XII

"Damn, damn, Loki dammit!" Sherlock swore as he dashed through London's now watery streets. The downpour had almost literally come out of nowhere and was making its best attempt to flood the city. Thor was clearly quite pissed off tonight. Hence why the detective used his lover's name in his most recent string of curses. Mrs. Hudson always fussed at him for using the more colloquial variation of the curse anyway and Loki found Sherlock's appropriation very – what was the word he used – adorkable. Also he would in no way be surprised if his (sometimes) favorite trickster was involved in the sudden thunderstorm anyway and was already plotting his revenge. "Why couldn't he be the god of sunshine and flowers and butterflies?" He muttered over the din of the storm. The familiar black door of 221b Baker Street finally came in sight, a dim beacon of dry hope. "Finally!"

Never had the dusty sanctuary of 221b been so welcoming. The detective could still hear the roar of the storm outside but it was slightly dulled by the solid walls and what sounded like the television turned up way too loud. Full blast from what Sherlock could guess. He began to peel off his soaked overcoat and scarf as he started up the stairs, hanging his things over the banister to try and drip dry. He was fully armed and prepared to have a little domestic spat with his mischievous lover as the sudden downpour had compromised a crime scene he had been investigating.

The last time London had been dowsed by a sudden storm of this magnitude, Loki had beforehand enchanted Thor's hammer, Mjolnir, to chase Jane Foster around and ignore Thor's command. Sherlock had condemned the guilty god to the couch for week over that (he actually enjoyed Dr. Foster's company; she was an incredibly bright woman). If Loki was the cause for a similar reason, he wouldn't enjoy the luxury of the couch. Sherlock would just dump his royal ass out into the storm.

"Loki!" There was no answer, probably due to the combined volume of the storm and television. This only fueled Sherlock's rage as he was not fond of being ignored all pride aside. "Loki, turn that damned thing off now! We need to-" The sleuth's rant was cut off by a clap of thunder and, surprisingly, an absolutely petrified squeak. This allowed Sherlock to realize that the current subject of his ire was nowhere to be seen. The couch was currently occupied by a shuddering lump of blanket. "Loki?"

The blanket moved just a little, indicating that there was indeed a god of mischief hidden under it. Sherlock didn't think Loki was afraid of thunderstorms or at least not to this degree. He had noticed that Loki would flinch at the sound of thunder or flash of lightning but it was thanks to being so observant, especially of his lover. The god was not extremely open about any possible fears he had and even the ones he did admit to never drove him into hiding like this. Sherlock thought he was too proud for such a thing. "Loki, you are safe you know," Sherlock soothed, kneeling in front of the godly blanket lump. "It's just a little thunder." How in the world did one comfort a frightened god? "You have nothing to fear."

"Perhaps… not from the storm itself…" came a shaken reply. So it wasn't necessarily the storm itself Loki was afraid of, but rather, what the storm entailed. Well, it was somewhat progress. But surely, Loki wasn't that afraid of his adoptive brother, was he? And if he was why in the world would he constantly badger Thor to the point of causing thunderstorms like this?

"You're not afraid of Thor are you? I honestly don't believe he would hurt you unless it was justified and he had no other option…" Sherlock had not personally spent much time with the Thunder God himself (though the aforementioned mortal girlfriend was the most interesting physicist he had met for some time). However, one thing that was abundantly clear right off the bat was how much he cared for his mischievous little brother. Surely, Thor had not done something to traumatize Loki this much.

"No… Not Thor…" That narrowed down the list a bit. However, Sherlock still wasn't quite sure what could possibly frighten his god so much. He was well aware of the tension between Odin and his lover but he also somewhat lumped the Allfather into the same category as Thor. As long as Loki was at least pretending to repent and not cause trouble, Odin saw no reason to fight with him. However, there was another option… Even though the god never spoke about what exactly happened to him before he attacked New York, their encounter with Captain Jack Harkness a few months ago had set Loki on edge. This led Sherlock to believe that the master of mischief was quite fearful of his former allies, the Chitauri. So for once… Sherlock Holmes was completely stumped. He genuinely could not fathom who made the thunder so terrifying to his god. And knowing Loki, he probably would never know for sure.

"Come here, love." Sherlock carefully pulled the shivering deity to him as he sat on the couch, not bothering to remove the blanket as that would most likely only panic Loki more. In Sherlock's experience, if Loki felt the need for something as sentimental as a safety blanket, it was much safer for both parties to just leave it and cuddle him. Even if he would murder the cuddler later. Now that was left was to attempt to distract the god from the storm.

"Would you like me to play for you?" Since moving into Baker Street, the god's opinion of Sherlock's violin talents had evolved from demanding the racket to cease to it being one of the few things Sherlock knew could comfort him. Sherlock, of course, didn't mind a single bit. Loki would often hum along to his playing, which caused a rare stirring in the detective's logically oriented heart. "I've composed a new piece that I would like an opinion on." The storm had calmed to more soothing lull on the roof accented with a dull roll of thunder. It still came down hard but now the two could converse without having to yell or strain their ears. So Sherlock turned off the now deafening television.

"Certainly…"

"Alright. Let me up, handsome." The mass of blanket-god moved and fell to reveal Sherlock's now puffy-eyed lover. Sherlock had to admit, when Loki allowed himself to be emotional or vulnerable, he was actually quite adorable. Yes, there was something inherently sexy about the proud air he usually put up, but the reminder of how much Loki actually trusted him was much sweeter and moving in Sherlock's eyes. "How was the case?" Loki asked as his detective took up his instrument. The trickster wiped at his eyes, trying to brush away any evidence of weakness.

"Boring. Open and shut domestic." An initial test drag of the bow caused them both to wince in pain. "Affair induced murder. Seen it a thousand times."

"Who slept with who then?"

"Wife with husband's twin brother," Sherlock explained as he began to play, the notes being produces proving to be far more soothing.

"How awkward. Perhaps she did not realize he was not her husband?" The god began to sway with the music; his motion almost in time with the detective's playing.

"Fraternal twins. She definitely knew. So brother kills brother and tries to frame adulterous wife. So pathetic. The case I was working on before the storm washed it out was much more interesting." Sherlock was please to observe that his beloved was beginning to relax. Loki's tremors had become nearly unperceivable and he was no longer trying to hide. The trickster scoffed.

"I would never murder family over something so trivial." Sherlock paused in his performance, giving Loki an incredulous look.

"You tried to kill Thor, overthrow Odin, and take over both the Earth and Asgard because you found out you were adopted, love." Sherlock received a glacial glare for that reminder. "For the god of lies, you can be extremely terrible at the deed."

"Fine. But I wouldn't kill him over an adulterous woman."

"That's comforting to hear as the only woman that should be in your life shouldn't be in a romantic sense. Unless you are really that narcissistic."

"Narcissistic? Oh, that's rich coming from you, Sherlove."

"I am not narcissistic."

"Are you so sure, love?"

"I'm a high functioning sociopath. That is extremely different."

"It still counts if it is a symptom." While Sherlock was quite annoyed by the jabs at his pride, he was comforted that the god was teasing him at all. It proved just how at ease he was finally becoming. "Don't worry. I still love you."

"Oh I should hope so. I only keep a roof over your head."

"And warm my bed."

"No, you warm my bed, you. You technically don't own any furniture in this apartment."

"Well, I do not need to own bits of wood and carpeting. I have exactly what I need."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Why, your heart of course." Sherlock's new song ended on a sour note in shock. It made no sense with how long they had been together, but the supposedly stone-hearted detective lost focus on his thoughts when Loki blurted out such sweet things.

"I – ahem – I have been reliably informed I do not possess a heart."

"Then you have been severely misinformed. I am more than happy to inform you that you do indeed have a heart, however, it is currently in my possession."

"Well, I need that to properly function thank you."

"Obviously not. You are still functioning quite properly. Well for the most part. You obviously haven't considered that you are dripping rainwater everywhere." And Snark Master Loki had returned. And Sherlock, in his sudden concern for Loki's fear, had indeed forgotten that the rain had soaked every single layer of clothing he wore. Oops. "I can fix that for you if you'd like."

"When you offer to be nice, it almost always means trouble."

"Why Sherlock, I'm insulted. Do you not trust me?"

"Not when you're smirking like that. I know better."

"I would never do anything to harm you, my love." The fact that Loki was grinning like an evil genius (which he was) did not aide his argument. Nor did the sudden breeze Sherlock felt in places there should not be a breeze.

"Loki. What did you do?"

"Oh. Nothing, love."

"You're lying. I can feel a draft."

"I am simply adding a touch of… oh what do you call him… Adonis to the room."

"1) I am not an Adonis. 2) Put my clothes back on me, Loki."

"But I much prefer this view. It suits you!"

"Anyone could walk in right now and I am freezing. Please return my clothes. Dry not wet." Sherlock had learned the hard way to choose his words carefully around moody mischief gods. Loki pouted but a flick of his wrist later, the detective was sporting his typical shirt and slacks though had chosen to give him his house robe instead of his suit jacket. Luckily, Sherlock had other plans that did not require going out in the rain again. He plopped himself back onto the couch beside his godly lover, narrowly missing the Sherlock-shaped damp spot. "Our egg needs a name," the mortal offered when his god flinched at a particularly loud crack of thunder.

"I do believe you are right." So the rainy afternoon was spent debating (or rather arguing) what to call their intermittedly trembling egg.