"Art in the blood is liable to take the strangest of forms." - Sherlock Holmes (The Greek Interpreter)
Sherlock Holmes was an irritating mortal. An irritating, but fascinating one all the same.
When Loki first stumbled upon Baker Street, it was entirely by chance. He had wandered into grimy, smoky London in search for one of his runaway magical experiments when Holmes ran into him, holding up the tail of a rather large and vicious-looking rat.
Neither spoke for a second as they eyed one another in the yellowish fog. Loki could see those quick, grey eyes take in his form with startling intensity. Loki did not squirm at the scrutiny, but leaned against his walking stick, giving the mortal one of his own piercing looks.
The mortal dressed oddly. His clothes were ill-fitting, his bowler hat askew on top of his messy brown locks. He did not shave and if it were not for the silver-handled walking stick he carried, Loki would've thought he was one of those rougher mortals that lingered around the dockyards and east of Westminster.
'So this rat belongs to you, Mister…?'
'Keynes. Lawrence Keynes,' Loki lied smoothly, holding out his hand.
The mortal put the rat's tail into his hand and shoved his own back into the pockets of his frock coat with a smile.
'"Keynes," is it? A pleasure. I'm Holmes, Sherlock Holmes." He said it as if Loki would recognise it, but he did not.
Holmes seemed to notice the blank look as his cocksure smile fell and he rummaged through his waistcoat pocket for a little card. Loki took it with the same hand he was holding the now-docile rat and awkwardly glanced at the printed letters:
Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective. 221B Baker Street.
Unfortunately, that meant even less to Loki than his name, but he smiled nonetheless and gave the mortal a slight inclination of his head in greeting.
'A pleasure, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps we will meet again soon.'
Holmes looked from the rat back to Loki slowly and gave a knowing smile.
'I am sure. I am not occupied this coming Saturday, if you wish to call.'
Loki's lips thinned, but he continued to smile, stifling his annoyance at the mortal's arrogance. Giving the Holmes another nod of farewell, he took his leave, fading back into the thick fog with his quarry. He was definitely not going to visit Holmes on Saturday.
On Saturday, just after noon, Loki found himself waiting at the doorstep of 221B Baker Street.