Chapter Text
The hammer landed on the table with a heavy thunk.
John Watson blinked. He hadn’t meant to make an entrance. One moment, he’d been trailing after Sherlock through some S.H.I.E.L.D. facility (God knew how the detective had gotten them clearance). The next, he’d spotted the strange hammer sitting there, abandoned.
Sherlock was already mid-monologue about "extraterrestrial metallurgy" when John—curious, tired, not really paying attention—wrapped his hand around the handle and lifted it off the table without effort.
The room went silent.
Across from him, Steve Rogers froze halfway out of his chair, poker face cracking just enough to show alarm. Natasha raised one eyebrow, which for her was the equivalent of a full-on scream. Clint’s mouth opened, then closed, like a goldfish.
Tony Stark spilled his drink. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. Not allowed. Do-over!” He pointed accusingly. “Who even are you?!”
Bruce Banner adjusted his glasses, staring. “That’s… not… supposed to happen.”
Thor, for once, looked utterly speechless. His eyes tracked the small British doctor holding Mjolnir as if John were balancing a live grenade and a baby at the same time. Finally, he rumbled:
“Only the worthy may lift it.”
Sherlock, standing smugly off to the side, clapped his hands once. “Ha! I knew it. Of course it would be John.”
Everyone turned to him.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, pacing. “Decorated army doctor, constantly choosing compassion under fire, refuses to be cowed by trauma, and—perhaps most importantly—puts up with me. Worthiness isn’t strength, it’s moral clarity, something all of you—well, most of you—lack in one way or another.”
Tony spluttered. “Excuse me? Moral clarity? I rebuilt my entire reputation on moral clarity!”
Natasha smirked faintly. “You’re drunk, Tony.”
John, meanwhile, was still holding the hammer like it might explode. He cleared his throat. “I… didn’t mean to. Honestly. Just… picked it up.”
“Just picked it up,” Thor echoed, incredulous but oddly reverent. He stepped forward, towering over John, and bowed his head slightly. “Doctor Watson. Midgard is honored.”
John turned to Sherlock, deadpan. “Do not start.”
Sherlock only grinned wider, eyes glittering. “Oh, John, I think we’ve just found you a better sidearm.”