"Sir, the Doctor and Miss Tyler have arrived. Two guests as well: Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson, both of London, England," JARVIS announced. Tony stopping working and flicked his welding visor up.

"Put their files on screen, please, JARVIS." Instantly, a screen lit up near him that had the files. "Consulting detective, huh..." He pulled off his gloves and turned off his tools. "Which Avengers are in the building?" The lights turned out as Tony left the lab.

"Captain Rogers is in the training facility, Mr. Barton is in ductwork section 183E, and Dr. Banner is in his lab. Thor is currently in Asgard for armor repair, and Miss Romanoff is on a S.H.E.I.L.D. mission." Tony rapped on the glass of Bruce's lab while JARVIS relayed the information, gesturing "up" to the scientist when he looked away from his work. He spun his hand over his head in their hand-code for "TARDIS". Bruce nodded and saved his work before leaving the lab, lights shutting off behind him. Tony handed him a tablet with the files of their new housemates.

"Sherlock Holmes... I recognize that name from somewhere..." Bruce mused as they entered the elevator that was near the labs. It was smaller and plainer than the main elevator, but it was the only one that went into all of the subterranean floors; the main elevator went as low as basement one. This elevator was only accessible with the right keycode, so they didn't have to worry about lost tourists getting too deep. The elevator ride did not take very long and soon they stepped out on the main communal floor.

There were four people waiting for them in the living room. The Doctor was gesturing broadly, which meant he was telling them a story about one of his adventures. The newcomers looked over when they heard the door open.

Sherlock's eyes flickered over the men as he deduced. Incredibly wealthy, past alcoholic now occasional drinker, works long hours in a lab, confident, past trauma, abroad but for pleasure, parties but less often than used to, bad relationship with father, right-handed-

However, it was John who spoke first, his eyes widening slightly. "Tony Stark, isn't it?" Sherlock gave him a look that read how could you possibly know that? John gave him a shrug. "He's in the papers a lot." Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued deducing all he could from Stark while John shook hands with the billionaire.

"That's me," Tony stark beamed his charming smile at them. "You must be Dr. John Watson, making Brooding Silence here Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"More like Brooding Science," muttered John as he lost the battle with his smile. Tony grinned as John swallowed a chuckle, avoiding Sherlock's pointed side glance.

Tony stuck out his hand to John. "Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson. Call me Tony." John's handshake was warm, firm, and curt. Much like Steve's, mused Tony.

"John, please." He tilted his head to indicate Sherlock. "This is-"

"Sherlock Holmes. I can introduce myself, John," Sherlock cut in, lips quirked in a socially demanding smile, his hands folded stoically behind him, indicating no desire to shake hands.

John gave Sherlock his patented 'you're-being-a-prat' expression and spoke in an aggravated lower tone, "Sorry, Master of Deduction. I didn't know if you wanted to, oh, I don't know, make a show of this; like the last case."

"John, now's not the time to be getting back at me for our last case."

"You walked around like a runway model showing off her new designer boa," John scolded. "And you made me your butler!"

"For the sake of the case!" Sherlock whispered urgently. John opened his mouth but noticed Tony's amused look and shut it in a tight lipped smile.

Rose giggled and whispered to the Doctor "I like them. Two people that manage to fit together despite their major personality differences. Are they married? I don't see rings?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow at Rose's inquiry. "What? They act like an old married couple!"

"Does that mean we're married too?" he countered, grinning boyishly. Rose blinked at the Doctor, and couldn't find the right words for a comeback. He winked at her baffled expression.

Bouncing on his heels, Tony grinned and said, "Well, lovebirds, are you ready to meet the rest of the team?" John's embarrassed, open-mouthed expression was funny, Tony thought; John appeared to think better of whatever he had been about to say, as he shut his mouth with a huff, jaw set firm. Tony couldn't help but smirk and Rose looked at the Doctor who shrugged in response. Neither of them had corrected Tony.

"Ah, what about our stuff?" John asked, "It's still in the TARDIS."

Tony waved him off, "I'll have it transported it to your rooms before you settle in."

"We brought a couch-"

"Do not concern yourself over it, Dr. Watson." JARVIS's smooth voice came from seemingly everywhere. John jumped, not used to the unseen commentator.

"Oh! JARVIS, could you inform Amber Waves of Grain and Robin Hood our guests are here?"

"They are already on their way, sir."

Seeing John's lingering unease at the disembodied voice, Bruce smiled kindly. "It takes a while to get used to JARVIS."

"Oh, yes, while you're here feel free to ask JARVIS for anything. He's programmed to help everyone in the Tower. Well, not everyone, but the important people, of which you are now one."

"Fine, but how is a voice going to move our stuff?"

Tony laughed. "Oh, don't count JARVIS out of anything around here."

Sherlock turned his examining eyes to the other scientist once he had gleaned as much as he could, at this time, from Tony. The conversation continued around him, but he blocked it out, tired of the boring chatter. Tired and worn down, lab coat rumpled with a couple days' worth of stubble on his face; spent nearly as much time in the lab as Tony did recently, Sherlock determined, but he does not work on the same type of experiments. Graphite stains on the ends of his fingers, likes to write down his notes by hand, but still uses mostly technology. Theoretical sciences, difficult to study without highly advanced machines, which are available here based on the callouses and nicks on his fingers from manual adjustments. Lines on the face, imprints of safety gear. Likely specializes in wave or particle science. Older than Tony, spent quite a number of years abroad throughout his adult life, going by the tanned state of his skin. Though it wasn't for pleasure, as the tan lines are uneven and layered. Pinched look around the eyes, the knots on his shoes-a doctor then, medical as well as theoretical. Wrinkles on his pants, meditates at least once a day. Seems to be holding something in, as if it is just barely below the surface, waiting. But what?... This man was far more observant than the chatterbox Stark, for he noticed Sherlock's gaze on him. The man gave a nervous, shy smile.

"I forgot to introduce myself; I'm Bruce Banner." He did not offer a handshake; reclusive and uncomfortable with touch, trust issues. Sherlock gave him a nod.

"You are a man weary of the world," the consulting detective said. Bruce tensed for a moment before nodding.

"And you are the man who faked his death, I remember you now."

Rose leaned over to the Doctor, "He faked his death? Why?"

The Doctor shook his head slightly, talking back in low tones, "I won't spoil his story, but it has to do with why he was in Rio when we were."

"Aw, come on! What happened?"

The Doctor suppressed a grin, "Nope." Rose pouted, but she was smiling.

"You have something hidden, like it's ready to bubble over any minute now," Sherlock countered. John intervened.

"You'll have to try to excuse Sherlock's lack of social grace and his limited knowledge of pop culture." John smiled and extended his hand. "John Watson."

Bruce smiled a little bit more and shook John's hand. "That's okay, I live with Tony Stark; he's socially inept as well." A cry of indignation came from the super genius. "He builds my resistance up." He glances at Sherlock's still scrutinizing look, "My alter ego is the Hulk."

"He still probably doesn't know who that is."

Sherlock frowned but before he could say anything two men entered from the elevator. Tony glanced over and exclaimed, "Oh, no wonder it took you so long to get here; you got dressed up for our guests, Steve!" A tall, well-muscled, blonde man walked in side by side with a shorter but almost as buff short haired brunette. The taller gave Tony an exasperated look and subconsciously smoothed his neatly pressed short sleeved button up. Everything was precise, observed Sherlock. From his tucked in shirt, the sweep of his hair, and the shine on his shoes, everything was done with care and routine. Military. Easy, but there was still something...unusual about the man.

"First impressions are everything, Tony, and I see you didn't bother changing."

"What can I say? It's the real me, Steve." He tapped his chest with his hands before spreading his arms wide. "Insane grease junky. Though," he gestured to Steve's attire, "the real you is a charming, handsome soldier. And you're very pretty too, Barton. Pretty as a...peacock, even."

"Shove it, tin can man." Clint rolled his eyes.

Steve turned, smiling and held out his hand out Sherlock. "Steve Rogers. It's a pleasure to finally meet some of our new allies."

Sherlock didn't move for a moment but before John could nudge him Sherlock took the Captain's hand and shook it. "You're not from this era. You served in the military, but not the current one. You could just be fond of the 40's but no, your dress, hair and mannerism suggest that you are indeed from that time."

Steve looked surprised but then laughed. "I'm assuming you don't know who I am. That's a nice surprise."

"You just said you we're Steve Rogers."

"Oh, Sherlock," John sighed. "I swear I'm just a social translator. When we get back to Britain I'm asking my mum to send me some of my old comics. Steve Rogers is Captain America. World War II hero." John clicked his heels together, stood military straight and saluted Captain America. "Honor to meet you sir."

Steve gave an American salute back before relaxing and shaking John's hand. "I recognize that British salute. I didn't know I had fans over there. What branch are you?"

John smiled, "You'd be surprised how many there still are. I was a doctor in the Army. I'm a Former Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

Steve grinned. "It's great to meet another Captain. We seem to be doing all the work, even now." He turned to Sherlock, "How did you do that? Know where I'm from."

"I observed."

"I was frozen for 70 years. The Super Solider Serum I have in me put me in hibernation basically. You have sharp eyes. I'm glad to have you both on the team."

The man beside him snorted. "You say that like there aren't already sharp eyes on the team-"

"Archer, though you are highly skilled in any form of projectile weapon. Orphan, you had a brother, grew up in the circus hmm don't see that every day. You don't trust easily, and even those you do trust you still expect to one day turn on you. Above average intelligence, you have worked as an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D for over ten years. You prefer high places that are both hidden and easy to flee, obvious preference as a sniper. You are haunted by things you caused while not yourself and the death of someone close to you. You had cereal, milk, and coffee for breakfast, haven't eaten lunch, and you have 10 weapons on your person that I can see. You spend at least seven hours a day in the air vents," Sherlock said all this with barely a glance at him. Clint's eyes widened fractionally. "Surprised? Oh yes, and you have a deep fear of hospitals and doctors, which is why you haven't gotten that knee looked at. I'm sure John could diagnose it better than I, but based on how you're standing and the lay of your shoelaces, looks like you sprained your medial collateral ligament. Possibly a small tear in the meniscus." He gave Clint a bland smile. "I am no threat to your position on the team. I observe and deduce, but my aim is terrible."

There was a moment of stunned silence, broken by an awed, "Holy shit," from Tony. Steve gave Clint a look.

"When did you hurt your knee?" he all but demanded.

"It's nothing major, just need to ice it-"

"When."

A sigh. "Yesterday. I sparred with Thor; I'm glad I don't have a broken leg."

Steve rolled his eyes, but John looked concerned. "Would you like me to look at it?"

Clint eyed him warily. "Are you a doctor?"

"Yes."

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Clint," Steve said warningly. Clint wrinkled his nose at him.

"We don't have to go to wherever their medical room is, I can just look at you on the couch," John soothingly persuaded.

Clint hesitated, but nodded stiffly and hopped over the back of the couch, rolling up his pants leg. The rest of the group followed curiously as John walked around the couch and knelt in front of him. The Avengers were interested to see how John worked, to see if they could trust his expertise and skills. Even Sherlock watched as he rarely saw John diagnose a living person. John's hands moved steadily and gently, prodding and moving the joint, calmly asking Clint questions as he twisted and pushed. Clint was on edge, but the presence of his team both comforted and unnerved him. John reached his hand out and Sherlock was already there with a wide Ace bandage. The doctor wrapped Clint's knee and gave him a smile as he rolled down the pants leg.

"No tears in the meniscus, but a second-degree sprain of the medial collateral ligament. Ice, wrap, and stay off it for a few days. Try not to do any extraneous activities and be more careful in your fights." John delivered his verdict professionally and caringly, then smirked. "I get the feeling you will ignore most of my advice, so at least ice it when you're not fighting and I'd suggest practice shooting laying down or sitting for a week while it heals." He stood and brushed off his knees, then looked around to see almost everyone staring at him. "What?"

"I think they're just in shock there is a real medic on the team," a female voice from the hallway spoke up. John took a step back to see around the other men and couldn't help staring a little. A gorgeous redhead walked into the room, hips swaying with each step. Sherlock also turned to look at the woman, and John was expecting a flurry of deductions. Instead, Sherlock's face fell into the baffled expression John so rarely saw. In fact, the last time Sherlock had been dumbfounded like that was when he was in the presence of Irene Adler. Sherlock had his poker face on again, and extended a hand to the woman with a respectful nod.

"You are very skilled at hiding yourself in plain sight, an admirable talent. Even now I cannot be sure the information you are projecting is correct. Sherlock Holmes."

"Natasha Romanoff." She shook his hand with a little smile. John walked over to them, and the other gathered men seemed to be shaken from whatever shock had frozen them. They dispersed, though Clint remained on the couch at Steve's instance while the Captain went to get him an ice pack. John also shook Natasha's delicate hand.

"Doctor John Watson," he introduced himself politely. She smiled a little wider.

"I know. I was listening."

John gave her a warm but wary smile; he knew a professional killer when he saw one. Sherlock looked around the room, a small smile on his lips. Though he doubted he would see many murders here-indeed, they were attempting to stop many deaths-he did not fear his mind would stagnate. There was much here to keep his mind occupied, and he reveled in the chance to use the full range of his knowledge. He was not going to be bored for many months...weeks, at least.