AN: This is the first fanfic I ever started writing. I decided to share it on here. Have fun.
When John Watson woke up that Wednesday morning, nothing seemed to be wrong. He shambled to his dresser to turn of his alarm and froze when he caught sight of his reflection in the small mirror mounted on the wall. It wasn't him.
The person in the mirror was a girl.
She looked like him. They shared sandy hair, although hers flowed down to her elbows. Their eyes were the same green, and she wore the pajamas he had gone to sleep in.
Looking down, John was confronted with the swell of breasts. Tentatively, he brought his hands up and cupped them.
"Oh, God."
He tried to tell himself that he was dreaming...but everything was much too vivid. John hurried down the stairs to the main flat. No one was on the couch, so he must be in his room. Outside of Sherlock's door, he hesitated. Twice, briefly, he knocked, then entered his flatmate's room. The only indication that Sherlock was there was the lump under the sheets.
"Sherlock?" John winced at the feminine sound of his voice.
No answer.
Taking a few steps forward, John laid his hand against the white sheet and gently pushed.
"Go 'way."
The army doctor froze again. That wasn't Sherlock's voice. It was higher, for one, and...girly.
Grasping the sheet's top, John yanked them away.
There was a naked woman on the mattress.
"John!"
Adverting his eyes, John held the sheet out. From his brief glimpse, the woman was tall, with raven curls cascading down her back. If this was Sherlock...
A conclusion was hovering at the edge of his conscious, but refused to come into focus. Right now, he needed his consulting detective to figure out what the hell was going on.
The woman stood, the sheet wrapped around her body. Her eyes-Sherlock's gorgeous silver-blue eyes-narrowed.
"You...are you related to John?" he-she- asked suspiciously.
John shook his head. "No, Sherlock. I am John. No-just let me finish. Look at yourself, Sherlock."
After a moment of indecision, he lowered his gaze to his sheet-bound body. A lock of hair fell from his-her-shoulder and hovered in his line of sight.
Grabbing the curl, Sherlock yanked on it-and cursed when it pulled at his scalp. Dropping it-and his sheet-he pawed at his body. John tried to keep his eyes on the Periodic Table on the wall, but his eyes wandered. That alabaster skin...
Sherlock had a small moment of panicked silence. Then he pulled his sheet back around his body. "Go get dressed, John. Quickly."
Obediently, John went back to his room and changed. Wearing his regular clothes in this body was awkward. But he managed. Down in the flat, John sat in his chair and hugged the Union flag pillow to his chest. Sherlock exited his room wearing his coat and scarf.
"Let's go, John," he ordered, turning into the kitchen.
"Hang on!" he protested as Sherlock came back. "We need to eat something before we-"
Sherlock tossed an apple over his shoulder. John caught it-barely-and followed the detective out the door, down the stairs, and outside.