Sherlock paced the small office. "You've never encountered this before?"
"Appearing in another country? Hell, no. I try to leave the weird shit to my agents."
Sherlock looked him up and down. "Considering you come from a place where superheroes exist, do aliens?"
"Thor and Loki seem living proof of something like that."
"Thor and Loki?"
"Norse gods. Pretty damn powerful ones, too."
"Do they have the power to move something instantaneously without touching it or being anywhere in the immediate vicinity?"
"No. Not as far as I know."
"Then forget them for the moment." Sherlock traced the desk with his finger. "You saw no one when you... appeared, in this room?"
"The room was empty."
"Ah." There was a loud thump outside the tiny windows, and Sherlock straightened. "Do you know anything about the other things appearing in Scotland Yard?"
"I have no idea. Shall we take a look?" He pulled a large gun out of its holster.
"We seem to be done here," Sherlock acknowledged, and opened the door.
In the hall, people were running toward the exit, some carrying books, most, empty-handed. Anderson sprinted down the hall.
"General evacuation, get out!" he shouted as he ran by.
Fury raised his gun as a gigantic wasp flew at them. "Fucking supervillains," he muttered, taking it down with a blast of energy. "Think they can unleash whatever the hell they want."
Sherlock beckoned Fury down the hall. "Unless you feel the need to kill more of these creatures, I'd appreciate it if you came this way. If they're just appearing out of thin air, they're going to keep appearing whether you shoot them or not."
They left the building with a few final workers, and Donovan locked the front doors behind them. "I've set the building alarms, and—" the siren started to sound, "hopefully the security measures will keep them in there a while," she yelled above the din. "Have you phoned your brother?" she asked Sherlock, as they backed further away from the building.
"No."
"For God's sake, Sherlock phone him! We need the military over here, now!"
"I've no doubt he is already aware of the situation."
Anderson ran up to them. "Where's Inspector Lestrade?"
"I don't—"
"I believe he may have been taken to wherever Nick Fury came from," Sherlock interrupted smoothly.
"Which is where?" Anderson looked from Sherlock to Fury. "What's going on?"
"Don't think too hard, Anderson, you'll only hurt yourself."
"Sherlock!" Anderson and Donovan yelled.
"Stop bickering," Fury said, fingering his gun. "You'd think I was still back at SHIELD."
"Not very nice!" A voice came down from above them, and Fury craned his neck.
"Get your ass down here, Barton!"
"I'm hurt, Fury, I thought I we were best at behaving like children." Clint Barton leapt down next to them, bow in hand.
"Not to worry, Barton, you're still the most immature agent I've had the misfortune to come across. Even Stark can actually do something of use, now and then."
"Thank you, sir!" Clint saluted, then sidestepped a blow from Fury.
"Watch it, Barton, or you're packing your bags."
Sherlock looked back at the archer. "Tell your friend on the roof we can see him."
"Damn it!" A man in a long grey coat suddenly appeared beside Sherlock. "You've got good eyes."
Sherlock grabbed his wrist, and turned it over to reveal the face of a metal band.
"Woah there, tiger," the man said with a sly grin.
Sherlock ignored him. "This is how you transported yourself?" he asked.
"Yes, sir! Captain Jack Harkness, time traveller extraordinaire. The Doctor leant me that beauty right there. Gotta love a vortex manipulator."
"Could this be how the others appeared here?" He examined the seams, the buttons.
"No way. I wish I had one of those things," Clint interrupted.
"Like hell you do," Jack winked.
Sherlock flicked at the side of the wrist-band.
"Hey, tiger, leave that on, I need it."
"Sherlock Holmes," he replied and pried it from Jack's hands.
"Hey!" he exclaimed, as Sherlock disappeared, then reappeared.
"Fascinating," he muttered. "Did you realize that even moving through matter also affects the time sequence?"
"Yeah, well," Jack said, attempting to grab it back from Sherlock, "just don't mess with your own timeline too much, or you'll end up like me. Can I have that back now?"
Sherlock grasped Jack's arm, and they disappeared.
"Um, what's going on?" Anderson asked again, but no one answered, and when a column of fire rose up from the roof of Scotland Yard, he ran back toward the building, closely followed by Donovan.
"What the hell, Harkness!" Clint yelled.
Fury rolled his eyes, and shouldered his gun. "Why do I have to deal with you, of all people?" he asked no one in particular. "It almost looked like it was going to be a good day."
"So when you say 'Cyberman', you mean that used to be human?"
The Doctor glanced up from the inert metal body. "Yes. They assimilate humans to make more of themselves. Lacking any, erm, reproductive organs."
John crouched beside the Doctor. "Are you really a doctor? You don't just have a degree of some sort?" he asked.
"Cheese-making," he muttered.
"Sorry?"
"Yes, I'm a doctor, but I don't really practise anymore."
"Ah. Neither do I. I mean," he back-pedalled, "I have recently, but before that, not for years."
The Doctor nodded. "John Watson, the army doctor. You'd get on with Rory, I think."
John glanced at the Avengers, who were huddled in a group, talking. "Just 'the Doctor'?" he asked.
"Yup." He twirled what looked like a glowing screwdriver between his fingers.
"What's that?" John asked.
"That's my sonic screwdriver. I don't use weapons like them—" he jerked his head at the Avengers, "but it does open doors pretty well." He considered it intently. "Most of the time."
John sighed. "Without a gun in my hand, I don't think I'd be good for even that."
The Doctor sat back against the wall. "Don't say that. People aren't tools, you don't have to be useful to be good."
"But I want to be useful, and I'm useless. All I do is run after Sherlock, and hope that I can do something for him by being there."
"I'm sure he appreciates that," the Doctor ventured cautiously.
"He doesn't," he replied flatly. "You don't know Sherlock."
The Doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Look, John, I won't pretend that I'm any better at these feelings things than you are. In fact, I'm a lot older than you, and I'm probably still a lot worse. But one thing I do know is that if there's something he doesn't get, you tell him, and if he cares, he'll at least try to understand. Trust me," he said, patting John on the shoulder.
Behind them, the Avengers had stopped talking.
"What's the plan, buckos?" the Doctor asked, clapping his hands together.
Tony snapped his fingers. "That's it!" he exclaimed, and everyone stared at him. "What?" he asked.
"What's what?" Natasha asked impatiently.
Tony pointed at the Doctor. "You look like you're twenty, and act like you're five, that's why it took me so long. But you said you were older than John."
"Ye-es," the Doctor said, playing with his bow tie.
"You look like Cap," Tony announced.
"Captain America?" The Doctor measured himself up against Steve. "Nah, he's much bigger than me. And blonde."
"Not like that." Tony waved his hands dismissively. "He has that look on his face. He looks... Well, he looks a little lost. Tired. Like you."
Steve shot him an amused glance. "I didn't realize you paid attention to other people."
"You," Tony pointed a finger at Steve, "shut up. I'm still very egotistical."
Steve shook his head. "So, how old are you, then, Doctor?"
"Mm, nine hundred years old."
John choked on his own saliva. "What?" he exclaimed.
"Give or take a few years," the Doctor replied modestly.
"He wins," said Tony, nudging Steve in the side.
Steve laughed, and grabbed Tony's head under his arm.
"Ow, ow!" Tony complained.
"I'm Captain America," Steve scolded. "I always win."
"Ok, ok, you win!" Tony wriggled out of his grip, and glared at him. "Just because I didn't want to fry you with the suit—"
"Children, children," the Doctor interrupted, a bemused smile on his face, "weren't you planning something?"
Natasha stopped giggling into her hand, and Bruce watched her warily.
"Barton," she said briskly, "is an idiot, and when he gets back, I will kill him."
"That would sort of defeat the purpose of looking for him," Bruce commented.
"Ri-ight," the Doctor said, looking around. "Where are we? Actually, better question: when are we?"
John snorted. "So first, we have a team of comic book characters, now a man who shows up in a police box and doesn't know where he is. Next, you're going to tell us the reason you don't know the time is that you're a time-traveller, or something."
"Actually, the year would be nice."
"London, 2011," Steve said.
"Do you really travel in time?"
You bet! I travel in this fantastic Time Lord ship called the Tardis."
"Could we use it to find Clint?" Bruce asked.
"I don't see why not," the Doctor replied, "though she can sometimes be a little inaccurate." He craned his neck over the group, and his face fell. He pushed through them, and waved his sonic screwdriver around the area the Tardis had been. The pulsating light filled the darkness with dancing, green-tinted shadows.
"Change of plans, folks," he finally said. "We may have to search on foot."