Author's Note: First posted this on my tumblr, and now I'm posting it here. Was doing a little warming write up drabble and ended up liking it. I do not live in the UK, so anything wrong with the settings I chalk it up to inexperience. If something does bother you, feel free to PM or comment, and I'll fix it. :) Enjoy.

This is a one shot. There will not be any other chapters. Sorry! 3

Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their respective owners.

Agent Phil Coulson stepped swiftly from Number 10 Downing Street. He made his way towards Parliament Street. He could see the edge of the London Eye slowly turning in the distance. Pulling a sleek black mobile from his pocket he pressed a single button. It dialed, rang for only a split second and was answered.

"Give me some good news Agent." Stressed the agitated voice on the line.

"No luck Sir." Phil stopped at the black barred gated that separated Downing Street from the public.

Two guards watched as tourists meandered past. Only one turned to face the agent, but Coulson was aware that the other, as well as the eyes of security were focused on him. He held up his ID, the guard took it, looked it over and with a nod opened the gate. Coulson slipped out without a word. The gate shut back and the tourists barely noticed.

"No negotiations on the table. The details of where to find our person of interest will not be supplied to an American Organization." The Agent paused at the corner as a sleek black car pulled up to the side walk.

Coulson slipped in, another Agent sat silently in the driver seat and pulled off down the A32 without causing so much as a hiccup in traffic.

"We're an international organization!"
Phil could hear a fist slam down on a table.

"Technically sir, the UN hasn't considered us International since 1991. Our focus is on Homeland se-"

"I know what our focus is on Agent, but the point is this is now an international issue!" The director's voice raised in a manner befitting his name. "Listen if our primary negotiations aren't working you go to the second source."

"His brother, sir?"

"The very same."

"Yes sir."

Phil snapped his phone shut and tucked it into his jacket pocket. He gestured with one hand as the driver came to the round about.

"Get on the A4, we're headed to Knightsbridge Station."

Beneath the streets of London, the crowds bustled and moved. The tube station was packed with people rising up the stairs towards daylight, and sinking down into the yellowing halogen of the underground. There were few buskers working that day, most farther in and down the line. Save for a single violinist, who'd set up shop rather close to the stairs. His curly black hair hung down past his shoulders and draped into his face. He wore a ball cap, the brim drawn down to cover his face. His clothes were simple, a long black blazer that had seen far better days, and baggy jeans, the hems of which were stained a grayish green and fraying. He was in need of a shave and a pair of sunglasses obscured his eyes. He stood behind his violin case, swaying slowly from side to side as he played a light tune on his violin.

Agent Coulson was surprised that he did not immediately notice the musician. It was only until he noticed the unusual and out of place dreamy ambiance of the song did he turn his attentions toward the player.

The violinist's sunglasses had slipped down his long nose, and his bright green eyes were staring directly at Coulson. Then in one easy sway the violinist turned away and the tempo of his song picked up and danced whimsically. Coulson's expression did not falter, he reached one hand into his jacket and withdrew his wallet. He plucked out a one pound note and paused in front of the violin case.

"Nice piece."

The violinist said nothing, but dipped his head politely.

Coulson pressed his lips into a thin line and regarded the man. He could see the family resemblance. It was in the eyes, a bit in the nose, but noticeably how both men carried themselves. There was a confidense there, full of purpose.

"You're no doubt trying to deduce if I am indeed the man you've been sent to find." The violinist spoke softly. "I doubt my brother sent you, but he's aware."

"Is he?" Coulson asked.

The musician's eyes flicked upwards. Coulson followed his gaze and found himself staring at a security camera that was pointed directly at the two. The Agent's lips twitched at the corners and he fought the urge to smile. It had been a while since S.H.I.E.L.D's own security had been so evenly matched. He turned back to the musician.

"And do you know who I am?" The Agent asked.

The musician jerked his bow over the strings of his violin halting his song instantly. He tucked the instrument carefully beneath his arm and straightened.

"Judging by your attire, you're with the government. Accent, American. You're carrying a fire arm beneath your jacket. You do not appear jet lagged, but your watch is incorrect." The musician gestured with his bow. "Suggesting you have just arrived. The pin on your lapel is not affiliated with any known American government branch, but is patriotic enough to not draw suspicion. However the identification card in your wallet mentioned Strategic Homeland Intervention. Assuming my brother has turned your request down so you've come to find me because one genius is as good as another. Highly incorrect assesment by your people. I'm far better. "

The musician stopped, his mouth turned down a bit at the corners but his eyes bright and alert. Agent Coulson smiled pleasantly. Second time today, but far more cocky than his brother. It was just like the files said. Appeal to his narcissism, three years without proper inquisitive stimulation would make this man rather difficult to deal with otherwise. A bit like Stark.

"And judging by your attire you're attempting to avoid suspicion, but that was very impressive."

"Of course it was." The musician closed his eyes and gave a near imperceptible nod of his head.

"You guessed correctly. I'm with S.H.I.E.L.D, we keep tabs on individuals of high capabilities such as yourself." Agent Coulson did not use names, he had been briefed on the incident that had taken place three years ago. "There's an issue. Without your brother's assistance we now turn to you. We're in need of your specific talents."

"A case?" The musician said. He seemed to relish the word.

"A case." Agent Coulson nodded.

"I would need something from your organization first." The musician moved to his violin case, plucking up the sparse change and bills there and tucking them into his blazer pocket. The he carefully, lovingly, laid his violin down and closed it up.

"We can make certain accommodations." Coulson slipped his hand into his jacket, taking out his phone ready to dial in whatever favors were needed to keep his new informant on his side.

"Protection will be the first request."

"That goes without saying."

"And then I will need a lift to a specific doctor's office."

Agent Coulson smiled. He pressed a single button on his phone. Fury picked up instantly.

"Got him?"

"Yes. We will make a few brief but necessary stops." Coulson reassured the Director. "But we will be at the closest air port in-..."

Sherlock watched as Agent Coulson strode up the steps, departing from the London below. He tucked his violin case under his arm and followed. His mind was already spinning with excitement. He would pick John up from his work at the doctor's office, briefly explain his 'return from the dead'. A trifle he was sure would take no more than a few moments to clear up. Then he and the doctor would be off, no doubt to America.

What better place to hide out the final vestiges of Moriarty's henchmen, with a case no less.

Sherlock's had not felt this alive in three years.