AN: You poor readers. I keep coming up with all these story ideas and then I have so many that I don't have time to update all of them:( Anyway, enjoy this bit of coolness.

3

The hospital morgue did not have a pleasant smell. Disinfectant attempted to smother the stench of the dead and was only moderately successful. Amid this onslaught to his nose, John picked up a hint of mints that instantly reminded him of Sherlock. Why had Sherlock smelled like mints anyway?

John shook the feeling of deja vu away. He was moving on now. Today it was permanent. He would leave behind his injuries and do away with his daydreams. And hopefully, he would get a flat with someone normal.

Mike carried on a conversation that John didn't listen to more than to nod and chuckle at where he hoped were the right places. Unsurprisingly, Mike didn't seem bothered by John's lack of input. "Now, I must warn you," Mike spoke, "he is a bit of an odd fellow."

John snorted, rolling his eyes. "Of course he is," he muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing. Continue."

"Right," Mike paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. They traveled deeper and deeper into the hospital.

This was a place Sherlock would have holed up…

No. Stop thinking about him.

"Anyway, he's nice enough, just a bit eccentric, ya know?"

"Believe me, I do."

At this time, they reached the door of a large, white laboratory. The window of the entrance was fogged, and John could only make out a vague, dark form bent over a table.

"This is it," Mike pointed out unnecessarily.

Nodding, John entered the room.

And he could have sworn that all the oxygen left the universe. He stopped cold, Mike entering behind him and shutting the door. Quickly, John stumbled back.

"You alright, mate?"

John didn't respond, his eyes on the man and a hand clasped tightly over his mouth. He didn't remember putting it there, and if he took it off, John felt he would scream.

It wasn't him. It couldn't be him.

John's throat was dry, and his words were like those spoken by a man in the desert. "... Sherlock?" he whispered. That single word wrapped itself up in questions and disbelief and shock and fear and relief all at once.

Reluctantly, the man's kaleidoscope eyes flicked up from a telescope and met John's. His orbs were ice blue with hints of green scattered inside randomly. Upon seeing him, the man's eyebrows rose, which his equivalent of complete shock. Immediately Sherlock dropped a test tube held in his hand.

It shattered on the floor, and no one moved to clean it up.

"John… Watson?" he answered slowly, squinting in question.

Hearing his deep, baritone voice was like a rush of fresh water. John couldn't stand it. This wasn't real. I couldn't be.

Cautiously, Sherlock Holmes took a step toward them and instantly John raised a hand as if to ward him off. He backed up until he was against the wall. "No," he whispered, growing louder with each word, "No. I'm going mad. You're not real. They- they said that you aren't real!" A sudden realization hit John between the eyes, and he snapped to Mike, who watched the two men's actions with confusion. "Can- can you see him?" John asked desperately, pointing at Sherlock.

Mike blinked. "What the heck are you talking about, John? Of course, I can see him!" He frowned, glancing between the two men. "I see you two know each other."

"Yes," said John.

"No," Sherlock replied simultaneously.

Coughing awkwardly, Mike shifted his weight from foot to foot. "Um… could you clarify?"

"I mean," Sherlock answered, eyes never leaving John. He didn't seem to realize it was Mike who had asked the question. His eyes flicked up and down John rapidly. It was a motion John recognised. He was deducing (1) him. "I have met you, John. But you were asleep." For a moment Sherlock's eyes grew sad, "I used to talk to you…" Seeing John's incredulous eyebrow, he added, "purely for scientific purposes, of course."

"Of course."

John was still in shock. Sherlock stood in front of him. Real, alive, breathing. "What the actual heck?" he breathed. "I dreamed about you for months. We were…" he almost said friends, but he doubted Sherlock would take that well. "...Partners," he inserted instead, "You're a detective, but you don't work with the police or something like that. It's all sort of blurry now."

Mike's eyes were wide. "You remember him talking to you?"

"No, he couldn't." Sherlock murmured, "He must have heard me and sculpted a dream out of the what I told him…" He tried to take a step closer and this time John let him. Soon the detective was face to face with John and John had to crane his neck upwards to look him in the eye. "Fascinating," Sherlock whispered. "The mind is an amazing thing."

Gulping, John stuffed his hands in his pockets so Sherlock couldn't see them shaking. "I've been told for months that you weren't real."

"Yes, well. I'm only known in certain circles. A hospital miles from here wouldn't have heard of me."

"They will," John spouted.

"What?"

John shrugged.

Sherlock's eyes searched his face and John knew he wasn't quite satisfied with John's response, but he didn't address it. "For the sake of my curiosity, how much do you know about me?"

Oh, where it start? "Well, you call yourself a consulting detective, which isn't a real position- and before you protest, I looked it up. Consulting detectives aren't a thing."

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock took a step back and crossed his arms. "Just because it isn't a 'thing' doesn't mean I can't start it." He sighed. "Anyhow, continue."

"You hate sentiment and are addicted to that scarf. You experiment for days on end and hardly ever sleep. You're trying to quit smoking and use nicotine patches… I think you play the violin or some stringed instrument. You hate being bored. Like, seriously hate it. Oh, and you have an older brother who apparently is in complete control of the British Government..." John trailed off. "I could go on,"

"No," Sherlock's eyes were blank.

"Gosh, Mr. Holmes, you told him an awful lot."

Slowly, Sherlock shook his head. "I must have," he murmured, "how else could he know it?" A thoughtful expression took over his face, and he opened his mouth as if to say something else. However, at that moment, his phone must have vibrated from his coat pocket because Sherlock took out an iPhone. Frowning at it, he quickly texted something and then met John's eyes. "I've got to go. Do you still want to look at the flat?"

"Who said anything about a flat?" Mike squeaked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's obvious isn't it?"

"It's not," John replied, "But don't explain. Just, whatever. Yeah, I still want to look." He tried to act nonchalant, but his heart was pounding. "221B, right?"

Sherlock, who had already turned to leave, swept back around sharply. He frowned. "Yes… Baker street."

"Something wrong?"

"No. Met me there. Six PM tomorrow."

And then he was gone, the door shutting behind him.

Sherlock stuffed his hands into his coat and furrowed his brow furiously. His heels clicked on the tile floor but he didn't hear it over his thoughts. Here he had been presented with a most perplexing puzzle. The truth is, he hadn't received a text but needed a way out of that room. John's eyes burned a hole through him as he spouted knowledge about his life.

It disturbed Sherlock more than he cared to admit because he racked his brain, but Sherlock was certain he had never talked with the man about anything more than his current experiments.

If John had dreamed about Sherlock because he spoke to the man when he was asleep, how had he recognised Sherlock before Sherlock spoke? It didn't make sense!

Had he even told John his name? Sherlock tried to convince himself that the event must be slipping his mind even though he knew that that wasn't possible.

But if he hadn't told John Watson, then how did John know so much about him?

A most perplexing puzzle…

AN: Sorry it's been so long:/ school has been crazy.

(1) Heh. I almost made a really hilarious autocorrect mistake. It changed 'deducing' to 'seducing'.

Sorry, that just makes me giggle.