Tony Stark was used to being the center of attention.
He was the headline.
The main character.
The man everyone watched when he entered a room.
This was probably the first time in his life he’d experienced being completely ignored.
Unfortunately, Sherlock’s freshly constructed shower stall was gleaming right in front of him.
Tony looked at it.
Looked at everyone else.
Then gave up resisting.
A few minutes later, he was taking the best shower of his life.
Once he’d cleaned himself up, Tony changed into the same kind of beachwear Sherlock had given Yinsen.
He added a pair of oversized sunglasses for good measure.
Then he climbed into the bed of the Raptor and stretched out beside Yinsen.
One on the left.
One on the right.
Ready to go.
The engine roared.
The Raptor started moving again.
At long last, they were heading home.
Tony and Yinsen couldn’t stop looking around.
Endless golden sand.
A cloudless blue sky.
Blinding sunlight.
To Sherlock, the desert had become monotonous days ago.
To two men who’d spent nearly a month locked inside a dark cave?
Everything was beautiful.
Even the brutal sun overhead—the kind that could practically fry oil out of your skin—looked wonderful.
The Raptor bounced violently over the dunes.
Especially in the truck bed.
Tony and Yinsen were getting their asses hammered into paste by every bump.
Neither cared.
“This is great.”
Yinsen nodded.
Tony grinned into the wind.
“Makes you feel alive.”
Inside the cab, Sherlock, John, Helen, and Doro collectively rolled their eyes so hard it was a miracle nobody injured themselves.
Compared to the trip into the desert, the journey back was much faster.
They already knew the route.
There was no need to scout.
No need to gather intelligence.
No reason to stop for several days of aggressively unnecessary sightseeing.
When Sherlock’s Raptor finally rolled back into the military base, Tony sitting in the truck bed attracted almost the entire camp.
Soldiers gathered around.
People stared.
Some laughed.
Others clearly couldn’t believe Tony Stark had just returned from the dead looking like he’d spent the afternoon at a beach resort.
If Rhodes hadn’t intervened, Tony probably would’ve been displayed at the front gate like a zoo exhibit for another half hour.
Rhodey walked over.
Looked Tony up and down.
Then glanced at the Raptor.
A smile tugged at his mouth.
“Nice ride, Tony.”
Tony groaned.
“Don’t start.”
Rhodey started anyway.
After getting in a few shots about Tony’s luxurious desert chauffeur service, he finally called over the medical team.
The doctors gave Tony a quick examination.
Once they confirmed he wasn’t about to collapse, Rhodes immediately started arranging a flight back to the United States.
Frankly, he wanted Tony out of this region as soon as humanly possible.
The last few weeks had taken years off his life.
Tony Stark in Los Angeles was someone else’s problem.
Tony Stark missing in a war zone?
That was Rhodey’s nightmare.
Yinsen was offered a way out too.
Tony wanted him to come back to America.
Yinsen refused.
“This is my home.”
Tony looked at him.
“You don’t have to stay here.”
“I know.”
Yinsen smiled.
“But I want to.”
Rather than leave for America, he wanted to remain in the region and work as a doctor without borders.
Help people.
Treat whoever needed him.
Tony couldn’t force him.
So in the end, he simply wished Yinsen well and made him promise one thing.
“If anything happens, call me.”
Yinsen nodded.
“I will.”
They said their goodbyes at the base.
The only complication left involved Sherlock’s group.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
had hired them.
So logically, once the mission was complete, they should’ve taken a S.H.I.E.L.D.
flight back to New York.
That was the plan.
Right up until Tony found out.
“No.”
Sherlock looked at him.
Tony crossed his arms.
“You’re coming with me.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m taking all of you back.”
Sherlock glanced toward the S.H.I.E.L.D.
aircraft.
Then back at Tony.
“We already have a plane.”
Tony apparently considered this an unacceptable answer.
So he did what Tony Stark did best.
He weaponized money.
For Sherlock, he made one promise.
“I’ll rebuild your Raptor.”
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed.
Tony pointed toward the truck.
“I’ll keep it comfortable, but by the time I’m done with it, it’ll outperform a Baja race truck.”
Sherlock went quiet.
Very quiet.
Tony smiled.
Then he turned toward John and Helen.
“You two get a vacation.”
Helen blinked.
“Everything paid for by me.”
John’s eyebrow rose.
“Los Angeles.”
Tony spread his hands.
“Hotels, restaurants, whatever you want.”
His grin widened.
“Call it a second honeymoon.”
Helen looked at John.
John looked at Helen.
Sherlock could practically hear another pair of defenses collapsing.
Then Tony turned toward the final obstacle.
Doro.
Tony crouched slightly.
“Doro.”
“Doro?”
“How would you feel about a giant feast?”
Doro’s eyes widened.
“Lots of food.”
Her mouth opened.
“And oranges.”
Doro froze.
Tony delivered the killing blow.
“Every kind.”
“DORO!”
A tiny stream of drool immediately appeared at the corner of her mouth.
Sherlock stared at Tony.
Tony smiled.
Capitalism had won.
Within minutes, the entire group had defected.
S.H.I.E.L.D.’s carefully arranged transportation was abandoned without ceremony.
Sherlock, John, Helen, and Doro boarded Tony’s plane instead.
All because Tony Stark possessed the most terrifying superpower of all.
Money.
Meanwhile, Clint Barton was sitting inside the S.H.I.E.L.D.
aircraft waiting for them.
And waiting.
And waiting.
He checked the time.
Then glanced toward the door.
Where the hell were they?
Had Sherlock’s group decided they weren’t in a hurry to go home?
Clint frowned.
He’d been specifically instructed by Fury to use the return flight as an opportunity to establish a better relationship with Sherlock.
Hard to do that when Sherlock never showed up.
While Hawkeye sat there preparing to recruit a passenger who had already left on someone else’s private jet…
Sherlock was having the time of his life.
Tony’s plane had been airborne for a while.
Sherlock had already explored half the cabin.
Looked here.
Touched there.
Opened compartments.
Inspected furniture.
Basically behaved like someone visiting a billionaire’s private jet for the first time.
Which was exactly what he was.
Across both of his lives, Sherlock had only ever seen things like this in movies and novels.
So yes.
He was curious.
Very curious.
He wandered through the aircraft with Doro in his arms.
Then he found the bedroom.
Sherlock stopped.
There was an actual bedroom.
On the plane.
A proper one.
He looked around.
Then noticed signs that it had very definitely been used.
His expression slowly changed.
Sherlock emerged a few minutes later with exactly one thought in his mind.
Fuck rich people.
He’d thought reaching financial independence meant he was wealthy.
Apparently not.
Apparently Tony Stark was what actual obscene wealth looked like.
Who the hell put a bedroom on a plane?
And based on the evidence Sherlock had just seen… Get faster updates on g.com.
Tony had almost certainly joined the mile-high club in it.
Possibly more than once.
Sherlock returned to the main cabin.
Tony was sitting across from him.
Sherlock stared.
Tony noticed.
Sherlock continued staring.
His expression contained one emotion.
Disgust.
No.
Two emotions.
Disgust…
and the deep resentment of a man realizing someone else was much richer than he was.
The phrase filthy rich bastard was practically engraved across Sherlock’s forehead.
He didn’t need to say a word.
Anyone with eyes could understand.
John and Helen were handling Tony’s wealth much more gracefully.
Mostly because they’d already found the expensive alcohol.
The two sat together, drinking and quietly enjoying each other’s company.
They were so absorbed in their own little world that, if Sherlock and Doro hadn’t been present—and if Tony himself weren’t sitting nearby—they might already have disappeared into that bedroom Sherlock had just inspected.
Tony understood Sherlock’s stare perfectly.
He endured it for a while.
Then finally cracked.
“Sherlock Flamel.”
Sherlock kept staring.
Tony sighed.
“First, could you stop looking at me like that?”
Sherlock did not stop.
“And second…”
Tony’s expression became more serious.
“I need to ask you something.”
That got a little more attention.
“What’s your relationship to Annie Flamel and Nick Flamel?”
Sherlock’s contemptuous stare finally gained a trace of confusion.
“My parents.”
He tilted his head.
“Why?”
He completely ignored Tony’s first request.
Tony noticed.
He decided not to fight that battle.
Across the cabin, John and Helen both quietly started listening.
Sherlock almost never spoke about his family.
This was the first time either of them had heard anything substantial.
Tony’s expression became increasingly complicated.
He took a breath.
“Do you remember that your parents used to work for Stark Industries?”
“Of course.”
Sherlock answered without hesitation.
There was no reason to hide it.
His parents were dead.
What could Tony possibly do with that information?
Apparently reality took that as a challenge.
Tony’s expression stiffened further.
He opened his mouth.
Stopped.
Tried again.
Then finally drew a long breath.
“Your parents worked for Stark Industries for years.”
Sherlock waited.
“I knew them well.”
Tony’s voice had lost most of its usual arrogance.
“Very well.”
Sherlock’s brow furrowed.
Tony continued.
“So whether you believe me or not…”
He hesitated.
“When you were born, your parents asked me to become your godfather.”
Sherlock stared.
John looked over.
Helen froze.
Tony wasn’t finished.
“After your parents died in the plane crash…”
His expression turned even more complicated.
“…your legal guardianship technically passed to me.”
Silence.
Three voices erupted at once.
“WHAT?!”
Sherlock.
John.
Helen.
Tony hadn’t even finished the explanation before all three were staring at him in complete disbelief.
Sherlock’s expression was the best of all.
He looked at Tony.
Then at himself.
Then back at Tony.
Slowly, horribly, the implications began to sink in.
And the look he gave Tony became very, very strange.
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