Preposterous!

Stephen casually makes a motion with his fingers. It is such a simple movement, almost miming typing on a keyboard; most people would not even notice it. Out of the corner of his eye, however, Sherlock homes in on it, turning his attention away from Everett.
In the same instant, Everett spreads his legs and tightens both of his hands into fists. Before he can take another breath, everything goes completely still. The library falls silent, the only sound now is Strange’s breathing. As he levitates from his seat, crossing his legs into a loose lotus position, booted feet tucked beneath his calves, he takes in the two men who are frozen to their respective spots.

Sherlock’s head is still turned towards Stephen’s chair, but his eyes are following the sorcerer’s movement. Stephen is glad that they aren’t completely under, he prefers they hear what he has to say. Everett, on the other hand, is fighting the unspoken spell and his entire body is trembling with the effort he is making to break it. His mouth is still open, lips and teeth and tongue in place to force out the scathing remark he was about to make. Stephen can almost feel the sting of the words himself. He shakes his head slowly, side to side.

Everett Ross has seen many things since coming to New York and he knows that there are some fights he cannot win. He is so very not happy about being forced into this position, both by the Sorcerer Supreme and Sherlock Holmes just showing up for no good reason. He’s had a good thing going here but the secret is out. They’ll never let him stay now.

“Relax, Everett. Or John, I presume?” Stephen says calmly as he floats towards the doorway. He smiles when the other man’s eyes seem to open a bit wider, confirming Stephen’s suspicions. He hovers just out of John’s reach, just in case he didn’t make the spell quite strong enough. “You will not be injured, but you will exhaust yourself if you keep fighting.”

John’s eyes narrow angrily, though some of the fight seems to die when he accepts Stephen’s words. Stephen levitates a little closer to him then drops his feet to the floor; the soles of his boots make a soft whump sound. He tilts his face down towards John’s, forcing the shorter man to look at only him; his body is fully between John and Sherlock now, their attention is fully on him.

“I am going to send the two of you somewhere, I haven’t really decided yet,” Stephen watches the acceptance come into John’s eyes. He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. Turning away from John, he raises a hand into the air as if conducting an orchestra. “The two of you need to talk, it seems, and I believe I can be of service to you for a little while.” He strides towards Sherlock, locks eyes with him and nods once as he passes him to grab what seems to be a random book from the shelf.
Stephen flips through the book as he paces, making a full circuit of the room. Much to his amusement, John and Sherlock look at only him and not each other.

“I’ve got to send you somewhere where you won’t be interrupted, it’s only the two of you and neither of you can just walk away.” He mutters under his breath for a few seconds, enjoying the on-stage feel of the moment. “Oh, I know…” he seems about to do something but changes his mind. He crosses the room again; this time he drops back down into his chair and makes a production about flipping through pages.

“No, can’t send you there, I’m trying to keep you out of trouble. Not there, either, the sea gods would have my head on a pike, what about here?” He points down at the page and looks up. “Not too hot, not too cold, you’ll be alone, the two of you, and it will be like a vacation!” Stephen opens a portal in the middle of the room and points towards it. Upon standing, he levitates John and Sherlock from their places towards the portal. Sherlock’s eyes are filled with curiosity, John’s are burning with anger. Stephen taps the amulet hanging around his neck.

“Time control, remember?” he laughs then as he sends the men through the portal. “Bon voyage, boys! Come back and visit!”

Just like that, Stephen is alone. He closes the portal and his eyes, psychically reaching out to the Protectors. Everything is as calm as can be expected within the house. Idly, he wonders what he’s going to do for the rest of the evening. Admitting to himself that the holding spell has drained a little of his energy off, he decides to change back into street clothes. The rumble in his stomach reminds him that its been awhile since he fed himself, so that will be the next step.

Stephen is expertly stirring something in a huge wok on the stove when Wong comes in. The air changes in the room and Stephen turns away from his cooking to watch his friend take a seat at the island. Stephen grins, his face lit up with the expression of one who has had a good day.

“You aren’t quite finished yet.” Wong states.

Stephen chuckles. “Oh well, yeah, there’s still plans for the evening, I believe.” He turns away from the stove, the long wooden spoon in his right hand seemingly forgotten.

Wong grins back, rests both hands on the island top. “That isn’t what I mean. Your supper seems unwilling to hang around.” He nods towards the wok.

“Oh shit!” Stephen laughs. He smacks the pink tentacle now making its way across the stovetop with the wooden spoon. The thing is moving like some sort of grotesque inch worm. “These things never go quietly," he mutters.

“You just giggled.” Wong says, deadpan.

Stephen laughs again as he begins stirring the stuff inside the wok faster. He turns the flame up under the burner a little, suddenly feeling ravenous. “It’s been a good day, I think.”

“Well, now, where did you send them?” Wong asks, watching Stephen’s every movement, glad that he long ago adjusted to the odd smell of some of the things Stephen enjoys eating. Only the Ancient One was prone to such inter-dimensional delicacies. Wong understands well that some types of magic are harder on the body than others. All sorcerers will eventually rest up, but Stephen has always been notoriously impatient and discovered by sampling fare from many dimensions that his strength can be replenished that much more quickly.

A comfortable silence falls between them as Stephen finishes cooking. Wong studies him closely, observing the way the soft grey t-shirt he’s wearing accents his broad shoulders. Clothing always seems to rest on Stephen Strange, as if it is an illusion. He’s also wearing loose-fitting pants instead of jeans, and he is barefoot.

“Are we sparring after dinner?”

Stephen plates his meal, gestures towards the wok. “We could, if you like.”

Wong shakes his head and conjures up a bowl of soup. He takes a deep breath as the bowl settles to the place in front of him, steaming. He accepts the chopsticks Stephen offers. “Thank you.”

Stephen smiles. He is standing with his back to the stove, shoveling down his meal. For a few minutes the two men concentrate on eating. When he finishes, Stephen sets his plate on the counter top then washes his hands in the sink with a bar of soap that rests on the sideboard for this purpose. He takes his time with this, an acknowledgement of past life.

Wong catches himself staring at Stephen’s hands. “I will never be happy for a being to suffer so.” He pushes his chair back and stands beside his friend. Reaching out, he takes the yellow bar of soap from Stephen and gently begins washing his hands for him. Expertly he cleans one finger at a time. Stephen stands still, saying nothing, obviously enjoying the touch. He turns his hands over so Wong can wash his palms, too.

The task completed, Wong turns off the water and hands Stephen a soft white towel from the drawer.

Stephen dries his hands, his full attention now on Wong. He angles his head a little and Wong moves in closer, tilting his face upward. Both men watch each other for a heartbeat and when their lips touch, the whole house seems to sigh around them.