Disclaimer- nope, still not mine
The air between them hung stiff and unwelcoming, as if the warmest day of the summer had been violently interrupted by an impromptu snowstorm. The lab was only, partially lit (Sherlock hadn't figured out how to work the lights yet- in his defence, it had been a rough few days), but John's face didn't need to be illuminated for him to make out the disappointed tensing of his jaw or the unhappy juxtaposition of his limbs.
"No Sherlock." His flatmate shook his head sharply as his lips pinched together, "I don't care what excuses you throw at me, we are not just going back to Baker Street and pretending that everything's fine."
Sherlock bit back the piercing retort that threatened to escape his lips; it was too soon to drive John from the room, he had only just got him back within arm's reach.
"John, I came here, and put up with these imbeciles for days, to get you." The detective gritted out, reigning in his temper, "Now I've got you, I have no desire to entangle myself with their problems."
John scoffed derisively and a knowing smirk (that Sherlock absolutely wanted to either smack or kiss away) pulled at the right side of his face.
"Oh don't give me all this 'imbeciles' rubbish! I sat and watched you get all matey with that Stark bloke on the ride up here." John argued, his smirk expanding as Sherlock's hands shot agitatedly into his pockets and he stiffened petulantly, "and you didn't even flinch when the big blonde one swung his arm around your shoulder."
"I wasn't getting matey," Sherlock replied tetchily; he was struggling internally at the amount of people that his memory bank was so quickly filling up with, the last thing he needed was John, wonderful John, better scolding than missing, pointing it out, "It's self-preservation, not moving when Thor gets affectionate, and all I said to Tony was that Bruce would probably be alright as he's damn-near indestructible, so he should stop fussing so loudly."
"Coming from you that's a hug and a handkerchief." John muttered, before looking to his feet, which he scuffed uncomfortably across the ground. Sherlock wanted nothing more than to stride across the room and embrace him, but there silence stretched between them like a tangible dam. It took longer than he thought it would to decide upon the right words.
"John." Sherlock said quietly, but his voice carried across the otherwise empty room; he watched warily as his flatmate, his best friend, raised his head to emotionlessly meet his gaze, "I have only just found you; do not make me risk that by interfering with things that have nothing to do with us."
He heard John's breath his through his teeth, and felt a moment of irrational worry when John's footsteps followed, growing imperceptibly lower as the doctor neared. He stopped just over a foot away from the detective and looked up at him, his face a mixture of sadness and determination.
"Sherlock, I don't care if it has nothing to do with us. We're here now, so we help…because it's the right thing to do." John enunciated every syllable, and Sherlock couldn't fight the feeling that he was being berated as well as instructed; he would not feel guilty for wanting John safe, "and in case you're forgetting…Moriarty, god knows how he can possibly be alive, wants you!" at this John prodded Sherlock gently in the chest, and Sherlock tried his hardest not to pout, the inevitability of the discussion dawning on him, "You're right, we have nothing to do with this, and there was no reason to involve us- we're not superheroes or spies…but Moriarty wants you, and he's not going to let you get away with hiding back in London."
"It wouldn't be hiding-" Sherlock muttered bitterly, meeting John's blue eyes, "I'm proposing a tactical retreat, but if you're shooting that down-"
"I'm shooting it down." John replied with a restrained chuckle. Sherlock felt his own face heat up slightly as a small laugh made a half-hearted escape.
"Right," he concurred; another glance at John and he was smiling again, biting his bottom lip and swaying slightly on the spot, his hands still in his pocket, "Right…I suppose we should join the others…see if they've decided how to retake Bruce."
John nodded decidedly and gestured for Sherlock to lead the way. They walked side by side into the corridor, Sherlock lessening his pace so that he could enjoy John's presence beside him, the light pressure as their arms brushed against each other.
"I take it Bruce is the green monster that I saw when we were on the helicopter?" John asked curiously as they made their way towards the Bridge; his tone held nothing but grudging acceptance, and Sherlock knew how difficult it was for him to accept that there were strange things in the world, and contrary to his overly optimistic view of the world, they government were not about to openly sell them down the local market.
"Yes, that was Dr Banner. I have to admit, his transformed physique is far more remarkable than I'd have expected," Sherlock answered truthfully, and then as the thought occurred, "and he's not a monster, he just suffers the results of the worst side of science."
"Well…if a smart man like you says it, then it must be true." A dark, dulcet, but light tone drifted down the hall, and Sherlock turned abruptly to see Loki, wandering idly towards them, his hands still shackled loosely before him, although this did little in the way of restriction; in all the fuss on the Bridge he must have slipped away, but Sherlock thought the pale alien man looked a little bored, "Though I must say I don't think I'll ever warm to the beast."
"I doubt he's too fond of you." Sherlock shot back; he didn't think Loki was that much of a threat. A challenge, maybe, but the man was so obviously stewing that there was no imminent danger.
Loki merely scoffed cheerfully and let a cold grin inch partially up his cheeks; his eyes were dancing playfully, and Sherlock hoped that it was glee at the panic that the others were getting caught up in.
"I'm sorry!" John cut in, and Sherlock turned to look questioningly down at the irritable confusion on his face, "But who the hell are you?"
Loki let out another elongated, drawn out laugh that actually made John retreat a fraction into Sherlock's side, although he couldn't have been aware of it, as he continued to glare cluelessly at the god. Sherlock placed a hand on John's extended arm.
"I am Loki…of Asgard." The god announced proudly, his eyes hardening, as if daring the doctor to contradict him. Sherlock decided it was best to step in when John's expression twisted in even deeper confusion and his mouth opened in disbelief.
"John, this is the extra-terrestrial man that the Norse used to worship as the god of mischief and lies," he explained coolly, watching with a small spark of humour as Loki's face softened with amusement, even as John let out a high pitched strangled sound from the back of his throat, "and a few months ago he tried to lead an invasion on New York." At this John let out a proper strangled sound that might have been a WHAT, but Sherlock couldn't be sure, "though why he'd want to do that I don't know…New York's so monotonous, nothing but petty thieves and white-collar scandals."
Loki's grin widened, his green eyes brightening wickedly; Sherlock ignored the minor attack that John appeared to be having beside him.
"Would things have been different had I attempted to take your country?" Loki inquired; during the conversation he had strolled closer to the pair, and now rested elegantly against the nearest wall, his arms folded awkwardly over his chest, tangled in the chain connecting them.
"There would have been less running and screaming, and probably more Londoners standing on the street trying to film it through their phones." Sherlock mused, and Loki let out a small laugh, his chest vibrating with the effort, "I'd rather say that Londoners have become a bit hardened to aliens in the past few years; probably because the government keeps telling them that all the things that have happened are done to wifi going mad, or hallucinogenic pollen being accidentally dispersed."
"They sound like a fascinating lot." Loki intoned pleasantly. John was still looking disbelievingly between Sherlock and Loki, his hand moving through the air at the two of them, his mouth opening and closing comically.
"Sherlock…" he finally managed to squeeze out, and the detective looked down at his friend quizzically; he couldn't understand what was getting him so het up, "Don't make friends with the man that tried to kill us all!"
"I'm not making friends." Sherlock corrected disdainfully.
"And I didn't want to kill you," Loki added condescendingly, looking at John as if he were merely another inconvenience to add to the list of meaningless drivel he had experienced that day, "I wanted to rule you."
"Because that makes it so much better!" John snapped, and Loki had the front to look insulted. Sherlock brushed his arm in front of his flatmate, which made him shut up.
"If you ever make any headway with that, I recommend you use your talents for mischief to think up some interesting crimes for me to unravel." He told Loki, who pushed himself away from the wall and peered, baffled, at the detective, "A life of totalitarian servitude would be incredibly dull."
Beside him John exhaled despairingly and dropped his head into his hand. Loki's face lit up with excited glee.
"Oh…I like you." He drawled, his eyes burning, "You're hilarious fun."
"Charmed." Sherlock replied, taking John's hand as he did so, ignoring the doctor's indignant huff and the way that Loki's eyes travelled momentarily to the point of contact, "Now, are you joining us on the Bridge?"
Loki shook his head, and glanced coldly at the shackles that clanked as he moved.
"No, I think I'll wander until someone realises that I'm gone." He answered, and with that he turned and began to stroll slowly back the way he had come, seemingly without a destination in mind.
"Should we be letting him go?" John demanded roughly, making to follow the man. Sherlock pulled him back and shrugged carelessly.
"Probably not; let's see what the others have been deciding without us."
"When I left them, Fury was yelling that they would not be returning to that base in the ice." Loki's voice carried down the hall, but when Sherlock turned to look, the god did not turn back, but kept drifting aimlessly away; their voices must have carried down to him.
With another shrug, Sherlock darted down the corridor, dragging John behind him in the direction of the Bridge.
A short bridge chapter as an offering, as I have had zero time to write something long- but I am working on the next one.
Hope you like it