ringaroundtheprose on Tumblr prompted: "how about one where John and Sherlock swap bodies? And maybe kick their relationship up a notch? ;)"

Not sure this is exactly what she had in mind. But the mind works in mysterious ways, and mine took "body swap" to a more literal place. Unbeta'd.

John was starving, covered in muck, and hadn't slept in over 48 hours. Their latest case had begun with a lost dog, and ended here: in the sewers at midnight, with him crouched over the body of an old man, searching for the cause of death. Beside him Sherlock was peering inside the mouth of a second corpse. An old woman, strangled by her own pearls.

John huffed in annoyance as he peeled back his corpse's jacket, searching for blood or bruised skin. They had been sitting in the muck for over an hour and John was losing his temper.

"Swap bodies with me, John," Sherlock commanded, leaping with far too much energy over his own corpse. "This woman is dull. Clearly collateral damage. You've got the interesting corpse, he wasn't killed in that suit."

John looked down, pictured their murderer stripping the old man naked just to put him in a different outfit and then dump him in the sewers. Then he scowled, cursing his own lurid imagination.

"Quickly, John!"

"Hold your bloody horses," the army doctor groused, standing and stretching a kink out of his back. Sherlock was already pushing him out of the way. The great consulting detective knelt in the mud, bringing his magnifying glass close to the dead man's face as he searched for clues.

"You're lucky I love you, you bastard," John muttered, then cursed at himself and his loose tongue. He hadn't meant for the 'L' word to pop out like that. Certainly not in that setting.

Sherlock froze over the man's body. Tilting his head, he looked John over with analytical eyes, his face schooled to show nothing. Then he quirked his eyebrows in surprise.

"You mean it," he said.

John blushed, but nodded. His heart hammered in his chest. Sherlock stared at him, not giving any indication of how he felt about the idea. Every muscle in John's body urged him to run the hell away but a bit of his army courage raised its head. He took a deep breath.

"Course, you wanker. Is this…" John gestured vaguely between the two of them, "going to be a problem?"

Sherlock studied him a moment longer, then turned back to his corpse. John felt his stomach plunge. Bile rose in his throat, and he thought of how this was going wrong, how he would have to move out of Baker Street, how-

"I should have thought it obvious that I return the sentiment." Sherlock's voice drifted over his shoulder. The consulting detective was once more studying the corpse in front of him, and John began to laugh, caught up in the absurdity of the moment. "Really, John. We have a case. Hurry and assist me."

"Right, right, of course. We just declared that we love each other, and now its back to bodies. Not even a kiss." But he was grinning, and his face felt like it would split in half.

Sherlock, now with a finger up the dead man's nose- John didn't want to know- snorted disdainfully. "I expect that you will begin kissing me as soon as we return to the flat," the detective said, and pulled something long and metallic out of the man's right nostril. "This shouldn't take too long." Sherlock grinned and turned to John with a predatory look in his eye. "I'm finding that the promise of coitus is an exceptionally good motivator for my work."

John grinned back, and pulled out a small plastic baggie. Sherlock slipped his evidence inside, then brushed his fingers deliberately against John's.

End Note:

If you like my Sherlock stories, you might like my novel, "Path of Needles," a dark urban fantasy with a heavy fairy tale influence.

You can learn more at my website, , or follow my Tumblr ( ) for additional drabbles and other fanfic-y goodness.