Chapter One
John Watson sipped his tea in his armchair as he indulged himself in the mirth of Top Gear currently on television. He placed his teacup by the coffee table and tucked his legs underneath him and held his Union Jack pillow close to his chest as he burst into laughter with the audience in the studio. He heard the door slam and his landlady's usual greeting when his flatmate returned. The low, pleasing and monotonous voice of Sherlock Holmes replied her with utter switched the telly off after his flatmate called him from below.
'John!'
'What is it?' He called back out to the man below while getting up. Sherlock was bouncing up the stairs and faced John in the doorway. Sherlock was holding a small parcel in his hand and a clear plastic bag of bloody human insides in the other.
'Oh no, you are not going to put that in the fridge!' John pointed out once he saw the bag. Sherlock rolled his eyes in annoyance.
'John, I'm not drawing your attention to this!' Sherlock replied with gritted teeth and held the bag in front of John's eyes. He flinched. 'Found this at the doorstep.' the taller man continued and shoved the parcel into the latter's hands. John examined the parcel.
'There's no sender. Did you order this online?' the doctor asked as he closed the door behind him, his eyes still glued to the parcel in his hands.
'Obviously not!' Sherlock replied from the kitchen as he threw the bag across the counter. He emerged from the kitchen witha towel on his head. He shook the towel through the dar curls of his hair vigorously due to it being wet from the rain. The raindrops pelted against the windows and thunder rumbled at the heel of a sudden lightning. Sherlock tossed the towel on John's armchair, undid his scarf and shrugged off his coat and slumped himself on the sofa. He laid there sprawled in his usual position: fingertips pressed together under his chin and staring right up at the ceiling. John let out a sigh. He tossed the parcel on the coffee table and knelt before it. He ripped the tape off the wrapping.
'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked suddenly in a flat tone.
'Checking this out. What? Sensed a bomb?' John regretted blurting out the last word. He remembered him being kidnapped by the insane Moriarty from St Barts, dragged into a pool with bombs strapped to him and snipers pointing directly at him. One false movement and he would be blown to bits in no time. He remembered his heart palpitating quickly as he walked out from a corner facing Sherlock who had come to the pool for Moriarty. The snipers immediately aimed at him. He even thought that scratching his nose might lead to his death. It was not his happiest moment.
'Think before you speak,' Sherlock said. He was still staring ahead.
'I reflected my words, Sherlock,' John snapped. He continued with the parcel. He ripped the ends first and shook the object out. What landed on his palm was a white box. Tossing the wrapping aside, he opened the box carefully. His eyes went wide as he stared at the contraption in the box.
It looked somewhat like a walkie-talkie, but there was only one. It had blinking lights of different colours. John held it close to his ear, thinking that the contraption would be a walkie-talkie. He lowered it from his face. 'Sherlock.'
Sherlock glanced at John. He furrowed his eyebrows. 'What is that thing?'
John shrugged his shoulders. He turned the thing around as he examined it. Sherlock reached his hand out towards John, fingers outstretched. The doctor dropped the contraption into Sherlock's palm. The detective brought the object close to his eyes as he drank all the information or clues of what the unusual contraption was. Sherlock pressed a button in curiosity. A portal shot out of the contraption and both men's eyes widened in awe. John got up to his feet and approached the portal. Thick, pink mist swirled around the portal. He reached his hand into it. It felt cold by his fingertips. As he breathed, his eyelids became heavy and the world around him started to spin. The mist made him take one long drag. Am I drugged? The mist controlled him. He stepped closer and his arm was halfway through the portal. After another drag, the world around him became black. He lost his footing. He closed his eyes and he fell into the swirling portal.
Sherlock watched everything. When he saw his flatmate falling into mist, Sherlock got up from the sofa, tossed the contraption over his shoulder and grabbed the sleeve of John's jumper. He pulled the doctor back but the mist had overtaken him. He coughed and gagged and everything around the detective went blank. He fell through with John.
Sherlock landed on hard ground with John beside him. They were both sprawled on a pavement on their stomachs. Raindrops pelted against their bodies. A flash of light pierced through the sky, followed by thunder. He caught a glimpse of John. He was rubbing his eyes. Sherlock's arm was wrapped around John's shoulder. The bad one. Too late. Before Sherlock could react, a fist came flying towards him and Sherlock doubled over. He leapt to his feet amd staggered away from the doctor before he could be harmed any further. He held his nose as blood streamed down from it to his lips. Whenever someone touched John's shoulder, they would either receive a punch or kick.
'Sir, are you okay?' A lady came from behind the detective and she stepped infront of him and checked Sherlock's bleeding nose. She had short, blonde hair, in Emma Watson's haircut. She had dark blue eyes and the same tanned skin as John. She was wearing a black hoodie over her wet head and a sky-blue jumper and jeans with camo boots. Army doctor. Many string of lovers but broke up. Has a therapist. Tea drinker. Blogger. Sherlock's thoughts on the woman before him flowed in his mind. John approached Sherlock and the woman when the woman shoved John.
'Hey! Don't go around punching people! Back off!' She barked. John was taken aback.
'It was an accident!' John cried and looked over the woman's shoulder. Sherlock's back was hunched and the sleeve of his blazer was pressed against his nose. Dark patches formed on the black fabric as blood continued to stream from his nose. It took Sherlock some time to straighten himself up. Something caught his eye. He looked up the building ahead of him and two tall windows were found on the second floor.
A woman, standing by the right window, was watching him. Her long, slender fingers were clenched around the neck of a violin and a violin bow was hanging by her fingertips. Sherlock observed her. The lighting of her background was dark and Sherlock could not deduce her. But what Sherlock only remembered was her eyes. Those bright hazel eyes that unusually fit with her pale skin but brought out the contrast with her dark hair. Sherlock had a sudden suspicion and interest in her.
Sherlock was hardly fond of women, other than Irene Adler. Irene was an interesting woman that played the password game with him. She was clever. Clever enough to know that her 'battle dress' would cause Sherlock to lose his composure and unable to deduce her, as she only had high heel shoes with her. Only a couple of question marks that appeared in his vision of deduction. 'Know when you are beaten.' When drugged, yes, as he had the same experience in her house. Some women could just annoy him a lot. Them screaming over the latest sale of fashion products or being in the state of high excitement over 'fandoms' (what John told Sherlock that Tumblr called) or when they nag you over such small matters like what his mother always did when he carry out experiments in his bedroom when he was younger. He was glad that Molly was not like that. Another reason why he avoided women because he would just verbally hurt them with insults. Their face would show signs of hurt and sadness. He did not like to hurt women. He remembered those words Molly had said during his Christmas celebration the previous year. 'You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always.' Guilt built in Sherlock when her voice cracked and he gave her a small kiss on her cheek: partly for wishing her Merry Christmas and the other part for apology.
Sherlock looked up the building again. The woman was not by the window.
'Sherlock, are you alright?' John asked while pushing the woman away from the detective. 'Why are you looking up.'
'You know him?' The woman asked while she steadied herself. John's intention to look at Sherlock's direction was interrupted and faced the woman.
'I'm his doctor and friend,' John replied. 'Do you have tissue?'
'John, she doesn't have any. Don't be stupid.' Sherlock interrupted before the woman could check her pockets.
The woman was surprised by Sherlock's words. She closed her gaped mouth and faced John. 'Doctor and friend? What a violent one you are,' the woman scoffed. John realised that she had emphasised the word 'friend'. John was not amused.
'Follow me, my flat's right here.' She pointed to the dark green door ahead of them. John could not believe his eyes. Printed on the door was 221B in gold. He glanced across the flat. Baker Street.
'Excuse me, where are we?' John asked.
The woman faced him. 'We're in Baker Street, London. Why?'
John took one step closer to her. 'I live in 221B Baker Street. I mean we.' John motioned his hand from him to Sherlock and to himself again.
The woman looked confused. 'No, I live in here. Are you lost?'
John muttered a 'nevermind'. The woman popped her lower lip out and shrugged. She left for the door and pulled out keys from her pockets.
'Sherlock, do you think that contraption transported us outside the flat?' John whispered to the detective. Sherlock shrugged in reply.
'And I'm so sorry for what I've done,' John continued, hugging himself with his arms from the cold surroundings.
'I'm alright. I do appreciate the make-up,' Sherlock said.
'At first I thought the woman will think you're just 'fangirling' over me and have a nosebleed. And you're welcome,' John whispered back and suppressed a smile. Sherlock gave him a look. 'Tumblr!' John blurted out and flailed his hands in the air.
'Actually, I live with a friend,' the woman interrupted while fitting a key into the lock. The door opened with a click. 'Don't mind her. She's misunderstood. And she shows off a lot.'
She pushed the door opened and gestured the men to enter. Sherlock followed at her heel while John closed the door behind him. The woman ascended the steps and the melodious sound of a violin pierced the cold and silent air. John was about to climb up the steps when he noticed an elderly man sleeping on an armchair in a room of the first floor. He had bright blonde hair with a tinge of grey at the roots. His double chin was visible as he tucked his head deep into his chest. His legs were stretched out infront of him, crossed, as well as his arms. John ignored him and followed Sherlock.
He reached the second floor. A door led to another room. He spotted Sherlock standing by the doorway, glancing around the room. The fingers on his nose were stained red with blood. John joined him and his jaw dropped. The room looked exactly like Sherlock and John's living room. A full replica. The floor was scattered with newspapers and photographs. Sitting at the end of the room was a red armchair and a grey, leather one across it. A fireplace stood between the chairs and a mirror was placed above the fireplace. John recognised the skull sitting above the fireplace as a human one. Books were messily stacked on a tall bookshelf beside the black armchair. The black armchair was set infront of a tall window. A table was located on the other side of the black armchair. It had other papers scattered across it and a laptop. John was confused about the bull display with headphones that was hung on the wall.
John turned to his right. A black and white floral printed wall had a strange yellow smiley face sprayed on it. Leaning against the wall was a brown leather couch and a coffee table with a basket of fresh apples. There were pizza boxes found underneath the table. Everything was similar to Sherlock's living room. He finally got himself to speak. He leaned towards the detective.
'Sherlock, everything here is the same,' John whispered to him. Sherlock nodded. John did not notice the blonde woman infront of them. She handed Sherlock a box of tissues and guided him somewhere linked with the living room. John remained at the doorway.
He heard footsteps from behind him. He turned around and saw another woman, in her early thirties, descending the stairs that led up to the upper floor. Her black high heels clicked and clacked against every step. She had pale skin and dark, curly hair in a bun secured with a black hairpin that contrasted with the colour of her bright green-blue eyes. She was slim and tall. She had high cheekbones that shaped her face perfectly. She wore a burgundy silk shirt along with a black blazer over it and a knee-length, black pencil skirt. She noticed John, but did not say a word. Instead, she walked past him and John realised that she was too tall for a woman and he was unusually shorter than her.
John had a thought in his mind that kept bothering him since he saw that dark-haired lady. Why does she have the same features as Sherlock?
Dun dun dun! What is going to happen? Who are those ladies? The answer will be revealed in two to four days! Hope you liked the story (this is my very first Sherlock one) and I will like to give credit to Hermes right hand dude for beta-ing my story. Not really. I PM her instead xD. Reviews and favourites are appreciated! -xxsyastachexx