A/N: Greetings from down below! Merry (late) Saturnalia and a Happy New Year! Hope you enjoy this not-exactly-on-time-but-don't-kill-me-okay? Saturnalia present. Or Christmas. Or Yule. Or whatever the Hades you celebrate or don't celebrate.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock or Marvel (but I do own about a million new books so I'm not complaining that much)

Loki wasn't laughing. He really wasn't. It most definitely was not absolutely hilarious that a mere mortal from Midgard had managed to steal one of Iðunn's golden apples. It was indefinitely rude and insulting to Asgard, and, though the Æsir were loathe to admit, more than a little humiliating. As a prince of Asgard (albeit a rather unorthodox one) Loki was obliged to despise the human thief that had done what Loki himself had only barely managed to do - but no one needed to know about that - however as a trickster... who was to say that he couldn't have at least some form of grudging respect for the articulate craftiness needed to plan such a robbery?

At least, that's what he told himself as he marched down the golden halls of the palace; all the while shaking with silent mirth and ignoring the odd looks thrown his way. Loki was more than accustomed to having bizarre looks thrown his way, he had to be with titles such as 'Liesmith' and 'Silvertongue'.

Pausing when he finally reached his destination, Loki flicked his hands in an overly exaggerated manner that Thor would have rolled his eyes at, and the enormous double doors leading to the throne room flew open, the sudden movement knocking two of the guards off their feet. Loki pretended not to notice and glided gracefully to the bottom of the stairs leading to Odin's throne. His venom green eyes slid sideways momentarily to rest upon the muscled, armour-clad figure standing a few feet away. His brother met his gaze with a disapproving glare and a subtle shake of the head, as if Loki was a young child that Thor felt the need to constantly berate.

Loki flashed a contorted smirk that was all perfect white teeth and wicked intentions, had he snarled Thor wouldn't have been able to tell him apart from a wolf. The message was clear: I do what I want. What are you gonna do about it?

"Loki," The All-father's voice boomed, shattering the impending stand-off. "I am sure you know why you are here."

Loki's head swivelled around slowly to stare at his father, the movement was languid and almost lazy, much resembling that of a cat. Loki's smirk dissolved into an angelic smile, though his eyes still shone coyly. And if he really had been a cat (something which he could and had easily accomplished), his tail would have been twitching in anticipation. Of course the prankster god knew why he had been summoned to the throne room, he had no shortage of methods to obtain information if he so wished.

But Loki Odinson knew how to play his cards right, so he feigned ignorance, "Something to do with the thief from Midgard?" He queried innocently, with just the precise amount of confusion and curiosity.

Odin nodded and his features shifted distastefully, as if he had just been exposed to the smell of a dead bilgesnipe, "Yes, precisely... that," Odin's voice soured on the last word, and Loki knew 'that' meant the thief, the trickster nodded politely for his father to continue and with great difficulty managed to conceal his amusement. With the sheer force of will-power, Odin managed to continue, "The mortal has yet to be apprehended, and it appears that he is... extremely intellectually advanced," At this Loki had to physically bite back a snarky retort and his laughter. "Which is why I believe that, considering your... expertise in this particular area, you would be best at retrieving him."

The white hot rage radiating off of Thor was almost palpable to Loki. The Silvertongue sneered, so his oaf of a brother had been among those to fail in capturing the robber. And now the All-father expected Loki to do what the mighty Thor could not. Well that definitely made things much more interesting.

Loki beamed charmingly and responded in a silky sweet voice, "Of course, father. I will do my utmost best to bring this Midgardian thief to justice. You have my word."

"Oh yes, your word. Like that means anything." Thor muttered under his breath, earning himself a swift kick in the shins from the trickster as he knelt before their father's throne. Loki hid a grin at the Thunderer's indignant yelp, and he wasn't sure but he could have sworn he heard the All-father face-palm.

Mortals were such peculiar creatures, Loki mused as he stood before an exfoliating sable door with a crooked golden door knocker. The sign stuck on the front read '221B'. They could construct such magnificent architecture and vivid works of art; and yet, for all their musings and beliefs, they were ever blind to the inner workings and shifting cogs of the universe. Even when a god was amongst them, they sensed nothing and did nothing, going about their day with a kind of blissful ignorance that Loki almost bitterly envied. Yes, the mortals were all doomed to die and be sent hurtling into oblivion, their life one insignificant, microscopic speck among billions of others, but that made life so much more meaningful and so much more precious. Every single one of these humans had something to live for, and some way of impacting the world around them, no matter how small. And Loki could grudgingly admire their sort of beautiful fragility.

The god of mischief brushed down his already immaculate black two piece suit and gripped the rusted, circular door knob with pale fingers. With a mumbled incantation he unfastened the lock, pushed open the door and slipped nimbly inside, all in one deft movement. And none outside were ever any wiser. They never were. He was Loki.

As he ascended the crumbling staircase, muffled conversation made its way into Loki's ear, made audible with ease by his godly hearing. He might envy the mortals in some aspects, but being an immortal entity certainly had its own perks.

"I got into Asgard. You think I can't worm my way into twelve hotel rooms?"

Loki smirked dangerously. Bingo. That was Moriarty, obviously. But who was he conversing with? Oh right, he was at 221B Baker Street.

Must be that detective the mortals are all so keen about, Loki thought with an exasperated sigh. Perfect, now he'd have to deal with that one too. And he could hardly kill him either, he'd have to do things cleanly, how bothersome. Loki doubted the All-father would be at all pleased to find that his least favourite son had massacred a presumably innocent man. Not that Loki particularly cared about potentially being put on trial, but it could mess up some of the other plans he had in progress. Odin was frustratingly slippery like that, and Loki couldn't risk being compromised now, not when Thor's coronation was so near.

Loki sighed again in resignation, and continued his ascent up the stair case. If he could sneak inside unannounced he might be able to get close enough to simply flash himself and Moriarty away to an open area and call for the Bifrost to return them to Asgard without further interference. However, apparently this was not to be. The Norns chose that precise moment to look down upon the god of lies with their general scorn and disapproval, deciding now was the perfect moment to wreak havoc upon Loki's carefully crafted plan. The trickster imagined them saying something along the lines of:

"Hey look, Loki's doing a super important and rather sensitive task for the All-father, lets rain down our curses upon him!"

"Oh yeah, that sounds like a great idea!"

Loki placed a boot on the top step of the staircase and a tumultuous creak all but shook the house. All conversations between Moriarty and who he assumed was the detective - Sherlock Holmes apparently - ceased instantly. Loki hissed a few choice swear words under his breath that would have made the most blood-thirsty of Jotuns cringe and flare up in embarrassment.

"I think you have a visitor Sherly." Jim crowed brightly, sitting up in his armchair and hefting a pale white tea cup in his hand, seeming to not be perturbed in the slightest when Loki teleported into the room. So he had been right after all then, Moriarty was talking (and apparently drinking tea?) with the great Sherlock Holmes. Rather unexpected, Loki thought, but then again, this is the man who stole an apple of immortality from Asgard.

"Actually," Loki drawled noncommittally. "I'm here for you, Moriarty."

Jim Moriarty faked a shocked expression, placing one hand on top of his heart dramatically, "So Asgard really has deemed me worthy of having the god of mischief as my personal bounty hunter. I'm simply honoured." He seemed to put pressure on the last word with an Irish sounding sort of accent.

Loki blinked, taken aback but trying not to show it, "How-"

"Oh come now, you don't really believe that I managed to sneak into Asgard undetected without doing a little research on Norse mythology first, did you?" Jim questioned sweetly, winking at the curly-haired man seating opposite him on the word 'research'.

Loki shook his head to clear his thoughts, "James Moriarty, I'm here to take you into Asgardian custody."

In response, Moriarty grinned like a predatory shark, his eyes gleaming with the kind of chaotic madness that Loki had only seen before in a mirror. "Please," The criminal's voice was a soft whisper, like the caress of death, and his sable eyes glinted like polished blades. "Call me Jim."

"Ahem." Sherlock Holmes interrupted loudly, eyeing both Loki and Jim with thinly veiled distaste. "If I could perhaps interrupt this no doubt scintillating conversation, may I suggest that you- " Loki waved a hand disinterestedly in the detective's vague direction, and Sherlock slumped in his seat, his eyes closed. Loki strolled over leisurely from his spot in the doorway and perched himself - almost daintily - atop one of the armrests of the chair Sherlock was currently occupying.

"Oh dear," Moriarty spoke, not at all concerned. "Is he dead?"

"Just sleeping." Loki replied nonchalantly, summoning a dark green teacup into his hand and picking up what he assumed was Holmes' kettle in the other.

"Same thing isn't it?" Jim queried, lounging back into his seat like it was a throne and cutting into a carmine-coloured apple with a pocket knife.

Loki poured himself some milk and added half a sugar into his cup, stirring the contents lazily with a silver spoon, "Not the same, but similar. Sleeping is just like dying... except there's a more permanent outcome."

Jim smirked as he cut into the apple, "Isn't life an outcome?"

"Life isn't permanent." Loki replied coolly.

"But death is?"

Loki shrugged, "In most cases."

Jim stared around the room, apparently bored, before fixing Loki with a knowing stare, "You were the exception to that then?" It wasn't really a question.

Loki didn't ask the criminal how he knew of his experiences with Hel, "Hardly an exception. Exceptions are special. I was a compromise."

Jim paused and then tilted his head, "So a deal. Between who?"

Loki stared into his cup, his own eyes reflected back in the murky liquid and penetrating through his skin, "The devil and me."

"So you sold your soul." Moriarty appeared amused at the idea.

Loki smiled faintly, "Something like that." He murmured. There was a brief silence while both men sipped their tea and waited for the other to continue. The only sounds barely audible was the quiet snoring of the unconscious consulting detective and the noise of the bustling traffic outside the window.

"Well," Jim piped up, setting his teacup and apple onto a small table besides his chair and standing up, stretching like a lazy cat in the sunlight. "I suppose you should get on to arresting me. Wouldn't want to keep your folks waiting would we? I hear your brother has quite the temper."

Moriarty grinned, as if sharing a private joke with Loki, and the god found himself smirking back, "Yes... well he's a working progress." Jim nodded sympathetically as if to say, 'Oh well, what can you do?' and propped up the apple he had been carving on the armrest opposite to Loki. The letters 'IOU' were engraved into the skin in mess handwriting. Loki hopped off his temporary make-shift seat and waved his cup away, then turned to face Jim Moriarty, who was lounging against the edge of his leather chair and tapping his fingers on the armrest in an idle rhythm.

"Shall we?" Loki asked, not completely understanding why the Napoleon of Crime (or so he called himself) was being so compliant with his arrest - and possible execution - but at the same time not particularly caring if it meant he'd get the job done faster. Midgard was rather starting to wear off on him.

James smiled brightly, rather like a gleeful child, and sauntered over to stand beside the god of trickery. He offered his arm like a gentleman to a lady during a dance and Loki raised one pristine eyebrow in an unimpressed manner. Jim let his arm fall to his side with a mock pout and the trickster god resisted the urge to roll his eyes; then Loki snapped his fingers and they were both gone. And the only evidence left that they had been there at all was a vermilion apple and a virescent teacup.

"Such a boring nuance, gold." Jim Moriarty's suave Irish voice drawled, stating something which Loki was very much disinclined to agree with; alas he had not been tasked with educating mortals on their erroneous taste in colour and fashion - no matter how desperately in need of assistance they appeared to be.

"And entirely misplaced," Moriarty continued, inclining his head towards the marigold apple now resting lightly in the palm of his right hand. "Gold reflects power and wealth, however it is the colour amaranth that represents immortality. Which I have to applaud the big man upstairs for, I am partial to red nuances."

Jim Moriarty grinned darkly, as if he had just told a witty joke by making fun of someone's dead grandmother, and Loki was reminded of the peculiar character that he had read about in some Midgardian book, one known as the Cheshire Cat. Wisely, Loki decided to avoid continuing their current conversation. James Moriarty, he decided, was a black hole, and one he had no intention of getting sucked into. And the Silvertongue knew better than to let himself be baited, after all, he had used the technique often enough to know the destructive consequences it wielded.

"Most people would have eaten that." Loki spoke leisurely, gesturing towards Iðunn's apple. Jim shrugged coolly, and Loki was fascinated at how well the human could his cool.

"I'm not most people." The criminal replied cheekily, and once again Loki was both vexed at his blatant flirtation and borderline arrogant ability to be so self-assured, and yet pleasantly surprised at his acumen and percipience. Intelligence was, at best, scarce among the Æsir, and Loki had learnt to harbour the small bits that came his way, no matter what form they took.

"Regardless of what you are, I doubt you'll be alive for much longer. Especially if you walk in flaunting that." Loki replied smoothly, once again indicating the apple of immortality (which Moriarty was casually throwing in the air and catching repeatedly).

James did not appear phased by the concept of death. Yet another quirk that mystified Loki, considering that every other mortal he had come across was, in one way or another, constantly worrying about Death. Not necessarily the kind of Death that warranted the capital 'D' but there were always nagging thoughts in the backs of their mind - when they would die, how they would die, what would happen after, if it would hurt, what would happen to their friends and family. Monotonous things like that, things which Loki had grown to find tedious.

"On the contrary, Loki, quite on the contrary," Jim laughed, a sleek, velvety sound, accented and hushed like his voice, yet just as - if not more - sinister. "This is exactly what will ensure I live." He almost sounded disappointed at the idea, as if life was a test paper he had received an 'F' for.

It was only then that Loki understood: Jim's calm composure, their borderline flirtatious back-and-forth banter from before, and why he'd revealed the apple.

Jim's eyes glinted, fire ignited in his pupil's and demons danced across his gaze, there was nothing joking about his smile anymore, it was predatory and dominant. And for the first time, Loki realised just what made Moriarty so dangerous. He was still just a mortal, and a scrawny one at that, but he had built himself an empire worthy to rival the nine realms. Jim had no powers, but he was shrewd and intelligent, and just as ruthless; he needed no powers, he already had the game board in his hand, and Loki was sure every game piece was his pawn - knowingly or not. Loki saw himself in the Napoleon of Crime (a title the trickster now understood was forthcoming). Their physical prowess was non-existent and unimportant, but the damage they wrecked was all too real. They manipulated and tricked and murdered as savagely as a snake or a spider would, and it was their intricately wired minds that made them lethal.

"Do you understand now?" Moriarty asked, his obsidian eyes too wide, voice too breathy and almost indistinguishable. He looked insane, Loki noted, but he had seen that image in the mirror so many times it seemed almost like a comfort. "It's a leverage, simple really, boring too."

Loki nodded once, finding himself in agreement, though at odds as to what exactly he was agreeing with, "The apple in exchange for your life."

Jim grimaced, an odd expression that twisted his features like gnarled roots, "I did mention it was boring."

He wants to die, Loki thought. He did not offer his sympathies, they were neither wanted nor expected, "What isn't boring?" He queried instead.

"Chaos." James replied instantly, his tone easy and matter-of-fact. Loki tilted his head back and his eyelids slid closed, a half-snarl half-smirk pulled at his lips, as he found himself relishing Jim's response. It had been too long since he'd heard that word uttered with anything but scornful distaste.

"Chaos is a law of nature, order is the dream of man." Loki said, almost absentmindedly, remembering the Midgardian saying he had picked up long ago.

Jim eyed him for a moment, "Well you'd know, wouldn't you?" He asked, with none of the Æsir's animosity. "Being the god of chaos and all."

Loki hummed in response, his eyes emerald whirlpools of mischievous delinquency, "Yes, chaos is a friend of mine."

Moriarty made as if to reply, but halted at the sound of the guards' approaching footsteps. Loki heard them too, approaching hastily, voices raised and rapidly increasing in volume. Heimdall had alerted them of Loki's return - and Jim's presence, no doubt. Loki felt an odd mixture of swirling feelings in his gut: disappointment, laced with anger. He stepped away, then offered the consulting criminal a lopsided smirk, "Well it's been a pleasure..." Loki intoned, mind flashing back to their discussion at Baker Street. "...Mo- Jim."

James nodded, for once remaining silent, and Loki followed suite. He turned away, the same blend of fury and disgruntlement pooling in his stomach. Loki summoned his magic to him, and just as the guards turned the corner, he disappeared.

No one payed attention to the lone wisp of verdant green magic that drifted around Moriarty's arm for a few moments, then was gone like its master. The trickster had done his job, he had already been forgotten. But as Jim was marched down the hallway, the shadow of a smirk ghosted his lips, and while the guards' attention was angrily fixated on the apple in his right hand, his left slipped adroitly into his pocket; Jim smoothed the silver keys now lying inside once with his thumb, then removed his hand.

A/N: Did ya get it? Or was I not clear enough? Let me know!