Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta-read by the wonderful and delightful Katya Jade (seriously love, thanks again). Thanks for their reviews go to LadyK1138, INeedAUserName, Brytte Mystere, Renaissencebooklover108, Katya Jade, Poodle warriors and Rocking the Redhead. This one was a bit of a bitch to write so I hope you enjoy. Hobbits away, hey!
~ Taking A Hulk To The Everything ~
"So," John says after a moment. "He's… big. And green. And, you know, a great, big, manly, big, green man."
He turns to Sherlock, gestures to The Hulk.
"Don't you think, mate?" he says to Sherlock.
Sherlock means to answer him, but for a moment he feels a little too sick- too dizzy- to do so. For a moment he can't quite believe the evidence of his own eyes, and that hasn't happened since Baskerville.
After all, he'd heard of The Hulk, even seen some of the footage from the Battle of Manhattan once he'd returned from his hiatus, but he didn't think he'd ever see the creature face to face. Didn't think he'd ever actually encounter a giant green rage monster in the basement of St. Bart's-
And then suddenly, as if to prove to him once and for all that it's real, the beast's huge, beefy fist whips by him. It's moving so fast it blurs.
The fist makes contact with perfect bloody Serrure's perfect bloody cheekbones, knocking him into the wall beside Sherlock and Watson with a painful-sounding crick which even John winces at and leaving the other man a crumpled heap of humanity in the corner of the room.
This sight does wonders for Sherlock's mood, which is something which should probably worry him.
"Hulk smash puny god," the creature grunts.
In this moment, Sherlock decides that he rather likes The Hulk.
He glances at John whose expression tells him his grin to this effect is more than a Bit Not Good. Whatevs, Sherlock thinks. "Molly will thank me later," he mutters.
"No," John mutters back, looking rather disturbed by Sherlock's attitude. "Take it from me: She really bloody won't."
Serrure gets to his feet easily however, shaking his body out as if merely having been winded- "Missed me, darling, did you?" he asks wryly. He smiles at Molly, wandering over and kissing her lightly on the lips without a single shred of care for The Hulk's continued hostility, or indeed for Sherlock's.
Molly frowns at The Hulk- "Now," she says admonishingly, "We don't hurt allies, do we, Hulk? And Loki is an ally…"
The Hulk pouts at her words. "Puny god always good to smash," it mutters.
Molly crosses her arms, looking like nothing so much as an admonishing mother. "We have had this conversation, Hulk," she points out. "And you promised no more smashing my boyfriend."
The Hulk mutters something mutinous under his breath, clearly unhappy with Molly's position (and the fact that Serrure is grinning cheekily at him), and suddenly Sherlock is very, very worried indeed.
For though he knew Serrure must have something to do with Molly's little summer holiday, it has never occurred to him before this moment that the bloke might be something other than… human. He's not even convinced by the teleportation and his claims of magical power; Serrure strikes him as the type who'd never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Or explanation.
But if The Great Ponce can get up from an altercation with The Hulk looking nothing so much as slightly winded, if he is so tough or stupid or delusional as to believe winding up The Hulk is a good idea, then he is clearly a great deal different from the sort of men Molly normally chases. He is clearly a great deal different from the sort of men Sherlock normally chases. In fact, Serrure would appear to not be from around here at all, a fact supported by Molly's referring to him as an Avengers' ally…
It comes together in his head then.
Not human. Puny god, according to The Hulk, who has, if Mycroft's sources in Washington are to be believed, good reason to know. Dark-haired, silver-tongued, sociopathic tendencies of the sort to set Molly Hooper's heart aflutter. Clearly used to being in charge, and looking for a brother who's living in London now. A brother whom Mycroft's been keeping tabs on.
Oh, Sherlock thinks. Oh bugger.
He shoots John his most eloquent wince: This is more than a Bit Not Good.
Because there's only one person Serrure could be, and the only reason it had not occurred to Sherlock was because almost all footage of the Siege of Manhattan had been locked-down by the US government in the battle's aftermath. No footage of the alien hordes' leader had been publicized, since he hadn't been tried on Earth. And Sherlock didn't honestly think Molly Hooper's taste in men could be that bad. But given the evidence of the last few moments- "Loki," Sherlock says in disbelief.
John, Molly, even The Hulk stare at him.
"You're Loki of Asgard, the leader of the Chitauri invasion of Manhattan," he says. "You're- That is to say-"
"I'm a god," Serrure- ahem, Loki- drawls. He sketches an insolent bow to John and Sherlock, shoots a wink at Molly. "But then surely you guessed that already: You know I'm involved with a goddess."
Molly blushes. Sherlock, John and The Hulk all roll their eyes in complete unison and utter disgust. .
Loki grins and The Hulk makes to take another swing at him- Again, it occurs to Sherlock that he and the beast will get along famously-
"No!" Molly says, stepping in his way. "No smashing!"
Personally, Sherlock feels The Hulk has more than enough justification but he is very relieved when The Hulk stills his hand, since he is standing so near Molly.
The relief lasts until The Hulk gestures to Sherlock instead.
"Hulk smash skinny boy?" he asks. "Make Molly happy?"
Sherlock distinctly hears John snicker beside him- that would, "make John happy," apparently- and he decides he and his best friend may have to have a conversation about appropriate responses to his life being threatened later. Right now though, he'd really like to know whether Molly is going to ask her verdant new friend to clean his clocks and so he elects to await her response.
After all, he's just discovered she's going out with a god: She may have become power-mad in his absence.
But she hasn't. "No, Hulk," she says, more quietly. Her eyes flicker down towards her feet, her lip bitten. Sherlock knows that pose, knows it bespeaks more emotion than she's willing to admit to and he has to fight back a smug grin. "Please…" she says, "please do not hurt the skinny boy- I mean Sherlock, his name is Sherlock-"
She looks up at the creature with those big brown eyes, apprehensive and timid as Bambi's, and forget The Hulk's, Sherlock's heart just about melts.
This is unexpected, considering how black and malformed and twisted it is but come on: That look's cuter than a barrel full of kittens playing with a bunny rabbit (not that Sherlock will admit to thinking that. Ever.)
And if Irene Adler had ever mastered that expression, she'd be running the world by now.
Apparently the creature agrees with him, because The Hulk reaches out, touches Molly's shoulder. "Hulk not hurt skinny boy," he says with a definitive, reassuring nod. This does not, by the looks of things, please Loki. "Hulk not hurt puny god either," the creature adds, though he throws a glare at the dark-haired man which would seem to suggest that this promise is a great deal more flimsy than his first.
Loki, being Loki chortles. The Hulk glowers.
Again it occurs to Sherlock that he and the beast might get along.
A ridiculously hopeful smile splits The Hulk's face as he looks back to Molly though. "Hulk hug Molly instead?" he asks, and the pathologist nods. Grins. She holds her arms out to him and the creature reaches down, picks Molly's whole body off the ground in a massive embrace. She gives a whoop of delighted laughter and both Sherlock and John exchange slightly worried glances: She looks tiny- fragile- in The Hulk's grip, far more delicate than she usually does in St. Bart's.
"No need to worry," Loki says, sotto voce, "The beast won't harm her. It never has in any of Project Hulk-Bait simulations-"
Sherlock turns and stares at Loki in horror. "Project Hulk-Bait?" he says. He gestures towards the creature. "There was actually a Project Hulk-Bait? And they let her in on it?"
He can't believe what he's hearing: He's the idiot who keeps endangering himself, not her. She's supposed to be the sane one of his friends.
And she was supposed to be safe in the States, not traipsing around, endangering herself with The Incredible bloody Hulk.
Molly blinks at him though, as if suddenly remembering he's there. She gestures to The Hulk and he puts her down with a smile before trundling off towards the lockers in the backroom to transform, shooting Sherlock and Loki matching, terrifyingly belligerent glares as he goes.
"Yes, Sherlock," she says slowly once he's left. "I was one of the main scientists on Project Hulk Bait. And they didn't let me in on it: I'm one of the people who suggested we try cognitive behavioural therapy with Bruce when he's under." She shakes her head in disbelief. "Strangely enough, the US military had never tried the talking cure with him. Or anything, besides lobbing ineffective projectiles-"
"I'm not surprised," Sherlock snaps, something that feels unconscionably like panic unfurling within him.
She couldn't- She shouldn't- The Hulk is not safe company for someone like her.
At Molly's raised eyebrows he has to elaborate. "That thing in there broke Harlem," Sherlock snaps. "It tore apart several US military deployments and took a fist-sized wrecking-ball to bits of Manhattan. It's on been on and off the .U.N.'s wanted list so many times you'd think it was doing the hokey bloody kokey! And now you're cooing and cuddling with it as if it were a pet-"
Molly crosses her arms defensively. "He's not an it, Sherlock. He's a man named Bruce Banner who's big and green and angry sometimes. Just like you're skinny and pale and annoying sometimes. But he's not an it and he's not a pet-"
"-And you're not a superhero, Molly," Sherlock snaps, speaking over her.
He sees the flinch of hurt on her face at his words but he just can't seem to make himself stop, though the look on John's face probably means that he should.
"You're not even sidekick material," he tells her, "and you're certainly not the sort of person who should be playing about with the Jolly Green Rage Monster in there. You're a nice little person who works in a nice, safe place like St. Bart's and is destined for a nice, safe life. So leave that sort of nonsense to the spandex brigade, there's a good girl-"
Hooper's expression turns so explosively angry it belatedly occurs to Sherlock that he may be mishandling this.
One glance at John from the corner of his eye tells him that his supposition is correct: John's winces can be surprisingly informative.
"First of all," she snaps out. "I'm not a "good girl," anymore, Sherlock, not yours or anybody else's-"
"I'll second that!" Serrure chortles and both she and Sherlock shoot him a look that could melt glass. It has precisely zero effect on his grin.
Sherlock hears him mutter something about "the things she can do with whipped cream and candle-wax," and he decides he doesn't really want to know what The Ponce has said. He doesn't. Ahem.
"Secondly," she says, "I decide what I do, not you. Not anyone else. Me. So when I saw someone I thought I could help I decided to do it: I know that sort of charity is alien to you, but some of us are capable of giving a rat's arse about someone other than ourselves!"
Sherlock opens his mouth to snap back in outrage- this is entirely about him giving a rat's arse about someone besides himself, after all- but she rushes on with nary a pause.
"And thirdly," she is saying, "for future reference, I do have a superpower. A really, really, really, really rare one." She marches up to Sherlock, gets in his face. There's not the slightest trace of nervousness or hesitation about her and Sherlock finds himself swallowing at her nearness, for once.
Really, she looks rather… fetching, when she's feeling incendiary.
"My superpower is that I can work with arseholes, day in, day out, and always see the best in them," she's muttering. "I can help them and deal with them and make sure that they have a place to hide when they really need it and never give into my more human inclinations, which are to kick them in the balls and tell them to bugger off. That's my superpower, and it's a really bloody good one to have."
She stands back, arms across her chest, and glares at Sherlock.
"So try topping it," she tells him quietly. "Because I guarantee you won't. I don't care how big your brain is."
And with that she marches herself over to Loki and wraps her arms around him, clearly upset. He hushes her, kissing her sweetly before shooting Sherlock a wickedly rakish grin over her shoulder, and it belatedly occurs to the detective that he has been played. Yup, he thinks in dismay, played with a capital P. Because Loki said the one thing which would set him off and make him piss off the, apparently newly feminist, Molly Hooper. And lo and behold, look who's getting an armful of Hooper right now, while Sherlock's getting an eyeful of Ponce-
That's right, Sherlock thinks. Loki set me up. The Bastard.
And it's made even more annoying by the fact that I didn't think of doing that first.
He glances at John and he can see that his friend guessed the git's stratagem long before he did: This too is far from the sort of thing that will enhance Sherlock's calm. The silence stretches out while Sherlock watches Loki cop a feel and coo at Molly over how much of a git he's being. He opens his mouth to point out what Loki's doing and John digs him in the ribs though. He shoots his best friend an annoyed glance but Watson gives him a single, sharp shake to the head. Later, he mouths. Not here.
Sherlock fancies that the last time Watson looked like that, he was carrying a tire-iron into a crack-house.
The doctor shoots Loki the sort of annoyed glance that he sometimes used to shoot Anderson and Sherlock feels the tightness in his chest loosen a little, at the thought that he still has an ally-
And, you know, that John still likes him the best.
The silence stretches out tensely for a moment, before John elects to break it. He's staring at Loki now, and the expression is wary. Given the alien's behaviour, Sherlock suspects some infraction of the Bloke Code to have been committed, though he can't be completely certain. He may, however, experiment with feeling gleeful: He's a natural at that.
"So your brother Thor is the Thor from the Avengers," John says eventually. "Thunderbolts-of-lightning-very-very-frightening-Thor. Big, blond, permed, looks like he wandered out of the gay porn version of Game of Thrones Thor, with the armour and the designer stubble and the big hammer-" John winces. "No offence."
Apparently he'd gotten carried away. Sherlock's not surprised: He'd heard Mrs. Hudson and Mary Watson talking about "which Avenger you'd do and why," and Thor had come a very close second to someone called The Wolverine in all their discussions.
It was really quite excruciating to be present for, Sherlock reflects. And it seems that John has elected to hold a grudge about it.
Loki smiles gamely though. "None taken. I've seen the company he keeps: the description is entirely apt." He looks at his feet, and this time he genuinely does look chagrined. Molly strokes his arm soothingly and Sherlock has to bite back the desire to growl. "Besides," he's saying, "I have called him far worse in my time-"
John's look is wry. "Yeah, well, a lot of people have, I would imagine," he says. "Man like that probably isn't the easiest to live with-" For some reason Sherlock will not investigate, John's gaze goes to him. "But since we're here, tell us about how you found him. Then maybe we can set about finding him, whenever you believe he's been taken to-"
And John smiles his best trust-me-I'm-a-doctor grin. In this context, it's slightly terrifying.
It belatedly occurs to Sherlock that Loki has apparently made an enemy by using Molly's relationship with The Hulk against her.
This, he knows, is going to be rather good.
Sherlock opens his mouth to ask another question about Thor and why his brother believes him lost in both time and space. He's so distracted that for a moment he doesn't even notice the low-level boom, the wash of something, something alien pressing against him like nausea, like vertigo, like the pressure of the deep. But whether he notices it or not it lifts him, then John, then Loki, then Molly up, suspends them in space-
There's a flash and a boom and then there's nothing but darkness and Molly's voice yelling in Sherlock's ear. He reaches out and manages to grab her.
She lands in his lap with a yell and a grunt and when Sherlock opens his eyes he sees nothing but her and a darkness that is tinged with scarlet light-
And then Mycroft walks into his line of vision. "You bloody moron, Sherlock," he says. "Now stop trick-acting with your little morgue mouse and get to bloody work!"
A/N There now, hope you enjoyed. Feedback is always appreciated. Hobbits away, hey!