Sooo, hello! This is my first fanfic ever, so please put up with me and my mistakes. I am not English, I'm Spanish, so my English might not be perfect —I know it's not xD—.

Anyway, thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaank you all for reading, and please review. It's always good to know what can I improve.

Chapter 1. The One Who Entertains Me.

I was awakened by the horrible noise of the floor creaking. I hated that floor. It may be the only thing I disliked of 221B Baker Street. You couldn't walk without it making that creepy noise.

"I'll get John fix it" I mumbled still half asleep. The noise stopped, and I grunted in approval, grateful I could drift back to that wonderful dream I was having.

Someone being in my apartment at such ungodly hours didn't bother the three-in-the-morning me. Not the half asleep me, at least. But there was no caffeine to change my zombie state, so it didn't bother me in the least. Unreasonable, looking in retrospective. But it could be John, trying to sneak into my bed.

A couple of moments later, the steps —and therefore, that dammed sound— continued. I buried my head behind the pillow, trying to muffle it. The person was getting closer. Argh, that just made those horrible creaks louder.

"John, not now. It's very late; we'll have sex in the morning. Just go to sleep."

I heard a supressed chuckle beside my bed, and then the friction of leather and metal when the person leaned closer to me. Well, now caffeine wasn't needed to awake me. Slowly, I turned my back to face the intruder, silently praying for him not to be Moriarty.

I'd grown quite… irritated to the man, to put it in mild words. He had been fun, though. Innerving, but fun.

But I didn't see the consulting criminal's face, but a very different one. Piercing but amused green eyes, alabaster skin, framed by long strands of raven black hair. The small greenish flame coming from the tip of one of his long and slender fingers left half his face in mysterious yet fascinating shadow.

"Who… who are you? What… are you doing in here? What time is it?" I asked, confused by the closeness. I could smell his scent, a mix of winter and forest I liked instantly. "What the hell is that?" I said, pointing at his finger.

"So many questions, so eager to know. Surely you, the great Sherlock, can deduce some of the answers. Or are you not even worth my trip to this realm?" asked cockily the man, arching an elegant eyebrow in my direction.

Quickly I stared at the man, collecting any information that could be of use. His clothes were obviously not of this world, as the fabric —and style, but with all the crazy fashion around that could mean nothing— was not something I had ever seen before. His words and accent were not something English, either. Realm, had he said? Was he referring to England or to the Earth? And that voice… He certainly had a beautiful voice, the Nordic accent only making it sexier.

But the most disturbing thing about him was that blue-green flame. Wasn't he burning? Why? How could he produce it?

"I assume you are not from… here." I answered slowly, suddenly unsure. I was never unsure. What was happening? "Here meaning Earth. But you do have a northern accent, maybe Nordic, am I wrong?"

"All worlds have north, little Midgardian. But you are right, indeed. I am what you would call a Norse God." He stood and lifted his chin. "I am Loki of Asgard, God of Mischief and Trickery. And you, my little newly met friend, will do as I command in order to help me get back what is mine." His eyes blazed with anger, turning them into two green flames. I could only think about getting out of the way of this god.

But it was me, and I was tired and pissed by the interruption of sleep and beautiful red-panted dreams. And, worst of all, I was bored.

"Why should I? It's not as I didn't have any other things to do but helping Norse gods in distress. And, by God's sake, it's three in the morning." The green-eyed god made a face at the expression. "Client opening hours is between nine and five. Come back tomorrow. Or today. Whenever pleases you." I said, lying back down on the mattress, moving my hand in the air.

"Are you dismissing me?" Loki hissed. "Have you even listened to what I have said? I. Am. A. God. You have not the right to dismiss me." The blankets were pulled away from my body, but no hand was behind that. "You are going to help me or I swear you'll regret the day you were born."

I saw a green ray of light and I was suddenly floating, head down, my hair touching the floor. "What the hell do you think you are doing? I don't care if you are a god or the Spirit of Christmas, you don't tell me what to do!" I started to kick the air, trying to reach him. "Put me down! How do you even do this?!"

Loki rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I thought you were smart." He moved his finger on fire, making the little flame to flutter. "Magic. I am a sorcerer. A great one, if I may add." His face darkened. "And because I'm a sorcerer I need my magic. Which has been stripped away from me by those insignificant Avengers." He explained.

"Well, call me paranoiac, but this doesn't seem non-magical to me." I commented, pointing myself. He stared at me for a couple of seconds, before realizing what I was referring to. With a fluid movement of his left hand, I turned in the air and stood there, mid-air, not reaching with my feet to the ground.

"Not all my magic depends on the magical objects. They are useful, and amplify my powers, but it's me who… I don't even know why do I bother explaining this to a Midgardian like you." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Anyway, I'm sure I can… pay you somehow." He added mischievously.

"I don't care about the money."

"Oh, but you are looking for something to amuse yourself, aren't you? Boredom is one of the most powerful motivations, trust me." The God of Mischief said, taking a step closer to me. "Throughout the centuries I have seen that. It's not unusual to see wars sprung by mere boredom." Another step. He was only a few centimetres away from me. "I can offer you multiple ways of entertainment." Purred the man, pressing his long and pale finger behind my chin.

I couldn't help the response of my groin at the proposition, but sure as hell I could choose what my mouth would say. I chuckled. "Well, I already have someone to entertain me in that aspect. He is a soldier and is currently sleeping in the bedroom next door. Such a pity. I'm sure that in another occasion…" I trailed off when I saw the glare he was throwing at me. "No need to make a fuss out of this. You surely have a long queue of volunteers waiting for you where you come from."

"Why would you assume that?" Loki asked, tilting his head in curiosity.

"I just thought… It's not that way? Impressive."

"Who said it is not? I just asked why you thought that."

"Well, being a sorcerer… And a god, it sure makes things easy. And with your face. Any other hidden talents I should know about?"

"Again, what makes you think you should know anything about me? And, by the way, I am a prince." He said this last bitterly, making me want to ask, but I didn't, as it didn't seem appropriate. I laughed inside. I, Sherlock Holmes, high-functioning sociopath, knew what was appropriate.

"Since we are working together", I refused to say work for you. No way. "I guess knowing about you is just the obvious step. That's what John says. The one who entertains me." I explained, watching the confused face the god made.

A second later, he opened his mouth slightly, taking in what I had just said. "And the payment?" Loki asked.

"I'll think of something." I beamed the best smile I could manage. "Now, Prince Loki of Asgard, sorcerer and the one who lacks of a queue of eager mates waiting for him, I would really appreciate if my feet touched the ground. Not really used to floating, you know?"

With an amused smile, the moved his left hand. His right index finger still had the little flame at the tip. I found myself slowly descending until I heard that stupid creak the floor did every time someone stood on it or walked.

A little unstable, I stumbled to the bed and crawled inside. I decided to pull the blankets to my nose, seeing the look the God of Mischief gave me.

"So… I'll see you tomorrow? We are not going to start this… task now, are we?" I asked, uncertain. If the god was crazy enough as to sneak into my bedroom at night, he could easily think we would start now.

His face softened. "I'll let you sleep. We'll start tomorrow morning. Be ready." And he disappeared in a puff of green smoke. And I thought Moriarty was my biggest problem.

Nothing compared to a certain God of Mischief.

So, is Sherloki the best ship ever or not? I know it is xDDD

Please review!