XXII
"Loki, I'm trying to work."
"I don't care."
"You're in the way."
"I want attention."
"I am trying to work. Now quit that squirming before I end up spilling acid on you." As it was, Sherlock had the fuming vial in a precarious grip above his own head, having been forced to pause his experiment by his apparently half-cat fiancé nuzzling into his lap. The god of mischief seemed completely unbothered by the imminent threat of acid burns, looking up at him with a glint in his emerald eyes that almost always signaled trouble. "I would rather not have to explain how my attractive fiancé received acid burns on his face come our wedding day."
"Are you trying to imply that I would become less attractive if that goop spills on my face? Because that would be your own fault since you refuse to give me attention." Sherlock very carefully leaned over Loki to return the acid to its previous stand. When Loki demanded attention like this, it was usually best to just give into his demands. The god was still barred from the little café below them from the last time Sherlock ignored him. "I would have expected much better of you, Sherlock Holmes."
"And I would have expected you to have a far better Silvertongue than you are currently displaying, Loki of Asgard." The god crinkled his nose in disapproval at the epithet.
"Considering I am currently banished from said realm, that may need changed."
"Well, what am I supposed to call you then? You hate your given last name." Sherlock began to run his hand through the god's hair, trying his damnedest to not wince with every stroke. Since Loki's outburst sprained his wrist a few nights ago, every movement the detective made sent a sharp arrow of pain up his arm. Loki had become convinced that it needed a second opinion but Sherlock wasn't as convinced. So he did his best to hide his injury from his over protective god.
"Well, is it not traditional for one member of a married couple to take the other's last name?"
"Well, yes but typically that is in a marriage between a man and a woman, with the woman taking her husband's name." Loki began to nuzzle into the hand caressing his hair, releasing a soft purr of content.
"Then it is a good thing I turn into a woman on occasion. You can keep with tradition. And Loki Holmes has quite the ring to it." Sherlock snorted.
"Perhaps but there is nothing traditional about marrying the God of Mischief and Lies, love. Besides traditional is sooooo boring." Loki chuckled at that.
"You do have a fair point, my love. And we have company."
"What?"
"Sherlock? Loki?" The former's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the sound of John coming up the stairs.
"We're in the kitchen, Dr. Watson," Loki called, reluctantly sitting upright into his own chair again. "I hope this house call isn't too detrimental to your day."
"House call?"
"Yes, I called Dr. Watson about your wrist."
"Loki, you do realize you don't have to call me 'Dr. Watson' all the time, right?" The god merely shrugged as Sherlock shot him a glare. "And no, Mary was looking for an excuse to come see you."
"Really now?"
"Nothing is wrong with my wrist. It's just a sprain!"
"No, it's not. Why, Mrs. Watson," Loki addressed in a sickeningly sweet (at least to Sherlock) voice as Mary walked in. "While I am deeply flattered by your interest, I must inform you that I am a promised man."
"Oh, I suppose I'll just have to live with that," Was Mary's equally overdramatic response. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the two as he made every possible motion to avoid John looking too closely at his injured wrist. "But I hope you'll still accept this small token of my affection."
"Sherlock, would you please hold still?"
"My wrist is just fine. Simply tender."
"Sherlock, cooperate with the nice doctor and I'll give you a lollipop," Loki offered as he peeked into the sparkly gift bag Mary had handed him. Sherlock shot him a very confused look.
"I don't think that's a very efficient bribe, considering I don't like lolli-" The detective's face flushed cherry red as he finally caught on to the god's innuendo. "Oh." Loki smirked as a disgusted John took advantage of Sherlock's stunned state to examine his wrist.
"What is this thing, Mary?" Loki had finally pulled out the content of Mary's gift, a small, hamster-esque plush. It appeared to be a mouse dressed in Victorian garb, complete with-
"Oh, god. Not that hat again!" Sherlock moaned when he spotted the miniature brown deerstalker adorning the little mouse's head. "I swear that damn hat is stalking me now."
"Would that make it a 'Sherlock-stalker' then, Sherlove?" The god nimbly ducked the salt shaker that was aimed at his head. "While this little fellow is quite charming, Mary, I still have no idea who or what he is." He gave the plush a few squeezes as if expecting it to squeak. "Although he somewhat reminds me of Sherlock."
"I don't see it. Ow!"
"Of course you wouldn't, Sherlock. It's called a 'tsum tsum,'" Mary explained as the detective began to busy himself again with avoiding John's ministrations. "I hear they're all the rage right now."
"And I suspect you bought this children's plush specifically because of its mousey resemblance to my fiancé?"
"Yup!" Mary beamed, ridiculously proud of her gift. "That is the famous Basil of Baker Street. I even got myself a matching Dawson." Unfortunately, these names were completely lost on Loki, who merely stared at her blankly. "From The Great Mouse Detective?"
"Loki is not as up to speed with obscure children's films as he would have us believe, Mary," Sherlock explained, having apparently finally surrendered his wrist to John. "He probably has no idea what you're talking about. Ow!"
"Do you even know what she's talking about, Sherlock?" John asked, looking frustrated at his progress.
"Unfortunately, yes. Archie seemed to have beaten Mary to this alleged parallel. Personally, I still don't see it. OW!"
"Well, if you would hold still, Sherlock. Loki's right. Your wrist is definitely broken."
"Of course it is," Loki remarked as he studied the little plush. "Human bones tend to be quite fragile against the strength of an antagonized god." Despite the calm curiosity on the god's face, it was hard to miss the guilt edging his words. "You'll have to show me this film sometime, Sherlove. If you think you and the mouse have nothing in common, then you must be near identical." Sherlock scoffed.
"Highly unlikely."
"To be fair, that's the same thing you told me about your wrist. And guess who's gonna be taking a trip to the hospital?" Loki shot John a confused look.
"You are a doctor, are you not? Can't you just fix it here yourself?"
"Well, I am, but this takes equipment I don't have. I can't even tell you how exactly it is broken."
"I didn't think a broken wrist was that complicated."
"If you can do better, be my guest, of great and terrible god. Otherwise, get in the car. We'll take you two." The now frustrated blogger then led the way out of 221B, Loki and Sherlock bringing up the rear.
"You're not really bringing that thing with you, are you?" Sherlock asked as Loki tucked Basil into his shirt pocket.
"Why not? You might need something to squeeze."
"If I squeeze that, I will pop its head off and will not feel sorry."
"If you intentionally harm him, you will be sleeping on the couch for a year." The detective rolled his eyes, once again wondering just how old his god really was.