Sherloki'd ✓completed

The Shawaffee Shop Finale

"What took you so long?" she hissed.

"Sorry, I don't have superspeed," Loki shrugged, "but I do have a plan. You don't need to disguise yourself as waiter, you can just go sit over there with Haymitch. You'll be close, but not too close, and you can keep an eye on them with a decent alibi."

Mary nodded, and Loki leaned forwards to whisper in her ear.

"Plus, I think Haymitch has a crush on you."

Mary went a bright red, and Loki gently shoved her into Haymitch's direction.

"Go on."

She walked to Haymitch's table slowly, and Loki smiled proudly to himself.

"Excuse me sir, can I help you?" a waitress enquired.

"Oh, right," Loki snapped out of his daze, "I was coming to ask for a waiter for table 22."

The waitress nodded.

"I'll be right on it... Loki."

He frowned as she walked away, trying to pinpoint how the waitress could possibly know him.

He gave up quickly — he had way too much other things on his mind — walking over to Bucky's small one-man table instead.

"Are you okay here?" he asked in a soft whisper, and Bucky nodded quickly.

"Could you move a little to the left?" he asked, "you're blocking my view of Irene."

Loki obliged, studying the drawing that was appearing on the paper as Bucky worked on it fervently.

It featured a beautiful young woman in a stunning red dress, and a detective in a dark coat with the collar turned up. A darkened coffee shop, with one table, and one candle.

"It's not done yet," Bucky apologised when he saw Loki staring at it.

"No, it's brilliant," Loki whispered, his fingers tracing the lines without touching the surface of the paper, "you can totally recognize Irene and Sherlock."

"Thanks," Bucky blushed, "but maybe you should go sit down before you draw too much attention to me."

"You're the one drawing," Loki smirked, but he walked over to Wanda's table nonetheless.

Did I just make a pun? What is wrong with me? This universe is affecting me more than it should...

And not just the universe either.

He glanced over to Sherlock, whom he had grown inexplicably attached to in a matter of days.

I can't grow attached to people. It never works out. They either die, betray me, or consistently expect me to change. I'm not going to change. I'm a villain — I betray people for living. I'm the God of Lies, aren't I? So why can nobody just accept that?

Does Sherlock accept that? I mean, he still doesn't completely believe in Asgard, as far as I know. He's a realist. Is that what makes him accept me? Does he really still think that New York is hoax, or does he hate me for what he now knows to be the truth? Why do I even care what he thinks anyway? For Jotunheim's sake, he's a mortal! He'll be dead before I know it. Just like Stark, Wanda, and Bucky, and...

He swallowed.

"Why so depressed?" the waitress enquired, coming up behind him.

"Oh, it's nothing," Loki rubbing his sleeve in his eye, "just... got some dirt in my eyes."

The waitress laughed.

"And here I was thinking I might see you admit you had a heart for the first time. I suppose I was wrong — Loki Cumberston doesn't have feelings, does he?"