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❝ I believe there’s a 𝐻𝐸𝑅𝒪 in all of us, gives us 𝓢𝓣ℛ𝓔𝓝𝓖𝓣ℋ, makes us 𝓝𝓞ℬℒ𝓔, and finally allows us to 𝓓𝓘𝓔 with pride, even thought sometimes we have to be 𝓢𝓣𝓔𝓐𝓓𝓨 and 𝓖𝓘𝓥𝓔 𝓤𝓟 the thing we want most.
[ In truth, he didn’t get to America all that often. He really should’ve, though. It was always a wealth of opportunity. New innovations and people at every corner. Enough cases to last a while, especially now that he was living alone. It was only for a few weeks, and then he would be back in London. He called John ever so often, he had done a few cases, he had investigated the strange powered people - but he didn’t have much time for the very latter.
Whether he had angered some important people or they were just old enemies, Sherlock was surrounded one day. It was night. He’d been walking back to his hotel. He had fumbled frantically for a gun in his pocket that wasn’t there, and then he just took a step back to analyse the situation. Four men. Two armed with knives, the other two with handguns - from this distance, he couldn’t tell. One with military training. One was ex-CIA. The other two - trained hitmen, perhaps? Difficult to tell.
He had to find a way out of this. He could. He was Sherlock Holmes.
Who, as it happened, was not invincible to bullets. ]
[ He’d actually remembered to pick up some groceries this time. They were in his hands, the bags fluttering in the wind, but the eggs were intact and the frozen pizza was still pretty cold. God just thinking about it made his stomach growl. Patrol was easy, maintaining your dorm room’s fridge was not. Not that he couldn’t, but being a superhero and a college student and a good boyfriend, and a great nephew, and a sorta-not-really-honorary-in-his-dream Avenger was an enormous plate to- Hello.
Spider-Man released his last web cable, dangled in the air for only a moment, then plummeted down to the streets below. The air was quiet, his bio cables silent as they slowed his fall, and soon, he was on a warehouse roof. His groceries were snagged from the air, webbed to a corner of the building.
Down below, there was a distinct lack of over-confident chuckling that we’re usually connected to a mugging, but the four burly men that had cornered the one, had nothing if not bad intentions. Also, they had knives. And probably guns. So, there’s that. He was probably going to wake up with bruises tomorrow, ugh, he was gonna be late for Professor Dalton’s seminar too, damn it.
Peter slinked down the edge of the building, covered in shadow, eyeing the men cautiously. Yeah, two knives, easily fixed. From the shade, he disarmed two of the men, snatching the blades from their grasp with a well aimed cable. They more grunted then gasped their dilemma, and alerted the other two. ]
“Ah, fuck.”
“Now, now! Such language! What would your mothers say?”
“He’s more annoying in person.”
“Ouch!”
[ Peter placed a hand over his heart. ]
“That hurt, man. Right here. Right in the ticker!”
[ He kicked the guy in the chest. So what if he’s cheesy? Peter thought he was damn hilarious.
Yeah, so sore tomorrow morning. These men are beefcakes. Well trained beefcakes. ]
