Chapter Six is finally here, people! Sorry about the shorter chapter, but again, this is a work in progress lol :) Apologies for taking so long, other fandoms kept vying for my attention (side-eyes Tokiya from Uta no Prince-sama). Also, Ragnarok and Black Panther are amazing, and Infinity War is devastating. I literally spent most of the day in a state of shock after I left the theatre for IW, haha!

If you're confused as to when exactly this story takes place, it starts right before Civil War on the Avengers' side and right after season 2 on Sherlock's side.

The man approaches the teenage boy, who screams in fright and backs up against the brick wall behind him. "Please, sir, don't hurt me!" the boy pleads as the middle-aged man raises a knife. Cries of pain sound through the alleyway. "Police! Police!" the attacker yells and drops the knife by the boy's unconscious form, ripping his leather gloves off and slipping them into his pockets. Yardies surround the scene, and the attacker blends in, answering the cops' questions with lies while paramedics tend to the boy and silver floats in the air—

Sherlock gasped and bolted awake, trembling. He stared ahead at his wall, remnants of his nightmare replaying in his mind's eye.

What… what happened?

Frowning and wrapping his arms around himself, the brunette pieced through the dream. I don't recall anything like this occurring in any of my cases. Or ever, in that case. He waited until his shivering had stopped, then reached for his phone and fired off a text to Loki informing him of his nightmare. Then he put the device back and lay down, drifting off to sleep.

Poke poke. "Sherlock, wake up."

"Mmph."

"Lestrade called with a new case."

"He did?!" Sherlock shot up and fumbled for his phone. One new text from Loki. "Did he say where?"

John rattled off the details while the younger man raced to shower, dress, and brush his teeth. Then the duo left the flat and took a cab to the crime scene.

"'Ello, freak," Donovan greeted them as the two walked up to the police tape. Sherlock ignored her comment, brushing past her, and stared down the alleyway in confusion.

I… I know this place. I've seen it before. Sherlock blanched as he recalled his nightmare from last night. The alley fit the one in his dream, complete with knife and puddle of blood where the boy had been stabbed. He glanced at the officers at the other end of the alley and beheld a balding, middle-aged man conversing with him. He's still here! Wait! I don't have any evidence to convict him yet! Damn it! He frowned and closed his eyes.

The knife flashed in his mind, and he gasped, opening his eyes. The handle! Of course! He wore gloves, but… Sherlock pulled on a pair of latex gloves and walked over to the knife. He knelt down and picked it up, noting the soft rubber that covered the handle as well as the imprint of distinctive stitching left in the rubber.

"The knife doesn't doesn't have anything, he wore gloves." The young detective looked up at a rather smug Anderson. "Can't wizard your way out of this one now, can you."

Sherlock stood. "You're right. He did wear gloves." He strode towards the group in front of him, still carrying the knife. "Sir, might I take a look at your gloves?"

The culprit frowned. "My gloves?"

"Yes, your gloves, do I really need to repeat myself?"

The other officers frowned at him as the middle-aged murderer stammered. "I-I don't quite understand why you need to look at my gloves, kid. Are your fingers cold?"

Sherlock sighed. "Will someone dig them out of his pockets before I do it myself?"

"Easy, kiddo. Here." The man reached into his right breast pocket and pulled out a black leather glove. Sherlock took it and examined it.

"Where's the left one?"

"The left one? You need that one too?" Sweat beaded on the man's brow. "You know, kid, my friend lent me those, so I'm gonna want them back when you're done." He dug in his pocket. "Wait. That's right, I left the other one by accident. My mistake. Sorry, kiddo."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Search his pockets. I know he still has the left one." The officers froze, so the young man, rolling his eyes, thrust his hand into the culprit's outside left pocket. "Bingo!" He held up the glove for the others to see. "You see this here?" He pointed to a set of uneven stitches along the seam between the thumb and the palm. "If you look at the knife, there's an imprint that matches this stitching."

The officers gaped at the knife, then the glove, then the man, who made to rush at Sherlock. Fortunately, the officers caught the man before he could reach the brunette. Sherlock slipped away from the arrest and headed back to John, who gave the detective a quizzical glance.

"That guy was the murderer?"

"Yep."

John narrowed his eyes. "Even I'm having a hard time figuring out how you cracked that. I mean, yeah, only other person on the scene, but…" he trailed off as Sherlock stared at the crime scene.

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?" The younger man perked up at the sound of his name.

John sighed. "We're talking about this when we get home."

It was a vision, I got called on the case this morning. —SH

So you saw it before it happened?

Yes. —SH

Okay. Keep me posted.

"D'you really think that was a good idea, Sherlock?!" John yelled as the duo ran down alleyway after alleyway in an attempt to shake their angry (and very much armed) pursuers. Leave it to Sherlock to piss off the guards to one of Moriarty's safe houses. The brunette rolled his eyes in response.

"Yes, John, I thought it would be perfectly fine to sass the big, hulking brute of a guard. Totally don't mind dying again. At least I wasn't the one who had the idea to punch him!" Sherlock snapped.

"Oh, because it's completely okay to let your face get smashed in. Maybe I shouldn't be so considerate!" John retorted.

"Instead of worrying about what's considerate, why don't we just—" Sherlock skidded to a stop in front of the blind end of the alley. "Oh, this was not supposed to happen."

"Sherlock?!" The young detective spun towards the entrance to the alley, his eyes widening at the sight of the guards aiming at them. On instinct, he shielded his face with his forearms, energy rushing through him.

Ping! Ping ping ping!

At the guards' shouts, Sherlock lowered his arms—and stared. In front of him shimmered a silvery shield, preventing the guards from harming him and John. He glanced down at his arms and gazed in shock at the wisps of silver light twined around his hands and wrists.

How… is this happening? I have… powers?!

"It makes sense," Wanda remarked. "After all, Pietro and I received our powers from the Mind Stone, so it's not surprising that you gained powers as well."

Having arrived at the Avengers' compound a couple hours ago, Sherlock had immediately been taken to the labs to run tests, followed by a meeting he was currently in with the other superheroes. One positive that had come out of the tests was that the Aether hadn't messed with his personality, so he no longer had to worry about the possibility of turning into a villain. Now he sat with the Avengers trying to decide his fate.

Tony spoke up. "I say he joins us. Give him some training, help him work out how to use his powers, he'd make a great addition. I mean, come on. We're all thinking it, right?"

"That only works if he desires to join," Loki cut in. "As you're aware, he and Dr. Watson are still trying to take down the mortal criminal known as Moriarty."

"Can't he, what, part-time it? Y'know, be an Avenger on the side?" asked Rhodey. Scott agreed.

"Yeah, we could set up a branch in London near where he lives. Maybe you could get your ol' brother the British government to pull a few strings?"

Sherlock sighed. "As much as it might be ideal to do both, I think that my old life ended the moment my powers manifested." The others gave him querying looks. "I can't just… not use my powers, you understand, and frankly I can't think of a better way to use them. Besides, if my brother gets wind of the fact that I'm an Enhanced, he'll lock me up and dissect every last bit of me."

"But he's your brother!" Thor protested.

Sherlock shook his head, a bitter smile on his lips. "He'll do anything for his country even if it means sacrificing his family."

"That's…" Steve frowned. "I can't even imagine going that far."

Clint nodded. "Me neither. What would he use you for, anyway?"

"Probably super soldiers," Bucky pointed out.

Tony shrugged. "That's fair. But, you know, while I applaud you wanting to use your powers for good, you shouldn't feel pressured to join us if you don't want to. Hell, there's a kid in Queens who's been going around using his powers to help others for a couple years now, and he's not affiliated with us."

"Yet." Bruce smirked. "We all know you have your eye on him, Tony."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Point is, you don't need to be an Avenger to do good. You could lay low or even put on a costume back in your country and help people there."

"Or you could go all Jessica Jones and combine the two," Sam suggested. "'Course, we're not tryin' to drive you away, y'know, just give you options."

Sherlock smiled. "That's—thank you, really, for all the ideas. The problem is, I don't think I can go back to consulting. I just… my eyes have been opened to this whole other fantastic world where powers are real and heroes exist." He took a breath. "I—if you'll let me—want to join. I know I need training, but I want to be an Avenger."

The group of thirteen glanced among themselves, then nodded in approval. Steve smiled and held out his hand for Sherlock to shake.

"Welcome to the team."

Over the next week, Sherlock moved in to the Avenger's compound and began training to use his powers along with martial arts. He enjoyed sparring with Steve and respected the youthful veteran. Wanda and Loki helped him develop his abilities, and Tony came up with his Avenger alias.

"Silver Wizard! 'Cause, you know, you're basically Scarlet Witch but male and with silver instead of red."

The younger brunette nodded. "Not bad. I don't exactly have the same powers as her, but normal people won't notice, so I suppose it works."

"Great!" The inventor turned back to his holograms. "Now, you need some kind of armor or outfit to wear whenever you go as your super-identity. Don't want you getting recognized as Sherlock Holmes on the battlefield, do we. That's a nasty can o'worms we don't need to touch, so! I've come up with your own specialized armor that should help channel your magic instead of interfering with it. Of course, if you don't want that, Loki's happy to get you fancy custom-tailored Asgardian digs." Tony glanced back at him. "Whadd'ya think?"

Sherlock glanced down at his usual suit and closed his eyes, concentrating on his powers. Silver energy washed over him and caressed his skin. When he opened his eyes, his clothes had been replaced by a long-sleeved high-collar tunic, leggings, boots, and a belt, all silver. A diadem made of silver Celtic-knots rested on his forehead.

Tony raised his eyebrows. "That works too."

Sherlock grinned, adrenaline and power thrumming through his veins. He couldn't wait to join the Avengers in combat!