God, I love the Avengers
"I think you owe us an explanation, Mr. Strange," grunted Mycroft.
"Doctor Strange" interrupted him in chorus with Sherlock, John, Peter, and Tony.
"My brother is under arrest warrants from New Scotland Yard, the FBI, and Interpol. As you will understand, what you want to be called is not at all relevant to me at this time".
"Sit down and shut up, Mycroft," Sherlock ordered.
"That's right, sit down and shut up, you petulant fool," snarled Tony.
"Look who's talking," Steve whispered in Bruce's ear, and they both laughed, amused. They stopped when Tony looked at them, raising his eyebrow.
John looked around. If the Baker Street living room always was quite unusual, now with he, Sherlock, Everett, Stephen, Mycroft, Lestrade, Tony, Thor, Steve, Peter, and Natasha, who had been joined by Wong, Clint, and Bruce from New York, was bordering on unreality. He would have loved to take a picture and post it on the blog, but he didn't want to imagine the media hype that would ensue if he did.
He was sitting on the arm of Sherlock's armchair, where the detective sat, both holding their hands, still fearing that something might separate them again. Although Stephen looked totally relaxed and confident, neither of them were calm after playing with time.
Mycroft usurped his armchair. At first, he thought that the presence of the Avengers intimidated him into doing so with Sherlock's, as he used to do to annoy him when he visited him in Baker Street. Still, he realized that he sat on it after Lestrade leaned on the chair's arm, and both were physically very close and unusually relaxed. And not just relaxed. Mycroft was... happy if that expression could be applied to the British Government. He had even, at some point, smiled at Lestrade.
Twenty-four hours ago, he would have said it was impossible, but after what happened, nothing seemed strange to him anymore. Not even that Mycroft's heart, the Iceman, as Moriarty called him, melted every time his gaze crossed Lestrade's. A Lestrade who, for his part, had no qualms about occasionally brushing against Mycroft's hand, as if by chance, making Sherlock's brother blush to the core. Who would have thought that the British Government could blush?
"But what about us?" asked John and squeezed Sherlock's hand to reassure him.
"Well, you said it yourself to the other Sherlock, Doctor Watson: in any universe".
The others looked at him without understanding, except Wong, Tony, and Bruce, who smiled and nodded slightly.
"An ancient Chinese legend says "began Stephen "that there is an old matchmaker God, Yuè Xià Lǎorén, who goes out every night to look for the souls that are destined to be together on Earth. Once he finds them, he links them with a red thread tied to the little finger of each one".
He looked sideways at Everett when he felt his gaze on him, lowered his head, and cleared his throat a couple of times, trying to pick up the thread.
"The two people connected by the red thread are destined lovers, regardless of place, time, or circumstances. The red string might get tangled or stretched, but it can never break".
The others stared at him with open mouths for a few seconds. Mycroft frowned, boiling with anger.
"Soul mates?" he asked disdainfully. "Are you talking about soul mates?
"Shut up, Mycroft!" they all shouted in chorus.
Sherlock's brother pursed his lips and opened his mouth to assert his authority, but closed it when Lestrade put his hand on his thigh.
"Let's wait and see what that has to do with John and Sherlock, shall we?" he asked softly, a smile dancing in his eyes. "Soul mates," he whispered, tapping him gently on his shoulder and intently looking at him.
Mycroft's angry gesture vanished, and his face softened, looking at him. John and Sherlock exchanged a mocking glance, while it was evident that the elder Holmes was struggling to pull himself together and avoid getting lost in Lestrade's bright, loving gaze.
Mycroft cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry, Doctor Strange, please continue."
"Yes, please continue," asked Peter. "What does that have to do with quantum entanglement?"
"Albert Einstein discovered that particles in the universe have an amazing capacity, so much so that he defined it as "spooky action at a distance." This effect causes two quantum entangled particles to be linked, connected, even though they are thousands of light-years apart so that what affects one influences the other. This would be the scientific explanation of the legend I told you before, that of the twin souls, as our Grumpy Holmes has pointed out. The red thread of destiny would be a way of referring to quantum entanglement and, as Doctor Watson will well know..."
"The ulnar artery directly connects the pinky finger to the heart," John concluded, astonishment in his voice.
Stephen nodded.
"So the red thread of destiny connects the pinky fingers of both lovers" he unconsciously ran his finger over his and seemed to lose himself in a dream for a few seconds until he came back to reality.
If he had been looking at Everett, he would have realized that he had been doing the same thing, also unconsciously wishing fervently that his red thread was attached to Stephen's finger. But both, fearing to see the rejection in the other's eyes, avoided looking at each other
"This legend came to my mind when Doctor Watson told the other Sherlock that they would be together in any universe," he turned to Sherlock and John. "I visualized millions of alternate universes. In some, you know each other when you are children, or in high school, older in others. In some, you are a couple from the beginning; in others, you go through many more vicissitudes, years apart, fights, disagreements...; in some, you are not even a doctor and a consulting detective".
Sherlock snorted at the possibility of not being a consulting detective.
"Believe me, Sherlock is like that. But in all of them, no matter how long it took or how many obstacles you had to overcome, you end up together. Therefore, not making you go back in time, as I did with all that the other Sherlock caused, did not alter the universe. You are meant to be together. It doesn't matter how, when, or where. No price to pay, no debt to the universe..., the balance remains. You are... quantum entangled, so to speak".
Sherlock and John looked at each other. The detective, overwhelmed and somewhat embarrassed, blinking as he tried to keep his eyes from filling with tears, the doctor overwhelmed with emotion, both about to explode with love for each other.
"I wished to have been in one of those universes where I knew you since you were a child," the doctor mused, "so that I could have been by your side since then."
"Damn, John," murmured Sherlock.
The two melted into a passionate kiss, John wrapping his hand around Sherlock's hair, the detective, embracing the doctor, forgetting everything and everyone, time, space, the past, and the future. Only they existed, the here and now. Almost breathlessly, they undid the kiss, their foreheads together, both lost in each other's eyes until they became aware of their surroundings. They parted, their cheeks reddened.
"I'm sorry," John muttered as Sherlock tossed his hair around, looking like he wanted to be swallowed up by the earth. He was not used to such public displays of affection.
He came out of his stupor when John gently nudged him. Following his gaze, he saw Mycroft and Greg gently brushing their little fingers on theirs left hands as tryinf to find the thread that bound them together. It was Mycroft's turn to hawk and separate Lestrade's finger as if it was burning when he noticed the others looking at them.
"This is all very enriching," he muttered, forcing himself to look away from the DI.
Somehow, looking at him clouded his thinking like it had never happened before.
"But, as I said before, my brother is under several arrest warrants. And I don't think a Chinese old wives' tale or Einstein's discoveries will help him with that", he ended on a sour note.
Stephen didn't take it badly. He knew what drove him to behave that way was a sincere concern for Sherlock.
"Detective Inspector, could you call Sergeant Donovan and ask her for a copy of the arrest warrants?"
"To Donovan?" Greg frowned, recalling the lying body of the officer, "But she is..."
"Please. Put the phone on speakerphone".
Lestrade sighed. He put the phone on the table, pressed the call button, and activated the speakerphone, confident that it would go to voice mail. He couldn't help but jump when he heard the sergeant's voice on the other end.
"Greg, where the hell have you been?"
"S... Sally, are you okay?"
There was a little silence.
"Perfectly. Why wouldn't I be?"
"No, nothing, Only asking."
"I would ask you if you have been drinking, but since you are with the eldest Holmes, the question is: has he drugged you, and is he holding you against your will? If so, tell me to look for something in your office".
The sergeant's perplexity at the general's laughter was palpable over the phone.
"No, I'm fine," Greg smiled.
"First, John and now you," grunted Sally, "it's spooky."
A new laugh, remembering Stephen's words about Einstein's spooky action.
"Sally, is there anything new in the case of the murdered longshoremen?"
They heard the sergeant stirring up papers.
"We don't have a case about murdered dockworkers. Why would anyone want to kill them?"
"Or anything about Sherlock?"
"You mean besides being a freak and a total asshole? No, I don't think so. Greg, are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine. Thanks Sally."
"If you need help and can't talk..".
Lestrade cut her off amidst the other's laughter. He looked at Stephen in amazement.
"There is no case. No victims, no arrest warrant...".
"Everything disappeared when Sherlock went back in time, like everything related to him."
"And how is this possible? I mean, time cannot be compartmentalized", Everett frowned. He looked at Strange shyly and lowered his gaze.
"Time is a dimension like any other. Each dimension has its own time. You can freeze in one and go back in the rest. That is why you can die in one dimension, the one the other Sherlock brought with him, and still be alive in this one, as it has happened to Donovan and the other victims. So, my dear Mycroft, you have nothing to worry about. Your dear brother can continue to get into trouble as he has done up to now.
"Hey," protested Sherlock, and the others laughed.
"Can I take a souvenir photo?" asked Peter, taking his cell phone out of his pocket.
The others nodded and rearranged themselves for the photo: Sherlock and John in one armchair, Mycroft and Lestrade in another, and the others between the two armchairs. Peter set the timer and ran to stand next to John.
"Say cheese!"
"Cheese!" said all, except Sherlock and Mycroft, that remained serious.
"Really, you're impossible." sighed both Lestrade and John.
"It doesn't matter, it's great!" smiled Peter, putting his cell phone in his pocket.
"Time to go home. This visit to London has been great, but duty calls" said Thor, standing up.
The others looked at him in surprise. The thunder god raised his eyebrows and made an imperceptible gesture with his head.
"Oh yes, it's true," Tony stood up too "FRIDAY is recruiting us, for..., the duty that calls us".
He opened the flat door, and Natasha, Thor, Peter, Steve, Clint, Brue, and Wong came out. Behind them, John, pulling Sherlock who was protesting because he had to do an experiment, and Lestrade, pushing an annoyed Mycroft. Tony sighed, rolling his eyes, and before Everett reached the door, he came out, slamming the door behind him.
They crowded around to listen behind it, while Mycroft and Sherlock remained on the foyer, completely unsettled
"But what on earth are you doing?" asked Mycroft.
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, shut up, Mycroft!" they all whispered imperiously.
The Holmes brothers looked at each other, shrugging, intrigued, while the rest, bent over at different heights, had their ears glued to the door.
Inside the flat, Everett stared at the door, not fully understanding whatjust happened. He tried to open it but did not give in, because Steven was pulling it from the other side, so hard that its hinges cracked.
"I'll kill you all," Everett mumbled.
Nervous, angry, and not knowing what to do, he turned to look at Stephen, who was trying to smooth out an imaginary wrinkle in his cloak, until the Levitation cloak slapped him with one of its ends and went near the coat rack where Sherlock's coat was hanging.
"It seems that we have been left alone," he mused and closed his eyes. Could someone be more stupid?"
"Yes, yes, it seems so," Everett muttered, mentally whipping himself into a frenzy over his observation's absurdity.
An uncomfortable silence followed as the two of them looked around the room.
"That... hum... that..." Everett stammered.
God, he was making a complete fool of himself. He cleared his throat, trying to form a coherent speech in his head before opening his mouth. Although he didn't know if he could speak. His hands were sweating, his throat was dry, and he was breathing heavily, so much so that he felt slightly dizzy. God. Could someone be less seductive?
Stephen, for his part, looked at him, waiting for him to continue. He would have wanted to talk, but his voice wouldn't come out. He looked sideways at the door, thinking about creating a portal and run away from there. God, he was terrified.
Everett closed his eyes, summoning up the courage to say what he had been silent about for so long. If he didn't do it now, he would never do it. He worried his lower lip, thoughtful and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and mental run, just like an athlete would do before the long jump. The difference, his was a leap into the void, a fall into an abyss from which only Stephen could save him.
"That..., legend is... hum nice. The... twin flames..., I mean...".
"Yes..." Stephen muttered, swallowing hard.
An infinite sadness came over him as he realized Everett was trying to explain to him he already had a soul mate. If he had wanted to, he would have seen the future, known in advance what the former CIA agent tried to tell him. But he chose not to. Listening to him with an already broken heart would be much harder.
Everett cleared his throat, cursing to himself. Stephen surely already visualized the future and knew what he was going to say. Damn it. If he didn't help him, it was because he was in a relationship with Stark. Stark was his soul mate. And now he was coming to make amends to fate? That was not a good idea. He had nothing to offer. It was a silly thing to do.
Stephen decided he didn't want to hear it; he couldn't. If Everett talked, it would take away the only thing he had left: his daydreams. Knowing the truth would take that away.
And he didn't know if he could take it.
He turned to the door, racking his brains, trying to remember a spell that would heal a broken heart.
But before he could get to it, his cloak came between him and the door and pointed imperatively to Everett, who, realizing Stephen was leaving, had turned to the fireplace.
Stephen inhaled. The levitation cloak was right. It was now or never.
"You..., you think you have a... well..., a soul... twin?"
It wasn't just the question that made him turn, but the trembling tone with which Stephen formulated it. He turned to look at him. The mighty Sorcerer seemed to have shrunk, staring at the floor, not daring to look at him, scratching his head nervously.
Everett took a breath.
It was now or never.
"I want to believe that he did. But..., I get the impression that..., the universe has been wrong about me".
Stephen looked at him, blankly.
"It seems that... my thread is attached to someone who..." he took a deep breath. God, why was that so difficult? Why was he so scared? He had been in the war, he fought for Wakanda, he defied dangers that any other human being would have turned his hair white without blinking... and there he was, scared as a puppy on a stormy night, at the thought of confessing to Stephen.
"I know I have no right to tell you this that it is not fair because you are with Tony, but... I... No, I was going to say that I like you, but it's much more than that. I love you, Stephen Strange. I fell in love with you the first time I saw you at Avengers Facilities, talking with your smug, know-it-all asshole air. Since that day..., since that day I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. And God knows I've tried, because... well, you're totally out of my league. You just have to look at yourself and look at me. I'm not a God, I don't have superpowers or a supercool nanosuit, I'm not even tall. But, as much as I tried to forget you, as soon as I got careless, I began to daydream. When I fell asleep, I dream about you: I see us walking, laughing, making love..." he blushed and lowered his head.
"With Tony?" gaped Stephen. "I'm not with Tony."
"I know I don't have much to offer, but… what?"
"Are you in love with me?"
Everett bowed his head and narrowed his eyes. He knew Stephen and that he would make fun of him, of his feelings. He would crush him. He and Tony would laugh at him later on. But Everett was a soldier, and he knew that once an attack was launched, the only way to win the battle was to go all the way, no matter what.
He nodded.
Stephen approached him slowly, his blue-green eyes scanning Everett's blue ones, looking for any hint that this was a form of bad taste orchestrated by Tony.
"You may not have powers, or a super cool nanosuit, or be tall, or a god," Everett lowered his head, "but you're smart, strong, brave, loyal, and you fight for your ideals. You wouldn't hesitate to give your life to them, fight against injustice, or, as you did before, to help those in need, like John and Sherlock. And it is much more valuable precisely because you have no powers, no nanosuit, and you are not a god. That's what makes you great and incredible, and what makes you so far above us, above me".
The former CIA agent raised his head in surprise. He opened his mouth, but Stephen stopped him with a gesture. To Everett's surprise, he started to sing, his voice deep, velvety, a little shaky, enveloping him with the same warmth of a hug.
"A candy-colored clown they call the sandman
Tiptoes to my room every night
Just to sprinkle stardust and to whisper
"Go to sleep. Everything is all right."
Everett blinked, wondering if all that wasn't indeed a dream. He recognized the first verse of Roy Orbison's song In Dreams , but his brain could not believe that Stephen was there, standing there, singing to him, slowly approaching him to the rhythm of the music, with the caution of one who approaches what he has always dreamed of, but fears will vanish into thin air as he touches it like a soap bubble. Everett took a step towards him because if he sang to him, it meant that...
I close my eyes, then I drift away
Into the magic night, I softly say
A silent prayer like dreamers do
Then I fall asleep to dream my dreams of you
Stephen took another step towards Everett, who imitated him, and the two were face to face. The ex-CIA agent hesitated for a few moments, but when he noticed Stephen took a breath to continue singing, he joined him, both mentally thanking Roy Orbison for putting into words what they had had so much trouble saying:
In dreams, I walk with you
In dreams, I talk to you
Both looked at each other gaped when the music of violins, drums, acoustic guitar, and piano began to play from Natasha's mobile, enveloped them, drawing them to each other, moving slowly, almost without realizing it, afraid to break that moment, but eager to reach out to each other.
Stephen took up the song again, followed by Everett, and they embraced, dancing softly to the rhythm of the music, plungingi nto each other's eyes, their voices in perfect harmony.
In dreams, you're mine
all of the time
We're together in
dreams, in dreams
But just before the dawn
I awake and find you gone
I can't help it, I can help it
if I cry
Both stopped singing, their bodies rocking to the rhythm of the music.
"Please don't disappear before the dawn again," Stephen mused, resting his forehead on Everett's, a mute, desperate, and vulnerable plead in his eyes that he closed after speak.
Ross melted at his look. He was going to answer that he had nothing to worry about, that the next one would be by his side and all the dawns he had left to live, that he didn't want to spend a second without him. But he understood that none of the words he could say would express the magnitude of what he felt for him.
So he turned his head slightly and pressed his lips to Stephen.
The Supreme Sorcerer opened his eyes, surprised by the kiss, by the softness of Everett's lips rubbing against his own. He made a gesture of turning away from the unexpected rush of nervousness and shock that passed through him. Everett ran his hand down the back of his neck, grabbing his hair, and Stephen melted in the kiss, letting himself be enveloped by the shriek of pleasure that ran through him then, closing his eyes, kissing him back, cursing himself for not having done it before, for so many wasted kisses, so much time lost in fear and insecurity.
"Don't worry," Everett whispered without breaking the kiss. The same idea crossed his mind "We have all our lives to make up for the lost time."
He smiled as he noticed Stephen smiled into their kiss, and both deepened the kiss. Everett sucked Stephen's lower lip slightly, and he parted his lips, letting Everett's tongue explore his mouth. The Supreme Sorcerer hummed deep in his throat, and a chill run down Everett's spine. They broke the kiss, both a bit overwhelmed of finally being kissing each other but kept their noses rubbing each other, not wanting to be apart again. Their minds were dizzy with joy, relief, love. Both flushed, panting, aroused, and…
"Okay, Okay, Stand back from each other, each to his corner," ordered Tony, entered the flat, knowing that the room's temperature would rise too much if it took a little longer.
"Stark, you couldn't be more untimely," grunted Everett, throwing him a murderous look that didn't scare the billionaire in the least, who chuckled, mockingly, though happy that those two fools would finally be able to confess their feelings.
"In dreams, Strange?" he teased.
"In dreams, Roy Orbison, RCA Studio B in Nashville, January 4, 1963".
He glanced sidelong at Everett, his lips red from the kiss, his pupils slightly dilated, just as he should have been. When their glances met, both of them burst into a silly chuckle.
"We have to get to the Sanctum urgently," Stephen muttered.
"Why?" Wong asked. "Nothing is happening in New York.
Everett smiled mischievously at the blush that filled Stephen's cheeks as he said, "You go to New York. We will go to London Sanctum".
"Don't worry," Everett intervened when the bookseller opened his mouth to protest, "The guardian of the Sanctum of London will keep you company at once."
Wong shook his head amidst the others' chuckles.
"I know you're not in for long goodbyes," John smiled, winking at Everett, "but we wanted to thank you. I still don't quite understand what happened, but thank you for your help, from both of us," he turned to Sherlock, who stood behind him with his hands behind his back.
Sherlock looked at Strange, grateful. He didn't say goodbye because he didn't know how to express his gratitude to Strange for everything he had done, for how his life had changed, for the gift he had given him of being with John.
"I know," mouthed Stephen, and the detective smiled slightly.
"Come on, all passengers bound for New York, follow me," announced Wong, opening a portal leading to the Avengers Facilities.
Peter approached John and hugged him. John hugged him back hard.
"Thank you for everything," murmured John. "You've been really brave. Come and see us whenever you want".
Peter smiled proudly and looked at Tony, who nodded, bursting with pride as well.
"Thanks to you. You've been amazing. But next time I'll skip tea".
John laughed loudly, and they continued to hug for a few minutes.
"Well, Batman, I must say it was a pleasure at the end," smiled Tony, reaching out to Sherlock.
The detective looked at him for a few seconds and finally shook his hand, smirking.
"A pleasure, I don't know. Funny, yes", he said gratefully.
Tony laughed out loud and walked away, leaving Natasha, Clint, Bruce, and Steve to say goodbye to him.
Everett turned to Thor.
"I would never have said you were a matchmaker."
"Say that again, and I'll make you eat Stormbreak, Ross," he threatened, brandishing it. Then he smiled broadly and hugged him, clapping hard his back.
"Hey, what about Lestrade and Mycroft?" asked John when they had said goodbye.
"They went to my brother's house, to explore his... pinkies," answered Sherlock, mockingly, and the others laughed.
"You made such a mess with the red thread, Strange," scowled an amused Wong.
Soon the flat was empty. Sherlock and John looked at each other.
"Do you know what I'm thinking about now?" asked John, approaching and kissing Sherlock.
"On a wide range of naughty and pleasurable possibilities."
"Smart bow. Starting with a relaxing bath", he said, walking to the bath.
"I follow you without hesitation."
"And on enjoying days on our own, no cases, no time travel, no fuss, just you and me."
"Doctor Watson, you are a genius."
They both chukled as they entered the bathroom.
*********
The next morning, John awoke with a start when a troubled Mrs. Hudson entered their bedroom.
"Mrs. Hudson!" he yelled, quickly covering himself and a sleeping Sherlock with the sheet, "What's wrong?".
"What have you done?" asked the distressed landlady.
"We?" he turned to Sherlock, who woke up and was looking at Mrs. Hudson.
Mrs. Hudson pointed to the window. John got up, opened it and almost had a heart attack when he saw thousands of journalists gathered at their door. When they saw him, they raised their microphones and began to bombard him with questions.
"What the hell?
"Joooooohn!" Sherlock's shocked scream made him turn around, while the detective's phone ringed without pause.
On the doctor's laptop, the detective uploaded John's blog. On it, presiding over the post he wrote with Peter, their photo with the Avengers. He remembered then that he gave Peter the passwords to respond to the comments, and he seemed to think that there was no better cherry on top of their article than the photo.
"That kid is a genius," chuckled Sherlock.
John puzzled. He thought Sherlock would go crazy. He hated having journalists hovering outside their door, chasing them every time they came in or out.
"Why?
He pointed to Mycroft, who, in the photo, was holding Lestrade's hand. He understood Sherlock's amusement. Their relationship had been made public much earlier than he would have liked, to Lestrade's happiness and Mycroft would not appear on Baker Street until the journalists forgot about it, to Sherlock's delight.
"God," he mused before bursting into laughter, accompanied by the detective.
He went back to bed and sat astride Sherlock.
"I have the impression that we won't be able to leave the flat for long" he bent down and kissed him on the lips "very much" new kiss on the chin "long," he mused, kissing him on the neck.
Sherlock moaned softly.
"God, I love the Avengers."