Several weeks later:

He had eleven missed calls from his mother. Seven from his brother. This week. He had not answered a single call all year. They were probably furious at this point.

Cisco powered down his phone and fell backwards onto his bed with a sigh. He should call them but he didn't want to. They'd just ask when he's coming home and he'd spend the entire conversation evading the question.

It was much easier to ignore them.

With a yawn, Cisco took the napkin out of his pocket and stared at the spidery handwriting once more. It was almost habit by now. He had the lines memorized and he kept the napkin in his pocket almost constantly. It was an obsession he didn't understand. Something about the words made his mind itch. It was so tempting to call.

No. He decided that he would ignore his desire to meet the man because lately his 'hunches' had been downright terrifying. They'd only gotten more accurate of late.

He knew things he shouldn't and didn't know why or how. Every so often he caught a glimpse of the insanity erupting from his hometown on TV. The explosion at StarLabs had changed people.

Had he been changed?

No, that was ridiculous. He was just traumatized, coming up with his own version of reality. Quietly, Cisco snorted. Why was 'just traumatized' a good thing now?

It was entirely coincidental that he dreamed about a man that could control the weather. Or a woman will an obsession with bees. Or another woman who could teleport.

It was just his mind. After a few moments, he closed his eyes. Sleep would be nice… Sleep the night before had completely evaded him. He'd just rest for a moment.

Cisco didn't realize he acquired his goal until he woke up three hours later with a shout. His heart pounded and his throat was dry. Scrambling out of bed, he successfully tripped on his blankets three times before finally making it to his desk.

He shouldn't have allowed himself to sleep but now that he had, he didn't want to forget the dream. Not yet. His dreams were getting stranger. They felt important.

But Cisco couldn't convince himself that they didn't also terrify him. Still mostly asleep, Cisco fumbled for a pencil and quickly sketched what he remembered of the nightmare. He wasn't an artist but he could get by.

After several minutes, he sat down and stared at the drawing skeptically. "This is so stupid," he muttered angrily.

Quickly he tossed the drawing to the floor and stood. In the dream, he knew things he shouldn't as well.

He sat in StarLabs, shaking ever so slightly. He clenched his fist and slipped it into his pocket as an older man approached him, concern in his pursed lips. "Do you need me to inform you of the statistical probability of two successful hunches of this sort?"

Cisco shook his head. He felt like pulling his knees into his chest but he stayed perfectly still, not looking at the man. "I just - I get this weird vibe..."

And then he woke up.

It was infuriating. He felt like this other him, the one from the dream, somehow knew more, or was getting somewhere faster than he was. That Cisco still worked at StarLabs. Caitlynn was still around. Dr. Wells was… absent for some reason, but replaced by several other people Cisco couldn't place.

A young man dressed in red.

An older man with a beautiful mind.

A pretty journalist.

Scores of baddies he didn't know he had the imagination to create.

Not to mention, occasionally his dreams dipped into the realm of Sherlock Holmes. The dark stranger was always followed by a blonde man, crime scenes and shouting.

Why was he dreaming about these people?

Standing up, Cisco brushed himself off. He'd taken to avoiding any news about his hometown just in case it mentioned someone or something from his dreams. He didn't want to know. He wanted to continue thinking it was in his head. Maybe that was stupid. He didn't care.

"I need a distraction." Cisco murmured out loud. "Something really, really distracting." Usually he found himself in an arcade. Or the movie theater. With three cans of Redbull.

But neither place held any interest to him. Glancing at his bed, he fished through the covers until he retrieved the Starbucks napkin.

Forget it. He needed to make something explode.

SFSFSFSF

The lab was by far more primitive that StarLabs, but hey, it was better than the crap microscope he bought off of EBay. Grinning, Cisco let the door close softly behind him. The lab was sterile and brightly lit, with scores of chemicals and laboratory equipment scattered about.

Sherlock Holmes stood silently to the side, watching. "I take it your used to a different sort of lab."

Cisco let out a short laugh, forgetting his fake accent. "Are you kidding me? This is awesome!"

Sherlock smirked. "Well," he gestured toward the equipment, "Don't touch anything you don't understand."

Cisco rolled his eyes.

"I'll be in the next room," Sherlock continued, "You see that window? The room beyond?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be conducting an experiment on bookworms. Don't interrupt me unless the situation is dire." With that, the detective spun away and the door shut with a soft click behind him.

Bookworms? Whatever. Cisco stayed completely still in the absolute silence for several seconds. Then he grinned. "Why didn't I do this forever ago?" he whispered.

Quickly, he scampered toward the cupboards and scanned the chemicals available. "Freaking genius!" Pulling out a shelf, he selected the supplies he would need.

Concussion gun? Totally happening.

SFSFSFS

"I can't believe you let a teenager into a professional lab."

Sherlock shrugged. He was not doing a study on bookworms. He was studying Cisco Ramon in his natural habitat. "Mr. Ramon isn't a teenager. Also, he graduated when he was thirteen, John. He knows what he's doing."

And on that subject, what was Cisco doing?

Sherlock watched Cisco through his IPhone which was connected to the security camera system. It wasn't a perfect setup, given that the boy kept pulling in and out of view while the rest of the room remained normal but it did allow him to watch Cisco work. "How does he do it?" Sherlock murmured. He passed the phone to John, who was leaning against one of the laboratory tables. John took the device and watched Cisco flit around the screen for a few minutes. "It's like he's shaking. All of him. All the time."

"Vibrating," Sherlock murmured, taking back his phone. "He's vibrating."

SFSFSFSF

Two expressos, seven minor explosions, and a whole lot of tinkering later, Cisco held the smooth weapon in his hand.

Freaking beautiful. It would work. He didn't need to test it out to be sure (he totally was going to try it out as soon as he could). He'd cleaned up his mess and the hospital was closing. He needed to thank Mr. Holmes and kick this pop stand before the detective asked what he'd just concocted. Not to mention he had a headache like a horse's kicking hoof.

Too late. Sherlock opened the door and laid a curious eye on Cisco's creation immediately. "They're closing," he murmured.

Cisco stood up and smiled. "Yeah, I know. I'm coming." Quickly, he tucked the gun into his backpack and pulled the pack onto his left shoulder. "Thanks for, you know, letting me trash your lab."

Sherlock smirked. It wasn't his lab, the school owned him a favor. But that was unnecessary information. He had other issued to deal with. "I won't lie to you, Mr. Ramon."

"Cisco, please. 'Mr. Ramon' makes me sound a million years old."

"Cisco. The only reason I let you in here is because you're interesting puzzle."

"I figured." Cisco pointed behind him to the security camera in the corner. "I've been looking into security cameras after you told me about that glitch and realized they're pretty easy to hack. You were watching me, right?"

Sherlock blinked but otherwise didn't show his surprise. "Yes. I was."

Cisco smiled. "Knew it. Find anything interesting?"

"You're still glitching, if that's what you want to know."

Cisco nodded and the lights in the hall went out. He wrinkled his nose. "I guess that means were supposed to leave. Where's your friend?

Sherlock cocked his head as they began walking toward the exit. "What friend?"

"Blonde? Wearing a jumper? Am I just totally missing this?"

"You mean John. How did you know about him?"

Quickly, Cisco opened his mouth to respond. He pushed open the door and they walked out into the blue night. He tried to respond, but his words stuck in his throat. Confused, he paused in realization. Had that not happened in real life? He was certain he'd run into John Watson at some point. Or not? "I..."

"What?"

"Just a… hunch, I guess?" That was really stupid excuse. But he couldn't exactly say, hey, sometimes I hallucinate and it actually happens. Because that was crazy and ridiculous and totally not what was happening.

Frick.

Suddenly overwhelmingly nervous, Cisco stepped away. This wasn't some story on the news. This wasn't a dream. It was right in front of his face.

He couldn't ignore it. Gulping, Cisco gestured toward the street. "I've got to, like, go. So… um, yeah. I'll see you later."

Sherlock frowned, but Cisco took off before he could say anything in return.

If that wasn't suspicious, Sherlock didn't know what was.

SFSFSF

Cisco caught a cab with relative ease and stared down at his hands. They were shaking. Why was he always shaking? Gulping, he pulled at his hair for a moment but that didn't stop the movement.

"You okay, kid?"

"Fine. Drop me off at the park by the library. The one at the edge of town."

"It's after dark. You sure about that?"

Cisco rolled his eyes but the driver couldn't see. "I'm sure." A few minutes later, the cab costed to a stop. Cisco paid the man and soon he gripped the straps of his backpack and entered a grove of trees. No one could see him in here. His weapon was silent. He could distract himself experiment with his newest creation without interruption.

He pulled the gun from his backpack and aimed it into the air. He pressed the trigger and the shock wave shoved him to the ground. The leaves of the trees above him shot upward and several branches broke, flying into the air. Oh, that felt good.

Cisco ducked quickly and stumbled backwards as an arm sized branch fell where he'd been standing. Woops. The rain of leaves and sticks lasted several seconds and Cisco snickered from a few feet away. Cool. What would happen if he aimed that at a building or an enemy?

He reached into his pocket for a screwdriver he nicked from the lab, but instead, his fingers met Sherlock's napkin. Stilling, Cisco dropped the gun to his side and dug the paper scrap out of his pocket.

He held it up to the little light there was but instead of just feeling the usual tingle that squirmed down his back at the sight of the words, his vision cut off as well.

What.

Blue light bloomed and Cisco found himself in a pleasantly warm living room. The lights were too bright and everything blurred around him. He was fairly certain if he had anything in his stomach, he would puke.

"You've got to be kidding me," someone said. "Metas? No matter what's on the news, this isn't a comic book. It's an alternate universe."

"Is that what we're calling 'it' now, John?" The detective lay on a couch, staring moodily at the ceiling.

A blonde man sat in an arm chair. John. He replied quickly. "That's what it seems like."

"Then it's entirely probable that an alternate universe could have superhumans." He paused and exhaled slowly. "I should talk to him. Maybe he can help us."

"You've only met him twice. How could you know if he's a Meta or not?"

"I once testified in court against a man I knew for a shorter amount of time, you know that."

"'S different."

Shrugging, Sherlock stood abruptly and walked to the door. "There isn't any other explanation for the glitches, John. Also, he used to work at StarLabs in Central City. The lone survivor. It would be strange if something wasn't strange about him. We need to find him before he does something stupid."

Sherlock grabbed a coat off a hook on the wall…

… And Cisco dropped to the ground, breathing heavily. The pine needles beneath him did little to soften the blow to his knees. He forced himself to let go of the napkin and curl his shaking fingers into fists. "What's happening to me?" he whispered haltingly. Cisco's thoughts were scattered and disheveled like a pile of windy leaves. His head pounded and he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and never move again.

But. He. Couldn't. Stop. Shaking.

Pulling his knees to his chest, Cisco stared daggers at Sherlock's handwriting. Suddenly Cisco snorted. He was terrified by a freaking napkin. How stupid was that?

Gulping, he reached forward carefully. He needed to know more. Why was this happening? How?

His shaking fingers were about to touch the napkin's surface again when he pulled back. What was he doing? He didn't understand this… thing. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

What had Sherlock said? Meta? Sherlock thought he was one of the Metas from Central City.

Was he? Cisco drew away from the thought distastefully but he couldn't dismiss it. It connected the dots. Really weird, disconnected, hallucinated dots. Dots all the same.

Or maybe he'd just imagined the entire exchange. He was going crazy. Besides, parallel universes? Intriguing, but seriously? No. Sherlock wasn't really out looking for-

At that moment twig snapped behind him and before Cisco knew what he was doing, he flew to his feet, arms extended.

A dark figure quickly pulled into view and Cisco blinked. "What?"

Sherlock Holmes frowned. His coat was wrapped around him tightly and John stood slightly behind the detective. Raising a skeptic eyebrow at Cisco's extended arms, Sherlock snorted. "What exactly were you expecting to do? Slap me?"

Cisco glanced down at his automatic stance and dropped his hands sheepishly. He didn't know what he'd been planning.

But that didn't matter. What did matter was that he'd just seen Sherlock decide to deduce his location and find him. He saw them talk about alternate realities. Metas.

And now here he was. What did that mean?

It wasn't a hallucination and Cisco couldn't pretend that it was.

For a long moment no one said anything. Finally, "What do you want?"

Sherlock ignored his question and John stepped forward to give Cisco a soft look that Cisco couldn't quite decipher. Cisco gulped. John was the same man from his hallucination.

"I suppose you're, Cisco," John said. "I'm-"

"-John." Cisco interrupted. He pursed his lips worriedly. He shouldn't know that. "Yeah, I know."

John opened his mouth, but Sherlock stopped him with a raised hand. "We need to talk to you."

"No," Cisco countered immediately. "You don't."

"I've come to a conclusion."

Cisco snorted. Sudden anger rushed through him. "What? You've 'solved me'? Good on you, detective. In case you didn't notice, I'm not a math problem."

"Obviously. You're much more than that."

"That's not what I meant."

This was a bad idea, standing here. He should have run off the moment he heard Sherlock come up. Cisco didn't want to talk. He didn't want some detective studying his life; coming to strange conclusions. Cisco was terrified as it was. Quickly, he shoved his gun into his backpack. His movements were jerky and uncontrolled. "Look, I know what you think. But I'm not- it's not like that. I'm not one of… them. If anything, all three of us are insane and that's all." He was babbling now. "I'm just trying to live my life like a freaking normal person and none of you are making it any easier. I left my home for a reason and I don't care if you are from a parallel universe, I want to be left alone and…"

Wait.

Did he say that last part out loud?

Both men looked suitably shocked and it took a moment for Cisco to register why. "I mean," he stuttered, "or whatever."

John shot Sherlock a look. "You told him?"

"No."

Cisco's hands were shaking so bad he couldn't zip up his jacket. Instead, he gripped the straps of his pack and backed out of the grove, nearly tripping. He'd been right about the parallel universe thing too. He was shivering continuously. It made his bones ach and rattle.

Sherlock shouted after him and Cisco didn't care. He picked up the pace but knew he could never outrace the taller man. For a long time, he just walked, not caring where he was headed. Sherlock followed him and Cisco boiled. Eventually he laid a hand on Cisco's heaving shoulders.

Slowly Cisco turned and locked eyes with the detective. "I said, leave me alone." Sudden rush of fear and adrenaline and anger shot through Cisco. Why wouldn't they just let him be?

His breath hitched and suddenly a rippling wave of… force? Energy? Sound? rushed from the fingertips of a hand he hadn't realized was raised.

Sherlock flew backwards like a fabric doll and slammed into the concrete ten feet away.

Instantly horror and shock replaced Cisco's anger. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, frozen, until John came running. Racing to Sherlock's crumpled form, John's gaze flickered between him and Cisco.

"What did you do?" John whispered, pale. Cisco heard him loud and clear.

Cisco choked. "I- I don't. I didn't mean to- it was an…"

But John wasn't listening. He raced to Sherlock's side and quickly took his pulse.

Oh God, please don't let him be dead.

A strong beat sounded beneath John's fingertips and John exhaled in relief. Quickly, he stood up. "Cisco! Cisco, it's alright. He's- he's… fine…"

Cisco didn't wait a moment longer. He ran.