Watching Sherlock double over and nearly empty his entire stomach onto the ground finally made Yinsen feel a little better.
Not because he enjoyed Sherlock’s suffering.
But because, after witnessing everything that had just happened, it was reassuring to discover that Sherlock Flamel was apparently still a human being…
and not some demon wearing human skin.
As for the terrorists hanging from the stone spikes?
Yinsen thought Sherlock’s methods were horrifyingly cruel.
But he had no objection to the fact that those men were dead.
Yinsen had grown up in this region.
He knew exactly what groups like the Ten Rings had done to innocent people.
Compared with the atrocities they’d committed over the years, Sherlock’s brutality wasn’t enough to make Yinsen mourn them.
Then—
CLANG.
A heavy metallic footstep echoed from the cave.
Everyone turned.
CLANG.
Another.
Metal scraped against stone.
A massive steel figure emerged from the darkness.
“Yinsen!
Sherlock!”
Tony’s voice boomed from inside the armor.
“I’m coming to help!”
The words arrived before Tony himself did.
Then the Mark I lumbered into the sunlight.
Tony took one look at the valley.
And stopped.
Completely.
If the suit’s operating system hadn’t already been primitive enough, he would’ve looked like someone had just force-rebooted him.
Bodies.
Blood.
Stone spikes.
White petals drifting across the battlefield.
Weapons scattered everywhere.
And standing near the center of it all was Sherlock, currently being held upright by John while looking like he was one dry heave away from passing out.
Tony stared through the Mark I’s narrow eye slits.
His expression inside the helmet became increasingly complicated.
First, a perfectly circular tunnel had appeared through the cave wall.
Then a flood had blasted through it.
Then this man called Zhao Wick had come crashing into the cave and immediately started screaming Sherlock’s name like he wanted to murder him.
And now Zhao Wick was supporting Sherlock, who had apparently turned the entire terrorist base into a scene out of hell.
There was only one reasonable conclusion.
Sherlock possessed abilities Tony fundamentally did not understand.
And Sherlock had been the one responsible for all of this.
That alone would’ve been difficult enough to process.
But there was another problem.
Tony knew someone named Sherlock.
And the young man standing in front of him looked nothing like the Sherlock he remembered.
Yinsen noticed Tony simply standing there.
He walked over and slapped one hand against the Mark I’s heavy metal plating.
“Snap out of it, Tony.”
Tony’s attention shifted toward him.
Yinsen glanced across the battlefield.
“Believe me.
Compared to the things the men hanging on those spikes have done, what happened to them can only be called deserved.”
He paused.
“Even if the method was…
not exactly humane.”
“Yinsen, that’s not what I—”
Yinsen lifted a hand and cut him off.
Then he pointed.
“Forget them.”
Tony followed his finger.
Several large crates sat among the wreckage.
Printed across the side of each one was a logo Tony knew better than almost anyone alive.
STARK INDUSTRIES.
Yinsen’s voice became quieter.
“That’s what you should be looking at.”
Tony froze.
Then moved.
The Mark I stomped toward the nearest crates.
“This is impossible.”
He smashed one open.
Wood splintered.
Inside sat a rocket system Tony himself had designed.
Manufactured by Stark Industries.
Tony stared.
“No.”
He turned and tore open the next crate.
More Stark weapons.
“No, no, no.”
More.
“This is wrong.”
The Mark I’s heavy metal hands ripped through one container after another.
“I’ve never sold my weapons to anyone except the military!”
Another crate broke open.
Another piece of Stark hardware appeared.
“That’s not how this works!”
Tony’s voice rose.
“This shouldn’t be here!”
But reality didn’t particularly care what Tony Stark thought should or shouldn’t be possible.
His company’s weapons were everywhere.
Not one crate.
Not one stolen shipment.
An arsenal.
Tony stopped.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he slowly drew a breath.
When he spoke again, something in his voice had changed.
“Yinsen.”
Yinsen looked at him.
“Take those two and get out of here.”
Yinsen’s eyes widened.
“What about you?”
Tony glanced across the valley.
Yinsen stepped closer.
“Tony, look around!”
His voice became urgent.
“If any of these people have reinforcements coming, they’re not going to forgive what happened here.”
He slapped the armor again.
“You need to leave with us.”
Tony shook his head inside the helmet.
“I am leaving.”
“Then come now.”
“Not yet.”
Tony looked toward the mountains of Stark weapons.
“Before I go, all of this has to disappear.”
Yinsen fell silent.
Tony’s voice hardened.
“This place became what it is because of weapons my company built.”
He looked across the valley.
“Whatever the explanation is, they’re here.”
A pause.
“So they’re my responsibility.”
Yinsen opened his mouth.
Tony interrupted him before he could argue.
“Trust me.”
He thumped one metal fist against his chest plate.
“I’m a genius, remember?”
Even through the crude speaker, some of the old Tony Stark arrogance returned.
“I have way too many things left to do with my life to die in this dump.”
Yinsen still looked unconvinced.
Tony continued.
“And you helped me build this thing.”
He gestured toward the Mark I.
“You know what it’s capable of.”
A beat.
“I’ll be fine.”
That was debatable.
But Yinsen knew Tony well enough by now to recognize when his mind was made up.
He finally sighed.
Then turned and walked toward Sherlock and John.
After a brief discussion, Sherlock agreed almost immediately.
Tony wanted to stay behind and destroy the weapons?
Fine.
That fit the movie anyway.
Before leaving, however, Sherlock walked back over to the Mark I.
He took out a small ring.
Tony stared through the eye slit.
“What’s that?”
“Tracker.”
Sherlock pushed the ring through a narrow gap in the armor’s faceplate.
“So we can find you afterward.”
Tony hesitated.
A few weeks ago, he would’ve demanded to know how it worked, who had access to it, whether Sherlock could use it to spy on him, and why anyone expected Tony Stark to shove unknown technology into his armor.
Kidnapping had done wonders for his sense of priorities.
Sherlock and John had crossed a desert to rescue him.
That was enough.
Unfortunately, Tony’s hands were trapped inside the armor.
He had exactly one practical storage option. This story is hosted at g.com.
So Tony Stark— billionaire.
Genius.
Future Iron Man.
—put the ring in his mouth.
Sherlock paused.
Tony glared at him through the helmet.
“Don’t.”
Sherlock wisely said nothing.
Once Tony had secured the “tracking device,” Sherlock left with John and Yinsen.
John and Yinsen supported Sherlock between them as he guided the group back toward their underground base.
They made it about halfway.
Then Sherlock suddenly stopped.
John looked at him.
“What now?”
Sherlock said nothing.
He reached into one of his spatial rings.
Three chairs appeared.
Then food.
Water.
Snacks.
Quite a lot of snacks, actually.
Yinsen stared.
Sherlock arranged the chairs so they faced the distant valley.
Then sat down.
John’s eyes narrowed.
“What are we doing?”
Sherlock opened something to eat.
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
Sherlock handed him a pair of binoculars.
Then another pair to Yinsen.
Neither man understood.
Sherlock refused to explain.
He simply ate.
Drank.
And every so often raised his own binoculars to look toward the valley.
Several minutes passed.
Then more.
Eventually, even Yinsen started getting impatient.
And then—
BOOOOOOM!
The valley erupted.
A massive fireball blasted into the sky.
The explosion expanded upward until it formed a towering mushroom cloud.
Yinsen shot out of his chair.
John raised the binoculars.
Sherlock was already watching.
From the center of the smoke, a tiny black shape suddenly appeared.
It was moving fast.
Sort of.
A thick trail of black smoke streamed behind it.
The object flew toward them in an extremely questionable posture.
Closer.
Closer.
Then—
WHOOSH!
Tony Stark blasted directly over their heads.
The Mark I continued wobbling toward the open desert, leaving a spectacular trail of smoke behind it.
Silence.
John slowly lowered the binoculars.
Yinsen did the same.
Then both men looked at Sherlock.
Sherlock was grinning.
Now they understood.
Why Sherlock had stopped.
Why he’d produced chairs.
Why he’d brought snacks.
Why he’d handed out binoculars.
There had never been any tactical reason.
Sherlock had stopped purely to watch Tony embarrass himself.
And, to be fair…
the way Tony had just flown over their heads was absolutely ridiculous.
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