John couldn't take it anymore. He knew he shouldn't start a fight with himself – how strange it sounded, how surreal it all was, even if he could see with his own eyes that it was true, even if Sherlock was next to him – but he couldn't take one more minute of this.

Sherlock was rude, would always be rude, at least to some people. He had changed since they'd met, and John had as well. The doctor was much more patient with his friend's antics now, because he had missed them for three long years. And Sherlock –

Sherlock was friendly to the people he cared about. Not in an open way, not in a way ordinary people would call friendly, but John saw the change. John saw Sherlock telling Greg the solution of a case that had been bothering the DI, but was "too boring" for the consulting detective in a half-sentence; John saw Sherlock thanking Molly for body parts; he saw Sherlock helping Mrs. Hudson carrying her groceries inside, even though he insisted she'd forced him to.

Yet, even if none of this had ever taken place, if Moriarty hadn't existed, if Sherlock hadn't disappeared –

He wouldn't have treated John like that. He never had. He'd been impolite, and dismissive of many things the doctor considered important, but he hadn't been so uncaring.

John would have been uncomfortable with anyone playing the role of his best friend acting like this.

But to see himself treating Sherlock like this –

He couldn't take it anymore.

Therefore, he argued in a far more hostile tone than he should have that they had been knocked unconscious and therefore couldn't give this John any information about what happened to them.

He didn't realize what the other man would do until he did.

His counterpart's eyes narrowed.

"I would think that, considering you are in our universe, you'd try to be a little more patient". His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Then again, I do not think that someone who decided that being shot at was a good career choice understand the complexities of a superior mind..."

John's hands clenched into fists. Sherlock had never made a comment on his profession – aside from it being useful, since he could easily treat victims or witnesses who happened to stumble in their flat, as well as themselves – most likely because he knew what it meant to John. He had been a soldier and a doctor; he had saved people. He had killed because he had to, because it was his duty, but more than anything, he had healed those who could be healed. He was proud of what he had achieved.

If Sherlock had been able to deduce this, then so was this man, he had to be if he dared to claim the same title as his best friend, and that he had used this information to –

There was a hand on his arm. John looked up into Sherlock's face.

The consulting detective shook his head. The meaning was clear.

John took a deep breath.

At this moment, Bill obviously tried to diffuse the tension by standing up and asking, "Does anyone want a cup of tea?"

"Why not" Greg answered, standing up and sauntering into the kitchen. "You'll have to make it, though. I'm not touching anything in there."

The scene was so strange and yet so familiar that John chuckled and took a deep breath.

The other John chose to interpret Sherlock's glance for what it was – a warning – and called out, "I take it – "

"I know how you like your tea" Bill called out.

John turned back to Sherlock and his best friend.

"Do you have any idea why you are here?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"I have several theories – seven, to be exact – but no concrete data. It might be we were transferred here for a very specific reason; it might be whoever sent us into this universe simply wanted to get us out of the way."

"And, of course" John added, "We have to get you home". He started pacing again. "We cannot be sure that you being here won't create a paradox. There have been many works on the possibilities of parallel universes, but – "

"At the time, it seemed highly improbable, so you didn't save them" Sherlock interrupted. He had the same problem.

He had always focused on practical information he could use in his work; and scientific theories like parallel universes had never been such. It had been too improbable, as John put it. He hadn't considered that he might one day be transferred into one, and with his best friend at that.

John, his John, cleared his throat.

"There has to be an expert. Or at least someone who's published something about this kind of thing. We could – "

He stopped talking. Sherlock knew what he had been about to say. In their world, he would have called Mycroft. Perhaps unwillingly, and with the knowledge that he would have to solve a case for his brother, but he would have called him, and they would have been talking to an expert less than an hour later. Here...

"Do you know anyone?" he asked reluctantly, almost angry that his brother wasn't the British Government. Surprising, considering he had spent most of his life being annoyed at the surveillance that had been put on him because of that fact.

Sentiment. It never ceased to amaze him.

John sighed.

"Sadly, it is rather difficult to contact such experts as would benefit us in our situation. I don't have the kind of influence you seem to possess".

Sherlock told himself not to be pleased about the bitterness in the other man's tone. They had to work together.

"I know who could find out..." Bill said, coming out of the kitchen carrying a tray with four cups on it. Greg sauntered into the living room behind him, holding his own cup.

"I didn't know how you liked it, and I think I made it accidentally the way we drink it, it's confusing, you know – "

John assured him with a smile that it was fine and quickly took two cups, handing one to Sherlock.

As it turned out, their counterparts seemed to like their tea exactly like Sherlock and John did.

"Who could find out?" Sherlock inquired.

"Jim. He works at St. Bart's. He's the IT guy, and he has a talent for finding information – even if it's not always legal..."

"Jim?" John interrupted. His voice trembled slightly, but he didn't care. Jim, working at St. Bart's. Jim from IT.

No. It couldn't be.

"Jim Moriarty."

It was.

John went to sit down on the sofa, carefully placing his cup on the table.

"Are you alright?" Bill asked, moving towards him.

"Yes" the doctor replied shakily, bringing his right hand up to his temple, "It was just a surprise".

He shot Sherlock a look. The consulting detective's face was a blank mask, but John could imagine what he must be feeling. James Moriarty. The man who had cost them three years of their lives.

And he was here. Of course, there was no reason to assume he was a consulting criminal in this world too – in fact, it was more likely that he was what Bill had said he was.

And yet –

Simply picturing Sherlock working with Moriarty, calling him Jim, was enough to make John feel sick.

"What about him? He's completely ordinary" his counterpart inquired, and it took John a moment to realize that he was talking to him and that Sherlock had come to stand before him, shoving Bill out of the way.

"Not in our universe" the consulting detective responded drily, placing a hand on John's shoulder.

"John?"

"I'm fine" the doctor said, smiling even though he didn't feel like it because Sherlock was trying to comfort him.

"It was just unexpected."

Sherlock's somewhat guilty look told him that he had considered the possibility, but not told him about it, but it wasn't like he'd had the time to do so, and he smiled once more to show him that they were okay.

His friend's hand dropped from his shoulder, but not before John saw the relief in his eyes.

"And what was he in your universe?"

"A criminal" Sherlock announced matter-of-factly. "One of the most dangerous men this city has ever seen."

"Really?" John's eyes lit up. "Interesting".

"John" Bill warned him. "Jim's my friend."

"So I am not allowed to be interested in a far more fascinating version of him?"

Bill threw his hands in the air.

"Sometimes I wonder why I even try" he muttered, but John heard a note of the fond annoyance he'd often used when talking to Sherlock in his voice, and it made him feel better.

He forced himself to think logically.

Moriarty wasn't Moriarty – wasn't the consulting criminal. He could help them. If Bill was right, and it was likely he was – since they were friends, he'd know what Jim was capable of.

"Let's go see Jim" he stated, and Sherlock shot him an indecipherable look.