Sherlock placed the mug of hot cocoa down on the desk.

"Loki... Loki!"

The sharpness in Sherlock's voice brought the Trickster to a sudden halt in the middle of his fiftieth journey from the coffee table to the fireplace and then back again. He would have continued if Sherlock hadn't quickly said, "I've made you a drink. Come and sit down."

Loki looked derisively at the striped mug and sniffed the air, smelling the sweetened drink.

"Children's beverage," he muttered, picking at the skin on the palm of his hand. "I need a real drink." He glanced at the whisky decanter.

"I'm not giving you alcohol," Sherlock replied, stubbornly. "You've already had enough fun for one night. And wearing a groove into my floorboards isn't going to do you any good either."

Looking most put upon, Loki plonked himself down onto the desk chair, leg bouncing.

"Why cocoa?"

"I'm glad you asked. Cocoa has always been used as a medicinal drink, but now it seems that it's high levels of polyphenols are good for reducing anxiety and depression in those who suffer from them. It might help."

Loki sighed sadly, but took a sip.

"Sigyn will be safe, you know," Sherlock told him. "She's more than capable of taking care of herself and she's taken Thor with her."

"She's gone to Muspelheim, you fool!" Loki said, waspishly. "The Fire Realm, the Kingdom of Surtur! There is nothing safe about tonight!"

He buried his head in his hands, breathing deeply.

"You're the one who told me not to be afraid of danger," said Sherlock, softly. "That it's always around us and in the air we breathe. And you're right. Life is dangerous. Always dangerous."

He paused to consider if it would be both helpful and right – or one or the other - to inform Loki of Molly's power, that she had predicted that he would die of a bullet wound* and that Loki was destined to be dispatched to the afterlife after suffering a broken neck. He quickly dismissed the notion; Loki would only relentlessly pester Molly for further information she did not possess. And, besides, how would he interpret the vague (vague by Molly's usual very specific standards) that Sigyn would die of Death?** Not well, Sherlock guessed.

Sherlock pushed the thought into the furtherest corner of his Mind Palace. Such knowledge would only double Loki's anguish. To disclose what he knew would be an unkindness, not that Loki would see it that way if he ever found out. He would surely view the lie by omission as a terrible betrayal of their trust of one another. So, he must never find out, Sherlock decided.

Instead, he said, "Molly could be knocked down by a bus. Or she could have an undiagnosed brain tumour. And the statistics say that two women are murdered every week by a current or former partner, so really she's taking a risk just by being engaged to me..." He'd meant it as a joke, but Loki was looking horrified. He cleared his throat and went on, "My point is that logically you know Sigyn is both sensible and capable of keeping herself safe. That alone reduces any risk. She's also taken the precaution of having Thor accompany her. The risk is again lowered. Perhaps the danger is not as great as you believe?"

Loki said nothing, but looked away miserably.

"Dragons and fire monsters aside," Sherlock went on, "I suppose that there is nothing quite as terrifying as the danger which exists up here," he tapped Loki's forehead.

"I just wanted to keep her safe," Loki said, quietly.

"I know. Which is why you stole and crashed the sleigh and tried to hide the Tesseract from her. Which is why they dragged you here and why we're spending the evening together."

"Because she hates me now."

"No," Sherlock said, patiently. "It's because Sigyn loves you just as much as you love her. Because neither she nor your brother wanted you to be left alone while so distressed. Yes, they're angry with you – quite rightly – but no great damage was done. Your plan mostly failed. You held up her from making her deliveries, that's all, but you didn't stop her completely. She will forgive you, probably has forgiven you. And as for you," he checked his watch, "your fifteen minutes are up."

"What fifteen minutes?"

"The fifteen minutes your therapist has allotted you each day for worrying. Time to move onto more interesting challenges."

"How did you know -"

"Because it's what most therapist recommend for anxious patients. A short amount of time to worry and fret and after that to try distraction and other techniques. So, we've had our chat, now it's time to play. Take a look at this old, battered hat Inspector Lestrade obtained during a slight misadventure at the supermarket and tell me what you can deduce from it? Our challenge for tonight is to track down it's owner."

"What on earth for?"

"We're both waiting for our sweethearts to come home from work. We could sit around and watch telly, or we would treat this as an intellectual exercise and as a game. Now then, my friend, tell me what you see."

AN: Thank you for reading! I wanted to work on their friendship a little. I hope it wasn't too angsty.

* If anyone is worried about Sherlock then please remember that when he was shot by Mary he did indeed die on the surgeon's table, but then came back.

** In Greek mythology the personification of death is a being called Thanatos, which sounds a lot like Thanos, yes? Poor Molly is starting to worry about how often the name pops into her head.