Shoutouts to tigersoul101, Rubi Yuki, andFlightstrike
Chapter Two: Startling Situation
Mycroft woke up, and right away he knew something was wrong. First off, he woke up on his own and not by the shrill beeping of his alarm clock. Immediately he thought he had slept in and was late. He quickly sat up and tried to jump out of bed, but found his movements restricted by the cocoon of a blanket around him.
That was his second clue.
The sheets he was in were cheap and scratchy. Well, to a normal person they were fine, but they were definitely not the elder Holmes's high-end silk sheets. After untwisting himself from the sheets he finally got a good look at his room, or so he thought.
"This isn't my roo-" He quickly clamped a hand over his mouth at the sound of his words. His voice was completely off, it was deeper and gravellier, and sounded very familiar…
"No." He stood up and found he was tripping over himself. He felt wrong, his limbs were heavier and he felt like he'd been stretched like taffy. His head felt heavier, and when he brushed his hand over his head his hair felt thicker and much longer than what it should have been.
He looked around and found that while this wasn't his room, it was a room he knew. An utterly asinine idea suddenly struck him, and he felt fear begin to creep up his body.
"Can't be," he whispered, again with that voice that wasn't his. He slowly approached the mirror hanging on the wall opposite of the bed. His legs wobbled like a new-born giraffe's, further supporting his crazy theory. He was almost afraid to look, but he had to know.
He had a hard time believing what he saw in the mirror.
He was staring at the horrified face of Sherlock Holmes.
"No, no, no," he chanted, watching Sherlock's face mimic him.
Mycroft gulped, his not-reflection copying, and slowly lifted a hand. His shaking limb touched the glass, Sherlock's reflection connecting with his fingers.
But it wasn't Sherlock's reflection, it was his. Mycroft looked like Sherlock. Mycroft was Sherlock.
"Fuck," he whispered. He sunk to the ground, still wearing the look of shocked horror. He had a hard time coordinating his new gangly limbs, but eventually he was sitting there awkwardly with his long arms wrapped around his equally long legs, his chin resting on his knees.
A sudden dinging noise almost gave him a heart attack. He yelped, a sound that sounded strange with Sherlock's voice, and whipped his head back and forth trying to find the cause of the sound.
It came from Sherlock's rarely used laptop sitting atop his desk. Mycroft(or was it Sherlock?) slowly walked over and peered at the screen. It was an invite to a video chat, something Mycroft did not expect to see on his brother's computer. Even more startling was the email address of the person sending the invite. An address he knew all too well. As he clicked 'accept' he was half expecting what happened next, half hoping it wasn't true. But sure enough he found himself staring into the computer at his own face, and he did not looked pleased. He wetted his suddenly parched throat and in a scared voice so unlike Mycroft (or was it Sherlock? This still hasn't been settled) spoke the one word that would test the theory he was begging to every deity he knew was wrong.
"Sherlock?"
Sherlock (Mycroft) rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Yes it's me brother, now get rid of that look on your face you're making me look stupid." The voice was Mycroft's but the biting words and condescending tone were all too Sherlock.
The elder Holmes' fear and panic melted away to pure anger and he glared at the poorly pixelated image of himself.
"Sherlock," his voice oozed pure death. "What the hell have you done?"
"What have I done?!"
"I'm in your bloody body Sherlock!" Mycroft screamed.
"Keep it down; you'll wake John," Sherlock warned.
"Just tell me what you did," he commanded, his voice now a whisper but still just as deadly.
"Me? You're the one with all the government connections, perhaps I should be asking you."
"Sherlock I did not do this," Mycroft hissed.
"Well neither did I!"
"Oh what is happening?" Mycroft groaned, pulling at his longer thicker hair which was perfect for such action.
"Stop that, I don't want to go bald."
"Sherlock what the fuck is going on?"
"I thought that was obvious. Somehow we have swapped bodies with one another. It appears only our physical bodies have been exchanged, as I find I haven't gained any new knowledge you would know but I don't, not that there would be a whole a lot of things to learn."
"How are you so calm?! Surely you who thrive off of logic and reason should be short-circuiting right now"
"Because while this situation is indeed upsetting, albeit fascinating, oh think of the data that could be gathered..."
"Sherlock…" Mycroft fumed.
"Very well, the point is nothing will be gained by panicking and being irrational. Now think, what is the last thing you remember?"
Mycroft took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, and tried to think of anything that could explain this.
"Well, after you stormed out of the restaurant, I returned home and went to bed. Then I woke up here."
"Come on, surely there is something else that happened?"
"There's nothing Sherlock! I got home exhausted, but of course before I could sleep I had to spend ten minutes cleaning that mess after I stepped on that-"
Mycroft gasped, his eyes wide as dinner plate when realization hit him like a bus.
"What Mycroft?" Sherlock asked.
"The cookie!" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.
"The fortune cookie the old lady offered us," he explained. "I took it and left it in my pocket and stepped on it when I was changing. While cleaning it up I read it. It was all that frivolous nonsense they usually have, but as soon as I read I felt something like a cold shock up my spine. I thought I was having a coronary." Mycroft searched his brother's (his) face for any reaction, but Sherlock remained passive, but focused.
"I wrote it off as nothing and went to bed," the elder Holmes followed.
"I see," Was Sherlock's response.
"'I see?' Why do you not sound surprised?" asked Mycroft.
"Because the exact same thing happened to myself."
Now it was Mycroft's turn to raise an eyebrow.
"Check the bin beside my bed," Sherlock told him. Mycroft wanted to know why, but Sherlock's expression was very clear he just wanted Mycroft to do it. He found the trash bin and peered inside, careful not to touch anything, a neat freak even in another body. Nothing caught his eye, a few paper wads, old nicotine patch wrappers and a couple tissues, but nestled on top was what he had the feeling Sherlock wanted him to find. A small strip of paper. He plucked it from the bin and read the words typed on it.
"Th-this is-" he rushed back to the computer and held the paper in front of the screen. "Sherlock this says the exact same thing mine did!"
"I've also confirmed this,' Sherlock replied as he held up the identical strip read by Mycroft the other night.
"But wait, how did you get the fortune cookie? I didn't see you take one when you left."
"I didn't. I took a cab home and once inside I discovered it in my pocket."
"Why on earth would you want to read a fortune cookie?"
Sherlock shrugged. "Honestly I just felt like it to see how ridiculous it was. After reading I had an experience similar to yours, and I woke to find myself not in my own body."
"Are we really considering a fortune cookie fortune as the cause of this?" Mycroft asked.
"I do admit it is rather foolish."
"Foolish? FOOLISH?!" Mycroft jumped to his feet, his cheeks growing red with anger.
"This is the worst thing that could happen! My god, of all the people why did it have to be you?"
"Oh yes because this is just a day at the morgue for me too!" Sherlock screamed back.
"Sherlock are you alright?" Both brothers froze, eyes focused on the door.
"Sherlock?" John called again.
"I'm uh," Mycroft cleared his throat, panic rising. "What do I do?" he whispered to Sherlock.
"Answer you idiot!"
"Sherlock what's going on?" John's footsteps grew louder as he approach the room.
"N-nothing!" Mycroft answered quickly. He then realized how un-Sherlock that sounded and cleared his throat trying to come up with something more Sherlockian.
"I'm fine, John." he said trying to keep his voice level. He still felt so out of place with his brother's voice coming out of his mouth.
"I thought I heard you talking to somebody." John answered. His voice was right behind the door and Mycroft could see the shadow of his feet peeping under the wooden door.
"Well you heard wrong," he replied, trying to make sure he sounded like Sherlock. He knew very well that John was a smart man, especially when it came to Sherlock, and knew he had to be very careful.
John made a grunting noise, like he didn't believe him.
"John, stop standing in front of my door unless you have no better use of your time," Mycroft said, perfectly mimicking the haughty dismissive tone so often directed at him over the years.
He could hear the doctor sigh. "Lestrade told us to meet him at the crime scene in half an hour, so get washed and dressed already."
Mycroft heard John's footsteps retreat, and let out a sigh of relief. He turned back to the computer screen and saw Sherlock staring at him critically.
"Don't be rude to John."
"Oh? I thought I was supposed to be you," Mycroft smirked. Quickly the smile fell, when something dawned on him.
"Sherlock what are we going to do? I can't stay in your room forever and you can't stay in mine."
"I don't know about you, not that I'd care if I did, but I am not going out wearing your mug."
"Sherlock I'm serious. You just heard John, you have a case, and I have work."
"So you have any idea how to switch us back?"
"Of course not!"
"So what do you propose we do then?"
"We'll figure out what's happened to us and how to reverse it. In the meantime we are just going to have to have a go at impersonating each other."
Sherlock snickered to himself.
"What's so funny?" Mycroft asked accusingly.
"The thought of somebody like you attempting to be like me?"
"Excuse me?"
"Unfortunately brother, there's only one Sherlock Holmes and you're looking at him."
"Actually I believe I'm looking at Mycroft Holmes right now and may I say how handsome I am right now."
"So sorry to tell you this, but the role of Sherlock is a far too advanced for you," said Sherlock.
"So you think being me is going to be easy?"
Sherlock rolled his eyes.
"Please how hard is it to sit behind a fancy desk and order people around?"
Mycroft couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Sherlock do you know what kind of responsibilities I have? The kind of things I have to deal with on a daily basis-"
"Oh calm down Mycroft you're not that powerful I only say that to threaten people."
"So you think you can be me better than me?"
"Seeing as how I am superior to you in most ways and have deduced your habits and behaviours for years, I see no challenge in playing the role of you."
"Then let's have us a wager shall we?" Sherlock cocked his head.
"Until we figure out how to reverse this, we shall masquerade as each other and see who really has it tougher."
"Mycroft I told you I see no challenge in this-"
"Well if you are so confident you should have no problem then, do you?"
Sherlock opened his mouth to argue, but when he realized Mycroft was right he pursed his lips.
"Very well, as much as I dislike it, I see no other alternative."
"Very well," Mycroft said. He stood up and began rifling through Sherlock's closet to find something to wear. He was almost found this new challenge exciting, seeing if he could pull of being his brother. But just when he allowed himself to see some bright side to this he remembered something very, very bad.
Sherlock was going to be him. That meant he had to take over Mycroft's position, handle his cases and deal with sensitive information and interact with some of the most powerful people in the world.
Bloody. Fucking. Hell.
"S-Sherlock!" he quickly returned to the computer screen and was relieved when Sherlock was still there.
"What now?"
"We need to set some ground rules."
"Oh?"
"Yes, we are to do our best to act like each other, the real us. That means no using our current positions to embarrass each other, and we need to react how the other would."
"Mycroft I know this."
"Still, let's make a simple list of the things we think the other should know." So they spent about ten minutes making lists of things they needed to know: words they should never say, how they would answer certain questions, certain code words and phrases, names of people and such. They had to stop when they heard John yelling for "Sherlock" to get going.
"Well, let the games begin." Mycroft smirked at Sherlock, and while his lips didn't move there was now a competitive glint in his frost coloured eyes.
"I'd say good luck, but such niceties are frivolous."
"Indeed." As Mycroft closed the laptop screen he thought he heard Sherlock say he heard someone come in, but paid it no mind as he gathered himself and joined John in the living room.
"What took you so long?" John asked as the two walked down the stairs and out of the flat.
"I had difficulty locating my shoes," Mycroft lied, using Sherlock's bored tone.
"I keep telling you to tidy your room, the place is a pit," John scolded half-heartedly. Mycroft rolled his eyes the way he remembered Sherlock did when Mummy asked his to clean as a child. John waved for a cab and when one stopped for them the two slid in. John gave the cabbie the address and they were on their way.
"Where are we going?" Mycroft asked.
"They found a girl by the Thames," John answered.
The two fell into a comfortable silence and Mycroft was trying to resist chuckling. This was going to be easy. He had experience in investigations and he was confident that he would win he and his brother's wager. He was wondering what Sherlock was doing and this train of thought reminded him of Sherlock's comment before closing the computer. He wondered who would be visiting him at this hour…
"Fuck!"
"Sherlock what's wrong?" John jumped at his "flatmate's" sudden outburst.
"I forgot to mention him!"
