The Visitor (SherVengers Chapter One)

"Sherlock! Wake up, you've got a visitor!" John pelted his flatmate with pillows.

"M'up. Whayawant?" Sherlock had actually been sleeping as of late; he had finally admitted that he was smarter when he was well rested. John was annoyed by this latest round of boasting, but if it meant less crabiness, he would have been willing to pay just about anything.

"Visitor." John went back to the drawing room. A dapper man was sitting there on the couch, gazing restlessly out of the window. A beefy American bodyguard had told John that he would only speak to Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock came down the stairs, dressed only in the white sheet off of the bed. The man stood up respectfully, and John was surprised to see how short he was, as he gave off a very imposing air.

"Mr. Holmes," said the man, who was apparently American, too. "My name is Tony Stark. I hear you're the best detective in the world. American cops leave a lot to be desired."

"That's no different, then," John muttered under his breath.

"And who might you be?" asked Stark.

"I introduced myself a little while ago. I'm John Watson, colleague of Sherlock's."

"Colleague. Is that why you live in the same apartment?"

"We shared a flat initialy for monetary matters, but as we work together, it is a lot more convenient now." Sherlock spoke for the first time.

"Oh, he talks. Does he do any other special tricks?"

"Forgive my boss. I hear he hasn't been the same since Peter I think," The muscly guy spoke up now.

"Peter?"

"His son."

"I can speak, you know, Rob," Stark said, eyeing the beefy guy.

"Uh, my name is Dan."

"Out of sorts. Got it." John sighed internally. This case didn't seem fun.

"Mr. Watson, are you a father?" Stark asked, turning towards John.

"N-no, I was only-"

"Then you have no right to judge." Sherlock cleared his throat.

"When did you last see Peter? About a month ago?"

"Yes, how did you-"

"They don't call me the best for nothing, Mr. Stark."

"Or the most humble," John mumbled. The corner of Stark's mouth turned up.

"Call me Tony, please. But how did you figure out that he's been gone a month?"

"Because I'm brilliant."

"No, because you saw it on telly a month ago." John rolled his eyes.

"No, because of his beard. He's let it grow for about a month, but the way that it's longer in some areas suggest that he shaved it meticulously before his son's disappearance. The news merely aided my conclusion."

"Is he always this full of himself?"

"Yeah."

"Peter's a teenager?"

"Yeah, he turned seventeen two weeks before he disappeared."

"What did he take with him? And, more importantly, what did he leave behind?"

"He didn't take anything, as far as we can tell."

"We?"

"I'm married."

"You're not wearing the ring. You rarely wear a ring," Sherlock remarked, looking at Tony's fingers.

"It's inconvinient in my line of work."

"Which is....?"

"You tell me. You're the detective, aren't you?" John sighed. Just what he needed, Sherlock being hired by someone just as headstrong and arrogant as he was.

"You're wearing 2,000 dollar cuff links, I have the same pair, you're wearing an expensive suit, but you've lost weight since the measurements are taken, your Napoleon complex suggests you're in charge oof something, but your muscles say you don't do hard physical labor, they're more suited to lifting weights and doing aerobics, but you've got burn scars, linear ones, so you do, or did, experiment with a blowtorch on your free time. You're an inventor, because your phone isn't one available on the markets, and it's design is meant to work with your hands and nobody else's. You're rich and important enough to have enough bodyguards that you forget their names. You're head of a company, at least officially, but you have enough extra time to pursue hobbies."

"Yup. Hobbies. But my son is missing, so let's get on with it."

"Have you told the police?"

"Of course. I'm not an idiot, quite the opposite actually. Where you apply your skills towards decductions, I've trained my brain towards inventions. Clean energy, it's where the money's at."

"Because you didn't have enough already?"

"Look. Are you going to ask me more about my son, or should I hire someone else?"

"I'm outta here. Tea, Rob?" John was tired of the squabbling.

"Dan."

"Right, sorry. Dan, tea?"

"I can't leave my client."

"Oh, for God's sake. If anyone needs me, I'll be...somewhere. Somewhere else." Sherlock's reputation had grown considerably as of late, and his clients were getting richer, and as a result, snootier.

"Right. Mister Stark-"

"Tony. Noone calls me Mr. Stark, except Fury."

"Fury?"

"A....colleague."

"Ah."

"Let's get down to it. I want you to come to America. You'll be paid once in advance, and again when you find my son. You can stay in the guest mansion, and all expenses will be paid. You  can come on the private jet back with me this evening if you are ready. Or I can send you another one."

"No, we'll be ready tonight." Sherlock was intrigued. Travelling overseas to find a man to find a boy who had probably run away? And if the NYPD couldn't find him, then he needed a specialist. Plus, there was a wonderful scarf store in West Chester that he had to visit. His alpaca wool scarf was getting rather worn. He texted John.

We're going to America. Pack a bag or two.
-SH

"I'm in the kitchen, you idiot."