Sherloki'd ✓completed

Someone Get Me A Shock Blanket

(^^ Fanart by hemilikapi on Deviantart ^^)

Small note: I'll probably be too busy to write a lot over the next few days, so updates might slow down a bit. I'll pick up the pace again when I can, enjoy this chapter ;-)

-

Sherlock didn't need to be an expert on emotions to realize that the air between Loki and Laufey was... awkward. Mycroft and Lady Leia spoke freely, using codewords and codenames beyond either Sherlock or Loki's recognition. Sif was chatting with Frigga, discussing a few other meals they could prepare together. Odin was silent, as was Laufey. Loki didn't speak, and while his expression was passive and casual, his eyes were a whirlwind of emotions.

And Sherlock was caught in the middle of it all.

He shivered slightly, wishing for his warm coat or at least a blanket. Something about their guests' presence had made the temperature in the room drop by at least five degrees Celsius.

He started deducing things about the room to keep him busy. Like how Loki had randomly switched to using his right hand. Sherlock had figured out that Loki was ambidextrous — capable of using both hands equally well — a while ago, and ever since had been paying particular attention to which hand the trickster used.

He'd deduced that often, Loki favoured his left hand when he was stressed or nervous. Not that Loki ever made it obvious that he was nervous, but subtle details that most people would miss were clear as daylight to Sherlock.

Now Loki's left hand was resting on his chair, just out of Sherlock's sight, while he ate using his right hand. Interesting, considering that Loki was definitely looking nervous.

Sherlock moved on to the next subject — Odin.

Particularly easy to read, to Sherlock's disappointment. He was completely at ease, oblivious to the animosity between Loki and Laufey. And, Sherlock noted with a small twitch of disgust, Odin was perhaps enjoying his food slightly too much, judging by the size of his belly and the amount of food that had ended up in his rough beard.

Next, Laufey.

Sherlock had some genuine trouble reading their guest. There were the usual signs of a lazy life, consisting of chess and food and not much action. But also scars, made by what could almost only have been medieval weapons.

Not to mention the unplaceable blue tone of his skin. It was faded, but still there. The remnants of a war-wound, Sif had said. A war wound that had affected his skin colour all over him?

Sherlock reached for his pocket to consult his phone, but realized that it was still on Loki's bed. He did have something else in his pocket — a paperclip. But that was of no use to him.

So instead, Sherlock went on to study Lady Leia.

Lady Leia was a secret-keeper, that was quite literally her profession. She was well-mannered and not submissive — not quite what Sherlock would've expected of an ex-soldier's wife. She had a nasty paper-cut on her left thumb, even though she often worked more with computers than paper. Perhaps a hacker, although Mycroft had said that she had an important post at MI6, and hackers were relatively low in the command ranks. A vice-director of some sort?

Which left Mycroft. Mycroft had always been... difficult to read. He wasn't nicknamed 'the Iceman' without reason. His cold and casual demeanour made him perfect for MI6, and his secret-keeping skills were extra-ordinary. Although he could keep little from Sherlock.  

Lady Leia and Mycroft paused their conversation, letting their gazes slide across the room. Frigga and Sif fell silent too. Frigga and Sif — he'd skipped them in his deducing rounds.

"Why are you so quiet?" Frigga enquired, her smile resting on Loki, who shifted uncomfortably.

"Just... nothing to talk about," Sherlock answered for him, and Loki glanced sideways thankfully.

"I'm sure our guest would be more than interested to hear about your theories on Norse Mythology, Loki," Frigga smiled pleasantly, and Sherlock bit his lip. Something told him that Loki wouldn't be so eager.

"Of course I would," Laufey agreed, in what seemed to be a pleasant smile, although the shiver that ran through Loki's spine and the slight further drop in temperature told Sherlock otherwise.

"Tell me, Loki," Laufey smirked, "what do you think about... Frost Giants?"

Loki took a sharp breath.

"Excuse me," he muttered, "I think I'm feeling a bit sick."

He stood up, putting his chair back neatly, and walked out of the room quickly.

Frigga frowned.

"Sherlock, will you go after him please?"

Sherlock nodded, getting up as well and following suit. He could hear Frigga apologizing to Laufey and Lady Leia as he walked down the passage, but Loki was already out of sight.

"Loki!" he called out, not expecting an answer.

"Well," Sherlock shrugged, "if he doesn't want to be found, I won't find him. I needed an excuse to leave the table anyway."

He glanced around, and then strode towards their room.

"LOKI!" he shouted along the way, "IF YOU NEED ME, I'LL BE IN OUR ROOM!"

He smirked to himself, and sped up. The faster he got his hands on a warm blanket, the better.

-

How can war wounds make skin blue?

Sherlock scrolled through the search results, sighing at the disappointing results.

Grisly wounds show how wounded soldiers...

What you need to know for cuts, grazes and bruises...

War Wounds — Why you should Embrace Yours...

War wounds — Basic surgical maintenance...

He almost threw his phone back to Loki's bed in frustration, but changed his mind and put it on his bedside table instead.

How could somebody's skin turn blue? Had he almost frozen to death? Been encased in ice for hundreds of years like some sort of caveman? Or was it just a paint accident? That somehow... hadn't washed off?

There has to be a logical explanation.

He sat on his bed for about half an hour, just scouring his Mind Palace for ideas.

Maybe Loki knows.

Sherlock knew that if he asked Loki, the answer would almost certainly be tied to either magic, Norse Mythology or both. But he was slightly desperate for an answer, and after having seen Loki's illusions with his own eyes he was inclined to at least consider such things.

Improbable as they might seem.

But in order to do that, he'd first have to find Loki.

He stood up with a sigh, walking to their bedroom door. At least thirty minutes had passed, maybe Loki was capable of handling some company by now. Sherlock still had no idea what had gotten into his supposed twin, but there was only one way to find out, right?

Actually, I count about six.

Loki's voice rang in his memory, and he smiled. He'd probably find Loki easily enough. He was a detective, wasn't he?