Sherloki'd ✓completed

"Do You Trust Me?"

That evening, when the Bifrost was deserted, three figures strode up to the dome, two of them dragging someone else behind them.

The cloaked figure unceremoniously dumped Loki beside the Bifrost and Moriarty's guard-slash-assistant dropped Sherlock beside him. The orangish gas was still steaming lightly off Loki.

"You can take your gas mask off," the figure reassured Moriarty, "this gas only harms Jotuns."

Moriarty raised an eyebrow under the mask.

"If this is going to work," the figure said, "we need to be able to trust one another."

Moriarty smirked, taking off the mask.

"Oh, I trust you, I do. Because if you'd even as much as think about betraying me, I would know. The real question is... can you trust me?"

He left the question hanging awkwardly in mid-air, and the figure smiled.

"I trust you about as far as I can kick you. In other words; it depends on the circumstances. Right now, if I kick you off this bridge, you'll get pretty far. Later, on Midgard or elsewhere... not so much."

"Don't trust a fox on his own turf," Moriarty smirked, fingering a fox-pin, "wise."

"You know we can't have witnesses, right?" the figure gestured to Moriarty's bodyguard, and Moriarty shrugged.

"Well, shall we tip him off the bridge then?"

The cloaked figure frowned dubiously.

"Loki survived that. Why don't we stab him first, and then throw him off the bridge?"

Moriarty grinned, while a look of terror spread over the bodyguard's face.

"Go ahead."

A swift strike of a blade and a small shove later, the bodyguard was disposed of.

"What are we going to do with these two?" Moriarty enquired.

He gestured to Sherlock and Loki, side by side and both unconscious.

A nefarious grin spread over the figure's face.

"Well now that we're here... why don't we treat them to a trip with the Bifrost?"

-

Two hours later...

"Sherlock?" John shouted, putting the sugar down on the table, "Sherlock? Sorry, I was gone for a while because the damned..."

He looked around their room in 221B Baker Street.

"Sherlock?"

He turned around, a frown creasing his face.

"Mrs Hudson, is Sherlock out?"

"I certainly didn't hear him leave," Mrs Hudson replied, climbing up the stairs, "isn't he here?"

They swept their gazes over the messy room.

"Is it just me... or is it... messier than usual?" John enquired.

"How should I know? I'm not your housekeeper," Mrs Hudson pointed out, "but I you two really need to open these windows more often, this gassy smell is horrid."

"Gas?" John repeated, walking into the kitchen. Sherlock's experiments were scattered everywhere, the majority in shards. Yet somehow, the annoying gas-smell was less strong here than it was in the living room.

"Something's not right..." he muttered, pacing back to Mrs Hudson.

John's gaze landed on a small round metallic object on the floor, with a wisp of pale green smoke leaking out of it. He hesitated, and then cautiously smelled it.