johncorn: We're not entirely sure yet. Loki is the main villain here so Moriarty may not be mentioned, but Loki's past encounters with the Avengers might pop up.

Moonpie: Yay, intrigue!

zeynel: Hahaha, right? I love my co-writer.

Thank you to kickassd1, This Tea Is Too Sweet, charlotteljx, coaxon, 221B-BakersStreet, and zeynel for following!

Thank you to johncorn, kgaines2018, dae6160, racher94, star098, and jdwhovian20 for both!

A/N: It's been forever since this has been updated! I've missed it so. My co-writer is fantastic at Sherlock writing ^.^ Enjoy!

A long line of prisoners marched obediently through an alley. Their Master was elsewhere, working on other pieces of his plan. One prisoner in particular made himself the leader of the group. He was tall and thin, with light sandy skin and curly blonde hair (1). His features bore a confident smirk as he led the slaves through the alley, towards their mysterious Master's new hideout.

They approached a solid brick wall, the bricks chipped and dusty from years of neglect. The line of prisoners patiently waited for their current leader to let them through. The blonde boy in the front closed his eyes and whispered incoherent words, holding his hands out as if pressing them to an invisible wall. A collection of bricks dissolved before him, glowing brightly with a strange green light. The light morphed into a glowing green portal. The blonde boy stepped through, silently commanding the others to follow. As soon as the last prisoner stepped through the portal, the light diminished and the bricks morphed back into place, as though nothing had happened.

Inside the wall was a dark cave-like room. It was about the size of the living room of a small house. The floor was cobblestone and the walls were black brick. In the center of the room sat a large throne chair, furnished with green velvet and black leather. A gold and diamond chandelier hung from the ceiling, just in front of the chair. There were two rooms branching out from the main cave. One led to the Master's personal study, a room forbidden to all but the Master himself. There he worked on his plans and gathered information. The other room was a dungeon, full of chains and shackles and torture devices in case one of the Master's prisoners disobeyed.

The blonde boy walked up to the velvety chair and took a seat. A thin golden light cascaded over him, altering his appearance. His blonde curls flattened, revealing sleek black hair, gelled back so that not a single strand obstructed his face. His skin tone faded to a much paler color, like that of a vampire. Instead of the blue button-up shirt and dress pants he had worn before (2), he now wore an overly complicated black and green leather outfit, covered in buckles and belts, complete with an emerald green cape and a golden helmet that adorned two large, curved horns. In his hand was a golden staff, with two silver blades and a glowing blue ball on the top.

"Greetings, my subjects," he spoke with a smug expression. "You are now my loyal slaves. You will do my bidding and worship me as your God, and should you even attempt to betray me, you will be thrown into the dungeon and suffer unimaginable torture."

Sherlock scanned the alley, taking it in with his usual meticulous gaze. His friend watched him, hands crossed over chest and with a doubtful look. He'd seen the gaze many a time, so the initial surprise to the detective's nearly supernatural powers of observation had worn off, but for the life of him, he could still not see what Sherlock saw. "You see but you do not observe." That was the phrase Sherlock uttered whenever he asked, which wasn't helpful in the slightest, so John didn't bother asking anymore. At least he didn't write him off as a hopeless idiot as he did with clients and the police. To Sherlock, the phrase was the highest form of respect. Though he could be annoying, John knew this, and so let it slide when Sherlock kept his thoughts to himself on this particular cloudy day.

The alley was a typical Manchester back road, grimy from years of wear and tear and weather. Being in one of the poorer districts, it clearly had not received much love or care in at least the last century. This was exactly the place you'd expect a crime to happen, but not a crime of such oddity. But then again, where did you expect magic to happen, outside of fairytales?

John glanced around, getting bored, and attempted to mimic Sherlock's method. Sherlock was unmoving, except for his darting eyes. To his left were two tall buildings rising into the sky, made of solid red brick, probably office buildings. To his right, a metal fence with garbage cans and stacks and stacks of crates. Beyond the fence were other buildings similar to the ones on his left. Beyond the building, the alley continued to rows of more of the same. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no clues as far as he could see – no people, no bits of crumpled paper or clothing or anything that could have fallen out of a pocket; nothing amiss. Not a lot of anything really, except a typical city scene. Just beyond the busy streets, this area was secluded.

"Lestrade said here?" he questioned finally, unable to keep from prodding Sherlock along.

Nothing.

"Sherlock."

"I don't know, you talked to him," answered the tall brunette shortly.

"He texted you afterwards," John reminded him.

"Did he?"

"Yes."

"Must've been thinking." Sherlock spun quickly around to face his shorter companion. "And I'm done thinking now. Clearly something is wrong here – look at the garbage cans. And the streets – look at them – surely they can't be swept this clean when the rest of the buildings all look like they should for this sort of area. Nobody keeps them clean, you know." He paused a moment. "We need a door."

John's eyebrows furrowed together. He didn't follow, as per usual. Though he was smart, Sherlock's intellect worked differently from his and often took him by surprise. "A door?"

"Yeah, door, there's got to be a door. Where did he go in, if he's not here? I know what you're thinking, and he didn't walk through walls by magic, as much as the newspaper likes to say he did. I remember what Lestrade said now. He said he's following another lead. There were a couple of reports to where this 'Loki' – Loki, taking after the Norse god, obviously – fellow's gone. Everywhere people have seen him, Scotland Yard has looked into, and there's not a trace. This fellow and a dozen or so prisoners are appearing and disappearing everywhere. They can't seem to find even a footprint of proof of anyone ever being there.

"'What's so special about here?' you ask. 'Why aren't we with Scotland Yard, or anywhere else Loki has showed up?' Simple, there were the most tips and the most recent coming from around here. 'Couldn't whoever tipped the police off be in on it, leading England's best detectives – excluding myself – around on a wild goose chase while a bigger crime is committed?' It's possible; I thought about it. But I looked into the witnesses – they all gave their names, and they seem to be legitimate. At the very least, we can look around here and try to scope out some clues to help us out later. At the moment, I have four theories, but anything is possible. Well, anything, of course, except magic."

When he was done with his monologue, Sherlock turned without waiting for a response and strode, hands in pockets, leisurely around the corner into the next alleyway. John had to jog to keep up. "So, of course it's not magic, but Scotland Yard could gain nothing from here? They checked every room?"

"Any decent detective would," answered Sherlock. "Here is a door, but in the wrong location. Everyone said they saw the man disappear back at that wall. There were people here and on the other side of the building, who saw him enter but not exit."

"That surely does seem magical," teased John. He was only half-kidding, though. He'd seen criminals do some pretty amazing things, but walking through walls was not one of them. Perhaps there was a secret passageway, but if Sherlock had failed to spot one, it wasn't likely.

"'Magic's just science that we don't understand yet (3),'" Sherlock stated blandly.

"Arthur C. Clarke," said John matter-of-factly. "I thought you weren't interested in space."

"Good Heavens, are we still on that?" Sherlock snapped. He rammed his shoulder into the door, but the thick wood didn't budge. "Help me with this."

John smothered a smirk. He still couldn't believe the smartest person he knew didn't have a basic understanding of the solar system. Still, he readied himself to break down the door. "On three."

The boys counted down together. "One… Two… Three…" They both charged at the door with full strength and the woods splintered under them and gave in.

Around them was a dark, musty space; it's only light streamed through the dusty windows, as if it hadn't been used in years. There were more piles of crates like the ones outdoors. The room was clearly a storage area, long since abandoned. Now that John took a closer look, the rest of the building probably was too.

Sherlock cautiously took a step on the wooden floor. John was already halfway into the room, clenching and unclenching his left fist as he always did when adrenaline seized him. Both boys were ready for anything, even, though they didn't care to admit this could be the case, something otherworldly.

"John, wait," said Sherlock suddenly as his friend took another step. John gave a cry of alarm as his foot went through the floorboard. He removed it just in time to see a couple other boards give way as well.

Sherlock took a quick but cautious step toward him. "The floor isn't sturdy. This building is nearly abandoned. Wait a moment – that's hollow?"

John moved quickly back, suddenly in a cross mood. "Of course it's hollow. Didn't you see my foot sink through it? You didn't think to tell me before I walked all the way in here that I might very well be walking into a death trap?"

It was possible that Sherlock was hurt for a split second; he hadn't thought to tell him because he assumed John knew. He didn't have stupid friends – well, he didn't have friends, but he had chosen his one friend carefully, and he wasn't an idiot. Surely John was weighing the risk. If he was hurt, though, it didn't show. His curiosity was much stronger.

"It shouldn't be hollow, though. There were floor-plans near the entrance, for escape during a fire, and a basement wasn't on them. There should be nothing but a foundation under us. I knew something was amiss, I knew it."

"Well, that's good, because your observations about the trash cans were rubbish, and you deserve to have a better one," said John crossly. Or at least that's what he planned on saying. He only got two words out before he trailed off mid-sentence.

John was peering through the floorboards.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, carefully taking steps – he was bigger than his friend, and he didn't want to damage the floor more than necessary.

No reply from John. He was busy staring into the dark and gloomy room below - the room that Sherlock had insisted was not supposed to be there. Sherlock met him, and they stared into the gap together. Black brick made up the walls and black cobblestone was tightly packed into the floor. A green velvet and black leather throne sat in the center of the room, beneath a gold and diamond chandelier. Not much of the room itself could be seen from the hole that John had made in the floor, but it was clear to anyone that this room had been created long after the building had been abandoned. A voice could be heard from below. When at last its owner came into view, both boys' jaws dropped. He, for the owner of the voice could be none other than Loki, was exactly how they would imagine a Norse god. In addition to his black, green, and gold attire, he proudly wore a cape and a ridiculous helmet sporting golden horns. The sight, Sherlock had to admit, was not something you saw every day.

When the man looked up in vague surprise and irritation, he raised his golden staff and brought it crashing down to the floor, like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Immediately, the rest of the floor began to collapse around them, and Sherlock and John fell through to meet Loki whether they liked it or not.

(1) Sound familiar?

(2) Did you get it yet?

(3) Gee, I wonder what other film recently used this quote. ;)