Ruby of Raven: Thank you darling. I adore this story so much.

A/N: As you've noticed, I stopped doing the bold/regular separation thing. Sherlock and Jawn are my co-writer, Loki and Moriarty are me.

Loki growled as the intruders fell through the ceiling and crash-landed on the cobblestone floor. How could his base have been infiltrated? It was perfectly hidden! This room only existed because Loki had created it!

The God's subjects stared in awe and fear at the newcomers, wondering how their Master would react. Loki certainly wasn't the kind of man to take this lightly - and killing them would come as a blessing.

"How did you get here?" the God inquired, standing from his throne and pointing the blades of his scepter at the taller man's throat. He bared his teeth as though he were about to growl, and his chest heaved with angry pants.

Sherlock and John grimaced as they stared up into the face of their suspect, and now, they assumed correctly, captor. The fall from the rotten wood floor above wasn't too bad; certainly, nothing was broken, but the wind had been knocked out of both the boys.

Sherlock sat up tenderly, wincing as he did. "You picked a pretty awful place to hide your captives. Can't even get in without falling through the floorboards. I mean, I suppose that does make it more covert, but I don't think it'd be worth the trouble." He spit these last words. His back would ache in the morning.

Beside him, the army doctor struggled to his knees. "What is this place?"

"This is a secret," Loki growled as the mortals struggled to their feet. "I created it myself, and you certainly took your time finding it." He smirked, returning to his throne. He gripped his scepter until the blue orb began glowing brightly. Dozens of snakes materialized, slithering along the floor, wrapping themselves around the legs of their Master's new captives. They weaved under the army doctor's jacket and around his arms, restricting all movement. They secured themselves around the taller man's face, preventing any speech.

"I had been told that there was a - what do you call yourself? - a consulting detective running about, looking for me. I know not what a 'consulting detective' is or why your mortal followers are so enthralled by one, especially now that London's best has been captured. But it matters not. You will remain here, with no contact to the outside world, until my plans are executed, and I shall decide to do with you from there."

Loki turned to his band of minions. "Lock them up."

A dozen heads nodded and divided themselves between the two new captives, tightly gripping their arms and legs and hoisting them into the air to carry them to the dungeon room. They were each shackled to the wall as the snakes dissipated into the air. Their legs were chained to the wall as well as to fifty-pound metal balls.

Content with their work, the minions left the dungeon room and returned to their Master, awaiting further instructions.

"Great, what now?" hissed Sherlock when they were alone.

"What now?" John demanded. His nervous voice made it sound like something between a laugh and a squeak. "We just met a god, pretty much, or someone who has done a very good job pretending to be one, and all you can say is what now?"

"What would you like me to say? 'Oh golly gee, guess I was wrong. Now I really believe in magic'? No, just because he plays with illusion doesn't mean he doesn't walk this lowly earth like the rest of us."

"What I'd like is for you to take this seriously!"

"I believe that's what I'd like from you."

Sherlock gazed around the dank room. Even from his masterful perspective, he could not discern anything out of the ordinary. It was just a small, dark square, and neither boy of Baker Street could change their view by getting up, due to their shackles. The detective cursed under his breath. Beside him, his friend babbled nearly incoherently, worse than the time he'd thought he'd seen the Hound of the Baskerville. It was difficult for him to understand, Sherlock knew; well, it was difficult for Sherlock to understand. He had to admit he was shaken up a little. Never, in all the tough cases he'd tackled, had he seen anything like this. Elephants in flats, yes. Snipers in pools, yes. Many dangerous men and women who could mean the death of him, yes, but there had never been any magicians nor gods before. Sherlock didn't believe in either, but even he had to admit he did not yet have the solution.

A loud sound echoed around the room as John pulled fiercely at the chain. Strain showed on his features.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him. "You'll only give yourself bruises, you know."

"We have got to get out of here," John hissed. "There's no telling what he'll do with us when he gets back."

"Well, you're not going to help by making an enormous racket," chided Sherlock. He really was beginning to worry. Whoever that 'Loki' was, he had taken his mobile.

"What do you propose we do?"

"That's what I asked earlier," Sherlock shot back. "You didn't seem to like the question."

"Did you see the snakes that materialized and then disappeared out of thin air?!"

"All right, all right, I'm looking for a way out."

"How many ideas have you got?" questioned John.

"Just about... Two."

"Two?" John was used to his friend's long list of mind-palace theories. Perhaps he'd already narrowed them down.

"Well, one and a half."

John gave another tug on the chain, never minding Sherlock's warning. It was useless. The ball and chain and wall were much stronger than any army doctor and consulting detective would ever be. He would have to rely on Sherlock's one and a half plans. "And that is?" he asked, afraid of the answer.

"Well," said Sherlock, "the one idea is that I think we can move the weights a little further from the wall, which won't get us anywhere, but we can have a better look outside the dungeon."

"And the half idea is?" John prompted

Sherlock heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment. "The half idea is keep thinking."

"Good work," Loki complimented drily as his minions returned. They bowed their heads to him respectfully, thankful for the praise.

"Are they completely contained?" the god verified.

"Yes, my King," one blonde subject replied.

"Wonderful," the black-haired man grinned. "Now, tell me where most of you useless mortals gather."

"There are always a lot of visitors at the Museum of London," one bowtie-clad captive offered.

"Perfect. Take me there."

The group of subjects nodded in unison and turned to gather by the wall they had come in through. The god rose and moved to stand ahead of the group. He closed his eyes as green sparkles enveloped his body, transforming his appearance back into the curly-blond-haired man. Less conspicuous, of course.

He held his hands an inch from the wall and emerald green smoke emitted from them, disappearing into the wall. The black bricks moved apart, forming a hole large enough for his crew to fit through in a single-file line. Once the group was out, he turned back to the wall and held up his hands once more, returning the bricks to their original position. He turned to face his subjects again. "Where is this 'Museum of London'?"

"I know the way, Sir," the bowtie subject stated proudly.

"Lead the way, then."

The man nodded and stepped forward, walking beside the disguised Loki. He led their Master - and the rest of the crew - in the direction of the museum which he really hoped was currently entertaining a few dozen tourists. He knew full well that Loki would be far less than pleased to be mislead, even accidentally.

Minutes later, he stopped in front of a large building created from several rectangle-shaped buildings and stable pillars. "We're here, Sir," Bowtie stated.

"Hmm," Loki hummed indecisively. Only about a dozen people could be seen from the doorway, running in and out of the many doors and taking photos of the exterior design. "Lead us in."

Bowtie nodded, heading through one of the open doors and stopping inside, allowing their Master a chance to look around.

Loki did, and was pleased to find a good hundred more unfortunate mortals bustling about, oohing and awwing over the exhibits. "Where do they gather the most? I prefer to dominate large groups at once."

"There's always a tour going on," Bowtie explained. "People from out of town pay a fee and a local leads them through the museum. They usually take a couple dozen people at a time." He paused and pointed to a large group of people huddled around one particular exhibit. "Sometimes they'll pay special attention to a new exhibit, or a super important one, and extra people will gather around to see what it is. That would have the most people."

"Excellent," the disguised blonde grinned. He headed towards the large gathering of unsuspecting humans, oohing and awwing over some new painting. He stopped a few feet away, closing his eyes. Sparkling green smoke encircled his body and, once again, his appearance shifted. Black stained his blond curls as they straightened, curling up at the ends. His simple blue button-up shirt and faded blue jeans morphed into black leather with splashes of green, covered with belts and buckles. His gold horned helmet materialized atop his head and his bladed staff returned to his hands.

"Mortals of Midgard," he greeted loudly, attracting the attention of every human within ten feet. "Kneel."

As if in a trance, the humans complied, sinking to their knees and bowing their heads respectfully. Loki grinned as the mortals obeyed him, noting that his current subjects had dropped to their knees as well.

"I am Loki, of Asgard," he introduced, walking around one group of people to stand where the tour guide had previously stood. "But you may call me King."

Back in the dungeon, a figure had discovered the abandoned building and the hole in the floor. He had inspected it and, upon seeing the black cobblestone floor a level below, and swearing that this building hadn't been built with a basement, had jumped through the hole to inspect the new room.

He chuckled to himself as he took in his surroundings - the black cobblestone floors, the black brick walls, the green velvet and black leather throne in the center, just beneath the gold and diamond chandelier. What a drama queen the creator of this room must have been - no, must be. The seat of the throne still had the imprint of its last user, showing that this room was in use and not some forgotten underground hideout.

He wandered around the basement, noting the two rooms that branched off to either side. He walked towards the one on the right, finding himself face-to-face with a locked door. He jiggled the doorknob twice, just to be sure, but to no avail. He noted the old-fashioned keyhole and sighed dramatically, deciding that his only spoiler would be looking through said keyhole. Just as he was about to do so, he heard a cry of distress, seeming to originate from the other separate room. He cautiously made his way down the hall and towards the other branch, slowing his steps in case there was some kind of mass-murdering psychopath behind the door.

He chuckled softly to himself and shook his head - he was the biggest threat in London. What could possibly be in this room that could be worse than himself?

He slowly turned the knob, preparing himself for - damn, this door was locked too! He sighed, jiggling the knob angrily. He knelt down to peer through the keyhole and grinned.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Sherlock Holmes."