Notes: Last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed/favorite/etc. Your feedback and encouragement mean a lot to me. Sorry if this isn't quite the epic revelation some of you were waiting for, but despite my inability to write anything angst-free, I never really intended this to be more than a fluffy crackfic. (Also, Loki is cray-cray.)

"Wha – Sherlock! You okay?" John questioned, rushing forward to help the consulting detective to his feet. He had never been more relieved to be glared at.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Sherlock snapped irritably, straightening his jacket. He paused suddenly, his frown deepening. "Did I bite Mycroft?"

"You remember that?" John asked, a little breathlessly, sinking into his chair.

"Vaguely."

"Yes. Yes, you did." The giddy relief was ebbing, anger simmering to the surface. The worry which he had been attempting to suppress for the past day only enhanced it.

"Oh." Sherlock seemed to consider this for a moment. "Good."

"No, Sherlock," said John, with as much patience as he could muster, which wasn't much. "Not good. Nothing about this whole thing was good. It was, in fact, very, very bad."

Sherlock frowned at him again, and this time the annoyance was mixed with confusion. John sighed in exasperation.

"Look, just, the next time you have a chat with a Norse god, do me a favor and try not to piss him off."

"I only stated the facts," said Sherlock, dropping into his chair. "It's not as if I told him anything he wasn't already aware of."

"He was crying," said John flatly. "General rule of thumb: when the person you're talking to is visibly weeping, that's a hint for you to shut up."

"I'll keep that in mind," said Sherlock and god, now he was looking offended. He'd be insufferable for days. John was too tired for this. He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

"John?"

"Christ –" John jumped terribly. Sherlock was directly in front of him, hands gripping the arms of his chair, silver-blue eyes inches from his own.

"John, what did you promise him?"

"What?" he asked, thrown by the sudden urgency in Sherlock's voice.

"Loki! What did you promise Loki to get him to undo the transformation?"

"I – nothing. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Don't try to protect me!" Sherlock growled, surging to his feet. He began to pace, breathing hard, his hands twitching restlessly as if he was barely preventing himself from seizing his own hair – or someone's neck. "He's the Trickster, but it's possible to beat him at his own game. I can get his files; learn as much as possible. Whatever deal you made, we will get you out of it."

"Sherlock –" John stopped, taking a second look at his flatmate. His eyes held the fierce determination which usually made an appearance when he was on a particularly difficult case, but it was coupled with an earnest sincerity which John had only seen a few times. John felt the last of his anger draining away. "Sherlock," he repeated, more gently. "It's okay. Really. I didn't make any sort of deal with him. We only talked."

"You talked," Sherlock repeated, as if he had said that they went go-go dancing. "You talked with Loki of Asgard, and he willingly restored me to human form."

"Looks like it, yeah," John answered.

"Why?"

"I don't know. He's mad, Sherlock. He is genuinely off his rocker. Out of touch with reality; the lights are on but only because he set the bloody house on fire. Who knows why he does anything?"

Sherlock mulled over the statement. Then, incredibly, he nodded.

"Yes. Yes, of course. The truly insane cannot be held to the normal standards of logical behavior."

". . . . Exactly," said John, slightly startled by the concession but not about to question it. "Good. Glad we agree." He pushed himself to his feet with a groan. "I'm going to bed. Don't – just –"

Sherlock stared at him uncomprehendingly, and he sighed. It was no use to ask that the violin remain silent for the night. Sherlock would only delete or, more likely, ignore the request.

"Never mind. Goodnight." He turned away, moving towards the stairs.

"John."

He turned back. Sherlock was watching him, wearing an oddly vulnerable expression which looked out of place on his sharp features.

"Thank you."

John smiled.

"You're welcome, Sherlock."

~Fin~