Tony Stark had about a three-second glimpse of a man that looked almost exactly like him before the reflection was gone and he wasn't standing in his lab in Stark Tower anymore.

Something that had been in the room he was now standing in had projectile-vomited red string, and there was a decidedly Victorian feel to the room. "Toto, I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore…" Tony sing-songed, turning slowly around the room to face a blond, blue-eyed doctor gaping at him.

Doctor Watson stared unabashedly at the thing glowing out of Sherlock's look-alike's chest. Tony glanced down at his implant, surprisingly pleased that it was still working. Watson made a high-pitched whine, wobbling on his own legs, his eyes rolling up as he fell, completely boneless, to the floor.

Tony winced at the impact, hissing slightly, "That had to've hurt."

Sherlock Holmes nearly took out three robots just trying to get his bearings and balance in all the bright, shiny...shininess.

Steve Rogers tilted his head slightly, half-catching Sherlock's arms and steadying him, "Tony, you…" Steve's sentence cut off as he looked into near-black eyes, "You're not Tony."

Sherlock shook his head, more jittery than he'd ever been, "N-No. My name is Sherlock Holmes, consultant detective of 221B Baker St., London."

A loud, shrieking alarm went off, and Sherlock felt like his knees were about to give out, "Damn." Steve hissed, lifting Sherlock off his feet and dumping him in Tony's swivel chair, "Stay here," Steve ordered as Natasha Romanoff came bursting in behind him.

"We need Iron Man."

"Not while he's half-dead, we don't. Agent Romanoff, you're taking Thor and Hulk into this one. Hawkeye back-up. Tony's...out of commission." Steve was horrible at lying. He couldn't even bluff in poker. How he'd falsified those enlistment forms for so long astonished him to this day. But a little bit of that luck seemed to infect him as Natasha took the orders, throwing an almost-concerned look at "Tony" before she nodded once and walked right back out of the lab.

Sherlock looked up at Steve-had been since Steve lifted him off the ground-using all of his considerable mental acuity to try to figure out what kind of demi-god Steve was.

Cap almost smirked to himself as he thought of what his reaction would be to Thor. "Alright...Sherlock...I know you're not Tony, but sprouting a British accent and pretending to have forgotten everything he knew would be something Tony might actually do, so the others may not be so convinced."

Sherlock shot a look at Steve like the supersoldier had gone completely batshit insane, but Steve put that down to the fact that he was convinced.

Really, the more Steve thought about it, the more unconvincing it seemed. But he couldn't question it. When he looked at Tony Stark (more importantly, when Tony Stark looked at ihim/i), there was a taunt in those near-black eyes, and Tony never quite lost the hint of it, no matter how much Tony outright taunted him. Sherlock's eyes were nothing more than fucking scared.

Bruce walked in quickly, looking from Cap to Sherlock and realization bloomed in his eyes, "Tony okay?"

"If he's in London, probably." Cap answered unsteadily, and Bruce nodded once as if he'd just confirmed a theory. "I don't know what happened-"

"I do. Cap, meet Dr. Strange."

Cap's demeanor tensed as the tall, older man swept in, his robes swishing with importance, "Captain Rogers, it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Dr. Strange, it's a pleasure to meet you, as well…"

"I come bearing grievous news, I'm afraid. Your Tony has been taken by the machinations of Viktor Von Doom."

"He's created a machine that's split into time and space. Dr. Strange-as far from science as he is-is the only person on SHIELD's radar that's really done anything like this."

Cap nodded, and Bruce looked back between them, shifting anxiously, "Tasha needs you, Bruce, we'll get started here."

Bruce nodded, almost relieved, and left them quickly, "Magic…" Sherlock ruminated quietly, his eyes narrowing.

Strange looked at him with steady eyes, snapping his fingers and conjuring a phoenix-like bird into his waiting palm. Sherlock looked like he was about to have a coronary.

"Doc, would you mind helping me to keep Mr. Holmes from dying?" Cap asked, worried about the look in Sherlock's eyes, "If Tony dies, Sherlock dies, or vice versa, am I right?"

Dr. Strange looked completely shocked that Steve had made that connection, and Steve tried not to let himself feel any resentment towards the fact that everyone thought he was the muscle and nothing more. "I would think the transference would be life-force for life-force, so my death would mean that someone else would have to go back in my stead in order for Tony to be brought back here, where he belongs." Sherlock announced almost grandly, shooting an appreciative look at Steve.

"Sherlock, you need food, and I'm always hungry. Come on," Steve ordered, and Sherlock flinched, looking wide-eyed at the fact that he was going to actually obey. "Doctor-"

"I will begin gathering information and try to find a way to return Sherlock to his rightful time and place. Tony having switched places with him has slowed the process of this world decaying, but with them in the wrong times and places, the decay will eventually collapse this world."

"What would be the reasoning for this?" Sherlock murmured to himself, turning Steve's attention to him.

"I don't know. We'll think about that while we eat. C'mon." Cap hauled Sherlock to his feet, raising a threatening eyebrow when Sherlock didn't start moving of his own volition after that. Sherlock looked shakily away from Cap, carefully picking his steps and tremouring with every step.

Sitting Sherlock in the cavernous kitchen of the Avenger's levels of Stark tower, Cap moved around the gleaming room with more confidence than he felt. "You and Tony live together?"

Steve's head shot up, his mind blurbing with the implications that Sherlock surely didn't mean, "Um...Tony offered the Avengers two levels of rooms here. We all, eventually, took him up on that."

"The Avengers?"

"Well, the original team of us: The Fantastic Four are in the Baxter building, the others...Um, the Avengers are...a group of people that are charged with protecting the world…" Steve explained in halting, broken words, feeling like they were inadequate, and Tony would've been able to explain it so much better.

"So, you and Tony are a part of them?"

"Yeah. Tony created a suit, powered by a...I guess, like a battery that's implanted in his chest. He's a genius, and he's saved us all...quite a bit…" Steve looked down at his hands, thinking of the nuke Tony had died to save them from: the machine gun that Tony had shot into so Steve himself wouldn't be shot...Steve made a mental note to find some way to tell Tony how much he'd appreciated it when Tony had gotten them to carry on, even when everyone wanted to give up.

"A battery in his chest?"

"He...he was in an explosion. It left shrapnel in his chest, and in order to keep it from reaching his heart, he needed a magnet, of sorts. The implant provides electricity," Steve gestured to the lights, "that keeps the shrapnel in place."

"What a marvelous conception…" Sherlock muttered.

Steve silently agreed with him, not that he'd ever tell Tony. "I don't know-" Steve's breath even cut off, his eyes widening at the thought that Tony's technology wouldn't work in Sherlock's time. Steve felt his chest growing tight, almost cutting off all of his breathing entirely.

"Captain?" Sherlock questioned before looking up at him sharply. Realization flooded, and Sherlock was on his feet, one hand on the back of Steve's neck and the other tugging him around, "Breathe, Captain, just focus on breathing."

It felt like an asthma attack, but Captain hadn't had one for a very long time.

"You, my good sir, are having a case of hysteria." Sherlock told him calmly, and Steve's eyes flashed, his heart rate slowing by increments.

"Panic attack." Steve managed, his knuckles white, clenched around the counter without putting so much pressure on it that the marble would break, "I-It's called a panic attack now…" Steve lurched over to the glasses, sloshing cool water into the cup and downing it until he felt calmed. "Forgive me-"

"You are concerned that Tony won't have his...battery...in my day and age! I am concerned that Watson won't be able to evade Moriarty without me there, either. We both have concerns about the people for whom we care. Now, tell me more about this...technology. I need to know everything I can if I'm to play the part of Tony Stark."

"What I don't understand is how you could have implanted something that mechanical into your chest!" Watson argued, looking more incensed than he really had any right to be.

"It was that or let shrapnel stop my heart!" Tony shrugged, buttoning one of Sherlock's shirts over the arc reactor. "So, Sherlock Holmes is my spirit animal. I don't know whether to be concerned or proud."

"What?"

Tony frowned, "This is going to be worse than playing Scene It with Steve, I can already tell."

"Seen what?" Watson demanded, insult winning over confusion.

Groaning, Tony walked to the brandy, "I'm far too sober for this."

"No! No, you will sit down and tell me where Sherlock is!" The outright fear in Watson's eyes had Tony obeying, a little stupefied that someone would care that much for a man like Sherlock Holmes; it'd never been that way in the books, to his mind.

"Sherlock, as far as I can tell, is where I come from. The year 2012."

Watson's entire demeanor shut down, his eyes closing and his lips tightening as he shook himself into place, sighing as he opened them again, "You don't know how to get home, do you?" Watson's voice was smooth and quiet, and Sherlock should feel humbled by how much he's cared for, where ever he is.

"No." Tony's voice was rough, thinking of all he'd left behind. For some reason, Steve came to mind first. Another person he never got a chance to prove himself to, gone forever from his life. He would've killed to see the look on Steve's face when he threw it back at him that really he was worthy to be on this team. It would have been like proving to his father that he became a better man than even the illustrious Howard Stark...

Watson sat heavily in the armchair across from Tony's, and Tony got a sense that that chair had been created for the sole purpose of being used by Dr. Watson. "If it weren't for that ruddy flashlight in your chest, I'd think Sherlock had finally lost the last of the little reason left him. It's almost too convenient that Sherlock would disappear like this the day before my wedding!" Watson had that enraged, frustrated, and put-upon tone of someone who loved another that continually let them down. Tony had heard it enough; he knew.

"I'm sorry for what's happened, but I don't want to be here just as much as you don't want me here, so if there's any way you could possibly think of to start us figuring out how to undo it, I'd be very appreciative." Watson shot him an almost sullen look, and Tony sighed. This was going to be a long day...