Double Date (Sherlock/The Avengers)
Title: Double Date
Pairings: Lestrade/Mycroft, Clint/Coulson, and one more that's so sideways you probably won't notice it.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: no idea, some dead aliens, some overdosing on crossovers. PAINFULLY UNBEATED.
A/N: Fic for megan_moonlight, which I've promised her on the OTP party we both attended. (She as C/C, me as Mystrade.) Also it is a gift for her birthday. Slightly late, but considering my usual timetable for those things, it is miniscule lateness. All best wishes, hon! :*
Also, this is obviously a crossover, however, what you may or may not notice it is that there's is a tiny, blink-and-you've-missed, hint at yet another fandom (and pairing) being tossed in here. Possibly if you're not as in love with Seduction by Aviation series by flawedamythyst, you may not notice it at all. It's perfectly fine, it's just a wink anyway. I just wanted those who notice it to be aware they're not going crazy. Or at least it's not one of the symptomps.
-
"Oh dear Lord, you're going to try to wine and dine me again, aren't you?" groaned Lestrade as the car slide to a stop before a posh restaurant.
He glanced down at his suit and not-a-very-well-matched tie. Good thing he had the time to change clothes after work. Now he looked as if he actually tried to dress up for the ocassion. And failed.
"I swear sometimes I miss the times when we were just fucking."
Mycroft's mouth twisted in annoyance.
"I happen to enjoy this restuarant."
"You happen to enjoy starting wars, but you don't feel the need to send me on one," grumbled Greg, but still got out of the car and walked towards the entrance of the restaurant with Mycroft joining his side and putting a hand on his lower back, guiding him in.
"Some would call you ungreatful," noticed Holmes while smiling at the maitre d', who took one look at them and led the way with no questions asked.
"Some would call you a bloody show off," replied Greg with a cheeky grin. "Aren't we glad neither one of us is your brother?"
Mycroft conceeded the point with a small nod.
"Mr Holmes," someone said suddenly and both Mycroft and Lestrade turned towards the man sitted by the table they were just passing by.
Mycroft seemed to pull on his official persona like a well worn suit. His back straightened and his hand quickly, but smoothly left Greg's back. Lestrade blinked slightly surprised and glanced again at the smiling man behind the table, who by far did not look important enough to warrant such reaction.
Good, but simple suit. Polite smile. Receiding hairline. He seemed like a well-doing paper pusher, one of the many in a place posh like this. Perhaps blending in was his most effective skill, it would explain why Mycroft almost walked passed him without noticing. Greg didn't quite flatter himself to think he was that distracting company.
"Agent Coulson," nodded Mycroft in greeting and if his change of demanour was not telling enough, the use of the title certainly was. "I was under the impression you were unavaiable this evening."
"I'm not," replied Coulson lightly. "I'm in the meeting."
The younger man sitted across agent Coulson snorted, but his companion did not spare him a glance and his smile didn't falter.
"Good luck in this then," wished Mycroft with a fake, plastic smile.
"Likewise," replied Coulson with a simmilar expression.
Greg's eyes met the younger's man, who was now, honest to God, pouting.
"Oh, no double date?"
Coulson closed his eyes briefly with a short, quiet sigh. Lestrade bit on a grin.
"What a shame," he said with fake regret.
He could almost sense Mycroft rolling his eyes, even though the man had turned his head away.
"I'm sure we could add some chairs," supplied the other man and Coulson just stared at him.
They seemed to have some kind of silent conversation for a long moment, but then some restaurant's worker appeared next to agent Coulson's chair. Lestrade strongly hoped she appeared after noticing the unusual gathering and was not somehow mystically summoned. One creepy powerful guy per evening, that was the rule keeping Greg sane these days.
"We would appreciate two more places added for our friends."
"Yes, sir," said the girl, glancing around the room and soon enough the restaurant's staff quitely and orderly got them seated and handed them the menus.
"I had no wish to interrupt your meeting," assured Mycroft with and icy glare, which Greg completley ignored.
"That's quite alright, Agent Barton has a quite specific attitude towards mandatory report meetings. Though usually he can be persuaded to co-operate with a healthy doze of free food."
Barton didn't even bother correcting this, smiling at the menu.
"May I ask what is the nature of your meeting?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Mycroft crisply polite. "Need to know basis only."
"Of course."
Greg could not stop his eye-roll if he tried. Agent Barton caught his gaze with raised eyebrows and they both tugged their smiles back in.
"You must be office's favourite if you're report meetings go like that."
"I am the gem of the team," agreed Barton. "Why? Don't you get free posh meals for your troubles?"
"Only for some of them. For most I just get extra paperwork."
"That I can relate to," cut in Coulson with a glance at his companion.
"That wasn't me, it was Stark."
"You are not even aware to what I am reffering to."
"The answer still stands."
"Isn't it good to have a known troublemaker on your team to shoulder the blame for all accidents and overly rough arrests?" Mycroft smiled at them.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Greg primly. "But if I did, I'd assure you it was by far not too rough."
He hid from Mycroft's mocking gaze behind the menu. And looked up with a glare, when it turned out to be whole in French.
Mycroft just smiled calmly back.
"Problem, Detective Inspector?" asked Coulson politely.
"Nah, it's nothing. Just got reminded how annoying some people in my life are. And please, call me Greg and never tell me how you figured out my job."
"Trying to keep your private life deduction-free?"
"As much as I can manage."
Mycroft refused to meet Greg's eyes and he was no help at all, when the waiter finally arrived - clearly sensing the lull in the conversation - and Lestrade was forced to fall back on his own rusty French language skills.
He stumbled only slightly and stared defiantly at Mycroft, whose eyes were dark and focused on him. Greg shifted in his seat, escaping Mycroft's intense gaze and awkwardly cleared his throat, waiting for the others to put their orders in.
Barton caught his eyes and smirked. Wanker.
The waiter left and the silence fell over the table as they mostly avoided each other's eyes, trying to find a way to ignore the raising awkwardness. Lestrade was never more grateful that the wine arrived before the meal. At least until he noticed how both Coulson and Mycroft were barely sipping - more like barely dipping their lips in - their wine and Barton opted for water. Greg put down his half-empty wine glass.
Well, this was awkward.
And after another long minute of watching Mycroft examinate the table cloth, he smugly
said it out loud.
Barton snorted quietly.
"Apologies," said Coulson with a smile. "I find myself hard-pressed to find a topic of conversation unrelated to work."
"Can't you talk about work?"
"I believe avoiding that was agent Barton's main reason for inviting you to join us," he smiled. "Also, it's classified."
"Of course, it is," agreed Greg readily. "So... seen any good movies lately?"
Mycroft's eyes turned to examine the ceiling or beg for help from above.
"I've recently watched Star Trek with two guys who are still not up with technology enough to have any idea how much of it was made up and two guys who spent they entire movie trying to prove they could recreate every piece of technology and science in it, if they tried hard enough," offered BArton. "It was fun."
Greg grinned.
"I happen to have a friend who was manipulated into watching the new movie, claimed he deleted it all from his memory and then was caught caught randomly quoting Spock, when he despaired at humanity."
Barton chuckled, apparently crazy friends were a way to bond with some people. Coulson and Mycroft dipped their lips in wine again. Greg rolled his eyes and told Barton about the day, when Saly heard one insult too much and "accidentally" locked their famous consultant in a janitor's closet. And the genius spent three hours there before he managed to unscrew the lock, because he was too stubborn to call - or even text - for help.
"That does pose a question of how you know so well what happened," noted Coulson.
"Oh well, we didn't know if he needed help, he didn't call after all, but we didn't want - as respectable police workers - leave him in case he might. So we did our papework, waiting patiently for him outside the janitor's closet."
"That's very nice of you."
"Shockingly enough - he didn't think so."
"Aw, that's rude," commented Barton.
"Yes, thank you. Finally someone who agrees with me."
He gave Mycroft a short glare, not losing his smile. Mycroft barely rolled his eyes, but his lips tipped upwards.
Their meals arrived as Coulson shared a story about his co-workers playing a giant and subterfuge game of office prank war. And how he won it.
"As an important tactical lesson, of course," he finished glancing at Mycroft, who smiled thinly in response.
"That's basically what Delilah keeps telling me every time she wins."
Greg frowned vaguely, mouthing the name questioningly. He would think by now he should recognize a name of someone working so close with the older Holmes brother.
"Anthea?" tried Mycroft. "I'm not sure which name she goes by for you."
"Oh!" said Lestrade, recognizing the situation from it's previous occurance, when he and John tried to figure out if they were talking about the same beautiful assistant. "Jane."
Mycroft blinked for a second as if genuely surprised.
Barton frowned.
"Alaya?"
"My assistant," started Holmes with a sigh, "quite enjoys using various names and usually switches them for every project she works on."
Both Coulson and Barton nodded as if that sounded perfectly normal. Greg drunk some more wine and thought on another possibly sane and safe topic of conversation. His mind still somehow delightfully stuck on the weekend away he and Mycroft managed to sneak out on few weeks ago, he asked about any interesting travel experiences.
Budapest was never going to be the same.
The waiter appeared with dessert menus and Coulson seemed vaguely surprised as he glanced at his watch to confirm that indeed quite some time have passed pleasantly. He put his menu down without even looking at it.
"I'm afraid I will need to skip that. I do have an aeroplane to catch tonight."
"Too bad," responded Clint, but he didn't even bother looking at the list of desserts either.
"You could always stay?" suggested Coulson lightly, but Barton didn't even dignify that with verbal response.
"The check is taken care of," Mycroft said promptly and Coulson just nodded with no surprise, clearly knowing him well enough to expect that. "Have a safe flight, agent Coulson, and we should meet as planned on Tuesday morning."
"Certainly. Goodnight, Mycroft. Greg."
Lestrade stood up and shook the agent's hand.
"Goodnight-"
"Phil."
"Phil," nodded Greg with a smile and extanded his hand towards the other man, who shook it briefly, but firmly.
"Clint," he informed. "Nice meeting you."
"Likewise," replied Lestrade with a pleased smile.
When he sat down again Mycroft was staring at him from across the table, looking fond and intrigued. Greg raised an eyebrow questiongly.
"You have some unique charm, where secret agents are concerned."
Lestrade grinned happily.
"It's my superpower," he assured.
"Indeed," agreed Holmes. "No doubt you will use it to gain some sort of a decadent dessert as well."
"And make you share it."
Mycroft's look was far from impressed. Greg shrugged.
"I just love the happy face you make, when tasting chocolate."
"And are you not able to make me show it without ruining my diet plan?"
"Not in public."
Mycroft shifted slightly and then made an eye-contact with their waited, summoning him to the table. Lestrade used his barely working French to order them a truly decadent piece of chocolate lava cake and slowly fed it to his lover, before the chocolate and French and specially made for secret agent's charm became too much for Mycroft's patience and he took Greg home.
-
Almost four months later and in the middle of a case Greg barely remembered the whole mess of a dinner and its participants. He got out of the car and slowly made his way through the gathering crowds of onlookers and lottering officers that didn't seem to be doing much work, just using their badges to stare at the mess from a closer point.
"What the hell is going on here?" called Greg making his way to the center of the crowd, where a bunch of police officers surrounded a team of some kind of american superheroes standing over fallen bodies that looked very much not human.
"Above our payrole, apparently," replied Sally, who was standing near by and looking far from being awestruck with their new guests, at the moment glaring at one of the guys in a metal suit.
"Sadly, sweetheart," assured her the man with a leer and Greg seriously hoped for his sake that the armour could take some more beating, even though it didn't look like it.
"Sadly," commented seargant Richards, "it's so above out payrole we have no idea who to call in and we can't just let them go!"
She finished with such a stern note that Greg suspected it was exactly what she expected from him. For some reason his opinion was not exactly stellar among the officers usually working with other DIs.
"Don't call anyone!" came Sherlock's voice from somewhere within the warehouse, before which they were all gathered.
He came out with some dark smudges all over his face and something dark and oily sticking to his gloves and hair.
"They will take it all away and I'm not done with examinating it!"
He was grinning maniacally. It was never a good sign.
"You can't be examinating any of it!" snapped a beautiful redhead in thight suit.
Sherlock ignored her, taking some more samples from the shin of a giant green guy, who looked at him as if he was an annoying, but vaguely interesting bug.
John was getting paler and paler as he looked at his friend, while still distractedly trying to keep up the conversation with someone who was either Captain America or seriously over-
dozed on tourist clothes while in US.
"Greg," greeted another man, suddenly appearing by Lestrade's side.
"Clint!" replied Inspector with some relief, ignoring the surprised looks from his team.
For a moment neither man said anything more, they just stared mutely at the mess before them. The guy in the armour - Ironman, probably, dear god, when Greg's life got so weird? - was now complaining about getting late for a date in Fitton. And the green giant poked back at Sherlock, who winced, but did not stop his examination. Disaster was hanging in the air.
"You call your boyfriend, I'll call mine?" suggested Clint and Greg smiled despite himself.
Sally raised an eyebrow at him, not even bothering to pretend she was not eavesdropping. Greg simply ignored her and nodded at Clint.
"Probably for the best," he agreed, enjoying the thought this was so above his payroll he could easily dump it on somebody else.
Pairings: Lestrade/Mycroft, Clint/Coulson, and one more that's so sideways you probably won't notice it.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: no idea, some dead aliens, some overdosing on crossovers. PAINFULLY UNBEATED.
A/N: Fic for megan_moonlight, which I've promised her on the OTP party we both attended. (She as C/C, me as Mystrade.) Also it is a gift for her birthday. Slightly late, but considering my usual timetable for those things, it is miniscule lateness. All best wishes, hon! :*
Also, this is obviously a crossover, however, what you may or may not notice it is that there's is a tiny, blink-and-you've-missed, hint at yet another fandom (and pairing) being tossed in here. Possibly if you're not as in love with Seduction by Aviation series by flawedamythyst, you may not notice it at all. It's perfectly fine, it's just a wink anyway. I just wanted those who notice it to be aware they're not going crazy. Or at least it's not one of the symptomps.
-
"Oh dear Lord, you're going to try to wine and dine me again, aren't you?" groaned Lestrade as the car slide to a stop before a posh restaurant.
He glanced down at his suit and not-a-very-well-matched tie. Good thing he had the time to change clothes after work. Now he looked as if he actually tried to dress up for the ocassion. And failed.
"I swear sometimes I miss the times when we were just fucking."
Mycroft's mouth twisted in annoyance.
"I happen to enjoy this restuarant."
"You happen to enjoy starting wars, but you don't feel the need to send me on one," grumbled Greg, but still got out of the car and walked towards the entrance of the restaurant with Mycroft joining his side and putting a hand on his lower back, guiding him in.
"Some would call you ungreatful," noticed Holmes while smiling at the maitre d', who took one look at them and led the way with no questions asked.
"Some would call you a bloody show off," replied Greg with a cheeky grin. "Aren't we glad neither one of us is your brother?"
Mycroft conceeded the point with a small nod.
"Mr Holmes," someone said suddenly and both Mycroft and Lestrade turned towards the man sitted by the table they were just passing by.
Mycroft seemed to pull on his official persona like a well worn suit. His back straightened and his hand quickly, but smoothly left Greg's back. Lestrade blinked slightly surprised and glanced again at the smiling man behind the table, who by far did not look important enough to warrant such reaction.
Good, but simple suit. Polite smile. Receiding hairline. He seemed like a well-doing paper pusher, one of the many in a place posh like this. Perhaps blending in was his most effective skill, it would explain why Mycroft almost walked passed him without noticing. Greg didn't quite flatter himself to think he was that distracting company.
"Agent Coulson," nodded Mycroft in greeting and if his change of demanour was not telling enough, the use of the title certainly was. "I was under the impression you were unavaiable this evening."
"I'm not," replied Coulson lightly. "I'm in the meeting."
The younger man sitted across agent Coulson snorted, but his companion did not spare him a glance and his smile didn't falter.
"Good luck in this then," wished Mycroft with a fake, plastic smile.
"Likewise," replied Coulson with a simmilar expression.
Greg's eyes met the younger's man, who was now, honest to God, pouting.
"Oh, no double date?"
Coulson closed his eyes briefly with a short, quiet sigh. Lestrade bit on a grin.
"What a shame," he said with fake regret.
He could almost sense Mycroft rolling his eyes, even though the man had turned his head away.
"I'm sure we could add some chairs," supplied the other man and Coulson just stared at him.
They seemed to have some kind of silent conversation for a long moment, but then some restaurant's worker appeared next to agent Coulson's chair. Lestrade strongly hoped she appeared after noticing the unusual gathering and was not somehow mystically summoned. One creepy powerful guy per evening, that was the rule keeping Greg sane these days.
"We would appreciate two more places added for our friends."
"Yes, sir," said the girl, glancing around the room and soon enough the restaurant's staff quitely and orderly got them seated and handed them the menus.
"I had no wish to interrupt your meeting," assured Mycroft with and icy glare, which Greg completley ignored.
"That's quite alright, Agent Barton has a quite specific attitude towards mandatory report meetings. Though usually he can be persuaded to co-operate with a healthy doze of free food."
Barton didn't even bother correcting this, smiling at the menu.
"May I ask what is the nature of your meeting?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Mycroft crisply polite. "Need to know basis only."
"Of course."
Greg could not stop his eye-roll if he tried. Agent Barton caught his gaze with raised eyebrows and they both tugged their smiles back in.
"You must be office's favourite if you're report meetings go like that."
"I am the gem of the team," agreed Barton. "Why? Don't you get free posh meals for your troubles?"
"Only for some of them. For most I just get extra paperwork."
"That I can relate to," cut in Coulson with a glance at his companion.
"That wasn't me, it was Stark."
"You are not even aware to what I am reffering to."
"The answer still stands."
"Isn't it good to have a known troublemaker on your team to shoulder the blame for all accidents and overly rough arrests?" Mycroft smiled at them.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," replied Greg primly. "But if I did, I'd assure you it was by far not too rough."
He hid from Mycroft's mocking gaze behind the menu. And looked up with a glare, when it turned out to be whole in French.
Mycroft just smiled calmly back.
"Problem, Detective Inspector?" asked Coulson politely.
"Nah, it's nothing. Just got reminded how annoying some people in my life are. And please, call me Greg and never tell me how you figured out my job."
"Trying to keep your private life deduction-free?"
"As much as I can manage."
Mycroft refused to meet Greg's eyes and he was no help at all, when the waiter finally arrived - clearly sensing the lull in the conversation - and Lestrade was forced to fall back on his own rusty French language skills.
He stumbled only slightly and stared defiantly at Mycroft, whose eyes were dark and focused on him. Greg shifted in his seat, escaping Mycroft's intense gaze and awkwardly cleared his throat, waiting for the others to put their orders in.
Barton caught his eyes and smirked. Wanker.
The waiter left and the silence fell over the table as they mostly avoided each other's eyes, trying to find a way to ignore the raising awkwardness. Lestrade was never more grateful that the wine arrived before the meal. At least until he noticed how both Coulson and Mycroft were barely sipping - more like barely dipping their lips in - their wine and Barton opted for water. Greg put down his half-empty wine glass.
Well, this was awkward.
And after another long minute of watching Mycroft examinate the table cloth, he smugly
said it out loud.
Barton snorted quietly.
"Apologies," said Coulson with a smile. "I find myself hard-pressed to find a topic of conversation unrelated to work."
"Can't you talk about work?"
"I believe avoiding that was agent Barton's main reason for inviting you to join us," he smiled. "Also, it's classified."
"Of course, it is," agreed Greg readily. "So... seen any good movies lately?"
Mycroft's eyes turned to examine the ceiling or beg for help from above.
"I've recently watched Star Trek with two guys who are still not up with technology enough to have any idea how much of it was made up and two guys who spent they entire movie trying to prove they could recreate every piece of technology and science in it, if they tried hard enough," offered BArton. "It was fun."
Greg grinned.
"I happen to have a friend who was manipulated into watching the new movie, claimed he deleted it all from his memory and then was caught caught randomly quoting Spock, when he despaired at humanity."
Barton chuckled, apparently crazy friends were a way to bond with some people. Coulson and Mycroft dipped their lips in wine again. Greg rolled his eyes and told Barton about the day, when Saly heard one insult too much and "accidentally" locked their famous consultant in a janitor's closet. And the genius spent three hours there before he managed to unscrew the lock, because he was too stubborn to call - or even text - for help.
"That does pose a question of how you know so well what happened," noted Coulson.
"Oh well, we didn't know if he needed help, he didn't call after all, but we didn't want - as respectable police workers - leave him in case he might. So we did our papework, waiting patiently for him outside the janitor's closet."
"That's very nice of you."
"Shockingly enough - he didn't think so."
"Aw, that's rude," commented Barton.
"Yes, thank you. Finally someone who agrees with me."
He gave Mycroft a short glare, not losing his smile. Mycroft barely rolled his eyes, but his lips tipped upwards.
Their meals arrived as Coulson shared a story about his co-workers playing a giant and subterfuge game of office prank war. And how he won it.
"As an important tactical lesson, of course," he finished glancing at Mycroft, who smiled thinly in response.
"That's basically what Delilah keeps telling me every time she wins."
Greg frowned vaguely, mouthing the name questioningly. He would think by now he should recognize a name of someone working so close with the older Holmes brother.
"Anthea?" tried Mycroft. "I'm not sure which name she goes by for you."
"Oh!" said Lestrade, recognizing the situation from it's previous occurance, when he and John tried to figure out if they were talking about the same beautiful assistant. "Jane."
Mycroft blinked for a second as if genuely surprised.
Barton frowned.
"Alaya?"
"My assistant," started Holmes with a sigh, "quite enjoys using various names and usually switches them for every project she works on."
Both Coulson and Barton nodded as if that sounded perfectly normal. Greg drunk some more wine and thought on another possibly sane and safe topic of conversation. His mind still somehow delightfully stuck on the weekend away he and Mycroft managed to sneak out on few weeks ago, he asked about any interesting travel experiences.
Budapest was never going to be the same.
The waiter appeared with dessert menus and Coulson seemed vaguely surprised as he glanced at his watch to confirm that indeed quite some time have passed pleasantly. He put his menu down without even looking at it.
"I'm afraid I will need to skip that. I do have an aeroplane to catch tonight."
"Too bad," responded Clint, but he didn't even bother looking at the list of desserts either.
"You could always stay?" suggested Coulson lightly, but Barton didn't even dignify that with verbal response.
"The check is taken care of," Mycroft said promptly and Coulson just nodded with no surprise, clearly knowing him well enough to expect that. "Have a safe flight, agent Coulson, and we should meet as planned on Tuesday morning."
"Certainly. Goodnight, Mycroft. Greg."
Lestrade stood up and shook the agent's hand.
"Goodnight-"
"Phil."
"Phil," nodded Greg with a smile and extanded his hand towards the other man, who shook it briefly, but firmly.
"Clint," he informed. "Nice meeting you."
"Likewise," replied Lestrade with a pleased smile.
When he sat down again Mycroft was staring at him from across the table, looking fond and intrigued. Greg raised an eyebrow questiongly.
"You have some unique charm, where secret agents are concerned."
Lestrade grinned happily.
"It's my superpower," he assured.
"Indeed," agreed Holmes. "No doubt you will use it to gain some sort of a decadent dessert as well."
"And make you share it."
Mycroft's look was far from impressed. Greg shrugged.
"I just love the happy face you make, when tasting chocolate."
"And are you not able to make me show it without ruining my diet plan?"
"Not in public."
Mycroft shifted slightly and then made an eye-contact with their waited, summoning him to the table. Lestrade used his barely working French to order them a truly decadent piece of chocolate lava cake and slowly fed it to his lover, before the chocolate and French and specially made for secret agent's charm became too much for Mycroft's patience and he took Greg home.
-
Almost four months later and in the middle of a case Greg barely remembered the whole mess of a dinner and its participants. He got out of the car and slowly made his way through the gathering crowds of onlookers and lottering officers that didn't seem to be doing much work, just using their badges to stare at the mess from a closer point.
"What the hell is going on here?" called Greg making his way to the center of the crowd, where a bunch of police officers surrounded a team of some kind of american superheroes standing over fallen bodies that looked very much not human.
"Above our payrole, apparently," replied Sally, who was standing near by and looking far from being awestruck with their new guests, at the moment glaring at one of the guys in a metal suit.
"Sadly, sweetheart," assured her the man with a leer and Greg seriously hoped for his sake that the armour could take some more beating, even though it didn't look like it.
"Sadly," commented seargant Richards, "it's so above out payrole we have no idea who to call in and we can't just let them go!"
She finished with such a stern note that Greg suspected it was exactly what she expected from him. For some reason his opinion was not exactly stellar among the officers usually working with other DIs.
"Don't call anyone!" came Sherlock's voice from somewhere within the warehouse, before which they were all gathered.
He came out with some dark smudges all over his face and something dark and oily sticking to his gloves and hair.
"They will take it all away and I'm not done with examinating it!"
He was grinning maniacally. It was never a good sign.
"You can't be examinating any of it!" snapped a beautiful redhead in thight suit.
Sherlock ignored her, taking some more samples from the shin of a giant green guy, who looked at him as if he was an annoying, but vaguely interesting bug.
John was getting paler and paler as he looked at his friend, while still distractedly trying to keep up the conversation with someone who was either Captain America or seriously over-
dozed on tourist clothes while in US.
"Greg," greeted another man, suddenly appearing by Lestrade's side.
"Clint!" replied Inspector with some relief, ignoring the surprised looks from his team.
For a moment neither man said anything more, they just stared mutely at the mess before them. The guy in the armour - Ironman, probably, dear god, when Greg's life got so weird? - was now complaining about getting late for a date in Fitton. And the green giant poked back at Sherlock, who winced, but did not stop his examination. Disaster was hanging in the air.
"You call your boyfriend, I'll call mine?" suggested Clint and Greg smiled despite himself.
Sally raised an eyebrow at him, not even bothering to pretend she was not eavesdropping. Greg simply ignored her and nodded at Clint.
"Probably for the best," he agreed, enjoying the thought this was so above his payroll he could easily dump it on somebody else.