John was finding it hard to focus on any one thing. His thoughts were racing in a myriad of directions. At least the overwhelming bombardment of his senses had quietened somewhat. Slowly, he became aware of the hands carding through his hair. He knew that had to be Sherlock.

John called the detective's name. Sherlock's heart leapt at the sound. It was the first word his friend had spoken that was free of panic. "I'm here John."

The detective's words were muffled by the earplugs so John removed them, flinching at the renewed onslaught of sound. "Bloody hell! Is this what it's always like for you?" His words were strained.

Sherlock smiled grimly, John was still John.

If the doctor was going to be trapped in Sherlock's head for any period of time, then this was the time for honesty. The detective spoke softly in deference to his friend's heightened state of sensory sensitivity. "John, I'm sure that you've speculated on my psychological status many times. Considering the current circumstances, you need to know my diagnoses."

John was listening intently.

"As I'm sure you know, I'm not a sociopath. I have Asperger's and Sensory Processing Disorder." He paused to allow his friend to process the information. "I don't know how you will be affected by the Asperger's, but obviously the SPD is having a heavy influence."

Asperger's John remembered, at least enough to be getting on with, but SPD was only a vague memory in the doctor's mind. He was sure that he should know something about it but there was simply no knowledge available. "I just can't remember, Sherlock. What is SPD?"

An unfamiliar sense of panic welled up within the detective. He wasn't supposed to feel this way! "It's a disorder in which symptoms are not processed normally. In my case, I am over-responsive. That's why I'm not very tactile. It's also the reason for my eating and sleeping habits. Not to mention my bouts of pacing and restlessness." Sherlock's tone turned reminiscent. "When I was younger, I was overwhelmed by sounds, lights, smells, even tastes." Damn these tears! "I'm so sorry you have to experience this John." The last words came out as a sob.

John considered, his mind racing. "How the bloody hell can you remember all of that but you can't remember anything about your experiment?"

The detective thought that was an unusually astute question, one to which he didn't have the answer. "I have no idea. It doesn't make sense."

"Perhaps it does." The doctor's mind was making connections, his mind leaping from thought to thought. "Asperger's and SPD are things that you had to contend with as a child so they are integral to who you are and you remember the details."

Sherlock began to protest, he was so much more than a diagnosis.

"I don't mean that you are defined by them. No one is a syndrome or a disorder. I just mean that they were a major part of your life." John sighed. "I just wish that I had your skills in handling everything. This is all… too much." He began rocking where he was perched. "What do we do now? How do we switch back?"

Sherlock pulled at his sandy blond hair in frustration. "I don't know! I remember the fundamentals of the experiment, but not the details. I don't see any way of replicating the circumstances of the exchange." An irrational hope bloomed in his chest. "Unless… John, do you think you can access my Mind Palace. I dismissed the idea earlier, but if you can, then we could replicate the experiment."

Even with his eyes covered by the scarf, his friend looked dubious. "I don't have any idea how to begin..."

Sherlock interrupted him. "Just close your eyes and picture the flat."

"The flat? I thought it was a palace." There was a distinct sense of mirth in John's words, the first since this ordeal had begun.

"The experiment took place here in the flat so the flat it is. Do keep up." Even Sherlock sounded more like himself.

The doctor pictured the flat in every detail. It was surprisingly easy. "Okay, I see it. I'm in the flat. Now what?"

Sherlock began to get excited. This just might work. "Go into the kitchen and described the experiment on the table, in every detail."

"There's nothing on the table."

"Look again," Sherlock ordered.

John shook his head of dark curls insistently. "I tell you, there's nothing on the bloody table! It's empty."

The detective's heart sank. It was useless. His Mind Palace was cut off from them.

Hesitantly, John made a suggestion. "What about Mycroft? Maybe his resources could help."

"You mean Baskerville." Sherlock laughed, he sounded near hysteria. "I don't trust them, John. They've probably been trying to achieve something like this for years. What if they don't let us go?"

"With your brother behind us, they wouldn't dare try to keep us prisoner." John's voice grew grim. "Besides, what makes you think they could hold us? We may be a bit mixed up, but I would hate to see them try."

Sherlock laughed morbidly, but he laughed. "All right. We'll call him. Mycroft will simply love this."

"I'm sure he will."

Moving to retrieve his phone, Sherlock pondered what he would say to his brother. How did one explain a situation like this? He clicked the fast dial and held his breath as the phone on the other end of the line began to ring.

"Sherlock." Mycroft sounded typically cool.

"Brother mine, John and I seem to be in a bit of a fix. We need your assistance." There, Sherlock had just spit it out.

The voice on the other end of the line sounded puzzled. "John, what's wrong with you? Is this some sort of sophomoric joke. Put Sherlock on the line please."

The detective closed his eyes. Of course, Mycroft thought he was John. Damn this slower mind. He shouted in frustration. "Myc, it's me, Sherlock. You see, that is the crux of the problem. It seems that John and I have switched bodies."

Now there was complete silence on the line. After several long moments, Mycroft spoke. "Alright, please put John on the phone."

Sherlock growled and handed the phone to John.

"Hello Mycroft, it's John."

"Really, Sherlock I would ask if you were high but I know the good doctor wouldn't be so what is the point of this joke." The man sounded very exasperated.

"It's not a joke Mycroft. Sherlock was performing an experiment and I stumbled into the midst of it, somehow that caused the switch." John felt annoyed at the other man's obtuseness-for once. "We need your help. Sherlock can't remember the details of the experiment so we're stuck like this."

The line was silent again.

"Please Mycroft. Ask Sherlock questions that only he could answer, but make them questions from his childhood. Those seem to have transferred along with his personality. Nothing in his Mind Palace made the transfer." John waited for a response that was not forthcoming. "Come to the flat. See for yourself. Bloody hell! We need help."

Mycroft digested what he was being told. He didn't believe a word of it, of course, but something was happening and he would get to the bottom of it. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."