Mycroft didn't bother knocking, he rarely did. Instead, he stepped into 221B determined to find out what mischief Sherlock had instigated and why the ever practical Doctor Watson was playing along with it. He wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes.

'Sherlock' was perched in John's chair with his scarf wrapped around his eyes. 'John' was mirroring the vulture like position in Sherlock's chair. There was a heaviness in the air, a sense of urgency. Obviously, the two men were not pulling some twisted joke, but what was truly happening was a mystery.

'Sherlock' turned his head blindly in Mycroft's direction, but it was 'John' who sprang to his feet and began speaking. "I'm so glad you could break away from the office, brother dear."

Mycroft scowled as his mind raced to explain 'John's' inexplicable behaviour. He kept returning to drugs as the obvious cause for this madness, but it would have to be some sort of experimental drug combined with mental suggestion perhaps. "Listen carefully," he began, "despite whatever delusions you are operating under, you are not my brother. You are Doctor Watson. I need you to focus and try to remember who you really are." 'John' wheeled on the spot then strode a few paces away.

Shaking his head, Mycroft walked across the room to stand in front of 'Sherlock'. He reached out a hand and removed the scarf that covered 'Sherlock's' eyes. 'Sherlock' flinched from his touch and didn't meet his eyes. "Come, now, Sherlock. You're better than this, look me in the eyes."

The next thing Mycroft knew, 'John's' strong hand had latched onto his arm and whirled him around. He was backed up abruptly against the mantelpiece. "Don't. You. Dare! Mycroft. All of you bullied me into looking into your eyes like a 'normal' child. Well, it didn't work, did it? I make people uncomfortable when I look at them. It's part of why they call me a freak. They say I stare them down, that don't blink, that it's creepy. Well, it's the only way I can keep eye contact and you are not going to do that to him!"

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. There was absolutely no way that Sherlock would have told John about that. This was getting increasingly disturbing. "That's an interesting... memory that you've recalled. Just what else do you 'remember' from your childhood?"

'John's' eyes were full of a fire that Mycroft had never seen there before. It was almost enough to make him afraid.

"I remember being hauled from one specialist to the next. It started when I was 3 1/2. Everyone wanted to 'fix' me." 'John's' voice rose. "Well, I didn't need to be fixed! The idiot that put me on medication for ADHD was the worst. I hated the way the drugs made me feel. I know now that I was given too high a dose, but all I knew then was that they made me cry and feel horrible. A competent psychiatrist would have recognised that fact. I had meltdowns in public. That's why I was schooled at home. It was already hard for me to identify with others. That made things even worse! All of..." He broke off at an anguished cry from 'Sherlock'.

It was 'Sherlock' who had made the sound and was now striking his fists against the sides of his head.

Mycroft broke free of 'John's' grip and restrained 'Sherlock' by the wrists.

'John' ran to 'Sherlock's' room and returned with a weighted blanket. He urged 'Sherlock' onto his side, wrapped it around him and the 'detective' quieted.

Every possibility ran through Mycroft's mind. His brother's maxim came unbidden, "When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth." They had really switched bodies and it was playing merry hell with them. Sherlock was having to deal with emotions that he was feeling in a different way than he ever had before. John was having to deal with ADHD, Asperger's and SPD.

Mycroft looked over at the two men. Sherlock was now the blond and John was now the brunette. Mycroft had better make that mental adjustment now. Sherlock had asked for his help, but all that he had to offer were the scientific facilities at Baskerville and that was out of the question. They had wanted to get their hands on his brother for years. It was a miracle that Sherlock had escaped their clutches during the Hound of the Baskerville case as John had so quaintly named it. Add this quite interesting phenomenon to Sherlock's already enticing traits and they would never let him go once they had him. Correction, had them. John would be just as much a captive now, if not the more valued of the two specimens. Mycroft shuddered.

Sherlock hovered over John, careful to give him enough space and mindful not to touch him uninvited. It was odd to see him in such a caring role. It was just as odd seeing John in need of it.

Walking to stand next to his brother, Mycroft spoke with forced calm, "It appears that I was mistaken in my understanding of the situation."

Sherlock shot him a venomous glare. "Obviously," Sherlock spat. It galled him to ask, but Mycroft had virtually unlimited resources at hand. Besides, Sherlock wasn't asking for himself, but for John. "Can you help, Mycroft?"

Lips pressed together until they were white, Mycroft shook his head in the negative. He couldn't explain why. Sherlock already more than half believed himself to be a freak. Learning that the scientists of Baskerville wanted to study him would only further that belief.

Sherlock's anger burned hot rather than cold as he was used to. He grabbed Mycroft by both arms and walked him backwards across the living room and pressed him against the door to the flat. "Mycroft," Sherlock spoke through clenched teeth, "I think it best if you leave. Now. I find that I very much want to pummel you senseless." Sherlock breathed heavily. "I just might regret that later."

With uncharacteristically shaking hands, Mycroft reached and opened the door. He moved out onto the landing and took the first three steps before turning back around cautiously. "Sherlock, please don't do anything rash. Give it a few days. Let things settle. I'm sure that you can figure this out." Sherlock took a single, menacing step toward Mycroft. The British Government wisely retreated.