Chapter Text
When you are walking on the edge of the earth, you notice every detail, every movement of this reality, but you accidentally can fall out and appear outside of this world. This could happen to you absolutely randomly, and you can only hope that this has any purpose.
When there's nothing but silence in the temple, he is blissfully resting from the rest of the world. He stretches on the couch and looks at gliding past silhouettes, quaint creatures, which could hide in the dark or step into the light. The task is simple - he just has to keep the piece in here. Wonderful pacification, that could last forever. Well, almost forever.
“Strange, Strange, Strange!” The blonde's voice is soft and quiet, but now it seems annoying.
“Wha-a-at?” Answered the sorcerer.
“Stop pretending to be a Caterpillar and get up.”
“Why-y-y?” Asked man with a low voice, mocking his companion.
“I want you to help me. Now.”
“Is this threatening your life?”
“No.”
“Safety?” Asked Strange, eyes still closed.
“No.” Ross already knows where this is going and that the bastard won't get up.
“Your pet doesn't let go of me.”
“Oh, that’s the problem.” Only this gets the man out of bed.
The sorcerer looks over the blond. He immediately noticed that a huge white snake has coiled around the frightened agent*. The creature peacefully laid its head on his shoulder, occasionally releasing its tongue.
“He just loves you very much” Stephen smiled.
“Yeah. I love when it I find it in my bed. Instead of you.” Murmured the blond and stroked the snake’s head. “Strange! Get it off.”
Stephen sighed and got up from his seat, removing the white python from a displeased Ross. He stroked the snake and let it go. It calmly floated through the air, minding its own business.
“So, what happened?” The sorcerer turned to his lover and raised his brow.
“Well, firstly…” He was unceremoniously interrupted by Stephen, who pressed the man to his chest and wrapped his arms around him. The agent quickly pushed his papers aside and began discontentedly complain into the sorcerer’s chest.
Strange was trying not to laugh, because his beloved has always been very grumpy and disgruntled. The man was studying the documents that the agent carefully protected from being crumpled. After scanning the papers, he chuckled and released Everett from his arms. The agent has already calmed down and blissfully closed his eyes. That’s why he frowned in displeasure when he was released from a warm embrace.
“A hole? Seriously? A hole in the earth? ” Stephen raised his brow and stared at Ross.
“Yes. It’s not big, but it is there and it doesn’t disappear.”
“That’s why you asked for help?”
“Yes. Well, who is the magnificent Sorcerer Supreme of Earth here?” He said easily without even looking at Strange, so he didn’t notice how Stephen stretched out for a couple of seconds and began to look like the cat that got the cream.
“When can I start?”
“You can start right now if you want.” Everett shrugged and walked over to the man.
“Wonderful!” The brunette rubbed his palms and crooked his finger at the cloak. It leaned into his hand and the sorcerer threw it over his shoulders.
“Oh, please. Can we not do this, this time?” Sighed the blond man.
“Do what?” Asked the sorcerer
“You, being all mysterious with your cheekbones, and turning your coat collar up so you look cool.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow in surprise and stopped. The agent was leaving the Sanctum, laughing quietly.
“I don't do that.”
“Yeah, you do.” Signed Ross.
***
The ground was torn up in this place, forming a funnel. There was a void inside the pit. Medics and police were hanging around, but there was one face Stephen knew well.
“Agent Fury? What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you, actually. I think that’s your specialty. This thing came up without any preconditions. Just like that.”
“Just like that?” Strange wondered. “That’s impossible.”
“Possible, as it turns out. All my best experts say it appeared magically, and this is right up your street.”
Stephen frowned and looked over man’s shoulder. Without asking for anything else, he walked to the edge of the pit, followed by Ross. He knew if this guy came up with something, it was likely dangerous.
“I'll get in there and look around.”
“Here we go again.” the blonde waved his hands. “What if something happens to you?”
“Nothing will happen to me, don’t worry.” He threw a stone into a hole and listened. There was no sound.
“Interesting.”
“Interesting to climb into a hole without a bottom? Are you crazy? If you go there, I’m going with you.” The agent took the gun out of the holster and recharged it. The weapon made a characteristic sound.
“I understand” the man put his hands on Everett’s shoulders “your eagerness, but you know that if it's dangerous, you can get really hurt.”
“And you can’t?” A man puffed out his chest. “And when this thing attacked you in Central Park? It almost killed you!”
“Quetzal?” Brushed off the brunette.
“Don't! If I hadn't shot, it would have eaten you.”
“Yes.” Strange nodded humbly. “You've helped me many times, but it's not clear what the danger is. If I jump in there, I'll be slowly floating. And if you jump, you will break your leg at best.”
Everett pursed his lips and sighed. He disarmed the gun and put it back.
“If you're gone for more than an hour, I'm going after you. Do you understand me?” He pointed a finger at his friend's chest.
“Yes. Your wish is my command, my captain.” Strange has already climbed halfway into the hole, holding on to the ledge. “Now pretend I'm Alice.”
“Stop it.” Growled the man.
“Oh, captain, my captain!”**
Ross couldn't joke like that. He leaned forward, there was painful expression on his face.
“Imagine that I'm Alice. Now I'll let go of my hands and you won't yell after me. Try to imagine that there is a Wonderland down there. I'll be alright. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”
Ross nodded slowly. He was terrified that something horrible might happen to the sorcerer. Trying not to give himself away, he stared into man's eyes, which were always reassuring. Clear, transparent, like ice from the far North - beautiful blocks of ice. Finally, the blond man calmed down.
“You promise nothing will happen to you?”
“I promise.” The sorcerer said and smiled his warmest smile. “Well, if something does happen, you won't love me just for my crippled hands.”
“Stephen!” The agent snapped.
“Yeah, the MRI scan will just love me like no other. It will be so funny when the pins will fly out of my hands.”
Ross turned green, then white.
“But, alas, it is true. If I'm unconscious, don't put me in the MRI machine. I wasn't kidding.”
“Strange!” Howled the man.
“You know what to say when you're really scared?”
“What?” He raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“Geronimo!” Strange said it quietly and rather to himself, and let go of his hands, immediately disappearing into the deep darkness.
“You're a doctor! Not Doctor Who!” The agent shouted into the darkness.
“I'm a real Time Lord, I even have a time stone! It's quiet and you can't see anything. I'm still flying, by the way.”
“I hope you're talking about the cloak, not falling down?” Ross swallowed hard.
“Of course the first, why would I need it then?” His voice grew fainter and came from the very depths, then there was a light tap. “Well, here's the bottom, I guess.”
“How deep is it?”
“Well, if you can still hear me, then I'm not in the center of the Earth, which is a pity. There's a door here. I’ll inspect it.” Said Strange cheerfully.
“Don't touch anything!” Barked the blond man back.
As soon as Stephen turned the handle and opened the door with a creak, and then went into the white space, the hole immediately tightened and disappeared. The land was the same as it had been before their arrival. For a few seconds, everyone looked around terrified, and then they rushed to the disappeared pit. Ross, slowly coming to the conclusion that now the exit was closed and the sorcerer would not return, began to yell loudly and try to dig the ground.
“Strange! Strange!” He looked like a mole or a dog that was quickly digging a hole. Realizing that nothing was changing, the agent hit the ground with his hands. The man put his hands to his face and shuddered painfully.
“We'll find him, agent Ross.” Fury, who was also scared (it was unclear whether it was Everett's behavior or what was happening), nodded. “I will assign the best team of geologists to this place and they will monitor the changes.”
It seemed that Ross didn’t hear anyone. He nodded and got to his feet. The last straw that offered any hope was Stephen's promise of his return.
There was nothing in the white room where Strange walked. Only endless void. He looked around and realized that the door had disappeared completely, leaving nothing that looked like opening. The only solution that seemed right to him was to go ahead.
“It can't get any worse anyway.” He shrugged. “You just have to find another door.”
His voice echoed across the white void. He looked again and saw a black dot in the distance. It didn't move, and it just seemed to hang in the void. Of course, like any sane person, the sorcerer ran as fast as he could to what seemed to be the only source of hope for salvation.
***
“Run, John! Something interesting is coming up.”
“What?”
“New case! Murder! Oh, I love this.” The detective ran at full speed down the flights of the empty building, and yanked the handle of one of the doors, opening it.
He expected anything but this. A man in strange clothes crashed into him and fell on top of Sherlock, pinning him to the floor.
They both rustled. The man in the strange clothes shook his head, looked around, and caught the sight of John. The stranger immediately jumped to his feet and rushed to hug him.
“Oh, Everett, I was afraid I wouldn't come back. There was a strange white void and-” He quickly released the seemingly petrified Watson and stared at him.
The military doctor himself was looking at the two men fearfully. They looked remarkably similar, and it was terrifying.
“You look strange. A sweater?” Strange touched the wool.
“What. Is. Happening. Here?” Sherlock had just managed to get up, touching the back of his head and checking for bleeding.
The moment of confusion of the deductive genius seemed like a special magic. Sherlock froze. All that was missing was the sliding "loading" stripe on his forehead, so John gave a short laugh into his fist.
“You.” Strange said, pointing at Sherlock.
“And you?” The detective replied, eyeing his opponent.
Watson watched as the two identical men were circling each other like two dogs. John was surprised that even their movements were similar. The man in the strange clothes was clearly calculating something in his head, and Sherlock was trying to make a deduction. Machine against the machine. Stephen turned to John, seeing that he was clearly more adapted to interacting with people.
“You're not Everett, but this comical guy with... curls. Is not just like me, identical to me. This means…”
“Wait a minute!” Sherlock interrupted, moving forward.
“Quiet!” Strange turned to his copy and put a hand over his mouth.
The detective couldn’t bear to be treated with such disrespect. He jerked his hand away from his face, wiping his mouth with a glove.
“Country?” The sorcerer asked, glaring at John.
"England," said the doctor, startled.
“Century?”
“21st century. December 14.”
“Well, great!” He waved his hands and strode across the narrow room. “I'm in the parallel universe and this one” he pointed at Sherlock “Is me? What a nightmare.”
“I could say the same.” Sherlock said, eyeing his opponent with distaste and brushing off the dust he had rolled in. “Somewhere in another universe, though I doubt the very idea of other worlds, I am some kind of Scarecrow.”
Strange said nothing, rubbing his cheek.
“So it seems I wouldn’t be able to get out of here.” Said the man. “But if it works here, I would.”
“What works?” Watson squeaked in fright and stepped aside.
The dark-haired man performed some complex manipulations with his hands and protective barriers flashed on his knuckles. The sorcerer shook his hands and nodded as he continued to speak to himself.
“It works, so I can go back.”
“It's- it's-” John waved a finger at the man nervously. “What just happened?”
“Magic.” Strange said dismissively, and looked around the room again. “What is this place? Do you live here?”
“Magic?” Sherlock snorted. “This is even theoretically impossible, not to mention the practical side of the question. And the place we are at is a crime scene.”
Stephen raised an eyebrow.
“Are you forensic scientists?”
Sherlock looked wounded to the core. He grimaced and was ready to spit.
“No.” Said John, who was beginning to like this man. “This is consulting detective Sherlock Holmes” he pointed at his vizavi “and I'm Dr. Watson. We're not forensic scientists.”
“I'm a doctor, too.” Strange extended his hand. “Dr. Stephen Strange.”
“Doctor who does magic? This is ridiculous!” The genius muttered in the background.
“What is your specialty?” For some reason, John's face lit up and he returned the handshake.
“I'm a former neurosurgeon, and you?”
“I'm an army doctor.”
“Oh.” Stephen smiled genially. “Were you in the war?”
“Yes, Afghanistan.” John smiled back.
Sherlock began to boil a little. He folded his arms and coughed, trying to get attention:
“I hate to interrupt your sweet dialogue” the genius gritted his teeth, spitting out every word “but you see, Mr.Strange, there's a murder waiting for us.”
“Doctor.” The sorcerer corrected automatically.
“Never mind.” Sherlock said and began walking downstairs. “Come on, John.”
He sounded like a small, resentful child, demanding attention. John followed obediently. Then he turned and impulsively asked:
“Would you like to come with us?"
“With you?” The man was surprised.
“Yes. Well, you can't stay in this God-forsaken place.”
“Oh, that's so kind of you.” Strange said politely and followed him.
“But what will we tell the others?” John said suddenly.
“I'll pretend to be a distant relative of this detective. An uncle from Central Asia who doesn't know much English. Will it do?”
Watson nodded admiringly. He really liked this strange man. He endeared himself to his friendliness and tranquility. Strange quickly slung his cloak over his shoulder in the manner of a Tibetan monk and spread his hands. Watson nodded in satisfaction.
“Now don't talk - pretend to be a tourist.”
Strange rattled something in Sanskrit and waved his hands like a market woman.
“Very natural.” Said John to the new Sherlock’s distant relative.
The room was surrounded by yellow tape. Sherlock was already dancing around the corpse. He studied the dead man's clothes with interest, fluttered back and forth like a butterfly, and made non-stop conclusions.
“And who is this?” Anderson snapped at the sight of the new weirdo, who looked exactly like Sherlock.
"This is ... this is Sherlock's uncle. He came straight from Tibet to visit his nephew.”
Strange bowed deeply and said ‘Hello’ in broken English.
“Really? It turns out that this lunatic even has relatives in Tibet? I can speak a little Sanskrit.” Anderson said a learned phrase with intelligent look on his face and waved a hand.
Strange raised an eyebrow and looked at John, who pleadingly looked back at the man. The sorcerer, trying not to get out of character, also said something incomprehensible to the mind of the military doctor. Finally, Anderson was satisfied and left his new acquaintance alone.
Greg looked at the newcomer with a skeptical look and muttered very displeased:
“Stop making a circus at the crime scene and bringing your family from the mountains!”
The sorcerer chuckled for a moment, but then returned to the role of a stupid tourist.
“John, I need your help.” The detective demanded, glaring at the Strange.
“Coming. Wait a second.” The man immediately rushed his friend and sat down next to him.
“What can you say about the body?”
The blond man put on gloves, touched his dead patient, checked the sclera of his eyes and the neck.
“I think the death occurred about 6 hours ago from suffocation.”
“Great.” Said the detective and stood to his full height.
“Well? Your conclusions, Holmes.” Greg demanded.
Sherlock put very proud and pleased look on his face and began to state his theory.
“This is a man in his forties who arrived in London yesterday, a salesman who was strangled somewhere else and dragged here.”
“How did you know he was a salesman?” Inspector asked.
“The skin is tanned only on the forearms and neck, so he sunbathes, but not on the vacation. So this is a job. What kind of work is associated with constant travel? Tour agent? No, he's wearing a cheap suit, probably the only one. It was sent to the tailor shop for repair several times. This means that he takes care of the costume, wants it to look presentable and neat. This means that a person doesn't get paid too much with traveling work. Salesman.”
“Okay. But how did you know that he had recently arrived to England?”
“To be precise, he arrived yesterday. Because it's winter, Anderson. He would not have gotten so tanned in England and he has herpes from the temperature change. Therefore, he arrived recently from a warm country. Yesterday - because he didn't wear a warm coat. So he checked into a hotel and just left it today on business, and oh, here's his suitcase. Have you looked at what's in it?”
“Yes, he sold medication.”
"Medication? What kind?”
“Mixtures, stuff like that.” Greg shrugged.
“Do you still have them?”
“Well, the forensic scientists haven't picked it up yet.”
“Give it to me.” Sherlock held out his hand.
The inspector reluctantly handed him the jar, and the detective immediately opened the sealed container. He looked at it in the light, sniffed it, and said pleasantly:
“It's morphine.”
“Morphine?” John asked, puzzled. “Does he sell such a product?”
“Yes.”
“If he was alive, our familiar drug addict would have made friends with him.” Anderson openly mocked the detective.
“I need it to slow down my brain. You, Anderson, need to find the brain first. Feel the difference?” Bristled Sherlock.
“I think we've got all the information we need.”The inspector said, interrupting the exchange and preventing the two of them from clashing.
Strange stared at the whole picture, but he was thinking of something else. So when two of his new acquaintances started to leave, he didn't immediately switch on. John friendly patted the dark-haired man on the shoulder, bringing him out of his trance.
“What do you think?”
“I'm surprised.” The sorcerer said, adjusting his cloak and returning it to its original position behind his back. The artifact immediately hugged its master by the shoulders. “This man doesn't make a good impression, but he's very smart.”
“He's a genius at deduction.” John said, just as Everett might have said. Just stating it as the best fact. His voice was filled with undisguised adoration and admiration.
Strange smiled and sighed sentimentally. He glanced at Watson and at Sherlock, who was walking ahead of him. He saw the way this man looked at the other man's back, with such devoted love. He felt a little sorry for the doctor. He had an insidious but very complex plan in mind. Plan-provocation.
“Since I can't leave your universe just yet, can you tell me where I can live?”
“I think you can live with us.” John blurted out.
Sherlock turned on his heel. He heard the entire conversation and was angry.
“No, John. He won't live with us.”
“But we have a room that we don't use, so why not?” The blond man stared at him blankly. “A man who looks like you like two drops of water, who arrived from nowhere. He definitely needs our help. Then why are you against it?”
“I don't want to.” Sherlock said.
“You know that's not the reason, Sherlock?”
Sherlock was obviously making up an excuse:
“Mrs. Hudson won't let him live for free.”
“I have money.” Strange shrugged.
John spread his hands, as saying "that's all. What is the problem?"
Sherlock snorted again, filled with jealousy and anger. He didn't like the idea at all.
“Besides, I won't be staying with you for long, I just need to find the door to my reality. I don't think it will take more than a week.”
“Moreover” nodded John “we might even help you find it.”
“We can't help him, we have a case, John.” The great detective gritted his teeth .
“Well, I'll try to help you when I'm not helping him.” The man said with a good-natured smile and a nodded in Sherlock's direction.
But he was angrier than ever. Trying not to give himself away, the detective only went ahead a little faster. A big angry cloud in a coat waved and beckoned for a taxi. The cheerful driver frowned, his mood darkening when Holmes barked at him:
"Baker Street and hurry up."
“We even have the similar street names” Stephen grinned “This is destiny.”
“What street do you live on?”
"Bleeker street."
"Not similar at all." the detective snorted. “Not 221 by any chance?”
“Who am I, Dr. House, to live in a flat like this?” ***
Watson laughed heartily, while Sherlock didn’t get the joke.
“Well, here we are” John laughed and pointed at the door while Stephen grimaced.
“Really?”
“Yes.” John nodded through laughter. “I'll be the local doctor House.”
“Cane. Then you need a cane.”
“I have one!” John busted into laughing again.
Only Sherlock couldn't understand why the two of them were having so much fun. He was only madly annoyed that the pair had befriended without him. He glumly followed them.
Mrs. Hudson, when she learned of Sherlock's distant relative, was at first surprised and indignant. But then, after explaining that the man does not speak English at all and it will be difficult for him to live in London, but he has money for living in a room, quickly agreed and accepted a new occupant.
Sherlock was angry. Sherlock raged. He was ready to throw lightning bolts at the stranger, to strangle him with his own hands. He did not like the way his Watson and this strange man talked cheerfully about medicine in their armchairs. Sherlock fought to take every available inch from his new neighbor. He tried to keep him away from his territory, his test tubes, the kitchen, his chair, and John. The latter was the most difficult to control, because John is not a thing. You can't just grab him, put him in a box, hold the box to your chest and snarl at anyone who gets close. He watched the sweet couple while sitting on a high chair and looking through a microscope. Well, he pretended that he did.
“You can't walk around London like that. You attract too much attention.”
“Most likely.” Said the sorcerer reasonably.
“So you'll need to wear something less catchy until you return, but not so that you can be mistaken for Sherlock.”
The detective jerked in his chair and wrinkled his nose, then turned back to the microscope.
“Call me by my name.” The dark-haired man said softly.
“Stephen, right?”
“Yes. I'll call you by your first name too, if you don't mind.”
“Of course.” Said Watson, smiling.
“What about clothes? Where do you have stores here?”
“Everywhere.” Snarled Holmes. “This isn't a village.”
The two doctors looked at each other and continued their conversation.
“I can show you around.”
“Oh, that's so kind. You're very welcoming, John. I am extremely grateful to you.” The dark-haired man said this in his lowest voice and a herd of goosebumps ran through Hamish's body.
He did look like Everett, too much so. His lover reacted the same way when the sorcerer began to speak so low, as if imitating an organ. The way he moved, the laugh, and the smile were the same, but it wasn't Ross. His man was more frowning, more collected. He was also very grumpy. That's why Stephen loved him - because he was so mischievous, so serious, so different from Watson. Strange sighed sadly, admiring this sad illusion, and longed to go home even more.
“Shall we go?” Said the sorcerer, getting out of the chair.
“Yes. I think it will be fun. Of course, I will not stand by the dressing room and advise you, but at least I will show you where the right stores are.”
“Okay. That's fine with me.”
The two went merrily on a shopping trip. Or rather, John was simply accompanying his new neighbor. When they were gone, Sherlock mimicked Strange and muttered angrily, then slammed one of the bottles on the floor. It shattered and pieces of glass flew across the floor.
“What's wrong, Sherlock?” Shouted the landlady.
“Not now, Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock roared in response.
The door, which had been ajar a moment ago, closed again with a slight click, but the detective could still hear the woman's muttered complaint:
“Your relative is more restrained than you are.”
“Mrs. Hudson!” The genius snarled.
“I'm leaving, I'm leaving.”
It made him shudder to think that this new tenant had managed to spoil his mood, it seemed, for the rest of his life.