Ch. 7: Must It Always End This Way?
Tony opened his eyes. Bright light and loud noises assaulted his sense. “How much did I drink?” he moaned, shielding his face with his hands.
“Too much,” Thor said, lifting him to his feet.
He opened his eyes to see the interior of his workshop shining back at him.
Wait. “What are you doing here?”
Ch. 6: What Are You Prepared To Do?
“Let me get this straight,” Jack said, staring at Thor. “You talked the Tardis into taking off.”
“She asked me if I wished to travel with her. I accepted,” Thor replied, closing the blue doors behind them as they stepped inside.
Jack frowned. “She asked you?”
“How do you know what she, er, said, for lack of a better word?”
“Allspeak!” Thor grinned. “It is the capacity to understand and speak all languages. It is a most useful skill for a Norse god.”
“And after eleven incarnations of experienced Tardis pilots trying their best not to crash it, the big guy didn’t have to do a thing,” Jack muttered. No one replied, and he glanced over at Sherlock, bent over the Tardis control panel. “What are you doing?” Jack peered over his shoulder. “Hey, don’t take it apart!”
Sherlock ignored him, and Thor held out a restraining hand. “She does not mind. Sherlock has barely scratched the surface of her consciousness.”
“Right…” Jack scratched his head. “Where does she want to go next?”
Ch. 5: The Game Continues
There were more crashes as the group ran, the Doctor in the lead, John bringing the group up at the rear. They rounded a corner, and Steve threw himself in front of the group as a motorbike came hurtling toward them; the impact against his shield pushed him back three feet.
“That,” said the Doctor, “is an ice cream parlour.” He pointed at a square sign sticking out of the top of the building.
“Used to be, anyway,” John said, watching the front wall tremble under the weight of a red double-decker bus, and collapse. “Guess it was just another building appearing from New York.”
“We don’t have those in New York,” Bruce said, pointing at the bus.
The Doctor was picking through the debris. “Now everything’s just being stirred up. I don’t think that there’s much call for punting in London, either,” he said, pointing out the shallow boat.
“Vienna?” John asked in disbelief.
“Maybe, but I think a place like Cambridge is more likely.” He scanned a cash register with his sonic screwdriver. “The area these waves are affecting is getting larger.
Bruce pulled out his phone. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before,” he muttered. “I’m calling Stark.” They stared at him expectantly as he held the phone to his ear. Finally, he looked at the screen again. “It says the number doesn’t exist. That’s ridiculous. Of course it exists.”
The Doctor made a face.
“What now?” John demanded.
“It’s possible that the time-waves will scramble data like phone-numbers…”
Bruce turned to John. “Do you have a phone?”
Ch. 4: Is This How Time Normally Passes?
Sherlock brushed off his coat, and looked around at the grassy land. Behind him, Jack moaned, and stretched an arm in the air.
“Sherlock Holmes, you idiot, you broke my wrist strap and stranded us God-knows-where or when.”
“We’re in Cardiff,” he repeated impatiently, “keep up.”
“Hopefully no more than a few hours later,” he replied, gesturing to the darkening sky. He paused, and turned.
“Why aren’t you dead?”
“Cheery way to greet a fellow,” Jack complained, getting to his feet. “I can’t die. Not by any normal way I’m aware of,” he added.
“That would explain your landing head first and not breaking your neck.”
“Is that what happened? I’m never conscious of how exactly I narrowly miss death. And,” he peered at the square castle perched on a small hill, “how do you know we’re in Cardiff?” he asked. “Could be in Scotland.”
Ch. 3: Canines Are Cool
Clint fired another arrow into the broad back of what seemed to be a Minotaur. “This is insane! I’ve never seen so many different monsters in one place before.” As he thrust a knife into the beast’s neck, he felt an absurd urge to say ‘praise him’.
“Enjoying yourself, Barton?” Fury bellowed over the clamour, as he fired three shots into the stomach of a huge green something that looked like it came from a 50s thriller.
“More than you, I see!” He leapt over a fallen insect creature, and scooped up a small anthropomorphic cat. “What the hell? It’s like a human kitten.” The thing meowed at him, and he sighed. “Of course I can’t leave it here,” he muttered, and sprinted back to the group huddling under the shelter of a first-floor coffee shop. “Here,” he said, and thrust it at Donovan.
He ran back toward the building, or rather, what was quickly turning into a pile of rubble and writhing bodies, when, suddenly, it all disappeared. Structure, monsters, everything. Only rubble covered the scarred ground.
“Shit.” He stood still a moment, unsure of what to do. He turned to look back at the evacuated workers, who seemed to be mostly still there. Donovan was still holding the cat-thing, and it was playing with her hair.
Time to disappear.
Ch. 2: At Least It’s Not a Bilgesnipe
Sherlock paced the small office. “You’ve never encountered this before?”
“Appearing in another country? Hell, no. I try to leave the weird shit to my agents.”
Sherlock looked him up and down. “Considering you come from a place where superheroes exist, do aliens?”
“Thor and Loki seem living proof of something like that.”
“Thor and Loki?”
“Norse gods. Pretty damn powerful ones, too.”
“Do they have the power to move something instantaneously without touching it or being anywhere in the immediate vicinity?”
“No. Not as far as I know.”
“Then forget them for the moment.” Sherlock traced the desk with his finger. “You saw no one when you… appeared, in this room?”
“The room was empty.”
“Ah.” There was a loud thump outside the tiny windows, and Sherlock straightened. “Do you know anything about the other things appearing in Scotland Yard?”
“I have no idea. Shall we take a look?” He pulled a large gun out of its holster.
“We seem to be done here,” Sherlock acknowledged, and opened the door.
Ch. 1: Baker Street is Certainly Looking Irregular
“Is Sherlock in? There’s been a bit of… trouble, at the Yard.”
“Erm, I think so.” He held the phone away from his mouth. “Sherlock?” he called.
“Busy,” came the irritated reply.
A sigh, and the scraping of a chair. “It’d better be a nine or ten.”
“Could be…” John put the phone back to his ear.
“Listen, John,” Lestrade was saying, “just tell Sherlock to get over here. I’ve got to go.”