Disclaimer: Nothing here is mine at all

With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock pushed open the door. There was no sound from within, save for the almost imperceptible sound of feminine breathing. Sherlock glanced cautiously at Natasha, who shrugged and continued to scan the still empty corridor.

It was now or not at all; there was still no sound from within, but Sherlock was certain that this was where the captives were being kept. He needed to see John, but he couldn't hear his breathing pattern; swallowing the dull shudder that rippled up his throat, Sherlock stepped forward into the darkened room.

"AH-OW!"

A heavy, solid weight smashed into his collarbone, almost knocking him from his feet. Sherlock stumbled back into Natasha's waiting arms with an undignified 'umph' of pain.

"Did you get him?" A sharp, feminine, cockney accent called out from the room's depths. Sherlock regained his posture, and peered curiously into the shadows. The fear that he had been feeling had abated; that swing could only have come from someone of a certain height, and a certain amount of upper body strength.

"John?" he beseeched, hoping that he was right. The sound of thick metal hitting and rebounding off the ground reverberated off the walls.

"Sherlock?!" the voice that Sherlock had been running over and over in his mind just so he wouldn't forget it emerged in tandem with the still be-jumpered, strained looking man, whose eyes widened as he took in his friend, "You actually found me?"

Sherlock's face split into a grin as he grasped at the right words to say, which for once weren't coming as he took in his friend's appearance. John's face, though tired, had lit up when he had realised who he had hit (and it was definitely John that had hit him).

"Of course I did, you know me." He drawled, letting the surge of joy overwhelm him as, completely out of character, (and he'd deny it later, Sherlock just knew he would), John threw his arms around the detective's neck and pulled him into a tight embrace, squeezing him thoroughly.

"He kept saying you would." Interjected another male voice, American this time, and at this Natasha pushed through the door, allowing light to fully flood the space as she strode across to meet the man that Sherlock assumed was Clint Barton. She greeted him with a brief touch of the hand, before he continued speaking, "Took you long enough Tasha; we were halfway through an escape attempt."

As they bickered, (something about a bow, which Natasha withdrew from her portable backpack) Sherlock took a second to scan the room, taking in the wiry beds, the now unshackled chains, the windowless brick, and the two women that were watching warily, (and haughtily) from the edge of the furthest bed. His eyes focused in on the petite brunette woman, whose hands were clasping together nervously regardless of her otherwise determined posture.

"You must be Thor's woman…Jane?" Sherlock asked, offering his hand to the woman, who took it warily and shook it, blushing and smiling awkwardly. He heard John sigh and scold under his breath (Sherlock…)

"I'm not Thor's woman…I'm just his girlfriend- I'm not his…I mean," she cut herself off, inhaling sharply and pulling herself together, "Yes, I'm Jane."

Sherlock nodded sharply (apparently she was a physicist, but apart from that she wasn't anything to hold his interest- introductions as John had been promoting for about a year, and then get his doctor out of here- that was the plan). He offered his hand to the haughty red-headed woman, who glared him down.

"So you must be-"

"Donna Noble, and I'm nobody's anything!" she snapped, causing Sherlock to retract his hand and shoot John a sideways glance, which was pointedly ignored as John had turned to talk to Barton.

"My apologies…" Sherlock replied caustically, "It's just that Dr Banner speaks so highly of you, I couldn't help but recognise you on sight."

Donna looked ready to respond, her shoulders squaring and her face hardening, (the frustration of being held prisoner must have been getting to her, as Bruce had described her as 'tough to handle, but very emotional and understanding'), but Jane cut her off, rising to her feet and moving forward to embrace Sherlock's hands (which only months of John's nagging prevented him from flinching away).

"I don't know how to thank you enough for coming to find us," she implored gratefully, and then looked into his eyes, her expression darkening with worry, "You said you've spoken to Thor; is he okay?"

Sherlock was saved from answering as John returned to his side, turning him around with a hand on his elbow, which Sherlock was pleased to feel, he didn't remove. John met his eyes with a curious, pondering look, that made his eyebrows pinch in the middle.

"Sherlock…how do you know this…'team' that they've been telling me about?" he asked slowly, as if thinking every word over before it left his mouth, "Because they are about a million miles away from anything you even believe in."

Sherlock wasn't sure whether the pang in his throat was hurt, humour, or uncertainty; John, as always, saw through him in seconds. On any other day, had life not taken such a strange turn, he would have scoffed and dismissed these 'superheroes' as codswallop. Now he was working with them, (beginning to actually think of them as- not friends- but acquaintances on at least Molly's level)…and John was still watching him expectantly, standing comfortingly close.

"Do you honestly think that I wouldn't exhaust every option available to find you?" he answered honestly; he was half aware of the way that the women to the side both let out a kind of muffled sigh (even the angry one), but that was eclipsed by the way that John's eyes lit up.

"Last time you crossed something even slightly supernatural, you had a meltdown in the middle of a pub." John reminded him, and he was so clearly holding back a smile. Sherlock didn't refrain from smirking back; this was better, this was normal…he could cope with the rest of this ridiculous mess…everything was okay now.

"And I am all the more prepared for this." He said softly, and then added as a second thought, "Well done on your daring escape. I'm not sure how you got out of the chains, but the whole thing was well executed."

"Clint told Jane how to get her skinny wrists through the cuffs without breaking them," Donna interjected, giving the physicist an appraising nod, "She's got a big enough brain on her to pick the locks as well, get the rest of us out."

Jane shook her head, her cheeks flushing once again.

"It was nothing really, I mean, I was Donna's idea to wait until someone came instead of just breaking out," she stumnled over her words, the modesty making Sherlock want to cringe even though he wasn't normally in tune with others' feelings, "And it was the guys that yanked the piping down."

John chuckled under his breath, and to Sherlock's disappointment, turned to listen to Natasha and Barton, who had cleared his throat, and was waiting, poised, by the open door, him now wielding a hefty bow and arrow.

"I can't see anyone out there." Barton reported; John must have realised where the conversation was going, as he reached for the piping that had been thrown to the floor in shock. Sherlock swiftly handed him his old service revolver (which he had been carrying around for the sake of the comforting feeling it gave him to hold it), dismissing the startled raise of John's eyebrows by withdrawing the SHIELD pistol from his other pocket.

"There weren't any when we came through, and the others would have radioed me if they'd come across anyone." Natasha added, stepping through to the corridor as John handed the piping to Donna, who, to her credit, wielded it somewhat effectively.

"There were a few about yesterday." John said quietly; he had followed Clint and Natasha to the door, and was manoeuvring in a way that Sherlock liked to imagine he had on the battlefield, with elegance and poise. Regardless, they had been here too long, and he wanted John and himself out of the building, immediately.

"The best thing we can do now is leave before they change their mind and come back." Sherlock instructed, marching ahead of the others and hurrying them from the room, pulling the door shut behind them.

"I agree." Natasha intoned, her gun toted, her shoulders tenser than they had been at the beginning of the mission. As the group began to move, Sherlock realised that neither Donna, Jane, or John had actually followed more than about three feet.

"What about the others? Will they be alright without us?" Jane asked; she was the only one unarmed, and Sherlock had to admit, he did feel the slight whisperings of sympathy as he took in her small form.

"Don't worry about them, they've got themselves covered." Barton replied, and Jane, obviously drawing upon her faith in her gigantic boyfriend, nodded resolutely and hurried to join Natasha. Donna and John made no similar move.

"I am not leaving here without knowing that those people are alright!" Donna insisted firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument, "They came here to save us, and I am not just letting them die because of that."

Sherlock felt a surge of anger; this was good, he could work with this. Bloody noble fools (he blatantly ignored the way that John stood patiently and waited for his turn to refuse to leave). He strode towards Donna, looming over her.

"They have superpowers. Your partner, Doctor Banner, I have been told becomes damn near indestructible when he's ticked off," he growled through his teeth, "All that you will achieve is to hinder any progress they make by putting yourself in danger."

Donna's face hardened, but she didn't reply. After a moment, her eyes dropped from his and she joined Barton and Natasha. Sherlock looked then to John, whose resolved was slipping.

"John…" Sherlock warned. John sighed frustrated, but nodded all the same.

"Fine, fine. Which way so we go?" he asked, and Sherlock would have given anything to have punched the air.

"The spies will lead the way." He said cheerfully, looking expectantly to Barton and Natasha. As they silently ushered the group through the deserted halls, Sherlock grasped John's hand, ignoring the put-upon protest, and pulled him along behind him.

He wondered, in the back of his mind, how the others were faring. He'd grown quite fond of Tony and Bruce (not Thor, most definitely not Thor- no matter how friendly he was), and the radio silence was just a little worrying.

Ok, so this is short compared to my last chapters, and I wanted to write so much more (never fear, it will be in the next chapter).

School ends is 2 days, so hopefully I'll have more than an hour to sit and write some decent stuff.