Back to the alley
"I'm hungry," grunted Everett.
Holmes let him rest for a few hours handcuffed to the bed. After that, holding a gun, dragged him to the living room and handcuffed him to one of the heating pipes. Apart from the fact that he was indeed ravenous, he hoped that would force Holmes to get food somehow, which would allow him to stay in the apartment alone and try to escape.
Resting, it had been impossible. Everett pretended to be asleep, trying to catch Holmes off guard, but the man stayed up all the time, without even blinking, pointing the gun at him, so in the end, Everett decided to sleep, rest and recover.
Holmes observed him for a few seconds. The CIA agent held his gaze, which allowed him to look at him more closely, for the first time in broad daylight. Sometimes, Everett couldn't wonder if he wasn't Stephen; if the Supreme Sorcerer somehow lost his mind and transmuted into the man in the coat. The physical resemblance, except for the long, curly hair and the lack of a mustache and goatee, was impressive. He could even see in Holmes some of Stephen's gestures, which, deep down, reassured him. But it also made him sad. Listening to the man who looked so much like Stephen, saying the words he wanted to hear Strange's lips, filled his heart and broke it at the same time.
Until now, he had managed his feelings and silenced them because his contact with Strange was scarce. But next to Holmes, his brain read him like Strange, and his emotions drove him almost out of breath.
It was love at first sight. Everett met Strange by chance at Avengers headquarters when he was, as usual, arguing with Stark. The two of them reminded him of those two old men in the Muppet's box, engaged in an endless discussion but at the same time happy to be fighting each other. It was evident that, although they both wanted to keep it a secret, they were a couple. That's why Everett decided to plunge his feelings into the deepest corner of his heart. There was no point in hoping.
But he surprised himself by thinking about Strange every minute. He sought excuses to meet him, even went to the New York sanctum a couple of times. Until he decided it had to end. He could not live in love like a child with a man who would never notice him.
Because what was he? Only a man. He didn't have Hulk's strength or wasn't a God like Thor, or superpowers like Spiderman. He neither had a cool armor like Ironman. He was merely a man. And Stephen was the Sorcerer Supreme. There was no way someone like Strange will love someone like him, so… ordinary.
But somehow, being with Holmes rekindled his feelings for Strange. Holmes' and Strange's voices were so similar that he felt like he was listening to Stephen if he closed his eyes. So he shut his eyes when Holmes said he loved him madly, or when assured they would always be together, that nothing and nobody could separate them.
In those moments, he dreamed it was Stephen telling him what he wanted so badly to hear. He gulped, squeezing his eyes tight. It hurt so much, that evil joke of fate.
"Are you okay, John?" Holmes asked, worried,
Everett was about to nod when he stopped as an idea came to his mind. Maybe it could be a way to trick Holmes. Because it was evident, the crazy man was desperate to be reciprocated in love. And maybe…
"No, I'm not okay, Holmes," he grunted, looking at the tall man's eyes.
"I will bring you food soon."
"It's not the food. I mean… I'm hungry, but…, it's only" Everett hesitated a couple of seconds," I can't understand how you are capable of doing this to me."
Holmes frowned deeply.
"This is not the way to treat the person you love and… who loves you so much".
Holmes opened his eyes wide, breathless, frozen, and Everett could see a hint of hope in those verdigris eyes as he bit his lower lip.
"What did you say?"
"You are pointing me with a gun all the time, handcuffed me, starved me… and you say you love me…?" Everett lowered his head and managed to produce a strangled sob. "I…, I thought all you said was true but, but your acts…".
"It's true!" shouted Holmes, kneeling in front of him, grabbing Everett's chin and lifting his head." It's true. I love you more than anything."
Holmes had tears in his eyes, and he was refraining himself as if he were afraid of what he just heard wasn't real.
"I love you more than I can say. I love you from the moment I saw you at the lab, but I was too coward to confess it because, because…, you know me. I'm not good with feelings, I…I, I never thought you could love me too, I…I…and when you married Mary…. Why did you marry Mary if you loved me?".
Everett hesitated. He didn't expect a confession so sincere, so passionated. The man was mad, but suffering from unrequited love as much as was himself. Everett wondered if he could also get crazy for lovesick, as Holmes did. The detective's words came genuinely from his heart, were sincere, and, even being his prisoner, Everett felt horrible for playing with the man's feelings. But he had to finish what he started.
"Because…, because… you are Sherlock Holmes. You are clever and handsome and… I am only…me, nothing special, a soldier, a…" he whispered, feeling strange for confessing his feelings so openly, but relieved for being able to do it at last."
Holmes stroked his hair.
"Nothing special? You are perfect, John Watson, you changed my life, allowed me to believe I could be loved that I could be… human. You were my first friend, John, the first person who didn't run away within hours of meeting me, who thought I was brilliant instead of a freak…, you kept me right, John, and I'm… I'm…" Holmes threw away the SIG that flew away under the couch and started searching in his pocket with shaking hands until he produced the handcuff key. He was about to unlock them, when he stopped, wavering.
"You are not lying to me, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a mix of fear, unbelief, and threat. "Because if all of this is a lie, you won't get out of here alive."
Everett gulped. There was a hint of mad coldness in Holmes's voice that made his hair stand on end. But this was his only chance.
"Of course not. I love you," he assured, mentally adding Stephen. "I thought you were mad at me for the wedding. It was a mistake, but I was so confused…"
"Sssssssssh," shushed Holmes, "It's okay, it's all right now. We could start a new life, far from here. A new starting, where no one knows us".
"That sounds perfect, but love, my wrists are aching…".
"I'm so sorry…"
Before Holmes could unlock the handcuffs, someone knocked hard on the front door. Holmes dropped the hand with the key, and Everett cursed to himself.
"Freak!!!!" Donovan's angry voice was audible from the other side, "Open the door. You could fool Lestrade and Mycroft, but not me. I know you are there with John. I swear I'll be the one putting you in handcuffs in the squad car!".
Holmes looked at Everett with crazy eyes.
"You called her. You were lying to me. You called her!" Holmes shouted, retrieving the gun from under the couch
"No. I didn't. I love you, remember. I want to start with you a new life. She… it wasn't too hard for her to imagine that, as soon as you could, you'd come back to Baker Street".
Holmes scratched his head with the gun. John was right. Damn it! He went back to Baker Street to make John remember their time together, but he never thought he'd be found quickly. Especially not Donovan. In fact. Why were they looking for him? For four or five bodies?
The desire for John to regain his memory had caused him to make a mistake. And soon it wouldn't just be Donovan, but a strike team, who would show up there. And it would all have been in vain.
"Come in, Donovan, the door is opened," answered Holmes, his tone surprisingly calm.
Everett opened his mouth to warn her, but the detective, always on top, muffled the sound by gagging him with tape. The knob turned slowly, the door opened, and the barrel of a gun appeared.
"Hello Sergeant," Holmes waved, "drop the gun, or I'll blow his head off."
Everett felt the SIG barrel sticking to the back of his skull and heard Holmes pull the gun's safety."
"Or I'll blow your head off before you can pull the trigger," replied the woman, firmly holding the gun in both hands.
Holmes smiled disdainfully.
"Donovan, you forget that I always know what you're thinking."
"Oh, yes?" Donovan glanced sideways across the room until his gaze fell on Everett.
"John, are you okay?"
Everett nodded, mentally trying to warn her.
"Donovan, if you are going to shoot me, do it now because if you don't, I will. I would like to get back to the conversation John and I were having as soon as possible."
The woman hesitated for a tenth of a second and opened her eyes wider when she saw Holmes raise his gun and fire. Her body fell to the ground with a dry thud.
******
Sherlock's phone buzzed at the Avengers facilities. He looked at the name at the screen and put it again in his pocket.
"Who is calling?" asked John.
"Mycroft. I guess he will be to get us tangled up in one of his boring cases".
The phone buzzed once, twice, trice…
"Answer him. Maybe it's important".
"Important coming from Mycroft? I doubt it":
He focused his attention again in the wormhole simulation, contemplating with satisfaction how it remained open and unchanged no matter how far the timer advanced.
"Great," clapped Bruce "now we only need…"
"Someone is trying to communicate through the private line," warned FRIDAY, suddenly, cutting Bruce.
"Who?" asked Tony. That line was known only by the Avengers, and FRIDAY. wouldn't call any of them someone. "This line is armored and encrypted. It's impossible…"
"Good morning, gentlemen, lady, Sherlock, Doctor Watson…"
"Oh, for goodness sake, Mycroft!" grunted Sherlock looking at his brother, who just appeared on the screen. "What the hell do you want?"
"Who the hell are you?" asked Tony, "You are communicating through an Avengers private line."
"He is Mycroft, my brother," explained Sherlock, clearly pissed off.
"Making new friends, little brother? You should choose your companies better than that bunch of self-proclaimed heroes".
"Mycroft…" warned John.
"Look, asshole, I don't care if you're his brother, cousin, or whatever. Get out of the line now," Tony ordered.
Sherlock bit his lower lip, delighted at the puzzled expression that crossed Mycroft's mind during a second. Then he regained his usual self-sufficiency and superiority and looked at Tony like he was a bug.
"I wouldn't have to use your private line if my little brother would be kind enough to pick up his phone."
"What for, to listen to your usual bullshit?"
"Wow, I thought to have a brother was great, but they hate each other," whispered Peter, astonished.
"Yeah, they make cool to be an only child," mocked Tony.
"You have no idea," John sighed.
"What do you want, Mycroft? I'm busy".
"Holy shit!" Mycroft shouted to John's amazement. It was the first time he heard Mycroft cursing.
But both Mycroft and Lestrade were gawking at his screen were Sherlock and Stephen appeared together. For a moment, both Lestrade and Mycroft thought it was some Sherlock's kind of joke. But the elder Holmes soon deduced that, while identical from a physical point of view, it wasn't like that in their way of being. Strange was egotistic and full of himself but didn't have Sherlock's complete lack of social skills. His eyes could look like Sherlock's but weren't as pierced as them, and he couldn't deduce people, though he possessed some kind of ancient knowledge, deep and vast, that Mycroft couldn't help but respect,
Sherlock chuckled.
"You see, one in hundred thirty-five chance that there is s a single pair of exact doppelgangers, and I found him," he said.
"It seems in this case you doubled the chance," joked Stephen, looking at John. The three of them chuckled.
Mycroft quickly pulled himself together.
"You won't laugh so hard when the FBI shows up there to arrest you for the kidnapping of John and the murder of four men."
"Mycroft, are you drank?
"Interpol has issued an international arrest warrant for you, and the FBI has located you in New York, so..."
"And I suppose you had nothing to do with that, did you?" snarled Sherlock.
"I'm just looking out for your well-being, Sherlock" he looked at the Avengers and sighed. "You don't know what it's like always to have to look out for a little brother who only knows how to get into trouble."
"I do." Thor raised his hand.
"Yes, but I'm sure you don't spend all day annoying him" the detective turned to Mycroft, "And where did your wonderful Secret Service men get that information this time? From Google?".
"Oh, no, from a recording of a security camera record. And it wasn't my men. It was the Yard".
Sherlock snorted.
"It is photoshopped, and they haven't even noticed."
"No, Sherlock, our experts verified them, as well as Mycroft's. It hasn't been tricked. You should see the images. This is very serious," said Lestrade's voice off-camera.
"Lestrade?" asked John.
"Yes, and you've had the brilliant idea to get out of the country, which you know I can't protect you. Stupid as always, little brother," Mycroft hissed, not letting Greg answer.
"I don't need any help. Do you believe I killed them?"
"Little brother, I've long since accepted that you always exceed my expectations, in a wrong way, of course."
"I understand now why you have such a shitty temper," said Bruce to Sherlock. "I'd have it too with a jerk like that as an older brother."
"John, are you okay?" asked Lestrade, appearing on the image.
"Of course, Greg. We are here on a case. What's all this bullshit?"
"You should watch this."
All of them fixed his eyes on the screen. Sherlock raised a gun in the image and shot at the man's head without blinking, mumbling "idiot" when the body hit the ground. He turned to someone at the back of the image.
"Can you explain this, little brother?"
"Of course I can," he replied, disdainful "it's not the first time someone tries to impersonate me to charge me with a crime."
"FRIDAY. just analyzed the image. She said it's not tricked, nor is the man characterized, then it's you who appear on that recording".
"Sherlock?" John was looking at him, worried, and a bit alarmed. He knew Sherlock couldn't kill someone in cold blood, but the man in the recording… undoubtedly was him.
"I haven't shot him."
"FRIDAY says the opposite," grunted Tony.
"You shot him at point-blank range," accused Clint.
"I told you it wasn't me! I don't know who that man is, or why he is trying to frame me, but it wasn't me!" Sherlock fought back, desperate.
He didn't give a damn what the Avengers thought, but the doubt and bewilderment in John's eyes hurt him. He couldn't bear the doctor looking at him like that, as if all the faith he had in Sherlock was shattered into a thousand pieces.
Suddenly, Steve grabbed Sherlock and smashed him against the wall, pinning him down with a twisted arm. Sherlock tried to get out, unable to move an inch, due to Steve's strength, who twisted the detective's arm a bit more, making him scream in pain.
"Let him go," shouted John, and he ran to Steve, grabbing the hand that was twisting the detective's arm, trying to make him release the detective.
"Is he trying to break Steve by force?" Natasha asked, somewhere between surprised and amused.
"Yes, I think that's exactly what he's doing," replied Clint in the same tone.
"Love has those things," scoffed Tony.
They got serious when the sound of a gun safety catch being released reverberated across the room. They gaped at John Watson, who had nothing to do with the affable, quiet, almost shy man who entered Avengers facilities. This John held a gun firmly in his left hand, the barrel resting on Steve's temple. The good doctor vanished, making way for the soldier.
"I won't tell you again, Steve," warned the doctor. "Let him go. He didn't kill anybody."
The anguish vanished from Sherlock's heart, tempered by John's defense of him. His determined gesture, his tight lips, his slightly bowed head, and that sort of smile which announced he wouldn't mind turning the place into hell in a second.
"John, no," groaned Sherlock, fearful the Avengers might harm him. He tried once more to get rid of Steve, but he had no range of motion. One more millimeter and the man would break his arm like a toothpick.
"You are a soldier, just like me, and you know that if I have to shoot you, I will do it," John continued.
"Let him go, Steve," ordered Stephen.
"You watched the recording. FRIDAY confirmed it. Even his brother believes it was him, judging the way he talks." countered Steve.
"His brother is a cretin," John mumbled, clenching his teeth, without moving his gun a millimeter.
Steve hesitated. He didn't want to hurt John. He knew the doctor only wanted to protect Sherlock, and, as a soldier, he would do anything to achieve his goal. He wouldn't shoot him unless it were necessary. Otherwise, John would have done already. But the recording and FRIDAY confirmed the detective was a murderer.
"John, please don't make the situation worse," Greg begged from the screen.
Both men, like the Avengers, seemed speechless at the doctor's reaction. Not surprised. They knew John and how he cared for Sherlock. He would do anything. Even confront the Avengers for protecting him...
"I said let him go!" bellowed Stephen
"Okay," Steve released Sherlock, who groaned, rubbing his arm. John went over to check him up to make sure Steve hadn't hurt him.
"As you can imagine," Mycroft's voice echoed across the room, "Donovan is like a child on Christmas morning. She is dreaming about handcuffing you…"
"Donovan?" asked Bruce.
"A New Scotland Yard Sergeant," answered John. "Greg, tell them Sherlock is innocent."
"Sorry, John, I'm afraid Sherlock has gone too far this time."
"It wasn't him," Stephen repeated.
"How do you know it?" replied Tony.
"The one on the screen is the anomaly Ross was investigating. The one who kidnapped him and them, "he pointed to the screen where Mycroft and Lestrade listened carefully, "think he is John."
Bruce frowned.
"But that implies the leap in the space-time continuum you gave him to..."
"Yes, yes, yes," cut Stephen, who saw Sherlock's worried look. "It doesn't matter what it was for. The essential here is that the one in the image, who looks like Sherlock, is not."
"Even if it's not, it will get him into a lot of trouble," Tony said.
"Gentlemen, I love your science-fiction delusions…" Mycroft started.
"Cut that asshole off," growled Tony to Friday, and the screen turned black.
"We have to get going. We are going three months back in time," ordered Stephen " John, you should stay here in case we need to replace Ross. Clint and Peter will be here with you. The rest of us are leaving."
"Don't you want to come? I thought you would love time travel," asked Tony, noticing Peter wasn't bothered for not time-traveling.
"Oh, I would love to, Mr. Stark, but... I would rather stay here with Doctor Watson, if he doesn't mind, of course."
John smiled and shook his head. Peter glowed.
"Of course not," the billionaire tried to reply uncharacteristically, but he could not entirely hide the disappointment in his voice. Steve looked at Natasha, who stared at the floor, biting her lips. Stark was not at all happy that Peter admired anyone but himself.
"Time to dust off the suits," clapped Tony.
"What suits?" asked Sherlock.
"Quantum suits. We can't travel through time as he can," he pointed at Stephen." And, to travel through it, we need the Quantum Suits." Steve, Bruce, Stephen, Natasha, and Sherlock followed him. The billionaire was already on his way to where they kept Quantum Suits and the stocks of Pym Particles that Henry Pym produced.
When the door closed behind them, he turned to Stephen.
"Stephen, come out. Why does the Batman alter ego go around killing people, and what does that have to do with Doctor Watson?"
Stephen looked at him in surprise. Sherlock smiled.
"Why do you say it has to do with Doctor Watson?"
"Because you left him here like a punished child when there's no need for him to impersonate Ross. So this whole mess is because of something between you two that concerns Doctor Watson, but you don't want him to know, am I wrong?"
Stephen looked at Sherlock, who shrugged.
"He's going to know it anyway."
Natasha narrowed her eyes.
"What are you both up to? How long have you known each other?"
"All in good time," said Stephen, ending the discussion.
"I need exact coordinates for the spatial-temporal GPS," asked Bruce.
"May 18th, 2008, 22:25," replied Stephen.
He looked at Sherlock, a bit concerned.
"You have to be prepared for everything."
"I am always prepared for anything."
"And on top of that, modest. Charming," Tony grumbled. Natasha snorted, and Steve mouthed "jealous."
Bruce set up the GPS space-time coordinates.
"The tunnel through the Quantum Realm will be opened in twenty minutes. Just time for you to put on your suit," he announced.
Ten minutes later, Tony, Steve, Natasha, and Sherlock were on the Quantum platform, wearing their time suits, waiting for the tunnel through the Quantum Realm to open. Bruce tapped commands in the Quantum Console.
"Ready?" Bruce asked.
They nodded, and the platform started to vibrate.
"Don't worry," smiled Natasha, observing the detective's distressed gesture. "It's fun, you'll see."
Sherlock did not answer. He wasn't worried about the jump in time. He feared going back to John's wedding day. To all that suffering and despair, to the pain of knowing he lost John forever. He was terrified that, somehow, that line of space and time would come around the course and make the last three months, the happiest time of his life, vanished like a dream. He couldn't go back to the dark solitude that was his only companion until he met John, to the obscurity that he only achieved to dispel by getting high. He couldn't go back to hell after touching the heaving with John.
The tunnel sucked them in, and they vanished from the platform. Stephen opened a portal that led directly to the alley from where he transported Sherlock to Bleek Street.
He wanted to get there before the others and see where the fault was. He came to the alley and looked at his watch. About ten minutes before the others arrived, precisely a quarter of an hour before the Sherlock from the previous timeline appeared in the alley. He bit his lips, guilty. He noticed Sherlock's anguished face, the fear of losing everything, so intense that not even the detective, with his exceptional ability to hide his feelings and act detached from them, could disguise.
Stephen understood Sherlock's dread. He found it easy to put himself in his shoes. Many times, in the mirror dimension, Stephen told Everett he loved him since that day he saw him at the Avengers' facility. It was just a minute, and Stephen pretended not to pay much attention to the CIA agent. He knew Tony and didn't want to be made fun of. At any other time, he wouldn't mind, but when he saw Everett, something twisted inside him. Love at first sight. And from that moment on, he could only think of him.
He found it embarrassing to fall in love like a teenager. He kept telling himself it didn't make any sense to be so taken with someone for whom he had gone entirely unnoticed. Because Everett barely noticed him, he hadn't paid any attention to him.
Stephen would give anything to make Everett notice him, love him with the same intensity he loved Ross. But his magic, like the rest of the universe, had two limitations: love and death. Nothing, not even the most potent of myriads, could change them. Stephen knew this well. He spent hours in the New York sanctum looking for some spell to make Everett's feelings for him change. But magic couldn't fight the free will that love implies.
Until one day, the sanctum's guard in London notified him criminals in London were organizing themselves. Looking for an answer to that, he arrived at Sherlock Holmes, heartbroken, and in pain, who decided that life was not worth living.
He attended the detective's conversation with his brother and how he dismissed him. It was then that he saw Sherlock and John's entire past. He was shocked to see the doctor, who looked so much like Everett, and when he saw Sherlock and John together, he saw Everett and him reflected.
Stupidly, he decided the universe would help him if he gave a push. And as Sherlock headed down the alley to stock up on drugs, he decided it was time to help him. He offered him the chance to go back in time and then..,
Right at that moment, Tony, Steve, Sherlock, and Natasha materialized next to him.
"What do we do now?" Tony asked.
"Wait."
"For what?" Natasha asked.
"For him."
The three watched as a second Sherlock appeared in the alley, dressed in a morning suit and coat over him. He lay back on the wall, looking back and forth.
"What were you doing here?" asked Tony.
"Soothe the pain," the detective replied laconically.
"Well, what are we waiting for? If he's the singularity, let's go get him." urged Steve.
"He's not the one we're waiting for," replied Stephen.
"But you said...."
Stephen gestured for silence.
Suddenly, a round and shiny portal opened up under the detective's floor, and he vanished into it.
"This was when I took you to New York," Stephen said to Sherlock.
"And that's it?" asked Tony.
"No, we must keep waiting."
They waited a few minutes. The portal was still open, hissing, turning in a circle.
Natasha frowned.
"Shouldn't the portal have closed by now?"
Stephen nodded.
"That was my mistake."
"Did you leave an inter-dimensional door open?" shrieked Tony.
"I don't think you're exactly the one who can criticize other's mistakes," snarled Stephen.
Tony confronted him.
"Of course, I can."
"That's enough," intervened Steve, getting in between them and pushing one on each side.
"And now?" asked Sherlock, ignoring the fight between them.
"Let's see which reality of you appears through the portal."
"What reality of me?"
Stephen sighed.
"We all have infinite possibilities to choose from. Once we make a choice, we give up all the rest. At least in our dimension. In others, different versions of us make different choices, covering all the possibilities we have."
"New age nonsense," snarled Tony.
"Well, the new age nonsense just came through the gate," announced Natasha.
Indeed. Another Sherlock appeared through the portal Stephen had left open.
"In this universe, you gave up fighting for John. You let him marry Mary because you thought that was what he wanted. You decided your suffering was a way of compensating John for his grieving after you jumped off the roof of St Bart's".
Sherlock bit his lower lip, looked at the floor, and nodded, almost imperceptibly.
"But in another reality, another version of you decided to fight for John, that he wouldn't let him marry Mary."
"And why did he cross over?" asked Steve. "it's not often that one reality jumps to another."
Stephen pointed to Sherlock.
"He was suffering. Very much so. Much more than he expected or could bear. John's marriage to Mary was too hard for him. So much suffering attracted his other reality here, to help him. If I had closed the portal, nothing would have happened, but when he found it open, he jumped into this dimension".
"But, I would have kidnapped John, not Ross," Sherlock muttered.
"Something happened that led him to another dimension. Keep one thing in mind. Whatever happens, we cannot intervene. This Sherlock will lead us to Ross. If we intervene, we will create another timeline, and we may never find him".
The second Sherlock waited, leaning on the wall, looking from time to time at both sides. A few minutes later, a small, thin man appeared, his eyes red, his blond hair stuck together, and a mocking smile on his face.
"Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was pale, and his eyes were swollen and red for crying. He held a cigarette in a shaky hand but managed to maintain his composure and an inexpressive gesture.
"Bill, you know what I want," he said, looking down at the floor. He seemed ashamed of himself.
"It will cost you dearly."
"Money is no object."
"You're wrong, detective. Money is always the problem."
Sherlock stared at him until his eyes caught sight of shadows moving behind Bill.
It only took him a tenth of a second to realize Bill had sold him out.
He turned and walked quickly across the alley, but soon another group of about twenty men cut him off.
The detective swallowed his breath and turned, as the men surrounded him.
"All right, let's get it over with," he muttered through his teeth.
It was the sign they were waiting for. The detective moved quickly, punching, kicking, and knocking down his attackers with force, while dodging blows with agility and ease, but more and more criminals were swirling around in the alley. The detective began to show signs of fatigue until a strong hook aimed at his jaw brought him down to the ground, where he received a shower of kicks, hits, and punches. Amazingly, Sherlock made no sound, not even the slightest whimper. He just shrank with the heavy blows, taunts, and laughter of his attackers until a hard kick to his head knocked him unconscious. After several more punches and kicks, they left the alley, and Sherlock laid on the ground, alone, in pain and blood.
"You saved me," murmured the Sherlock of the present to Stephen, shocked, "You knew this would happen."
Stephen nodded.
"Is he dead?" Natasha asked, looking at the bloody, unmoving body of the detective.
None of them answered. The beating had been brutal, and it was unlikely he would survive. After a few endless minutes, they could hear a groan of pain, barely audible. And, miraculously, the detective tried to move. He groaned in pain again, unable to do it.
"Why did you keep fighting?" asked Natasha astonished.
"For John," whispered Sherlock at her side.
"He knew John, by marrying Mary, was in danger. And he wanted to get back to him. That was his motivation."
"But John didn't marry Mary," replied Steve, frowning. "He married John."
"Yes, but this reality of Sherlock doesn't know that Sherlock went back in time and married John. He only knows about the suffering and that he had to protect John".
A little later, another agonizing moan filled the alley. The detective tried to get up from the floor but was unsuccessful. Footsteps and voices were heard in the back of the lane, and the detective knew they were coming to kill him. He dropped to the ground, waiting. Without John, his life was meaningless; he had nothing to live for.
He muttered something. The Avengers and Sherlock pierced his ears, and the mumbled words came to them:
"There is a proper day to die. But not today. Not on John's wedding day".
The detective crawled with difficulty, clutching his hands to the cobblestones on the ground and propelling himself forward. He did not have the strength to stand up. He crept a few more feet and dropped into the ditch. Suddenly his body was gone.
"He slipped through a random portal," Tony observed.
Sherlock, who had closed his eyes, opened them, contemplating how, indeed, there was no trace of the detective.
"A random portal?"
"From time to time, the universe opens interdimensional portals. They are random. No one knows where they lead. If you are in the place where the portal opens, you slide through it."
"And it led directly to Ross?" Sherlock asked.
"That's what we're going to find out," said Natasha. "Can you recreate it?" she asked Stephen.
"I will try."
The Supreme Sorcerer sat down on the floor, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and levitated. A couple of minutes later, he opened his eyes, turned his hands, and created a portal just where Sherlock's body had disappeared.
"Where does it lead?"
Stephen sighed.
"To the worst possible place," he replied. He turned to the others. "Don't separate yourselves, and pay no attention to what you see or hear."
"But where does it go?" Steve asked again
The Supreme Sorcerer didn't answer and just disappeared behind the gate. The others followed silently.