Needless to say, I was promptly shipped off to a holding room at Scotland Yard. I can't even remember what kind of charges Sherlock made up to get me incarcerated, but I do know that they were ridiculous and they probably included the kind of charges he'd made up when caught in my death grip. Deucedly clever Holmeses, why can't they be kind, too?

I was alone for a time, but perhaps not for quite as long as Sherlock thought I was. I passed half an hour composing songs in my head and the other half fuming about the insufferable clever people I insisted on surrounding myself with, and I had scarcely finished writing the bassline for a hot swing groove when my much-missed comrade appeared.

"Loki!" I burst, my face cracking into another of my signature grins. As he slipped through the door I closed the distance between us in a single stride and, you guessed it, hugged him.

"Has it been that long?" he asked in a choked voice. I only let go because I'd already used most of my daily allotted hug-power on Sherlock. I beamed up at his glowing green eyes, his familiar wolf scent rising my spirits. Despite my misgivings, it was actually rather cool to have another werewolf around, even if I felt the guilt of biting him whenever I caught sight, sound or scent of him.

"I trust you got the message?" he asked briskly, to which I nodded vigorously. Then his face twisted. "Then you must know how I feel about it all."

"Ah, c'mon!" I jested, quelling my own misgivings under a laugh and a mild punch in the shoulder for Loki. "I'm a big girl, now, I can take care of myself!"

"Big enough to get arrested, I see," he observed coolly, to which I rolled my eyes at the white-gray walls around me. "I trust your 'investigations' went well with those Home folks?"

"Holmes," I corrected, eyes narrowing at him. "And yes, actually, I learned quite a bit from the first one. I didn't get quite so far with the younger, but that's my own fault."

"Of course it is," he muttered. "Well, what did Mycroft say? That is the elder's name, isn't it?"

"Yes, he told me-" When he looked up at the door with a feeling in his eyes like a startled animal I presumed it was a good idea to shut up. He disappeared, the door opened.

"You forgot this."

As Sherlock stepped inside he tossed me my gray fedora, which I caught in midair. I threw him a quizzical and somewhat distrusting look, simultaneously scanning the room for Loki in case he would appear to me at least. I didn't know what to expect quite yet, which was good and bad. I didn't have a prejudice, but I also didn't have a clue.

Well, in that case, nothing had really changed.

"Why've you come back for me?" I asked carefully.

"For you?" he echoed in mock surprise, his face unchanging but his voice theatric as he paced around me. I sighed inside at my crushed hope. "You must think me dreadfully noble, if you imagine I've come for you."

"Then what've you come for?" I asked testily, one eyebrow rising. He was prompt in his reply.

"The note."

I was still and silent, waiting for him to make the next move. Looking him in the eye was like trying to read a language of untold antediluvity. What was it saying? How could I possibly learn?

"I know you have it." he tried again. Maybe I could get him on the rocks if I pretended I had him there already.

"Don't you know what it says then, cleverclogs?" I purred, allowing myself a shadow of a grin. I noticed a slight stiffening, and for a long time he was silent. Perhaps this whole deductions thing wasn't so tough after all.

"No." he admitted.

"I presume you want to?" I clarified.

"A correct presumption." he replied. He was becoming stonier, possibly-no, probably-because his emotion, whatever it was, was becoming a liability. It was my turn to pause now, considering my options.

"What if I tell you it's none of your business?"

"No matter. I'd simply find another way to get it out of you." he replied nonchalantly. Not nonchalantly enough, I'm afraid.

"And if I tell you what it says?"

"Good girl. I may even let you out of this place." he offered breezily. His voice was somewhat lacking in wind.

"May I ask you a question, Mr. Holmes?"

"You've been doing nothing but." he replied acidically.

"Whyever do you want to know?"

He was very silent for very long, this time. I was trying so hard to read that occult language written in his cliff face, so hard that I rather forgot how important everything was. What was happening behind his eyes, what computations were occurring in the clockwork palace of his mind? How much did he know, truly?

How could I possibly lie to him?

"What if I tell you it's none of your business?"

Agh, you blasted Vulcan!

"All right, I'm done," I growled with frustration, sighing and turning to the wall.

"Ohh, really?" he asked, forging disappointment in his voice. "But we were having such fun-"

"I said I'm done!" I snapped again, whirling around with a fury that even raised his eyebrows. "Enough with the dancing around each others' questions, with the pointless mind games that I'll never win! I want to know exactly what you know, and the only way I can do that is to tell you the whole truth."

"But?" he prompted, tilting his head.

"But if I do, you're going to want in on it," I continued for him, beginning to pace in my frustration. "And that's going to completely ruin everything, or so Reindeer Games keeps telling me, despite the undeniable fact that you're not only one of the smartest blokes on this good Earth but someone who knows him, or at least more than I do. And y'know what, I guess he's right, because there's not a chance that you would believe anything I tell you! You don't even trust me, do you? You all just think I'm mad, and you know you're no exception!"

At this point Sherlock was probably confused because I was referring to Loki at this last bit. He hadn't exactly revealed himself, but I knew he was still here.

"What, am I scaring you?" I demanded to thin air, glaring into the indefinite space of wherever-he-was. "You know I'm right, you blasted god!"

When no response came I began to consider the possibility that he was not, in fact, here.

"Loki?"

Slowly turning red in the cheeks, I checked Sherlock's expression. It would have made me laugh at whatever poor soul he was turning that face to, if that soul hadn't been me. By this time I was as red as a beet, and approximately as intelligent.

"Jim Moriarty knows who stole the Tesseract because it's not Loki so I have to get him to tell me who did it so I can find him and clear Loki's name so I'm going to meet him."

Somewhere in the great, big universe I heard Loki's palm connect with his forehead.

"Honey, I'm home!"

One quasi-legal bail and one awkward cab ride later, I was back in Sherlock's flat, nose practically folding back into itself at the stale drug odors. As if by a magic summons Mrs. Hudson appeared, looking adorable but concerned.

"Sherlock, I thought you…?" she began, allowing me to shake her hand and smile radiantly at her as if she were in a stupor.

"Not to worry, Mrs. Hudson, her rent will be covered in full by me." assured Sherlock, depositing his coat on his chair in front of the fireplace. The face she gave him made me think of an indignant nun.

"Sherlock, it's not proper!"

"Of course, it's much less proper than her very own cell in Scotland Yard," he retorted, pausing to flash a surprisingly venomous look at his landlady. He was in a bit of a mood. No, I do not know anything. "Really, Mrs. Hudson, your inhospitality appalls me. You may have the upstairs bedroom, if you so desire, Kinners."

"Ooh, yay!" I enthused, springing up the stairs on all fours just like I would at-

"On one condition."

I paused mid-step and fixed my greenish eyes on him. His face was a thunderstorm; I suppose that's my effect on fantastic people.

"You will disclose to me every detail of your rendezvous with James Moriarty, in full and without perjury, every last insignificant fact."

"Now?" I asked. He turned his eyes to the sunset hidden behind the blinds. He seemed to grow old for half a tick, and maybe even...

"In due time," he sighed, waving me off. "Go."

I returned to my climb, already up into the room by the time he decided he had more to say to me.

"In addition you will not inquire after my own actions or intentions, be they based on your intelligence or my own logic. Are we-...at an understanding?"

"You got it, Mr. Holmes!" I replied happily, sticking my head back down the stairs at his stone countenance again. I snickered at his almost-repeated mistake of asking after his own clarity.

"You may call me what you wish," he muttered half to himself. Midstride I froze, wondering if I had heard what I thought I had. I heard fabric rustle against him as he moved away. I had to act.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

He stopped in his tracks, as if he could feel my eyes on the back of his curly head. I decided to leave the great man be.

I shut the door behind me and opened the window for some fresh air and dying sunlight.