When Sherlock wakes up he knows that there's something wrong. The air smells different and for some reason there isn't a certain doctor entwined in his arms. He knows John had the day off, too.

'He's probably making breakfast,' Sherlock thought with a fond smile. 'He's always trying to get me to eat.'

Except he couldn't smell anything coming from the kitchen. John didn't usually make cold food - something Sherlock had discovered quickly. It was always jam and toast and eggs and bacon spread across the table and once, on their anniversary, pancakes because Sherlock had asked. He could never figure out why John liked to cook so much.

Still, this was beside the point. The point was he was waking up alone in bed and his… well, John was downstairs cooking.

Slowly Sherlock got out of the bed, head still thick with fog, and slowly clambered to the kitchen. What was the point of the dressing gown anyway? It was just the two of them after all. If anyone else came up they would knock.

Sherlock smiled, contented, when he saw John fussing with the kettle. It was like something had clicked into place. He was in the flat and John was making tea and all was right with the world. Right? Right. Definitely right.

Soft smile still on his face Sherlock padded forward, snaking his arms around John's waist and resting his chin on the other man's broad shoulder. "M'rning," he muttered sleepily.

For some reason John stiffened under his touch and it suddenly occurred to Sherlock that the doctor was in his dressing gown. The one that had been put away in a drawer and not taken out since they got together. Why had he brought that ratty old thing? A small frown tugged at the corner's of Sherlock's mouth.

"You know I hate this dressing gown." He said through a yawn. Slowly, ever so slowly, John's warm calloused hands took hold of his, gently peeling the slender arms from around his hips. As soon as he turned around Sherlock knew there was something different. Off. Wrong.

John seemed more like he had when they'd first met. The lines around his eyes weren't quite gone, he was still leaning off his "bad leg". His left shoulder was tensed up too. It hadn't been like that in so long. And overall there was just and air of… not John. Oh, the physical appearance was exactly the same, but the way he held himself. Like he was still in the army. It was all just wrong.

"You aren't John."

"You aren't Sherlock."

They blinked at each other in surprise.

"But I am John."

"But I am Sherlock."

Another semi-awkward pause.

"We should stop doing that," Sherlock suggested, feeling slightly unnerved. Now that he looked around there was a lot that seemed different. The whole layout of the flat was wrong and John was wrong and the Union Jack pillow on the chair instead of on the couch was all wrong, wrong, wrong.

Not-John cleared his throat awkwardly. "And perhaps you should put on your dressing gown." Sherlock glanced down at himself in nothing but a pair of boxers and his socks. His John would have been more than fine with that, but this one seemed more modest. Hence, his own dressing gown in their own flat.

"Err, right. Dressing gown. Right." He nodded to himself and numbly went back to his room to try and dig the old thing out.

'What is going on?'

{][][}

Sherlock woke up feeling surprisingly warm. That was the first thing he noticed. Another thing he noted was that there was a body pressed against his, hand gently rubbing up and down his arm. Both of these things were odd because Sherlock didn't remember going to bed with a partner the previous night and he usually kicked off the sheets at night so he was cool in the morning.

The person rubbing his arm stopped, burying their nose in Sherlock's back. The dark haired man shivered slightly as he felt the soft touch of hair brushing on his spine. "'Bout time you got up, 'Lock." That was John's voice. How could it be John's voice? That was… that was impossible. John would never- And more importantly John wasn't-

"Did you sleep well?"

Slowly Sherlock nodded. Maybe he was just dreaming. "Yes. Yes, did you?"

John pulled away from him, hand still resting on Sherlock's shoulder. "You feeling okay, Sherlock?" He said, going into his usual Doctor mode. "Your voice sounds off… Not catching anything, are you?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Doctor," Sherlock replied in his usual sarcastic tone. John shuffled, his hand pressing again Sherlock's forehead in a worried manner.

"Are you sure your feeling all right?"

Irritated, Sherlock turned over, fully prepared to scold the doctor on how he was fine and, honestly John, I'm acting the same as I always do.

Except the words seemed to stick in his throat, choking him. Because this man before him? It wasn't John. It couldn't be John. John's hair was shorter since he kept it in the military cut. He had barely noticeable stress lines around his eyes. His shoulder was commonly tensed, no matter how the pain was doing. And if he'd been looking over to John he shouldn't have seen love in those dark eyes. Not the sort of concern you would show to a partner.

The not-quite-John in front of him stiffened slightly, almost self consciously pulling the sheet higher from where it was barely draped over his waist. "You aren't Sherlock," he said resolutely. "You- you can't be."

'Interesting,' Sherlock thought. 'Very, very interesting.'

{][][}

A/N: So... yeah. Done for a prompt on the lj kink meme.

Original prompt: Pilot!Sherlock and Sherlock (somehow) switch places, so that Sherlock ends up in the pilot's universe and pilot!Sherlock ends up in Sherlock's.

Thanks for reading! Oh, and for those who still have hope for Fun and Games, don't worry! My muse may have taken a brief side trip to the Doctor Who fandom and the Master, but now I'm back here. Well, half-back here. Especially with S2 so close! ^_^ So I'll be trying to get to that asap.

~Piki :B