He was falling. Clouds whipped past his face at an alarming speed. The wind made his hair lash out like tiny whips. The sensation of falling was something he had never experienced before.
Gods don't fall.
Many believe that they are too big to fail. However, this god indeed had failed.
He had failed his people, the pathetic race they were. They never seemed to recognize that he was destined for greatness. No, something beyond godliness, even. As he fell to earth, this god sought revenge.
Below, unaware of a vengeful god falling from the sky, two men walked the streets of London. The first man was unremarkable, ordinary even. He wore an old leather jacket.
His friend, however, was extraordinary. He wore a long dark trench coat with the collar flipped up. He had a broody, hungry look in his pale eyes.
These men were among London's most famous detectives. This duo had solved more crimes than the Scotland Yard could manage alone. Right now, however, the two men were in between cases. The tall man had a look on his face that screamed of boredom. His friend, John Watson, didn't understand why he put up with him.
"I wish that London had a higher crime rate. Then we'd get some interesting cases for once," Sherlock Holmes complained. He irritably pulled his coat collar higher up around his face.
John sighed and rolled his eyes. It was best not to disturb Sherlock's monologuing. He would only redirect his intense concentration on John, whipping out deductions left and right. No, it would be best to leave Sherlock to his own devices, unfortunately.
"Shut up, John. Your thinking is extremely distracting. Wait, no, that would be your absence of thinking," Sherlock commented. John gritted his teeth and sighed once more.
The two men were seconds away from butting heads when they were interrupted by a loud crash in a nearby alley. John, without realizing it, headed towards the sound of danger. Sherlock was right about me and danger, John mused. He rounded the corner and entered the alley.
John was about to leave when he heard a groan coming from somewhere behind the dust bins. Sherlock suddenly appeared at John's shoulder.
"Let me go first. I'd be lost without my blogger, you know," Sherlock said, casually brushing John behind him. Sherlock walked to the dust bins and kicked them out of his way.
"John, come here," Sherlock said with a hint of hesitation in his voice.
John, hearing the hesitation, rushed quickly to Sherlock's side. "Oh my-" John gasped.
"God?" Sherlock finished for him. "Let's see what this man has to say for himself."
The man in question had many things to say indeed.
Taking a second to recover his breath, he glowered up at the two men and scrambled to stand upright. If only he had been at full strength, he mused. He wouldn't have to waste his precious time talking to these idiotic humans.
Voicing his opinion aloud, he said, "I don't talk to puny mortals, for one." The mischief and havoc he could wreak if he only had his powers back...
Sherlock approached him cautiously. "I understand. Though I wouldn't dismiss John and I as puny mortals just yet, Loki."
The man looked at Sherlock differently just then.
"But how-" Loki began.
"How did I know who you were? I'll tell you. I've been wanting to see if my powers of deduction work on gods, too."
"What sorcery is this?" Loki exclaimed.
"Well, for starters, men don't just fall out of the sky. The outline of your jacket pocket indicates that you don't have any identification with you. Your hair has ice crystals in it, though it's a perfectly sunny day. Ice crystals form at higher altitudes, but humans cannot breathe efficiently at the height you fell from. You don't appear to have an oxygen mask with you, either. The sun is showing a faint mirage of your true form. You have a golden helmet with horns. Your use of the word 'mortal' is a strong indicator that you are a god. The only god I can think of with a golden helmet and an ability to withstand low temperatures is Loki."
Loki and Sherlock's eyes met. They glared at each other unyieldingly.
"You are correct, mortal. What is your name?" Loki asked softly.
"I am Sherlock Holmes. My companion is John Watson," Sherlock declared.
Loki extended his hand and Sherlock shook it. Sherlock has a strong hand grip, Loki thought.
John cleared his throat. "Are we going now, Sherlock?"
Sherlock looked at John. "Yes. Loki, I would be honored for you to come visit 221B Baker Street. You're interested in science, am I correct?"
For the first time in eons, Loki smiled happily. "You're correct. I would be honored to come."