A/N: as promised: a deliciously long chapter Hopefully you like it. Somehow, in the middle of my writing process, I got intoxicated with The HitchHiker's Guide to the Galaxy, so if the style reminds you of that, that could very well be. Last chapter was disaster, it wasn't even funny. Thank you for sticking with me.. This one is better, I hope. It is the clue of the story, next chapters (probably two) will be the aftermath. Happy reading, and please leave a review. Pretty pretty please? I love them, and they really stimulate me to keep writing! :) Enjoy!
John reread the little paper again.
"Time to see world in different light. Accepting changes life gives you will make you better person."
John's headache worsened and he closed his eyes as he walked after Sherlock in the direction of the main street. It started raining, the rain being of the thoroughly soaking, freezing and chilling kind.
"John?" Sherlock suddenly spoke.
"Hmm?" John hummed as an answer, the rain feeling pleasantly cool on his sore head.
"CHINESE!" Sherlock pointed at a woman walking casually across the street. John looked in the same direction and looked at Sherlock.
Without saying anything else, the two of them began to run. John grinned foolishly and enjoyed the chase. The last time they chased the same woman it had been only half-hearted because either of them was tired and rather confused. Now, they were perfectly adapted to the other one's body and capabilities.
At least, that was what they both thought. But Sherlock realised that, being locked inside John's body, running in the rain after a Chinese woman was completely different from sniffing around at crime scenes. And to be honest; it was the kind of difference Sherlock wholeheartedly despised. He felt himself at a disadvantage. It didn't take long for John to outrun him. Sherlock was able to keep on John's heels, but John was in front.
Panting, Sherlock shouted displeased: "why are you faster than me?"
"Deliciously long legs!" John shouted over his shoulder as an answer, and quickly jumped over a fence in the middle of an alleyway.
He wanted to continue running, but Sherlock yelled him back. "John, we need to co-operate."
John quickly examined the situation and spoke quickly: "ok, move to your right!"
He helped Sherlock climb the fence and again the two of them set off.
"You know, John," Sherlock yelled again, "that swirling coat looks great. Why did you never tell me?"
"No need to feed your already way too big ego, my friend. No shut up and run! I want my own body back!"
"What's wrong with mine?"
"You smoke and don't eat nor sleep, Sherlock! Now shut up!"
The pair sprinted around the corner and suddenly Sherlock found himself face-forwards pressed in his nice warm, slightly soaked black woolen coat as John stopped dead in the middle of the alley. He had already opened his mouth to deduce the hell out of his friend when his jaw dropped. In the alleyway, in front of John and Sherlock, the woman stood still. Her legs a bit apart, firmly grounded, her arms folded across her chest, a daring look in her dark eyes.
"Welcome, gentlemen," she said in a soft malicious voice, "please, follow me." She turned and walked away.
John ruffled his dark curls and looked at Sherlock with a questioning look in his eyes. Sherlock shrugged and strode after the Chinese lady. John, as always, followed not much later.
They went left and right and again left, and after a while our two beloved friends were at a loss where they were. Well, at least John was. Sherlock had three options in his head, but the rain and the cold and his strange, soaked clothes didn't make it much easier to figure out where they were.
After half an hour of turning and walking, they finally reached an empty building. Empty because it looked deserted; hollow eyes used to be the high, classic windows, the door was half rotten.
"Enter, gentlemen," the lady motioned, and the two of them obeyed her, opening the door and entering the dark building, in which only one light-bulb shone a meager light.
"Welcome," a male voice said. John and Sherlock stood beside each other, shoulders almost touching. Well, Sherlock's shoulder touched John's upper-arm.
"What are we doing here," John snapped, his fists balled and adrenaline pumping through his body.
The man stepped from the shadows into the artificial light from the single light bulb. The small Chinese man grinned. "And, how was your day? I hope you enjoyed it."
"Not really," Sherlock answered.
The man's grin grew broader as he examined both their expressions. "I can see you didn't really learn from all this, did you? Well, then the experiment must last a little longer I'm afraid."
"What are we supposed to have learnt," John asked incredulously. "What are you? Good Samaritans?"
The man nodded emphatically and smiled his sickening smile again.
"Please, stop smiling!" John yelled. Sherlock looked at his friend and frowned. "Yelling won't really help us, John," he whispered and when he looked at the Chinese man he added: "but the question still stands; what are we supposed to have learnt?"
"Mutual respect, and love for each other." Again that stupid smile that made John want to hit him. Badly.
Both men gaped.
"Say that again..?" John asked.
"You have to finally accept you love each other and live after that feeling. Shall I elaborate?"
"Yes!" both men said in unison.
"Fine. Follow me." The man walked away and flicked on the cold lights to illuminate the room. Three chairs were standing opposite another. "Sit," the man motioned.
John and Sherlock sat down, looking at each other.
"Are you sitting comfortably?"
Both men nodded. They didn't understand a single thing of what was going on. John was pleased to notice that Sherlock also looked at a loss.
"Good, then I'll begin. We call ourselves The White Lilly. We want to bring peace and love in this world; we want to make people happy. This world," the man said fiercely while standing up and pacing around the room, "this world is filled with hate, denial of love, and acceptance is nowhere to be found. We want to help all these lost people, those people that don't have the guts to tell another man they love them. The grandmother of my mother created the spell, which is set into working by eating a Fortune Cookie, but I'm sure you found out."
"You killed a Chinese lady," John said through his grinded teeth.
"Oh, she had died already; it's just a clever use of the body."
Sherlock sniggered. "I had found out that much already. But please, continue your story."
John gaped at his friend. "You did-oh, never mind."
The Chinese man was quiet for a couple of minutes. The silence hung awkwardly between the three of them. Then the man opened his mouth and continued. "I'm sorry, but you haven't advanced far enough. There was a beginning somewhere, but it's not finished. I can't change you back, at least not now."
"Hang on," John said as he raised his hand, "we made a beginning?"
The man nodded again.
"We can't have. I'm not actually gay." John refused to believe this nonsense.
"I think this man is right, John," Sherlock interrupted quietly.
"What!" John's head turned to face Sherlock, a look of utter incredibility on his face. Sherlock just smiled and it dawned on John. "Oh no," the doctor whispered, narrowing his eyes when he looked at his friend. "You apologised to me after at Starbuck's for calling me ugly. Is that it?"
Sherlock's grin faded, as he nodded in response. "I did, didn't I?" he asked no-one in particular.
"Yes, you did," John nodded.
"Well, I had this sort of epiphany," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "You remember The Girl Who Waited?" he stopped talking for some seconds. "From Doctor Who?" he added when John didn't answer immediately. John nodded. Yes, of course. That had been a good episode!
"Well, Amy talked to Amy about Rory and how much they loved him," another nod from John, "and I suddenly realised: John's the most beautiful man I've ever met."
The Chinese man looked very pleased. "Good," he said, almost rubbing his hands in ultimate pleasure.
John swallowed hard. "Oh."
"Yes, 'oh'," Sherlock agreed. "However, later I realised you're my very best friend, and that such feelings are completely natural."
"I haven't had those!" John said a little too loud. "And no, they aren't normal!"
The Chinese man opposite them tilted his head slightly to the right, daring John to think again.
John closed his eyes and lowered his head upon his chest.
"What is it, John?" Sherlock asked, monitoring John's movements and trying to deduce from that.
John inhaled deeply and allowed the air to escape feebly. "The man is indeed right, Sherlock."
"What? You too?" Sherlock snapped. The tension of waiting was a bit too much for his tired and very confused synapses.
"When we were getting dressed, you helped me with the buttons... and the sensation of that… of your fingers on my chest…" John licked his lips nervously, "that was heaven."
Sherlock smiled. John narrowed his eyes when he looked at his friend. "I can't help those feelings Sherlock, so I think this man must be right. Now you must not make fun out of me. It's a bit not good."
A deep chuckle however did reach John's ears and he frowned when Sherlock started to laugh uncontrollably.
"What is so funny, Sherlock?" John asked, a tinge of anger rising in his voice.
The Chinese man also frowned as he looked at the two soaked men in front of them. The pleased look had disappeared from his face. "What! What did I miss?" he bellowed, wanting an answer and wanting it now.
John clenched his teeth and hissed: "I just confessed the feelings I have. It's not the time to make fun of me, Sherlock!"
"It-it's just…" Sherlock giggled. Did he actually giggle? John wondered.
"What?" John demanded.
"Those feelings… You only had them because I am ticklish in that area!"
"Ticklish?" both John and the Chinese man exclaimed.
Sherlock nodded and grinned. "Yes, I'm ticklish. Irene uses it a lot."
The Chinese man took out his phone and started to text rather roughly.
"Oh… shite..." he mumbled when he received a reply. He looked at Sherlock. "What's your first name?"
"Moron," John mumbled. "I've called his first name at least ten times this evening." The man ignored John's rather rude comment and continued to look at Sherlock.
"Erm, Sherlock?" Sherlock answered, looking as if he didn't understand a bit of what was going on. This probably was exactly what was happening to him.
"Oh. Do you happen to have a brother?"
Sherlock nodded.
"Is that brother of yours called Mycroft?"
Sherlock nodded.
The man turned to face the blogger.
"What's your name?" the man demanded.
"John," John answered.
"Not Greg or Gregory?"
"God, no!" John exclaimed. The look on his face must have been priceless, even if you had a Master Card.
"You're not a Detective Inspector then?"
John shook his head.
"Oh." The man didn't say anything else, turned on his heels and left, leaving the two men on their own.
"What was that?" John asked.
"Someone changed his mind, scenario one. The question then would be: who?," Sherlock said thoughtfully. "Scenario two is that they made a gigantic mess of all this."
"Hmm?" John asked.
"They wanted to swap Lestrade and my brother."
"Why would they want to do that?" John asked, still not completely understanding this whole mess.
"My brother and Lestrade are probably meant for each other. Come, I want to go home."
John stood up, trying very hard to delete the rather vivid view of Greg and Mycroft together, kissing, in the rain, under that ridiculous umbrella. Yuck. That was a bit too disturbing.