Sherlock had no idea that his casual remark had caused such a huge headache for Coulson, that nice old guy. At the moment, as Sherlock headed toward the battlefield, all his attention was fixed on the two main figures fighting there.
There was no denying it: whether it was Obadiah in the Iron Monger or Tony in the Iron Man armor, the way they fought was fundamentally just the wild, sloppy brawling of street punks.
Yet with the Iron Monger armor and Tony's red-and-gold armor amplifying every blow, their immense destructive power—combined with the sparks, lightning, and explosions flying everywhere—at least made the spectacle reasonably impressive.
But sometimes, some things really could only be admired from afar and not examined too closely.
Take Tony and Obadiah's fight. From a distance, they seemed evenly matched. Obadiah was using his size advantage to suppress Tony, while Tony used his smaller frame to weave around him like a loach.
But once Sherlock landed near the battlefield and got a closer look, their fight became unbelievably boring.
How should he put it? Despite all the sparks, lightning, and explosions, their actual results amounted to little more than scratching each other.
Never mind the completely bare-metal Iron Monger. Tony's armor, covered in that flashy red-and-gold paint job, had been fighting for so long without gaining even a single scratch. It was absurdly frustrating.
Watching them trade punches with fighting techniques that barely surpassed kindergarten level, Sherlock could not even find an opening to step in. He could only stand there blankly. Helping felt wrong, but not helping felt wrong too. Getting involved in a fight like this just seemed like it would lower his IQ.
Fortunately, Obadiah was quite the "considerate" fellow. Seeing that Sherlock had no way to join the battle, he actually used