Author's note: Trying a new writing style - hope it doesn't look too silly.

Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading and please, review!


John made himself sure he used quite a good amount of conditioner every time he washed his hair - Sherlock's hair. The detective complained for days about the state of his hair and John learned how meticulous Sherlock was when it was about his hair, his nails, his damn face and not to grown a beard because he said he would look too silly.

It was the doctor's day off and Sherlock was away on a case or that's what he said when Mycroft arrived in one of his unexpected visits and asked for a cup of tea.

"She was his girlfriend?"

John smiled.

Because he damn knew it!

Mycroft nodded. "She was the daughter of our housekeeper. Mary was her name. She was a single mother so Mummy let Elizabeth live with us," the politician started. "She and Sherlock grew up together."

"So they were, um, together since they were kids?"

"No. Both despised each other."

Really?

John frowned. "Oh."

"Elizabeth has, shall we say... special skills Sherlock does not approve of," Mycroft explained. "Never did, actually. Then they grew up, hormonal activities in between and then they had each other's tongues down each other's throats."

John coughed nervously.

Is always a lot not good the way Mycroft referred to Sherlock.

Specially the words he liked to use.

"I thought Sherlock was... you know," John blushed. "Married to his work?"

Mycroft laughed.

The politician actually laughed.

Bastard!

"Don't be naive, John," Mycroft sipped the last of his tea. "Sherlock never got over Elizabeth."

"Why they broke up?"

When John watched the politician shifting on his chair and glancing at his umbrella, he knew the story to come was either too long or something Mycroft was not fond of.

"Elizabeth can tell your life story but just looking into your eyes - that's her main skill. But Sherlock has to take a closer look at your shirt, the way you lace your shoes, how you stand, your facial features..." Mycroft sighed. "Both couldn't stand a relationship where they knew everything about each other without even talking. And my brother is not the most talkative person in this world. You, Doctor Watson, know more than anyone present at this flat that women like to be asked questions regarding their mood state -"

"She left him?"

Mycroft nodded.

Oh my God, really?


"Why bringing old scores?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You're seeing someone."

Elizabeth shrugged.

"He's important to you."

"Yes, he is," Elizabeth admitted. "He's nice, funny, he talks and doesn't need to look at my shoe laces to know whether I want milk in my tea. He asks."

Sherlock said nothing.

"About the body swap, don't worry. You'll go back to your body soon."

"How do you know?"

She looked at him as if what he had just asked was rather obvious.

"I can't stand being in John's body."

"Me neither," Elizabeth smiled. "I rather miss your eyes."

Sherlock looked into his eyes, but remained silent.

"There's a man behind all this. Moriarty."

"A friend of mine," the detective said dismissively.

"Friend?"

Sherlock got to his feet. "You can really fix this?"

"For you, of course."