This chapter: Post-avengers, Pre-Iron Man 3

Please Take Me Home

Chapter One: Tony Stark

Mycroft was having a good day. All of his investments were running smoothly and the English government had not yet collapsed.

A bright flash startled the large man from his afternoon cuppa and almost made him drop his biscuit.

A thin, black haired man was sprawled in the middle of his private room at the Diogenes Club. He had the strangest articles of clothing on: pants that were made from a rough looking blue material, a black shirt with short sleeves over a dark grey shirt—made from the same material—rolled up to his elbows, and shoes with soles that looked more black than the white they were supposed to be.

"Ugh," the man grunted, moving his arms to push himself up. Mycroft set his biscuit and tea cup back on the tray. He picked up the bell and rang it, signaling to the butler to bring another cup and more biscuits.

"Good man, are you alright?" Mycroft asked when the door shut once again.

The man groaned and managed to get onto his hands and knees. His dark shirt had a grey design with the letters ACDC in red painted onto it. There was a faint glow coming from under his clothes in the center of his chest.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"London. How is it you don't know where you are?" Mycroft would think that if one was teleporting (because what else would he call what just happened), one would know where they were going. The butler returned with the requested items and left.

The man knelt back on his knees and rubbed his head, smearing dark liquid onto his face and hair.

"Was working on something to travel faster. Some of the numbers were wrong. It went off and I ended up here."

"You're American."

The man nodded and rolled his eyes, mumbling "No shit." under his breath as he stood up. He started searching his pockets. "So what's your name?"

"Is it a custom in America to ask for someone else's name before giving your own?"

He looked up from the thin piece of glass in his hand that was tapping. "What?" Mycroft stared at him. "You mean, you really don't know who I am?"

"No. Should I?"

The man stared in disbelief at Mycroft. "Well, most people do. Tony Stark."

"A pleasure to meet you Mr. Stark. I'm Mycroft Holmes."

"Nice to meet you." He tapped again at the screen. "Hey, sorry, but I have to run. I was doing something important and I think I have a meeting soon. My cell can't get any signal, which should be impossible because I made it and I always have signal, but can I use your phone to call my girlfriend?"

"Sorry, phone?" The telephone was a still fairly recent invention that the Diogenes Club had not yet invested in, but seeing as a main rule was silence, it was understandable.

Stark waved the piece of glass in the air. "Yeah, like this, only probably less Stark tech and more Apple and AT&T."

"What does fruit have to do with the telephone?" Stark's eyes flicked around the room, taking in the gas lamps and lack of something that Mycroft couldn't figure. He slipped his impossible telephone back into his pocket and strode towards the window; the man threw open the curtain and stared out at the street.

"Well," Stark said, "this is new." He turned around, back to the window. "What's the year?"

"1885."

"Pepper is going to kill me."

"Pepper?"

"My girlfriend."

Mycroft frowned. Who named their child Pepper? "Why don't you have a seat and share a cuppa with me." It wasn't really a question.

Stark sat down into the chair across from Mycroft.

"I am in such deep shit." Mycroft passed over a cup. "Got anything stronger than this?"

"I think you'll find an adequate amount of whiskey mixed in." Stark smiled and took a sip. "Now tell me, Mr. Stark, since you seem very out of place, what year were you hoping I said?"

"2012."

Mycroft took a sip of his tea. Either the man in front of him was insane, or he really traveled in time, and judging from the clothes, accent, and phone, he supposed it was the latter. "I assume England is still standing."

Stark looked questionably at Mycroft's question, but answered positively nonetheless. He put down his cup, which was now lightly stained with the black that covered his hair and clothes. He hoped that would wash out of the curtains and chair. "Listen, thanks for the tea and not shooting me on sight or something, but I really need to get going and figure out how I got here so I can get back."

Stark was halfway towards the door. "How?" He turned back to look at Mycroft.

"What?"

Mycroft took a bite of his biscuit. "You have no money, no connections, and your clothes make you stick out worse than the filth covering you.

Stark frowned. "What are you proposing?"

"I'll give you some start-up money and the connections you need to get home. You'll need to find your own source of income after the start-up funds run out, but I will not let you go hungry or homeless. Any equipment you may need, you have to buy yourself."

Stark eyed him. "Why are you helping me?"

Mycroft smiled. "Curiosity. You seem like a smart man, and I'm sure you'd be able to figure out a way home without my help, but why tempt fate? I figure a little money here will be beneficial in the long run. So, Mr. Stark, do we have an agreement?"

Stark smiled and shook Mycroft's outstretched hand (after he had tried to get most of the filth covering it off). "We do, Mr. Holmes."

"Excellent."

"Now, of course, I'll have to change my name. Can't have two Tony Starks running around in time."

"No, no that just won't do."

"Sherlock Holmes should work nicely," Stark said eating another biscuit.

Mycroft froze in his action of calling a butler to have his tailor fetched. "I'm sorry, I think I heard wrong. Did you just say Sherlock Holmes?"

Stark smiled and sipped at his tea. "I'll be your mysterious, genius younger brother who, until very recently, was deathly ill, but he had a miraculous recovery and is now living in London and looking for work."

"How do you explain your accent, then, Mr. Stark?"

Stark smirked and cleared his throat. "I'd say, brother, dear, my name is Sherlock Holmes. You best remember that, now that's a good chap," he said in a perfect British accent.

Mycroft looked shocked. Who knew that an American could copy his accent so well. "Well, that seems to be in order, then." He called in the butler. "I need you to send a message to my tailor to have him meet me at my townhouse and be ready to create an entire wardrobe for my brother."

"Yes, sir."

"Right, then, Sherlock, we best be on our way." He pulled his spare coat out of the closet and gave it a good shake. "This should cover up what you're currently wearing."

Stark took the coat and pulled it over his clothes, buttoning up the front. "When in Rome."

Mycroft smiled. "Indeed. Shall we?"

Stark nodded. "We shall."

Iamalinebreak.

The start-up money Mycroft provided him with lasted half a year and that was only because Tony couldn't find all of the equipment he needed. He had to get pieces to build the equipment that he needed to build a machine to get home.

A year passed since he landed in 1885 and Tony was well known at Scotland Yard as a consulting detective. Most of the cases he was given were so painfully obvious, it was barely worth the effort, but it helped pay for his equipment.

Tony had set up a small welding studio in the back of his apartment where he had modified current smelting tools to suit his purposes. Currently, he was working on a way to disguise his arc reactor. The blue shone through some of his thinner shirts and he had found a betting pool for fighters he wanted to try for some extra cash. However, they had the unfortunate rule of no shirts, and he had a glowing blue beacon shining in his chest.

The rubber coating would be fused to a metal covering that should fit over his reactor. With the right amount of make-up and possibly paint (since it stays on longer), it should blend into the surrounding skin.

He was fusing two pieces together when the nanny knocked on his door.

"Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson shouted, opening the door.

Tony shut off the machine and flipped up his visor. "Yes, nanny?"

"The new tenant has just moved in and I was hoping you could come meet him."

He hopped off the bench and threw on an overcoat, wiping the grease off his hands onto a rag he had lying around. "I would love to, nanny. Thank you." He walked into the next room over and glanced around at the various belongings scattered around the room.

"Oh, hello," a man said from the doorway. "You must be Mr. Holmes in 221B. I'm—"

"Doctor John Watson, yes. Just back from a tour in Afghanistan. Medical discharge."

John blinked in disbelief. "I...what?" He cleared his throat. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Medical books. New editions as they update. A medical bag you have left by the door in case an emergency comes up, even though you just moved in. You're tan, but not above the wrists. You walk with a slight limp, but it's not terrible; you're still able to act quickly, but obviously not quickly enough for the army."

"Wow. That was amazing."

Tony smirked and walked back out towards his own apartment.

"I keep odd hours. I usually don't sleep for days on end, and if you hear any explosions from my rooms, stay away until I give the all clear. I have some very dangerous chemicals in various locations around my flat and they can react in some deadly ways. So, do be careful when you come and check on me in a day or so. Also, don't worry about getting a dog. The nanny doesn't mind and it would be a nice addition to the flats. Afternoon, Watson."

Tony could feel the good doctor staring at him as he shut the door. He couldn't wait to see what he'll do.

Two days later, Doctor John Watson knocked on Tony's door and let himself in after confirmation from the man.

Tony was working on the calculations for his new time machine. "Dr. Watson, good to see you. I'm surprised. I was sure you were going to stop by before you went to bed last night, but first thing this morning is good as well. I hope my violin playing last night didn't keep you up."

He gasped. "That was playing?"

Tony shrugged. "I'm not very good. I've only been playing for a year." It was more of a hobby than anything else, but without video games and movies to keep his mind distracted, he decided to start playing an instrument. Although, he soon remembered why the piano was never a pursued route after his first lesson when he was little. He was terrible. Sure, Tony could build an engine from scratch, but he couldn't hold a note to save his life.

"How did you know I was looking at dogs?"

"Small hairs on your legs. Obviously not from a girlfriend or family's pet, since you just got back, but not from a stray, either. You aren't the type to stop and pet a most likely feral animal. No, there are several different dog hairs on your legs, which means you looked at a variety of dogs at the pound to try and find one you like."

"How do you know this?"

"I don't know. I observe."

John was silent and Tony went back to staring at the calculations. There had to be something he missed. "When was the last time you slept, Mr. Holmes?"

Tony jumped, confused by the change of topic. "I slept for an hour last night?" he said as a question.

"I meant a full night's rest." Obviously that was the wrong answer.

Tony paused, thinking, but was saved by the timely intrusion of Inspector Lestrade. "Ah, Lestrade, lovely timing, as always. What can I help you with today?"

"There's been a murder in Hyde Park. No foot prints or any obvious cause of death."

"Well then Inspector, we best be going then. We'll meet you out front." The inspector left. "Come along, Watson." Tony grabbed his coat and scarf, buttoning them on.

"Wait, we?" John asked.

Tony spun around. "You're a medical doctor. There is a dead body, and I am not learned in the ways of anatomy like a trained medical professional is. The Yard does not provide someone at the site to do a preliminary examination. Your input would be a great help."

"What is it that you do for the Yard?"

"I'm a consulting detective. The only one of my kind. When the police are out of their depth, they call upon me. Now, do keep up, Watson, the day is wasting."

Tony walked out and got in the cab, John a second behind him. "Just this once, Holmes, I do have patients."

Tony smiled. "Of course."

Iamalinebreak.

Of course "once" became almost every few days, once a week if John was lucky.

In March 1888, Tony met The Woman, or as she was known to the world, Irene Adler. If he was still in his time, he would've stayed far away from her. She was the type of woman who would bring him to his knees, and not in the way he really wanted to be.

"Holmes," John said from over by the window.

"What is it, Watson?" Tony asked. He was trying to figure out just what went wrong with his numbers that caused his jump back in time, but the figures that he got from JARVIS all show that this shouldn't have happened. The machine was mostly built. Just a few more internal parts were needed before it was usable.

"What is this thin piece of glass hooked up to a generator over here by the window?"

"Just a side project. I'm trying to see if I can harness the sun's energy and convert it into energy to power that small device." He could; that was a no brainer. It was just a manner of making the proper cord to connect the solar charger to the port in his phone.

"The piece of glass?"

"Yes, it lights up."

"Brilliant."

"Mmhmm." It was really a wonder that he was able to keep his old cell phone a secret from John for two years. It was a mystery how he was able to keep his reactor and history a secret, as well.

"Irene Adler," John said.

"What about her?"

"Do we just let her go free?"

"We have no control over her actions. It's better for all involved, anyway. Now, Watson, please do be quiet."

John scowled but settled down with his paper.

A half hour later, and still no new results, Tony stalked over and grabbed his phone from his homemade charger. "JARVIS," Tony said quietly in an American accent, "run those calculations again, but add in excess energy from the surrounding lab and see if that had anything to do with it."

Running, sir, JARVIS replied in type across the screen.

Tony glanced back and forth from his phone to the chalkboard, where he scribbled down the information JARVIS provided. Tony was forever grateful he made sure that JARVIS synced with the phone every second. It allowed him to have all the data he would need for a jump though time in the past. Without it, he was sure doing the calculations to get home would've been more difficult. Not impossible, but very difficult.

iamabreak

John had stopped reading his paper when Holmes stood up. That piece of glass was a strange thing, and now Holmes was talking to it. Information flowed onto the chalkboard. Information about temperatures and chemical levels, as well as a list of people and times.

"Everything was normal," he mumbled in an American accent. Strange. John had never noticed an American accent on Holmes before. "No one was in the lab area during the testing phase except for me. JARVIS, run the scans, taking gamma radiation into account. Even though Bruce wasn't there, maybe some radiation leaked onto my clothes or into the suits." He slipped the glass into his pocket.

"Who are you talking to, Holmes?"

He looked up in shock at John. "What?" he asked, accent still wrong. He cleared his throat. "No one. Just myself. It helps me think."

"Okay," John said, putting it out of his mind.

He didn't think of the incident again until a year and a half later when he met Mycroft Holmes for the first time in September of 1889.

"Are you any closer to finding a way home?" Holmes Senior asked. John stopped outside his friend's door.

"I've built the machine, but I can't figure out what went wrong," Holmes replied. "Are you sure nothing weird happened that day. Anything alieny or strange that might have been mistaken for magic."

"I've told you before, Sherlock, it was a normal day. I've had my contacts check all over the world. It was normal." Holmes groaned. Mycroft said something too quiet for John to hear. Holmes spoke back before walking towards the door. John scrambled back.

"Watson, it's rude to eavesdrop."

"What? You do it all the time!"

"I have a reason. Now, Mycroft, you did agree to take us out for dinner. Lead the way, brother dear."

John had never seen Holmes drink so much, let alone at dinner, before. It turned out, however, he was a talkative drunk. They were on their way back to Baker Street with Holmes' arm slung over his shoulder. John had suggested they walk to help Holmes work off the alcohol.

"I wassn't always here, ya know," he slurred, the American accent he heard before slipping through. "I was famous! An' every-everyone knew who I was. I-I had money. Tooooons of money. An' thhhree good friends. 'Cept Rhodey stole my suit an' destroyed my 'ouse. An' Pep became my girl. 'Ave I ever told you about her, Watson?"

"No, Holmes."

"Virginia 'Pepper' Potts." He popped the 'p's. "Best damn CEO anyone could 'ave. She's gonna kill me when I get 'ome. Four years without a call. I'll be lucky if I keep my balls." He started laughing.

"Come on, Holmes, we're almost there." John paused to unlock the front door. He turned back to Holmes who stood before the stairs looking at the ground. "Holmes?"

"You should find someone, Watson. Someone away from all this runnin' around chasing criminals. It'll be good for you." His accent was slipping in and out between American and English.

"Holmes, what are you talking about?" Holmes walked up the steps and into the foyer. He turned and looked John in the eyes. He didn't look as drunk as he did a minute ago.

"People around me always get hurt, Watson. Find someone else and get out of this mess before I drag you deeper."

John watched Holmes drag himself up the stairs and shut himself in his room. What was he missing?

Iamalinebreak.

"Holmes!" John yelled. Tony startled awake and fell off his bed. He groaned and held his head in his hand. He'd rather wake up to JARVIS. They had just finished Blackwood's case and Tony needed a good night's sleep, which he got, until John barged in and shouted his name.

"What is it, Watson?" he shouted back.

"You didn't send word after we parted ways last night. I came by to check on you."

Tony nodded and focused on standing up. "I'm fine, dear boy. Help me up, would you."

John grabbed onto Tony's hand and pulled him up. Tony yawned and shuffled past John into the kitchen.

"I need coffee," he mumbled, digging out a coffee tin from the back of the cabinet. "You want any coffee, Watson?"

"Erm, no thank you, Holmes. Since when have you liked coffee?"

Tony looked away from the tea pot he put on the stove. "I always have, it's just expensive, although after our success last night, it seems like an adequate reward. Tea then?"

"Yes, please."

Tony poured the hot water over coffee grounds and tea in their respective mugs. He grabbed his mug and inhaled the fragrant smell he so dearly missed on those late nights working.

"Thank you." John took a sip of his tea. "Holmes, are you sure that you're alright?"

"Yes, of course, I'm fine. Why do you keep asking?"

"Your chest has a glowing blue circle coming from it."

Tony's eyes widened and he looked down at the arc reactor shining through his thin white night shirt. Well, shit.

"It's nothing, Watson." He downed the rest of his glass of coffee. "If you'd excuse me a moment."

Tony disappeared back into his room and dug around in his closet for a darker shirt. He had to fix the cover, so he couldn't just snap it on.

Where were all his shirts? Tony slammed the door shut. Right, he threw one off the other day onto the doorknob. That would be dark enough without layering. Tony pulled off his shirt and turned back towards the door to grab the leftover shirt. He froze, hand outstretched towards it. John was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, gaze locked on the arc reactor. His arms loosened with shock and fell down to his sides.

"Wah-what?" he asked.

Tony was never ashamed of his arc reactor. After the Stane incident, he hid it better under his band shirts and suits, but he was never ashamed by it. However, he did have a good reason for hiding it while in 1890.

"Do be more precise, Watson."

John swallowed. "What is that?" he asked nervously.

"It keeps me alive," Tony replied, avoiding the question. John walked closer and reached out to touch it. Tony took a half step back. "Uh, I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Sorry, but Holmes, it's inside your sternum."

"Yes."

"How? Why? Does it hurt?"

Tony reached around the doctor and pulled the brown shirt towards him and slid it on.

"I was in an accident and, as a result, I have a heart condition. This," He tapped the front of the reactor with a finger. "keeps me alive. It doesn't hurt. Makes everything taste kind of like metal and coconut."

"Why have I never seen this before?"

Tony led John to his work bench and held out the cover plate with the fake skin. "I usually wear this over it, but it got damaged recently, so I took it off to fix it."

"How long have you had...that inside you?"

"I call it an arc reactor. Think of it as a fancy electromagnet. Seven years."

"What?!" John shouted.

Tony frowned at him. "Why are you getting all flustered?"

"Why have you never told me about this? What if it stopped working and you starting dying? I'm a doctor; I need to know these things."

"Even if you'd have known, you couldn't do anything about it. If the reactor stopped working, I'd go into cardiac arrest and die in three minutes. Short of making another one, there would be nothing you could do to help me." Tony poured himself a glass of scotch and downed the entire thing before pouring another.

"Should you be drinking with your heart condition?"

Tony barked a laugh. "That's the other reason why I never told you, Watson. You wouldn't have let me do anything fun! The reactor will power someone for fifty lifetimes. You may not have noticed since we've known each other for only four years, but I don't age as fast as I used to." He would outlive all his friends. Tony hadn't found out about that quirk of the reactor until he had been in London for a year. He didn't look like he aged more than a few months. Maybe he'd live long enough to see Pepper again if he didn't get the time machine working.

It seems that Watson realized the downside to aging slower. "Oh, I see. I'm sorry, Holmes."

Tony forced a small smile. "It's quite alright." Tony put the now empty glass down. "Watson, I should've told you, and I didn't. I'm sorry." He walked up to Watson. "If anything should happen to cause me to go into cardiac arrest, the first thing you need to do, before you do any other type of treatment, is to make sure this is glowing and fully snapped into my chest." Tony demonstrated how the arc reactor was removed and how to click it back in. "You got that, Watson?"

"Yes, Holmes." Tony nodded and went over to the counter to pick up today's paper that Mrs. Hudson dropped off that morning. "Thank you for trusting me, Holmes." Tony grunted and focused on his paper until John left.

Iamalinebreak.

Another year passed and Holmes and John were going against Moriarty. They were on a train to Switzerland and Holmes wasn't breathing. John looked up.

He set aside what was in his hands and felt for a pulse.

"Cradle his head," he said to Simza, and to Tamas, "Raise his legs. Bloody well not going to die on me."

John took a deep breath and undid Holmes' coat and shirt. He had to make sure the arc reactor was working. He felt for the edge of the cover and clicked it off, setting it to the side for Holmes to put back on later. The reactor was still glowing despite the two-inch, hairline crack on the glass surface. He pulled out the reactor and checked all of the cords running into it. They looked fine, so he pushed the glowing device back into his friend's chest and clicked it into position.

"What is that?" Simza asked.

"Doesn't matter." John started chest compressions, trying to restart his heart. The arc reactor was useless if his heart wasn't even beating. "I'm not going to make this easy on you. Come on. Come on, come on. Come on!" John punched his chest. "I know you can hear me, you selfish bastard. Come on!" John was frantic. Holmes had to wake up. "I know you can hear me, you bastard." His heart wasn't starting. Simza grabbed onto him and pulled him away from Holmes' body. She hugged him. Tamas put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

John sighed and Simza let him go. He stared at Holmes. This wasn't right. He couldn't fight Moriarty alone. There had to be something—"His wedding gift."

"What?"

"Hold his clothes out of the way of his heart." Simza did.

John pulled the small leather case from his pockets and gently removed the needle from its holding place. He pulled out the stopper with his teeth and injected it into Holmes' heart. Come on, Holmes.

The three stared at Holmes, hoping something—anything—would happen.

Holmes' eyes snapped open and he started screaming. He jumped up and ran all the way to the end of the train car.

"I had a terrible dream," he mumbled in an American accent. "You were marrying Gladstone and I was in a restaurant. That satanic pony was there as well! A massive fork in his hoof and he turned on me!" Holmes turned back to John. "What have you given me?"

John held up the empty needle. "Your wedding present."

He felt his chest and arc reactor. "Who's been dancing on my chest?"

"Me."

"Why is my ankle so itchy?"

"Because you have a large piece of wood sticking out of it." John pushed Holmes onto a crate in the corner.

"Oh, good lord."

"Sit down, and drink this." John pulled Holmes' legs up. "I have to get that out before it turns septic." Holmes drank the medication.

"Did you call me a selfish bastard?" he asked, no longer speaking with an American accent.

"Probably." John grabbed onto the wood.

"Just leave it in. Leave it in!" He pulled it out. Holmes hissed in pain.

"Oh you, you are so subtle."

"Be nice."

John started cleaning the wound and stitching it up.

Holmes opened his shirt and looked over the arc reactor, making sure it was snapped in correctly.

"Twice in a lifetime is one too many times for my heart to stop," he mumbled.

"What, Holmes?" John shouted.

"Nothing."

"When this is over, Holmes, no more secrets, okay."

Holmes nodded. He pulled out the reactor and looked it over, tapping at the glass where it cracked. He hit himself on the forehead. "I'm a goddamned idiot." He accent slipped again. "Hairline fracture leaking would cause the numbers of be off." He put the reactor back into his chest before buttoning up his shirt. "Of course." The cover lay forgotten on the floor.

"What is he talking about?" Simza asked.

"I have no idea."

Holmes rummaged in his pockets and pulled out the piece of glass he always carries with him. He holds down a button which causes the glass to light up with words and pictures.

"JARVIS," There was that name again. Every once and a while, Holmes would mutter to someone named Jarvis. "run the numbers again but with the addition of leakage from the reactor with the new core." Words flashed on the screen.

"Holmes?" John asked his friend.

"Not now, Watson," he replied, staring at the device.

Holmes spent the next hour of the train ride bent over the small glass rectangle in his hand, muttering down at it and reading what flashed on the screen. John had only ever seen him this focused on that machine he was constantly tinkering with in the corner of his flat.

Holmes sighed and rubbed his forehead, putting the glass away.

"I'm sorry you didn't get to Brighton."

John smiled. "Me too. I think we should go home."

"I concur. We're going home." John sighed. Thank god. "Via Switzerland." Of bloody course. "What better place to start a war than a peace summit?" John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. What was Holmes thinking? "We'll drop in to see my brother. I'm sure he's missed you."

John shook his head and leaned back. It's not like he could talk Holmes out of it.

Iamalinebreak.

Plans don't always go how their supposed to. Tony wasn't one for plans, anyway. It wasn't Plan A to fall off the Falls with Moriarty and survive with the breathing apparatus he stole from Mycroft. That was Plan C, actually.

Plan A was to push Moriarty off by himself. Plan B was John coming in and helping Tony with the Professor.

He stared at John's distraught face the second before he pulled Moriarty backwards. Tony was always sacrificing himself for others. It's just how it happened. He would protect his friends, even though he always ended up hurting them. He hated not telling John who he really was on the ride over, but he couldn't. If the latest calculations didn't work, he was stuck. He couldn't think of any other solutions to get home besides wait out time and hoped he lived that long.

Falling was nice. Tony liked falling. He liked falling inside of his Iron Man suit better, though. Usually falling could be stopped by some thrusters. Tony sucked in a large breath and clenched his eyes tight right before landing in the frigid water. The air was forced out of his lungs. He managed to put the oxygen mask over his mouth before taking a much needed breath of air.

Tony followed his escaping bubbles of air towards the surface. He was able to get himself out of the water and onto the rocks before any hypothermia sunk in, but it wouldn't matter if he didn't get some dry clothes soon.

He made his way to the town and stole the first set of clothes that fit that he could find and mailed the oxygen mask to John. It would take a couple months to reach him. Sure, it was mean to give him false hope that he was alive, but if the calculations didn't work, Tony would need to be able come back without the people accusing him of witchcraft.

A week later, Tony was unlocking 221 Baker Street's front door. He didn't disturb Mrs. Hudson. Merely walked upstairs and pulled up the final numbers from his phone to enter onto the machine.

The final design of the device looked like a fat, pancake-like disk on the ground connected to a large generator.

Tony changed into the clothes he came in, left a note for Mycroft and vanished in a flash of blue and a loud bang.

Iamalinebreak.

Mrs. Hudson had sent for Mycroft the minute she woke up (Not even a minute after Sherlock vanished. It was the bang that woke her.) and saw the remains of a small explosion in Sherlock's flat.

Mycroft picked his way through the still jungle-like flat over to the workstation in the corner. Sitting on the desk was a letter addressed to him.

Mycroft,

I wish I could say this to you in person, but there's no telling when John will be here to pack up my flat. I can't have him see me. Not yet. If all goes right, I won't see him ever again. Which is both a blessing and a curse.

Thank you, Mycroft Holmes, for trusting a stranger covered in grease who appeared during tea time. Thank you for helping me all these years. Sorry I stole your oxygen mask. John should be getting it in the mail in a month or so, I figure.

Tell John, if there's a chance in his lifetime, to invest in Stark Industries. If not him, his children or grandkids. It'll pay off in a eighty or so years. I figure I should pay him back for all the trouble I've caused him.

I've really appreciated all you have done for me.

Thanks,

Anthony Edward Stark
(aka Sherlock Holmes)

Mycroft tucked the letter away and went home to pen a response. He would leave it to be delivered to Anthony Stark in 2012 to his house in Malibu. He did have an address, after all.

Iamalinebreak.

Tony crashed onto the ground, smooth concrete beneath his fingers.

"Welcome home, sir. Should I sync the data from the phone with the mainframe?" JARVIS asked from the lab speakers.

"Sync and catalog, JARVIS," he gasped out.

He coughed a few times, trying to catch his breath again. Coming back hurt a lot more than leaving.

"Sir, Miss. Potts is approaching."

"Thanks, Jarv."

Tony looked up at the furious face of his girlfriend who was punching in her key code. Oh, how he missed her face.

"Anthony Edward Stark." Tony winced. It was really bad when she used his whole name. He stood up and rubbed his head, getting the dust out of the longer curls. "Do you have any idea how tough its been to run damage control this week?" she raged. "You disappear off the face of the earth. No one can get a hold of you. JARVIS couldn't find you. I was worried something terr-mmph—"

Tony kissed her. Six years without her kisses (or anyone's kisses, really. Six years without sex was a long time for him) finally caught up with him and he couldn't wait any longer. He broke off when they needed to breath and hugged her tight.

"Tony?" she asked, hugging him back, her anger gone for the moment.

"I thought I would never see you again," he whispered. "For the longest time, I couldn't figure out how I ended up back there. My only thought was of you and how I was leaving you alone here." He pulled back and looked her in the eye. "I couldn't do that to you, Pep."

"Tony, what are you talking about? You've been gone six days."

Tony laughed humorlessly. "Try six years, Pep." He pulled out of the hug. "JARVIS, pull up photos and videos."

Photos he had taken with his phone showed up on the floating displays along with a few videos of the London streets.

"What are you showing me?" she asked.

"London, 1885 until 1891. I couldn't fake this, Pep, not in a week. I may be powerful, but I'm not this good. You know that. I was sent back in time to 1885. I pretended to be someone else to earn money to get home. JARVIS, pull up a picture of Sherlock Holmes."

Numerous images of Sherlock Holmes from newspapers showed up on the displays. Images of Tony Stark's face were everywhere.

Pepper turned back to Tony after gaping at her boyfriend's face covering nineteenth century newspapers. She threw the pile of letters (which contained a post-dated letter from Mycroft, where it was found a week later after DUM-E almost spilled smoothie on it) in her hands onto a table.

"Start from the beginning, now."


next (and final) chapter up in a couple days.