Sherloki'd ✓completed

A Vague Haze

The next morning, Frigga woke them all up early. Loki and Sherlock, to Sif's amusement, outright refused to get out of their beds.

It took some effort, but eventually they were dressed and at the breakfast table. Loki was clearly uncomfortable in the casual clothes, used to more formal suits or leather armour. Sherlock reached for his collar several times, putting it up, only to have Frigga fold it back down the way that the school code required.

They wolfed down breakfast hungrily and then brushed their teeth, exactly as Frigga asked them to. They were saving their rebellious attitudes for later; simple obedience seemed the best option at the moment.

Frigga Hudson had that effect on people.

They were brought to school in a car, Sherlock and Loki sitting in the back, and Sif in the front seat, chatting amiably with the chauffeur; a woman called Mrs. Donavan. 

Sherlock watched her with a confused frown.

Loki followed his gaze, and whispered;

"Do you know her?"

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"At least... she looks and sounds exactly like a certain police officer from home."

Loki glanced from Miss Donavan to Sherlock.

"Anyone else? I mean — some people I can recognise as from my world, and some seem like the people I know but just... off."

"Like Miss Hudson," Sherlock muttered, "her favourite phrase was 'not your housekeeper'. And now? Now she's our housekeeper."

"Frigga Hudson?" Loki enquired.

"I believe that's what she's called here, yes."

"Frigga was my... mother."

"Foster mother?"

"How—"

"Don't even ask. I'm a consulting detective, I know what I'm doing."

The majority of their conversation stayed at a low enough tone that Sif and Miss Donavan couldn't understand  them, although at Loki's small exclamation Sif had turned to squint at them.

"And her?" Sherlock enquired once she'd turned back, "I don't know her at all."

"Lady Sif," Loki whispered back, "one of the most feared female warriors of Asgard. Also one of my brother's closest companions."

"But not your sister?"

"Certainly not. I'm pretty sure she hated me," he paused, "then again, so did almost everyone."

Sherlock grinned.

"And your brother?" he enquired.

"Doesn't seem to exist in this world," Loki muttered.

"That's... strange."

"That other one, you know... Mitochondria..."

"Mycroft," Sherlock corrected casually, with a small smirk.

"Whatever. Do you know him?"

"He's my brother," Sherlock answered, "eight years older than me. Runs the British secret service back at home. Pretends not to care and generally gets in my way, but I must say he's a genius. Doesn't like leg-work much though."

"Who else do you know? Our... 'Father'..."

Sherlock hesitated.

"He looks a bit like my father, but the eyepatch..."