[One minute later after Moriarty's phone call]

"Let go."

"You let go."

"You let go first."

"I need to call my brother."

"I need to call Fury and Coulson."

"Use your phone."

"It's broken, now hand it over!"

"Make me, you Hydra Bicycle!"

[Three minutes later]

"…and that's the situation. We'll meet you and Mycroft Holmes at the safe-house."

"James…" Coulson asked slowly with the tone of voice that wanted an explanation, "Is there a reason you're calling from Sherlock's cell-phone?"

Bucky couldn't help but smirk as he continued to sit on the squirming form's back, "Oh, well, Sherlock was gracious and kind enough to let me use his phone first, like the swell guy he is."

"You shall pay dearly for this indignity…" rasped Sherlock, head painfully pinned against the wood floor via Bucky's metal arm as Bucky ground his buttocks on his spine.

On the other end, Coulson sighed and wondered if there was any vodka left in his desk.

[One hour and seven minutes later]

"Filching a jet isn't the best impression to make on my brother," pointed out Sherlock from behind Bucky's seat.

Bucky, to his credit, didn't even yelp or flinch in surprise at being caught unaware that the British pain-in-the-ass stowed away in the hijacked Eurofighter with him. Although Bucky had to remind himself that he couldn't brawl with Sherlock at risk of cracking the glass of the canopy and rendering the jet incapable of ascending to high altitudes.

Bucky just hunched his shoulder and growled defensively, "Look, I'm not in the mood to wait. Hydra could have shuttled Steven and Watson out of the country now if we just dicked around for updates."

"And you know exactly which Hydra base in England to approach?" Sherlock drawled snidely as the military aircraft left the runway, with several soldiers jumping up and down from the sidelines, hopping mad at the theft. Mycroft just glared disapprovingly while Anthea just typed away idly on her phone next to him.

It was Bucky's turn to leer as he pointed out, "I saw you steal the data from Mycroft's laptop."

There were several seconds of silence before Sherlock grumpily took out from the folds of his Belstaff coat Mycroft's secure tablet and began sorting through the information with several flicks of his fingers.

"I've narrowed down out of the potential Hydra safe-houses to two possible candidates," Sherlock muttered before he spitefully pointed out, "But my misdemeanor pales in comparison to your grand theft, Sergeant. It appears that the good Captain Rogers will have to settle for conjugal visits every month at whatever maximum security facility my brother decides to let you rot in."

"Actually, if I'm caught, I'll just say it was all your idea. Everyone in the country would literally jump at the chance for an excuse to throw you in jail," Bucky retorted nastily.

[Two hours and one minute later]

"I have an idea…" Sherlock whispered as he and Bucky peeked around the corner from their vantage point of the roof.

"It better be good," Bucky warned dubiously, keeping his voice low.

"It is. Wait…look over the rail. Are there any cameras or infrared sensors near the window-ledge below us?"

Bucky complied, only to frown.

"There is no window-leEEEEEDDDDGGGGGGGEEEEEE!"

The final syllable was rather screamed at the top of Bucky's lungs as he toppled over the railing and landed ungracefully on his back after plummeting below two stories, the mud cushioning his fall (thanks to Sherlock shoving him off the roof).

Bucky's scream got the attention of every Hydra guard on the compound as Sherlock slinked away in the shadows. The lookouts did not even await for a verbal command as they dutifully opened fire on the Winter Solider.

A perfect distraction, exactly as Sherlock anticipated.

Bucky was beyond furious as he used his metal arm to block the bullets aimed at his head.

Murdering all the guardsmen he could find wasn't bad at all, really.

All Bucky had to do was imagine Sherlock's face and head on each Hydra foot-soldier right before he slaughtered them; it was actually very therapeutic from that point on…

[Two hours and twenty minutes later]

KASHHAAACCCK! KAWHOOM!

Bucky had to admit that even disbanded and exposed after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, Hydra certainly had some impressive weaponry. He had never before seen a tank shoot electro-magnetic discharges or create that sort of molecular combustive effect.

"You backwater simpleton!" Sherlock snapped as he climbed down the hatch, sealing the opening behind him, "You nearly hit me with your turret blasts!"

"Really? Golly gee, how could I have been so careless? Oh wow, I feel really, really bad for coming close to accidentally disintegrating you with the tank. How can I ever live with myself knowing that I came close to killing the most famous Consulting Detective in all of England?"

"Congratulations, you gutless blockhead. You have grasped the rudimentary concept of sarcasm. Let's see if you can also learn the concept of subtlety within the next five years! Now move over! I shall drive!"

"Like Hell! I'm driving the tank!"

"I am not entrusting John's safety in the hands of an inept amnesiac!"

"Well I'm not trusting Steve's safety in the hands of a sociopathic buttwipe!"

"Move!"

"I was here first! Deal with it!"

"Let go!"

"You let go!"

"You let go first!"

"GET YOUR FAT ASS OFF ME!"

Outside on the Hydra compound, two low-ranking Hydra guard were watching this with various degrees of confusion and disbelief.

"Uh…should we do something about this?" asked one Hydra sentry as the tank erratically sped by them in a wobbly line, crashing into a nearby facility.

"Are you kidding?" scoffed the second one, "We haven't had this much entertainment since our HBO subscription was canceled."

[Two hours, fifty-seven minutes, and thirty-three point four seconds later]

"Don't'killmedon'tkillmedon'tkillmedon'tkillmedon'tkillme…" blabbered the Hydra agent tearfully, apprehensively, and in a slight panic attack until Bucky's metal hands ever so slightly squeezed against his windpipe, causing the lackey to stop yammering.

"Tell me where Captain America and John Watson are being kept, and I won't cripple you…" Bucky hissed murderously.

"You couldn't do this earlier, Winter Soldier?" sneered Sherlock from behind.

"…somewhere, somehow, Wilson's probably laughing his ass off on this one."

"You mean Deadpool?" rasped the Hydra agent weakly (with Bucky still having a death-grip around his larynx, "He's actually really nice when you get to know him. Worked with him - "

"Oh do shut up…" Sherlock retorted before glancing at the henchman's nametag, "Bob. Dear Lord, a Hydra agent named Bob? Now I've heard everything. Anyway, if you be so kind as to relinquish your key card and accompany us for the doors for the hand and retina scanners, there will be no need for dismemberment. Unlike this cur, I am associated with MI-6, and I can promise you safety and witness protection by the British government."

"Oh who are you kidding, you pinhead?! You're not associated with MI-6 at all! Quit making promises you can't keep once your brother finds out about this!"

"As opposed to you, a reserve Avenger who has close associations with the now defunct S.H.I.E.L.D? At least my negotiations don't involve death or disfigurement. Actually, let me amend that: you could offer hysterical blindness as an option the instant you show you ugly mug in full to anyone with functional eyesight."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"No, you shut up!"

"YOU shut up!"

"YOU SHUT UP!"

"…um…doesn't yelling at each at the top of your lungs kinda defeat the purpose of sneaking into a Hydra base in the first place?" Hydra Bob asked tentatively.

"SHUT UP, BOB!" snapped Sherlock and Bucky in unison.

[And counting…]

"Steve…" whispered Bucky, grabbing his friend's face gently before ripping the cloth gag out of Steven's mouth. Steve gasped greedily for air as Sherlock gracefully unlocked the power dampener collar and off Steven's neck with the keys he stole before dragging away the vest of explosives. With a snap of his metal fingers, Bucky tore through the restraints binding Steve's hands behind his back.

Bucky's heart just clenched as he bit his lip worryingly, placing one hand on Steve's back and rubbing the Captain's skin soothingly like before in the past when Steve had asthma attacks while Steve inhaled and exhaled shakily, deep dying breaths as if drowning.

Given that his bleeding and fleshy nose was beaten to a pulp, it was a given that Steve was partially asphyxiated during his captivity considering it was difficult to breathe with plugged nostrils and with a rag stuffed in your mouth.

"Hey, what took you so long, Buck?" Steven joked shakily in between wheezes (showing a mouth full of blood and cracked teeth).

Bucky wasn't sure if he was going to break down and sob or punch Steve right then and there…

"You stupid punk…" Bucky growled as he helped Steve stand up, using his body for Captain America to utilize as a lean-to. Upon a closer look, Bucky noted to his budding anger that Steve had far more injuries than the photos indicated.

Depression in the bloody skin of his face underneath his left eye meant that Steve's cheekbone was splintered. Patches of bloody scalp where his hair was missing because Crossbones gleefully ripped off Steve's golden tresses by the handfuls. Smears of blood and rips in his clothing showing Steve's skin peppered with red and purple bruises, blossoming into ugly spots, along with scorch marks from electro-torture and cigarette burns, and right in Steve's scapula region in his back was an ugly, gaping hole where one Hydra agent used a power drill. Two of his fingers were broken, rasps in his breathing meant that Steve had a couple of shattered ribs, and Steve couldn't lean on his right leg because his ankle was badly fractured.

It was a miracle Steve was still alive.

Sherlock was also noticing this for an instant before he turned away.

No, Sherlock was not feeling sorry for Captain America.

He would deny that claim while swearing his hand on the Bible in front of the Queen's Magistrate while on his death bed, stark naked.

Sherlock hurried over to John, slicing through John's ropes with a stolen knife before swiftly tearing the Semtex vest off John's body.

It was then that Steve's suppression collar and the timers on the Semtex explosives began to blink erratically…

Sherlock and Bucky's eyes widened; Hydra had impeccable timing and clearly anticipated Steve and John's rescue….

Grabbing both the bombs used on the two hostages, Sherlock yelled on his earpiece communicator, "Yo-Yo, quickly! We have only a few seconds!"

"Plenty of time then," chimed back Elena Rodriguez, and within a single heartbeat, the vests disappeared from Sherlock's hands as the speedster relinquished them from their position before returning to her original place where the Avengers and Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D were currently eradicating the rest of the legionnaires lingering around the headquarters.

The sudden detonations and the faint tremors in the ground indicated that Yo-Yo found a useful place to put the Semtex.

With that settled, Sherlock knelt down in front of John and, with a surprising amount of tenderness, wrapped his fingers around John's wrists.

"John…" Sherlock whispered, teeth on edge as he deduced his friend.

He was not going to break down. Nope. Absolutely not.

Rope burns around the wrists, glazed and sluggish eye movement indicating a slight concussion from Crossbones punching John in the head, heavy breathing signifying irregular heart palpitations from whatever they used to drug him and Steven…

"I'm all right, Sherlock," John tried to assuage, and at Sherlock's disbelieving glare, John added, "Steve got it loads worse. I think there was a line of Hydra agents who wanted to take a round or two on Captain America while he was tied up. Mostly everyone else ignored me."

"Don't sell yourself short, John…" murmured Steve with a wry grin, "You should have seen him when he broke Crossbones' nose."

"Really?" Bucky asked, one eyebrow raised in deadpanned yet amused disbelief.

"Even tied up, John gives a terrific head-butt," shrugged Steve, leaning heavily on Bucky.

"Yes, but Crossbones took it out on you," pointed out John as Sherlock helped up his blogger, one hand wrapped around John's bruised and aching waist.

Steve tried to shrug dismissively despite his injuries with a smile.

"I had them on the ropes."

"By being Hydra's literal punching bag. Still, far more preferable to be you than John, I suppose."

There was an uncomfortable silence before Sherlock realized he may have committed a verbal faux pas considering that John was frowning disapprovingly at him (or as much as he could with one eye swollen shut), Bucky looked like he was ready to rip Sherlock's head off, and Steve, though not showing any offense, had a touch of disappointed sadness in his puppy-dog, cerulean orbs.

Damn it.

Sherlock was not sorry. Nope. Not in the least bit.

He was not going to feel guilty. Absolutely not. Why should be feel ashamed?

"…not good?" Sherlock finally asked.

"No, not good," John intoned, his voice indicating that there would be no argument on that. Sherlock hunched his shoulders and fidgeted for a minute in tense silence before he turned his head to Steven.

"Mycroft has infinite resources, the best of the best. His team of contractors could renovate 221C within mere days if need be while you and John can recuperate in our flat for as long as you need to," Sherlock offered.

"OK, did someone replace the dickface's brain and I wasn't around to see it?" gasped Bucky melodramatically, looking around wildly as if he was on "America's Funniest Home Videos".

Steve then smiled, his eyes lighting up as he said with jest, "Apology accepted…Sher-Cock."

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Steven Rogers had a hidden mean streak.

"I am now committing that nickname to memory: Sher-Cock Holmes," crowed Bucky.

"Sod to the memory. I'm posting that one on the blog," teased John.

"…and I'm now reconsidering my previous offer," growled Sherlock in irritation.

Unfortunately, he also showed his teeth. With a few of them missing, black gaps amid a sea of red and white.

Looking less like the posh bastard and more like an awkward, country-bumpkin.

John couldn't help it.

He giggled.

So did Steve, laughing softly, and despite their harrowing kidnapping and torture, it was a pleasant sound, easing all their souls and their fatigue, reminding Bucky and Sherlock that they both would have eagerly walked barefoot through hellfire for days if it meant that Steven and John could live to see another.

Sherlock just pretended to pout, grumpily commenting, "Blame the Hydra Bicycle for the indignity to my mouth. I'd sue the bastard if I knew if he even had a pound to his name."

"Please. Punching you in the mouth was a public service, you cheekbone cunt," drawled Bucky nastily from the background, and not surprisingly, this led to another sniping match.

"Shut up, you walking venereal disease."

"Up yours, you cocaine-snorting deadbeat."

"Piss off, you back-alley cockroach."

"Go play in traffic, you blood-sucking urinal."

"Enough."

Even injured and beaten within an inch of his life, Steven Roger's voice was strong, authoritative, and unyielding. Bucky and Sherlock quietened down.

"And Bucky?" John asked from the sidelines.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Bucky had one corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a rueful grin before he could force himself to admit it.

"Sherlock helped save you too, Watson."

John shook his head as he clarified his point.

"I meant thank you for protecting Sherlock."

Both Bucky and Sherlock's heads snapped up as they looked at John with similar puzzled expressions and shocked eyes.

That was unexpected.

"If…if anything happened to Sherlock while we were held hostage…if Sherlock got hurt or died again trying to rescue me…"

John didn't finish that melancholy thought, but he smiled as he then did something quite heartwarming and poignant.

Abandoning all pretense, John Watson slowly walked over to Bucky Barnes and hugged him.

Firmly. Around the waist. And resting his head in Bucky's torso.

Bucky was a bit alarmed while Sherlock made a scandalized sputtering noise in the background. Unsure what to do, Bucky just stood as still John continued to embrace him, with Bucky's arms hanging gawkily in midair as if unsure he should return the gesture or if Steven was going to be offended and annoyed of the close contact.

Until Steve let out a hearty guffaw.

"Hey, leave some of Buck for me, John…" teased Steven as he ambled over, hopping on his good leg, and embracing both John Watson and Bucky Barnes, bringing them close. It was sort of cozy, being enveloped in Steve's strong arms, so closely intimate.

Sherlock, as much as he hated human contact and gross displays of sentiment, couldn't help but feel a little left out.

Never mind. It was merely sentiment. Sherlock wasn't feeling deserted.

Nope.

Not. At. All.

Steven noticed.

"C'mere, Sherlock…" Steve playfully growled with affection as he reached out at Sherlock (with his broken arm no less!) and grabbed Sherlock's dress shirt before dragging a shocked detective over.

Sherlock squawked indignantly.

"Unhand me, you big - !"

Before Sherlock could even protest or writhe away, he then found himself firmly sandwiched between Steven Rogers and John, enveloped in Steven's arms in a hearty embrace.

"You're gonna be a part of this group hug, whether you like it or not," Steven cheekily stated.

Sherlock pouted.

John was right: Steven radiated heat like a furnace.

All right, maybe (just maybe) it wasn't so bad.

Steve then kissed the top of Sherlock's curls, his breath warm and sweet.

"I believe in Sherlock Holmes…" Steve whispered with sincerity.

"And we're with you both until the end of the line…" John murmured as he rested his cheek against Bucky's chest.

Bucky couldn't help but sniff as his throat clogged up.

He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry in front of everybody.

Thankfully, Sherlock broke the mood.

"Stop crying. You're making an embarrassment out of yourself. More so than usual."

"I'm not crying. You're crying."

"No, you are."

"Your eyes are watering."

"Mainly because my nostrils are forced to endure the assault of your wilting body-odor."

Surprisingly, it ended after that, with the four men enjoying the closeness of each others' company, a connection that was deeper than companionship, deeper than brotherhood, deeper than heroes untied in a common goal to fight against a hostile world…

John broke the silence.

"So does this mean we're all friends now?"

The response was pretty much as could be expected.

"Let's not have any crazy talk, Watson," grumbled Bucky.

"One nightmare at a time, John," muttered Sherlock.

Still, if Steven and John noticed that Bucky patted Sherlock's arm appreciatively and that Sherlock squeezed Bucky's shoulder as thanks, neither of them commented on it.

Meanwhile, Mycroft Holmes, Fury, and Phil Coulson were standing in a circle around the remains of Jim Moriarty's body with Lestrade, Detective Inspector Dimmock, and Sally Donovan of Scotland Yard and Phillip Anderson in a crude circle not too far away from the cells where John Watson and Steven Rogers were held captive.

All of them were staring at the remains of the Consulting Criminal on the tiled floor.

Phillip Anderson had to marvel at Sherlock and Bucky's efficiency.

Even with his time as a forensic technician for the Met, Anderson had never seen a cadaver with every one of his fingers broken.

In four different places.

Each.

Dimmock's mouth was in a thin line, lips pressed tightly as he continued to stare with wide eyes and a sickly expression, sweat beading his brow. As much as he wanted to maintain his dignity of not getting queasy, he couldn't stop staring, unable to take his riveted eyes away from the biological trainwreck.

Mycroft Holmes faintly heard the screams of pain from Crossbones outside before his howling was cut off promptly with an explosion.

It appeared Brock Rumlow found out the hard way that Anthea was quite proficient with a rocket launcher…

"Your brother and the Winter Solder apparently have done more damage to the Hydra facility in one hour than the MI-6 and Coulson's agents put together in several. I'd be impressed if I wasn't worried about what would happen if those two ever decide to go rogue," Fury implicated meaningfully, his good eye blank but honed in meaningfully on the elder brother.

Mycroft knew the game well as he returned emotionlessly, "There are plans in place should that ever occur as well as additional safeguards for John Watson and Steven Rogers. Along with the Avengers and their…associates, of course."

The hidden message was clear.

Coulson did not look up from his holographic tablet interface nor did his blank expression falter, but one corner of his mouth twitched in displeasure at the subtle threat against Steven Rogers. Anderson and Lestrade looked at Mycroft in slight alarm. Sally Donovan however gave a disgusted side-eye at Mycroft.

"Not that I'm not glad for the opportunity to see if John and Captain America are all right," Lestrade voiced slowly, still trying hard to not break his resolve to not tear his gaze away at the mess on the floor, "But why are we here again?"

"You're here to give the public appearance of Scotland Yard's contribution with taking down the Hydra base and counteracting their terrorist activities in England with MI-6," Fury intoned, "Since S.H.I.E.L.D and I need to work in the shadows, we can't risk any light or exposure on our role in this. In other words, you will bask in the glory of taking the credit for this Hydra scion in the press, and your only task is to stand in front of the camera, look pretty, and answer stupid questions and calm the dumbasses down while we take care of any lingering traces."

"We do not need to inform you three the severe consequences if you try to tell the populace the real truth of what happened here," Mycroft added securely.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and sighed with fatigue, but nodded.

Dimmock looked at Mycroft Holmes and Nick Fury as if he was asked to face down a pit of man-eating lions without any sort of weapon, wondering just what the hell he got himself into.

Mycroft then turned his head to Coulson and asked, "So, what happened when my brother and the Winter Soldier caught up with James Moriarty?"

Sally commented rather mockingly, "What? Can't you deduce it?"

Mycroft's demeanor was impressively cold and unflappable as he replied, aloof, "I would rather double-check and confirm my suspicions with actual facts, not speculations, Sergeant Donovan. Unlike what you did during the kidnapping of the Bruhl children several years ago…"

Sally now definitely could say she hated Mycroft more than Sherlock at that point on.

Coulson then stated, reading aloud from his notes, "From what I gathered from their brief interview, after Sherlock shot out Moriarty's kneecaps and emptied the rest of his gun's clip into Moriarty's crotch and after Bucky broke Moriarty's arms and fingers, Bucky then ripped off Moriarty's jaw before ramming his metal arm down Moriarty's esophagus and, and I quote: 'vibrated the metal plates hard enough to act like a blender to make a milkshake out of his internal organs…'"

Anderson blinked before his gaze went to the blood splatter on the floor, walls, and even the ceiling of the room, noticing that they were too widespread for such a contained assault. Not to mention that the corpse wouldn't look that gaunt. Lestrade was on the same train of thought as he then questioned, "All right, but I'm not sure that explains why - "

"'…and then I emptied out the container'. Unquote," finished Coulson.

Everyone blinked in stunned silence.

Then the full meaning of Bucky's words hit them with total comprehension.

In unison, they all looked down again at the husk of Moriarty's corpse amid the lake of pink gore (that looked quite similar to the pink meat-slime substitute).

Anderson's response was the most truthful.

"Ew…" Anderson whined, blanching.

That was enough for Dimmock as his face went to a sickly shade of green before he covered his mouth with one hand. Running as fast as he could, Dimmock dashed out of the room, only to vomit his lunch out with disgusting sobs and heaving gasps.

"I guess the two really wanted to make sure that Moriarty stays dead this time…" offered Lestrade at last.

Fury scoffed, "Please. No one stays dead in this universe."

Sally peered closer at Moriarty's withered body before she blinked.

"Am I imagining things, or is that a cellphone shoved up Moriarty's - ?" Sally asked.

"You're not imagining things," broke in Mycroft and Coulson with fatigue.

Afterwards, for some strange, inexplicable reason, kidnapping attempts on John Watson and Steven Rogers dropped to absolute zero following that incident.

It was as if everyone in the criminal underworld was too afraid to attempt it…