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           He wiggled his toes inside his shoes and looked around the dark park, anywhere but at the beautiful woman sitting beside him. Martin dared a glance over to Molly as she slipped her arm through the crook of his. Martin knew what was supposed to happen after a date, but he didn't want to botch it up. Neither did he want to ignore it.

           "Em, M-m-molly?" he stammered.

           "Yeah?" she turned and Martin quickly ducked in, his lips quickly brushing hers.

           Though neither looked at the other, they both smiled.

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            It may have taken several hours of humiliation from Douglas AND Arthur, but Martin decided that it was worth it. It was worth having to hold hands with them so that he could exchange them for Molly in the most beautiful dress he'd seen. Of course she always looked beautiful to him. But there, on the dance floor, turning in gentle, graceful circles as one, somehow she was so lovely that even he felt a little less ordinary. It was like a fairytale, he decided. Martin the knight and Molly the princess.

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            Martin's eyelids fluttered open in a panic and he looked around him. Twists of metal surrounded him, the turn signal still flashed. Oh, he was sore, but alive. What had happened? He remembered driving with Molly, then the truck hit them-Molly!

            "Molly!?" he called out.

            "I'm here, Martin." her small voice sounded next to him. He looked to her, she smiled weakly, pinned to her seat by another twist of metal.

            "It'll be alright." Martin said, working his arm out and taking her hand. "I've got you."

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            Molly sniffled and rolled over in bed. She silently cursed her nose for deciding to get an infection. She felt miserable. She cracked an eye open and discovered a note on the pillow next to her.

           'In the living room. -MC'

            Molly shuffled out of her room and stared at the room. It was clean, and Martin was sitting on the couch. He smiled and offered,

           "Soup?" Molly nodded and sat down next to him, still sniffling. Martin wrapped an arm about her and kissed her head. She was feeling better already.

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              "So who's the girl on the fridge?" The Doctor asked, flipping the omelet in the pan. Martin looked up in alarm, and glanced at the picture of Molly, an unconscious smile spreading across his face. "Girlfriend?" he continued.

              "Uh, no." Martin stuttered. "Not my girlfriend. Just a friend...who's a girl. She's a colleague-no, she's a mate, well...friend."

              The Doctor smiled. "And she rocks your world?" Martin looked up in confusion.

             "What?"

             "It's a song."

             "Oh."

             "For God's sake, kiss the girl!"

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            Martin opened the door and stumbled across the threshold. The flat was quiet and dark, but he didn't need to even have his eyes open as he made his way directly to the bedroom. Which was a good thing as he was completely exhausted.

            MJN's business had finally picked up and he was working constantly. He slowly opened the bedroom door and was met with the gentle breaths of Molly sleeping. She always looked so utterly calm and peaceful when she was asleep.

            But then a sound cut through the night. Martin sighed quietly. He turned to the door across the hall and opened it.

           "Shh." he said, tripping over a discarded toy and catching himself on the crib. "Mummy's asleep, Amanda."

           He looked down at his daughter, who hadn't listened to his advice and continued to cry. He picked her up and hummed as he settled down in the rocking chair. The gentle back and forth rhythm soothed her and him to sleep.

           When Molly found the two of them still asleep the next morning, she couldn't help but smile.

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            "I don't know why I'm doing this. Douglas was right, I'm just going to fail." Martin muttered, tying his shoe.

            "Don't believe that stuffy prefect for one minute, Martin. You'll be great." Molly assured him.  Martin looked up, feeling a little better but he was still terribly nervous. He didn't know why he had decided to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

             But when Molly handed him his (hand-me-down) broom and a quick kiss on the cheek, he knew it was the right choice.

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             Martin sat there, staring at the blank screen. The flashing cursor seemed to be mocking him and his inability to write words that adequately expressed his feelings for Molly. The silent argument between Martin and the blinking stick went on longer than he thought, because Molly walked through the door and asked,

             "Whatcha doing?" Martin tried to cover the screen, but realized he had nothing to hide.

             "Nothing." he sighed. Molly came up behind him and looked at the empty document.

             "Were you trying to write something?" she asked, smiling. Martin slowly nodded. "What were you trying to write?"

             "...A letter."

             "What kind of a letter?"

             "...A...love...letter." Martin avoided her gaze, so Molly leaned forward, reaching around Martin to get to the keyboard.  She typed in four words and left Martin with a gentle kiss on the top of his head. Martin couldn't help but smile as he read,

             I Love You, Martin.

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            Martin sat down in the empty train cabin, happy to find somewhere quiet and away from so many strange children...his classmates. The idea of going to Hogwarts was exciting, but at the same time scary. He didn't know if he'd fit in, or even just find a friend. Suddenly, a cat climbed out from under the seat and settled in the surprised Martin's lap. The door opened,

            "Luna! There you are." a young girl picked up the cat and started petting him. "Sorry about that, she likes to run away. What's your name?" she sat down in the seat across from Martin, who couldn't bring himself to say anything.

            "Oh, sorry! Was someone sitting here?" Martin quickly shook his head and she smiled. "Good. Every where else was full or they wouldn't let me sit with them." Her bright smile dimmed a little. "Is this your first year at Hogwarts?" Martin slowly nodded. "Mine too. Want to be friends?" she asked brashly.

             Martin nodded slowly. "I'm Martin." he finally managed.

            "Molly, nice to meet you."

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            "Give it back!" Loki cried, stumbling a bit over his feet as he struggled to keep up with the group of boys who had stolen his book.

            "Why don't you make us, O Powerful One?" the biggest one mocked, turning around and holding the book just out of young Loki's reach. He jumped for it, but missed, much to the delight of the pack. He tried again, but the boys pushed him to the ground. Loki bit his lip and ran away, giving the book up for lost.

            Later that night, he sat in his room, sniffling and nursing his wounds. Someday, he promised himself severely, someday they would regret it. The sound of the book dropping on the ground in front of him interrupted his thoughts. Loki looked up to find Thor, a concerned look on his face.

            "Are you all right, brother?"

            "Fine." Loki clutched book and looked away from Thor, who sat down next to him.

            "Pay them no heed, they are not worth your...distress."

            "Someday they'll regret it." Loki whispered. Thor was silent for a minute, and then spoke,

            "When that day comes, I shall be by your side." Loki sniffled a last time and smiled at his brother.

            Thor blinked a few times and shook his head as the memory dissolved. Strange how something that happened so long ago, on a different world, could still feel as fresh as this present moment.  Thor watched as the same man-boy, really-prowled about his glass cage, the blood of so many already on his hands, and wondered just how they had fallen this far.

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             He stared at the two bottles on the table, glancing up at the smiling man on the other side.

            "Trust me, all you'll have to do is talk to them, and they'll all fall for it, maybe even the great Sherlock Holmes. They're so predictable that way."

            "But I could die. It's just chance." he said.

            "No, it's not chance. It's chess." Moriarty replied, smiling at the funny little genius cabbie.

            He puzzled over it for a moment more. Chess, not chance? How? Then he suddenly understood.

            "As I already said, 250,000 for each person you kill-"

             It was chess, but he was not a player.  

            "-Except for Sherlock." 

            He was just a pawn, the first move in the game of chess between these two genius madmen.

            "Leave him alone, though I trust he'll figure it out." Moriarty began to look bored, but he still asked, "Interested?"

            The cabbie looked up at him, and knew that he couldn't say no.

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             The bag was ripped from his head and Moriarty gasped. He smoothed his hair and looked around the dark room. It was empty except for a lone figure.

             "I require your services, James Moriarty." the man spoke. Jim stood up and backed up a step.

             "What do you want?" he asked. The man chuckled.

             "They say in a world of locked doors, the man with the key is king." Loki turned around and smirked at Jim's wary yet greedy face. "How would you like to be a god?"

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             "Hold this and don't open it till I say so." Loki instructed Moriarty as he handed him a pocket-watch. Moriarty casted a sidelong glance at him but obeyed as they walked into the old bookstore.

             A man stood at the counter, engrossed in a book. He looked up and quickly ran a hand through his ginger colored curls, putting away his book.

            "Can I help you find anything?" he asked.

            "Actually we have something for you." Loki said, smiling slightly and turning to Jim. Moriarty held out the watch and the man got a strange look in his eyes.

           "That looks...familiar.” he murmured.

           "Open it, James." Moriarty snapped open the watch and golden gas escaped, entering the man who collapsed on the counter.

           "What was that?" Moriarty asked, mind already spinning with uses for the golden gas.

           "Just wait." Loki said. The man stood up, but he was different. There was now a madness in his eyes.

           "Welcome back, Master." They shared a sinister smile.

           "It's good to be back, Loki."

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              “So what fresh new Hell has the Earth gotten itself into this time?”

              “Sit down, Stark. You’re late.” Fury answered severely.  Tony unceremoniously dropped himself into one of the chairs around the table, and winked at the stern Steve across the table.

              “In answer to your question, Stark, it’s not new Hell. It’s Loki.”

              “Wait a minute, I thought he had been taken back to Asgard and dealt with.” Bruce said. “Wasn’t he?”

              “He was.” Thor replied regretfully. “But he has managed to escape his cell.”

              “And now he’s joined up with some rather formidable forces.” Fury finished, tossing two files onto the polished table. “They’re called Th-”

               A sudden vworping sound caused everyone around the table to stop, and the appearance of a blue police box made them stand up in alarm.  The door opened with a squeak and a man with a fez popped his head out.

             “Oh, hallo!” he stepped out and rubbed his fingers together. “Is this is secret Avengers meeting?”

             “Of course it is.” Said another taller man in a dark coat as he stepped out. “I said they would be meeting in the Avengers tower, hardly a difficult deduction.”

             “Wait a minute.” Steve said, stepping forward. “Just who are you?”

             “Doctor, Sherlock, nice of you to show up.” Fury said. The whole group turned to look at him. “Sit down; you’re also late.”

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           "We regret to inform you that you did not pass your-"

           Martin sighed and rested his head in his hands, not bothering to minimize the email. He could feel the tears beginning to well up. He had worked so hard for that test, and now it was all for naught. But this was the way everything seemed to go for him, try and fail. The tears began to flow freely.

           Molly found him still at the desk several hours later. As she approached she saw the email still open on the desktop. Her heart broke for him, she knew how hard he had worked. She stood behind him for a minute, then leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

           "Hey." she whispered in his ear "Know this, no matter what you do or what you don't do, or whether you pass or fail, I love you. And I will always love you, Martin." He sat up, and while he didn't know if it was going to be alright, he did feel a little better because he knew that no matter what Molly would be there for him.

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            "Mind if I join you?" Sherlock asked as he stepped onto the dark balcony. Dean shrugged and took another swig of his beer. Sherlock pulled out a cigarette and took a long drag.

             "Getting too noisy in there?" Dean asked, gesturing back into the room behind them. Sherlock glanced back to the gathering.

             "Something like that." There was silence between the two men, then Dean asked.

             "Do you think you can figure something for me?" Sherlock glanced over, eyes narrowed.

             "I suppose." 

             “I understand why most everyone’s here. But why am I here? Why did Fury ask me and Sam to come? I mean, we’re not aliens or geniuses or genetic experiments. We’re-”

             “No one?”

             Dean nodded. “Basically, yeah. We don’t belong with the rest of you.” Dean caught a glimpse of Sam carrying on a very lively conversation with Steve and the Doctor. “Well…maybe it’s just me then.”

             “Where do you think you belong then, Dean?” He glanced at Sherlock and shrugged.

             “Hell if I know.”

             “That may be the reason why you were called, why all of us were called. Where else would a sociopath or a man who killed his entire race or a paranormal hunter belong?” Dean paused and thought about it as Sherlock extinguished his cigarette.  “Besides, Fury seems the type of man who usually gets what he wants.” 

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          Sam glanced down at the name before quietly answering the buzzing phone,

          "Dean."

          "Sammy? Everything alright?"

          Sam glanced around the dark, quiet room.

          "So far so good. But then it's only 2am." The brothers were silent as Sam stood up, pacing about the room.

          "You know, Sam, nothing's gonna happen. We got it. She's safe."

          "I know, Dean. But..." he sighed. "I couldn't sleep if I tried."

         "Yeah, I hear ya. Lord knows I sat up on Malcolm's six-month birthday."

         "I'll talk to you later, Dean."

         "Take care, Sammy." Sam snapped the phone shut, and approached the crib of his daughter. He looked down at Lilly Mary and smiled, reaching down and gently rubbing a finger over her soft cheek.

          Nothing was going to hurt her, he promised himself. Sam sat down in the nearby rocking chair, a bottle in one hand and a gun in the other, and prepared for a long night.

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           "Alright. Night-night, sweetheart." Sam said, placing a kiss on the top of his daughter's head. She looked up at him with his own puppy dog brown eyes and he understood why Dean would always give in.  

           "Will you check under the bed for monsters?" she asked, pulling the covers up to her chin. He smiled and shook his head,

           "I already checked your closet, and the window's latched, sweetie. You're safe, I promise." He leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead, but she ducked under the covers.

           "Will you still check?" came her muffled voice. Sam sighed but said,

           "Fine." he picked up the flashlight and flattened himself next to the bed.  The space was empty, except for a few stray dust bunnies. "No monsters under here." he said, standing up.

            Finally satisfied, she asked, "Daddy, are monsters real?" Sam paused, and looked at his daughter's innocent face.

           "No." he said, pulling her into a hug. "And even if they were, I'd protect you."

           "Promise?" 

           "I promise."

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            "Sam? ...Sammy?" Dean could feel panic rising in his chest as he barked, "SAM!" Sam rolled over and muttered sleepily,

            "What is it, Dean?" Sam opened his eyes to find Dean standing in white socks and a black tux, furiously shoveling through his backpack. "Nice tux." Sam said, snickering. Dean looked up and declared,

            "All of my clothes are gone! They've all been replaced with tuxes." Sam sat up.

            "Wait. Really?"

            "Yeah!" Dean threw a couple cummerbunds in the air to make his point. 

            "Well, did you check the closet?" Sam asked, getting up out of bed. "Here you go." Dean ran to the closet. "This isn't a tux. Three piece suit." he held the grey tailored suit out to Dean.

            "Ha ha ha, Funny." Dean turned away and continued to tear apart the hotel room, hoping to find his clothes. Sam chuckled and turned to his own bag for a shirt, but there was none to be found. Only jeans.

            "Did you touch my stuff?" Sam asked.

            "No." came Dean's muffled reply from under the bed.

            "Well, all my shirts are gone!" Dean come out from under the bed, and looked into the bag.

            "Here you go. Body oil." Dean smirked, pulling out the bottle from the bag. 

            "Very funny." Sam said, pulling a scrap of paper out of the bag. "Great. Just great."

            "What?" Dean asked, taking the paper and reading.

            "Sorry about the clothes boys, but a couple of lady friends asked and I just couldn't refuse. - The Trickster" Sam and Dean shared a look.

            "If it was Bela, I swear to God I'm going to kill her." Dean grumbled.

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           "Now, now. I wouldn't worry about me, Mr. Holmes." the Master chuckled, disappearing into the dark alley. "I'd worry about your little domestic house pet." Sherlock brow furrowed and suddenly a wave of cold fear swept over him.

           "John." he whispered turning tail and running out of the alley, jumping into the Impala and shouting "DRIVE" at Tony who was arguing with Dean.

           The streets of London flew past them and Sherlock didn't wait for the car to come to a complete stop, running into the flat.  He slammed the door open.

           "John!?" he called, pounding up the stairs, Dean and Tony right behind him. As he burst into the living room, Sherlock saw the John-shaped figured standing at the window. "John?" he asked, calming a bit.

           "John's not here right now." John replied turning around, his eyes completely black and a sinister smile on his face. "But I'll tell him you called."

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            “Dean!” A ruler slammed down on his desktop, as Dean quickly snapped awake.

            “What the-?” he began, but another ruler snapped on his desk.

            “Watch your language, young man!” Dean looked up, and his mouth fell open.

            “Miss…Olivia?” he asked, completely shocked.

            “That’s Sister Olivia to you, young man. You’d know that if you weren’t sleeping.”

             Satisfied, the sister left and Dean began looking around.  But there was the pressing matter of his clothes, or uniform complete with sweater.  He looked to his left and Sam was there, notebook out already covered with notes.  Sam gave him an encouraging smile.  To his right, Castiel was sitting, also in a sweater, with that thoughtful look on his face.  Dean pulled at his suddenly suffocating bowtie and settled in for the longest hour of his life.

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"I swear to God, Cas, I'm gonna die...or kill something." Dean grumbled under his breath as the teacher continued discussing Impressionist painting. Cas looked up and around,

"I apologize, I wasn't paying attention." Dean looked at Cas's notes.

"What's that?" he grabbed the paper. "You're rearranging your schedule?" Cas took the paper back and didn't answer. "You did that last week!"

"I realize this, but I find it enjoyable."

"Nerd." Dean muttered, turning away and shaking his head.

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"They're gaining on us, Skip." Arthur said, leaning over the aft railing.

"I'm aware of this fact. Go check the turbines." Martin said, spinning the helm, trying to catch a stronger breeze as Arthur shinnied up a ladder to the large blimp that held their airship aloft.

"If they catch us, we'll be sent to the Magistrate and the lightning will be lost." Douglas said, looking through a spyglass.

 "I know! Who did they send this time? Not Herc again? "

"No, someone new this time. ...Hooper."

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          Molly sighed as she opened the door to the dark apartment.  She kicked off her shoes and dropped on the couch as Toby graced her with his presence.

          “Happy birthday, Molly.” She said sadly, running her fingers through Toby’s fur.  Martin had gotten into a practical knock-down-drag-out fight with Carolyn over being in Ireland that weekend but there was nothing he could do.  She had told him that she understood and they would celebrate when he got back, but now she regretted saying so.  The doorbell rang and Molly dragged herself to the door.

          “Delivery for Molly Hooper?” the boy asked, and Molly nodded. “Sign here.”

           As she signed, he produced a very large bouquet of her favorite flowers and a card.  She grabbed both and shut the door behind her, ripping open the card, which was dated from several months before.

           “Dearest Molly, I have a feeling that I won’t be able to be with you on your birthday.  I hope I’m wrong, but I’d like to be prepared anyway.  Just know that you are always in my thoughts, but especially so on this very special day.  I love you more than words can say and I will give you a proper celebration when I return. Happy Birthday, darling. Your, Martin

            P.S. The flowers were from a bet I finally won with Douglas.  Perhaps my luck is changing.”

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            "What the hell did we do, Doc?"

            "Your guess is as good as mine, Dean.  I've only seen this happen once before and there were...extenuating circumstances." The two men frowned as they both looked at the pair of women in front of them. One with a leather jacket, and the other with a blue dress.  The first turned to the other and said,

            "What's your name? I'm Baby."

            "I'm Sexy. Nice to meet you."

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Dean had many regrets in his life, so many that it would take too long to list them.  The strangest one on the list though, was the time he took Cas to the grocery store.

"Dean, why are you buying those packaged pastries when these say they have 25% less fat?" Cas asked, holding out the box of Twinkies. Dean stared at him for a minute.

"Because these taste better." he answered gruffly, turning around.

"Here, Dean." Cas said, swiftly following and dropping a bottle into his cart. "These Flint Stone vitamins will help Sam. The label says so."

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"What is this?" Cas asked, looking at the state of the small hunting cabin.  Dean jumped up from the scalding pot of pasta sauce.

"Cas!" he said, accidentally hitting the handle, which sent half of the sauce flying across the floor and Dean.  The box of spaghetti hit the burner and immediately caught on fire.  And the only immediate source of water was the vase of roses, which Cas grabbed and dosed the flames and Dean.  Dean sputtered and attempted to wipe off the water and sauce. "You're early." he muttered. Cas smiled and picked up a rose from the floor. He handed it to Dean.

"Happy Valentine's Day."

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"Hurry up, Cas!" Dean said, irritably. "I'm getting the urge to lick myself again."

"It's not my fault you were turned into a cat." Cas said calmly, opening up various jars and emptying them into the bowl.

"If you hadn't pissed off that warlock, and I didn't have to save you, I wouldn't be a cat." Dean leaned down and sniffed the edge of Cas's jacket.  He ran along the back of his legs. Cas paused and scratched the back of Dean's head. "Over a little more, yeah, right there."

"You know, Dean, petting you isn't going to cure you sooner."

"Oh, fine. Finish the spell."

Cas picked up a handful of the mixture and tossed it on Dean, who quickly returned to his full size.

"Finally." Dean said, rubbing his furless arms.  Then he leaned in and pointed a finger at Cas's nose. "You tell Sam about any of this...there will be blood."

"Of course, Dean." Cas said, smiling lightly.

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Molly glanced up from the microscope, timidly biting a lip.  Sherlock was in one of his moods, she could practically see the ‘NO TRESPASSING’ sign around his personal space.  Even still she gingerly spoke up,

“Uh, Sherlock…?”

“What.” he griped, not even opening his eyes.

“We got a new body in this morning…” she began. He didn’t respond so she continued after a moment. “It’s very interesting. It’s a young man, no obvious signs of death except well…his eyes were burnt out of their sockets.”

Sherlock opened his eyes and turned to look at her. She could see the dark clouds beginning to roll away. “Would you like to take a look?”

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Sherlock jerked awake, and pulled at the restraints around his wrists and ankles while quickly looking around the dimly lit cabin.

“Struggle all you want to, Mr. Holmes, but you’re in the middle of Prussia in January. Even if you do escape, you won’t last long.” a woman emerged from the shadows by the fireplace, brandishing a small, thin blade.

She leaned close to Sherlock, dragging the blade across his cheek, and whispered, “I’m Molly, Willhelm’s favorite…guard dog, and you and I are about to get very well-acquainted.”

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John looked at himself in the mirror for a second, and nodded. This isn't half bad, he thought before stepping out of the dressing room to face Sherlock. 

"No." he said, after taking one look at John in the tux and glancing around the showroom looking utterly bored.

"What's wrong with this one? I thought it didn't look half-bad." John stepped up on the dias and tried to find the mistakes that Sherlock obviously saw.

"You're right, it's not half-bad. It's all bad." Sherlock stood up sharply and picked up another jacket off the rack.  Several assistants scuttled around the shop to find the rest of the ensemble in John's size.

"I don't know why I need a tux anyway." John muttered, grabbing the jacket from Sherlock and entering the dressing room again.

"You're meeting my mother, you're going to want a tux."

"Or a suit of armor." John replied quietly, but Sherlock still heard.

"A tux is more socially acceptable." Sherlock called, sitting down once again.  John put on the new tux and looked at himself. Damn him, he thought, as he could see that Sherlock had been right about this one.

John stepped out of the dressing room again and Sherlock looked up without saying anything.  He simply stood up and adjusted John's bow tie.

"This is the one." he said, and John could see a slight smile in his eyes.