Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Thanks for her beta goes to the awesome Katya Jade, and thanks for their reviews go to katya, ThatSassyCaptain, Renaissancebooklover108, Poodle warriors and VampireHuntress72095. Work away and enjoy!
~ Break Like The Wind ~
Sherlock is feeling no pain.
He's floating, suspended in warmth and heat and happiness. Suspended in light and joy and good things. Nice things. Warm things. Slightly illegal and addictive things but what's a higher functioning sociopath to do? It feels almost like being stoned but… cuddlier, somehow, and he can't help himself, he wants to grin at the world in delight-
"Sherlock," he hears Molly's voice murmuring, "Sherlock, can you hear me?"
She sounds like she's speaking from somewhere very far away.
And he opens his eyes to see Molly, standing in the front room of Baker Street. It's a bright summer day, sunlight pouring in the windows, and she's grinning at him. She's wearing her lab coat and the silly hat- what's it John called it, a deerstalker? A Sherlock Holmes hat?- and her hair is down. It gleams, russet and brown, in the buttery light. Her brown eyes are gleaming too. She also doesn't happen to be wearing anything else and Sherlock can't help but reflect that that's just, well, it's kind of, quite, wonderful-
No, Sherlock thinks groggily, not quite wonderful. It's Completely Wonderful.
Molly Hooper with her hair down, wearing a lab coat and his hat, is the most Completely Wonderful thing he's ever seen.
Their eyes meet then and her grin turns brighter: She starts walking towards him, sashaying almost, and when she gets a couple of feet in front of him she pushes the lab-coat from her shoulders and lets it pool at her feet. (Well, as much as NHS-issue cotton is ever going to pool). Sherlock does not picture naked women very often, nor does he let them distract him: Even The Woman did not manage to completely shock him into stillness. But the sight of Molly Hooper, wearing his hat and nothing else? That's even better than Completely Wonderful. That's the sort of thing that holds his attention, asinine and brutish as it may be. Because there's just something so unbelievably satisfying about seeing her attired thus, something so tantalizing and right-
"Sherlock, Sherlock can you hear me?"
There's a string of muffled curse words and the very walls of Baker Street seem to shake. A new voice intrudes upon his reverie.
"Sherlock, I think you're concussed: if you're conscious then I need you to answer me-"
The new voice is getting louder and though he wishes to ignore it, he looks up to see John standing to his left, wearing exactly the same outfit though his nakedness is mercifully blocked by the couch in the living room. Thankfully, the hat does not look nearly so becoming on him as it does on Molly, which probably bodes well for Sherlock's relationship with the new Mrs. Watson. The detective frowns and pouts- dammit, why on Earth would his subconscious throw that at him?- And as he does he feels a twinge of pain somewhere on his left side. Feels a strong grip he recognises as John's digging into his body and attempting to lift him. He turns to look at Molly and as he does so he sees her smiling expression turn sad, lost, upset-
And then suddenly the brightness of Baker Street is gone, and he's opening his eyes to darkness.
He coughs, his body shaking, and it takes him but moments to remember where he is and what just happened.
Oh yes, he thinks groggily. I successfully picked a fight with a dragon. Huzzah. Mummy would be so proud of me.
He frowns, cogitating on this thought.
Mycroft, he decides, not so much. But that doesn't matter because he's a git. And I fought a dragon, so that makes me better than him: Yay!
Sherlock manages to haltingly turn his head then, stretching to see an upset, crying Molly Hooper staring down at him. She looks rather worried, and the sight of those large, brown eyes is somewhat… discombobulating.
He blames this fact for what he says next.
"You're not wearing the hat," he mutters, and oh but he wishes that wasn't the first thing he'd said to her when he opened his eyes.
He still remembers that headline from the Daily Mail, even if she doesn't.
See, he thinks, this is why I ignore my man parts, as John calls them.
They make me say and do the most inordinately stupid things.
Molly blinks uncomprehendingly down at him though, thankfully not making the connection with Janine (or any other ridiculous, libidinous fantasy he might have had). She lets John take over- Sherlock is immeasurably pleased to find his best friend both clothed and hatless in real life- and moves to stand guard against while Loki and Thor- It's obviously Thor, Sherlock thinks disjointedly, I can see the hammer- go to work subduing the beast. It's odd, Sherlock thinks, seeing her be so proactive and, well, kickarse. So protective of him, and so competent and take-charge. He suspects he likes it, and oh but he hopes neither Mary nor John figure that out because he'll never hear the end of it.
Though for some reason he doesn't want to dwell on, he suspects that his mother wouldn't be surprised at all.
So he elects to keep it to himself. It's probably easier for Molly that way. John is working quickly, ascertaining whether Sherlock is hurt easily and looking him over. They've been through so many close calls together that he can supply most of the pertinent information without being prompted. The mere fact that he can do so is usually enough to satisfy John, though Watson does mention that he'll have one Helluva lump on the back of his head tomorrow. Holmes creakingly sits up, takes in his surroundings. Runs through any useful information he may possess. To wit: He is trapped in a lair built by his older brother (possibly using alien technology and/or magic) while two characters from Norse myth fight a legendary beast which seems to want to harm him and the people he loves, specifically Molly-
It's not actually the oddest situation he's ever woken up in, and that in itself is a somewhat comforting thought, he has to allow.
He looks at both John and Molly's upset faces and decides that sharing this information with them both would be rather less than helpful, given their current situation.
"Right, so," John says creakingly, helping Sherlock as he tries to get to his feet. "I vote we run like the clappers and leave Nigel and David over there-" he gestures to Thor and Loki and for some reason Molly snickers- "to sort this out. They're all muscly and Asgardian: They'll be fine with it." Watson looks around Sherlock and Molly. "All in favour say aye?"
"Aye," Sherlock manages to croak.
He will not be fighting any dragons again in the near future, that one kicked his arse.
"Aye," John says.
Sherlock suspects he has no love lost for either of the brothers Odinsson.
Molly though, being Molly, does not say aye. In fact, Molly, being Molly, has to object. "But what about Mycroft?" she asks. "We can't just leave him here, surely?"
She gestures to where the elder Holmes is pressed against one of his banks of computers, his umbrella held before him like a weapon. He can't get past the dragon.
The last time he'd looked this nervous, Sherlock reflects, he'd stolen Uncle Rudy's prized diamante Bollywood tiara for a Halloween costume and Mummy had found out about it. As had Rudy.
That had probably been the most entertaining holiday of Sherlock's entire childhood.
For a moment the younger Holmes stares at his brother, very tempted to tell Molly that they can indeed leave him there- He has his suspicions about who forced Thor into whatever realm that dragon just escaped from, and he doesn't think inter-dimensional banishment is something he should encourage his brother in. As Mummy has always said, one must learn from one's mistakes. But he can tell just by looking at Molly's face that she's not going to agree. She's going to consider it one of those feelings things, wherein one has to do something difficult and painful because one cares about the recipient of one's actions. It's normally boring and unnecessary (in fact, it should be completely unnecessary for Mycroft, the man is practically indestructible) but she won't see it that way, and Sherlock knows she won't.
And besides, he doesn't want her thinking he'd leave his only brother to face a dragon alone, even if he doesn't believe it would best him-
If Molly Hooper believes he's not as nice as the sociopathic scamp who decimated half of Manhattan then he's really going to have to go on a charm initiative to get back into her good graces.
So he hauls himself into standing and nods to Molly. He and John exchange the manliest looks they can manage and he realises that Watson agrees. "Of course," he says. "I'll go get Brother Dearest-" He makes to move and he can't move; Molly has to catch him.
His knees no longer appear to be working and loath as he is to admit it, he's a little embarrassed by that.
"How about I go and get him?" John suggests tersely. He shrugs at Sherlock and Molly's looks. "What? I was a soldier, I know about stealth-"
Sherlock snorts. "Stealth's got nothing to do with it: You're built like a hobbit, you'll never move him-"
John looks affronted. "I've carried men on my back across enemy lines, Sherlock Holmes: I was a doctor-"
"And don't we all know it-"
John crosses his arms. "Don't you take that tone with me, it's not my fault we're here-"
Sherlock throws his arms up. "And it's mine? I'm not the one being all pally with the alien sociopath-" He gestures to Loki.
"No, you're the one related to Voldemort over there-" John gestures to Mycroft.
Sherlock scoffs, sputtering. Molly rolls her eyes heavenward. "Oh, for the love of God," she mutters. "I'll go-"
Sherlock and John both blink at her. Frown. Suddenly their argument is forgotten. "But you can't go," Sherlock says.
Molly shoots him an unimpressed cocked eyebrow. Oh can't I? it seems to say. Sherlock shakes his head, he has to make her see.
"You can't go," he says reasonably. "You're a little, tiny person! You're my little tiny person! You could fit inside my pocket, and if John's not capable of hauling Mycroft's backside out of here then you're certainly not going to be able to do it-"
John frowns at him more deeply and it occurs to Sherlock that he may have hit his head harder than he'd thought: It wouldn't normally have occurred to him to tell Molly that he was aware of how tiny, how teensy, how wee, his favourite pathologist is. Just as it wouldn't normally have occurred to him to tell her that sometimes he thinks about her living inside one of his shirt pockets and travelling around solving crimes with him. He'd put her in there and carry her about all day, and when he took her out she'd hula dance on his palm in nothing but go-go boots and her lab coat and his silly hat and oh, Sherlock suddenly realises, maybe he's not as ok as he thought he was… In fact, he thinks he might not be fine at all… Because he just said that bit with her being naked and teensy and dancing on his palm out loud and judging by the look on her face, it's not something she's happy about…
He sinks to the ground, feeling light-headed-He hears John mutter something about the fine line between clever and stupid, but he elects to leave that alone- and as he does so sees Molly and John share matching, bewildered looks.
That can't be good.
He also sees Loki grin at him over his shoulder, that staff of his glowing green. He's gesturing towards Sherlock and that's when the detective realises: His Ponceness is using his, his, whatdoyoucallit, his mojo on him. That's why he's saying stupid things, not the concussion.
A swell of nausea rises in him and Sherlock is forced to allow that it may be a teensy, tiny bit about the concussion. But mainly, it's Loki being a wanker. The twat.
Molly follows Sherlock's line of vision though and sees Loki gesturing towards him. By this point, he and Thor have managed to subdue Sig the Dragon to the extent that she's not breathing fire anymore. She's really just twitching and snarling, most of the fight gone out of her. Casting baleful glances at Thor and vicious ones at Loki. Molly must realise what the younger Odinsson intends to do to Sherlock- he looks quite miffed, even if Holmes says so himself- because she lets out a small, angry yell, moving in front of him. Crossing her arms and shielding him, telling Loki in no uncertain terms "to knock that nonsense off." Loki frowns at her words, irritated, and Sherlock takes this opportunity to shoot him his most irritating grin, making sure to go back to looking haggard and helpless when Molly looks back at him-
Ha! See how Loki likes it, Holmes thinks.
And besides, this is clearly proof that Molly likes me best.
The Asgardian understands what Holmes is up to all too well, judging by the way he glares at Sherlock: He also doesn't seem to like having his own methods turned against him, that much is obvious from how angrily he reacts. Because he raises his arm, muttering something vindictive-sounding and curt under his breath. Extends his hand, clearly ready to hurl some sort of spell?- blast?- at Sherlock. He's breathing heavily, clearly amped up on adrenaline and anger: Sherlock doesn't think Loki means to hurt Molly but with her standing in front of him, that's what he's going to do. And the muppet doesn't even seem to realise, Sherlock thinks to himself.
How precisely does one live for millennia upon millennia and not learn a little something about cause and effect?
But clearly the younger Odinsson isn't thinking about the potential fallout of his actions. His glittering, agitated eyes are enough to convince Holmes of that. Sherlock sees the danger, tries to force himself to his feet. Tries to save Molly from Loki's blast, to make sure no harm will come to her after all, since he's the one who thought goading the immortal super-being who walked away from a fight with The Hulk was a capital idea. But it's too late, his legs won't take his weight. The swell of sickness within him making him dizzy- He prepares to kick something- anything- at Loki to distract the alien, take his ire off Molly- "John," he yells, "John, a little help over here-"
But he needn't have bothered, because at the moment Loki's blast leaves his staff and heads towards Molly, Thor jumps directly in front of her, taking the blow into himself and saving her. He manages- irritatingly- to look quite dashing in the process.
He's also landed squarely on Sherlock's legs, but what's the weight of a heavily-muscled ancient alien prince and all of his weaponry between friends, hmm?
Loki snarls and Thor smiles at Molly before shooting his brother a quelling look. For a moment Loki seems angry and then his expression clears, the realisation of what he nearly did to his girlfriend sinking in. His expression turns contrite as he moves towards Molly and tries to embrace her though she turns away from him. John rolls his eyes heavenward in disgust and Mycroft mutters something which sounds distinctly like "thank you, Jesus," but nobody's entirely sure. And anyway, it's probably his fault that they're all here. Sherlock tries to force himself upright but he can't and as soon as she realises Molly gives out a startled little moue of hurt and hunkers down beside him, Loki entirely forgotten-
They're all so busy reacting that they don't see Sig the Dragon get to her feet and extend her wings outwards. The look she shoots Loki is… wretched. Heartbroken.
Without another word she takes off like a bat out of Hell (or a dragon out of Middle-Earth) and smashes her way out of the Mycroft Cave and into the great metropolis beyond, and it's at this point that John- rather eloquently- points out that, "We're fucked."
Sherlock finds that he has to agree.