First Impressions

"When they arrive, can we come and watch?" Potter asked, his curiosity more restrained than his partner's, who was leaning forward in his chair so much he nearly fell out of it.

"Have 'auror apprentices' nothing better to do on a weekday?" Sherlock asked, carefully applied sarcasm hiding his own curiosity. What did aurors do?

"We have practical exams next week, so they gave us this week off to prepare. Not that we need it. We're both pretty good at the practical side of things." He smiled at his partner, who gave him a thumbs-up in return.

Sherlock saw John sit up and throw him a significant look. Not that he needed the prodding. He narrowed his eyes at Potter. "How about we let you sit in on our welcome meeting, and in turn John and I get to watch your practical exams?"

Potter and ...Westley?... looked at each other. "Deal!"

So here Harry was, standing in some top secret military facility wearing a borrowed suit (his line of work did not often call for formal muggle attire) and feeling more out of place in the muggle world than ever before. Ron looked even worse off than him. Not only were the arms and legs on his own suit at least two sizes too short, but he also had so much less knowledge of the muggle world. Harry had seen his wide eyes as they were led through the complex to the landing pad, and paid close attention in order to shush Ron before he could ask any questions. The corridors were sparsely populated, but the wrong question could still draw unwanted attention to their non-muggle status. No need to have another obliviation negotiation with Mr. Just-A-Minor-Position Holmes.

They only waited a few minutes before a plane unlike any Harry had ever seen touched down precisely on the mark in the middle of the landing pad. The Avengers had arrived.

First out of the plane was Captain America. He was in civilian clothing, but that face and, heavens, that physique, were still quite unique. Harry had heard of the superserum, of course he had. Who hadn't, these days? And yet the primary thought that ran through his mind at his first close-up view of Captain Rogers was: "What does someone like that eat for breakfast? A couple of ostrich eggs and half a cow?"

Hot on the Captain's heels was a man who must be the Falcon; not quite as iconic (nor quite as buff, though he still had some impressive muscles), but easily identified by the way he stuck to Captain America's side. Also, by those teeth that could rival Hermione's before fourth year - although for some reason on him, it just looked… adorable? Harry had spent some time on the computer recently, looking up the Avengers, their pictures, facts and legends about their abilities, their history, and things they were famous for besides the Battle of New York. He'd thought he knew a lot about them from the press and from random bits of gossip overheard from friends and colleagues, but clearly the stories didn't do them justice. These people were so much more than just a bunch of men in tights who were in the right place at the right time; they were legitimate heroes.

And a god. Harry admitted he felt curious and anxious about that one in equal measure.

Right on cue, the Norse god exited the jet plane, and Harry heard Ron whisper: "Blimey, mate. You ever been this close to a god? Or a real-life hero?

Harry couldn't suppress an amused chuckle. "Ron. You are a real-life hero."

"Oh." Harry could hear the blush in his friend's voice. "Right."

"Also," Harry heard Sherlock Holmes mutter deprecatingly from his left, "Captain America has enhanced hearing. You might want to remember that."

Now Harry was blushing alongside Ron. He looked up and saw Captain America looking at them inquisitively. He blushed harder. Shit. Captain America was curious about why Ron might be a hero. That was very far from being a good thing.

They were saved by Tony Stark exiting the jet, already talking a mile a minute and drawing everyone's attention like a magnet. "- not that I'm complaining, but I thought England was famous for its constant rain. Yet every time I come here, there's sunshine and warmth and clichéd birdsong. What's up with that?"

"You must not come here very often, then," Ron apparently couldn't help but observe. The first four Avengers were now within regular human speaking distance so he was heard without having to shout. Harry didn't need to look at Ron to know that he was flushing his usual clashing red upon realizing he had blurted out something so inane in front of the infamous Sherlock Holmes and several American muggle superheroes.

Stark seemed to take it with good humour, though. "British sarcasm, I like it." Looking around, his eyes settled on the Holmes brothers and John. "Ah, and lovely British celebrities. Misters Holmes and Watson, I suppose? Oh, and Mister Holmes, of course." He made as if to draw a non-existent hat.

Captain America rolled his eyes and stepped in front of his fellow Avenger. "Mister Holmes," he said to Mycroft, "I apologize for my team mate's antics. We had a long flight."

"Which I could have managed so much faster on my own," Stark grumbled, but Captain America ignored him. Straightening up even more - he was already standing more or less at parade rest -, he continued. "Thank you, Sir, for allowing us to pursue Bu- the Winter Soldier over here. We really appreciate it."

Stark made a mocking kissy face in the background, which Harry found odd until he had a closer look at Captain America's flushed cheeks. Oh.

Oh.

"Compromised," suddenly came Sherlock Holmes's disgusted voice. "Half of them are emotionally compromised! Mycroft, please do not presume to tell me this is our best hope of catching the infamous Winter Soldier. John could do better than the lot of them!"

Harry looked over at the detective's partner who seemed not to know if he should feel proud or insulted at Holmes's words, resulting in a mildly bewildered look.

"What do you mean?" Captain America, already tense, said and tensed up even more. Harry imagined the man tensing up just that little bit more and snapping in half under his own tension. He blinked and shook away the strange thought.

"Boring," Holmes complained. "Mister Rogers, surely you don't actually believe you could hide the fact that you are in love with the man you purport to be hunting. No more than Ms. Romanova could hide that she wants to either kill him or bed him. Mister Stark -" Sherlock breathed in deeply as though the wind would tell him all the answers. "- you lean more towards the killing side of the equation, which means you and Mister Rogers should definitely not be on the same team during this mission. Or really, on any team at all that acts in the name of Her Royal Majesty's government and justice."

Harry thought he heard the older Holmes mutter a sarcastic "Sherlock, I am so proud."

"So that leaves the Misters Banner, Odinson, Barton and Wilson. As everyone knows - and from what I see here, the newspapers are for once correct in their assessment -, Barton will follow where Romanova goes, while Wilson will stick to Rogers like a baby bird to his mummy. Meaning the only ones not either following an emotionally compromised leader or being emotionally compromised themselves are Doctor Banner and the Norse god." Holmes made no attempt to hide the disbelief in his voice as he said 'Norse god'.

Sherlock Holmes was even better at keeping everyone's attention focused on himself than Tony Stark, and Harry was as amused as he was horrified at the way this first meeting was developing. Teamwork was very obviously not either group's forte.

Meanwhile, Sherlock wasn't anywhere near finished with his assessment of Earth's Mightiest Heroes. "Now Banner here obviously has a good head on his shoulders, but his crippling self-doubt makes him unsuited as a leader. Thor Odinson, on the other hand..." He sniffed, a sneer blooming on his face like a particularly obnoxious flower. "Mister Odinson is so inebriated I wonder how he even made it off that quinjet."

The Norse god seemed to take exception to the accusation. "You dare ins-sult me, ridddiculous li'l man? Knnnow you not that I, Thor, am a god amongs' you-humans?"

"Blimey, Holmes is right!" Ron said next to Harry. "The guy is totally shitfaced."

"How dare you!" Thor roared. "Didst you think your magic would protec' you from my might?" Suddenly, the famous hammer was in his hand as he stomped over towards Ron. Shit! What did Thor know about magic, and what was he planning to do to Ron? He looked seriously pissed.

Harry saw Captain America move in their direction to intervene, but he knew from the Norse god's speed, fuelled by anger as it was, that the Captain would not reach them in time. And Ron himself was just standing there in awe, entirely unappreciative of the very real risk of being smashed by Thor's hammer. Already composing the apology to Susan in his head, Harry drew his wand and aimed it at the hammer. "Expelliarmus!"

Thor uttered a startled grunt as Mjolnir was ripped from his hand and went hurtling towards Harry.

To everyone unaware of magic, it must have looked as though Thor had thrown the hammer at him, for several of the Avengers gave yells of "Thor!", "Don't!" and one sad "Aw, hammer. Now they'll kick us out."

Harry, however, had another problem just then. He suddenly realized that he now had an unstoppable legendary hammer flying full tilt at his chest.

"Oh fuck."

He stared at the approaching hammer for what seemed like a lifetime but was probably only a few milliseconds, then acted on reflex.

He caught the hammer.