"Hello?"
"John?"
"Yes?"
"Is Sherlock in? There's been a bit of... trouble, at the Yard."
"Erm, I think so." He held the phone away from his mouth. "Sherlock?" he called.
"Busy," came the irritated reply.
"It's Lestrade."
A sigh, and the scraping of a chair. "It'd better be a nine or ten."
"Could be..." John put the phone back to his ear.
"Listen, John," Lestrade was saying, "just tell Sherlock to get over here. I've got to go."
"Alright, I'll try. Bye." He hung up the phone, though not before he swore he heard a loud crash.
Fifteen minutes later, Sherlock strode out of the apartment, muttering. If it was a seven, he was walking back out of the office without waiting for the rest of the explanation. Even for a nine, he thought, this had better be worth my time.
When he hopped out of the cab, and entered the yard, it was already more chaotic than he had expected.
"Sherlock!" Donovan came hurrying toward him.
"Lestrade's in his office. Still, I'd be surprised if even you could figure this one out."
Sherlock snorted. "Unless you're asking me to find Anderson's brain, I think I'll manage."
Donovan rolled her eyes, but left him alone.
As he walked, he noted patterns in the chaos. Workers from the far end, by Lestrade's office, were running out the door, and those from the near end were hurrying to find the source of the disturbance. There were desks and chairs missing, and most of the offices were empty, though he thought he saw something huge and bulky moving in one. Almost like a rhinoceros standing upright, but that was ridiculous.
He pushed into Lestrade's office, and stopped.
The man standing at the window was tall, with a long dark coat, dark skin.
"Who the hell are you," the man asked without turning around, "and what are you doing in—" He stopped, and glanced at Sherlock over his shoulder.
"Seeing as I no longer appear to be in my office, would you care to inform me as to where I am?"
Sherlock frowned trying to remember the name of the character in one of John's old comic books. Either he was a deranged fan in costume, or...
"Good afternoon, Nick Fury."
John glanced at his watch impatiently. Sherlock had either lost interest and wandered off, or he had chosen to investigate whatever it was on his own. Neither option made him terribly happy. He stood up with a sigh, grabbed his cane, and walked downstairs.
"I'm going for a walk, Mrs. Hudson, I'll be back in a bit," he called, and closed the front door behind him without waiting for a reply.
It was quiet outside, and it should have been peaceful, but his nerves were on edge. Maybe it was just Sherlock's abrupt departure that made him uneasy, but he swore it was almost too quiet. He looked around the empty street, trying to imagine what Sherlock would deduce. Why would no one by on the streets in the middle of the day? Danger, the soldier in him said. There could be other factors, he tried to convince himself, when a dead pigeon hit the concrete with an arrow in its back. He rolled behind a parked car, cursing. Danger indeed. Someone with excellent aim, on high ground, and... arrows?
"What the hell's going on?" A man's voice drifted down from above.
"If I knew, I wouldn't still be watching you shoot pigeons." A woman's voice, much closer. John pressed himself against the side of the cat.
"Yeah, well, he has the right idea. This place is boring." Another male voice. Americans? John heard what sounded like a small rocket landing. He shifted onto his stomach, and peered under the car. Three pairs of feet, and... Red shiny metal. Also shaped like feet.
"Hey, Steve, Hawkeye seems to think there's some guy watching us behind that car."
Before John had time to react, a huge hand lifted him off his feet.
"Hello." A large blonde man set him down, and John stared.
"No," he muttered, staring at the man's starred torso.
"Uh, hi," he said, "I'm Steve."
John shook his head.
"You're not real."
The woman narrowed her eyes in confusion. "Of course we are."
"But I've read about you," John laughed weakly.
There was a whirring sound behind him as the man in the red armour stepped closer. "Of course you've read about us. We're the world's best team of superheroes no one wants anything to do with."
"Tony." One of the other men shot a frown at the other over his glasses.
"In comic books," John added, frowning at them.
"Wow, didn't know we had a franchise," Tony said. "Gotta update my résumé."
"You have a résumé?" the other man asked.
Tony grinned. "Just in case I really piss Fury off."
"You're the Avengers?" John asked in disbelief.
"Yup," Tony replied cheerfully. "I'm Tony, this is Natasha, Bruce, Steve, Clint's on the roof, and Thor—" A huge man in a red cloak hit the ground behind him, and grinned at John. "—is right there."
"Let's just pretend I believe you," John said, trying to ignore the fact that 'Thor' could fly. "What are you doing here?"
Tony shrugged. "Damned if I know. One minute we were in New York, now we're here."
Bruce raised his hand. "Sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen Clint?"
"He's up on his perch," Tony replied dismissively.
"Yeah, well I haven't had a reply from him in six minutes, and the connection seems to be malfunctioning," Natasha replied tersely. "Up you go, Iron man."
Thor raised his giant hammer. "I will go also," he said, and flung himself into the air with the force of his swing.
Bruce growled, and Natasha patted his arm. "Stay with us, big boy."
Steve glanced at John. "Nice meeting you, I guess, but we should go."
"I'm coming with you," he decided. "My friend's the smartest man in the country, at least. He can probably help you."
"Alright," Steve shrugged. "Hope you can run fast."
John nodded. "Military," he said by way of explanation, and followed.
After twenty minutes, they found nothing, no trace indicating that the archer had ever been there.
"Perhaps the force that brought our company here has returned him," Thor boomed.
"How do we know that?" Natasha asked in frustration.
"Sherlock would know," John murmured, tracing the street with his eyes.
"You mentioned him before," Steve commented. "Can you take us to him? It might be helpful."
Tony's visor came up, and he rolled his eyes. "Isn't one genius enough in this group?"
"Grow up," Natasha snapped. "We need to find Clint."
"He can take care of himself, Nat, stop worrying."
"You should heed the fair warrior," Thor said. "We are dealing with unknown forces."
"Fine," Tony grumbled," but when Clint gets his ass back here, he'd better have a good reason ready."
Steve nodded tensely. "Lead on, then."
John beckoned. "This way, I guess. I usually would take a cab this far, but," he shrugged, "I'm not sure they'd take you."
They walked quickly down the quiet street.
"Is there usually no one around?" Natasha asked, eyeing the empty road distrustfully.
"Um, no, actually, it's probably busier than New York most days."
"I doubt that," Bruce murmured, and Tony chuckled.
John stopped. "Listen." They fell silent.
"I hear nothing." Thor gripped his hammer more tightly.
"Actually, yeah, over there," Tony said, and started to run toward a narrow alley, the others on his heels. John followed more cautiously, wishing for the firm reassurance of his pistol.
"No!" There was a loud clang, and a smash.
"Alright, Natasha?" Bruce asked as John rounded the corner.
"Yeah, but it's not. Is it just me, or did the thing speak?"
John stumbled toward them, trying to control his limp.
"I think it said 'you will be deleted'," Steve said quietly.
"Hey, don't look at me," Tony exclaimed. "I didn't make any AIs like that."
John squeezed into the group, and stopped. Tony was bent over a large, humanoid, silver... robot.
"And I would never," he added, prying at the face-plate, "make it—" he paused, and set the plate down.
"What?" Bruce peered over Tony's shoulder.
Steve covered his mouth. "Oh, God."
"What the hell is that?" Natasha breathed.
A creak, like a door opening, and footsteps. John turned. "That," said a man stepping out of what appeared to be a faded blue police box, "is a Cyberman."
"A what?" John asked.
"Cybernetically augmented human," he explained, pulling at the red bow tie around his neck.
"Who are you?" Tony demanded.
"Me? Oh, sorry, that's right. I'm the Doctor."