Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Hello once again! Sorry for the long wait! Life got pretty chaotic. And with my exams coming up soon and this crazy bit of writer's block I've hit the next few updates may be sporadic. But for now you get a nice long chapter to make up for the last short one and the long wait. Please enjoy!

Sharkisha the 3rd – Thanks for the motivation ^^ And hooray for Peter!

Celestial Glowhead – I do love myself some morally ambiguous villains ;) Honestly, I love Ned and Peter's friendship soooo much. I think the Kingsman church scene is awesome, but I'd struggle to recreate it. I'm a filmmaker, so give me a camera and I could do it – but writing in a novel format is harder for me (which is why I've taken to practicing here on FF.N, my writing's definitely improved). But I hope to eventually deliver something along those lines within this story! Thank you!

The job was easy. Maybe even too easy. Ed Kawfist had left his apartment unlocked and it was simple to slip in, eliminate him, and get out. The rally wasn't supposed to start for another twenty minutes so that was plenty of time to disappear before people went looking for the anti-mutant leader. John was supposed to finish the job as soon as possible so the thought of cleaning off the blood didn't even occur to him. Not many thoughts did. Going through the fire escape would be the best way to get out – no witnesses in the back.

Except for one.

Peter slipped his suit on and stuck his backpack to a dumpster in his usual fashion. He was about to head over to a building with a better view of the rally when he saw someone climbing out of a fire escape. Peter stared for a moment as the man made his way down the metal stairs. The teen then realized that the man had blood on him. Peter didn't like the feeling he was getting.

Spider-Man began walking towards the fleeing man. "Hey!" The man stopped and looked over at Peter. "You in a rush? Typically people use the front door." John stared. "…You don't talk much, do you?"

"Leave no witnesses."

John's hand made its way to the gun in its holster. Peter's eyes went wide and he lifted his arm, quickly webbing the man's hand to the wall. John was startled for a moment but began to pull and after a few good tugs he broke free of the substance. Peter was shocked. "Oh crap. What? Oh crap. You just—Oh crap."

"If you keep at improvements like this you could Captain America a run for his money."

John's hand flew up to his head and he grimaced.

"This was hardly an improvement."

John doubled over, hands clasped around his ears. Peter watched on, not sure what to do. "What were you doing in there?" he interrogated. "Who are you? How did you break out of my webbing?" He just kept shooting one question after the other. "Do you have super strength? Are you a mutant? Are you here because of the rally? What are you capable of?"

"Look at what you're capable of!"

John's eyes snapped open. "SHIELD," he gasped. He looked up at Peter, still hunched over. "You know the Avengers. So you know about SHIELD."

At this, Peter hesitated. "Uh…yes," he said eventually. "Yes, I-I know the Avengers, yes, I've fought alongside them," Peter bragged, trying to make himself more threatening in any way he could.

"I'd take dealing with you over a pissed off Avenger any day."

"Sherlock." Peter stepped back, a bit surprised by John's outburst. "I need…I need to tell…" He looked up at Peter desperately. "Can you do something for me?"

"What? Do what?"

John stood up a bit straighter, walking towards Peter. The teen's heart pounded but he stood his ground, webs at the ready. "Paper. Do you have a piece of paper?"

"Uh, yeah, hold on." Peter ran over to his backpack and ripped a piece of paper out of his binder and snatched a pen as well. He ran back over to the agent who was holding his head again. "What is it?" Peter asked. "Why do you have blood on you?" John took the paper and pen and began to scribble. "How come you managed to break out of my webbing?"

"I-I don't…"

"Leave no witnesses."

John shook his head and shoved the paper back into Peter's hands. "Can you deliver that for me? Please?" he begged.

Peter glanced down at the paper. "Yes. Yes, of course. Where?"

"SHIELD. Get it to SHIELD. Or-or someone. An Avenger. Just get it to Sherlock."

"Who?" Peter flipped the paper over and saw the name Sherlock Holmes scribbled hastily.

"Leave no witnesses."

"Look, man, I can't just leave you like this. I don't even know who you—"

"Война. Рассвет—"

"Just go!"

Then the kid was gone. John held his head. Where was he? How long had it been? What was going on?

A van pulled up at the mouth of the alley and three men dressed in black slipped out, led by a woman. Walton. John remembered her. "Why weren't you at the rendezvous point, agent?" John flinched. His head hurt. Why did it hurt?

"I…I…" The world was spinning. Walton was ordering the other agents around – John couldn't hear what she was saying. Two men flanked him and when he felt them grab his arms he fell into darkness.

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Peter called again, hoping this time someone would pick up. When he was greeted with a voicemail once again he groaned. "Mr. Stark, please pick up. Please, I-I'm not entirely sure what happened but I think it's important. I-I ran into a man and I'm pretty sure…I'm pretty sure he had super strength and he may or may not have killed somebody, I'm not sure, he had blood on him. He just— Mr. Stark, please just pick up." Peter ended the voicemail and was about to call again when his phone rang. Peter quickly answered the call. "Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, you don't need to leave me four messages, alright? Now what about a man with super strength?"

"Mr. Stark, I was going to check out the anti-mutant rally – you know, just trying to be cautious – and I ran into this guy. He-he had blood on him and he was sneaking out of a building and he had a gun, I think he might have tried to shoot me—"

"Slow down kid."

Peter took a breath, trying not to talk so fast. "I webbed his hand up but he broke out of it. Only other person who I've seen to that is Captain America. So this guy looked…confused, I dunno. He asked for a piece of paper so I gave him some and he wrote a note." Peter held up the note, looking over it again. "He said I needed to get it to SHIELD. Or an Avenger. Can I give it to you?"

There was a pause and Peter wasn't sure if he should say something. "Alright, Peter, head over to my tower. I'll take a look at the note."

"Okay, I'll be right over." Peter hung up and tucked the phone and note away, quick to swing across the New York skyline.

It didn't take long for him to get to the tower. He landed on the helipad and saw that Tony was waiting for him. "Let's take a look at this note you've been going on about," the genius said, holding out his hand. Peter gave him to crumpled piece of paper and the two began to walk inside.

As soon as they were in the building Peter took off his mask. "The guy said we needed to deliver it to the guy he wrote down on the other side." Tony began to unfold the note and flipped it over, reading the name. "I don't know who it is but I think he has something to do with SHIELD." Tony scanned over the message written down and Peter waited for him to say something.

Tony's eyes narrowed as he reread the note. He flipped it over once more, again reading the name. "Friday, look up Sherlock Holmes for me, would you?"

"On it, boss," came the female Irish voice from the walls. Images began popping up right next to the two heroes. "Sherlock Holmes is a consulting detective residing in London."

"Consulting detective?" Stark questioned.

"That's what it says on his website. It would seem he is a private detective who consults with the police on cases they can't seem to crack."

"I don't know how it is in England, but last I checked the police didn't consult amateurs."

"It would seem he is hardly an amateur. Nearly six years ago he faked his death."

"He faked his death?" Peter asked in shock.

"That he did. He returned two years later after dismantling the largest criminal web in England, one of the largest in the world."

Tony stepped closer to the holographic images. "Wait a minute…" He stopped and stared at the photo. Then it clicked. "Son of a–" He ran a hand over his face. "Yeah, he's definitely involved with SHIELD."

"He is?" asked Peter. "How? Do you know him?"

Tony began pacing. "He appeared out of nowhere in the middle of this room several months back." He examined the picture once again. "Could have sworn he was older. Fri, are these pictures recent?"

"The most recent photo displayed is from four months ago."

"Hm. Must've dyed out the grey," he said to no one in particular. He cleared his throat and addressed his AI once again. "What else have you got on him?"

"He's been working with New Scotland Yard since 2007. He's had a history of drug abuse, but no recent offenses in that area." More images popped up, this time of Holmes and one other man. "He's aided in his cases by his flatmate Doctor John Watson."

Peter ran forward. "Wait, wait, wait!" He pointed at the newest picture. "That's him, Mr. Stark, that's the man I ran into. He wrote the note."

Tony folded his arms. "Friday, what can you tell me about this doctor?"

The images of Sherlock disappeared and were soon replaced by ones of John. "Doctor John H. Watson, formerly Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers." Images of John's army days began to appear. "He studied at the Royal College of Surgeons and joined the armed forces in 2006. In 2010 he was honourably discharged when he sustained an injury."

"What kind of injury?"

"Shot in the shoulder, sir." Tony nodded slowly. "A few months after his return to London he moved in with Sherlock Holmes. He documents his and Holmes's cases on his blog."

"Send me the link to his blog, would you Fri?" Tony said, pulling out his phone.

"Of course, sir." More recent photos began appearing. "Police reports say Doctor Watson went missing just over three months ago. There have been no sightings of him, but the police did find where he was originally being held. Unfortunately, they got there after he had been moved to another location – that was two months ago and no further evidence has been found."

Tony nodded, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Alright, thanks Fri."

"Any time, sir."

Peter watched as Tony began to make his way to the helipad again. "Mr. Stark?" Peter began following after the billionaire. "Mr. Stark, what do you plan on doing?"

Tony stopped and turned towards the teen. "You are going to stay here and hold down the fort that is New York City." He looked down at the note in his hand. "And while you do that I'm going to play messenger."

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Even the great detective Sherlock Holmes was willing to admit he didn't expect to see American genius and billionaire Tony Stark when he answered the door. However, he managed to remain unfazed. Sherlock's eyes shot up and down the man, deductions rolling through his mind. The billionaire on the doorstep was wearing a (quite impressively expensive) suit, but it was wrinkled. So he'd just got there that day – in the last half hour in fact. The man had just been flying. Quite literally. In his hand was a metal briefcase which Sherlock quickly realized was his other suit. He was not in London due to Stark Industries or he would have taken a plane. He was not there on behalf of SHIELD; his clothing was an indication of that. He was here for something else – something personal.

Tony offered a kind grin. "Sherlock Holmes?" he asked.

"Tony Stark," the detective greeted.

"That's what they call me. I was wondering if I could talk to you."

Wordlessly, Sherlock stepped aside, opening the door wider. Tony nodded in thanks and walked into the flat, looking around. Sherlock led the other genius up the stairs into 221B. Tony raised an eyebrow when he saw the sitting room. The place was a mess. There were dishes everywhere, books stacked across what felt like every inch of floor, and papers and files strewn across every conceivable counter space. There was a makeshift evidence board pinned up above the couch. Tony recognized a few photos as that of John Watson.

The detective himself didn't look so good either. If Tony didn't know any better he'd say the man hadn't gotten proper sleep in months. In fact, that was probably the case. He likely wasn't eating well either if his gaunt face and ill-fitting clothes were anything to go by.

Sherlock took a seat in his usual armchair and gestured to the wooden chair at the table. "Take a seat," he said.

Tony raised an eyebrow, stealing a glance at the perfectly open armchair across from the detective. He was about to question why he couldn't just sit there, but then he noticed the thin layer of dust forming on it. Then it hit him. It must have been Doctor Watson's chair. The billionaire pulled out the chair at the table and sat down, placing his metal "briefcase" beside him. He cleared his throat. "I don't think we've had the opportunity to properly meet." He offered his hand. "Tony Stark. Of course."

Sherlock hesitantly accepted the handshake. "Sherlock Holmes. I don't believe we've met before at all, Mr. Stark."

"Tony, please," said the other genius, shaking his head at the use of his last name. "But I'm pretty sure you're the one who appeared in my tower with a kid in tow a few months ago."

There was a light of recognition in Sherlock's eyes. "Ah. No, that wasn't me. That was, I suppose you could say, another version of me from another reality."

At this point in his life, not a lot could shock Tony anymore. So he went along with it. "Okay. Alright, yeah." He cleared his throat. "He's okay, by the way, last I checked. The kid, I mean."

"Thomas Snyder."

"Yeah, that's the one. He made his way to SHIELD alright."

"Good to hear," Sherlock said, leaning forward and steepling his fingers under his chin. "Now then– …Tony...I doubt this is any typical social call. You didn't just decide to pop in one day and introduce yourself."

"I heard about what happened to Doctor Watson. I'm sorry." Before Sherlock could get in a word, Tony reached into his suit's inside pocket and began to speak again. "But I think I have something that could help you find him." He pulled out the note and handed it over to the consulting detective. "An…associate of mine gave this to me…" he paused, "man, was it already yesterday? I hate overseas flights."

Sherlock carefully unfolded the note, taking in the faint bloody fingerprints. His name was scribbled on one side. And it was definitely John's handwriting. "He ran into Doctor Watson and got this note from him," Tony said, gesturing to the paper.

Sherlock flipped the note over and read.

SIP's experimenting. Everything's hazy. Kept in Brighton. Copying Winter Soldier.

That's all there was other than some more bloody fingerprints. Tony watched carefully as Sherlock's grip tightened on the note. "Where was he?" the detective asked.

"Queens." Tony hesitated to tell the whole story. "And while I was flying over I got a report that Ed Kawfist – the leader of a prominent anti-mutant hate group – was killed in his own apartment not long before he was supposed to hold a rally."

"You think John did it." It wasn't a question.

"My associate saw him climbing down the fire escape of Kawfist's apartment complex around the same time he was killed and covered in someone else's blood."

"Why would John kill this man?" Sherlock scoffed, voiced rising. "He wouldn't do that."

"Would he somehow escape the clutches of his kidnappers and run off to New York City without letting you know?" Sherlock looked up from the note and at Tony. Tony pointed at the paper. "It says 'Copying Winter Solider.' Now I don't know about you, but that doesn't sound too good. If anything it sounds like what he's doing—"

"Isn't of his own accord," Sherlock interrupted, getting to his feet. "SIP's using him. They've somehow managed to recreate the program Hydra used on James Barnes." The look on Stark's face at the mention of the name did not go unnoticed by the detective. However, he elected to ignore it. "To what extent? I'm not sure – it's unlikely they've managed to copy it perfectly, the odds of that are extraordinarily small." He stared at the note again. "But they've managed to be just inefficient enough so that John could break out of it long enough to write this note." Sherlock shoved the message in his pocket and turned to the billionaire. "I'm sure you can see yourself out." He began to make his way to the door but paused. "And…thank you for delivering this."

Tony shrugged trying to disperse the tension created by the name of the Winter Soldier and Sergeant Barnes. "No biggie." He got to his feet and picked up his briefcase. "I suppose I should be on my way. And the best of luck to you finding Doctor Watson." And with a nod, he left.

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At this point in his career, Director Fury was used to having people storm in on him angrily. And he figured it wouldn't be long before he got another angry visitor considering he was at the London base for a while. So he wasn't at all surprised when a furious Sherlock Holmes burst into his office.

Sherlock tossed a crumpled note onto Fury's desk without a word. Continuing the silence, Fury picked it up and carefully unfolded it, taking note of the bloody smudges across the page. The director quickly read the note and looked back up at the angry detective.

"Tony Stark showed up at my flat today to deliver this," Sherlock explained. "It's from John. John was in New York City and there's reason to believe he murdered someone while on his trip." Sherlock began to pace. Fury's careful eyes traced the other man's every move. "SIP's trying to recreate the methods Hydra used on James Barnes – they're trying to turn John into…into their own Winter Soldier." Sherlock halted, turning to look at Fury. "SIP had a facility in Brighton, yes?"

Fury set the note down, looking at it once more as he did so. "That they did." He tapped the paper. "This would indicate that's where Doctor Watson's being kept."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed suspicion. "What do you know? Something's happened – what?"

Fury stood from his seat, leaning over his desk. "When SIP's Director Williams was killed, SHIELD got to work on dismantling the organization. We found every one of their bases and made sure the building was spotless within the day." He paused. "However…not long after Watson was moved from the suburb house, our scanners caught sign of some activity at SIP's old Brighton facility. When we sent some agents to investigate, the building had vanished. It was completely gone – no rubble, nothing. It was as if it had never existed." He made his way around the desk and Sherlock stared, hanging on to the director's every word. "And yet the signals persisted." He shook his head. "But the building is nowhere to be found."

Fury could sense Sherlock's anger boiling to the surface. It didn't take long for the detective to explode. "He's out there! You knew full well something was happening but you haven't done anything about it!"

"I sent some of my best to investigate, Holmes," Fury said in a dangerous tone. "The building isn't there." He pronounced each syllable carefully.

"But he's there!" Sherlock persisted. "That's where John is and you could have found him by now! But you haven't!"

"We'll reopen our investigation of the Brighton facility, Holmes, you have my word," Fury assured. "But I'm not sure there's much we can do if there's no building to even investigate." He held up a hand to keep Sherlock from interrupting. "But I'll get some agents on the case – I'll even get Coulson to head it up himself if that helps to assure you in any way. If we can't find the building, we'll keep undercover within the town, wait for something to crop up." Fury sat back down at his desk. "You are dismissed, Holmes."

Sherlock opened his mouth to argue once again but Fury spoke before the detective could. "You are dismissed agent. I won't hesitate to take that badge back."

Sherlock's mouth snapped shut and he glared at Director Fury for a few extra moments before walking out of his office, slamming the door behind him.

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