Hey guys! Another new story I'm writing :) I haven't given up on the others, just stuck for inspiration right now and I'll update them really soon :)

So I recently started watching the Granada tv series of Sherlock Holmes to help me through the Sherlock hiatus and it's brilliant! Jeremy Brett is amazing as Sherlock! So I was like, imagine if the characters from both series like, met? And I especially love Lestrade, both versions of him so I was like what if there was a Timey wimey mix up and they ended up switching places?

This is just the beginnings of a random idea I had and it mightn't be any good but I'll give it a go! For anyone who doesn't watch Granada Holmes, the Lestrade in this chapter is the one portrayed by Colin Jeavons :)

Oh and it's Wholock aswell eventually :P This is my first Sherlock fanfic so I hope it's alright :P

Hope you like it!

When John Watson awoke from his uneasy but well needed slumber after assisting his friend Sherlock Holmes in taking down yet another serial killer "Because serial killers are fun, John! There's always something to look forward to!" he expected it to be a relatively normal day. Well, as relatively normal as you could get when you lived with the world's only consulting detective.

He rubbed his tired eyes and shuffled into the living room to find Sherlock curled up in his favourite chair, playing the violin almost violently, the source of the noise that had woke John up in the first place. The man seemed lost in thought, a demeanour that John knew was an impenetrable reserve that could last for days on end. He ignored the musical sociopath, feeling grumpy from sleep deprivation and so busied himself with making a cup of tea.

"Ah, John," Sherlock finally acknowledged his best friend as he sat down in the chair across from him and pulled out a newspaper. John gave a huff of acknowledgment, glad that Holmes had ceased playing the instrument. Usually he enjoyed the sound, not that he'd admit it, but today Sherlock seemed to have been experimenting with a new tune, one he had not yet perfected. This was expected by John. His ambition of having a fairly normal day was so far going well. Sherlock cleared his throat after a pause when John refused to reply.

"You didn't sleep well, then."

"How could you tell?" John quipped back in a slightly sarcastic tone, attempting to concentrate on his newspaper.

"Well, your usual slouched appearance was much more pronounced as you entered the room, a touch of shaving foam behind your right ear which you either hadn't been bothered to wipe off or were just too tired to notice, most likely the latter, the glassy look in your eyes which indicates you are either extremely fatigued or are taking drugs-"

"Alright, Sherlock," John slapped his newspaper down on the table and heaved a sigh. "I know I'm tired, you don't have to prove it to me."

"Just observing," Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly, retrieving a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it with a flourish. John blinked.

"Sherlock!" He heaved himself up from his chair and snatched the rest of the packet away. "Where did you get those? I thought you were supposed to be trying to give them up?"

"Yes, I was doing well, wasn't I?" Sherlock took a long drag and paused as if in thought. He gave a short bark of a laugh. "Too bad."

"Right, well you're not getting these back," John lifted an eyebrow challengingly and waved the packet of cigarettes in front of Sherlock, pocketing them quickly. "You were doing good too."

Holmes rolled his eyes, unimpressed as John went back to his newspaper. He scanned over the page, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Sherlock," He began slowly, allowing concern to enter his tone which Sherlock immediately picked up on. "Have you heard from Lestrade?"

"Read it aloud," Sherlock ordered, leaning forward in his chair with his fingertips pressed together underneath his chin. If John didn't know better he could've sworn he saw a hint of worry in his friend's eyes. He cleared his throat nervously and turned his attention back to the newspaper.

"Scotland Yard Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade has been declared missing by fellow workers at the force. He wa-"

"Missing?" Sherlock jumped up from his perch on the armchair and snatched the paper from John's hands. His eyebrows were drawn together in confusion as he scanned the page rapidly. "No, no that's not right. No one came to us, why would no one come to us for questioning before they published this?"

John shook his head slowly in confusion as Sherlock brandished the paper at him and began pacing. He had to admit, it didn't make a lot of sense.

"You've got that look on your face," John sighed, settling back into his chair.

"What look?"

"The look where you're sure there's something mysterious going on and you're determined to find out about it," John smirked. "And even though you should be worried about your friend, you're actually excited that this has happened. I know you, Sherlock, I know your face."

"Oh, come on, John!" Sherlock waved his hands at him in encouragement. "This article has to be a fake! Written by someone to cover up something, I don't know yet, I... I don't know. All I know is that something's wrong. Phone Lestrade. Now!"

"Alright," John mumbled, standing up and fumbling for his phone.

"Oh, let me," Sherlock strode over impatiently and plucked the phone from John's pocket before he even had the chance to locate it. He turned away and began texting rapidly. John took the opportunity to have another closer inspection of the paper. He must've missed something, something wasn't right about this. His eyes widened as he gazed at the front page of the paper.

"What..." He murmured in confusion, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of his stomach. "Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Sherlock, what date is it?" John's voice shook slightly.

"For God sake, John," Sherlock gave him a superior look as he glanced up from his phone. "It's the 17th of May."

"2014?"

"Yes, 2014," Sherlock snorted. "Honestly, John, what is wrong with you today? You're even more incompetent than usual."

"Sherlock," John almost yelled, deciding to ignore the insult. He swallowed to allow his voice to calm down after his exclamation. He took a deep breath and stood, striding over to Sherlock and thrusting the paper in his face. "This paper is dated the 19th of May 2014! That's two days from now!"

Sherlock paused. "Misprint. Obviously."

"No, no it's not!" John prodded the paper with his finger, beginning to lose his patience. "Look!"

Sherlock frowned at the paper and remained silent for a while. John almost felt accomplished at the fact that he had stumped him for a moment.

"What, the great Sherlock Holmes doesn't know what's going on for once?" John pressed on. "Come on, Sherlock, you know something's not right! You're the clever one, go on, deduce something!"

"There must be some sort of logical explanation," Sherlock threw the paper back to John and went to stand by the window, fingers steepled underneath his chin again as he thought. As confused and worried as he was, John couldn't suppress a smile at the thought of Sherlock Holmes not knowing what to do. It was a dose of medicine that the clever man needed sometimes, just to bring him back to Earth and make him remember that normal people mattered too.

"It's killing you, isn't it?" John shook his head at his friend's back. "You don't know what's going on and you hate it-"

"We have a client," Sherlock murmured in a low atone, cutting John off.

"Are you sure?" John joined Sherlock at the window to stare out at the street below. He frowned, puzzled. "I don't see anyone."

"Yes, but listen. They're inside, and they've only just arrived as it seems from the tone of conversation. But I didn't see anyone enter and you didn't see anyone enter, and that's what worries me."

John strained his ears and looked to the door where he could hear muffled voices from beyond.

"What do you mean? Of course I'm Mrs Hudson! I've been known by that name for as long as I can rememb- No, Sherlock's not taking visitors at the moment, you can't just walk up-"

"Did you say Sherlock?"

John and Sherlock looked at each other at the unfamiliar voice who used the name in a shocked tone. The voice was masculine and sounded irritated at his situation.

There was a string of muffled swear words from the man accompanied by an exclamation by the same voice of "What is going on?!" and footsteps hurried up the stairs to their apartment, followed by Mrs Hudson's irritated cry of, "I'm sorry, Sherlock! I tried to stop him!"

John balled his hands into fists and took a step towards the door but stopped as it swung open suddenly and a man burst through, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Mr Holmes?" He choked out, looking from Sherlock to John then around the rest of the room as if another individual could be in hiding there.

John blinked at the strange scene in front of him. He didn't know this man, and by Sherlock's surprised silence, he didn't either. The man was around the same age as themselves, if not slightly older, and of average height. He had a ferret-like face which housed an expression of suspicion and his eyebrows were drawn together in confusion as he glanced around the room again. The only odd thing about his appearance was the fashion in which he dressed. From his grey suit to the bowler hat on his head, all his clothes dated back to the 1880's. There was a look of startled disbelief in his dark brown eyes and his mouth dropped open in surprise at the two men. He was struggling to catch his breath at his brisk run up the stairs in his hurry to get to them.

"That would be me," Sherlock broke the silence and took a step forward, and John could tell he was already studying the man in great detail. He could almost see the cogs whirring in his head. The only thing that put John off was the look of frustration in Sherlock's expression which had replaced his usual confidence when deducing the facts about someone. He seemed to be as confused as John was to this man's sudden entrance.

"Mr Holm- Are you having a laugh?" The man yelped, taking a step forward and glaring at Sherlock. "I'm not incompetent, Sir! I know Mr Sherlock Holmes when I see him!"

"But-"

"And what of Dr John Watson?" The man interrupted. "What have you done with them?!"

"Listen, calm down," John cut in, holding his hands out in front of him comfortingly and taking a step forward. The man spoke in a distinguished, old fashioned tone which seemed out of place in the 21st century London apartment. "You seem very, er, confused right now but-"

"This is 221B, is it not?" The man's expression turned to confusion as he looked around. "What the blazes is going on?"

"Yes, this is 221B and my name is Sherlock Holmes, this is my colleague Dr John Watson," Sherlock took another step towards the man. "And who might you be?"

"If you really were him, you'd know who I am, Mr Holmes," The man quipped back suspiciously, removing his hat to reveal a head of dark hair as he strode towards Sherlock in annoyance. He stopped directly in front of him and the two men glared at each other, the unfamiliar man's eyes flashing threateningly even though he was at least a head shorter than Sherlock.

"Your name," Sherlock growled impatiently.

"I am Inspector Lestrade!" The man yelled, refusing to back down. "And this is 221B, and I want to know what you've done with Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson! Have you kidnapped them, hidden them somewhere? Or are you really as dunce-like and oblivious as you seem? By George if you know I'll have it out of you!"

Sherlock blinked in surprise, stunned into silence. John opened his mouth to say something but no words came out. He was in complete and utter shock. Was this a joke, or was the man really out of his mind? He stared, feeling hopelessly puzzled. The man who had identified himself as Lestrade looked to John.

"What are you gaping at?" He yelled, his nerves on end. "I could have you arrested for assaulting an officer with your eyes!"

"You can't do that, that's not even an offenc-"

"Hush, John," Sherlock held a hand up and looked to Lestrade in curiosity. He seemed to have found his voice again and his eyes were alight with excitement at the mystery of this man. "Well you certainly do a good impression of the Lestrade we know, a slightly unintelligent officer with a temper, if impersonating him was what you were going for."

"Imperson-" Lestrade's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Impersonating?" He cried indignantly. "The only impersonators here are you two! Oh, and that woman downstairs who claims to be Mrs Hudson. I don't know what's going on here, but I think you'd better fill me in!"

"Alright, that's enough," John threw his hands up in defeat. "I don't know what's going on, or why you're pretending to be Lestrade but-"

"Hang on, John, I think he may be telling the truth."

"Yea- Wait, what?" John cried, turning to Sherlock in disbelief. "Sh- Sherlock, you don't really believe that this man is Lestrade, do you? Inspector Lestrade from Scotland Yard?"

"Everything I say is the truth, it is you who's acting deceitful, clearly!" Lestrade cried, pointing a finger accusingly at John. "Tell me what's going on!"

"May I ask you, what year is it to you?" Sherlock asked Lestrade before John could intercept indignantly.

"To me?" The man frowned. "Whatever do you mean, to me? Are you implying that I am not in my right mind, Sir?!"

"No, no of course not," Sherlock stated blandly with a hint of curiousity in his eyes. "I am merely asking you a question."

"Well then, I'll merely answer you. It is the 15th of May, 1891."

John did a double take but his companion merely widened his eyes slightly, an expression of excitement crossing his features.

"Well, John, I think we have another case."

"Sherlock, you don't really believe this man, do you?!" John cried in disbelief. None of what this "Lestrade" was saying made any sense.

"On the contrary, John, I do," Sherlock gave a small smile. "This man is telling the truth."

"How-"

"The gait of his walk, the way he dresses and speaks all indicates to being accustomed to life in the 1800's-"

"He could be a really good actor."

"Yes he could now let me finish, John," Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth with annoyance at the interruption. "The raw confusion in his eyes as he entered the room, the conversation with Mrs Hudson all show that something is not right. Of course, as you so kindly informed us, he could be acting but I have eliminated that possibility due to this."

Sherlock held up a small card and a small fragmented piece of paper.

Lestrade's eyes widened in surprise and his hands flew to his pockets. He frowned as he realised that his possessions were missing. "How did you get a hold of them?!"

"Much the same way I got these from John this morning on the pretense of taking his phone," Sherlock smirked, taking the packet of cigarettes from his pocket. John sighed in irritation, but was not completely surprised. "I am excellent at pickpocketing, and you, Lestrade, are excellent at not observing what is going on around you. Same goes for you, John."

John ignored the jibe and snatched the papers from Sherlock's hands. One was a card of identification, definitely not from this century, and the other a small snippet of a letter written on aged parchment with black ink.

"Before you say they were forged, they're not," Sherlock took the papers from John and handed them back to Lestrade who pocketed them gratefully. "The card could not have been forged, and it wasn't just saved for an awfully long time for this purpose as it is still in good nick, obvious that the owner is proud of his position and considers himself a better policeman than he actually is, which sounds a lot like our dear friend, Lestrade."

Before Lestrade could object, Sherlock Holmes carried on speaking in the same brisk tone. John had to strain his ears to catch all of it and he could tell that Lestrade was having trouble keeping up aswell by the way he leaned forward in curiousity.

"Also this letter extract, clearly evidence that the Inspector had come to bring to me as he always does when himself and the rest of the force at Scotland Yard are out of their depth, which is their normal state. The sloped writing, the old fashioned ink that has barely dried shows that it has been written recently, but the paper has a softer more textured feel to it than modern paper you can get these days, although the condition of it suggests that it is new. The way the words have been written in such a sloppy style but with small intervals of more neater handwriting shows that this was written on a train, Inspector, in case you didn't know which of course, you did not. The neater writing indicates the stations, the sloppy, irregular writing was done while the train was in motion. Although clearly this letter which was written recently in the last 24 hours was also not written in this century for no trains with this many intervals run in this day and age and the letter was written on the way to London and delivered by hand, no envelope judging by it's weathered condition. Someone wanted it to be delivered quickly and safely. So there you have it, once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. This man is no fraud, John. And Inspector Lestrade, neither are we. Not even Mrs Hudson."

"By Jove, it really is you," Lestrade breathed in awe. "No one else could fake being such an insufferable know-it-all. But how-"

"Good question," Sherlock began to pace again as he thought. "My conclusion is that none of this makes sense and none of it should be happening. Time travel is the only explanation I have not eliminated, but that's impossible! I must have missed something."

"Seems like we've got ourselves a real conundrum then, Mr Holmes," Lestrade raised his eyebrows and looked around the room. John went to sit down before his legs failed him. Surely Sherlock had had a momentary loss of sanity. None of this made any sense, although when explained by Sherlock Holmes, it made perfect sense.

"But you can't be suggesting that I've somehow stepped out of 1891 and into some other time," Lestrade began again with a laugh. "Mr Holmes, if that's really who you are, I don't pretend to understand what's going on but, surely you are aware that this can't be possible?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock looked over at him. "Oh yes, perfectly aware. I'm still struggling to believe this myself. Maybe we've been drugged. John, check the sugar."

At that moment a rather loud vehicle passed by the flat on the street outside, causing a loud rumble to run through the house. Sherlock and John took no notice, but Lestrade shrieked in fear.

"Bombs!" He yelled, flinging himself down on the ground and attempting to shield himself with his hat. "We're dead!"

Sherlock struggled to suppress a laugh. "Come out from under the table, Lestrade, there's no war. That was probably just a cab."

"A cab?" Lestrade exclaimed, standing up shakily and ramming his hat back onto his head. "Don't be dense, Holmes! Cabs don't make that sound!"

John watched with amusement as the man made his way over to the window, mumbling about cabs.

"Horses don't sound like bloody earthquak- Oh good Lord Almighty!"

Lestrade jumped back from the window with a shout and spun around to face the two with fear on his face. He looked back to the street and blanched, covering his face with his hands and taking deep breaths.

"Now, calm down," John began, moving to assist him, his instincts as a doctor taking over.

"What have you two gentlemen been giving me?!" Lestrade yelled accusingly. "You've obviously slipped me drugs! What was it then, eh, Mr Holmes? I know you have a penchant for cocaine!"

"This is nothing to do with us," Sherlock explained. "It's the twenty first century."

"The- The twenty first..." Lestrade stuttered in confusion.

"This is the year 2014," John added helpfully.

"Oh my word," Lestrade held a hand to his head and closed his eyes momentarily before looking out at the street again in disbelief. Sherlock stood behind him, peering over his shoulder with an amused smirk as the man gaped at the scene in front of him. John realised it must be awfully startling to see the modernised view of London after living your whole life in the 19th century.

"Well, Mr Holmes, I've got your conclusion for you," Lestrade began slowly, retreating from the window and blinking a few times as if he thought what he was seeing would change at any moment. "I have obviously slipped into a coma and am currently dreaming this whole thing up."

"And any second now, you'll wake up in Victorian London?" Sherlock asked with a slightly sarcastic tone.

"Well what other explanation is there for all this tomfoolery!" The inspector retorted indignantly. "I haven't got the ability to time travel! See, I knew it! You have no explanation, do you, Mr Holmes? You're just as in the dark as I am!"

"We'll find a rational explanation," Sherlock shrugged. "Even if it turns out that we are all comatose. In the meantime, have a cigarette, Lestrade."

"I beg your pardon?" Lestrade glared suspiciously at the small cigarette Sherlock had produced from his pocket and was now offering him.

"What? You still smoke, don't you?"

"Yes," Lestrade began slowly, the suspicious glare remaining on his face. "But I think I'll have my own, Mr Holmes, thank you very much."

He withdrew a pipe from his coat pocket, and looked from Sherlock to John almost anxiously. "Have either of you gentlemen got a match?"

"Lighter," Sherlock stated, retrieving it from his pocket and handing it to Lestrade who stared at it in amazement but did not take it.

"I don't know what Space-Age gadget you're offering me, Mr Holmes, but-"

"Oh for God sake, Sherlock!" John sighed, walking over and taking the object from his hand. "The man doesn't even know what a cigarette is, how is he supposed to know how to use a lighter?"

John did not usually approve of smoking, but he decided that Lestrade was in need of a smoke. Even he himself could've done with a cigarette at that moment. He felt like he was in a dream, or even a coma, as Lestrade had suggested, and any minute now he would wake up and himself and Sherlock would laugh about this strange dream and find another, more simple case to work on. This definitely was the most peculiar case they had come across yet.

He flicked the lighter, the orange flame bursting into life. Lestrade screamed.

"Maniacs!" He cried, dropping his pipe and stepping backwards. "Both of you!"

John blinked in surprise before realising his mistake and Sherlock laughed. He actually laughed.

The consulting detective picked Lestrade's pipe from the floor and used the lighter to light it, handing it to a wary Inspector Lestrade.

He took it slowly, placing the pipe in his mouth and taking a long drag. He shook his head slowly at the two twenty first century live-ins in front of him but remained silent, slightly calmed by the smoke of the pipe.

"Lestrade, I'm sure you'll have problems more serious than a simple lighter as we begin to unravel this case."

So that's the end of the first chapter :D Hope it was alright! Please review if you have the chance to let me know if you liked it and what you thought :) Thanks!