A Study In Green

Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock or Thor, or the wonderful characters contained within. They are owned respectively by… their owners… (Thor is owned by Stan Lee, the wonderful creator of Marvel, and Sherlock is owned by BBC and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.)

A/N: So this is one of many tandem stories a couple of fangirl friends and I have been working on. Regular text is me, bold text is Kailee, and Italic text is Emma. Enjoy!

Loki sighed and leaned against the wall of his cell. He had to find a way out. Being contained on the Hellicarrier had been bad enough; now he was a prisoner on his home realm. Oh, how he hated Asgard. He just had to leave…

He looked out the clear walls, watching the Asgardians happily interact with one another. Maybe he could disguise himself… No, that wouldn't work. If he posed as someone they knew, he risked running into that person. If he posed as a stranger, all the guards would get suspicious.

Wait… Didn't they hire a new guard just the other day? Surely he didn't know the inhabitants of the palace well enough to see through a disguise.

It was risky, but it was the only plan Loki had.

He sat in his cell and focused all the magic he could gather on his body. He glanced at the wall every so often, making sure no one could see him. Well, there was Heimdall… but he was easily taken care of once Loki got out. Just for backup purposes, he quickly made a clone for the outside world to see. He then concentrated on his body, imagining his appearance shifting into that of someone else. Dark green sparkles enveloped his body, concealing him from any wandering eyes on the other side of his cell walls and making sure all they could see was his clone. He could feel himself begin to shrink, losing his signature height and form. When the spell was done and the sparkles faded away, he looked down with a small grin. He now had the body of a six-year-old boy, with light brown hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a black and red child's nightgown, and quickly splashed some magic into his eyes to make it look like he had been sobbing. He then waved a hand and got rid of the clone so that he appeared to be a lost, lonely child. He banged on the glass wall of the cell with his tiny fists, choking and hiccupping in order to keep up with his crying façade. The new guard, as planned, walked by and was startled by what he saw. He knelt down in front of the cage so that he was about eye level with the child.

"What are you doing in there?" he asked.

Loki sniffled. "I was just walking by, and- hiccup- that evil man switched places with me with his magic. He- sniffle- locked me in here and ran off."

The guard's heart shattered at the sight of a small child locked away in a criminal's cage. He stood up and pulled out a special key for the cell. Loki was very careful not to smile or appear happy until the guard let him out.

"There you go, kiddo. Do you need help finding your parents?" he asked. Asgardians were very strict about parental supervision for children.

Loki shook his head. "No, I'm okay. Thank you, sir!"

The guard smiled and began walking away to patrol a nearby hallway. Loki quickly ran to his room to figure out how to get out of Asgard. He checked behind him every so often, trying to appear somewhat lost and not in search of anything related to his mischievous self.

He made his way to his chambers and looked around before slinking in. Once safely inside, he changed back into himself and sat on his black-and-green silk comforter. He used some minor magic to map out his plan in the air. A slate of dark green magic acted as a base while sparkly lines of black and gold marked his supposed path and potential obstacles.

"I should be safe enough on Earth," he mused, "just not in New York, or any part of whatever country New York is in."

He created a map of Earth in the air on the other side of his room. He waved through countries and continents. He stopped on one named "London." He zoomed in to see what "London" was composed of. It seemed fairly calm, though some detective and his companion took up most of the information he found.

"Sherlock Holmes, huh?" Loki mumbled, studying what he found. "Sounds like he needs more cases to solve. Time to have some fun."

"Sherlock, come here for a moment!" A familiar voice penetrated Sherlock's thoughts, but he barely took notice. The self-described sociopath coolly kept his eye on the lens of his microscope and ignored his best friend.

From his usual spot in the armchair across the room, John tried again. "Sherlock…"

"I'm busy," Sherlock said. He wasn't being rude, or at least he wasn't trying to, but he hated having his thoughts interrupted… especially when he was in the middle of research.

John ignored Sherlock's tone. "Right, sorry. It's just that you might want to have a look at this."

Sherlock's eye didn't move from the lens. Adjusting the sample under the microscope, he blocked out the sound of the heavy rain on the glass and the honking of taxicabs outside and focused in once more on his studies.

"Wow," remarked John a few minutes later when Sherlock still hadn't moved. "Some people just amaze me."

Sherlock sighed and glanced over at John. "What is it?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Just tell me," Sherlock whined.

"Aha! You're curious!" John exclaimed as he got up to hand Sherlock the newspaper he'd been reading.

Sherlock scanned the paper with his calculating, almond-shaped eyes. "Magic in Manchester?" read the headline. Underneath was a photo of a grown man dressed in an elaborate green and gold costume and carrying a scepter.

"Amazing," agreed Sherlock, handing the paper back to John with a forced smile. There really wasn't anything amazing about it.

"Read it," John prompted. It had been two weeks since Sherlock had a case, and all the complaining, violin playing, and silence for days on end was beginning to get to him. If possible, he was more desperate for a case than Sherlock was.

Sherlock took back the paper. "So some idiot is ordering people around in Manchester. Isn't everyone on a Friday evening? Maybe he's just as bored as I am."

With that, he flopped onto the couch, suddenly aware of the boredom he'd distracted himself from by examining blood samples from St. Bart's.

"No, no, no," he wailed as he continued to read. "This has all happened before. It's nothing new. It's boring! Boring, boring, boring!" Sherlock picked up the pillow with the Union flag printed on it and chucked it at the wall. He crumpled up the paper and sent it soaring after the pillow.

The ringing telephone interrupted Sherlock's outburst and John jumped to answer it. It was Lestrade, hopefully with a case. John listened intently as, sure enough, Lestrade relayed the details of another mystery. Sneaking a peek at his friend, Sherlock tried to gather what the detective inspector was saying. He desperately wanted to know about the case, but he couldn't risk looking too interested. John was under the impression that he was still sulking, and Sherlock was enjoying the attention he was getting. Turning back to the wall, Sherlock huffed and began analyzing the wallpaper. Hardly worth his time, but what else was there to do? He could tell that whoever had put it up was left-handed, that they were about 5'8 – no, 5'7 – and that, judging by the way the…

"Sherlock, we've got to go," said John, interrupting Sherlock's thoughts once more. He grabbed his jacket and squirmed into it. As much as he needed this case to get his friend out of the flat, he also needed it for himself. The rush of adrenaline was something he rather enjoyed, and he treasured the feeling of being an essential part of a team. He hadn't felt that since Afghanistan.

Sherlock needed no convincing. He hopped up like a kid who'd just been promised a trip to the sweets shop. Striding across the room and slipping into his long, sleek coat, he gave his reflection in the mirror a slight smirk. The game was finally on!

As he wrapped his signature blue scarf neatly around his neck, Sherlock turned to his flatmate. "Where are we going?"

"To Manchester."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You don't mean…"

"He's taken captives now," John explained.

Sherlock groaned. He had gotten his hopes up that this case would be challenging. Obviously, he wouldn't do that again. "Of course he has," Sherlock complained. "Simple arrest and rescue. That isn't even a mystery."

"He took captives," John repeated, "and then he became one of them."