run for the hills. Not right now, and definitely not John. All of a sudden, this entire situation is simply too amusing. Then again, Sherlock and his hallucinogens...
John wishes the kettle was hell of a lot more closer.
"And instead... instead..." Mycroft tries, finger darting at Loki accusingly. "You end up with this... lord of naughty." Then again, drinking is obviously not a wise option right now. John cringes, probably too damned obviously. Sherlock still looks unamused, and Loki is about to glare. Thor... oh, it's hard to think about Thor laughing his ass off when John can't help but wonder whether Moriarty is popping a vein in some god forsaken corner right now because his Sherlock just acquired a rainbow god.
Booze. John could do with booze. Where is Mrs Hudson when you need her?
"And who on earth are you?" Thor asks, still laughing. "Such an amusing little fellow."
"Thor," Loki says, smirking. "Meet Sherlock's brother."
"Brother?" Oh, there the ceiling goes shaking again. And Mycroft looking like a cat in the rain because he's not a fool and he knows Thor is up to no good. Hugging him and all that. If Mycroft thought Sherlock's antics were painful so far... Well, five minutes ago Mycroft did not know what real pain was, that's for sure.
"It must be really relaxing being him," Sherlock says, eyes on Loki, who looks incredibly amused himself.
"That's not relaxed, that's comatose." Loki makes the smallest of eye rolls.
"Point." Sherlock nods. And why the hell does he not put on a pair of pants already? Then again, with John's luck, Shelock's only clean sleepwear is the one shared between the two. He's pretty damned certain he doesn't want to see Loki naked. Or Sherlock, come to think of it.
"There better be food," Thor says then, and John doesn't even bother pointing the man to the fridge. Or warning him about Loki's little game of tetris from earlier on.
He wishes he could be surprised when something explodes and Thor jerks around with blood and something green on his face. And a smile that does not falter for a second. "Oh, brother," he chides, far too amused, and his smile grows even wider. John decides not to think about it.
His brain hurts as it is.
"I thought we stopped doing this a thousand years ago. C'mere, you silly thing..." Thor continues, then spreads his arms open and approaches Loki with an obvious attempt to hug his brother as well. Suddenly, Loki looks in every way like a cat about to be given a bath.
"Thor," he says levelly. "Think of mother." Thor freezes on the spot and John has to wonder whether he even wants to know. No, he does not. "You know what this would do to her."
"I think you have a point," Thor says, obviously lost in thought. Screw the mess on his face. "You know... I never thought of it that way." Suddenly, the very temperature in the room changes. It's obvious to everyone, so John concludes he's not hallucinating within a hallucination. Everyone freezes except for Loki, who slides off his chair and, with a straight face and eyes glowing with emotion and looking about twice their size, he walks slowly towards Mycroft.
John wonders whether this is the moment where Sherlock loses a brother, though he can't think of a single reason why. At least not this time.
But instead the God of Mischief presses his arms around the man and squeezes his lids shut. John swears, he can see Loki's lips wibble. "Welcome to the family," he whispers, looking all the way like someone who just got all the troubles of this world lifted off his shoulders.
This entry was originally posted at http://sphinxofthenile.dreamwidth.org/136660.html.
Authors: _ice_lady_ and sphinxofthenile
Fandoms: The Avengers, BBC Sherlock
Pairing: Sherlock/Loki. Yes, you read that right.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Do not own. Earn no money. Mean no harm.
Summary: After a night of heavy drinking and debauchery, John wakes up to a day in hell. The world has ended.
Warning: No, not mpreg. But definitely everything else.
A/N: This is one hell of an introduction to both fandoms... HAI PEOPLE and please don't hurt us. Please?
Word count: 3717
---
It's not like last night hadn't been, for John at least... strange is a way of putting it. Not that he has much of a recollection of it, just enough to know that he'd come home to a flat full of people (then again, anything beyond he and Sherlock seemed to fall into that category). A couple claiming to be... searching for some necklace, or something. Claiming to be a pair of Norse gods. Searching for a necklace. People that Sherlock actually did not openly patronise. Or at least did not patronise one of them.
Then John was kicked out of the place, together with the bigger man. Bigger man who said his name was Thor, and who seemed to be more than happy with the idea of getting drunk on this fine night, and could John give him a nice little tour of inner London's pubs? Besides, not like they should return earlier than... well, tomorrow. Or maybe next week.
Sherlock and the other guy had some important business to take care of. Granted, John might have been willing to believe them, had he not been able to smell the tension in the air. Tension which he had been more than happy to drown in alcohol that very second.
For John, the entire situation was absurd. But this Thor fellow was more than happy to pay, easy to talk to (in that in through one ear and out through the other way) and, no matter how hard John tried, he could never outdrink him. All in all, the entire night reminded him of his college days. Nothing bad about that one, definitely.
And, just like in the college days, he'd woken up with a headache from hell, a foul taste in his mouth and more black holes in his brain than he'd had ten hours prior. Good night. If you were a teenager. Twenty something, maybe. Like this, John has his doubts.
He's in pain. The medicine cabinet is in the bathroom. As is the toilet. He could use a shower, but then again, he could use decapitation as well. Anything to stop the pain. And he wouldn't mind finding out just how on earth he's back in his bed without a single recollection of his way of getting there.
But nothing, just nothing prepares him for the moment when he steps out of his bedroom and spots an unknown man in the kitchen, bent over with his head in the fridge. Half naked unknown man in the kitchen, and the bottoms he's wearing are a pair John had seen before, but they're not too familiar. Which makes him conclude that they're Sherlock's, and he promises to himself this is the last time he's ever using deduction when hungover.
The last time he's using deduction, period.
John freezes, tries to think of anything in this flat that could be used as a blunt weapon. Can't think of a thing that he'd actually be capable of lifting. Then the unknown man turns around, shoots John a look that is eerily familiar even though the face is obviously different, and John remembers. Fucking Norse gods.
"You stink," the man drawls, makes sure that John feels like an animal about to be dissected.
Loki, is it?
And all John wanted was an aspirin.
"I see my brother is as good of a nanny as I thought." And with that, Loki closes the fridge, but it doesn't seem like the man pulled anything out of it. He's definitely not holding anything in his hands, and hands are surely a part of his body that John is having a hard time focusing on, all things considered.
Since when do half naked, shirtless men walk around his kitchen? He's afraid of even giving it a second thought. Lest he wakes up in an asylum in the next half an hour.
"Thor?" John asks, his voice raspy and throat raw. He could definitely use something to drink. And an ampule of arsenic, while he is at it.
"So let me guess," Loki continues with that bored-with-the-world drawl. "He's passed out in some deserted alley."
John mumbles something, rubbing his eyes with one hand and combing the other through his hair. Loki may be a god, or at least look like one, but this is the point in this not so fine morning where John decides that he's ready to risk his life for a drink. There better be orange juice in the fridge.
Then he hears a whistle coming from Sherlock's room. He glances at the clock for the first time, because his brain simply cannot process some facts without actually imploding. It's not noon yet. In fact, it's nine. Judging by the sun coming through the window, in the a.m.
And Sherlock is obviously up. Whistling. Stepping out of his bedroom with a barely tied bathrobe and a grin. No snarky remarks. No glares. No looking down at the common folk.
Just a grin. Which doubles once his eyes lock with Loki's.
The world must be ending.
John decides it's time to make some tea.
He doesn't even notice his hands are shaking until the moment he's fighting very hard to fill the kettle with water, while his two companions do their best not to say the words that are so very obviously on their minds. So obvious, in fact, that even John can see them. Even though he feels like a steam roller went over his face. Twice.
But the kettle is plugged in and John pulls a chair closer.
"Oh. John," Sherlock finally speaks, acknowledging him. Considering the dead quiet of the last half a minute, John almost falls off the chair. "Morning," the man adds.
John, again, mumbles something. Sherlock pays him little to no heed as he steps closer to... well, Loki probably. John decides that it's the kitchen counter instead. Seems safer.
"Don't open the fridge," Loki says, Sherlock makes a sign of recognition and hops onto a chair himself. John hopes his jaw hitting the floor doesn't make that loud of a crash as it seems to his own ears.
Correction. The world must have ended. As for some weird reason there are two Sherlock-like things in his apartment. Sherlock-like because John is more and more certain that the man sitting across the table and whistling is not the real thing.
Everything is just way too surreal.
"What did you do to our fridge?" John asks. He's not quite sure why, of all the things, his brain is focusing on that, but he's blaming evolution. Survival mechanism at its finest.
"Nothing," Loki says with a shrug. "Just playing tetris with it."
John's eyes dart at Sherlock, who doesn't see a thing wrong with it. "Everyone needs a hobby," he elaborates.
John is not sure which part of it kills his brain more.
He simply wishes it has anything to do with the fact that Sherlock is obviously gay. He wishes, oh does he ever, that he could only be surprised about that one. But now, he has to wrap his head around the... the...
Loki.
Who is he, anyway? Aside from self-proclaimed god of something and quite an extraordinary fellow who obviously sees nothing wrong with this situation. Neither does Sherlock, and it's breaking John's brain all over again. The oversized bear of a guy from yesterday must have been spiking his drinks with something. That's the only logical explanation.
Where the hell is he, anyway?
"Weren't you supposed to..." have that absolutely important business conversation that John and Thor could obviously not participate in, for whatever reason. Not that it stings, or anything. Instead of, well, this. Whatever this is. "... nevermind."
"I have no idea how you manage," Loki says then. John's eyes jerk towards the man, but it's not like it's John he's talking to. It seems like John's not even in the room. Which, John swears to god, if it at any point makes these two remove those few layers they have on themselves, there will be war.
"Oh, he's not so bad," Sherlock says, sounding a bit amused. Him sounding anything but patronising is cause for alarm on its own. "Once you get used to him."
"Ah yes, us puny humans," John decides to cut in, because he's too tired, too sleep deprived, too hungover (and too many other things no school so far taught him the proper words for) to let two people talk about him while he is right there.
"Not just humans," Loki adds with a smirk. And John swears, Sherlock actually looks proud for a second. Thank god for the kettle starting to whistle. He'd be hemorrhaging from a stroke right now otherwise. Think of the little things. The simple things. Sherlock has a point. Humans are so simple.
Don't think of Sherlock.
Doesn't matter that he's right there. Just... tea good. Kettle pretty.
He takes a sip of tea from his freshly filled cup instead. It seems worth noting that Loki isn't that much different in that regard. He walks to the kettle and pours himself a cup slowly. Sherlock looks at him expectantly and a filled cup materialises in front of the man as well.
John decides it is easier to pretend he didn't just see that (did he just see that?) than ask.
Then there is a knock on the door, perfect and impeccable and firing up John's nervous system better than any caffeine for reasons he can't identify. But that becomes painfully clear the moment the door opens and Mycroft steps in, suit, cane, that look and everything.
Suddenly the definition of surreal seems mighty relative.
"Sherlock, I believe we need to talk," Mycroft announces, obviously somewhat shaken despite his clothes being just as perfect as always, every strand of hair in place and just generally being, well, Mycroft. Still, John might not be as bright as Sherlock, but there are certain things that you learn on the battlefield fairly quickly.
Like when to pretend to be dead. Or something such.
"Mycroft," Sherlock deigns to acknowledge his brother's presence, and Loki smirks into his own cup. "Let me guess."
"This is a very serious matter, Sherlock." The tip of Mycroft's cane rises and touches the floor again, and John is starting to contemplate getting his gun. But that would require moving, and he knows better than that. Sherlock is obviously not that impressed though. In fact, he seems a little bored, and there is still that little smile on his lips that scares John more than anything else about this entire charade could. "You see, I just had a most remarkable visitor. Do you by any chance happen to know a certain Agent Coulson?"
Well, Sherlock might be unfazed, but Loki certainly is not, if the way he ends up spitting his tea all over the floor is any indication.
"Never heard of him," he deadpans the moment Mycroft looks at him in a way that makes even John uncomfortable.
"Then I presume you have not the slightest knowledge about the break in that occurred in the British Museum last night."
Loki shrugs and, from the little that John can see without actually having to crane his head, the man (god? Whatever...) also offers an innocent blink or two. Which on him looks anything but. To the point where John has to wonder whether that man has ever been innocent for a minute in his life.
Mycroft doesn't buy it.
Blind dogs wouldn't buy it. Blind dogs with brain damage.
"He's right," Sherlock interrupts, clears his throat, and suddenly Mycroft's eyes are on his brother. "He spent the night with me." Oh, that gloating. Sherlock looks in every way like a cat that got the cream. Then he takes a sip of his tea.
Enemy or not, John has to hand it to Mycroft, he is either holding it together magnificently or he deserves a grand prize for acting that well. "Sherlock, I am aware that your sense of humour is rather... questionable, but don't you think there are certain--"
"Please, Mycroft--"
"--limits to everything. You know how it upsets Mummy."
Sherlock looks as though he's about to roll his eyes and sigh with boredom.
Loki looks as though he'd discovered the meaning of life. John swears, he can see the light bulb over the man's head. Not like it matters. There are certain things John simply does not want to know. Like Norse gods and their relationships with their mothers.
Which gives him a flashback of last night that no pill could help with. Thor yapping about some fight he'd had with his brother, who then lied about their father being dead, then killed his real father, but their father is alright, and... all things considered, the man could have shared all the secrets of the universe with John, but when he sounded just so... ridiculous. And brain damaged.
Suddenly all those black holes in John's brain make sense. Not that this revelation is making him happy at any rate.
"I can assure you," Loki starts in that bored tone that John learns to heavily dislike. Suddenly, all eyes slide towards the man and John thinks about slipping out of the room. Then again, too many people. Too many observant people he's too afraid would notice him. "Nothing we did has any cause for alarm."
Mycroft looks a little taken aback. For half a second maybe. John wishes there was something that could break that endless cool, but he knows the Holmes brothers a bit too well. "And might I ask, who are you?" It's rather interesting seeing Mycroft try and outmatch a deity in a glaring contest. A deity so powerful that all it took Sherlock was a five sentence exchange, and he had been kicking John out of the flat with light speed.
Loki offers a curt bow but John is just too busy staring at that little smirk on Sherlock's lips. "Loki Silvertongue," he says and Sherlock's smirk grows a fraction. The man is surely surprised. John refuses to ponder on it. Whatever the two had been doing, it sure as hell had little to do with formal introductions.
John shudders and hopes they don't see it.
"A fitting name," Sherlock observes. Loki brings gloating to a whole new level while Mycroft for the first time looks like he's about to wince.
"God of Mischief, at your service. And who might you be?" he quickly adds. Not that Loki is even remotely interested, but he's obviously happy enough to humour the puny little pawns that keep him amused this fine morning.
John needs more tea. John also needs a hole in his head.
"Mycroft is my brother," he hears Sherlock say instead. "Regretfully." And why is John not surprised?
"I feel for you," Loki adds, not all that surprised himself.
Neither is Mycroft, but then again the man rarely is.
Then there's another knock and the door slides open without an invite. "Sherlock." It's a woman's voice, and one that John knows far too well and he feels like slapping his face for being so stupid and not disappearing when he'd had the chance. "Oh, I see you've got company. You're not in trouble, are you?" Mrs Hudson smiles, steps aside and suddenly the entire situation turns a lot more absurd. And to think a minute ago John thought that was impossible. "Because there is this nice young man that said he couldn't find his key last night, so I let him stay on my couch."
Good grief, what next?
The nice young man enters the flat and grins. Yes, John indeed needs another cup of tea.
"Brother!" Thor exclaims, but for some reason freezes mid step. "Why are you naked?"
John feels like slapping his face all over again. "He spent the night." Suddenly there are eyes on him and John clears his throat. "Obviously." He's not quite sure why he said it (sarcasm is such a remarkable coping mechanism), but it certainly is not supposed to make the grin on Thor's lips grow even wider as the man darts towards Sherlock and pulls him into a tight embrace.
Almost knocks the cup out of Sherlock's hand. Almost knocks his lungs out too.
"Welcome to the family!" Thor continues, taps Sherlock's back. John swears, Sherlock looks a little green. Sherlock looks like he's going to cough out his ribcage any moment now. But luckily, Thor releases him instantly, and turns towards the rest of his audience. "And to think that all these years we were worried there was something wrong with him. This demands a celebration!" Thor continues. "Woman, bring alcohol!"
"Not your housekeeper, darling." John cannot but roll his eyes and stare at his tea. It tastes perfectly normal, but then again, wouldn't be the first time Sherlock is experimenting with weird untraceable substances. "But there is this bottle of sherry I've been keeping for notable occasions, if you wish. But just this once," Mrs Hudson warns, and John just cannot help himself for reasons beyond his grasp. Aside from the obvious.
"Some extra glasses would be nice, if you have them."
"Not your housekeeper." Her voice carries back from the staircase, and John just knows he is going to wake up from this. Any moment now.
"Sherlock," Loki says flatly the moment the footsteps down the staircase wane. "Meet my brother. Regretfully." The sarcasm makes John want to take a shower. It's not just the sarcasm, of course, but it's easier to pretend that way.
"I feel for you." Sherlock's words are sharp and levelled.
Thor, on the other hand, is completely unperturbed. Then again, after last night, John is the last person to be surprised about that one. "Oh, brother," he says instead, smacking Loki over the shoulder. John remembers that from last night, with a sudden realisation as to why his shoulder hurts as well. "Always so moody in the morning," he adds.
"Sherlock." It's Mycroft. John almost forgot about the man altogether. Then again, Thor himself is a handful. Loki and Sherlock... not going there. Simply not. "How can you do that?" It's probably the first time that John has ever seen Mycroft's composure crack, and it's a remarkable thing to observe.
Sherlock just looks bored. Maybe a bit sore, but that has everything to do with... the other brother.
"What about John?" Mycroft presses. "He's such a decent fellow."
"No, I'm not," John deadpans instantly and Mycroft glances at him in a way that would make everyone run for the hills. Not right now, and definitely not John. All of a sudden, this entire situation is simply too amusing. Then again, Sherlock and his hallucinogens...
John wishes the kettle was hell of a lot more closer.
"And instead... instead..." Mycroft tries, finger darting at Loki accusingly. "You end up with this... lord of naughty." Then again, drinking is obviously not a wise option right now. John cringes, probably too damned obviously. Sherlock still looks unamused, and Loki is about to glare. Thor... oh, it's hard to think about Thor laughing his ass off when John can't help but wonder whether Moriarty is popping a vein in some god forsaken corner right now because his Sherlock just acquired a rainbow god.
Booze. John could do with booze. Where is Mrs Hudson when you need her?
"And who on earth are you?" Thor asks, still laughing. "Such an amusing little fellow."
"Thor," Loki says, smirking. "Meet Sherlock's brother."
"Brother?" Oh, there the ceiling goes shaking again. And Mycroft looking like a cat in the rain because he's not a fool and he knows Thor is up to no good. Hugging him and all that. If Mycroft thought Sherlock's antics were painful so far... Well, five minutes ago Mycroft did not know what real pain was, that's for sure.
"It must be really relaxing being him," Sherlock says, eyes on Loki, who looks incredibly amused himself.
"That's not relaxed, that's comatose." Loki makes the smallest of eye rolls.
"Point." Sherlock nods. And why the hell does he not put on a pair of pants already? Then again, with John's luck, Shelock's only clean sleepwear is the one shared between the two. He's pretty damned certain he doesn't want to see Loki naked. Or Sherlock, come to think of it.
"There better be food," Thor says then, and John doesn't even bother pointing the man to the fridge. Or warning him about Loki's little game of tetris from earlier on.
He wishes he could be surprised when something explodes and Thor jerks around with blood and something green on his face. And a smile that does not falter for a second. "Oh, brother," he chides, far too amused, and his smile grows even wider. John decides not to think about it.
His brain hurts as it is.
"I thought we stopped doing this a thousand years ago. C'mere, you silly thing..." Thor continues, then spreads his arms open and approaches Loki with an obvious attempt to hug his brother as well. Suddenly, Loki looks in every way like a cat about to be given a bath.
"Thor," he says levelly. "Think of mother." Thor freezes on the spot and John has to wonder whether he even wants to know. No, he does not. "You know what this would do to her."
"I think you have a point," Thor says, obviously lost in thought. Screw the mess on his face. "You know... I never thought of it that way." Suddenly, the very temperature in the room changes. It's obvious to everyone, so John concludes he's not hallucinating within a hallucination. Everyone freezes except for Loki, who slides off his chair and, with a straight face and eyes glowing with emotion and looking about twice their size, he walks slowly towards Mycroft.
John wonders whether this is the moment where Sherlock loses a brother, though he can't think of a single reason why. At least not this time.
But instead the God of Mischief presses his arms around the man and squeezes his lids shut. John swears, he can see Loki's lips wibble. "Welcome to the family," he whispers, looking all the way like someone who just got all the troubles of this world lifted off his shoulders.
This entry was originally posted at http://sphinxofthenile.dreamwidth.org/136660.html.