A/N: Dear readers: HELP! I'm out of ideas. There is probably just one chapter left, and an epilogue. Please, give me prompts or ideas… Please pretty please? Anyway, enjoy reading! ;)

After Sherlock had sneaked out of the warehouse, he wanted to go home and die. He was tired and grumpy, he was hungry, again!, or to put it in a short summary: he felt utterly miserable. That was something he hadn't felt before. Or in fact he had, but that was a very long time ago.

One thing he was happy about though. Back there at the crime-scene, he had felt confused about his feelings for John. That probably just was because of the body-swap, because now he knew again that he just liked his brave, loyal, reliable and cozy soldier. He wanted to go home and die.

But then he received a text.

Possible client could be very interesting. Come home. –JW

Sherlock smiled. Going to bed and die could wait, clients couldn't. Right now, he would be very happy to take on any kind of case, no matter how dull. This sounded rather promising.

He hailed a cab and went back to Baker Street. When he entered the living room, Sherlock's face fell. "Okay, I lied," John said. "Possibly it's not even remotely interesting."

"I can see that, Jo-Sherlock," Sherlock replied, his eyes fixed on the person on the couch. "What are you doing here?"

"I found another corpse with a tattoo under his foot," the man answered. "And because you said once that I can have a promising career if I followed your lead… here I am."

"Well, Dimmock," Sherlock sat down. "Better ask my friend here if he wants to take it on. Sherlock, what do you think?"

John admired Sherlock's capability to switch so easily, he hardly made any mistake.

"Well... Erm..." John mumbled. "No use in sitting at home when there's finally something fun going on, is there?" He looked questioning at his friend, who gave him a barely conceivable nod.

"Well, Dimmock, where is it?" Sherlock asked.

The man frowned at the man he thought to be John for taking the lead now. "Erm... the Chinese restaurant ten minutes away from here. Murdered, but no evidence at all on the body," he said, looking at the man he thought to be Sherlock.

"We will be right behind, I need to talk to my friend here," John said. The man left the flat and John turned to face Sherlock.

"How was Irene?"

"Fine, I suppose. She will help us find some Chinese. "

"What about the threats she told me about."

Sherlock waved dismissively with his hand, "oh, she will be fine. I gave her some money so she'll be able to make it through for some more weeks."

"Ah," John nodded. "Erm, Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about Irene?"

Sherlock's had snapped up. "Sorry, what?"

"You heard me." John folded his arms and looked at his friend.

"Yes, I heard you."

"Then answer me."

"She's just a friend."

John's eyes narrowed.

"Anyway, John, we have a murderer to catch. Are you coming?"

"Yes, of course."

Fifteen minutes later our favorite couple arrived at the Chinese restaurant.

"It's our restaurant, Sherlock," John whispered, a feeling of uneasiness spreading through him.

"I know. Ah, Dimmock, let me through please?" Sherlock demanded, which earned him a poke in his side from John, who stepped forward. "Yes, I would like to take a look at the crime scene," John added.

The crease on Dimmock's brow deepened. "Are you two okay?"

Both men nodded emphatically at the same time, walking straight to the restaurant's kitchen where the body of a young Chinese girl lay. Dimmock pointed at her feet.

A black tattoo was printed on her heel. Sherlock knelt down and took his magnifier out of his jeans. John coughed and looked at a very surprised Dimmock. "Wha- why is John doing this?" he asked incredulously.

"He is, erm, learning. And I have this figured out already, just two or three ideas. It won't take that long. And, John, what did you find?"

"It's not the same tattoo. The image, the ink and the place are different."

"Oh," Dimmock said.

"Yes," Sherlock answered, looking at John. "Cause of death?" he asked his now tall friend.

John cleared his throat and rolled his eyes. "Poison, and strangulation, I think," he diagnosed when he had knelt down. Dimmock's jaw dropped. "You two switched?"

John's eyes widened when he heard the statement of Dimmock. He knew!

"Wow... you two changed jobs, how cool," he added.

John's breath escaped, Sherlock looked relieved around the room, trying to find more clues.

Suddenly his eye caught a little piece of paper.

He picked it up to have a better look and then showed it to John without commenting on it. John stared at it for some seconds and then quickly followed his friend who had left the crime scene. They left the bewildered Dimmock alone to wonder about what had gotten into those two.

He shrugged and called the forensics. "You two, come here and clear this mess up. We have an investigation to do."

"Sherlock! What did that mean?" John asked breathlessly.

"It's a sign, following this lead and we find the person who gave us the fortune cookies."

"You sure?" John asked.

His friend nodded grimly. "I have to find Irene."

John took another look at the slice of paper.

"Time to see world in different light. Accepting changes life gives you will make you better person."

"Oh dear…" John sighed, feeling a headache creeping up.