A/N: Hello, dear reader. There are just a few things I need to get out of the way before you begin reading.
This story is dedicated to Hatakefire, my 101st reviewer in my story 100 Stars in the Sky. I hope you enjoy it. XD
Warning: This is rated T mainly for safety, but there will be minor swearing and maybe some violence in later chapters.
Note: This takes place in between Baskerville and Reichenbach. There will be no slash. The story's title is taken from a popular children's story, Alice in wonderland. I don't own the title, I just felt it suited my story well.
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock... No matter how much I wish I did. I also don't own Alice in wonderland, from where I took the story's title. All credit goes to the creator of Alice in wonderland. XD
And now, I present, 'Through the Looking Glass'.
Chapter 1:
Later, John would try to remember who had talked him into it. He would sit for hours, wondering how they had reached the point where they had become that desperate. His companion, however, reacted much differently. Sherlock had already forgotten the incident, and, aside from trying to recreate the odd circumstances from which it occurred, had brushed it off as an unimportant matter.
It all began on a bleak, November morning. The air was crisp and cold, hinting at the coming of winter and the sky was dark with gray rain clouds. John, sitting at his usual place on the sofa, glanced out the window as he typed on his laptop, trying to remember every detail from the Baskerville case. His fingers paused in their frantic typing and his eyes drifted from the window to the figure hunched over at the kitchen table.
Sherlock was completely absorbed in what he was doing, unaware that he was being studied by his companion. On the table were several beakers, filled with liquids of different colors. His hands were steady as he worked, his eyes unblinking.
John looked back down at his laptop. but it was too late. His muse had left him for the moment. After saving his work, he shut the lid of his laptop, standing up and making his way to the kitchen.
John watched silently as Sherlock poured the contents of one beaker into another. When nothing happened, he frowned and scribbled something on the pad of paper resting on the table.
"What are you doing?" John asked.
There was no response from Sherlock, making John roll his eyes in exasperation. Just when John was about to leave, Sherlock looked up, his pale eyes meeting John's.
"Experiment," he said, before looking back down at the beaker.
"I gathered that," John responded.
"Then why did you ask?" Sherlock snapped, picking up an eyedropper and extracting some of the chemical.
"What is this, anyways?" John asked, picking up the beaker.
Sherlock looked up quickly. "Don't touch that!" He reached out a hand, accidentally knocking into John's arm and sending the beaker crashing onto the table. Another vial fell in the commotion, glass shards flying through the air and liquid sloshing over the table.
John held his breath, expecting the chemicals to begin eating away at the table or at least catch fire, but nothing happened. He opened his mouth to tell Sherlock that messing with hazardous chemicals was stupid and dangerous, but the words never left his mouth.
There was a flash of bright light and a noise like a gunshot. John was blasted back, his head smashing against the wall behind him. Darkness swept over him like a wave.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The first thing that Sherlock was aware of was the terrible pounding in his head. He was next aware of a strange feeling in his body. He flexed his fingers, feeling as if he were moving them for the first time. He kept his eyes closed, taking a few breaths through his nose. After a moment, he pried his eyes open, blinking and sitting up.
He was sitting on the floor in the kitchen, and upon further examination, he noticed glass shards and wood splinters littering the tiles. Suddenly, he remembered the chemicals... the explosion...
"John?" he croaked, his voice sounding strange. He stood, swaying for a second before getting his body under control. "John?" he asked again, clearing his throat. He saw a figure laying facedown on the other side of the room.
He stood still for a moment, looking down at John and immediately knowing something was off.
In the darkness, he could make out a purple shirt and a pale arm.
Different clothes from what he was wearing earlier. He obviously didn't change, due to the fact that he is still lying on the floor...
Complexion is off... paler than normal... could be due to shock...
Sherlock paused in his deducing, stumbling over to the kitchen window and throwing the curtains open, letting the red-gold sunlight stream into the room.
He turned back to John, his thoughts flaring up like a wildfire.
Brown, curly hair... my purple shirt... black trousers... also mine...
Sherlock bent down, rolling the man over. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the face.
Sherlock was looking at himself as if he were staring into a mirror. He stood up, his brain reeling. Shoving his deductions to the back of his mind, he strode through the kitchen and into the bathroom, walking over to the mirror.
John's eyes stared back at him from the glass. His hand reached up, feeling along his jaw and around his nose.
"Interesting," he commented in John's voice.
We switched bodies, he realized suddenly. Somehow, we managed to switch bodies...
"Oh this is brilliant!" He took a few more minutes studying himself in the mirror before he went back into the kitchen. After checking John's pulse to make sure his flatmate was okay, he lifted the figure off the floor and moved him to the sofa. After that was finished, Sherlock sat on the other chair, closing his eyes and folding his hands under his chin.
Sherlock was pleased to discover that his mind palace was still mostly in tact. He began meticulously organizing his thoughts, and soon became so deeply engrossed in his mediation that he didn't notice when John started to stir.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
John blinked awake, his vision blurry and his muscles aching. It took him a moment become fully aware. "Sherlock?" he called, his voice hoarse. He saw a figure out of the corner of his eye and he sat up, intending to chew Sherlock out for being so utterly insufferable.
For the second time that day, the words stopped in his throat. He was staring at himself.
The body... his body... was sprawled in the armchair, still as a corpse, is hands folded together underneath its chin.
"Oh damn..." He cursed, his head spinning. When the body on the couch started moving he cursed again, jumping off couch and scrambling backwards.
His body started back at him for a moment, before saying, "John... calm down."
John let out a weak laugh before sinking to his knees, shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I'm dead," he whispered to himself. "I'm dead..."
"Don't be an idiot, John. You are not dead! It's completely obvious what happened... if you remember anything from this morning, even you should be able to connect the dots!"
John looked into the kitchen When John remained silent, Sherlock sighed. "John... I may look like you, but I'm Sherlock. Our consciousness switched bodies, John."
John full out laughed. "Alright Sherlock, you can stop the act now. I'm not that stupid. Take off the mask or whatever it is you're wearing."
"John," Sherlock responded, his expression serious. "Go look in a mirror."
"No. Sherlock, stop this right now..." John said, his voice sharp.
"Just humor me," Sherlock responded. John looked up, noting the grim expression on Sherlock's face. A shred of doubt wormed its way into his mind.
John stood, rolling his eyes. He swayed, his head still pounding with pain. After a moment, he shuffled to the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time, not believing what he saw.
Sherlocks pale eyes looked back at him from the glass. John ran his hands through his curly brown hair. "Sh... Sherlock?" he asked the mirror, watching as the image's mouth moved along with his.
He turned around, seeing the man that claimed to be Sherlock leaning against the door. "Explain," John snapped.
The man opened his mouth to protest, but John interrupted him again. "No... If you really are Sherlock and we really did switch bodies or whatever... Explain!'
"It's actually quite obvious if you think about it, John. The brain is made up of several components, including neurons which transmit signals throughout the brain, creating our thoughts. The explosion from the chemical reaction caused the electrical signals in our brains to switch... I'm still trying to figure out how, but... somehow, someway... our thoughts switched." Sherlock was speaking quickly, his eyes shining with excitement.
"This is bloody wonderful..." John said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "No one is going to believe this..." he muttered, running his hands nervously through his hair. This action did nothing to comfort him, instead bringing him closer to panic as he felt the curls... Sherlock's curls... run through his fingers.
Sherlock was about to answer when the sound of footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs. Mrs. Hudson poked her head into the room, a warm smile on her face.
"Hello," she said, her eyes shifting from the two men to the kitchen. "Oh, Sherlock! What did you do this time...?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to respond, but then remembered. He gestured to John with his hand. "Yes, explain yourself, Sherlock..."
John looked at him with a look that said I-am-going-to-kill-you-later. Sherlock just smirked.
"So sorry Mrs. Hudson," John said, his voice a deep baritone. "Wont happen again. John was just explaining to me how foolish I have been."
When Mrs. Hudson turned to look at him, Sherlock just nodded. "Oh yes... Terribly foolish of you, Sherlock!" he said. As soon as Mrs. Hudson turned away, Sherlock glared at John malevolently.
"I was just coming up to tell you that your friend is at the door... he said something about a case for you, Sherlock. Should I let him in?"
"Yes, thank you," Sherlock said and Mrs. Hudson headed back down the stairs.
John spun around as soon as she was out of sight. "No... Sherlock!" John said. "We can't take a case like this!"
"But..." Sherlock began.
"No! You have to find a way to switch us back, Sherlock! I have things to do!" John snapped. That was the precise moment that Lestrade walked into the room.
TBC
