Martin blinked, or at least it felt like he did, and the person in the mirror blinked as well. It wasn't him, though. It couldn't be him. His eyes weren't gray. His hair wasn't long or black. And he wasn't tall. He raised his hand, and the figure in the mirror raised his.

Maybe it was a prank.

When he took another look around the bathroom, he knew it had to be more than that. This looked like a real bathroom, one in a flat. How had he gotten here?

He heard the door open. "Sherlock?" an unfamiliar voice said. Seconds later, a strange man stepped into the bathroom. Martin remembered he was only wearing a towel, and he would have been a lot more embarrased if it had been his body. And had the man called him Sherlock? He didn't think that was a name anyone had besides the character.

"Is something wrong?" the man said. He was a little shorter than Martin usually was, with dark blond hair and lines under his eyes.

"I'm not me," Martin quickly replied, and cursed himself internally for saying it. Just like him to put his foot in his mouth.

The other man looked at him with a look that was both perplexed and long-suffering. "What?" he said.

"When I went to sleep I was in a hotel in Germany and I woke up here and I'm suddenly taller and everything is different and I've never seen you before in my life." Well, if putting his foot in his mouth hadn't been bad enough, adding another one wouldn't make it any worse.

The man stepped past him and began to search a few areas for reasons Martin couldn't figure out. "If you've taken something just tell me."

"Help," Martin could only come up with.

That, of all things, was the bit that widened the man's eyes and made him step away. He looked over Martin in the strange man's body one more time and said "My god. You're telling the truth."

"I wouldn't make something like that up. Wouldn't be smart enough to come up with it. Do you have a phone I can use to ring my boss? She's going to be mad enough now."

The man's whole bearing softened. "Come out of here and get something to wear. I'll lend you my mobile in a minutes."

Martin stepped out of the bathroom and into the hall, and then into the nearby bedroom. He self-consiously began going through the clothes in the wardrobe. Almost all of them were made of silk or other fine fabric and looked like the sort of thing that would cost him a year's salary. He finally settled on a white button-down shirt and dark blue trousers that didn't look quite as costly as the other clothes. That done, he headed back to the hallway where the other man was standing. "Come on, I'll bring you into the sitting room." He led Martin down the hall and into a comfortable looking room with two chairs and a sofa. Martin sat gingerly on the sofa. The man took a seat on one of the chairs and said "Well, that proves you're telling the truth. He'd never look so uncoordinated."

Martin assumed "him" was whoever normally resided in this body. "I'm not used to being so tall."

"What's your name?"

"Martin Crieff."

"Hi Martin, I'm John Watson."

Martin looked at him for a second before dissolving into laughter. That explained why he'd been called "Sherlock" before. That wasn't his name, just an apparently running joke about being unfortunately named the same thing as a fictional character.

John gave him a cautious look, and it was enough to halt the laughter in his throat. After Martin had composed himself, he went on. "You said you wanted to ring your boss?"

"Yes. If whoever's supposed to be here is now me, she's going to throw a fit."

"You weren't at home when it happened, then. You said something about Germany?" John reached for a pencil and paper from a nearby table.

"We'd flown to Germany. Frankfurt - I'm a pilot. I was last in my hotel room."

John wrote something down on the paper. "When did you go to sleep?"

"Around ten-thirty. We had to fly back early tomorrow so I wanted to stay in hours."

"Was anyone else in the room with you then?"

"Just my - first officer." This John Watson might be the modern type who wouldn't flinch at two men in a relationship, but Martin was not willing to take that chance.

"Did you notice anything that seems unusual now?"

"No."

John nodded, and put down the paper and pencil. "Do you want to ring your boss now?"

"Yes," said Martin, feeling dread even as he did. Carolyn was the type who would ignore the weirdness of the situation and just be upset that whoever was in his body now didn't know how to fly a plane. Before he could dwell on this, John placed a mobile in his hand. Still feeling dread but knowing he couldn't put it off, he dialed Carolyn's number. Instead of ringing, it emitted a shrill noise and told him that the number was no longer in service. He ended the call and rang the number again. The same thing happened. Now even more worried, he wondered who to call instead. Douglas had left his mobile at home and Arthur had a bad habit of not charging his. Could he call Herc? Martin knew Carolyn's landline number, but he had never used it before. Herc might not even be at the house in the first place. He dialed it anyway. This time the mobile rang twice before he heard a sleepy "Hello?" Unfortunately it wasn't anyone he recognized, and certainly wasn't Herc.

"Wrong number," he muttered and ended the call. Just to make sure, he fiddled with the mobile for a minute and eventually brought up a list of numbers called. The last two were exactly how he remembered Carolyn's number. Could it just be he wasn't remembering it right? If he rang the directory, at least he'd be able to find out. He put the number in, and when the person on the other end answered, he said "I'd like to look up a number."

"What's the last name?" said the woman on the other end.

"Knapp-Shappey."

"And the town?"

"Fitton."

"What's the postcode? I'm not familiar with a Fitton."

Martin's stomach turned to ice. "I can't remember it off the top of my head. Fitton Airfield? 42 Adams Lane? Airport FTN?"

"Is this a joke?" the woman at the other end said, sounding irritated.

"No," he said quickly before disconnecting. Out of the corner of his eye he could see John moving around in the kitchen. "Is there a computer I can use?" he asked, hoping that John wouldn't ask too many questions.

"The laptop by the chair I was sitting in before," John said back. Martin shuffled over to the chair and sat down. He felt more dread now then he had at any point in his life, even before his seventh exam sit or his dad's funeral. Hesitantly he pulled up the browser and typed in the URL to the site Arthur had so proudly designed.

URL not found.

He pulled up a search engine and typed "fitton" into it. A ton of results came up, but nothing about the town.

Suddenly the computer seemed very distant. He felt like he was falling into a pit. His ears rang. Everything familiar was gone. His job, his friends, his home, his body, his life couldn't be found.

In that weird distant feeling he was sort of aware of falling to the ground. Then nothing.