Sherlock sighed in frustration as he looked upon the strange men in his living room. They had crashed through the window at high velocity, one on top of the other, trying to strangle him. The one doing the strangling was thin with inky black hair, green eyes, and was wearing strange armor and a horned helmet, whilst the victim was heavily built, with blond hair. He was also wearing armor, his slightly different than the raven-haired man. The raven-haired man was all gold and black and green, whereas the blond haired man was metal breastplates and red capes. They continued fighting for a while, when suddenly, a large hammer flew through the shattered window and into the blond man's hand.

John came in just as he raised the hammer, and looked very confused. "Friends of yours?" he asked after a conceivable moment of shock. Sherlock shook his head.
"No," was all he said. John cleared his throat loudly and both men stopped fighting and turned to look.

"Right then, why the bloody hell are you in our apartment?" he shouted, obviously concerned. The raven-haired man looked surprised as he looked around him.
"Huh," the man muttered noncommittally, "are these your living quarters?" He sounded rather unimpressed.
"For now." Replied Sherlock simply. John went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea, while Sherlock and the raven-haired man participated in a rather intense staring contest.

Sherlock won, of course. Sherlock always won. "Gold and green armour made of leather, gold horned helmet, all authentic, meaning you must be somebody of importance. Your armour indicates you are from far away from here, and your stance says royalty. Hide your emotions behind sarcasm and trickery, and you were, maybe adopted. Now how did you crash through that window at such a high speed? You were travelling 200 miles per hour, with no metal covering you, yet somehow you managed to stay in one piece. How, I wonder?"

While Sherlock pondered this, the man looked shocked. His expression quickly turned into one of anger. John returned from the kitchen just in time to see the man about to punch Sherlock in the face, and hard. "Hey, hey, hey. Look, I know you wanna punch him in the face, everybody does, but please lets try to keep the injuries to a minimum. Who the hell are you anyway?"

The man regained his composure and pretended to clean dust off his leather armour. "I am Loki Odinson, God of Mischief," he proclaimed. He sounded bored, as if he had recited those lines over and over.

"Are you with Moriarty?" asked John. Loki looked genuinely confused.
"What is a 'moriarty'?" he said the name as if tasting something unpleasant for the first time. The blond-haired man stood up and blundered over to them.

"Loki is my brother, prince of Asgard. I'm afraid he came to Earth against my father's wishes, illegally. My name is Thor, Odinson." He explained. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Boring. John I'm going out." He shouted over his shoulder.
"You don't have to yell I'm right here!" protested John. Sherlock looked at him as if surprised to see him there.
"Right, so you are. Laters!" Sherlock exited, leaving the three men staring at each other in confusion.