"Sherlock,"
"Mmph, leave me alone,"
"Sherlock,"
"…No,"
"Sherlock, wake up,"
"No…"
"Come on, you've got to get up,"
"…I don't want to,"
"Sherlock-
"FOR GOD'S SAKE GO AWAY AND LET ME BE!" Sherlock roared at his disturber, who retracted a few centimeters in response.
"Sherlock, what in the world is wrong with you?" John berated.
"I was mind-palacing," Sherlock complained before curling back up into a ball and wrapping his coat tighter.
Except, he didn't have his coat. Sherlock raptly looked up at John and noticed that John's cardigan had been replaced with a blank white t-shirt with, and, as he looked down, so had his.
Sherlock shook himself out of his state of shock and quickly leaped up, forgetting about his previous intentions of lethargic mind-palacing.
All around them was glass, he needn't be told that it was unbreakable, cages for outlaws tended to be that way. He was also fast to realize that all items that they had carried with them had been taken. He checked his mouth, damnit they were invasive, they even found the lock pic that he occasionally kept under his tongue.
"Sherlock, where are we?" John asked, sitting on the chilling metal bench on the opposite end of their containment.
Sherlock slumped onto the floor with his back to the wall, and he frustratingly picked at the peeling paint on the floor. "The Avenger's base is located in New York City," he started, "but we can't be there, I haven't been knocked out nearly long enough for us to make the flight from Sokovia to the United States," he reasoned, "We haven't even been captive for more than four hours, look John, my veins aren't swollen." Sherlock sprang up and started pacing again.
"The air is incredibly thin so very high altitude, another skyscraper? No, because they have an air pressure regulator over there with a dial on the outside." Sherlock squinted his eyes and pressed his face against the glass of the cell,
"See, if this were just a normal industrial building there would be no way to access each individual regulator like a thermostat," Sherlock put his fingers to his temple and pressed hard, "So that means they planned on this place to frequently move between varying extremes of altitudes. Therefore, we are either on a rather large elevator or-
"Sherlock, do you remember the enormous aircrafts SHIELD used to save the civilians during the battle against Ultron?" John intermitted in the middle of Sherlock's rant.
"I was thinking that but they wouldn't be able to casually fly one of those at all times without being shot out of the air." Sherlock snapped.
"They could have some sort of, um, cloaking, device?" John suggested.
"Not one that would completely hide a towering 10,000 ton hull," Sherlock scoffed, "if there were such things Mycroft would be covered in them." Sherlock began pacing again.
John slumped back onto the metal bench, twiddling his thumbs in a mindless attempt to entertain himself.
Suddenly, a slow hiss of air signified the opening of a metal door that led into the cell. As the smoke dissipated, a tall, dark man came limping down the cat walk until he stood directly in front of the glass wall separating the cage from the rest of the chamber. With his single eye, he stared at the pacing man until he was bored by the sociopath's antics.
"Sherlock Holmes," Nick Fury announced, "World's only consulting detective, co-resident of 221 B Baker Street, and Britain's viral sensation." Fury turned his eye to face the other occupant of the cell, "John Watson, ex-medical corp of the 5th Northumberland, honorably discharged after a bullet to the leg, psychosomatic disorder, married, and Holmes' private biographer."
Fury allowed for a moment of silence to permeate the cell before continuing on. "I'd like to formally introduce you to SHEILD. The Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division."
John's eyebrows furrowed with the awkward pneumonic.
"We have the unfortunate business of dealing with some, domestic messes, that spill out into other countries. However, we don't appreciate it when amateurs try to touch our stuff." Fury glared through the glass, locking his eye onto Sherlock.
"So, Mr. Holmes, I'd love to talk over a cup of tea, but unfortunately, we're under a tight schedule. So how about you just tell me exactly what were you doing 14,411 feet above the place where the world almost ended?" He demanded, maintaining the stone-cold gaze that even Hawkeye envied.
Sherlock remained silent, peering back at Nick Fury with an inquisitive air, before stating "Sorry, I didn't understand what you were saying."
"I-what?" Fury uncharacteristically hesitated.
"What was that you said, 14,411 feet, no I don't quite know what that means-
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me-
"Perhaps I was 4,326 meters above the site of world's destruction, but I wouldn't know that-
"Mr. Holmes, Stark informed me of some of the things you said back at the Sokovian site, do you hold some sort of malignancy against America?"
"Why yes, the last American I came across tied up and bludgeoned the landlady."
Yet again, silence filled the space between Sherlock, the cell wall and Fury.
"Duly noted Mr. Holmes. Anything else you wish for us to know?"
"Not necessarily, just make sure I don't get noticeably injured, because without universal healthcare I'd have to pay out of pocket." Sherlock shrugged aimlessly, before resuming his nonchalant pacing across the cell floor.
Fury observed him for only a second longer before calling out "Watch your mouth, there is an official interrogation meeting in five, and I don't want no braggadocio what-not from you."
With that, Fury left in a sweep of billowing black cloak, letting the door screech and slam shut behind him.
The billowing silence that followed notified John that he could now remove his face from his hands, no longer having to hide his aghast expression, and no longer having to hide his frustration with this narcissistic, fully-grown toddler-
"You're mad, John."
"Oh wow, you're deduction skills haven't aged a day, much like you-
"'Calm down, John-
"Calm down?! You just pissed on the head of one of the most powerful agencies in America, and now we're probably going to end up mysteriously buried in some hole in, I don't know, Florida." John threw out.
Several minutes pass as Sherlock continued pacing, ignoring all signs of distress emanating from the opposite side of the cell. "Maybe if we can just convince them that we were there under the guise of restoring the place-
"You won't be needing any of that Mr. Holmes," a low droll of female voice interrupted the detective, "We know enough of the truth to make an outline of what happened."
A bob of scarlet hair effortlessly emerged to reveal the owner of the threat.
"And we just need you two to color it in."
A whir of machinery signified the disengagement of the cell's lock. Brown eyes stared down blue.
"Follow me."