Disclaimer: This fan fiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Beta read by the awesome Katya Jade- as always, your suggestions were the best. Thanks for their reviews go to lavanyabelle, Renaissencebooklover108, VampireHuntress72095, Katya Jade and Poodle Warriors. And yes, for those who asked, Sigyn is an old flame of Loki's in the comics. Enjoy!

~ Hooper-Sexuals Anonymous ~

Mary Watson is having herself a normal day.

You know, get up, make breakfast. Go through your secret weapons stash. Call sick into work, head down to the joint SHIELD/MI-13 practice range underneath Tower Hill and go through basic Asgardian weapons training with your old friend Natasha Romanova. Spend the couple of hours after that knocking the crap out of a former boyfriend (Clint Barton) and trying to convince him to just put on the big boy undies and ask his partner to dinner already, because his I'm Married To The Job shtick is fooling no-one, least of all you. (And you and Molly both have this month in the Avengers' office pool for when he and Tasha finally do the deed and it's up to a grand, so ka-ching!).

When all of that is finished, she's going to pick up John (presuming he's not been arrested or hospitalised, either of which is possible since he's with Sherlock) and bring him out to dinner. SHIELD has finally agreed to pay for all that freelance work she carried out in Eastern Europe so she's going to be able to make with the readies- The Marylebone Road and a steak dinner are calling-

Which is, of course, when a dragon- a bloody dragon- flies out from underneath Tower Hill and into the greater London area, an event which tells Mary that she's not going to have a normal day. Not. At. All.

Funnily enough, seeing mythical creatures descend upon the nation's capital will do that for you.

So she pulls out her phone and calls Tasha. Asks if she's got eyes on the Tower and if anything has shown up on the obligatory Twitter or Facebook feeds, cos this is going to be a PR nightmare. Normally she'd call Coulson but she doesn't think Tasha knows he's still alive and she's not touching that situation with a ten foot pole. A few moments after she hangs up one of her old SHIELD contacts, Pete Wisdom, gets back in touch to say that yes, indeed, they are aware of dragon sightings around London Tower and they're telling people it's a publicity stunt for the next Lord of the Rings movie. This would be a great deal more credible, of course, if the dragon weren't currently sitting atop Windsor Castle and spewing flames at sundry Japanese and American tourists, but one makes of these situations what one must. That's the British Way, apparently. Mary agrees, hangs up and decides that now might be a great time to find her husband and his best friend, if only so that they don't end up getting char-grilled by Puff the Pissed Off Dragon-

Which is when she spies a familiar long, floppy coat and a similarly familiar blond head milling down Tower Hill, screaming bloody murder and scattering tourists left, right and centre. A small female figure- Molly?- is with them, and two men in capes trail behind. The blond man in the cape appears to be carrying someone and as they get nearer she realises that it's Mycroft Holmes, his bowler hat perched precariously atop his head and his umbrella held tightly against his chest.

She's seen small children hold onto their teddy bears less tightly.

Mycroft is beaming up at the blond man carrying him- Thor, she realises, in that position I'd be bloody beaming too- and is looking not the least bit put out by his position. Loki is galloping inelegantly after Molly, nearly tripping on his cape as he tries to catch up. His expression is somehow both contrite and stubborn; He's gesticulating animatedly as he goes and Molly is studiedly, furiously, ignoring him. Sherlock is keeping pace beside Molly, occasionally shooting brave, half-wincing smiles at Molly which cause Loki to roll his eyes in disgust. As Sherlock gets closer Mary realises that John and Molly are holding him upright-

Five hours, Mary thinks, he's been gone five hours and he's gotten himself into trouble.

She fights the urge to smack him on the back of the head and instead prays for patience, because let's face it: Having Sherlock in your life is like being responsible for a toddler who can vote, own a firearm and drive. Oh, and let's not forget, fight crime.

The little group come to a halt in front of her and she doesn't even hesitate. She has the funniest feeling she's going to be describing this conversation to Nick Fury- or a psychiatrist- in the days to come. So-

"This," Mary announces, "is going to be confusing. I can just tell. So how's about you explain it while I try to scramble the Avengers and the Met tries to evacuate the busiest tourist destination in London, hmm?"

John nods, looking relieved. Loki scowls, looking pissed off. Thor's expression reminds her of a child on Christmas morning- "So I shall enjoy another bout with my team-members from New York?" he asks. "Excellent!" - And he beams at Mycroft, at Mary, at John even, talking happily about how he hasn't fought a dragon in aaaggges-

Mary nods, patently ignoring the weird looking-shyly-at-one-another thing Molly and Sherlock have going on now that they've all stopped running, and the entire group make for the nearest SHIELD checkpoint, which happens to be in front of the Tower Hill Tube Station. Tasha's already there, as are Clint Barton and Tony Stark. The millionaire looks up, takes one look at John and hands Tasha a twenty.

"You're totally right," Stark says. "She married a mini-Clint. I shouldn't have doubted ya, Red-"

John swears, both loudly and colourfully, while Loki and Mycroft snicker and once again Mary thinks to herself that this is going to be a Bloody. Long. Day.

But on the plus side she's armed, and now licensed to shoot people again, so it's not all bad, now is it?

By the time they get Sherlock as far as the SHIELD check-point, Mary has decided that Mycroft Holmes is- contrary to oft-quoted opinion- a moron.

After all, how else could one explain a man with no magical abilities whatsoever, and only the most rudimentary understanding of those powers his government has encountered, thinking that he should just start opening inter-dimensional portals willy-nilly?

How else could one explain an apparently intelligent individual thinking that exiling a member of the Asgardian royal family to some sort of magical hinterland would carry no discernible consequences?

And how else does one explain the supposedly smartest Holmes brother believing that Thor's penchant for teaching the local Peckham kids how to feed, ride and look after a grexhyanore (that's Asgardian for rock monster, peasant) would be considered a reasonable excuse for exiling the elder Odinsson to another dimension when SHIELD and MI:13 came to ask him about it?

The answer to all of these questions is that there is no way that an intelligent person would believe any of those things, and thus, Mary decides, Mycroft Holmes must be a moron.

In fact, he has managed to make his baby brother look like the sensible member of the family, and by the look on his face as he finishes his explanation, even he understands how worrying a notion that is.

"So let me get this straight," Tasha is saying. "When you realised that Thor was coming to live in London, you took one of MI:13's confiscated Books of Magic and started randomly practicing spells? And you didn't think that might go… awry?"

She's looking terribly Soviet, staring down her nose at Mycroft as if he's grown another head and the assembled, fully suited-up Avengers (Clint, Steve, Bruce and, God help them, Tony) all look like they agree with her.

Molly and John would both probably agree too, but they're too busy fussing over Sherlock to keep close track of the conversation.

Loki looks about as pleased with this fact as a puppy might be with swallowing a wasp.

Mycroft clears his throat. "Yes, well, when put in those terms one might not perhaps see the wisdom of my choice," he allows.

Thor hasn't put him down yet- he's injured apparently, though Mary can see no evidence of it- and he looks rather happy with this arrangement.

"However," Mycroft continues, "you must understand, my dear Agent Romanova-" Tasha snorts something in Russian which clearly illustrates her feelings about being called dear by anyone- "that every single thing in my life which I have attempted to master, I have excelled at." Mycroft preens, looking much like his younger brother. "I'm sure that with a more thorough grounding in the theory-"

"Nonsense!" Loki snaps, speaking over him. He has, apparently, momentarily given up on trying to regain Molly's attention; He might not notice the delighted grin Sherlock gives at this but Mary sure as Hell does. When Molly looks down at him though Sherlock, Mary swears, gives her puppy-dog eyes.

Mary can only hope that he takes some of that can-do attitude and puts it into finally getting somewhere with Molly. God knows, she's done enough to help them on their way.

"Were you to study for a millennia, little man," Loki is saying, "you would not be able to master magic." He looks at his brother, as if for confirmation, and Thor nods. Loki's eyes stray momentarily to Molly and then, inexplicably, in the direction of Windsor Castle from whence the dragon's roars can clearly be heard.

"It is an art, not a science," he says. "You do not master magic, you accept that it will master you and then you learn to live with your new paramour. You move into her power, into her thrall. Magic takes you whole, makes you anew…"

And he trails off again, his eyes once more sliding in the direction of the dragon's roars before he suddenly seems to come back to himself.

For a split second, he looks almost bereft, his gaze darting to Molly guiltily, but then he draws himself up, some of his old bravado returning. He shoots Molly another look to see if she's noticed, but she only has eyes for Sherlock and it would appear that Loki likes that not at all.

Mary can't really say she blames him. A beat.

"You are not the same after you become a magician," he says eventually. Quietly. "You never are. It is, in a very real sense, like falling in love."

Mycroft scoffs- "sentiment," he snorts- and Loki's grin becomes sharp. Predatory. For a moment he looks every inch the man who invaded Manhattan.

"And that is my point entirely, my would-be mage," he says sarcastically. "You have no heart to give. No passion. No fire. You cannot be a magician." Mycroft opens his mouth to contradict the Asgardian but Loki speaks over him. "You know in your heart I speak the truth, little mortal," he says, "Do not try to convince me otherwise-"

Okay, this is all going a little Game of Thrones, Mary thinks, and since the hobbits have been taken to Isengard, I sense a great disturbance in the Force and we may be about to start kneeling to Zod, I'm going to have to move things along. So-

"I get that you've got all this deep, dark magical mystery going on," she interrupts, "but lads, can anyone explain what we're going to do about the giant, flame-spewing reptile that's currently sitting on top of Windsor Castle, hmm? Since that would seem to be the priority here."

She looks over her shoulder at the Avengers and they all- Tasha included- look a little shame-faced. Even Loki looks put out.

From the corner of her eye, Mary sees John shoot them all his patented, that's right, listen to my Mrs. face, and she has to fight the urge to grin.

"I mean," Mary says, "we're going to need a plan to deal with this. And aren't you lot supposed to be Earth's Mightiest Heroes? Isn't that what is says on the Kellogg's box?" She rocks back on her heels, crosses her arms tartly. "Or are you just going to let the population of London get flame-grilled while you try to establish the limits of Mycroft Holmes epic git-hood?"

Loki, Thor, Tasha, Clint, Bruce, even Sherlock and Mycroft open their mouths in unison to answer but shut them. Even the great Tony Stark looks slightly guilty.

"Wow," he mutters, "being married to a Mini-Clint has made you mean, Mary."

Mary shoots Iron Man the look that everyone who knows him shoots him eventually. It's the You Are Only Alive Because I Have No Weapon To Hand look.

Apparently Tony understands it because he instinctively takes a step back, and Mary gets that warm glow that only comes from knowing a major super-hero is slightly scared of you.

Nice to know I still have it, she thinks.

Steve clears his throat though. "Okay then guys, lady's got a point so here's the game-plan," he says grimly. Good Catholic boy that he is, the guilt-trip has apparently worked. "Tony, this bogey is airborne so I need you to fly in, distract her-"

Tony crosses his arms. "You want me to piss off a giant flying reptile, Cap?" he drawls.

A ghost of a smile flits across Rogers' face. "I don't want you to, I've just accepted that it's likely. If you can get her off the Castle you can bring the party to us, yeah?"

Stark nods- "Can do,"- and then takes off into the sky like the small, shiny, overly-indulged, human comet that he is. Even Mycroft looks impressed by it.

Steve shakes his head in amusement. "Show off," Mary hears him mutter affectionately.

"Stick in the mud!" Tony yells back. Apparently the suit's hearing is just that good.

Rogers laughs and divvies up the tasks for the rest of the attack plan, sending Clint and Tasha in back, telling Loki and Thor to go in front since, being immortal, they're going to be useful as dragon-bait. ("Stupid human ethnic profiling," the younger Odinsson pouts at this, but at least he looks like he's going to play ball). The last person Rogers asks to suit up is Banner- one always asks The Hulk- and at this Molly looks up from Sherlock and gives Bruce a tiny nod of encouragement. She shifts herself protectively in front of Sherlock as he transforms- Mary's going to ask what that's about later- and as she does so Banner lets out a howling growl of rage, loud enough to set even the hairs on the back of Mary's neck on end.

He takes off at a fierce clip, setting sundry passers by darting out of his way-

"I really hope he doesn't run into the average London cabbie before he gets to Windsor Castle," Sherlock mutters.

Molly snorts. "I think he can handle it, if he does."

The two share another small fond look, despite Loki's obvious disgust. It's topped by another small, fond smile and Mary must fight the urge to squee a little in excitement- Finally, Sherlock, she thinks, you're getting your head out of your arse on this one-

I only had to send her to another continent and introduce her to a bunch of superheroes to get you moving-

And naturally this is the moment when things go to hell in a handbasket.

Because apparently that last little look between Molly and Sherlock is the last straw for Loki Odinsson's sense of Zen.