This story is similar to 'Dark Times reveal Dark Sides' and certain other of my fanfictions.
This story is not as realistic as my other stories and more 'fantasy'. The characters stayed in-character but the way they find together is too fast for 'real happening'. However, I hope you still enjoy it and please check out my other Sherlock-stories (which are more realistic than this one).
It was already late at night when John left the house to meet with Sara, his new girlfriend. Or at least almost-girlfriend. Sherlock watched his friend entering the cab in front of the house and as soon as the black car disappeared around the corner, Sherlock grabbed his black coat and scarf and left the flat. Down on the street, he made sure that the traffic cameras weren't following his step as they did when Mycroft put him into the next higher level of surveillance. However, tonight this was not the case and Sherlock could pursue his newest 'hobby', as he would call it. His pace was getting faster and his coat was rushing in the wind.
What was left in his life? What was left to gain? He was always victorious, he could always find the solution and even 'won' the final game against his arch-enemy. In so many books, the hero could only fight the villain while giving his own life. Sherlock beat death…perhaps because he didn't see himself as a hero…or never has. And what he did the nights when John was out, proved that he could never be an angel again. So much blood on his hands…
Sherlock entered the tube and got out again at Picadilly Circus. He lit a cigarette and finally, his pace and pulse were slowing down. He took a look around. There were still some people here, most of them teenagers who drank and smoked weed. Nobody paid attention to Sherlock but Sherlock paid attention to everyone around him. But it was too crowded for his purpose so Sherlock walked on.
He entered the darkest alleys he could find and walked past the first whores. But none fitted his taste. Finally he reached the river Thames and watched the homeless gathering under the closest bridge. Too many, he thought although it would be quite a challenge. He shook his head and continued his search. The places got darker and dirtier and then he nearly ran into a prostitute. With one glance, Sherlock knew her whole life and knew that she fitted the system.
"What can I do for ya?" she asked and smiled when he eyeballed her.
"Arouse me," Sherlock muttered when his hands already clenched her throat. Strangulation was the most intimate form of killing and fitted perfectly to murdering a prostitute.
"What ya doing?" she coughed and could hardly speak anymore.
He smiled when her eyes lost any direction and her hand grip around his arms loosened. Finally, she went down and Sherlock felt if she had a constant breathing. As she did, he stood up again and his foot crashed down on her neck, stepping nearly with all his weight onto her. To be finally on the safe side, he took her head and bent it towards her back until he heard the spine break. He stepped back and looked at his work.
"Fascinating what you little creatures are able to do," he suddenly heard a voice behind him. With a thrill running through his pale skin, he quickly turned around to see if another murder was necessary tonight. When his eyes got used to the spare light, he recognized a man who was as tall as he was, had long black hair and he wore a strange black, green coat.
"Who are you?" Sherlock wanted to know and walked a few meters towards the stranger. This man did not step back.
"Someone who is very interested in who you are," he answered, sighed and then did walk towards Sherlock. "You seem to be very ruthless…but what is your motivation for killing? This looked pretty random."
"Where did you come from? I couldn't hear you approaching."
"And your senses are perfect?"
"As a matter of fact, they are."
"You are pretty confident for a human. I knew one myself…but this one wore armour."
"I have seen you before. You were on television…New York," Sherlock suddenly said, astonished and could hardly believe what or who he was seeing.
"What is your name?"
"You are Loki, from Asgard. You were responsible for the massacre in New York."
"And what will you do? Run to police?"
"I just killed a woman. Do you really expect me to tell the police about the greatest mass murderer in latest history?" Sherlock smiled. "The actual question is, what are you going to do? After all, I believe half of your people to be looking for you," he said and raised an eyebrow.
"Do you believe in such stories? Other worlds, demi-Gods…?"
"Other worlds, yes," he answered coldly. "Why did you return to Earth?"
"I have started something which I would like to continue. But I cannot do so alone."
"What about those three thousand alien soldiers you brought last time?"
"Too obtrusive. I need to build up an army first before SHIELD finds out that I am even here," Loki said and stood now right in front of Sherlock.
"Where else are you supposed to be. It's pretty obvious that you returned to earth. And detecting an Asgardian is very simple in a world full of humans."
"I'm not from Asgard."
"Even better for spotting you."
"Can you help?" Loki asked and bent forward to the detective.
"I can get some information from my brother's log-in data," Sherlock admitted but made sure that there was a catch.
"What will I have to do?" Loki wanted to know and his blue eyes were glowing in the dark shimmer of the night.
"Trust me," Sherlock whispered and slowly, both men bent forward and although they did not know each other yet, they knew that they were destined to be together.
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