What's this? Two chapters in one week?! This was a struggle to get out, ugh. I feel like it's just so out of character. Anyway, please enjoy and tell me what you think!

Celestial Glowhead – Thank you so much! You're reviews honestly make my day – heck – week! I love that you're so interested in this story :) You bring up some very good questions, but they will be answered when the time is right. Looks like we'll just have to continue on with the story to figure out the whole scheme of things! :D

It was a normal case-less day in 221B. Sherlock tinkered around with some experiments, checked and rechecked the website for any cases, and bugged Lestrade. Eventually Lestrade had had enough and the mopey detective turned towards pestering John at work. Needless to say, the doctor was less than pleased to have his day at work interrupted by the mere boredom of his friend. He even debated asking Coulson or any kind of mission to work on. Sherlock was so bored it hurt his head.

That was, until there was a knock at the door.

Sherlock shot right up and raced down the stairs. It was definitely a client. He ripped open the door to find Vi on the doorstep, two more teens behind her.

The two kids were fraternal twins, between seventeen and nineteen years of age. The sister played the piano, the brother played the cello, and they were both born and raised in an upper-middle-class family that had recently run into financial issues. The sister was a closeted lesbian (likely not out due to her parents' homophobia) but the brother knew. They'd both recently gotten into some trouble and were definitely both mutants.

Vi waited for Sherlock's brain to stop running. As his deductions finished she raised an eyebrow. "Ya done?" She gestured to the teens behind her. "My friends need your help."

Sherlock stepped aside. "Come in."

Vi led the way into the flat, her friends following behind cautiously. The four of them walked into the living room and Sherlock took a seat in his usual chair. He gestured silently to the couch. The twins sat down and Vi took a chair from the nearby desk, turning it around and straddling it. Sherlock glanced at Vi briefly but quickly turned back to the twins and jumped right back into his deductions. "You're both obviously mutants, but the powers are nothing new to you. I'd say you both got them at the same time a few years ago – whether it was caused by genetics or something manmade is left to be determined. However, something recently unnerved you, something personal – definitely something that has to do with your powers."

The brother spoke up. "Yes. Vi said you could help us."

Vi shrugged when Sherlock glanced at her again. There was the sound of the front door being opened and closed as John returned from work. He hurried up the stairs and halted when he saw the meeting going on. "Oh. You have clients." John then noticed that Vi was among them. He shared a look with his flatmate.

"Yes, it is a mutant related case." He gestured towards the twins. "These two are mutants."

"Were," the sister said. Everyone stared at her. "That's why we're here, Mr. Holmes – we were mutants."

Sherlock leaned closer. "You've lost your abilities," he murmured. "How did it happen?"

"We don't really know," the brother said, picking up the conversation. He rubbed his hands together nervously. "We got in a bit of trouble last night. At first we thought it was just some mugger – we figured if we let them have our money they'd leave us be. But…something weird happened." He shook his head, unsure how to describe what happened. "Another guy showed up, grabbed me, and I suddenly just felt so tired. I actually collapsed." He looked at his sister, who was nodding along. "He did the same thing to Sandra. After he ran off we realized we didn't have our powers anymore."

The sister shook her head. "Sorry, we didn't properly introduce ourselves. I'm Sandra and this is my brother Owen."

Sherlock leaned back in his armchair. "I'm sure you know who I am."

Sandra nodded. "Of course – you and Doctor Watson both. Vi told us we could trust you."

"You can," John assured, jumping in. "We've worked on cases with people like you before. I f you want we have an organization you can contact with the situation–"

"No," Vi spat suddenly. "No, those crazy Americans can stay out of this."

Silence rang throughout the room as everyone went over what Vi had said. "Alright," said Sherlock, "then we won't involve SHIELD – I actually prefer solving these cases on my own." He leaned back in his chair again. "What were your abilities?"

"I had prophecy and Owen had telepathy."

"So you can help us?" asked Owen hopefully.

"We'll do what we can," John assured.

Sherlock stood and buttoned his coat. "Can you show us where you were attacked?"

The others stood as well. "Sure," said Owen. "Now?"

"Yes, now."

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Sherlock looked around the scene of the incident, checking for clues. John, Vi, and the twins stood by and watched the detective at work. Sherlock's train of thought was broken by the ringing of his phone. He took it out in irritation and answered. "What is it?" His face quickly softened and a grin appeared. "Where?" An address was given from the other side of the phone. "Give me fifteen minutes."

Sherlock ended the call and began walking out of the alley. "John, Lestrade has a murder."

John blinked. "Wait, what? You're taking another case on top of this?"

"Did you even get anything out of this trip?" Vi asked, annoyed.

Sherlock huffed and turned around. "The man you're looking for is not a man, but a kid. He's between five foot three and five foot six and has a size ten shoe. I'd say he's anywhere from twelve to fifteen." Sherlock scoffed. "I can handle two cases at once." With that he left the alley with a swish of his coat, John quick on his heels.

John quickly caught up to Sherlock. "Are you sure you should take this case? I mean, you haven't worked on a Scotland Yard case and a mutant case at the same time before."

Sherlock seemed affronted. "I've taken multiple cases at the same time before; I don't see how this should be any different."

Before they made it to a prime spot to hail a cab, a figure came out of nowhere and crashed right into John. The doctor stumbled but didn't fall. The kid who ran into him grabbed John's arm to help stabilize him. "Sorry, mate!" he apologized quickly.

John shook his head. "No, it's fine, you just startled me."

As the kid released his grip on John's arm, the doctor's eyes went wide. It was like someone had just hit him with one heck of a caffeine pill. This did not go unnoticed by the boy or Sherlock. The boy swallowed nervously and turned to run, but Sherlock caught his arm. "It's you, isn't it? What did you do?"

The kid used his free hand to get out of the grasp of the detective. "Let go of me!" Once his hand left Sherlock's wrist the detective felt the same burst of energy. Out of Sherlock's grasp, the kid scrambled away with wide, terrified eyes.

"Wait!" Sherlock tried to chase after the kid. Even though he was much faster, the kid's smaller height made it easier for him to slip through the crowd. It didn't take long for him to disappear. Sherlock let out a growl of frustration and looked around, searching for the kid.

John stepped over to his flatmate. "What was that? Sherlock, was that the kid we were looking for?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, pulling out his phone. "I'll get my homeless network to track him – he couldn't have gotten far." He shot off a few quick texts. "It would seem he attempted to use his abilities on us. It didn't work of course since we didn't have any abilities for him to negate."

"So that's his mutation? He can take other mutants' powers away?"

"That would be the logical conclusion here." Sherlock slid his mobile into his pocket once more. "He'll be back. He was heading towards the crime scene, so he was likely trying to make some form of amends." The detective turned to hail a cab.

John stood still. "Wait, you're letting him go?"

"No, I told you I have my homeless network tracking him." A cab pulled over and Sherlock climbed inside, John following after him. "He was obviously scared – he didn't mean to take away the abilities of the twins." Sherlock held his head up confidently. "He'll be back."

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The two of them arrived at the crime scene not much later. They were greeted by snide remarks from Anderson as usual. Sherlock debated pulling rank simply out of spite, but he would not stoop so low.

Lestrade met the detective and the blogger inside. "Well, your begging for a case seemed to have finally paid off." The three of them all looked down at the body in front of them and Sherlock quickly got to work.

"John, time of death?"

"I'd say between eight to nine hours ago."

"Identification?"

Lestrade picked up this one. "George Peterson, aged forty-eight. He has two kids, both moved out, and a wife who's out of town for work – they've all been informed of the situation."

Sherlock felt a mild headache coming on. He shook his head a bit, trying to expel the pain. "Occupation?"

"Civil servant – nothing too big, but people have been saying he was supposed to be promoted next week." Lestrade watched Sherlock in mild concern as the younger man clenched and unclenched his fists. "Murderer could've been someone who wanted to promotion for themselves.." Sherlock didn't reply. He put his head in his hands. Usually he was quick good at pain management but this was something that – for some reason – couldn't be ignored.

The DI looked towards John for help just to find that the doctor seemed to be in a similar state. "You two alright?"

"Fine," Sherlock spat. "We're fine." He grimaced as he got to his feet. "Call me if you learn anything else." Sherlock turned toward the door and saw his friend clutching his head. "John?"

"It's too loud in here," John choked out.

Sherlock walked over and took John's arm. "Then let's go," he said softly.

The two began to leave but Lestrade chased after them. "Wait, Sherlock! John, what's going on? Are you okay?" Lestrade managed to stop them just outside of the flat complex. "What's going on, seriously?"

Sherlock grimaced as another wave of pain hit him. "I said we're fine!" John visibly flinched at the sound of Sherlock's voice. Sherlock took a breath in an attempt to settle himself. "We should be fine."

"You're too loud," John muttered. Sherlock gave his friend a look. "You're still too loud. I can hear…I can hear you're…You need to stop."

"Stop what?" Sherlock didn't get a chance to hear what John had to say because the next wave of pain was too much. Sherlock doubled over and when he opened his eyes again he was no longer at the crime scene.

Before him stood a woman pacing frantically across her kitchen floor. She was on her phone and in a state of panic. "That's not a coincidence, Bill! What if I'm next?" Sherlock looked around the room as the woman listened to the response on the other end of the phone. "I know but…I'm still scared…"

Sherlock stepped forward. "Excuse me, but could you tell me who you are?"

The woman didn't even seem to hear him. "Alright," she said, still talking to the person on her phone. "Alright then. Thank you." She ended the call and set her phone down with a sigh. "Come on Meg," she murmured to herself, "don't be so paranoid." She took a deep breath and straightened up. As she turned around a bullet came flying through the window, piercing her skull.

Sherlock sat straight up with a gasp. "Whoa, you okay?" Sherlock took in his surrounding – he was back outside the crime scene. He was leaned up against the wall with Lestrade keeling next to him. "What was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock stood (albeit with a bit of help from Lestrade) and shook his head. "Just this morning. This was not caused by malnourishment, Inspector." He looked over and saw John leaning up against the building as well, his head in his hands. "John, I know what's happening."

John shook his head and clenched his hand into a fist. "Yeah, I have a pretty good idea too." He pulled in further on himself. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you're too loud."

Sherlock stepped back, staring at his friend. "I can see why."

Lestrade looked between the two. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Sherlock turned to the DI. "It's something to be discussed at the flat." He looked over his shoulder at his friend. "Would it be better if you didn't drive back with me?" All John could do was nod. Sherlock turned back to Lestrade. "You wouldn't mind giving John a ride back to our flat, would you?"

Lestrade was silent, trying to piece together exactly what was going on. "Yeah, alright, fine," he said, folding in. "Just give me a minute." His eyes flickered between Sherlock and John before heading back inside.

With nobody in earshot, Sherlock approached John. The doctor immediately stepped back. "How do you do it?" John asked. Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "How do you even make heads or tails of your own thoughts? There's so many of them…"

"I've learned to live with them. I've had them my entire life and you've only heard them for a few minutes, you should get used to it."

Lestrade came back out of the building, car keys in hand. "Ready?" John nodded, slowly following after him. Sherlock stayed where he was and watched his friend get into the car. "Meet you at 221B," Lestrade said.

Sherlock stood for a moment, watching them drive off before heading to catch a cab.

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Sherlock trudged up the steps of 221B, making his presence clearly known. Once he came upon the landing he saw John sitting on the couch with a hand still clamped against his temple. Lestrade was sitting next to him and looked up when Sherlock entered. "Alright," said the DI, "I'm expecting and explanation. I assume this has to do with the whole mutant deal you two got yourselves wrapped up in."

Sherlock began to pace the room. "Yes."

John leaned into the couch. "Is there any way you could reign your thoughts in a little bit?"

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. "I've only found one thing that could do that."

Immediately John knew to what Sherlock was referring. John shook his head. "It's just…I can't hear myself think – you're too…overwhelming."

Lestrade looked between the two in question and turned to Sherlock for answers. Sherlock sighed. "How did the drive go?"

"It was pretty quiet. Quieter than being around you at least."

Sherlock huffed. "I would think so."

John rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands again. "Sherlock, I'm sorry, but it's just…it's too much." John got to his feet and went up the stairs to his room.

The two detectives watched him go. Once the door was closed, Lestrade turned to Sherlock again. "I'm sorry, what's happening?"

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes, throwing himself down into his chair. "This morning I was contacted by two mutants who had both lost their powers. It became clear that what had negated their abilities was another mutant. John and I ran into him earlier and it would seem we have received the missing abilities."

Lestrade took a moment to process the information. "Wait, hold on. So...you and John both have the powers of the two mutants that contacted you this morning?"

"Yes."

"Which are?"

"Prophecy and telepathy."

A paused sat between them for several moments as Lestrade tried to even think of what to say. "I assume John got the telepathy."

"It would appear that way," Sherlock said with a nod. "It would also appear that it physically pains him to be around me – my thoughts are too loud."

Lestrade cracked a sad smile. "Yeah, that sounds about right." He leaned into the couch, taking in all the information. "So you have the gift of prophecy now?" Sherlock nodded. "Then what was that back at the crime scene?"

Sherlock stood up and took to pacing again, slower this time. "A premonition." He stopped at his violin and touched it gently. "The next victim."

Lestrade shot straight up. "The next victim? You mean there are going to be more?"

"Yes. It was short, I didn't get a lot. I know she lived in Central London, has a cat, has a fairly high position of power in the government, and her first name is Meg." Sherlock paused. "Likely Megan."

Standing, Lestrade took out his phone. "I'll work on finding her right away."

"The bullet will come through the highest east window of her kitchen."

Lestrade looked up from his phone for a moment, debating if he should comment. Eventually he decided against it and shook his head. "Alright." He pocketed his phone. "Keep me updated, will you? On both the case and you and John." Sherlock nodded noncommittally and Lestrade took his leave.

Sherlock stared at his violin for a few moments more before picking it up. He let himself melt into his instrument, his mind leaving its normal fast pace in exchange for music. He stopped several minutes later when it became apparent that he was not alone. Sherlock turned to find John standing on the foot of the stairs. "I suppose drugs aren't the only way to calm you mind down."

Sherlock looked down at the bow in his hand. "I suppose not…" The detective glanced up at his flatmate. "Better?"

John shrugged. "A bit. You're still loud but I think it was the initial shock that got to me; it's mostly becoming background noise now." He made his way to the kitchen. "Tea?"

"Wouldn't mind it." Sherlock gently placed his instrument back on the table.

"Has anyone contacted you about the mutant case?"

Sherlock walked over to the window, peering out through the curtains. "No, not yet."

"Do you think we should? Contact someone, I mean. Possibly SHIELD. We can handle a general mutant case, but his is…out of hand." Sherlock was vocally silent, but his mind was not. "Alright then, I'll call Agent Coulson.

As he waited for the water to boil, John began dialing Coulson. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. "Admit it; it's a bit fun being able to hear what I'm actually thinking."

John scoffed. "It's a bit annoying, that's what it is."

On the other end, Coulson picked up. "Agent Coulson."

"Coulson, this is Doctor Watson."

"Is it safe to assume you and Sherlock have run into trouble?"

John chuckled a bit. "Yeah, you could say that. Have you ever run into anyone who could take away mutations and give them to others?"

Coulson was silent longer than John would have liked. "No, I can't say I have. I take it you two have encountered someone who can and you've gotten a little more involved than you would have liked."

"Sounds about right."

"What have you got?"

"I have telepathy and Sherlock's got prophecy."

"What's it even like to have telepathy around Sherlock Holmes?"

"I think overwhelming is the word for it. Look, normally we could handle a case on our own but we're a little out of our element here."

"I can't get too involved since I am not in London, but I'll do all I can to help you guys from here and I'll get over there next chance I have."

John sighed in relief. "Thank you, we really appreciate it."

"No problem. Keep me updated." The line went dead.

John let the phone dangle at his side for a moment as the kettle whistled. However, that wasn't the only thing getting louder. John took the water off the stove and screwed his eyes shut. "Sherlock, what do you mean you–"

John turned just in time to see Sherlock fall limply to the floor. John dropped his phone and rushed over to his friend's side. "Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?"

The detective didn't move, but his mind was racing. John grimaced. There wasn't anything he could even make sense of. There were too many thoughts to just pick one out. Everything was so loud. John stumbled and fell. He rubbed his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain. He couldn't be around Sherlock, he just couldn't – yes he needed to help him but he was in no state to do so.

John got to his feet and stepped away from his flatmate. He braced himself against the wall to the kitchen. "Sherlock. Sherlock, are you okay?"

All of a sudden the detective shot back up in a panic. "John?"

John doubled over, clutching his head. Eveything had become much too loud again. "Sherlock, please, I can't…I-I can't–"

Sherlock stumbled to his feet. "It's fine," he coughed. "I just need some air." The detective rushed out of the flat, finally leaving John with some quiet.

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That couldn't have been him, it didn't add up.

Sherlock sat outside Speedy's mulling over the last episode he just had. It couldn't have been him, the time just didn't seem right. He looked different but John didn't. I couldn't have been him.

The genius was brought out of his thoughts when an angry figure stomped up to him. "What was tha' earlier?" Vi spat. "You just decided that it wasn' worth your time or what?" She shook her head in disappointment. "I told Sandra and Owen that you could 'elp them – that they could trust you."

"Well that was hardly my doing, was it?" Sherlock looked up at the fuming teen. "I'm still on the case; I'm just waiting for contacts."

Vi pulled a face and sat across from the detective. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well you'd better get your contacts ta work faster 'cause my two best friends have no idea wha' to do. They are so lost." Vi stood abruptly. "You have to solve this case, Mr. Holmes." With that she turned and left.

A familiar figure passed her on the pavement. Sherlock perked right up. The boy wrung his hands nervously as he approached the detective. "M-Mr. Holmes?" Sherlock remained still. "I-I realize you and your friend have something that doesn't belong to you."

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Sherlock, John, Sandra, Owen, Vi, and the kid (turns out his name was Grant) occupied 221B. "I'm so, so sorry," said Grant, "truly. I'm getting better at controlling it, but it's hard to tell what belongs to who, you know?" He went bright red and subconsciously tried to hide his face. "It's all new to me."

Owen nodded. "Yeah, we understand." He glanced at the detective and the war vet. "We all do."

"So can you reverse it?" John asked quietly from his place near the kitchen.

"Of course," Grant said with a nod. He turned to the twins. "So…you had the telepathy," he said, pointing at Owen, "and you had the prophecy…" He then pointed at Sandra. The twins nodded.

"That's right," said Owen.

"Alright then." Grant walked over to John, albeit a little nervously. "You currently have telepathy, right?"

"I do."

"Okay then." Grant reached out and grabbed the doctor's arm. Immediately John felt as if all his energy was drained away. He stumbled a bit and leaned on the doorframe for support. Grant grimaced. "Sorry! Sorry, I should have warned you."

John waved his hand. "No, it's fine, really." He stood a straighter, blinking. It was a lot quieter. He couldn't help but grin. "Looks like it worked."

Grant smiled. "Good!" He turned and walked over to Owen. "You ready?"

"Yup."

Grant grabbed Owen and the teen's eyes went wide as the energy hit him. "Whoa…" He retracted his arm and turned to his sister. They stared at each other for a moment then Owen let out a laugh. "Well I'd say that was a success!"

Owen nodded and quickly repeated the process with Sherlock and Sandra. Vi looked up at everyone room her seat on the couch. "Well?"

Sandra nodded. "It looks like everything's back to normal."

Grant lowered his head. "Again, I'm so, so sorry for what I did."

"Don't worry about it," John reassured with a bit of a grin. "I can say from experience that it takes a long time to adjust to new abilities."

"Hey," said Owen, looking towards the doctor, "what was it even like to have uncontrollable telepathy around Sherlock Holmes?"

John shook his head with a small smile. "Let's just say you should be grateful you can control your abilities."

Owen glanced at Sherlock and let out a yelp, stumbling backwards into his sister who caught him gracelessly. Vi snickered at the two. Owen rubbed his head. "Geese…Yeah, I'm never tapping into that mind again."

Sherlock quickly changed the subject. "I'll walk you out." John raised an eyebrow at Sherlock's sudden generosity but didn't say anything. The kids all graciously accepted the offer.

Out of the flat and down the stairs, everyone made their way out the door. Sandra was the last one but Sherlock stopped her. "Sandra." The girl halted and turned to the detective. "May I have a word?"

Sandra looked back at her brother who had a concerned expression. "Don't worry, it's only be a minute." She backtracked into the building to where Sherlock stood. "It's about a premonition, isn't it?"

Sherlock put his hands into his coat pockets. "Have you ever had a premonition that didn't come true? Or have you ever prevented it from happening?"

Sandra lowered her gaze and shook her head. "No. I'm not always present for the actual event, but it always happens. And I've never been able to prevent one either." She looked at Sherlock in worry. "Why, what did you see?"

Sherlock quickly shook his head. "Something I don't wish to discuss."

Sandra nodded minutely in understanding. "Well if you ever do or ever have questions you'll know who to come to." She walked back out the door. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes!" she called back over her shoulder.

Sherlock watched the group of kids disappear into the crowd of Londoners and tourists. His phone went off in his pocket and the detective pulled it out to check the message. It was from Lestrade.

Megan Dawson didn't make it. We were just barely too late. But thanks to your bullet trajectory we managed to catch the killer. Some big government scandal apparently. No doubt I'll be dealing with Mycroft soon. Any update on you and John?

Sherlock sent a quick reply and looked up from his phone, observing all those who passed by on the street, totally unaware of the superhuman world around them.

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Coulson closed the door behind him and walked to the other side of the table, across from where Sherlock sat. "So what exactly happened? Your text was vague and, since you didn't involve SHIELD, last week's mutant case wasn't an official mission that needs debriefing." He took a seat. "What's the issue?"

Sherlock took a moment to place his thoughts in order before speaking. "As you know, I had the gift of prophecy for a short time." Coulson nodded. "In that time I only had two premonitions, one of which has already come to pass. The other…is something I was hoping you could shed some light on."

The older agent leaned back and folded his arms. "Well, I'll do what I can."

"The chronokinetic. Is he locked away sufficiently?"

Coulson nodded. "Of course; there's no reason for him to be reeking time traveling havoc anytime soon." Sherlock was silent so Coulson probed further. "What was the premonition? I promise whatever is said in this room will not leave unless I find a piece of information vital to my superiors."

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. "Both premonitions I had were as if I were standing in the room looking onto situation. This particular one took place in the living room of 221B. I was lying on the ground bleeding heavily while John was trying to tend to my injuries. He was…panicked...The situation looked grim." Colson nodded. "But I don't think the man lying on the ground was actually me. At least, it didn't add up."

"You think it might have been you from even further in the future?"

"It's a possibility. John didn't look different and neither did the flat, so it couldn't have been more than a year from now. But I…It seemed as if I were several years older and with more injuries sustained over time as well – particularly the hands." Sherlock pulled up some more deductions from the premonition. "I was wearing something quite peculiar as well. The clothing seemed to be traditional – I could deduce it was produced in Katmandu."

"Katman–" Coulson stuttered. "Why would you have been…" He shook his head. "Nevermind. A lot can happen in a year."

"Or in seven to ten as it would seem to be in my case. In my timeline at least."

Coulson nodded and stood. "I'll get some agents to look into any strange activity in Katmandu as well as up extra security on the chronokinetic. Is that all?" Sherlock nodded. "Then you're dismissed, Agent Holmes."

Of course Sherlock only gave Coulson the basics of what he saw. He didn't tell him how bad off future him seemed to be – if that even was him – or how terrified John seemed to be. Sherlock didn't tell him about all the deductions he made of the version of him that was bleeding out on 221B's carpet. How he had spent several months traveling the world, a couple years training in the martial arts, and had likely been looking into the medical field (Sherlock needed more facts to fully support that deduction). He also didn't mention how truly shaken and confused he was – and how much he hated it.