Summary: The famous Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective of the Victorian era. Billionaire, playboy, Tony Stark aka Iron Man, brilliant mind of the modern age. What do these two have in common? Seemingly nothing until they are thrown into a journey that will twist the very fabric of nature.
*Start*
Chapter 1
"It's your job now." A certain Tony Stark said openly to the air. He was currently working on a new upgrade for his flight stabilizer at the same time listening to Pepper. Or at least half-listening. Or not really listening at all.
The new CEO of Stark industries scoffed. "It's supposed to be your job! Did you know that I'm running around having to manage—"
"—eye surgery?" A more masculine voice finished.
"So, you've chosen a different profession, now?" Tony smirked to himself. The smirk quickly turned into a frown as he began to notice… he wasn't in his workshop anymore.
"What are you going on about?" Watson sighed.
"What the hell?" Tony exclaimed. "Where's the flight stabilizer?... Why am I holding a violin? Am-am I playing for a dog?"
Watson gave a questioning look towards his colleague. "Um… Holmes?"
"Jarvis? Jarvis! Where am I?" he called, beginning to panic.
Watson now became more concerned. "Holmes."
"Dammit, what the—"
"Holmes!"
The man turned around, agitated. "Do you have a repetition problem? 'Cause I can fix that."
Watson was now utterly confused. "Is there something wrong with your voice? Why is it so…American?"
"Well, I was born an American. That might explain a few things," he stated rather sarcastically.
"Holmes, I—"
"Okay, two things," Watson's supposed colleague interrupted. "One: Stop calling me that. Two: Do I know you? Have we met before? 'Cause if we have I probably don't remember you, just so you know."
"How could you not remember me?" Watson glanced suspiciously at the eye surgery liquid. "We've been friends for years!"
"Maybe, you have me confused with someone else," the replica that was surely Sherlock Holmes held out his hand to shake. "My name is Tony Stark."
-~X~-
"I've noticed a significant difference in Gladstone's breathing when I play this close to him," remarked a rather distracted Sherlock Holmes.
An irritated Watson glared at his friend. "You do know what you're drinking is meant for—"
"—a whole company?" a much more feminine voice said but with the same demanding and exasperated tone.
"I hardly think that small bottle would suffice for an entire company. Now, as I was—" he stopped abruptly as he took in fully that what he held in his hand was indeed not his Stradivarius but… some sort of contraption. He also noticed he was no longer in his study but in some sort of mechanical workshop. "Watson. What have you done?" he murmured.
"Pay attention to me when I'm lecturing you! And what are you talking about?" A still agitated Pepper Potts fumed.
Sherlock continued his examinations and observations, ignoring Pepper. "Seemingly, I'm still in my normal clothing with my Stradivarius, Gladstone, and Watson, of all things, missing, and I in a strange, foreign environment with a ginger lady that's trying to lecture me. Means of arrival: unknown. Time of arrival," Holmes pulled out his time piece. "12 o'clock noon."
"It's 5."
The detective finally gave Pepper his attention. "I beg your pardon?"
"It's not 12, it's 5 o'clock." Pepper repeated with more than a little concern showing on her features.
"I see. Thank- you." Holmes turned back in the swivel chair upon which he sat.
"Wait, Tony, what is going on?" Pepper grabbed the backrest of the chair and turned him back around. "Why is your voice so deep and…British?"
"I have no idea who this Anthony you speak of is but let me introduce myself." He took her hand in his. "I am Sherlock Holmes." He bent forward and kissed her hand.
-~X~-
The two men sat in Holmes's study (after establishing that he was indeed not Sherlock Holmes but Tony Stark) now trying to piece together a few mysteries.
"Let me get this straight," Tony said, leaning forward. "Your colleague, this 'Sherlock Holmes', looks exactly like me?"
"You look more like him than you'd think," said the doctor.
"Really?"
"Matter of fact…you look exactly like him." the Englishman replied. He looked down at Tony's chest, glowing like a torch. "Except for that of course."
"That's kind of obvious. Not many people have pieces of metal stuck in their chests."
"So not everyone parades around with torches in their chests where you're from?" he said as though to make sure.
"Yeah. I'm just unique like that." Tony replied. "Now, I still don't see how you could mistake me for your friend."
"I've told you. You look exactly like him."
"Got proof of that?" he challenged.
Watson thought for a moment before rising up from his seat and rummaging through some scattered files and papers on a writing desk in the corner. He returned a few minutes later with a black and white portrait. Tony took it and saw… his own image within the portrait.
"Now, there's a good looking devil." Tony muttered. Upon closer inspection, however, Tony noticed some minor differences in the portrait. The man's hair looked unkempt and the stubble obviously wasn't shaved cleanly. Although he held the same superior sort of smirk as Tony, his eyes seemed alert and calculating. Perhaps a bit insane as well. "…Was I drunk?" he asked, still a bit skeptical.
"I've already told you. This is not you! This is my colleague Sherlock Holmes." Watson sighed, exasperated.
"Well, if that isn't me, which it obviously is, then don't you have a more recent picture?" Tony said stubbornly.
"You're lucky this picture is recent. There aren't many pictures of my colleague," he replied.
"Well, don't you have a colored picture then?" he frowned.
Watson blinked. "Coloured?"
Tony rolled his eyes. "Yeah, with a digital camera?"
"Di-ji-tel." Watson repeated slowly.
"Are you serious? You've never heard of the word 'digital'?"
"…"
Tony stood up quickly from his chair. "Are you sh*tting with me? Am I in the Stone Age? What year is it?"
Before Watson could respond Tony cut across him. "No, never mind. Don't answer that. I know what's going on here. This is a prank. There are hidden camera's somewhere to make me look like an idiot and you-" here, he pointed accusingly at Watson. "Are just some actor and this-" Here, he gestured around the room. "Is a set sitting in a studio…"
"This man is madder than Holmes," the doctor muttered to himself.
Tony walked to the closed window, grabbed the drawn curtain and threw it open then continued to rant, "I know for a fact that—" Tony froze at the sight outside. "I… I must be drunk!"
"I-I beg your pardon?" Watson said, now rather confused.
Tony continued to stare out the smudgy window. There were no…bloody cars! He watched as carriages drawn by horses were driving up and down the roads and people bustled and walked to wherever they were going in 19th century clothing. The houses were definitely Victorian; the cobbled roads only ascertained that…
Watson became slightly concerned. "Mr. Sta—"
Suddenly, Watson found himself lifted up from his chair to stand and Tony gripping his shirt collar. "Where the hell—No, when the hell am I?"
Watson grabbed Tony's arms and struggled against his hold. "Ugh! Holm—I mean—argh! Just—let go!"
"What. Is. The year?" Tony demanded.
"1891!" he finally answered. He felt the American's grip on him loosen. Tony let go of the Englishman and ran a hand through his hair.
"I'm in 1891." He murmured. "So, where am I?"
"221 Baker Street, London, England."
Tony sank back into his armchair.
"So… you're from the future?" Watson said, eyebrows raised.
"I like to think of it more as I'm stuck in the past." Tony answered.
What an arrogant man, was the thought that ran through Watson's mind.
-~X~-
"Are you suggesting reincarnation?" Pepper asked as she took a bite of salad and looked up at the detective across the table. The two had been trying to figure out exactly how and why Holmes had come to be here for nearly four hours. They might have come to a conclusion sooner had Holmes not gotten so distracted (i.e. the flight stabilizer, Dummy, Jarvis, the microwave).
"I don't believe in such things." Holmes answered automatically.
"Then how come you and Tony look so much alike?"
Holmes thought deeply for a moment. "…Distant relations," he finally replied.
"No, no. He looks exactly like you. Jarvis?" Pepper called.
"Yes, Miss Potts? How may I be of service?" a disembodied voice responded. Holmes looked around still absolutely fascinated with the concept of a bodiless butler.
"Show the most recent…decent picture of Mr. Tony Stark." He's obviously a rather sexually active man based on this small remark by Pepper, observed Holmes. He textbooked the fact away for later.
"Of course…" Jarvis said. Instantly, an image of Tony appeared on the large kitchen window, suit and tie. Holmes jumped up into a fighting position at the sudden change of environment.
Pepper chuckled a little bit at this. "Nothing to worry about, Ton—I mean—rgh. Mr. Holmes."
Now it was Holmes's turn to laugh. "You may call me Sherlock."
Pepper laughed more sheepishly this time. "Sorry, you just look so much like him," she gestured towards the image of Tony on the window/screen.
"Yes, well, he is quite the handsome chap," Sherlock remarked, his lips quirking into a small smile.
"Hah, don't flatter yourself so much," Pepper said jokingly.
"I wasn't." he said as though deeply offended. "I called him the handsome chap. You said so yourself. That is Anthony Stark."
Pepper shook her head. "Sure. Fine." She looked to the screen then back at Sherlock. "So, do have any theories as to why the two of you look like the spitting image of each other?"
Holmes stared at the screen as though, once again in deep thought. Suddenly his eyes widened with enlightenment. "Ah. You say this 'Tony' of yours looks like me and I like him?"
Pepper nodded.
"Well, since I am obviously here I cannot be back in my time, correct?" Sherlock said still staring at the screen.
"…Yes." Pepper said, not sure of where he was going with this.
"And since Tony is obviously not here but I am," Sherlock looked at Pepper. "Who is in my time to take my place?"
Suddenly, all the pieces clicked together like a puzzle. "Oh my gosh! Tony's back in 1891!" Pepper stood up, looking around as if she were going to do something. Of course, she couldn't really do anything.
"It seems the law of equal exchange is applied here." Sherlock continued. "Since 'Tony' and I are exactly alike in a physical sense," he pointed at the screen. "The universe or some greater force, if that's what you truly believe, has allowed us to be exchanged in time. This is fascinating. And we may even be the only ones able to accomplish this," he paused for a moment. "It's a shame."
Pepper paused in her panic. "What is?"
"If my theory of equal exchange is correct," Sherlock took his last bite of food. "I won't get to meet your Tony." He swallowed and gave a stifled yawn.
"Oh, are you sleepy? I can show you upstairs if you'd like." Pepper offered.
Sherlock took out his now reset pocketwatch. 10 o'clock. "…Yes, I think I'll turn in for the night…"
-~X~-
"Okay, so if I'm here, where is this supposed 'Holmes' of yours?"
"I don't know." Watson responded, still having trouble trying to piece everything together. "He was sitting exactly where you were sitting when you first got here in same position."
"Then how could you not notice the change of clothing?" Tony said gesturing at his jeans and black tank top.
"Well, I'm sorry. I was terribly upset with him…"
"About what?"
"He was drinking something he shouldn't have been drinking," the doctor replied almost annoyed at the memory.
Tony smirked. "Well, at least we have something else in common aside from looks," he murmured.
Suddenly, almost out of the blue, Watson realized with clarity exactly what was going on. "My God."
"What?" Watson kept staring at the wall. "What? If you have something important to say then say it!"
"Holmes…" he looked at Tony. "Is in your place."
At this statement, Tony also understood. "Oh… That would explain a lot… but it also raises more questions."
"Indeed." Watson was already trying to make more sense of the situation. How was this possible? Why did it happen? Was there someone behind this? An enemy? Already, Watson's head was starting to spin with all the questions of the new issue at hand. Holmes probably already figured it all out a long time ago. "This would be so much easier if my colleague were here."
"Will I get to meet this guy?"
"Probably not… there has to be a reason why you switched places instead of one of you going over to the other's time period." Watson responded, still unsure of the answer himself.
"It must have something to do with the fact that we look alike." Tony said also thinking through all the likely possibilities. "… Is it possible that this could all be… permanent?"
"I certainly hope not!" Watson said, snapping out of his thought process. "I'm not done scolding that man. Besides, with his curiosity he's probably causing trouble over in your time."
"That's what I was worried about…I mean, if he's crazy enough to play music for a dog, who knows what he'll do with my Iron Man suits?" Tony could picture the crazed man destroying the house already… oh wait. Tony already did that before…and more.
"Don't worry; he respects other's belongings...most of the time." He finished, knowing full well that that wasn't true. Stealing his clothes, taking evidence from crime scenes, setting fire to the rooms… he could go on all day.
"I can't depend on that! I have to get back now!" he snapped, banging his fist on the desk. Almost as if by cue a man wearing a black bowler hat and overcoat entered the room the very moment Tony's fist connected with the hard wood.
"Never seen you so mad, Holmes." The man said. "Finally hit a dead end have we?"
Tony blinked in surprise. "Who the fu—"
"Actually," Watson interrupted, stepping in front of Tony. "He's feeling a bit under the weather today. Perhaps another time, Lestrade." He began to usher the man out of the room.
"Hold on there, Watson! I'm not asking the man to step outside," Lestrade protested. "Just needing his opinion is all."
"Since when did you do start doing that yourself?" Watson inquired.
"Since I started doing my job, old boy," the inspector quipped. "Now, Holmes." He tried to sidestep Watson but the doctor blocked Tony from view each time.
Tony had kept quiet the whole time knowing full well he'd be in trouble otherwise. But now Watson was acting suspicious so Tony had to act now. He spotted a tattered looking robe and snatched it up quickly. He wrapped it around himself, covering the arc reactor effectively. He mussed up his hair a little before clearing his throat. He wasn't exactly sure how this Holmes sounded so he tried his best to imitate Watson's accent.
"It's quite alright, Watson." Not bad, he thought to himself.
Lestrade had finally managed to push Watson off to the side to get a clear look at the man who he thought was Holmes. "Well, you are sounding a bit under the weather."
Tony winced slightly. Well, at least he wasn't commenting on how American he sounded.
"I've told you; he's sick. He needs his bed rest and he hasn't eaten his supper yet." He continued to try and nudge the inspector out the door.
"Well, if you must insist, Watson. You are a doctor after all." Lestrade said, finally taking his leave. "You'd better be chipper by tomorrow because I am coming back," he called to "Holmes".
As they heard the front door close shut, they both breathed a sigh of relief. Tony began to remove the robe. "Who was that?"
"Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. Not the brightest fellow." Watson replied.
"I sensed an aura of rudeness directed towards me. I'm guessing he's not a big fan of Mr. Holmes."
"Rival's more like it."
"Well, thanks for the save, I guess." Tony said, draping the robe on the back of his chair.
"Not a problem, Hol—I mean—"
Tony gave a warm smile. "Tony."
"Sorry… I just can't get over how much you look like each other."
"It's alright." Tony replied before his stomach rumbled loudly. He pressed a hand to his stomach. He didn't realize how hungry he was until now. Time traveling can distract a person in that way.
"Well, sounds like you need a bit of supper in your belly anyhow." Watson commented. "Come on."
The Brit led Tony down the stairs to the kitchen area. "Good thing Mrs. Hudson isn't in today. We don't need any more incidents like that again."
"Yeah…" Tony thought for a moment. "That guy that came in earlier."
"Lestrade?"
"Yeah, he said he'd come back tomorrow, didn't he?"
"Yes." Watson rummaged around the kitchen for a pan. "…Why?"
"Houston, we have a problem."
"It's Watson, Tony." He pulled out a pan from the cupboard.
"Yeah, yeah, it's just an expression." Tony rolled his eyes. Darned British people. "Point is; what if I'm still here tomorrow…and your friend's at my place?"
Watson froze for a moment. "…Bollocks!"
Tony facepalmed. "We're screwed."
"We'll have to find a way to send you back… but in the meantime, how about some bangers and mash?"
"Uhm, what?"
"Bangers and mash," he repeated slowly this time.
"Is that a British thing?"
"I believe you call it 'mashed potatoes' in America."
"Oh…sure." He would have preferred a nice American cheeseburger but they probably didn't have that in England…or even this time period for that matter.
Watson got to cooking while Tony sat at the table. They struck up some conversation, exchanging experiences of different things. Tony discovered that Watson wasn't just a doctor, but also a military man. He was retired, though from the Afghan war, a serious injury forcing him back to London. He spoke of many other things as well, his first encounter with Sherlock, some of the cases he'd been working on, his recent engagement to Miss Mary Morstan. He was just visiting Holmes for a while; he was returning to his home the day after. He told it all rather well, almost like a writer. As they sat down at the table Tony inquired whether he was one. Watson replied that he wrote many of his adventures with his colleague into his notes and hoped that one day he would publish them. He even had an imagined pen name, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
"It's all rather ridiculous, I know, but one can dream, can't they?" Watson said with a slight laugh.
"I think you'd make a great writer." Tony encouraged. "I hope you do. I'll look up your name when I get back…" he trailed off.
Watson looked at a wistful looking Tony. He smiled gently. "You'll get back. Don't think so negatively."
A few moments past before Tony returned the smile with a wide grin. Of course he'd get out of this. He was Tony f*cking Stark, billionaire genius. He'd survived in a cave for three months, he'd created a new element, and godammit; he was Iron Man! Granted, he was Iron Man without the suit but he was still Iron Man… and this superhero was getting tired. Tony gave a loud yawn. He hadn't realized how tired he was until now.
"Tired?" Watson raised a brow. "Or am I really boring you that much?"
"The first one," he muttered. "Time traveling really takes it outta you."
Watson checked his time piece and nodded. "It is getting rather late. It's nearly 10 o'clock."
Both of them stood then washed their dishes and put them away. Watson led Tony up the dark stairwell, candle in hand. Once again, Tony felt really out of place by this simple use. He followed the Brit up to a nicely furnished room.
"You can sleep here." Watson said. "Technically, this room is the guest room."
"Technically?"
"It used to be my room until I moved out," he replied.
"Then, where will you sleep?" Tony had counted the rooms. There was only a sitting room, Holmes's study and this room.
Watson sighed. "I'll sleep in Holmes's study. It doesn't have a bed but Holmes somehow manages with a rug and some blankets. I should give it a try."
Tony thought for a moment. "Y'know what. I'll take the floor."
Watson looked at Tony. "It's quite all right. You are the guest after all."
"So are you," he countered. "And I don't really think two grown men are going to fit on that thing. Besides, I lived in a cave for three months; I'm good."
Before Watson could object, Tony left the room. Watson shook his head. They were alike in more ways than he thought. They were both stubborn as a mule, that was for certain.
-~X~-
The two doors across from each other opened almost simultaneously. The darkness of the hallway was only lit by the light coming from each room. The hallway in between the two rooms was only 2 to 3 meters, separating the two men that stood in each doorframe.
So similar they were, almost a mirror image. The same wide, brown eyes, the same strong jaw, the same body structure. Even beneath the surface, they were alike; A superior intellect and vanity. But one major difference set them apart from the other. One man was Tony Stark; the other was Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock though was the first to notice that the room behind his mirror image was indeed very different from the room behind his. Being a curious man by nature, Holmes stepped out from his room, and seeing as the other man didn't step out as well, continued to advance toward the unknown.
Sherlock hesitated, his conscious telling him to turn back. But the reflection taunted the detective with a hand gesture that said "come hither". Sherlock's curiosity won over and closed the space between them, his heart beating fast. Smirks were exchanged as they felt a certain spark ignite. Both looking into each others eyes, Sherlock's overcoat collar had been held into a firm grip by his mirror image. They felt no wrong or guilt as a sweet chaste kiss ended the dream into a white faze.
A/N: So, this is my first RDJ fanfic ever. Probably the only one I'll do but it's so awesome there need not be any more. Anyway, my colleague Jara257 helped me in writing this and I am ever so grateful to her.
Jara: I think I did more than helped. That's my writing style there.
Tina Tiny: Well, I did the dream 'cause you were being such a wuss about it.
Jara: Fine, sure. But without me, you wouldn't have gotten far.
Tina Tiny: Haven't I already expressed my eternal thanks to you?
Jara: It's not nearly enough! If you were really thankful y-
Tina Tiny: Anyway! That's the first chapter and that's all the time we have for today. We'll be posting the next one sometime in the (hopefully) near future.