The creak of the door as Molly departed was accompanied by a whisper of air from behind John. He turned, and was not at all surprised to find Loki once again lounging in Sherlock's chair. The god reached towards the ferret which had clambered its way onto the desk, but pulled back with inhuman speed when it snapped at him.
"Spirited, isn't he?" Loki commented, false amiability over a constant, unspoken threat. "I expect he's even more . . . stimulating in human form. It's a pity you'll have only memories for comparison."
"Why are you doing this?" John demanded.
"Why not?" Loki replied, spreading his hands in what should have been a careless gesture, but was in reality as meticulously controlled as all his other movements.
"He's no threat to you," said John, clenching his hands on the back of his chair and struggling to remain calm. He had pretended to believe Mycroft's reassurances, but he knew in some sick place deep in his stomach that they had been lies. There was no way to turn Sherlock back. Not now, maybe not ever. He had to go the source. "He's a genius, but all he cares about is the work, and that's strictly Earthbound."
"I am aware," said Loki, looking slightly amused.
"Then what?" John burst out. "What could you possibly want from us? Souls? Contracts signed in blood? First-born children?"
Loki frowned, genuine confusion flashing across his face.
"What use would I have for your spawn?"
"That's not –" John groaned. "Oh, Christ." He bit back his anger, stepped forward, and tried a different tactic. "Look, what he said to you was horrible. Most of what comes out of Sherlock's mouth is a bit horrible. Sherlock's a bit horrible. But I honestly don't think he understands what he's doing."
Loki's brow furrowed.
"He's mentally deficient?"
"No!" said John quickly. He gave a small, weary laugh. "No. He's . . . mentally excessive, if anything. It's emotionally that he's got a problem."
"And yet you care for him anyway?" Loki questioned. "Enough to be his advocate; enough to bargain with me for his well-being, despite knowing my power and what harm I could inflict upon you should I choose?"
"Yeah," John sighed. "Apparently."
"But why?" the god demanded, suddenly on his feet and much too close. His arms were braced against the mantle one either side of John, boxing him in, but it was his gaze which really held him pinned. "You are a soldier, and a healer. You are strong and brave and compassionate. You are everything your people value, while he is everything they despise. Why would you care for a man who is so entirely your opposite?"
John held very, very still. He could feel Loki's hot, ragged breaths on his face, could see the desperation in that too-thin frame, and knew that one way or another, he would not get another chance at this.
"Because he's brilliant. And he's not half as horrible as he likes to think he is. And . . . because nobody deserves to be alone. Not even arrogant bastards like him."
Loki stared at him for a long, long moment. Green-blue-grey eyes shimmered with unshed tears, searching, searching, searching . . . and then he was gone.
Sherlock gave a strangled curse as he toppled from the desk.