The Case of the Man in Iron

Ch. 3: This is Not the Worse Thing You've Caught Me Doing

It takes some maneuvering—and a borrowed overcoat from one of the, er, larger officers of Scotland Yard—but Sherlock and Tony manage to arrive at 221b Baker Street without drawing too many curious stares. Tony can't help but remember that one time at boarding school when he and his roommate had tried to smuggle a dog into their dorm room. He isn't sure how he feels about being able to relate to a dog, but whatever, he's been in the suit for freaking hours and there's an itch between his shoulder blades that is driving him crazy.

Speaking of things that are driving Tony crazy, the hansom cab ride from Scotland Yard has been far too quiet for his liking. His mouth isn't used to running below a mile a minute, especially when something so utterly fascinating is sitting directly in front of him. Tony gets the feeling that Sherlock is having the same dilemma because the man keeps staring at him with awed eyes and slightly parted lips and, okay, maybe Tony is staring too but he's pretty sure his mouth has stayed closed. Mostly. So when they pull up to what Tony assumes is Sherlock's home, and Tony is following Sherlock into a small foyer, and they still haven't said a single word, Tony opens his mouth, not sure what he's about to say just that he has to say something, it's Sherlock who breaks the silence, if only to shush Tony before he can speak.

"I would rather not shock my landlady into a cardiac arrest," Sherlock says quietly as he leads Tony up the staircase. "Lord knows the woman has enough reasons to evict me as it is."

Sherlock opens a door at the top of the stairs, holding Tony back with a raised hand as he steps into the room. He disappears for a moment, leaving Tony to lean awkwardly against the door frame before he returns, ushering Tony inside.

Tony isn't sure what he's been expecting, because really, but he can't help the not so quiet, "Wow," as he enters the chaos of Sherlock Holmes' bedroom…living room…lab? Because that is definitely lab equipment set up on the table in the middle of the room, and he's pretty sure he's looking at a bed underneath a pile of clothes and books. His eyes are drawn to another table, scattered with an array of tools and machine parts.

As he shrugs out of the oversized coat, he turns to find Sherlock watching him intently and all he can say is, "Who the hell are you?"

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, "I thought we'd covered this, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, I know, Sherlock Holmes, but who are you?"

"Might we discuss the details a bit later? I seem to recall you promising to 'blow my mind.'"

Tony grins as Sherlock crosses his arms expectantly. "You asked for it," he says as he fits the helmet over his head and locks it in place. The HUD is black, he takes a deep breath. "Jarvis," he says and prays to God this works, because the suit's power reserve has never had to be field tested before now. "Initiate Mark V back-up power supply."

For a moment there's nothing but silence and the sound of his own shallow breathing, but then there's a flicker across the HUD and the faint whirr of motors coming to life. Tony holds his breath as the HUD flickers once, then twice, one more time and then he's breathing again as the HUD interface fills the helmet with light. He looks past the screens at Sherlock, taking in the man's wide eyes and open mouth. Tony knows all he can see are the glowing eyes of the visor, but he's not done yet.

"Jarvis, you home, buddy?" he asks. He knows the AI is attempting to connect to the main servers at the Malibu mansion. "Don't freak out, there's no server connection. You're gonna have to rely on the suit's offline programming."

There's a moment of silence before Jarvis's cool voice fills his ears. "I find this quite disconcerting, Sir."

Tony can't help but chuckle, "I know, buddy, just bear with me. We'll figure this out, but right now I need to get out of this suit. Engage retractors and use what's left of the power reserve to run systems diagnostic. I'll check back with you later."

"Yes, Sir," Jarvis says. "Do try to stay out of trouble, Sir," he adds as the suit starts to retract into itself, leaving Tony standing in front of the compact suit-case and a gaping Sherlock Holmes who looks like he's just had his mind very thoroughly blown.

Tony holds his arms out to the side, giving Sherlock full view of his Black Sabbath t-shirt and blue jeans, all the way down to his black Doc Martins. "Well?"

Tony can tell from the look on his face that Sherlock Holmes is not a man that is used to being surprised, much less knocked speechless. Sherlock takes a tentative step forward before pausing. Tony grins as he can actually see the other man collecting himself mentally before closing the distance between them, all hesitance gone from his stride.

"Amazing," Sherlock says and they're standing so close Tony can feel the warm puff of Sherlock's breath against his mouth. Tony licks his lips and swallows.

"Me, or the suit?"

Sherlock tilts his head. "All of it. You, me, your…suit, the very fact that we are even having this discussion."

Tony grins. "I don't think I have to sugar coat things for you. You know I'm not from around here." He nudges the suit-case with his foot. "There's no way this technology exists in this time…in this world."

He watches Sherlock's eyes flicker to the case and back. There's acceptance in those eyes but they're dimmed with the frustration of not understanding, and Tony thinks, this is where we find out just how alike we really are. Because Tony has a feeling this guy who looks like him, but isn't him, is really fucking smart, like genius smart, and maybe it's not the same kind of genius that Tony is, that Banner is, but it's there, he thinks, he hopes.

"Mr. Stark," Sherlock says, lips lifting to match Tony's grin, "I believe I'm in need of a lesson in…," his eyes flick to the suit-case once more, "…advanced mechanics?"

Tony's sigh turns into a chuckle as he claps Sherlock on the shoulder. "And then-some, Mr. Holmes. Got any scotch? I'mstarving, and this is gonna take all fucking day."

Holy shit, Tony thinks as he takes a pull from his second—third?—scotch, when I'm wrong I am really fucking wrong, because Sherlock Holmes? Freaking legit genius. They've been holed up in Sherlock's apartment for the last four hours in a scotch fueled explosion of physics, chemistry, and mathematical engineering; and, for a guy playing catch-up to over a hundred years' worth of scientific breakthroughs, Sherlock is soaking everything up like a freaking sponge. Tony's just started to wonder if being completely turned on by himself would be considered extreme narcissism or mild incest when Sherlock throws his pencil down and looks up at Tony from his nest on the floor.

"In theory," Sherlocks says with a frown, "I understand everything you've shown me, because how can I not, when the mathematics all make perfect sense? But at the same time…"

Tony nods, understanding the frustration in Sherlock's eyes. "At the same time nothing makes sense because that's exactly what it is to you, theory, nothing but numbers and variables on a piece of paper." Tony stands up, voice softening as he fingers the hem of his shirt. "I get it, so let's bump this lesson up a notch, hmm?" A moment later his shirt is over his head and across the room as Tony sinks to his knees in front of Sherlock, whose eyes are instantly drawn to the glowing arc reactor in the middle of Tony's chest.

"I had been wondering," Sherlocks says as he shifts to his hands and knees, eyes level with the soft blue glow of the arc reactor. He begins to reach a hand out but stops himself, eyes flicking up to meet Tony's. "May I?" he asks and Tony has to swallow the lump in his throat before nodding.

Sherlock gently lays his palm against the small circle of glass and metal, intrigued by the warmth that seeps into his skin. "It's some kind of energy source," he says with a confidence that makes Tony's breath hitch.

"Among other things," Tony says, resisting the urge to lay his hand over Sherlock's. "It's a miniature arc reactor, a um, really powerful battery I guess you could say."

Sherlock slides his thumb over the scar tissue along the curved edges where metal meets flesh. "Directly over the heart," he murmurs, brow creasing as he tilts his head up to look at Tony with questioning eyes.

In answer, Tony places his fingers along the edges, finds the slight depressions in the metal, and twists, coughing slightly as the seal unlocks and air escapes the metal socket. Sherlock's eyes go wide as Tony gently pulls the glowing arc reactor out of his chest. He points to the wires running from the back of the arc reactor into the socket. "These wires connect the arc reactor to an electromagnet, which is the only thing keeping a dozen pieces of shrapnel from tearing through my heart and killing me."

Sherlock shifts to sit on his knees and, with a nod from Tony, cradles the arc reactor in his palms, turning it slightly from side to side. "Incredible."

Tony smiles, and really, he's used to it, the wonder and awe his tech inspires in people, but somehow this is different. Sherlock's reaction is…pure. The pure scientific awe of a new discovery. They stay that way for a while, Sherlock kneeling in front of him as Tony explains the science behind the arc reactor, how it functions in his body and in the Iron Man suits. Sherlock looks up from his examination of the arc reactor from time to time to ask Tony a question and Tony has to will himself to breathe evenly. There's an intensity in Sherlock's eyes that Tony has never seen before, not directed at him. His tech, yes, but not Tony. Not the man behind the machinery. And when he's not answering Sherlock's questions, when he's just talking and the other man has shifted his focus to the device in his hands, Tony's eyes rove over every inch of Sherlock he can see from this angle. He starts at the top of his head with his ridiculously soft looking hair that curls ever so slightly and Tony wonders if his hair would look like that if he let it grow out, stopped using styling products. He has to stuff his hands in his jeans pockets to stop himself from touching. His gaze moves down to shoulders a little broader than his own, and to corded forearms revealed by rolled up shirt sleeves. When Sherlock does look up with a question, Tony answers as his eyes flick to the scar on Sherlock's left cheek and wonders how it got there. Tony's trying to subtly crane his neck to follow the line of Sherlock's back when he feels light fingers graze his abdomen and he sucks in a breath.

"My apologies," Sherlock says without sounding at all apologetic. Tony purses his lips to keep from grinning as Sherlock brushes his fingers more firmly against his skin. "I was just examining the scar tissue here. It's roughly the same texture and size as the scars on your chest and face. They're obviously from combat shrapnel, some kind of explosion given the pattern." He looks up at Tony then and there's a new light, a new kind of intensity in his eyes that has Tony leaning in for a deeper look. "But you're not a soldier," Sherlock continues. "That much is obvious from your walk and the way you hold yourself. No, given your intellect and what I've gathered from your explanations of the, uh, Iron Man suit as you call it, coupled with these scars and the shrapnel you've already told me is in your chest, I'd wager you're some sort of arms dealer."

And just like that, Tony can feel his mood shifting as the walls go up one by one. He leans back, gently taking the arc reactor from Sherlock's hands and twisting it back into place, feeling the jolt of energy and subsequent coconut and metal aftertaste in his mouth.

"Ex-arms dealer," he says to Sherlock's raised brow. "I disbanded the weapons making division in my company when I found out my tech was being sold to the bad guys behind my back." Tony taps a finger against his chest. "Sold to the same guys who made this a necessity."

"I wasn't judging you, old boy," Sherlock says as he leans back on his arms. "Merely making observations. Obviously I lack the proper data at present to form a solid deduction on you, Mr. Stark."

Tony shifts forward slightly as one hand reaches back to scratch the back of his neck. He assumes his expression is as chagrined as he can muster. At least he can feel some of the walls sliding down again. "Call me Tony," he says. "And it's cool, I'm just…I like to think I'm a better man than I used to be."

"Don't we all," Sherlock says with a small smile.

Tony's response is cut off by a scuffling and a small yelp, followed by a loud bark as a dog scrambles from underneath the table in the middle of the room. Tony and Sherlock turn their heads to follow the dog, still barking as it runs across the floor towards the door. The dog scratches frantically at the door, its barks turning into frantic yelps.

Sherlock shoots to his feet. "Blasted dog will draw Mrs. Hudson up here. Gladstone, calm yourself," he says as he pulls the bull dog away from the door. Tony gets up to…do something, he's not sure. He's never been good with animals.

"Is he usually this hyper?" he asks.

Sherlock shakes his head, trying to corral the dog with his legs. "It must be a side effect of the sedative I administered this morning."

"You sedated your dog?"

"Gladstone is an excellent test subject," Sherlock says matter of fact. "Although if he doesn't stop I may have to give him another. Mrs. Hudson will surly—"

The door suddenly opens as a woman Tony assumes is Sherlock's landlady walks into the room. "—Finally, Gladstone. I'd thought for sure he'd done for you this time. Where—Oh dear God, no."

Gladstone has already made his escape out the door as Tony and Sherlock stand awkwardly next to each other. The woman's hands are covering her face and she's breathing heavily. Tony's about to ask Sherlock if they should do…something…but her hands are slowly coming down, though she still seems to be catching her breath as she just stares at the two of them.

"Aw, Nanny," Sherlock says, breaking the silence. "I do believe it's time for tea."