Disclaimer: I (sadly) do not own either of these series or any of the characters.
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John opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was room he was in. It was very white, clinically bright with a row of beds lining one side of the room. The second thing he noticed, was how cold he was. His skin was warm, almost feverish but he could feel the cold reaching deep inside him. Freezing him from the inside out. He started to shiver violently, his teeth chattering. A movement from across the room made him turn his head to stare.
Opposite from the bed he was lying in there were three dark, leather chairs arranged so whoever sat in them would have a clear view of the bed's occupant. Standing next to one was a boy who had just risen from it. As John stared at him he felt a hint of recognition. The boy was tall and slender, wiry, with curly, dark hair. His cold blue-green eyes peered into Johns for a moment before coming over. Reaching over Johns head towards the metal headboard he flicked a small switch. Smirking he returned to the chair he had been sitting in before.
"Mundane technology," he commented in an offhand way, "Can often be useful." John frowned at him in confusion and opened his mouth to speak. The boy looked at John again, "Electric blankets. One of the best inventions ever, especially for colder, northern hemisphere countries such as Britain. I'm Sherlock, by the way. Sherlock Holmes. You're John Watson."
"How did you know?" Croaked John. His voice was surprisingly hoarse and the right side of his face hurting, "Where am I? Who are you?"
"I know because you had your idea in your wallet. I checked it. You are in St. Bartholomew's hospital and I'm Sherlock Holmes."
What - who? Why am I here? What happened?"
"You slept the night on the street. You were freezing. There was a risk of hypothermia so I brought you here when I found you."
"I don't understand. Why did you bring me here?"
"I told you. There was a risk of hypothermia." John sighed and pursed his lips, staring at Sherlock. Sherlock once again had the feeling that John was staring right into him rather than at him. He continued, "Also, you can see me. Even now when you're not sick."
John laughed slightly, "Of course I can see you!"
"You shouldn't be able to. Mundanes, especially ones that end up sleeping on the doorstep of the Institute, should not be able to see us."
John frowned, "Sorry? I really have no idea what you're going on about though."
Sherlock shook his head, feeling confused. It was an unpleasant feeling that he wasn't used to. "I must go now. I wish you a swift recovery."
John sat up as Sherlock rose to leave, "Wait! Who are you? I don't know anything about you! What should I do?"
Sherlock shrugged, looking slightly annoyed, "I don't know. Why should it be my problem? Report your father to the mundane police? Now, goodbye." With that he swept out of the room, his long black coat billowing behind him leaving a baffled John.
Lying back down John felt extremely confused. It wasn't the first thing he had seen which he knew he shouldn't have. It wasn't the strangest by far. But it was the only one which had ever acknowledged him. And it hadn't answered any of the lingering questions which had been with him his whole life. If anything, Sherlock Holmes had just added to them.
At that moment a nurse came into the room. Seeing he was awake she walked over. "Ah, you're awake finally! How are you feeling?" She asked friendly. John nodded as she checked his temperature. He was still lost in thought. "So," continued the nurse, "How did you get here? We found you unconscious on the doorstep. And who are you? You had no I.D on you."
"John. John Watson." Mumbled John, staring towards the door which Sherlock Holmes had walked through moments before. The nurse couldn't see him, John knew that. He knew better than to mention it. He was like all the other impossible things John could see, captivating but fleeting. But he was also closer to an answer than John had ever got before.
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