Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Strange reluctantly set aside his usual clothes and dressed in once familiar to him the usual three-piece suit. He looked stricter and more reserved than Sherlock. He combed his hair back and only his injured hands and gray temples reminded the man that he was from another reality. He fit in too well, and that was the thing that scared him. A reality in where there is no need to save the world from aliens, a world where no one knows him, where he can become whatever he wants. He can become what he was once again. The man looked down at his trembling hands and took the pen like a scalpel and tried to hold it steady, but his hands were still shaking. It was the thing that brought him back to the reality.

“Damn.” Said Strange, running a hand through his hair and sighing heavily as he put the pen back.

“Is something wrong?” John's sudden appearance jerked him out of his thoughts.

“Nothing, I just...”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking.” The man said vaguely.

“About what?” John decided to push it, even though it wasn't nice.

This slight rudeness reminded him of Ross again, and the sorcerer softly smiled at John.

“About my world, about the person I must go back for at any cost.”

“Do you have a beloved there?” Watson nodded understandingly.

Stephen smiled tightly, trying not to laugh:

“Yes, my beloved. She's a very grumpy... woman.”

“Yeah? But you still want to go back to her?”

“I want to, very much so. Despite her grumpiness, she is a great person. Loyal, gentle and very caring.”

“You have a good wife, Strange.”

“She's not - ” Stephen choked and started coughing “not my wife. We're not married.”

John patted the dark man on the back:

“But the way you describe her... you clearly love her. Maybe you should get married? Otherwise, she might find someone else.”

Stephen cocked his head thoughtfully:

“I didn't think that way. You may be right.”

“Will you promise to propose to her when you get back?”

“Oh, I wouldn't bet on it.” He said, laughing so hard that it was getting harder to pretend he was choking. “H-she'll probably refuse.”

“Try it anyway.”

“I'll think about it.” The sorcerer squeaked through a spasm of laughter and nodded.

As soon as John was gone, he put his hand over his mouth and began to laugh, imagining how Ross would react if Strange proposed. He would beat him to death with his boot, and it would be the stupidest death. Although, no, if Ross killed him with a spoon, that would be the dumbest and longest murder in the world.

The sorcerer looked after John and shouted:

“If you were a woman, would you marry someone like me?”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Probably. You're a good man, Stephen.”

“That's good news, John.” The sorcerer said with a smile.

When Sherlock heard this conversation, his patience broke. Now it was a tornado that was rushing, sweeping away everything in its path. As soon as the sorcerer entered the living room, the detective grabbed him by the jacket and pinned him against the wall. Sherlock looked like he was going to explode. His brain completely refused to accept information normally. The detective hissed like a snake.

“Do you have any plans for John?”

“No, why would I?” The sorcerer snorted.

“You coo with him all the time. And I can see how you're pushing it. Don't you dare, don’t even think about it.”

Strange was glad that his evil plan was working. He tried not to look anywhere but at Sherlock himself. Stephen gave the most insidious smile he was capable of.

“What if I take him away from you, huh?”

Sherlock's face fell, and then he flushed again with a vengeance. The last of the brakes were gone, and now he was spitting the truth.

“I won't give him to you, even if the all hell breaks loose you won't get him, no!”

“Why not?” Strange asked in a tempting tone.

“Because he's mine! Mine! And no one else's! Is that clear to you?” Sherlock said this with such a threat in his voice that the sorcerer felt sorry for those who would be interested in this blond miracle.

The sorcerer stared behind Sherlock with a satisfied grin, and then the detective finally realized:

“Is John standing behind me?” The detective muttered in a strangled voice.

“Yes.”

“How long has he been standing there?”

“Ever since you started yelling at me, genius.”

Sherlock stared at the wall and turned on wooden legs. You could tell by the look on his face that he was either going to jump out the window, or smash his head through the door like a mad bull. One thing was clear- he wanted to escape and was looking for ways to retreat.

John crossed his arms, looking puzzled and confused. The silence has never been so heavy in this flat.

Stephen quickly disappeared from the crime scene like a true evil genius. He was satisfied that his insidious plan had been worked.

“I have a case.” Sherlock said quickly.

“Yes.”The doctor said slowly.

“It should be solved.”

“Yes, yes.” John nodded, and quickly disappeared from the room.

His hands and feet were shaking as he sat down on the sofa. He then tried to lie down, but instead he rolled spectacularly sideways and hit his head on the coffee table, falling to the floor.

***

“I’m not gay!” John shouted as he strode down the street. He had noticed the culprit of all his problems and was now trying to catch him.

“I need to find the door, remember? Decide without me who is going to be on top.” The sorcerer did not intend to slow down. He was walking down the road and some people started turning from his remarks.

Suddenly John was so ashamed, that he covered his face with his hand from people he walked by.

“I'm not gay!” The doctor whispered.

“I can't hear you. If you want to say something, either catch up or shout louder, don't be shy.”

Watson was a reasonable man, so he decided to catch up with his neighbor. He blocked Strange's path.

“I'm a military doctor, so don't force me to hold you.”

“I am the Sorcerer Supreme of earth, and I can take you down."

“Okay, you're right.” Watson admitted that he couldn’t compete with the sorcerer. “But I won't let you go anywhere.”

“What do you want from me?” Signed the sorcerer.

“I want you so fix all this mess.”

“Oh no, John. You have to solve this problem by yourself.” He deftly sidestepped the doctor and continued walking, but this time slower.

“Why is that?”

“Because Sherlock loves you, not me. Thank God.” The man shrugged.

“I'm not gay!” John snapped.

“Do you really believe that?” The sorcerer chuckled.

“Yes! I like women.”

“Have you been with a men to make sure you're not gay?”

“But that's what hetero is all about, you don't like men, you like women!”

“No, the point of a hetero is that you are turned on by a woman's body and not by a man's. I'm a doctor. Just like you, only I specialize in brain.” Stephen replied, continuing to walk and not intending to stop. “Your pupils dilate, your heart is racing and you're oozing oxytocin.”

“Hormone of affection? Are you kidding?”

“No. Although, it is more usual for those who sleep together, but in your case it is produced as in a factory. And your friend is as jealous as a cat that has just given birth. He's so afraid that his little sunshine will be taken away. Admit it.”

“I'm not gay!” The man said stubbornly.

“Oh God.” Strange stopped and sighed. “Yes, have slept with women, with very many women in my reality. And then there's the idiot with the gun, the counterterrorism agent, the confident and grumpy Everett Ross.”

“I thought it was…”

“No.” Said the sorcerer, laughing. “This is not a woman, believe it or not. This is the only man who is nagging me, and I don't want to strangle him for it. You two are the same - Sherlock does whatever he wants, and you cover him and slow him down. It's all the same, except you don't wear suits, and I'm not Sherlock Holmes.”
John stepped back in horror:

“In your world... you?”

“Yes, I live with you.”

“This can't be true.” The man clutched his head. “But I'm not gay!”

“Maybe it's just something that you've convinced yourself to be.” Strange said and waved his hand. “Think about it. If Sherlock disappears one day, will you be able to live without him as you used to? Would you even be able live without him?”

Watson stood and breathed. The question scared him. It scared the hell out of him, and when the army doctor got scared, he went to the bar.

Chapter Text

“We're looking, agent Ross, but no changes yet.” Fury signed. “I'm afraid that Strange has moved in time or space.”

“Where exactly he could have moved?”

“We don't know for sure.”

The bitterness and fear that could not be described in words filled the man's heart. He didn’t want to hear anything. Didn’t want to believe.

“He may not return, and you may have to accept his loss.”

The agent shook his head. “No. If this bastard promised to come back, then he will dig the ground, but he will come back. I know that.”

Fury sighed and sat back at his desk.

“Tell me, agent, what is your relationship with Strange?”

“It's none of your business.” The blond man snapped.

“I personally do not support same-sex relationships, I will tell you honestly, but...”

“But what?”

“We can legalize your relationship posthumously, because there are no guarantees for his return.”

“Shut. Up.” Ross growled nervously.

“I really don't insist, but, agent, you have other things to do, and my people can't stay on this patch of land forever.”

“It's only been a week!”

“Usually in these cases in the war news of death are already sent.”

“We are not in the war right now!” The man growled.

“Yes, but what I have suggested is the best way not to slander either you or your companion. We'll hush it up.”

“I will wait and I will not accept your offer.”

“Agent Ross!”

“I said no. You want to reassign people from the spot? Do it. But that doesn't mean I'll calm down. May I go?”

Fury dismissed the agent with a sigh. He was puzzled by the care and loyalty of his subordinate.

Ross left the office so quickly that not even the North wind could have stopped him, nothing could have stopped him.

“Love.” The Colonel said with a hint of disgust in his voice, and fixed the papers on his desk.

Ross had nothing to do right now. His only task was the pit, which disappeared with the sorcerer. Getting into the car, the man went there to wait. To wait on a wasteland for a miracle, hoping that his careless, stupid, self-confident sorcerer would return. His sorcerer.

When the sun completely disappeared from the horizon, the blond man went to the temple - his new home, to drain the last of Strange's supplies and try to sleep in this sorrowful place. The bed was empty, exactly the same as it had been in the morning, with the duvet and pillows rumpled. The man grabbed a bottle of whiskey and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The last thing that retained the smell of Strange was the pillow. Ross lay down under the covers and nuzzled it. The smell was soothing and reassuring. Stephen had always been able to tell him that everything would be alright, that everything would end happily, that the main task of an agent was to aim and shoot when necessary. And when you don't need to, just stand by and don’t be afraid of anything. Not under any circumstances, no matter how the sorcerer’s hands might shake. The wonderful smell of spices and sandalwood. There was nothing left in this room to remind him of the person he loved, not in this room, where they seemed to have had only dreams together.

Slightly drunk, Ross sat up and felt something warm beside him. Throwing aside the blanket, the blond man noticed a white snake that was curled up. But when it saw its favorite person, it woke up and crawled to the agent. It climbed up his forearm and wrapped around him like a scarf, resting its head on his neck. Everett stroked the smooth silk scales of the snow-white snake, and for the first time in his life he seemed ready to cry. But summoning all the courage in his fist, the man got out of bed and shook up, forcing himself to cheer up.

“You're right, that would mean I’ve lost and Stephen won't come back. But he always gets out, so he'll get out of this now.” The blond man rubbed his face with his hands, patted his cheeks, and went to walk around the temple. “Isn't that what this psychopath usually does? Walks around the temple, right, sweetie?”

The snake didn't answer; it just released its tongue and flashed its eyes in the dark, continuing to carefully warm the Everett's shoulders.

Sanctum greeted him with care and support, blue lights floating under the ceiling. A pair of grotesque creatures came out to meet him. In the darkness of the temple he saw the green grass, which rustled in the light breeze, moved and danced in its quaint dance. He saw strange spirits floating in the air, gliding about their business. And among all these wonders, the man saw a light in the kitchen. So Wong wasn't sleeping either.

Everett went to the kitchen. Even the faint creak reached Wong's sensitive ear:

“Good evening, Mr. Ross.”

“Good evening, Wong. Why aren't you asleep yet?”

“I got bored, so I decided to do something to occupy myself. Do you want some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” The blond man sighed and sat down on a chair.

“What’s wrong?” The Asian asked, putting the kettle on.

“Do you think Strange is dead?” The very thought of it terrified him.

“Oh, Mr. Ross, absolutely not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“It's all about the Sanctum - master Strange is its Keeper, and if he was dead, the temple would have fallen into disrepair by now. This temple is very old, it has seen many people, many keepers, but for some reason he only loves this illiterate Strange.” There was no sarcasm in his words, no mockery, only tenderness.

“So he's alive?” A ray of hope lit up Everett’s heart.

“There is no doubt that all the feelings that this temple is filled with are Strange’s. He takes care of this place, protects it. He resolves any conflicts between creatures that live here. He reconciles those who cannot even exist side by side. It treats the master the same way. Now it is taking care of the one,” Wong set the cup in front of the agent and smiled at the white snake “who, in its master's opinion, is as important as this temple. Even if he doesn't come back, the temple will take care of you, will comfort you until it withers, Mr. Ross.”

The agent flushed and hid his face in his cup without looking up.

“If it's not love, I don't know what is.” Wong chuckled and climbed the stairs. “Good night, Mr. Ross. Don't drink all of Mr. Strange's whiskey, he won't be pleased when he gets back.”

“I won't.” The blond man chuckled. “Good night, Wong. And… thank you.”

"No problem, Mr. Ross.”

As soon as Wong turned off the kitchen light, blue lights came out. They danced over the agent's head and they seemed to be singing a song to him about the places where they were created. For the first time in many days, Everett felt at ease, and it seemed to him that somewhere around the corner lurked his cheeky sorcerer and watched, leaning against the doorframe. And Ross hoped. He kept hoping.

Chapter Text

John came home completely drunk, barely able to stand on his feet. Swaying, he entered the living room.

"You!" the doctor shouted. "Sherlock Holmes."

The genius of deduction looked at his vis-a-vis in fright and got up from the high chair, heading towards his neighbor.

"You're drunk."

"I know! I'm not that stupid!" Watson shouted, barely able to move his tongue. "Did you solve the case?"

"Yes. It's simple - the killer was the wife. She was secretly selling the goods, and when her husband ran away with the goods, she found him... Listen, everything I said today..."

"Shut up!"

"What?" Sherlock began to blink in surprise.

"Shut up," the man shook his head. "I'm drunk now and I won't regret what I’m about to do, and tomorrow you can hit me if anything, do you understand me?"

Sherlock didn't understand anything, but he nodded anyway. The next second, the genius's brain turned off, because John brazenly grabbed him by the jacket and pulled him down, kissing the detective's lips. He pounced on the brunette so actively that the detective didn't register what was happening at first. Only when John, having circled the edge of his lips, bit his lower lip and tried to push his tongue into his mouth, Sherlock realized that he needed to answer the kiss. He parted his lips and let his neighbor do whatever he wanted inside. Watson smelled of alcohol, but the detective found it only more attractive, urging him to get everything he’d wanted for a long time, and preferably right now.

Holmes hugged the doctor under his shoulder blades and pressed him tightly against him, responding more and more eagerly. When there was no more air to breathe, he interrupted the kiss.

"I think I'm gay," Watson stated somehow sadly.

"I don't want to seem arrogant, but it seems to me that it's all about me, not men in general."

Watson wracked his brain and finally nodded.

"You're right, it's all about your brilliant mind and these sharp cheekbones. I think you could sharpen knives on those."

"I hear that a lot," Sherlock smiled.

"Then let's do as many stupid things as we can today. Let me be ashamed tomorrow."

"In that case, if anything, it's not my fault. It was you who pounced on me," Holmes smiled even wider.

"Yes, without a doubt, blame it all on me," he clutched Sherlock's jacket tighter and dragged him into the room.

Stripping the detective out of his suit, John unceremoniously dumped him on the bed.

"Do you even know anything about this sort of thing?" the great genius panted.

"I'll figure it out. I'm sure it'll be fine."

Holmes gave a short bark of laughter, scooting back on the bed. "Perhaps I should do it then?"

"Do you know how?"

"You can tell me if I'm doing it wrong."

"I'm drunk, I was just kissing you and now I'm going to give myself to you... Hmm..." Watson made a show of thinking. "Why the hell not? I'm bloody drunk anyway."

Sherlock stifled a growing laugh and put on his most serious face, patting the bed for Watson to join him. The doctor crawled onto the bed on unsteady legs and sat in front of Sherlock.

“I think we get you out of those clothes first, don't you think?”

"I do," the doctor agreed, spreading his arms wide. "Go ahead, detective.”

Sherlock was overcome with fondness. Trying not to ruin the moment, he pulled the blond's jacket off with slightly shaking hands, then his shirt, then his trousers and boxers landed on the floor with a soft thud.

The detective examined his neighbor with an intent gaze, memorizing every detail. He touched his chest with long fingers, then moved up to his collarbones and stopped at his neck. He pressed his lips to his chin and moved gently along his jaw, leaving light wet trails. That wonderful feeling of being touched by a multitude of butterflies lit a warm fire in John's chest. He loved these careful touches, and slight waves of arousal began to roll over him, leaving short flashes in the bottom of his stomach. He sighed and, seizing the detective's hand, directed it down to his groin, urging him to pay attention. Sherlock followed his beloved’s instructions with childlike interest and firmly grasped doctor’s cock with his fingers. John let out a soft moan and tilted his head back slightly, offering his neck for exploration. Sherlock immediately took advantage of this, licking his Adam's apple and leaving a light hickey.

“I need to see you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock thought quickly and undressed, throwing his clothes down next to Watson's.
The doctor looked at the other man's naked body, his taut stomach, slim figure, long legs and broad shoulders. The sight of a naked Sherlock made his insides twist in a spasm and he choked out:

“You're perfect.”

It seems that it did not work as Watson had hoped, but he was more than satisfied with the result. Sherlock threw himself on him, pinning him to the bed, enveloping him with the heat of his body and kissing until he couldn’t breathe. The arousal was painful now, shooting down his spine. Holmes rubbed his sharp knee between the blond man's legs, causing another convulsive sob. The man fumbled nervously with his hand on the bedside table.

“Cream, I need some bloody cream,” he whined.

“Do you think this one will do?” Sherlock grinned lightly, showing him a long tube of lubricant.

“Oh, you little bastard! Were you carrying this in your pocket?”

“Yes, I needed it for an experiment,” Sherlock grinned.

“I won't be outraged right now, but tomorrow — get ready. I'll be screaming very loudly that you have problems with your upbringing.”

“Tomorrow's not soon enough,” the brunette squeezed a large amount of lubricant onto his fingers. “I think you need to...”

John spread his legs without further explanation.

“Yes. That's exactly what I meant.”

“Just one at a time, no need to get carried away, Sherlock.”

The genius nodded, listening to his man and lubricated the ring of muscles. He pushed one finger in first, listening to the sensations and looking at John steadily. When he showed no sign of discomfort, he followed with a second finger, then a third.

“Now," John explained, panting, “you have to reach a small bump.”

"This one?" the man asked, moving his hand a little further.

"God, they're so long.." the blond howled, arching his back and impaling himself harder on the pleasure that was burning through him. "More."

Sherlock obediently pressed again. He loved the way John reacted, the way he gasped and moaned at the intense sensations. It was getting harder and harder to be patient, he was breathing hard through his nose, although his head was already starting to spin and buzz.

“I think,” Watson muttered hesitantly “you should do it now, because a little longer and I'll cum.”

The detective slowly pulled out his hand. John groaned unhappily, but still gave clear instructions:

"I... now use it for yourself.”

“I’ve already got that," Sherlock hummed, rubbing a fair amount of lube on his cock.

John tensed slightly as the hard cock pressed into the tight ring. Sherlock kissed him carefully and slowly began to push in. He looked intently into the other's face, letting him get used to the sensation and holding on as best he could, squeezing the bedsheet until his knuckles turned white.

"How do you feel?" the detective croaked.

"Good, it doesn't hurt."

When the brunette was halfway in, it became increasingly difficult to breathe, the pressure and warmth drove him crazy. John watched in amazement as his usually unemotional neighbor was now squirming, biting his lip and frowning. The titanic effort he was making just to avoid hurting him resonated in his heart and, pulling Sherlock towards him, he wrapped his legs around him and pushed all the way in. Holmes trembled and let out a low moan.

"Come on," Watson whispered, kissing the other man's lips and thrusting his hips forward again.

The detective was losing his mind, and he was thrusting inside, carefully trying to find that delicate spot that made the blond moan. And he succeeded. John arched his back and moaned, his eyes a hazy film of pleasure. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pulling him closer and moved in rhythm with him, surrendering to the sensations completely. The thrusts went from rhythmic to aggressive and erratic. When sparks danced before his eyes, Sherlock whispered a single name like a prayer.

"John..." - a kiss on the chin. "John..." - a kiss on the temple.

Feeling cherished, Watson moaned with abandon and arched his back. He came, smearing his release on his belly and Sherlock's chest. The brunette shuddered, feeling the pressure around his cock and came next, trying not to collapse on his doctor. Barely holding himself up on shaking hands, he lowered himself down and pressed against the other's chest.

It took John a long time to come to his senses, seeing flashing sparks before his eyes. The world shrank for him to the size of this room, this bed. Everything else became indifferent. Only Sherlock mattered.

He buried his hand in his unruly curls, as he had long wanted to do, and fell into a deep sleep.

Strange returned at dawn, covered in dust, tired and dirty. He had clearly searched all the places where the rift between the worlds could be. Mrs. Hudson was waiting for him on the ground floor. She looked at him carefully and shook her head disapprovingly.
Strange tried to speak broken English, but he was cut off.

"No need for that. I know you can speak perfectly well. Not to mention sing. Your Sinatra is very good," she said.

Fear flashed across the man's face. He frowned and tried to say something again, but the woman interrupted him once more.

"I don't care where you're from, dear. It doesn't matter. You're tired. Let's go, I'll pour you some tea," she said. Stephen sighed with relief and smiled.

"You're an angel, Mrs. Hudson," he said.

"Oh, don't be silly. It's just tea," she waved her hand and beckoned him to the kitchen. "Better tell me, how are my boys doing?"

Stephen sat down on a wooden chair. His back ached and his eyes were closing, but he politely replied, "They'll figure it out, you don't have to worry about them.".

“I hope so, because they're so well suited to each other," the woman said cheerfully.

“Yes, no doubt about it," he smiled and took a sip of tea. “They are.”

Chapter Text

The morning was quiet. No shouting, no scandals. Sherlock woke up, opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was John, who carefully brought him a cup of tea, sat down on the edge of the bed, and smiled at the corner of his lips.

Sherlock sighed with relief and took a cup from his hands.

"So everything's all right, then?"

"Yes," Watson smiled. "I don't regret anything.”

"Do you remember?"

"Yes. And it was great," he calmly drank his coffee. Then, on impulse, he moved closer and tenderly touched Sherlock's lips.

"So I set all those traps for nothing?"

"What traps?" the blond asked, raising an eyebrow.

There was a rattling and cracking sound, followed by a disgruntled groan.

"These traps.”

"You..." Watson rolled his eyes and rushed to the door. When he opened it, he saw Strange lying on the floor among a dozen broken eggs, with his legs tangled up and looking very angry.

"I hope they're at least fresh?" The brunette rubbed his face with his finger and brought his hand to his nose. "Great, they're spoiled too. You are like a child, honestly.”

The man began to untangle the tight knots that tied his legs. Watson hurried to help him, trying not to breathe. The angry and offended magician glanced at the other man's neck, noticing a fresh bruise on his Adam's apple.

"You snake!" he growled, getting to his feet and jumping to the other room. He leaned his shoulder against the door frame.

"Well, how are you, bastard?”

"Marvelous," Sherlock replied nonchalantly.

"Must be a lovely morning, eh?"

"Yes.

"How do you like the tea?"

"it’s delicious," the detective smirked, his navel covered with a blanket.

"That's wonderful," he waved his hand briefly, and the hot liquid poured over Sherlock's stomach and groin. Holmes shrieked.

"Enjoy your morning, darling," Strange mockingly blew a kiss to the genius and walked away, satisfied with his revenge, casually removing egg whites as he went.

Mrs. Hudson came out to meet him. She immediately grabbed her nose.

"Ugh, what a smell. What a nightmare!”

"Mrs. Hudson, tell me - do you have a laundry nearby?”

"Yes, around the corner," she said, she said with her nose pinched and nodded. "Go there.”

"Thank you," the magician muttered, taking off his ruined clothes and changing into his usual attire. The cloak happily flew up to its owner and sat firmly on his shoulders, while the man folded the dirty clothes and carried them in his hands. He walked away, grumbling something under his breath.

He would have missed the turn if it hadn't been for the familiar lights that came out to meet him. These blue lights lined up in a row and fluttered over the sorcerer's head.
Forgetting everything in the world, Strange dove into a narrow corner. The cheerful lights that beckoned him disappeared behind the trash bins. They huddled close to each other in a dense row. The lights pressed against the man’s hair, gently ruffling it. The magician quickly pushed aside the metal containers and saw a gaping void in the ground. Rejoicing like a child, he quickly dived into it, thinking nothing of it.

In this purgatory-like space the only thing he wanted is to grab hold of the doorknob that would lead him back home. The white space squeezed him in its grip and he ran with all his might to the black handle that gleamed in the distance. He pulled at it, finding himself in the corridor of his temple. The man stumbled inside, swaying and covered in smoke.
Standing across from him was Ross. He was holding a stack of documents in his hands, but he dropped it to the floor with a crash and threw himself at the sorcerer, clutching him greedily in his arms.

"Stephen, you're alive!" He clung to the man's shoulders, clawing at the fabric with his fingernails and crying silently, pressing against him with his whole being.

"I promised I would come back," the mage pressed his cheek to the top of the Ross’s head and leaned his back against the closed door.

"You did," the man shyly wiped away the few tears, unwilling to let Steven out of his arms.

Strange lifted his head, lost in thought.

"A new acquaintance of mine gave me some advice."

Ross chuckled, squinting his eyes. "You're always making new acquaintances, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am, but don't interrupt me. Not until I pass out, or until some thunderbird shows up. Or Dormammu," Strange stretched out one hand, scraping at his skin with his fingernail, but the effort failed, and the mage looked around. He caught a glimpse of Qilin walking by and showed him his hand. The animal with the long horns snorted.

"I know you've wanted this for a long time. Come on, your time has come.”

The creature graciously condescended to the mortal's request and stepped closer.

"Time for what?" Ross pulled back briefly and stared at Qilin, whom he had seen walking here and there all this time. It tilted its head and slowly swiped one of its horns across his palm, leaving a shallow scratch.

"Tell me, before it's too late and I've made a mess of things and this nice deity hasn't butt me. Do you wish to form a bond with me?”

"A bond?“

"Yes, because of this bond I will belong to you completely, I will try to live by your side for the rest of my life, to love and honor you. Did I say it right?”

The deity nodded and snorted again, now staring at Everett, waiting for his answer. He opened his mouth in surprise and blurted out:

"You want a marriage between us?”

"No, a bond. Marriage implies that even if I have a ring on my finger I can still cheat on you, disappear, and generally have a life separate from you. And this bond means that I am ready to take all responsibility and any burden. To bind myself to you forever.”

Ross was deep in thought. Was he ready for something like this? To be bound to someone until the end of one of their lives.

"Yes. I'm ready.”

Strange smirked and clenched his fist, then opened it to reveal a small, floating seal. It spun and hummed, emitting the scent of spices that always surrounded Strange. The sorcerer pulled the other man's hand and gently slid his index finger through the seal. The mark curled around his finger, leaving a thin, glowing trail of script. Script that could not be erased or removed.

The Qilin had already started to walk down the hall when the blonde called out to him and held out an open palm.

"It's not necessary," Steven shook his head. "You don't have to take that responsibility.”

"But I want to, so respect my choice.”

The deity seemed to fully agree with Ross’s opinion and snorted in amusement. It stepped closer and dragged its second horn across the offered hand, leaving an identical scratch.

"What do I need to say?" Ross turned to the sorcerer, who seemed frozen for a moment before snapping back to reality.

"You have to," he paused. "You have to ask me if I’m willing to form a bond."

"Stephen Strange, will you form a bond with me?"

The brunette swallowed and answered hoarsely, "Yes, I will form a bond with you. Now repeat after me: By this bond, I will belong to you, utterly and completely, and I shall strive to live out my full life by your side, loving and honoring you."

Ross repeated the vow word for word, smiling happily for some reason.

"Now it will hurt a little because your body isn't used to magic, and it will not be easy for you to accept my essence.”

"It's okay, I can handle it."

Steven squeezed the other man's fist hard enough that Ross felt a whole stream of strange sensations. Some were pleasant, others were painful, but the pain was a dull ache, not sharp or stabbing - it was a natural extension of everything else. He guessed this was how Strange's own hands felt. Not debilitating, but a constant reminder. This pain had always been the companion of the strange man, and to feel it as the sorcerer himself felt it seemed magical.

"Doesn't it hurt?”

"It hurts, but it's you," Ross smiled blissfully, shocking the sorcerer once more.

Another small seal flew out of the fist. Everett grabbed the other man's hand and put his index finger through it, spreading the smell of freshly mown grass. Just as refreshing as Ross himself.

Stephen looked down at his own finger and smiled in wonder.

"Well, if that's the case, then I'll give you the gift you rightfully deserve. If you're ready to bear the burden of my life, it will only work once, but I’m sure you'll love it.”

"What is it?"

Strange touched his thumb to the man's forehead, exactly where the third eye should be. And the blond man heard singing - like a multitude of voices singing some strange melody, as the corridor grew lighter and brighter, strange creatures floated in the air and spread colours across the temple, they flashed and disappeared.

"Is that how you see things?"

"When I use the eye, yes.”

"And do you always hear it?”

"I always hear it, so when I say that it's never quiet in the temple, that's exactly what I mean," Stephen smiled very tenderly, tilting his head and watching his spouse's reaction. He moved his head to the beat of the melody and closed his eyes.

"It's wonderful. What are they singing about?”

"About love," the brunette shrugged. "About the universe and about you.”

" Me? What about me?”

"That you have entered the circle of life and now," Strange smiled, "you will not leave it, or this temple, or them, or me.”

The Qilin shook its head and walked away, its hooves not touching the grass. Ross watched it with some admiration.

"Everett.”

"What?" the blond turned around, smiling.

"I love you.”

The agent seemed deeply shocked. He opened his mouth slightly and only managed to let out a low whistle.

"You don't have to answer, I can hear what you're thinking anyway. Thank you, it's nice to know that I'm the best for you.”

"What? Stay out of my head! Why can't I do that?”

"Of course you can. Now you can kind of do everything I can do in our bond.”

"How do I do it then?" Everett chuckled.

"Just focus and listen.”

The agent closed his eyes and sighed, trying to do what he was told. Somewhere in his brain, a voice spoke.

"Don't think I'm going to say anything sentimental in your head. It's just that now we'll have phone sex, but without the phone."

"Strange! How could you ruin a moment like this?”

"It's me," he grinned, stepping close, "And I've always been like that, anything that needs to be said, I can unashamedly say out loud.”

"Like what? - Ross smiled.

“Like the fact that I missed you, and that I'm starting my honeymoon," he picked Ross up in his arms and unceremoniously dragged him into the room.

"You idiot! Honeymoons are for travelling, not sitting in a room!”

" Have you forgotten who I am? We can go anywhere we want, no plane, no travel agent, anytime we want. How's that?”

Ross smiled contently.

"I'm not going to praise you.”

"Come on, say it, say it!”

"You're my magnificent sorcerer supreme.”

"Oh, how I’ve missed home!" he grinned and closed the bedroom door behind him.