Trouble Comes Knocking (Part 1)

Ever since the repaired Holy Lance of Longinus had gone berserk, Sherlock's life had returned to peace.

As for the impact caused by that rampage, on the bizarre and magical land that was the U.S., it was merely a passing episode. It did not even last a week; after only a few days, it went from being discussed by everyone to being ignored by all.

Of course, for people like Sherlock and John Wick, who had entirely different sources of information from ordinary people, the matter was far from settled.

Even so, Sherlock was not worried. After all, the neighborhood where he lived practically ensured that those people with ulterior motives would not dare set foot there.

So Sherlock continued living his daily life in peace. Every now and then, he drove the Raptor that had been beyond his reach in his previous life but fulfilled his wishes in this one, taking Doro and the Zhao Weikes to the supermarket for a major shopping trip or out for a drive around the area.

And so, time passed quickly. Nearly another week went by, and the Holy Lance of Longinus rampage incident finally settled completely.

Among ordinary people, it had already been forgotten, while in the eyes of those "organizations," it gradually lost their attention as well.

Sherlock had originally thought his peaceful days would continue, but to his utter surprise, trouble still followed the trail and found its way to him.

That morning, Sherlock woke up naturally as usual. He prepared breakfast for Doro and peeled an orange for a snack.

As he ate a sandwich and watched the endlessly looping news reports about Tony Stark's disappearance in the Middle East, wondering whether he should take this opportunity to buy some Stark Industries stock and make his already wealthy wallet even wealthier, his doorbell rang.

The instant the doorbell rang, Sherlock's gaze toward the front door sharpened.

The reason was simple: a ringing doorbell usually meant trouble had come knocking! After all, only strangers followed the process of ringing the doorbell. A bad friend like John Wick would most likely just open Sherlock's front door and swagger inside.

And on this patch of land called the U.S., strangers usually meant one thing: trouble!

Extremely unwilling, Sherlock went to the front door and opened it. Standing there was a man with a refined smile, dressed in a black suit, and balding?

Well, strictly speaking, he was not bald yet. His hairline was merely a little high, and the sunlight reflecting off it was so dazzling that it gave the impression of baldness.

Although Sherlock had never met this man, who clearly needed either a wig or a hair transplant, he recognized him.

It was none other than the famous Phil Coulson, the so-called village chief of Marvel's newbie village.

Though Sherlock recognized Coulson almost immediately, he kept a guarded expression on his face. He looked at Coulson in confusion and asked warily, pretending to be on guard.

"Hello. What can I do for you?"

Coulson was not surprised by Sherlock's wariness and distrust. Or rather, he had long grown accustomed to being treated this way. The refined smile remained on his face as he took out an ID from his jacket and flashed it at Sherlock before speaking.

"Mr. Sherlock Flamel, hello. My name is Phil Coulson."

Despite Coulson's introduction, Sherlock did not move an inch. He continued standing in the doorway, blocking Coulson's line of sight with his body. With a slight frown, he said,

"Hello, Mr. Coulson. What can I do for you?"

Sherlock's second question carried obvious dislike and impatience, both in his tone and expression. He showed no intention whatsoever of inviting Coulson inside and instead became even more guarded.

Yet Coulson remained perfectly calm, maintaining that proper smile as though he could not see any of Sherlock's emotions at all.

"I believe Mr. Sherlock has seen the news about Tony Stark's disappearance. S.H.I.E.L.D. would like to hire you, Mr. Sherlock. Sorry, may I call you that?"

After Sherlock nodded, Coulson continued.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. would like to hire you, Mr. Sherlock, to help us rescue Tony. After all, neither the U.S. nor the world can afford to lose a genius like Tony Stark, can they? Though that genius can be truly irritating at times."

Coulson made a modest joke in front of Sherlock, but unfortunately, he saw no amusement on Sherlock's face. Instead, there was only confusion and mockery.

"First, I have no idea what this Department of Homeland-whatever Security-whatever Bureau of yours even is! Second, I am just an ordinary person. I cannot help you rescue Mr. Tony Stark!

"Lastly, even if I were a super agent capable of rescuing Tony Stark, I would not want to rescue him! Please stop disturbing my peaceful life!"

As soon as he said this, Sherlock instinctively tried to close his front door. Clearly, however, Coulson moved much faster. As though this had happened countless times before, the instant Sherlock tried to shut the door, Coulson placed his hand against it and stopped him.

Seeing Coulson's action, Sherlock was genuinely angry this time. The undisguised coldness in his eyes stabbed straight at Coulson.

Though Coulson still wore a refined and amiable smile, he felt somewhat unnerved inside. Under Sherlock's gaze, Coulson felt as though he had been targeted by a fierce tiger.

After swallowing discreetly, Coulson gathered his courage and continued.

"Mr. Sherlock, you jest. As an official organization, S.H.I.E.L.D. naturally knows that you definitely possess that capability."

As he spoke, Coulson took out a plain-looking pair of black-rimmed glasses from his jacket and held them in his hand.

Though the lensless black-rimmed glasses looked utterly ordinary and did not even inspire any desire to buy them, Sherlock's pupils still contracted involuntarily when he saw them.

The reason was simple. They were one of his alchemical creations!

They were Clark's Glasses, which he had made so John Wick could complete the supposedly impossible task required for retired assassins at the Continental Hotel!