Jim occasionally muttered to himself, and for a few minutes, these were the only words spoken in the room.

It was Sherlock who broke the silence. While they were waiting, they might as well talk; and an opportunity to speak to the inhabitant of a parallel universes didn't present itself every day.

"What are you working on?"

It was the only thing he could think of asking John – he had no doubt that his doctor would have objected, but this was a consulting detective who was obviously troubled by a case, judging by his frowns as kept checking if he had received any messages.

John looked up from his phone, scrutinized Sherlock and slowly put it in his pocket.

"A strange case – a man murdered in a locked room."

Sherlock could have named at least seven possibilities, but he didn't want to theorize without data. He waited patiently (John would have been proud of him) for the other man to continue.

"There are no clues – and yet he's dead. I am currently running his blood for poisons, but it is taking a while".

Sherlock knew how frustrating it was to wait for evidence.

"And furthermore, most of these idiots will not do what I tell them to, even if I could solve the case in a minimum of the time they require" he continued, "and this morning Bill didn't allow me to finish an experiment because I "used his favourite t-shirt" and them simply stormed out – "

Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but John's monologue amused him a little. It reminded him of the small disagreements about experiments he and his blogger had had over the years.

"I knew he would come back, of course" he stated, but Sherlock heard the slight worry in his voice that no one else would have picked up on. He heard it because he knew the feeling, knew that somewhere in his mind palace, every time John stormed out, he wondered if he would return. He bit his lip and studied the floor. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

He looked up to find John looking at him with fascination, his eyes sparkling.

"Is your friend unreasonably attached to certain unappealing pieces of clothing too?"

Sherlock nodded, remembering the day he set John's jumper on fire because he wanted to know how fast certain materials burned. He hadn't come back for the whole afternoon, and then only to announce that he was going out for a pint with Greg. When he'd finally returned, he had finally forgiven Sherlock, but had strictly forbidden him to ever use his clothing for experiments again.

"I never understood it" he replied. John shook his head.

"Me neither. It is illogical to derive comfort from fibres".

There was a pause, and Sherlock, who didn't want to pry because he didn't want to force him share information of his case if he wasn't comfortable with it, was starting to think that he'd begin typing on his phone again, when the other consulting detective asked, "Do you want to see the pictures from the crime scene?"

He sounded reluctant, but Sherlock couldn't blame him. He wasn't fond of admitting he needed help either.

They solved the case within ten minutes, to their surprise. As it turned out, it wasn't necessary to know which poison killed the man – it became clear that his brother had murdered him once they had discussed the state of the window and the distance between the door and the carpet.

Sherlock recognized that he might have underestimated John Watson – although not concerning his intellectual abilities.

It had been a long time since he had slowly started to become more human – or at least that was what ordinary people would say. He had simply decided that sentiment wasn't always a defect.

John clearly hadn't had the experiences Sherlock had, and not only that – he wasn't the consulting detective Sherlock had been. He was the consulting detective John Watson could have become, if – well, if he had lived in another universe. He was colder, more systematic than Sherlock had ever been – only logical, considering that his blogger had been in the army. Even if this John Watson hadn't served queen and country, he still had everything in him to become a soldier. Discipline. The coldness to take a life because it was his duty.

In a way, he was more like Mycroft than Sherlock. But on the other hand –

John's face was open now, and Sherlock thought that he might experience the same thing as him – meeting someone who understood him.

His doctor was his best friend. Mycroft knew him. But he had never before met someone who simply understood what it was like to be himself. His brother considered him stupid, and would probably have scoffed if Sherlock had attempted to explain to him how his mind palace worked.

John Watson, though – it became clear soon that he had a mind palace as well, although he immediately corrected him. "It's an apartment building".

Sherlock could only shrug his shoulders.

They were so busy talking about their cases – John was in the middle of telling him about a pearl who had been hidden in a bust – that they didn't hear the door open.

They only looked up when they heard someone ask, "Bill?"

He turned around to find Mycroft looking at him.

Not the brother he knew; this one was wearing a jumper and jeans and, he remembered, was called "Mike".

He was also staring at him, which probably had to do with him discussing the case rather passionately with John.

Mike shook his head and smiled.

"Just wanted to see you" he announced, strolling into the room. "After all, you sounded rather angry when you called this morning".

He greeted Sherlock with a hug. He should have expected it – or at least been prepared for something like it – but he froze and Mike pulled back, frowning.

"I knew you weren't fine – " apparently only then realizing John was in the room, he greeted him with a short "Hello". His eyes went to Jim, but he obviously decided that he wouldn't hear him even if he tried to make himself heard, so he didn't attempt it.

"So what did he do to your t-shirt?" he asked instead, confirming Sherlock's suspicions that he and John didn't get on. It wasn't surprising, remembering his and Harry's brief meetings.

"Actually, he needed it for an experiment" he replied. He could hear John moved behind him and deduced that he was sending a text to Bill. It would be easier to convince Mike of the truth if his brother was there, so he decided to simply try and calm his fears for the time being. "I realized that I had behaved illogically."

"Realized that you had behaved – "

Mike glared at John, instantly suspicious.

"Did you give him anything? Wasn't the last time enough, when he heard voices for two hours?"

"I needed to know what effects the drug had –"

"Forget it." Mike grabbed Sherlock's arms and dragged him towards the door. "We are leaving".

Sherlock shook himself free and ignored the flash of pain in the other man's eyes.

"I am staying".

"Bill – " Mike reached out again, but Sherlock, out of habit, moved away. The other man stood still and let his hand drop to his side.

"Are you sure you are fine? Why am I asking, you're obviously not. Come on, you can stay with me for a bit..."

At this moment, the door opened and John and Bill entered.

Mike froze. His eyes wandered from Bill to Sherlock, then back again. He realized who his real brother was and quickly walked over to him.

"What is going on?" he asked, enunciating every syllable, with a calm politeness that Sherlock knew very well. From Bill's reaction – he took a step back and shot his friend, who was watching them from the same corner he'd been standing in since they arrived at the lab – it was clear that Mike usually used this tone when he was angry.

"They showed up this morning. Greg brought them. They come from a parallel universe – "

"What?"

"I know it is difficult" John answered him, putting down the cups he'd been carrying on a table and smiling reassuringly. "We were as surprised as you are."

Mike blinked.

"John? John Watson?"

"Yes, but not from this universe" he explained patiently.

"Just when I thought your life couldn't get weirder" Mike said, looking at his brother.

"It's not my fault they are here."

Before Mike could turn around, he added, "It's not John's either".

Sherlock wouldn't be surprised to learn that they had had this conversation, or a similar one, several times already. There had been something frantic about Mike's attempts to get him out of the lab. He disapproved of his brother's friendship with the consulting detective, probably because it put him in danger.

"We are working on it" Bill stated, "Jim is trying to find an expert on parallel universes".

"Where?"

"In a secret database?" Bill tried, guiltily.

Mike sighed.

"What did you get yourself into –"

"I found someone" Jim interrupted. He turned his head and smiled. "Hey, Mike".

"Hello, Jim".

John wordlessly passed Sherlock his cup just as Bill was doing the same, and he decided that Mycroft obviously approving of Jim's and Bill's friendship, but not Bill's and John's was the strangest change they had yet encountered.