"What—" John said, his hands pushing the chair across the floor with an unpleasant rumble. The ex-soldier was standing, shoulders broad despite the unintimidating wool sweater. Loki placed the teacup down, his eyes not breaking contact.

"Don't do that again. I would hate it if you scratched up my floors." The trickster sneered, before relaxing back into his normal feature. "I have some family that I wanted to get away from. My brother, if you must ask. I need time, you see." Loki explained smoothly, his lips pursing when he finished. John seemed to settle down after this, sitting back.

"What was so bad that made you hide... Well, everything? That's.." Suspicious, intimidating, terrifying. "Rather rash, I guess." Came out instead, and John found himself gripping the chair's arms. The raven-haired man across from him picked up the teacup again with delicate fingers, taking a long sip before setting it over. "You can talk about it." John said, although he'd rather be pushing the other down and making sure that his queries were answered in fullest. Something about this man flipped a switch in his head—just like all the murderers they've met. He just wasn't right.

"There was a falling out. A private one, if you must know. I'm currently sitting still until the storm blows over. Right now, I'm living off the meager assets I can secure from my own accounts. I've seen to it that they're not traceable. Anything else you'd like to know, Doctor Watson?" Loki made sure to clip his tone to ensure that he sounded bothered. John nodded a bit, thinking.

"So I suppose I shouldn't use your full name on my blog?" Loki's eyebrows shot up, that throwing him for a loop. The stout man was now standing and heading for the door. "I won't, if that's what you're up to. Sorry. We've had some issues for a while now."

Loki watched as he slipped through the door, pulling it closed with an audible click. The god found himself slumping back, his magic swirling in his chest, pressing against his heart. Loki's eyes flittered around and his thoughts followed, almost in step. Like a dance that wasn't quite a dance and he's suddenly so jealous that social interaction falls so easily to others as lies falls to him. That what he told himself it was—it wasn't anxiety that was pressuring him, poking and prodding at all his inner workings. His hand grasped the teacup and brought it back up, only for the last bit of the liquid to disappear down his throat.

Loki only shared so much because lies need enough truth in order to be deceiving. Sentiment was not what delivered his words through his mouth. Despite being able to lie so easily to others, Loki found it increasingly difficult to lie to himself.


The police had called only thirty minutes prior, alerting them that they had found a morgue that almost fit the bill. It wasn't far from Baker Street and thus, the three were walking toward the supposed location. Sherlock was wearing a common navy scarf with his trench coat, the lapels pulled up to cover his face—and to look cool, as John muttered moments before exiting their residence. John was sporting the same sweater he had worn when questioning Loki, although now it looked a tad more wrinkled than it had yesterday. Loki himself was wearing a tan peacoat as of today, with black pants and a black tailor dress shirt. Hands shove into his pockets, he kept pace with the mortals. The day's sky was gray with little color elsewhere. The wind tugged and pushed at them all, propelling them through the thin groups of Londoners. It was a nice day for a London winter, with little sprinkles dotting the hair of the under passing colleagues. There was a bit of small talk between the two mortals, but Loki tuned it out. His eyes remained steady on nothing in particular, his thoughts the tune to which he marched. When they arrived at the morgue, his eyes flitted up to the boarded up sign. It looked like no one had been here in a while, the windows covered with old ply board. Sherlock glanced between John and Loki, before trying the handle. The door creaked open, and the lights flicked on almost immediately. John looked like he was ready to turn around when there was nobody in there, but a small buzz stopped him.

"What was that?" Sherlock questioned, stepping in to almost loom over John, who pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"It's a text message. The number's blocked, though." John said, scrolling to hit OPEN on the phone screen. The message opened with a ping after a second processing.

You can walk out if you want, but the clue will be destroyed if you leave. –ART

Sherlock stepped back, looking around the room. The desk was dusty, covered in age and spots. There was a spot wiped clean, just above a drawer. Lurching forward, Sherlock moved to a kneeling to pull the drawer open. Inside was a note—the first of many to come. "The owners used to keep the bodies in the back. The door is open." Sherlock said loud enough for both Loki and John to hear. Loki moved to the back of the shop, greeted by a dark steel door. It wasn't a moment before Sherlock was at his shoulder, reaching for the handle. "The room is encased in steel and used to keep the bodies cool before the send them off to be packaged up and stuck in the cold ground." Loki didn't notice the temperature as the air buffed them, but it was apparently cook as John seemed to retreat like a turtle into his coat while Sherlock pulled his tighter around him. Stepping in, the light flickered on again without assistance.

The room was as cold as a meat locker—in a way, it was—and the walls were lined with metal lockers with small nametags. In the center of the room was a metal table, surface bare. John jerked as his phone buzzed again.

Good. This room is filled with living people. See if you can figure out which one is dead. –ART

John looked at his companions, before reading it aloud. Loki glanced around the room, not sure if he grasped what the note was saying. "You don't think.. there's live people in the containers, do you?" John looked at Sherlock, who shook his head quickly. He stepped over to one of the lockers.

SHIRLEY LOCKE

"John, Loki, go read all the names on a wall. I'll take this one." Sherlock said, continuing to read. He ran a man with the name Les Trade, and another by Johnny Wat. It clicked almost immediately. "John, Loki, stop!" Sherlock ordered, choosing to read the names himself. Loki looked a little offended, stepping back to let the detective run around the room. It was a few seconds before Loki spoke.

"What do you think it is, Sherlock?" He questioned, strolling to the center of the room and leaning against the table. His hands prickled against the cold steel, but nothing more. Loki's eye surged up when the sociopath seized up, swirling on his heel and slapping a hand to his head.

"Every name in here is relating to us, the living! It's only a slight variation, but once you read the names, it's obvious. There's a name for everyone we know, including us. We just need to find the name of someone who's dead. Quick, John, what was the name of the deceased man?" Sherlock rounded on the doctor, his eyes glittering with undeniable mirth of the pursuit. John barely reacted—something Loki found rather impressive.

"His name was Dudley Wright. Is there..?" The name had barely left his mouth before Sherlock was on the chase again, going back to the original wall and kneeling to a particular locker. He gripped the handle, looking over his should with a breathless smile, before tugging the handle open. Another note fell out, and Loki heard a low fizzle. He turned his head, looking for the sound, but neither John nor Sherlock reacted. They must've not heard it. "Brilliant. What does it say?"

"'Very good. I invite you to a gamble for my hostage's lives. If you do not accept, they will all die. Men, women, and children. I will send you the next piece soon. Do rest up, for the next time you will not be returning to your beds soon.' It's signed ART again. It looks like initials." Sherlock said, stepping back and showing John the note. They both turned and looked when Loki opened another container, revealing a recorder or transmitter of sorts. "They were listening the entire time! Is it still working?"

"I don't believe so." Loki murmured, prodding it slightly. Sherlock heaved a cross between an aggravated sigh and a tired grumble. That was the type of cloud that hung over them on the way back to their respective flats.


They all gathered later that evening in 221B, John and Sherlock taking the chair and couch respectively. Loki pulled a chair in fro the kitchen and was now sitting about mid distance between the two. Sherlock was lying down, his eyes searching the ceiling for nothing in particular, and John was nursing a mug of hot tea. It wasn't many minutes before John placed his mug aside, looking at Loki. To this, Loki studied the carpet and the walls, his hands folded over the chair's arms. It was a strained silence.

"I heard about the deal." John said simply. The way he said it reminded of the mortal Coulson, how he sounded at peace. Yet, at the same time, there was a definite layer of danger. Loki smirked crookedly, his eyes flashing up to meet John's. He had respect for him, but something else coiled in him at the obvious show of distrust between yesterday's confrontation and now, this. Loki was used to distrust, but what threw him for the loop was the disappointment that John's posture seemed to show. It was a curious thing, as if the Son of Wat had expected him to be truthful, as if he was some old friend. Offsetting was a better term for the emotion that Loki felt. Nonetheless, he couldn't help but direct some of the anger at the detective for being so outright with affairs that were his own. "He said you weren't working with Moriarty. If that's the case, what is there to gain for you two to play this game? I suppose everything you told me was a lie." It was hard for the God of Lies to not get up and laugh in the stout man's face, baring his teeth savagely and telling John and Sherlock exactly what he was. He managed to hold it back, however, but he found himself chuckling.

"Doctor, I assure you, this is nothing more but treatment for an ailing mind. Boredom is a cruel fate. However, do not take all that I said before for a lie." Loki evenly replied, his tongue running over his lips quickly. Sherlock looked up, glancing between the two.

"Now that it's settled, I believe we should all tuck in. We have a long time tomorrow to see if there are anymore bodies or clues." Sherlock declared, standing up from the couch. "Do me a favor and do not stay up for too long reading. It really is unbefitting for a day of work, Lawson."


Oh. My. God. I love you all! Now I feel like I have to try really hard to keep you guys happy. (That's not a bad thing! ...I think) I've been writing all day to make sure this got done today. I forgot that I was having surgery last Thursday, and thus I've been under the weather since. It was just my wisdom teeth, and had a fairly good run-in with it. I have an infection, but we've caught it early and it should be done here soon. I'm going to try and start the real action and adventure now, but I'll keep some good old light-hearted stuff included. (Since I'm best at domestics!) I'm also working on making the chapters larger, but there wasn't much of an increase here.

Of course, review if you have time. I really appreciate it!

Thanks a ton,

Quia