Title: London is Strange
Disclaimer: I own no rights, I make no profit.
Chapter 7 – Memory vs. Reality
The soft rhythmic beeping and smell of disinfectant gave it away, Hospital. John realized that this was not the first time he'd made that particular deduction. This time was different from the past iterations. He felt both less and more physically present if that was possible. No, as he examined the sensations he realized it was more a detached feeling. It felt almost like the first step in the technique for astral projection that he'd learned in Kamar-Taj. John tried to move his body, nothing happened. He tried to increase his heart rate. The steady beeping didn't change. He broadened his mental awareness. Well at least that worked. Mentally he found himself in a construct that resembled a fog bank confirming at least one of his suppositions. He was definitely in the first stage of astral projection.
So now what? John was pretty sure he could reenter his body rather easily. The question, however, was whether he should or not. If he was in a coma then going back would just cause him to pass out. Unfortunately, going on to full blown projection wasn't a viable option either. John had never managed to get beyond the fog bank stage without help in training.
John paused to think. What exactly did he know about this state of being? The general idea for astral projection was to divorce oneself from the material and embrace the metaphysical. From there one could move on to see and, if you expended enough power, interact to a degree, with the outside world. To make things more confusing you could also view not only places at a distance but also other realms and even, according to Stephen, the very structure underlying the multiverse. John hadn't ever ranged that far in training though he had caught a glimpse of Asgard when Wong had taken him to view some of the protective gates that kept various metaphysical nasties from overrunning Earth.
This state must have a purpose other than just as a transition. One of the very first things he'd learned was that everything in a sorcerer's training had multiple uses even if it wasn't intuitively obvious at the time. Logically then, the training wouldn't have emphasized getting comfortable and spending time in this particular condition if it was merely a pass-through. Suddenly John realized that this was the optimum place of detachment; a place of reflection and pure thought. It would be a great opportunity for him to get a good handle on exactly what he knew and didn't know about the mirror-verse in which his adversary had been attempting to trap him.
John knew that the trap had started to close when he moved out of the sanctum house. But where had the move into the mirror-verse been fully activated? John thought for a bit then realized that it was right around Sherlock's miraculous resurrection. John's emotional reaction to the events would have been too good an opportunity for his adversary to pass up. Given how quickly things had changed after Sherlock's appearance whom-ever-it-was had escalated things taking the chance that John would be upset enough not to notice. John mused a bit on this. He was pretty sure Sherlock had been real and not a mirror-verse construct. You live and run around London solving crimes with someone and there are a host of little mannerisms that just cannot be faked. Everything from the way Sherlock had surprised him in the restaurant, to his explanations, to his reaction to being punched led John to believe that it truly was Sherlock.
If Sherlock was real then what about Mary? Mary was a co-worker but from an outsider's point of view it might not have seemed so. They'd ended up on the same shift rotation at work and had been practically living in each other's pockets for a month or so due to the heavy workload. The more John thought about it the more it must have looked like a budding workplace romance, especially after Ms. Trevor had moved out. For that matter had Ms. Trevor even moved or was she too a construct? That however, John decided, was irrelevant in the larger scheme of things. Back to Mary then. A bit more thought and John concluded that Mary was real at least up until the Landmark. So somewhere between the Landmark and the Café he'd acquired a full-blown mustache. That must have been when the where the mirror-verse influence really took off John reasoned. Therefore, anything he remembered after that point was clearly suspect.
John turned to his memories. He had quite a few. It seemed like there was at least two years' worth although he was relatively certain that not that much time had actually passed. They seemed like normal memories John was suspicious. The whole Mary as fiancé was clearly false. Thus, getting married, Mary shooting Sherlock to hide her secret past, and Rosie were likewise highly suspect. Surprisingly, however, there were pieces of those memories that seemed brighter, more real, than others. Being drugged and stuck under a Guy Faulks bonfire, a bomb in a tube car, bits of his stag do with Sherlock, that waltz Sherlock had played during the wedding reception, those bits seemed to be sharper than the rest. There were cases of course, even one at the wedding. For many of those John could almost hear Sherlock's voice explaining his reasoning and deductions.
John realized that the older memories seemed to have more distinction between the clearer ones and those that were dubious. It appeared that the closer he got to the present the more confusing and imprecise things got. Sherlock shooting a tabloid publisher then being exiled and called back at the last minute due to James bloody Moriarty hijacking the BBC; preposterous. Sherlock explaining some case from the 1890's where a lady had shot herself in the head but apparently survived as an elaborate revenge plot with overtones of the 'Dread Pirate Roberts' where the identity was taken up by multiple people, now that one felt genuine. Tracking Mary all over the world and having her ultimately take a bullet for Sherlock just seemed too much like a bad suspense or espionage novel. Sherlock going on a drugs binge to catch a philanthropist who was actually a serial killer also seemed overly contrived but Mrs. Hudson owning a bright red Aston Martin and being able to drive like James Bond felt absolutely genuine.
By the time John got around to examining his most recent memories he found he could no longer get even a partial sense of what could be authentic and what was questionable. The whole bit about a nutty as a fruitcake younger sibling, who the hell names their kid Eurus for heaven's sake, locked away for the sake of the family and the nation, appeared seriously dodgy at best. Despite his best efforts John couldn't figure out if there was any real-life method for Mycroft, Sherlock and himself all getting out of 221B without a scratch when it blew up. Even jumping out the window and rolling, parachute landing style, surely should have caused some bruising. That didn't even count the fact that all of the debris from the explosion just happened to miraculously have missed them. Despite the absurdity of the entire situation with the younger sister there were still things that John wondered about given their clarity. Being unable to take a full breath as cold water filled the well he was chained in was one of those.
Just as John had decided to make a closer examination of the clearer memories he was interrupted by a very familiar voice echoing through the grey astral fog.
"I must apologize John," Stephen Strange's voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "I did not realize that you were in such a predicament. When you disappeared, I couldn't tell if it was intentional or not. Your lack of reappearance in a timely fashion led me to start looking but by that point in time your protectors had managed to obscure your trail to the point that even magic was only indicating that you were alive and somewhere in the vicinity of London."
Protectors? John wondered then realized that in all probability that meant Mycroft had been throwing his not inconsiderable governmental weight around either on his own or at Sherlock's request.
Stephen continued on, "I ended up coming over to see if proximity would refine the location. Imagine my surprise when it was my former profession that finally led me to your whereabouts."
There was a pause then Stephen's voice seemed to recede a bit, "Speaking of protectors…"
John realized then that he needed to do something or he would lose touch with Stephen. He tried with all his might to follow the fading voice. With a surge of effort and a mental twist John suddenly found himself floating above his hospital bed. Yes! Basic astral projection. John would be invisible and inaudible but at least he could now see and hear what was going on in the room.
The first thing he focused on was Stephen, dressed casually but with a clearly borrowed lab coat, standing at a computer terminal reading what was most likely his digitized medical records. It was a little strange, John thought, seeing Stephen without the cloak of levitation. Then he realized that the red silk shirt Stephen was wearing had a familiar woven pattern to it. It looked highly similar to what John remembered about the mystic symbols woven into the cloak. Unfortunately, he didn't have time to attempt to consider whether artifact level magical clothing had shapeshifting abilities before the door to the room opened and Sherlock swept in, Belstaff swirling.
When he had first met Stephen Strange, John had noticed a strong resemblance to Sherlock. Now, seeing them both in the same room, John realized that the similarities were extremely uncanny. Stephen was a little taller, by just less than an inch or so and broader through the shoulders. Sherlock's hair was darker and had more curl. He was also thinner and his eyes were greyer than Stephen's clear hazel. In fact, the more John looked the more he realized that the two of them could have been fraternal twins separated at birth. The similarity suddenly became less as Sherlock focused and looked Stephen up and down in his familiar scanning pattern.
"Recent travel, doctor, former surgeon, unable to continue profession due to injury, friend of Dr. Patel, American," Sherlock murmured to himself then added louder "Dr. Stephen Strange."
"Impressive," Stephen said flatly not looking up from the computer file he was reading.
Sherlock snorted derisively, "Not really. Your hands, shoes and borrowed lab coat would have told me that much. In addition, I knew Dr. Patel was calling in a favor for a consult. Patel trained in the U.S. at the same hospital and in the same field. That doesn't even mention the fact that you were required to sign in to get through the security onto this floor."
Stephen punched a few keys on the computer and glanced up briefly, "And here I thought you had just googled your doppelganger." He went back to reading.
"There is a certain resemblance," Sherlock agreed. "Enough of one that I ended up not being able to stay very long in Tibet."
"And it's probably why someone took a pot shot at me the last time I was in Sokovia."
John was a little surprised when Sherlock didn't make a comment on that little jab. All in all, Sherlock had been relatively nice and quasi-respectful. It was sort of unnerving. John had seen Sherlock put on a 'normal person being polite' act before and this wasn't it. If John had to guess this was a Sherlock respecting a similar intellect in a different field combined with a Sherlock who definitely wanted something and didn't want to spoil his chances for getting it by being obnoxious.
Instead of replying Sherlock merely moved a bit further into the room toward the bed. As he moved closer John could see that he looked tired, worried, and on edge. Judging from the way his garments shifted John concluded that Sherlock was carrying a firearm in his coat pocket. Even more interesting was that when he stopped, John could see that Sherlock had placed himself in the optimum position to defend John in the bed from Stephen where he was standing at the computer.
Once again John was surprised at Sherlock's patience. He just stood quietly watching Stephen read. He was still enough that John might have thought Sherlock was engaging in one of his mind palace forays but for the tenseness of his body and the way his eyes were focused on Stephen.
Sure enough, the moment Stephen seemed to pause in his reading Sherlock asked, "Well?"
"The original drugging, concussion and smoke inhalation were resolving nicely when he was dosed with the unknown substance and presumably exposed to the pneumonia. There doesn't seem to be any obvious neurological damage and there is no indication of adverse drug reactions from there on."
"Obvious," Sherlock's tone was now verging on derisive.
Stephen ignored the outburst and continued, "All of which leaves the presumption that what we are looking at is a side effect of the unknown substance."
Sherlock looked like he was holding in a snarky remark by gritting his teeth but before he could say anything Stephen kept going, "The forensic chemistry on this is really quite good given the sample size and how quickly it degraded. I'm surprised that they managed to get as much information as they did. The blood work is just as outstanding."
For some reason John couldn't see those remarks seemed to derail Sherlock's imminent explosion. In fact, Sherlock had seemed to slip back into analytic mode and was closely watching Stephen.
"You've seen something similar," he stated rather than asked.
"The chemical structure of the initial sample is similar to some plant based psychotropic hallucinogens used by certain Amazonian tribes to induce vision quests. It's been modified and purified. It seems to be metabolized at a rapid rate yet retains its hallucinogenic effects for far longer than the original."
"Weaponized," Sherlock interjected.
Stephen raised an eyebrow, "Indeed."
"The structure, how it degrades…"
"Highly specific delivery method," Stephen agreed.
"If I'd had a bigger sample I might have been able to determine…"
"It would have needed to be a sufficiently advanced…."
"Probably with a…"
"And a…"
John was amazed watching the two of them. They weren't even bothering to finish sentences, deducing each other's meaning seemingly out of thin air. The back and forth went on. John quickly lost the thread of the discussion so he decided to take a good look at the room instead. But for the hospital bed, the medical equipment and the linoleum flooring the room looked somewhat like a high-end hotel room with an inordinate amount of wood fronted cabinetry. Given the fact that the computer pulled out of a cubby on a swinging arm and the heart monitor was sitting in front of an open cabinet door, John was willing to bet that from the various cabinets, drawers, and armoire like furniture this room could go from its current configuration all the way to ICU with only a few additional pieces of equipment. Taking a look at the sliding panels in the head-board, John realized, that the number of additional pieces needed would be even less than he had originally estimated. This was definitely not NIH standard. Thank you very much Mycroft, John thought.
"…which means Government," Sherlock concluded bringing John's attention back to the discussion.
"or serious money," Stephen agreed.
Sherlock looked like he'd bit a lemon then said, "While that is interesting it doesn't help the present situation. The unknown substance has cleared his system so why won't John wake up?"
Now it was Stephen's turn to look like he'd bit a lemon.
"We don't know as much about comatose states as we should," Stephen admitted. "The research is spotty and highly anecdotal." He paused then sighed, "If I had to guess…"
"You, like I, don't guess," Sherlock stated flatly.
Stephen cracked a half smile, "I suspect that given the hallucinogenic nature of the unmodified base antagonist, I suspect John is simply not convinced that it is safe to wake up."
"Why not? John is the most courageous person I know. Why would he be afraid to wake up?"
"We are talking subconscious here," Stephen replied. "Regardless of how courageous a person is in a conscious state the subconscious when presented with its worst nightmare doesn't have the ability to tell when the nightmare has ended."
"So how to convince him?" Sherlock said half to himself. "Somehow, we need to link the subconscious to his more rational mind."
Stephen smiled.
Sherlock stared at him momentarily, "Which is why you are telling me all this here, rather than in the conference room down the hall that Dr. Patel uses!"
"Yup."
Stephen popped his p's, John noted, just like Sherlock did on occasion.
"So, what should I do to help?"
Stephen shrugged, "The anecdotal evidence suggests it's different for each person. I've seen everything from a favorite smell to a familiar voice telling a particular story to some sort of personal object break someone out of what is colloquially called 'locked in syndrome' which is what we seem to be dealing with here.
"Hmmph," Sherlock was pursing his lips, clearly thinking hard.
Stephen logged off the computer and replaced it in its cubby. Stephen looked up and then directly at John's astral form, meeting his eyes. It was clear to John that Stephen knew or saw him floating above the bed.
"I need to go and consult with Dr. Patel. I suspect that John will not stay in this state too much longer," Stephen's statement had the faint overtones of an order.
With that Stephen exited the room leaving Sherlock still standing there thinking.
John was a bit surprised that Sherlock came out of his 'thinking mode' with a soft "ha" relatively shortly after Stephen had cleared the room. He moved over to the bed at the same time unbuttoning the collar of his now not so tight purple silk shirt. It only took a moment for Sherlock to reach for something around his neck and pull what looked like, no John knew what it was the minute the items cleared Sherlock's head, John's dog tags. In addition, John noted, his illusioned sling rings were also still on the chain. Sherlock undid the clasp and then reached and placed the chain around John's neck.
John immediately felt a pull back to his body. He started to follow it.
Sherlock had, in the meantime, dropped the bed side rail and sat down heavily in the visitor's chair which had been strategically placed next to the bed. Sherlock laid his head on the bed next to John's hip and reached out to grab his hand.
John, half in and half out of his body, made his decision. He surged into his body and with all his might willed his hand to grab and hold Sherlock's.