The second time it happened John just came home with the groceries. He walked directly into the kitchen to place his goods on the table. Quite content with his purchases, he put them away and took the newspaper he had bought along with the food.
John needed to find a new job, the last one hadn't been bad but constantly seeing your ex-girlfriend didn't really help anyone.
Already flipping the newspaper open he walked over to his chair and let himself fall back into it. Just as he focused on the words before him he heard a sound.
A deep content hum.
A shiver ran down John's spine and he looked over the newspaper towards the couch.
There on his couch was Sherlock, sprawled out over the length of it. He was wearing a silk dressing gown and underneath was a tattered shirt and loose pants. His head rested on the arm of the couch, the curly hair sprawled over it. One hand pressed into the elbow of the other arm, apparently massaging a spot.
"Sherlock?!" John asked dumbfounded. Was he really there? As far as John knew he hadn't had a drink today, he had not even had over ripe fruits.
The handsome bloke had been a figment of his imagination when he had a beer too many. That's what John had thought until now.
Quickly pinching himself in the arm, he noticed it hurt but he didn't wake up, he was sure that he wasn't asleep. Not a dream then. But why was Sherlock here?
Slowly the curly haired turned his head to John, as if Johns words only now made it to Sherlock's ears.
"Oh! John Watson!" Sherlock drawled in a pleasant manner, almost as if he was quite happy with the world and himself. "That quite settles the question whose hallucination who was." A deep chuckle followed that remark.
John found himself still confused. "What do you mean? I'm not drunk and as far as I know no one hit me on the head. That means you aren't one."
"Exactly, I am not the hallucination. You are." Sherlock's eyes wandered over John but not in the same way as last time. The other seemed slower and kind of out of it "Jesus Sherlock! Are you high?!"
John sprang up as soon as he had come to the conclusion. Walking over to the couch he longed to take the others vitals but remembered last time when they had tried to shake hands. This time he felt prepared and made for Sherlock's wrist which now rested on top of his torso.
Johns hand went through the wrist, even through the torso before he pulled it back. Just like last time.
Only now did he notice Sherlock grinning up at him, he hadn't even moved an inch.
"Very clever John! Last time it must have been an experiment gone bad and this time it's clearly the drugs. Rather…interesting that my mind decided to create you again. I see no need for you…it." Sherlock slowly said.
This sounded so different compared to the quick speech he had received from Sherlock about himself.
Frowning John sat down on the coffee table, acknowledging the syringe lying there directly next to him. "Sherlock what did you take?" John demanded to know. "I'm not a hallucination, I can assure you that. I admit that…passing through each other is kind of super weird and fucked up but I am real and apparently so are you."
John tried to see reason in all of this but he was the most confused human being on earth right now.
He shook his head to let these thoughts drift away for now. He needed to concentrate on Sherlock and he hadn't received an answer yet. Looking at Sherlock's face John noted that his eyes were closed as if he was sleeping.
"No, no, no! Sherlock, Sherlock listen open your eyes!" John wanted to grab Sherlock's hand so badly or shake his shoulder but he knew what would happen. He wouldn't let that stop him though.
He bent forward so that he was kneeling in front of the couch and placed his hands in a way so it would seem that he touched Sherlock's cheeks. John barely touched the other but could still feel a slight tingle in his palms where they graced Sherlock's face.
"Sherlock, open your eyes, don't fall asleep. What did you take?" What John really wanted to do was to claps on the others cheeks but he had to work with this. Letting this strange tingling continue seemed to work for him. Sherlock opened his eyes slowly.
"What?" Sherlock grunted, he actually sounded sleepy too. "Are you tickling me? Morphine if you must now." There, an answer. Finally.
John sighed in relieve, he felt safer now, knowing what Sherlock had taken. "Stay awake with me, could you do that?" John didn't remove his hands, apparently this tingling kept Sherlock awake for now.
"I could but I don't want to." the other drawled and began to close his eyes again. He only kept them open because John started to make a rubbing motion with his hands through his chin, almost as if he caressed it with his thumb.
"Why don't you want to?"
"Because you bore me John, what a boring hallucination."
"I could talk to you about something."
That seemed to raise Sherlock's spirits and interest. "About what?" His eyes were open now, because Sherlock wanted them to and not because John kept bothering him.
"About you." John dared to grin a little. "I googled your name and found your website." It wasn't much but it seemed to awaken the curiosity in Sherlock.
"What do you think of it?" Sherlock asked while he moved his moved it as if it was heavy, towards his own face. Sherlock wanted to wave Johns hand away. Of course it didn't work. "Stop that John."
John slowly removed his hands but stared where he was kneeling on the floor. "I can't really say anything about it. You started the website and posted one thing. Your last and actually first update is dated a few years back."
Sherlock frowned at this, shaking his head in a slow motion. His curls quietly rustled against the couch. "That's wrong. I constantly update it. My analysis of tobacco ash or the article with the same title as the website. Clients contact me through it; it's how I get some of my cases."
That explanation seemed to drain Sherlock's energy because he just hummed after that, closing his eyes for a few seconds before blinking them open again.
"Tobacco ash?" John mouthed at himself before speaking up again. Sherlock shouldn't just fall asleep yet. "Wait you said clients and I remember the first time we met you said I'm clearly not a client. What clients? What do you do Sherlock?" Sherlock's website hadn't been really providing with answers and John really wanted to know more about this strange bloke that kept appearing in his flat.
Sherlock smirked at John, it turned out kind off loopy. "I'm a consulting detective. No, I am the consulting detective. Only one in the world. The deduction I did of you, that's how I work."
John blinked at him. He hadn't expected that but then again, who would have. "Consulting detective? Never heard of that before, you probably made it up huh?" He asked amused. John could see Sherlock doing that, creating his own place in society because he certainly didn't seem to bow to the norm.
Sherlock however didn't seem amused by his answer. Sherlock actually appeared to be snarling at John. "I didn't make it up! It's true. Just because you can't grasp the mere concept of-
"Woah Sherlock wait wait!" John hastily interrupted Sherlock, seeing in which direction this could go. "I'm sorry I didn't mean it like that! I meant that you came up with the job, that you created it. I do believe you, every word." John tried to sound as sincere as he could.
Sherlock seemed to deflate with every word that John said. He seemed to melt back into the couch, the tension leaving his body. "I…apologize, I must have misunderstood." Sherlock mumbled, almost not audible for John. Sherlock probably never apologized for anything.
"It's alright Sherlock, really. I could have said it in a different way, don't worry." John tried to sound assuring. The drugs probably did their part in confusing Sherlock. He wasn't sure when Sherlock had injected himself but the high must come off soon,at least that's what John thought.
Sherlock seemed content in lying there, as if he really was living in this flat, staring at the ceiling in what could have been a contemplating gaze. If he wouldn't have been high and probably just thinking he was the happiest person on earth (or something along the line). John didn't know Sherlock well enough to guess what he was thinking while on drugs.
John would have been content himself, just sitting there and watching Sherlock. The dark haired one was rather fascinating to watch. But John wanted to know more too.
"So you solve mysteries for people, right? Thefts and the like?" John asked. Sherlock slowly looked at him and huffed.
"That too but I mostly help the police solve murders. They wouldn't know what to do with a footprint if there would be an instruction beside it." Sherlock snorted, apparently amused by this. "So incompetent."
John would have loved to pat Sherlock on the tight. "Now, now, don't be like this because otherwise you wouldn't have your occupation. But solving murders! Must be awfully exciting." When John compared his life to the one Sherlock described then his seemed rather boring.
Now that he was without a job more than ever.
"As exciting as it can get." Sherlock looked up at the ceiling again. "It is so boring right now. No good murders John, I had to make my thoughts stop." Sherlock almost seemed to whine about the last part.
John mused over this. Was this why Sherlock took the morphine? "Sherlock, what thoughts do you mean?"
Sherlock yawned before he answered, feeling more tired as the minutes ticked by. "My brain is a high functioning machine, when I have nothing to do it turns onto itself. It tears me apart, I needed the quiet."
"And what is it that tears you apart? What kind of thoughts?" John wanted to know. The way Sherlock described it made it sound like gears grinding against each other which would translate for John to a massive headache. Surely that wasn't reason enough to take drugs.
It was silent after John's questions.
Just when he thought that he would receive no answer Sherlock's gaze turned to him again. There was something in his eyes, even if they were dulled by the drugs and looked sleepy. There was something that bothered John.
He opened his mouth to voice further questions but Sherlock's attitude seemed to change. As if he simply locked away the look and everything behind it and grinned at John.
"Let's try something. I'll look you up too. Maybe I find more about you and next time we see each other I'll tell you."
"Next time? So you think this will happen again, whatever this is?" John asked curiously. He would love to see Sherlock again even if it could mean that he had gone mad. But he doubted that his brain could come up with such a brilliant character.
Sherlock nodded as an answer. "Maybe a pattern will show how it comes to this. If you really aren't a hallucination." And then he grinned again. "I could give you something to do too. Maybe my website is just faulty; you could ask people about me." Sherlock nodded to himself once again after talking. As if it would be a good idea going outside and asking people after a bloke you weren't even sure existed (even if there was a certain website).
"Sherlock I'm not going down the street and asking every person that walks by me after you." John assured in a stern voice. There were some things he really wouldn't do.
"Well, then I'll have to be very nice and give you a name of a person who should know me" This time Sherlock's grin became lopsided. Whatever he thought up must have been most amusing to him.
John stood up and earned a bewildered gaze from Sherlock but he immediately put up his hands to stop the protest. "I'm going to get pen and paper to write the name down. If you really want to do it like this"
He found the utensils quite quickly and sat down on the couch table again, waiting. "Well? Tell me."
"John, because I'm in such a good mood right now I'm going to give you two names: DI Lestrade and Molly Hooper. You'll find one of them at the St. Bartholomew's Hospital" Sherlock snuggled himself into the couch while he told John the name of the location and put a blanket over himself.
John blinked for a second and paused his writing. He was pretty sure there hadn't been a blanket on the back of his couch but it had suddenly appeared when Sherlock had felt for it behind his back and touched it.
He quickly came back to his paper and continued to write the information down he had received. "Alright got it and how are you going to look me up? Should I give you a tip too? Sherlock?" John looked up from his paper.
Sherlock had made himself as small as possible and had draped the blanket over himself. He seemed to have fallen asleep.
"Hey Sherlock." John bent forward again and put his hand lightly on Sherlock's shoulder, feeling the tingling start again. But Sherlock didn't react this time.
John figured that he wouldn't be able to wake Sherlock this time, he had been keeping him awake longer than Sherlock probably had liked. Sighing he stood up and took the paper to the kitchen where he prepared himself a cup of tea.
He mused over the names. One worked at the hospital, that wasn't too hard. Sherlock could only mean this Molly Hooper since the other was a did this mean he had to go to New Scotland Yard and ask around there? Well wouldn't that be fun.
John put the paper into his pocket and took his freshly made tea back to the living room with the intent to sit down and muse over Sherlock.
He stopped short after the glass door and stared at the couch.
It was empty.
There was no Sherlock, no blanket and the syringe had vanished too.