It was almost the two week mark when the neighbors met again. Loki had moved at an agonizingly- slow pace setting the flat up and decorating. The wallpaper was ripped off, and he was fashioning his walls with a delicate green—the mortal way. There was hardly warning when the door flew open, Ms. Hudson towing Sherlock and John behind her. Loki found himself grinning at the sight—the elder woman wearing an old white shirt and sweats of all things, John dressed similarly, and Sherlock in what looked like a hazmat suit. He turned to scowl at the wall—he shouldn't let his emotions flash by so easily. Too bad he had already taken the paper down. The scowl he was sporting could do a better job of peeling it off the walls. Loki turned on his heel, doing an elaborate bow.

"To what do I owe this honor?" Loki drawled, feeling a little theatric. He already let happiness surface. Time to run with it. It was stupid. They didn't know who he was. If they did, they'd be kneeling. Or calling Thor's blasted friends. They all shifted, varying in reactions. The Landlady looked positively cheerful, John looked sheepish. Sherlock looked bored.

"Well, deary, we're going to help you!" Ms. Hudson declared, and something about it made him think family. Loki was quick to suppress a grimace. It was John who spoke next.

"This is a nice shade of green. It'll be nice during the warmer months. It's soothing, don't you think?" John murmured, moving to grab a brush. "What wall would you like me to take?" The Trickster looked thoughtful.

"How about the wall with the built-in cabinets? I was never good at those." It was a lie, of course, falling easily from his lips without second thought. Sherlock moved to examine to room carefully.

"Number six a nine c five three? An unusual choice of green. More would name 'forest green' or 'olive green.' Did you specifically request this color?" Sherlock said, making no move to join the painting festivities. Loki ignored him in favor of smearing some more paint on the bare walls. He heard Sherlock moving closer to examine the paint. "You paint with quick strokes, but they're not quite perfect. You are not used to painting at all. Judging by that, you've probably had other people to paint for you or you've hired them. Probably the first, considering that we've ended up here now. Honestly, this isn't entertaining at all. I'd rather wait—"

Sherlock was asking for it. With a quick turn, Loki swiped the paintbrush over the faceplate of Sherlock's white hazmat suit. He startled back, bumping into John, who managed to avoid stepping in the paint can by rubbing on the area he had just painted. Ms. Hudson was soon laughing with a cry of 'Boys!' Loki's eyes crinkled, as Sherlock swore and wrestled to get the mask off. John was soon wearing a half-cracked smile, one that stopped where his face began to look green. Loki laughed along, until he felt a sickly wet slap to his chest.

It was war.

They finished up quickly, and for that, Loki was grateful. They all had to get a shower, since green was not a normal shade on the human body. John invited him up into 221B to let the paint dry overnight—and as an apology, most likely, for wasting so much paint. Such unrestrained kindness—certainly something Loki wasn't used to. With awkward thanks on his lips, he sat down on the old sofa. The living area was littered with books and assorted things. Trinkets covered desktops—was that a femur bone? Loki felt his eyebrows shoot up evenly. Ms. Hudson came up after an hour, asking John to join her to the grocer's. The man humbly went after her, shouting something that Loki paid no mind to. It was about this time Loki stood up to investigate.

A small book called London A through Z rested on one of the desks next to pictures of graffiti. He pushed it around, not giving it too much thought. A bag with what looked like pictures from a crime scene. It dated back a few months, nothing too much. A phone. A pen that had no ink, a pencil. Loki picked up another book, turning it over. A name.. Tolkien, was it? Yes. Loki studied it for a moment, and then decided to ask to borrow it later. It looked interesting enough. Placing it down, he turned to look at the walls. There was a smiley-face in the same graffiti from the pictures. Shrugging it off, he traversed the floors covered in boxes carefully. In the kitchen, John's technology—he remembered it being called a 'laptop'—lay open on what Loki supposed was a book or something similar. He ignored it in favor of glaring at the dishes. Loki stumbled into an outturned chair, turning his head to glare at it as well. Until, of course, he noticed the jar of eyeballs. "How absolutely odd." He muttered.

"Is it? John had similar thoughts about the severed head in the fridge." Loki whipped around, looking at Sherlock carefully. The man—only four centimeters shorter now that he looks—strides over and goes so far as to put his arms on either side of him. Trapping him. Or attempting to, at very least. Loki looks straight into Sherlock's eyes, which are as crazed as he appeared two weeks ago. "What of this game you mentioned earlier? Do you work with Moriarty? Does the name mean anything to you?" Breathless already.

"I mean only to.. Compete with you. I thought it would be interesting if you could figure out what I do before I leave. I don't have any connections or secrets if that's what you're questioning—I just fancy games of wit." Sherlock looked at him narrowly. "Five tries."

"You have to work with myself and John." Sherlock countered. Loki opened his mouth to question, but Sherlock beat him to it with an answer. "I need to see you work. I need to see you do something. Consider it security. Or else I'll never come down to a solid idea. Oh, and I won't have to break into your flat." Loki inclined his head, feeling some hair brush his forehead. He was far too close. If this would settle it, so be it.

"Deal. You have five tries, or until I leave to figure it out. I work with you and John as a colleague until then." Sherlock backed off, extending his hand. So much for that loophole. Loki slipped his hand into the other's, noting the warmth.

That was how, in three day's time at three in the morning, Loki found himself awake due to banging on his doorframe. Thor was always the heavy sleeper. Loki stayed up for hours on end, reading books of lore and assorted things. Now, he would sit and watch the late night shows on the television box. It was a curious thing, but it was certainly better than lying awake waiting for nothing but simple sleep. Nonetheless, Loki stretched, crawling from bed with a certain amount of reluctance. In five minutes, he was wearing khakis and a green tailored shirt. He slipped his feet into brown boots before opening the door.

"I thought I was going to have to break in. It'd be unfortunate if you were murdered as well, although it would be a welcome distraction. Come on now, they've found a body out in the rain. It was almost missed because it was sinking into the ground." John looked a little apologetic, but Sherlock was out of the door frame as soon as he finished.

It wasn't too far, but it was in an obscure, older lot. The body was on a tarp, pallid. The tarp was already starting to sink beneath the body. Sherlock jerked his head from John to the body. Loki stood back to watch. John went over, stooping over to poke and prod around.

"It's a male in his early to late thirties. It looks like he had diabetes.. Oh. Oh, well, that's unusual." Both Sherlock and Loki stepped closer, bumping shoulders. The god inched off a bit, but craned his neck to look at what had John turning his thoughts over. "It's a cut that was infected."

"Was?" Loki questioned. It still looked ill.

"This isn't a victim. You can see where the stitches closing it up are flesh-colored. It's also been cleaned out. This is a body that was prepared at a morgue, most likely for a funeral." Sherlock said, mapping it out quickly. Loki inclined his head. Did humans really go through so much trouble for their deceased? A pyre was less work.

"A body doesn't sink like this, though. Why would somebody dump a body of a man who died natu—well, as close to natural as possible? Why would it sink?" John questioned, boggled. His eyes searched the dead man. Loki knew it had no answers. Dead men tell no tales, as such. As if he had been struck by lightening, Sherlock lurched forward, tugging the hem of the white dress shirt. A few on-scene doctors went to grab Sherlock, but stood stock-still when there was stitching from the male's belly button to his collar bone.

"He's too heavy for a man of his weight! Nobody would've noticed the stitches normally because it's a normal process." Sherlock said, slapping his forehead.

"So nobody would've noticed that he was filled with stones." Loki said under his breath, Sherlock turning to examine him. "Stones, if I am correct? Anything with edges could rip and tear the body, and fall out with careless behavior. Whoever did this clearly doesn't care for the deceased." It was falling in place so easily for the detective. Loki felt a little peeved that the man's mind worked so quickly considering his mortal state.

"Precisely. We need to find out where he was taken and from there, we begin to question the workers. Then, we can figure out why they would do this." Sherlock mused out loud, standing. "Now. Let's leave the rest to the police. God, how do they get anything done without me?" Sherlock strode ahead, leaving them no time to answer.

Loki was sitting down with a cup of tea when John knocked. He entered quietly, closing the door behind him. He gestured to a chair, and Loki nodded. John Watson was polite, and Loki found it almost entertaining in the way he interacted with the curious, eccentric sociopath.

"This green looks very nice in here. Did you change the floor?" John questioned. He wanted to talk about something. It was obvious in the way that he didn't offer an explanation when he walked in.

"I had it done first. You just couldn't see it before because of the painting tarps. I enjoy dark wood floors." Loki answered, sipping his tea. "Would you like a cup? There's a new pot." John shifted in his seat, shaking his head. His hair was getting a little on the long side, the Doctor would need a haircut soon.

"No.. No, that's quite fine. I'm here to ask you some things." Loki nodded, a small smirk trying to slip in at the corner of his lips. He kept his face painfully neutral. "Sherlock's been using my laptop to, well, look you up. He can't find anything. No previous addresses, no.. Anything, really." John said, watching him carefully. Maybe Loki should've made him a cup. He offered an eyebrow raising up.

"That's because I don't wish to be found, John." And Loki smiled this smile, which made all the hairs on the back of John's neck rise.

Oh my god! Thanks to everyone that reviewed, favorited, and followed! I was so happy to get such an AWESOME reply! I was seriously jumping up and down when I checked my email on Friday, and I'm still so happy today. I decided to work a little longer to give you guys a nice chapter (or, one I hope you find nice) as thanks. I am seriously so jazzed. For anyone who's wondering, the chapter names are all going to be in a similar genre of music, and it's a song I listened to while writing.

The next song is by The Killers. If you can guess it, you'll get a cameo. BUT! You have to be the first to get it right and you can only guess one song. Good luck!

As always, review if you have time! Ciao for now!