Once they had reached the underground den where his network's lead had taken them, Sherlock could not help but to be impressed as he watched the Black Widow in action. In fact, after he helped her put the guards out of commission for the time being, he just stood back and watched her deal with their leader. Every kick and punch from her was like watching art in motion…and Sherlock found himself mesmerized by the experience.

It took some painful convincing, but soon the man was thrown up against a wall with his arms pinned behind him while the woman hissed in his ear. "Look, you know who I am. We are on the same side here. I don't want to hurt you…and I don't want to hurt him, either. I appreciate your protectiveness on his behalf, but I am only here to deliver a message. Therefore, I am going to ask you one more time. Where…is…he?"

After the safe house's location was reluctantly divulged and off-hand apologies were issued for their overenthusiastic methods of information-gathering, the consulting detective and the Black Widow were on their way.

"You know…you handled yourself well in there, Mr. Holmes," she commented casually as she looked over at him from behind the wheel of the car that they had rented. He had booked it under one of his many pseudonyms since they were trying to keep a low profile. However, she had insisted on driving because she liked being the one in control…as well as the fact that she realized she had slept much more than he had the night before. Of course, that was his fault, as well, but she had already forgiven him for the incident since she understood that his heart had been in the right place. Nevertheless, no matter how much she was beginning to like the detective, if he drugged her again then she would make sure his heart ended up in a completely different place…such as one where he could actually see it with his own two eyes…however brief such an experience might be for him!

"No need to sound so surprised, Ms. Romanoff," he huffed, not realizing the violent path that her thoughts had taken. However, he seemed pleased by her compliment...even if he elected not to show it.

"Call me Natasha," she insisted, knowing that since they had fought side by side, he had earned that privilege. "And I wasn't so much surprised by your skill as I was by your style. That was Bartitsu, wasn't it?" she asked curiously, intrigued again by the man who would choose such an idiosyncratic fighting form.

"Quite!" he answered, impressed that she had recognized the more subtle, and distinctly British, style of mixed martial arts that he favored over some of the more flashier versions – such as what she used herself. The fact that her execution of it had been delightful to watch was completely irrelevant.

"You were impressive, as well…Natasha," he allowed himself to admit, however. She found that she really liked the way her name sounded as it rolled off of his tongue in his posh British accent...and she could not help but to smile when he continued his thought. "...and I suppose that for expediency's sake, you should call me Sherlock, as well."

"Thank you. I'll do that…Sherlock," she promised, and then it was his turn to smile.


It was already quite late at night by the time that they rolled into the driveway at the isolated and unassuming little cottage in the English countryside.

"We can safely assume that he already knows we are here," Natasha pointed out, even though no lights were visible in the windows. "I'll go first, then. If he sees me…and recognizes me…then we should be fine. However, it's dark. Therefore, if he doesn't realize that it is me…or if he sees you first…all bets are off and we need to be prepared to defend ourselves," she gave him a significant look before adding, "Also, watch out for booby traps."

"He's the suspicious type?" Sherlock asked.

Natasha nodded. "With good reason," she answered seriously as she prepared to leave the car.

"Wait!" Sherlock's hand shot out and caught her arm. The contact surprised them both for a moment, but Sherlock forged ahead anyway. "Have you considered that this might be a trap?" he asked. "That your friend might not be in there, at all?"

"Of course I have, Sherlock. That's my job! That's why I am going first. This kind of scenario is my specialty, after all. I am going to need you to watch my six, though, so hold your pistol at the ready. If necessary, only shoot to wound...not to kill…understand?" When Sherlock nodded, she grinned at him cheerfully. "Good!" she exclaimed as she leaned forward to give him a quick kiss on the lips. "Thank you, though" she whispered before she pulled away completely. Then, before he could even blink in surprise, she was out of the car and halfway to the house.

Sherlock found that he could barely contain his own grin as he followed close behind. That woman was certainly not one of Mycroft's goldfish, and he knew that she did not really need his backup. However, he was still going to do everything that he could to help protect her!

After they found, sidestepped, and/or dismantled three separate intricate traps, the twosome finally reached their destination: the porch. Once they arrived, Natasha strode to the front door and stood there in full view as she loudly proclaimed, "You're a hard man to find, but I have an important message for you, so get your ass out here or I'm breaking the door down and coming in, anyway!"

After a moment, they heard a muffled curse, and the front door was yanked open. By the light of the porch, Sherlock could see the large, imposing, and dark-skinned man who stood there. He wore an eyepatch and Sherlock could see the scars emanating from it. However, it was the way he held himself that gave away his identity.

He's the leader, Sherlock deduced.

"What the hell are you doing here, Romanoff?" the man demanded. He spoke only to the woman, but his eye raked over both of the people in front of him.

"It's nice to see you too, Fury," she answered, completely unfazed by the man's attitude as she stepped past him and entered the house.

"Remember exactly to whom you're speaking, Agent," he all but growled as he followed her into the cottage - and continued to ignore Sherlock's existence. Consequently, the detective stood poised, ready to act, as he assessed the scene and the players. As far as he could tell, though, there did not seem to be an immediate threat - even though the man was obviously not happy with their presence.

The man's displeasure did not seem to bother his companion, however. "Respectfully, Sir," Natasha answered lightly as she walked around and inspected the contents of the room that they were in. "I'm not really an agent anymore...and you don't actually outrank anyone right now, either - mainly because you're dead!" It was only then that she allowed herself to stop and smile up into his stony face.

"Oh yeah! Sometimes I forget about that," the man replied in a lighter tone than the one he had used earlier. The icy demeanor visibly thawed, the stone cracked, and he actually smirked in response before he spoke again. "At any rate, what brings you and your boyfriend here? Who is he, exactly, anyway?"

Natasha just ignored the boyfriend reference, but still smiled slightly, as she introduced them. "This is Sherlock Holmes," she said simply. "He helped me to find you." She then turned back towards Sherlock. "This is Nick Fury, the former director of SHIELD and the man who authorized the initial Avengers team."

Nick Fury was a name that he recognized and Sherlock found that he was a bit impressed in spite of himself. Therefore, he was not at all surprised by the obvious assessment being conducted on him by one dark eye. "So you're Sherlock Holmes…the detective," the owner of that eye stated. Sherlock simply inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement and the man continued. "I know your brother…and have even worked with him a few times in London."

"I'm sorry for you, then," Sherlock replied in his usual deadpan fashion and Fury snorted in laughter.

"Damn straight! He is an insufferable bureaucrat if ever I met one. However, he pulled my ass out of the fire a few times, as well…so I guess that he's not all bad." Sherlock just shrugged noncommittally, even though he knew that Mycroft did occasionally have his moments.

Fury then turned his attention back to the woman. "Alright then, since the introductions and small talk are out of the way now, what brings you all of the way out here to England, Black Widow...besides the chance to be a pain in my ass again?"

"As pleasurable as that is, Sir," Natasha replied with another warm smile that made Sherlock realize that the relationship between the two was actually less antagonistic and much closer than it had originally appeared, "I actually came to deliver a message from Clint. He wanted me to let you know that he and Laura just had their fourth baby. It's a girl."

Fury looked at her strangely. "Really...another Barton brat? That's good for them, of course…I guess…but…"

Natasha smirked. Fury could face down a dictator, mad scientist, or angry monster with ease…but babies always made him uneasy. She found that hilarious and tried not to laugh as she continued. "That wasn't the entire message, though. The real message is from his wife… and I quote, "Tell Fury to get his damn ass over here to meet his goddaughter pronto before I go hunt him down myself and make the number of his testicles match the number of his working eyes!" She glanced over at Sherlock with amusement written all over her face. "If you think I'm scary, you should meet a recently-given-birth and sleep-derived Laura Barton!" She looked back at the other man. "So what do you say, Fury?"

A proud smile had spread across the normally fierce man's face and it was a sight to behold. "My goddaughter, huh?"

"Yep, her name is Nicole." ***

"Nicole…That's a good name," Nick Fury said as he attempted to sound casual, but Sherlock could practically see his mind do a complete 180 before he turned his attention back to Natasha and spoke in his previous gruff voice again. "I'm assuming that you have an extraction plan, Romanoff. I mean, it's not like we can just hop on a plane at Heathrow and fly back to the States in First Class."

"Got it covered, Sir. Coulson and May have agreed to give us a lift."

"Coulson?" Fury's one good eye narrowed suspiciously. "How did you know…?"

"He was my closest friend at SHIELD besides you and Clint, Fury. Of course, I know that he's not dead!" She shook her head in disgust. "I mean, really, who do you think I am? Tony?"

Fury only glared at her again before he shook his head. "Alright then, arrange for pickup in the morning. I'm going to go get some shut-eye. This place only has one bedroom…and I'm not sharing. The couch folds out, though. You and your boyfriend can have that." With those words, he turned and strode to the other side of the house, presumably to his own bed. On his way out of the room, though, he started to shake his head again and Sherlock distinctly heard the man chuckle before saying softly in fond voice, "Well, what do you know…I'm a godfather!"

There was such wonder in his voice that Sherlock knew instinctively that there was more to the man than the tough exterior he displayed...and now that the nature of the urgent message had finally been revealed, he also realized that the same could be said for his redheaded female companion, as well. He deduced that the deadly Black Widow did not always have to be so deadly...or so black...as she would have people to believe.