Hello and welcome back…sorry it's been a while :| I finally figured out how to follow it and I hope you won't be disappointed ;)… xx


Sherlock blinked his eyes open slowly, allowing them to adjust to the brightness of the room. He was staring around in fury at the bright white room he found himself in. They know I hate Hospitals. How long he had been here, Sherlock didn't know but his head felt heavy and rather sore; his head remained un-bandaged, though. He blinked in confusion when he noticed there was something peculiar about the room. It was empty…completely empty. No John asleep in the corner, no Molly at his side praying for him, no Mycroft watching curiously by the door and no doctor or nurse bustling about and checking his progress. Not even Fred. Just a simple white room. There were no flowers around, no extra pieces of furniture, no monitors or machines, no chairs…there wasn't even a door or windows. It was just Sherlock on the bed in the middle of the room. Shaking his head from disorientation, he removed himself from the bed and weakly staggered over to where the door should be. He cautiously placed his hand on the 'wall' and was surprised when a large wooden door materialised in front of him. Glancing around, Sherlock swallowed before curiously pulling the door open. What the hell is going on?

He was further alarmed to see he was standing in the middle of a beautiful entrance hall, different hallways leading off to different rooms and longer corridors. There were hardly any decorations, no pictures or paintings covering the walls or carpets and it was immaculately tidy. There was a single, large chandelier hanging above his head illuminating the room. He approached the elegant staircase and glanced to the left, frowning at the sign on the door: DOCTOR J.H WATSON. The door looked fairly new and Sherlock approached, turning the handle. Inside, he saw a medium-sized well-lit and pleasant room resembling that of the living room in 221B, except instead of the sofa and chairs there were shelves stacked with well-kept boxes. It was a clean room, often used by the looks of it; some boxes were labelled with things about John and others weren't. He saw John's laptop in the corner of the room, sitting open and switched on, open on his blog page. Sherlock tilted his head and smiled softly when he noticed John's stick with the words 'at least partly psychosomatic' written across it, abandoned in a darkened corner of the room along with his soldier's uniform. On the wall was a large sign that listed every description John had ever made about his deductions.

Sherlock backed out of the room and frowned, moving towards the stairs. He paused at a small table in front of the steps, his violin was placed inside an elegant glass case. He began to slowly climb up, noticing miniature skulls adorned on the banisters.

At the top of the stairs, there were two wings; one was labelled personal and the other work. Opening the one to his right, Sherlock blinked at several doors revealed themselves. This wing was very organised and used; it was clear a lot of information was stored here. The large wall was decorated with an extremely detailed map of London, interestingly highlighted with Baker Street, St. Bart's, Scotland Yard and, most interesting of all, Molly's flat. The first door located on the left was broom cupboard sized and was rather scratched and underused, cobwebs were gathering in the corners. Sherlock wasn't surprised as he read the door: ANDERSON AND DONOVAN. Another door slightly further down had an older plaque across it which read: DETECTIVE INSPECTOR LESTRADE. There was a newer plaque added underneath that read: GREG. Sherlock swallowed and shook his head. This is strange. Sherlock wasn't surprised to find Mycroft's name above door in this wing as most of the time, conversing with him felt like work. He saw on the door was an official government logo with an umbrella propped against it. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock backed out of this wing and hurried over to the other wing. This one was much darker than the other wing, a single flickering light at the end of the small corridor. There were only four doors. The first, he noticed with a cold stare, was locked and boarded up: MR. CHARLES HOLMES. Sherlock saw, next to this room, was one in slightly better condition but still locked: MRS. CELIA HOLMES.

Moving through the corridor, Sherlock recognised another larger room unlabelled. He curiously pushed the door open and raised his eyebrows at what he saw. There was a large wardrobe at the back of the room, containing different shirts, varying in colour but mostly containing purple. A coffee machine was on the counter; a sign was hanging from it 'black, two sugars'. Sherlock bit his lip when he spotted a broken Cluedo board on the floor. A small table in the middle of the room was littered with mobiles, not a single telephone was to be found; 'I prefer to text'. There was an ensuite bathroom situated behind him with the words 'twist and diffuse' written hastily across. He frowned when he saw some kind of schedule in front of a posh bed beside the large window. The schedule listed when he should eat, sleep and drink. He noticed a list of his favourite places to eat out when he decided to, the words 'examine the bottom third of the door handle' under the Chinese takeaway section. A newly added shelf could be seen in the corner, files and folders stacked across reading 'not good''. Sherlock was now very confused, retreating from the room and clutching his head. I must be unconscious. Sherlock span around and moved to the area of the corridor only partially covered by the flickering light. He saw a bin at the end of the corridor containing a file. Sherlock picked the file out and swallowed at the words scrawled across: 'Alone is what I have, alone protects me'. Pinned on the wall above the bin, Sherlock bit back a smile at the words on the file he saw: 'No, friends protect people'.

Sherlock bit his lip, his heart beating rapidly as turned to face the last door. Sherlock tilted his head; this door was very well looked after, new and larger than the other three. It was decorated lightly in flowers and the shining, golden plaque glittered with a most familiar name: DOCTOR MOLLY HOOPER. Sherlock smirked when he noticed another sign underneath had been crossed out hurriedly, yellowing with age: NOT REALLY MY AREA. Sherlock could tell this room has had recent improvements and is regularly visited. Sherlock cautiously turned the handle and stepped inside, swinging the door closed behind him. The room was deep red in colour and the two seated sofa was leather. There were two other doors in the room; an ensuite and a cupboard. The cupboard read 'things Molly likes about me.' The large bed was a tangled mess of sheets; there were handcuffs and a riding crop situated on the bedside table. There were two drawers in the table with many different labels on. The largest and most noticeable read 'things Molly does that turn me on.' Sherlock hated how he blushed when he noticed this. The bottom drawer read 'things I do that turn Molly on'. I guess Fred was right about us being dirty. Sherlock settled himself on the comfortable bed, frowning in confusion. He was in his mind-palace there was no doubt about it but, most worryingly, where was Fred?


Fred snapped his eyes open suddenly, glancing around the room in shock. He was in a Hospital bed, for certain. In the corner of the bright room, the doctor was snoring softly his head in danger from falling from his propped hand at any moment. The Inspector was having a rather cosy looking conversation with the brother in the corner. He felt a slightly warm sensation around the hand by his side and sure enough, the delightful pathologist was holding it tightly. Fred bit back his smirk as Molly squeezed his hand gently. Soon, she gasped which woke John and brought Mycroft and Lestrade back to reality.

"Sherlock…you're awake, at last."

Fred leaned against, relishing touch at long last. Everything felt so good, the comfort of the bed, the warmth from Molly's hand…the throbbing of his head he could do without, though. He was still acclimatising himself to his surroundings, his hands shaky as he lifted them to examine.

"Fascinating…this is bloody incredible."

Molly blinked in confusion. He's delirious…why didn't I bring him here sooner? Molly began mentally kicking herself until Fred brought her hand to his lips, winking at her. Molly raised her eyebrows and John frowned. What's gotten into him?

"How are you feeling, Sherlock?"

Fred nodded gently, gently bringing his hands up to his face and smiling when he could actually feel something. Oh, I'm going to love this. Jeeze, these cheekbones! He couldn't wait to taste an actual cigarette; all he had were Sherlock's memories of the stuff.

"Not bad, to be honest. I'm feeling pretty damn good."

Fred loved his deep voice, vibrating through his throat and now he understood why Molly loved it so much. The group were growing concerned now. He clapped his hands together suddenly, grinning widely at them.

"So, when am I getting out of here, then?"

John glanced towards a confused looking Mycroft. Fred looked between the four of them, fixing them with entirely different gazes. Molly spoke up, causing Fred to feel the strangest sensation in his stomach.

"Um…it should be any day now…the doctors still need to check on you…"

Fred winked at her again and Molly titled her head slightly. John was rubbing the back of his neck, wondering if his friend had concussion. Lestrade had disappeared to fetch a doctor. Fred sat bolt upright suddenly, running a hand through his messy curls. Everyone in the room stared in shock.

"Great. The sooner, the better eh, babe?"

He licked his lips hungrily at the pathologist and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. John folded his arms; what the hell does he mean? The doctor moved into the room, startled by 'Sherlock's' sudden progress. He took the chart and ran his finger up and down it, frowning slightly.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you were very lucky. You sustained a minor injury to your head a few days ago but it doesn't seem to have affected you full time. We couldn't see any permanent damage, it looks to me like you just needed a good rest."

Fred nodded, grinning widely once more and jumping out of bed, much to the horror of everyone in the room. He managed to stay standing; the feeling of actual ground beneath his feet was unfamiliar to him.

"In that case, there's no reason for me to stay is there? Thank you Doctor, you've been most helpful."

The doctor gaped open-mouthed before shaking his head. Fred giggled and smiled smugly and began pulling his clothes on. John pulled the doctor aside, speaking in a low voice to him.

"Are you sure he's ok? He doesn't seem…himself."

They glanced towards Fred, who was trying to figure out how to do buttons up. The doctor sighed with a shrug.

"To be honest, Dr. Watson…I do not know. He seems to feel fine…it was strange. When Dr. Hooper brought him in, he was a bleeding mess. Practically incoherent. We patched him up and he slept for days. Now, he's made a full recovery. I've never seen anything like it…let me know if anything changes, Dr. Watson."

John nodded, glancing towards Fred once more who had succeeded with the buttons with Molly's help. Strange indeed. John moved towards them and clapped a supportive hand to Fred's shoulder.

"Ready?"

Fred grinned, bounding towards the Hospital door like an excited child. I'm really getting the hang of this.

"Lead the way, buddy. I'm looking forward to getting home."

Molly and John shot each other a confused look before following after him, leaving Mycroft and Lestrade blinking rapidly behind them. As they headed to the exit, Fred walked behind Molly, glaring openly at her backside and grinning broadly. Hmmm…Sherlock's had all the fun. Now, it's my turn.


Sherlock dashed around the posh palace, panicking and stumbling on many previously undiscovered rooms. He soon found himself to be lost. Think…how did Fred get out. I need to find out. Sherlock returned to the Molly room and paced, thinking quickly. He had to find out…everything had to be put right. He needed his friends and his new girlfriend. Fred had taken over and he needed to be stopped. Sherlock collapsed onto the bed, shaking his head furiously. Come on…this is mine. I made this place…I should be able to get out. If Fred so much as touches Molly…

Sherlock soon realised, with agonising fury, it was probably impossible. He couldn't do anything; he was powerless to Fred. What if he was stuck here forever? Fred was masquerading as him and no one would be any the wiser. All Sherlock knew was, he had to get out...


I hope you liked that chapter, sorry about the wait. The next one shouldn't be too long now I know where I'm going with it, lol. xx Thank you so much and stay tuned, back soon xx