Everett and John
At the Avengers' headquarters, John was telling Peter the details of the latest case while the two of them wrote the blog post, something the doctor stated in the first paragraph of the article. Peter was about to explode with emotion.
"My name on your blog," he exclaimed breathlessly, "I can't believe it."
"Would you like to respond to readers' comments?"
Peter opened his eyes wide.
"Would you let me?"
John laughed. He loved his enthusiasm. He felt immediate sympathy for him, heightened by Sherlock's deductions. Peter reminded him quite a lot of the detective, although, fortunately for him, Peter had been graced with a little more social skills than Sherlock.
"Your life is exciting."
"Yours isn't boring either." John took one look at the headquarters.
"Yes, but sometimes they treat me like a child. They make me do my homework and all that, especially Mr. Stark."
"It's important that you get your education. And Tony does it because he cares about you. He's very fond of you."
"And I really appreciate him."
Peter bit his lips for a moment, hesitantly. John waited, letting him summon up the courage to speak, a trait he practiced daily as a doctor. He pretended to concentrate on the writing.
"Doctor Watson there is... I... you don't have to say yes... that is, if you don't want to or if you think..."
"First, you have to tell me what it's about."
"Could... could you show me Baker Street? I mean, it is where you live, where Mr. Holmes thinks and deduces, you write, and he does these experiments and... could I see if he has got a human head in the fridge?"
John chuckled.
"There is no head, but I'm sure you can find eyeballs or thumbs."
Peter's face was transfigured with emotion.
"Could we go now?"
"Well.., Strange is gone…"
"Wong can take us there."
"I thought only Strange could."
"So does he, with the Sling Ring. I'm going to ask Clint!" he shouted, running off to find the archer.
Soon he was back with him and Bruce.
"Not a good idea, Peter," said the scientist.
"Please, please, please, it will only be for a little while, really," begged Peter, clasping his hands in pleading.
Bruce and Clint looked at each other. John smiled. It was funny to see them. They looked like the parents of a teenager asking them to come home a little later than usual.
"Tony is gonna kill us."
"He will be with me," John said. "Nothing will happen to him. He is going to have a heart attack if you say no".
Clint and Bruce looked at each other, as Peter looked at them, hopefully.
"Half an hour. And by prescription," Bruce pointed to the teenager with his index finger, "if you take any longer, I will come to get you myself, and you'll be grounded until you turn thirty."
"I won't be long, I promise!"
The archer pressed an intercom. Soon after, the image of Wong in the New York sanctum appeared on the screen in front of them.
"Could you take us to 221b Baker Street, Mr. Wong?" Peter asked
"What do you think I am? A travel agent?" roared the librarian with a scowl.
"I... I…" stammered Peter, surprised when Wong laughed loudly and pointed at him.
"It's a joke," he got serious and laughed again. "Next stop, 221b Baker Street."
He turned his hands, opened a new sizzling portal, and the Baker Street living room in front of them. John invited him in to enter.
"Go ahead."
"Wow!!!" shouted Peter as he put one foot on the flat. Once inside, he turned in on himself, not believing he was there.
"Your armchair and the Union Jack Doodle's cushion! And Mr. Holmes' armchair. And the skull!" he went over to take it. "Is it true it is from a friend of Mr. Holmes?"
"No one knows, but just in case, don't touch it too much. Tea?"
Peter wrinkled his nose and moved his head from side to side.
"I... I'm not much for tea, but yes! What the hell! You drink tea for the whole day!"
John laughed and started the kettle, looking around. He felt a certain uneasiness, but he didn't know why. As Peter moved through the living room, screaming, ecstatic every time he recognized an object, John walked through the bedroom, the kitchen, and slowly upstairs to his old room. They were empty, but his instinct put him on guard. Why?"
He prepared two cups of tea and left them on the coffee table, next to his gun, while Peter looked at the notes, photos, and papers Sherlock pinned to the wall for the last case.
Peter's gaze then fell on the violin that Sherlock had left on the table next to his armchair.
"May I...?"
John shook his head.
"No. Sorry. If anything happens to it, Sherlock will kill you and then me."
"I would love to hear him play."
"Come by any day at three o'clock in the morning." smiled John.
Peter chuckled, sat down on the couch, and took a sip of tea. He made an indefinable gesture.
"Would you like to check the fridge for orange juice?"
"The fridge! I forgot it!" he stuck his head in so deep that John was afraid it would stick to the bottom. "A jar full of eyeballs! Disgusting! It's great!"
He took the orange juice jar from the door and sat down on the couch again.
"Can I see your computer?"
"My computer?"
"Mr. Holmes says he is nothing without his blogger. I just decided what I am going to be when I grow up. I'm going to be Spiderman, a medical detective. Or a detective-doctor. Hmmmmm, which will be better?"
"Spiderman Medical-Detective?"
"Yeah, although all of Mr. Stark's devices are cool, too. I'll be Spiderman: inventor-medical-detective. How about that?"
"Criminals' days are numbered," assured John, bumping his mug into Peter's.
*******
Just as the portal was about to close behind them, something prevented it with a metallic sound. As they turned around, they saw Thor, coming in behind them, wielding Stormbreaker.
"Strange, are you crazy? How do you bring them here?"
"He came in here."
Thor waved Stormbreaker in the air a couple of times and pursed his lips.
"Poor devil. Come on, then."
They went into complete darkness. And not just for lack of light. It was a dense, heavy, almost tangible darkness that made anguish and fear grow inside them. Strange created a shield that, besides protecting them, illuminated and helped to mitigate that dense and heavy darkness like oil.
"Don't separate yourselves," warned Stephen.
The shield's orange light gave them a glimpse that they were in a vast cavern, several kilometers in diameter. All around them, greyish walls of half-drowned castles, some almost whole, others just a few rows of eroded stones with some windows.
A ghostly sigh reverberated around them, as a spectral mist enveloped them. Sherlock, Tony, Natasha, and Steve noticed how the hairs on the back of their necks stood up while fear grew inside them. Stephen and Thor's faces, the first one opening the march and the last one closing it, expressed great concern.
"When will we have the pleasure of you telling us where we are?" grunted Tony.
"As I told you, in the worst possible place," he looked sideways at the God of Thunder, who nodded. "As you know, on all planes of the universe, light and darkness complement each other; they cannot exist without each other. Ying and yang, positive and negative, even on the astral plane, we can find light beings and dark entities trying to harm us".
"To the point, Stephen," snarled Natasha.
"This place is the exception. A hell composed only of negativity, darkness, sadness, griefs, frustration, anguish, failed hopes, and broken dreams. If there is a version of ourselves that chooses a different path in every place in the universe, here are grouped all our failed stories, all the lost opportunities, the unrealized dreams... Some of them are part of our past. Others are not. They are part of the infinite possibilities of choice we have in every moment of our lives. Every time we were wrong, every time we were afraid, every time instead of bit the bullet we backed out, that version of us came here. Crossing this place when you are warned about it is hell. To cross it alone, as the other Sherlock did, leads to madness and to the search for redemption at any cost".
Sherlock lowered his head. He didn't know how many of those versions of himself of what. Stephen was talking about were out there, but he was sure there were many.
"That's why the other Sherlock is willing to do anything to get John back," observed Natasha.
Stephen nodded.
"It is the only way to be released from the agony of crossing this place. Seek redemption, make amends," he looked at Sherlock sympathetically "don't feel bad. We are all replicated here by the hundreds: memories that hurt, twist our stomachs and keep us awake. Experiences that make us wonder why we weren't brave, why we didn't fight for ourselves, why we betrayed ourselves... No one is free from that. Fortunately, all of this is forgotten, and when one of these memories assaults us, we return it to the depths of our subconscious, unable to deal with it. But here it's not so easy".
"So you have to keep in mind that nothing you see here is real," Thor intervened, startling them. "Your past does not determine your future, it does not decide your destiny. They are only ghosts that haunt us, nothing more."
"And the other Sherlock couldn't turn around?" asked Steve.
Stephen crossed a look of understanding with Thor.
"No. Once you enter, you have to cross over to open another portal. The visions won't let you go back. Ready?"
They nodded. Steve held his shield tight and adjusted the helmet, as Tony donned his nanotech Ironman suit. They advanced slowly, silently, Stephen opening the march, followed by Sherlock, Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Thor closing it, looking everywhere, seeing nothing but darkness.
Suddenly a shrieking sound pierced their ears, and something came over them from nowhere. Thor threw Stormbreak towards the sound site. The axe struck it, and something fell to the ground in front of them.
"What the hell is that?"
"A chimera. They know we are here,' replied Stephen, looking at the body lying on the ground, a creature with a body formed by various bits of a lion, a goat, and a serpent.
"This looks like something out of Cargo, the movie," murmured Natasha.
"I assure you it would be easier if they were zombies," replied Thor.
At that moment, ghostly figures materialized around them. Translucent variants of Stephen, Sherlock, Natasha, Tony, Thor, and Stephen, from childhood to adults. Some were well dressed, others with their clothes shattered, some emaciated, other fatter and thinner. They had the sensation of looking at each other in one and a thousand mirrors, his faces reflecting sadness, fear, regret, remorse, fear, loneliness, frustration, anger, grief… Hundreds surrounded them, telling the story of each of their failures.
"What the fuck is this?" Tony asked.
He produced the multi-beam and shot two of them. A version of Sherlock, thin and emaciated, with long, dirty, disheveled hair, wearing a faded, old T-shirt that revealed arms full of syringe scars that tried to hold on to the detective. Another of Natasha, with pronounced jaws and a baleful look, dressed in a K.G.B. uniform who was addressing Natasha by mumbling in Russian, raising an accusing finger.
Stark's shot went through them without doing any damage. They only dissipated for a few seconds to form again. Steve threw his shield, which pierced the figures' waists, blurring them and then reappearing, as the sound of the shield crashing uncontrollably against the walls of the cave reached them.
It was Stephen who, creating a whip, tangled it around the waist of the ragged Sherlock and, with a wave of his hand, threw it into the darkness, while Thor produced a lightning bolt that caused the other Natasha to be swallowed up by the blackness around them as well.
"It's not real," mused a trembling Sherlock. Besides her, he was the only one who understood the woman's accusations, remembering that she was a dangerous killer, before joining the Avengers, a stage she wanted to forget with all her strength.
"Yes, it is," she replied.
"Not anymore," replied the detective.
Natasha blinked and smirked. She nodded. She shrunk with the woman's screams, but she raised her head and squared her shoulders.
"It is true. Not anymore."
"Why can't we kill them?" asked Tony, frustrated, looking around. His scanner was not picking up anything, as F.R.I.D.A.Y. testified. He swallowed when he saw himself as a child, at the age he was when Bucky killed his parents. The boy cast an accusatory look at him.
"Because the past cannot be undone. We can forget it, hold on to it, chain ourselves to it and not move forward, or learn from it and move on."
Stephen created an orange ball that surrounded them, while Thor electrified it from the outside, causing the ghosts that approached it to fly away.
"We must move," Thor ordered, "the spell will not last long here."
They ambled, moving carefully inside the ball, repeating to themselves that what they saw was not real. A few steps later, Peggy, Steve's girlfriend, appeared among the ghosts, holding out her hand.
"You never came to get me," she accused him between sobs.
Steve swallowed and continued walking, trying to ignore the woman's sad face. He saw her hand approaching the electrified barrier Thor created, and his heart shrank. The screams of the spirits that crashed into her were full of pain. He closed his eyes, repeating that she was not her, that hand was not hers, but it was so real...
When Peggy's hand was only a few millimeters from the shield, he could not resist it any longer, and piercing it with his own, Steve took the woman's hand.
"Steve, no!"
Too late. When Steve brushed against his girlfriend's, the ghostly hand transformed into a rope that wrapped around his arm. With a firm tug, she pulled Captain America from the shield, throwing him against the other ghosts of his past, who rushed at him like piranhas, while the orange ball vanished, leaving them at the mercy of the spirits.
"I'm going to get him," shouted Thor. "Take care of them!"
Thor hurled himself to where Steve had disappeared, wielding Stormbreaker hard, knocking out spirits and throwing them left and right, opening a gap for the captain.
Meanwhile, Stephen summoned two blades, throwing one to Sherlock and the other to Natasha, while wrapping Ironman's armor in a spell, so he could fight spirits.
The three set out to combat the spirits that were rushing at them, while Strange multiplied himself, creating whips that sparkled as they collided with the ghosts, making them retreat.
Inside the vault, surrounded by a large group of ghosts from the past, Steve stood up. He let Thor contact his shield with Stormbreaker, electrifying it. He took up a combat stance,
"Let's see if you can play with that," teased Thor.
Steve chuckled.
"Watch and learn,"
He threw the shield, making the spirits that he found in his path vanish, describing a circular orbit around him, to return to his hands. He threw it back to Thor's laughter, who was handing out commandos with the axe. The multiple Stephens bundled groups of ghosts with whips, while Natasha, after coiling herself into one of Strange's lashes, threw her sword at Sherlock and fought body to body against them, tackling and knocking them to the ground, turning, jumping, ducking, dodging spirits and crushing those who came at them.
For his part, Sherlock, a sword in each hand, beat, pierced, and threw away spirits while blocking their attacks. Ironman, for his part, flew, shot, and punched the spirits that hovered over them, vanishing them.
Little by little, they managed to clear the place of them.
"Let's go. We won't be able to hold them for long," urged Stephen with an echo, as his versions folded back on themselves.
They ran at full speed through the ruins, surrounded by the frustrated and crazed ghostly howling, which pushed them to go even faster.
********
"I have to issue the warrant for Sherlock's arrest. I can't delay any longer, Mycroft."
Lestrade sighed. He and Sherlock's older brother were in his office at Scotland Yard. He delayed it as long as he could, but he couldn't skip the proceedings, nor could he obstruct justice himself.
Mycroft lowered his head. He couldn't understand what happened to Sherlock. He kept a close eye on his brother, and since his marriage to John, he achieved greater stability than at any other time in his life.
"Something's not right about all this," he finally said.
Lestrade sighed. He understood that the man cared about his brother, but he could do no more. It was distressing for Lestrade, because working side by side with him, the image of the stupid, haughty busybody of the elder Holmes vanished. True, at first, he behaved as if he were the Chief Constable of Scotland Yard, but soon he respected the DI's procedures and decisions. And though he seemed cold to others' eyes, Lestrade could see in him a genuine concern for his brother.
But his instincts told him that Mycroft was right when he said something didn't add up. True, listening to Donovan, anyone would think Sherlock was a potential serial killer, but the reality indicated otherwise, mostly since he met John. He understood what the British government meant, so why throw it all away? Sherlock would never do that to John. He would never let him down like that. And John would have realized something was up before he let the detective get to it. He knew him best, and he would have noticed the change.
He scratched his head, thoughtful.
"Maybe Anderson is right about the mask?"
"Heaven help us if your forensic's theories start to pan out. But they don't. Here's something else. Something... Have you seen this Avenger and Sherlock? They're identical. They could pose as each other just by changing their hair or goatee".
"You think the Avengers set him up? What reason would they have?"
Mycroft shrugged.
"What if there's a third party?"
"A third party?"
"Yes, a third like Sherlock, or the other, but in the end, like Sherlock. My brother wasn't even in London when the last murder happened."
"The picture wasn't rigged."
"That's why. You have seen, as I have, two Sherlocks. Why not a third?"
"How?"
"I don't know. Surgery? Witchcraft?" he frowned. "What if Strange created it? He is the Supreme Sorcerer. I'm sure he can do that."
"Mycroft..."
"No, but it doesn't make sense, because they are both together. So... the only explanation is that there is another Sherlock. Where did he come from? I don't know. Why? Neither do I, but..."
"But that's impossible, Mycroft.
"I hate to quote my brother, but, when you eliminate the impossible, what remains, however improbable, must be the truth. I don't know how, but there's another Sherlock," he got up from his chair, "let's go to Baker Street. Maybe we missed something."
Lestrade looked at him in amazement. Mycroft looked at him, impatient.
"What?"
"Brilliant."
Mycroft cocked his head to the side and cleared his throat gently. Lestrade bit his lip to disguise a smile. Both brothers melted with compliments on their genius. Probably because people used to address them with other kinds of epithets more along the lines of freak or pain in the ass. Had he allowed himself to be a little more human, the DI was sure that Sherlock's brother would have blushed. In the end, it was going to turn out that Mycroft Holmes had a heart somewhere too...
"Let's go over there," he took his coat and went after Mycroft. They both walked between the tables as the officers watched them.
Donovan got up, ran after Lestrade, and grabbed his arm.
"He is messing with you, Greg. Can't you see he just wants to keep his brother out of jail?"
"You are wrong. If Mycroft has to, he will. And so will I."
Donovan shook his head and sat back down at his table, fuming. How could Lestrade trust the Freak's brother? Another Freak, though she would never say it to his face as she did to Sherlock. Too powerful. She looked at Lestrade for a few seconds.
"Oh, shit," she mumbled, noting the familiarity with which they both walked to the exit.
"What's wrong?" asked one of the officers.
"We are screwed."
*******
Several spirits surrounded Sherlock. The detective was about to strike a blow at one of them when the ghosts around him went rigid.
"You..." whispered one of them with a ghostly echo. It was similar to Sherlock, the only difference, a great wound in his skull, blood falling on his face.
On hearing it, the other spirits stopped fighting and focused their attention on the one who had spoken. Sherlock looked at Stephen, puzzled. Strange frowned and looked at Thor.
"You can't be here," declared the ghost.
"What is it now?" asked Tony.
"Whoever enters here never returns," answered Thor. "They don't understand how you can be here again."
"Worse still," said Strange, "they know it's not you."
"And I guess that is not good, for a change," grunted Tony.
The ghosts of the past looked at each other, puzzled, and began to disappear, howling with rage, the frightful voices bouncing around the place. Strong gusts of wind blew, with such intensity that they had to hold on to each other not to fall, except Thor, who remained firmly on the ground despite the air force.
"What is it?" shouted Sherlock to make himself heard above the roar of the wind.
"They are blurring the inter-dimensional boundaries," answered Strange.
He turned his hands in the air, producing two green rings that swirled around his wrists counter-clockwise. The wind seemed to calm down a bit, while Stephen turned one of the wheels on his wrist with great effort. His cape, flapping in the wind behind him, clung to the Stormbreaker.
Strange clenched his teeth, sweating from the effort to rotate the rings backward. Suddenly the green rings burst into a thousand pieces, and the wind blew even harder.
"I can't reverse it," he shouted, frustrated to make himself heard over the wind's loud howling." I can't reverse the singularity of the same timeline I created. We have to get out of here," he marched, fighting the mighty wind that pushed him back.
Hardly, in line to put up as little resistance to the air as possible, they advanced towards a yellowish light at what seemed to be the dome's end.
"What happens when the boundaries between dimensions are blurred?" asked Natasha.
"Chaos," answered Tony.
Stephen looked at him with a scowl. Tony raised an eyebrow.
"Until now, two or more realities could share the same space without being visible to each other, each in a dimension," answered Stephen, "with the inter-dimensional boundaries blurred, both dimensions will come into contact."
"And what will happen?" asked Natasha, unsure if she wanted to hear the answer.
"Nobody knows," answered Stephen.
Thor nodded.
"It never happened before. Sometimes portals are opened, and beings from other dimensions invade ours, or we can go to the other. But until now, they have never coexisted."
"Congratulations, Strange," grunted Tony. "You have created chaos hitherto undreamt of." he ironized, mimicking Stephen.
"Will it happen in the whole universe?" asked Steve.
Stephen gestured to Sherlock.
"It takes a lot of energy to dissolve inter-dimensional boundaries, and the universe tends to hold on to it. But your alter ego and Ross could be anywhere".
"Baker Street," blurted out the detective.
Stephen stopped, and he frowned.
"How do you know?"
Sherlock shrugged.
"I know."
"Quantum entanglement," cried Tony through the wind's hooting "in quantum physics, entangled particles remain connected so that actions performed on one affect the other, even when separated by great distances. Our Sherlock and the others are connected by it. This is how he knew where the other is".
"Couldn't you have said that before? We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.", growled Steve.
"He couldn't until the inter-dimensional boundaries were drawn. Which means he is, as he says, in Baker Street, but in another dimension."
"Let's go there," Steve said. "It's empty now, so it wouldn't be a problem."
Thor cleared his throat. The others turned to him.
"Doctor Watson and Peter are there."
Sherlock looked at him, horrified.
"How could you let Peter go there?" cried Tony, his voice trailed evident panic.
"Bruce and Clint gave him permission. Before I came, Clint was contacting Wong to open a portal. The boy is a fan of yours and wanted to see if you had any heads in the refrigerator," he repeated Peter's words with some derision.
The others looked at Sherlock in disbelief.
"It was only once," snarled the detective. "Where was I going to put it? On the couch?"
"Besides, he was with Doctor Watson. With the bad blood he has, they are fucked" he gestured to the spirits.
"This just keeps getting better and better," Tony ironized. He turned to Strange.
"When this is all over, we will lay down some rules for when you play with your green stone, got it?"
"Keep dreaming," growled Stephen.
They kept walking as the ghosts of the past swirled around him faster and faster, making them move forward more slowly.
********
Everett looked at Donovan, lying on the ground, and then at Sherlock.
"We have to help her."
The detective shook his head.
"We can't leave her there, Holmes,... if she dies..."
"If she dies, it serves her right for trying to break us up."
The C.I.A. agent shook his head.
"Sherlock, I'm a doctor. I can't let anyone die. I took an oath to save lives," he swallowed. He could see Donovan's chest rise and fall almost imperceptibly. If they didn't help her, she would die. On the other hand, this was the perfect opportunity to get Sherlock to untie him. "You can't make me carry that around on my conscience. How am I going to practice medicine after...?"
"All right, all right!" shouted the detective, exasperated, "you and your professional pride. She doesn't deserve your help, but..."
He walked up to Everett and unlocked his handcuffs. With a quick movement, he grabbed the gun the detective had left on the table upside down and pointed it at his head.
"John," gasped Sherlock, "what... what are you doing?"
"Shut up and listen to me," he unlocked the safety gun and rested the barrel on the detective's forehead.
*********
"No, no, Sherlock doesn't guess. He deduces," laughed John, sitting on the couch next to Peter, correcting the word in the article Peter was writing.
"But Mr. Holmes doesn't read his blog..."
"So he says. But he does. He criticizes it, but he loves it. When I wrote he didn't know the Earth revolved around the Sun, I found a human head in the fridge. I don't even want to think what I will find if you write he guesses instead of deducing..."
They both laughed.
Suddenly, in the living room, Holmes and Ross materialized as if from nowhere near the fireplace. The detective was looking at Everett with his eyes out of his head. Although Ross rested his gun's barrel on his head, Sherlock's gaze contained no fear, but surprise, betrayal, pain, and confusion. Everett was so focused on the detective that he didn't realize the doctor and Peter were there.
John stood up without a sound and grabbed his gun.
"You are going to..." started Everett.
He fell silent, noticing the barrel of another gun resting on his nape, swallowing with difficulty. He saw Holmes' eyes opening even wider, looking at the man behind him as if he were a ghost.
"Move a muscle, and I'll blow your head off," snarled John, "throw the gun on the ground, slowly."
"John?" asked Holmes, absolutely overwhelmed, looking at one and the other, alternately. "But what…?"
Ross noticed the pressure on the back of his neck decreased for a moment because of the doctor's bewilderment at the detective's reaction. He turned in one quick motion so that the gun was at the level of his attacker's head. When Ross saw him, he almost dropped the gun. He was pointing it at himself, a version of him wearing a jumper that Everett wouldn't wear in his whole life, but the rest was him. The same determined, grim look, and a similar resolution to pull the trigger without a doubt at it if necessary.
Facing each other, John Watson and Everet Ross pointed a gun at each other, while the look of a mute Holmes went quickly from one to the other.
"Doctor Watson!" cried Peter.
John motioned for him to be quiet.
"It's all right, Peter, don't worry. Everything's under control".
"Don't intervene, Peter," Everett ordered.
"John!" shouted Holmes looking at them both, "What the hell is going on?"
"Calm down, Sherlock, it's all right," replied John. "He's not John. I am John. He's Everett Ross, a C.I.A. agent."
"Put the gun down, Doctor Watson."
"Not before you do."
Peter licked his lips nervously, not knowing what to do. He was afraid that the other would shoot by throwing his web or jumping on one of them.
Both remained motionless, the weapon firmly held against the other's head, without blinking, without moving a muscle, neither willing to lower the gun.
The door burst open. Lestrade, gun in hand, stumbled over Donovan's body lying on the floor.
"Put your guns down!" he shouted as Mycroft took the sergeant's pulse and shook his head.
"John, and... the other John, put your guns down!" repeated the DI.
"Stay out of this, Greg," the doctor ordered.
Peter put his hands up.
"We didn't shoot her, Sir, I swear to you."
"This lunatic killed her." Everett nodded to Sherlock.
"Watch your mouth, Ross," hissed John.
"Sherlock, you have to stop this madness," implored Mycroft. "Don't worry, I will get help."
Sherlock breathed heavily through his mouth, teeth clenched.
"I don't need anyone's help. Least of all yours. I just need John. Don't you understand?" he banged his head repeatedly as if to get rid of something inside it. "I need John!!!" he howled.
"You have John," replied Lestrade, "you two are married."
Sherlock shook his head.
"No, he married Mary. I saw him. I was there. I was his best man. I even proposed, but he chose Mary."
"Sherlock, what are you saying?" John asked, distressed.
He gulped, pointing at Ross. What was wrong with Sherlock? When he left with Strange, he was fine, and now... had he killed Donovan? His mouth was dry. That couldn't be happening. But there, out of nowhere, the body of the sergeant, Sherlock, and Ross had appeared. Had he gone through some Strange's portal, killed Sally, and found Ross?
"John, Everett, put down your..."
A strong wind blew into it. Papers and books flew in all directions around the room, crashing into the walls and bumping into them, as a yellow-greyish mist shrouded John and Everett, swirling around them like a tornado. Neither of them moved the gun from the other's head; neither of them made the slightest move or said a word. They just exchanged a glance when they understood what they were seeing.
A second later, Strange, followed by Sherlock, Ironman, Natasha, Thor, and Captain America entered the room.
"But what on earth is going on here?" asked Mycroft, doubting whether he was going mad in that room with two Sherlocks, two Johns, and five Avengers.
"Mr. Stark!" shouted Peter, in jubilation, but lowered his head when Stark dropped his helmet and left his face visible, a massive gesture of irritation and concern written on it.
"You, both, put the guns down," ordered Strange.
"Who is John. Who is the real John." hissed the detective, madly.
He produced another weapon, took the gun's safety, and pointed it at Everett's face.
The doctor pressed his lips. In the detective's alter ego look, he could read that he would kill Everett as soon as he got over that it wasn't him. In the meantime, they both had a chance.
The Sherlock who show up with the Avengers stepped forward. He stopped when his alter ego moved the gun to John. Sherlock raised his hands.
"Put the gun down, please."
Holmes shook his head, his gaze jumping from Everett to Ross. Even Everett pitied the detective for a moment. His face reflected tremendous confusion, deep pain; he felt lost, despondent, desperate, maddened by losing the love of his life.
"No... I need John."
"We are with John now," whispered Sherlock.
Holmes shook his head.
"If you don't tell me who he is, I'll kill them both."
"We cannot shoot him? We're the Avengers, damn it!" snapped Captain America.
"He would shoot them both before they hit the ground. He's too fast. And since he is in a dimension that is not his own, we don't know what will happen," grumbled the Sorcerer Supreme.
John's gaze flickered from Strange to Everett to the Holmes, who was aiming at them. The former C.I.A. agent imitated him.
They looked sideways at Peter, who frowned, watching them and trying to keep a low profile.
John's gaze traveled back from Peter to Strange, and Everett's from Peter to the detective aiming at them.
"Peter's pulse is racing," announced F.R.I.D.A.Y. over the intercom, causing Ironman to turn to Peter. He looked at him, then at Strange, then at John again.
Tony shook his head imperceptibly, frowning, looking at John, who pressed his lips. Strange closed his eyes for a moment, a tense silence filling the room. He waved his hands to complete a spell, freezing them but John, Everett, and him.
"How long have you known?" he asked the doctor.
"We envisioned the future when the two dimensions came together," answered John and looked at the Sherlock that was with the Avengers, "I have to do it. He gave up everything for me."
"It was his choice."
"I know. And this is mine".
"And yours?" he asked Everett, softly.
For a moment, he was tempted to ask Ross not to follow John..., but he knew that was their only chance to fix everything.
"We are soldiers," Everett looked intently at him, and then and John, "our lives do not matter."
John nodded, squaring off with a martial air.
Strange closed his eyes.
"Yours matter to me," he blurted, frowning, surprised at his own audacity and clenched his teeth to prevent himself from revealing of his feelings "and yours," he addressed to John "matters to him."
The doctor went up to Sherlock and stroked his cheek in a gesture of infinite sadness and tenderness.
"There is no other way? You control time. You did it once." he asked, his voice full of hope and sorrow.
"And look how it ended. Mordo warned me. Breaking the natural laws has a price. The bill comes due. Always. This happened the first time. The second... even I am unable to foresee the consequences. I'm really sorry, but..."
John swallowed with difficulty.
"Will he be all right?" he looked back at Sherlock.
"Once the other Sherlock is back in his dimension, I can close the singularity and reverse everything. This Sherlock will fade away, like everything that happened since I changed the past." Strange shook his head. He looked at Everett. "I'm sorry this is how it ends."
Everett nodded. He looked intently at Strange and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. Anyway, it was too late. It wasn't worth talking about yet. John and Ross nodded sadly and looked at each other.
"Soldiers?" asked John.
Ross smirked.
"Soldiers."
Strange made a hand gesture, which John interpreted as a goodbye. Time was running out. He turned to Sherlock and kissed him softly on the lips.
"Goodbye, my madman. You've saved my life literally and metaphorically more times than I can count. I owe you so much… It's my turn to return you the favor."
Both inhaled and stood up near the armed detective again, pointing each other with the guns.
Stephen defrosted the place. A portal opened to the ghost cavern. John gave Holmes a hard push, and the two of them flew into the ghost vault of the past. In a quick movement, the alter ego grabbed Everett by the shirt, dragging him with them.
"Jooooooooooohn, no!" shouted Sherlock, running after the doctor, straight to the portal. Ironman pushed him, slamming the detective against the wall. Grunting in pain, he rose again, but Ironman flew at him, pinning him down.
Lestrade raised his weapon, ready to shoot Ironman, as Sherlock struggled desperately, seeing the portal closing. Desperate, he punched and kicked Ironman, ignoring the pain of hitting the nanosuit, until Tony held him down to keep him from hurting himself further. Mycroft forced Lestrade to put his arm down. He could shot Sherlock.
"Please," Sherlock begged, desperately, squirming under Ironman, trying to free himself, "please, Tony. I have to go get him. I have to save John."
When the portal was almost closed, Thor threw his axe, blocking it, and jumped in, carrying two swords summoned by Strange, while Peter threw a web that tied around his waist and, pulling out his spider legs, stuck them to the wall, holding the God of Thunder.
Inside the portal, ghosts of the past wailed, howling around Everett, Sherlock, and John, circling each one until they almost disappeared.
"Ross!" cried Thor, hurling one sword at him.
The C.I.A. agent grabbed it and began to push the spirits away with all his might, trying to advance to John, but failing to do so.
Holmes lowered his gun and looked at John. The wind blew his hair, and his coat fluttered around, but he seemed not to perceive the ghosts of his past, willing to destroy him at any time.
"You came with me," he said, at last, his gesture of madness transformed into relief and a hint of happiness.
John nodded.
"You and I alone against the world, remember? Together, in any universe."
The ghosts of John and Sherlock's past spun slowly and began to fade while Everett and Thor continued to fight their own.
As ghosts slowed down, Holmes's gaze slowly came into focus, sadness, and anguish fading away. He looked back at John.
"In any universe," he repeated. The spirits were now fading quickly. "I don't deserve you, John."
"Nor I deserve you. But that's why we're perfect for each other".
Sherlock smiled, eyes full of happy tears.
"Is it working?" panted Ross, piercing spirits with the sword, knocking and slamming others.
Thor nodded.
"This version of Sherlock jumped in here to help him get John. It's already done. They both are going back to his dimension."
Everett frowned while beating down spirits, who whispered Strange's name repeatedly, any time higher.
Everett gasped, not understanding why Thor didn't give him a hand. He stood motionless, watching him as he wrestled with more versions of himself with the same agonizing look that the detective had until now.
Thor nodded.
"And you?"
"I am here for you. And for Strange."
"Why?"
"Because you are a couple of idiots who are going to end up like those two. Sneaking around, sighing for each other and both a couple of cowards, unable to confess to each other".
Everett plunged the blade into several spirits, driving them away momentarily.
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"Come on, Everett," he turned to Sherlock, "do you want to end up like him? "
Ross lowered his head. The ghosts of his past surrounded him without attacking him, almost expectantly, whispering.
"Stephen doesn't even know I exist."
Thor raised his hands to the sky.
"It makes me want to kick your ass and send you to Asgard. He doesn't notice you? Showing up at the Avengers' facilities when he knows you are there? You look like two teenagers playing hooky in high school!"
"What if he says no?"
"Well, if he says no, you just assume it and move on. But you can't go through life like that without getting Schrodinger's cat out of the box. Maybe he'll say no. But what if he says yes? Or what do you prefer? Spend your life pining for what could have been?"
"It's easier."
"And it leads to nothing but filling this place with ghosts."
He shook his head in Sherlock and John's direction, who were walking away from a portal opened in one of the semi-ruined castles.
They reached the bottom of the castle and began to climb up the wall to it, holding their hands, with no ghosts bothering them. Once ahead, John stepped aside for Sherlock's alter ego to enter. As he did so, the portal closed behind him. The howling and wailing of the spirits through the vault increased as their ghosts slowly surrounded him.
Thor tugged at Peter's web. John turned to Everett and Thor, smiled, and took his hand to his forehead in farewell. Thor raised his axe in a farewell gesture.
"Don't be stupid, Everett," he shouted and motioned to disappear in the portal behind Holmes.
In the living room at Baker Street, Peter noticed Thor tugging at the web twice. He began to pull on it with all his strength, trying to bring back the God of Thunder and Everett, without managing to move them one inch inward.
Strange, producing wheels of time in his sleeves, began to spin backward. Steve chuckled and approached Peter. He tugged at the web very hard, and they jumped in as the portal closed, Thor holding John and Everett by the ankle.
"John!" cried Sherlock, struggling frantically to break free. Ironman let him go, and the detective ran to John. They hugged tightly. Sherlock, almost crying, kissed him, hugged him again, caressed his hair, moved away from a little, and kissed him again as fearing he could disappear. The doctor laughed, happy, kissing him back, unable to believe they were together, looking perplexed at Strange.
Mycroft and Lestrade watched in amazement as Donovan sizzled and slowly dissolved until she disappeared.
"But what...?"
"I'll explain later," smiled Stephen.
He looked sideways at Everett, who was staring at him. His cloak stood in front of him, crossing the ends, like an angry father.
"You're a cheater, Strange," grinned Ironman. "You reversed everything but them. That's not fair."
The Sorcerer Supreme shrugged, smirking.
"What about the price to be paid? The murders? The... dimensions?" asked John, hugging Sherlock tightly.
"Quantum entanglement."
Strange smiled smugly, and Tony rolled his eyes, while Natasha and Steve chuckled, shaking their heads.
"I'll explain it later," he looked at Spiderman, "great job, k... Peter".
Peter smiled widely.