London, 7:23 A.M
Dean woke first to the beeping sound of a heart monitor. Sam had brought him to a hospital and Dean had no idea how long he had been out. The last thing he remembered was the glowing stone on that goblet changing colors, glowing brighter and he was knocked back.
He opened his eyelids half way, closed them and opened them again. The room wasn’t too bright and the light that was pouring in was coming from his right, probably from a window. It smelled like a hospital. The rule was that if they could walk away from it then they didn’t need to see a doctor. They had often reset their dislocations, removed bullets and other shrapnel and stitched eachother up. They even set minor breaks. Being thrown from a room and being knocked out from the blast was not walking and it made sense to Dean that he was in a hospital bed.
The first thing he noticed was his hair felt a bit longer. He had bangs that fell across his forehead, bringing up the question how long was he out? Months it seemed like and Sam could of at least groomed him and give him a decent haircut. Then again Sam seemed to have a developed an allergy when it came to scissors.
He still was able to move his arm and reached up to brush away the bangs. That was a weird feeling. His hair felt even thicker than usual and a bit on the curly side. He looked up and saw a few dark curls.
As Dean pulled his hand down he noticed it was also different. It was paler, almost like alabaster. The fingers were long and slender and well-manicured. The cuticles were not jacked and there was no sign of dirt to be found…well anywhere. They were smoother almost devoid of any sign of a callus. The scars had had acquired over time were gone. What was going on?
He bolted up in his bed and clanged around. There was nothing special or significant about the room he was in. It was a one bed room which suits him just fine considering what he woke up to. He looked out to the window and saw a man sleeping on a yellow couch underneath it the window frame.
Dean blinked when he got a good look at the man. He was someone Dean had never seen before. He was shorter than him and older with sand colored hair cut short. He wore a beige sweater and blue jeans. Who was this guy and where was Sam?
“Sam,” Dean blurted out and nearly bit his tongue. His voice was different. Instead of his slightly gruff tenor voice he spoke in a deep and rich baritone. What the hell? His outburst was enough for the other man to stir
“Sherlock?” The man on the couch asked before he yawned as he sat up. “You’re awake?”
“Yes,” Dean choked out. He wasn’t sure what was going on. “Where is Sam?”
“Who’s Sam?” The strange man was clearly British by the accent. “Did you have any odd dreams?”
Dean nodded and stared down at his chest. It was just as pale as his hands and just as slick. There was the lack of a tattoo. He stroked his chin and rubbed the side of his face, taking notice of the more prominent cheekbone. What the hell did that witch do? She switched Dean with some stranger.
“I’ll get the nurse and doctor,” the other man said as he headed out the door.
“Thank you,” Dean said and laid his head back down. “Freaking witches.” He had to call Sam, but first he wanted to know where he was and whose body he was in. The other man knew who was and was either a friend or a colleague or hell possibly a lover.
“He’s awake,” the strange man said as he returned with a man in a medical coat and a couple of nurses.
“Morning Mr. Holmes,” the doctor greeted, also in a British accent. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a new man,” Dean answered. Was he in England? Did he switch bodies with some English dude?
“That’s good to hear,” the doctor said as he shone a light in his face. “You have been out for seven hours, though the odd thing is there are no contusions and no sign of a concussion on you.”
“Your friend wouldn’t leave you,” the hotter of the two nurses said. Yep, he was in England all right.
“Is he going to be all right?” The friend asked.
“He’ll be fine, Doctor Watson.” The doctor said. “Just need to check him out and then you can take him home.”
“That’s a relief, right Sherlock?” Doctor Watson asked.
“Yeah,” Dean answered as he processed the new information. His friend was named Watson and the body he was in was named Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock? Who the hell would name their kid that?
It took a few minutes for the doctor to finish checking Dean, followed by unhooking him from the machines.
“There is just a bit of paperwork for you,” the doctor said.
“He can sign after he gets dressed,” Watson said.
“Oh certainly,” the doctor said. “You wouldn’t mind signing a few things yourself.”
“Of course,” Watson said before turning to Dean. “I’ll give you a few minutes, please use it to get dressed and not ponder the case. Catherine Ridgewood has been apprehended.”
As soon as they left the room Dean stood up. He stumbled a bit when he walked, getting used to his new or rather borrowed feet and legs. He found the clothes that were laid out for him and headed straight to the bathroom.
“Dude you are pasty,” Dean said as soon as he looked in the mirror. The man was pale, almost vampire like and not bad looking. His eyes were like ice. He had prominent cheekbones and thick eyebrows. There was a cupid bow lips that smiled when he smiled. “I only know your name and if this is an accident then we’ll work on fixing this together, but if you did this on purpose then I will track you down and kick your ass.”
The rest of the body wasn’t too bad, just a little on the lean side, actually more lean than Dean had preferred. Did this guy ever eat? He removed the hospital clothes and put on the button down shirt, dark burgundy suit jacket with matching slacks and shoes.
“Where’s the phone?” He felt his pockets and found nothing. Did this guy have a phone?
“Sherlock?” Watson called for him. “Are you done?”
“All set,” Dean said as left the bathroom. “Where’s my phone.”
“I have your mobile,” Watson said. He was standing next to the bed. “And your keys and wallet.”
“Great,” Dean answered. “Let’s sign out.” Dean wasn’t sure how this Sherlock signed his name but the hospital staff seemed content with his signature and Watson didn’t seem to notice. He did notice that one of young women working behind the desk was hot and had a bit of cleavage showing. He gave her a wink.
“That will be all,” the woman said as she snatched the forms from Dean and gave him a don’t screw with me look.
“Let’s go home, Sherlock,” Watson said a worried tone as he grabbed his arm and led him outside.
“Where’s the car? I’m starving,” Dean had said as soon as he felt light on his skin. He wondered what kind of car this Sherlock guy drove.
“We don’t have a car,” Watson said as he stared at him with concern. “Are you sure you are all right?”
“Positive. So are we calling a cab?”
“Mycroft said he would give us a ride.”
“Mycroft?” Dean asked in disbelief. What was it with the names in this country?
“I can’t believe you are shocked,” Watson said as he rolled his eyes. From the sound of it seemed Mycroft was sort of a friend but Sherlock didn’t really like him or trust him.
“When did you tell him?” Dean asked. He had caught the eye of a pretty woman as she walked past him and smiled at her. She just shook her head at him.
“Last night after your accident,” Watson said. “He was a bit held up or he would have come. Molly came by for a visit after her shift ended.”
“Molly,” Dean muttered the name. At least that one was normal. He wondered if she was a sister or a girlfriend to this Sherlock.
Mycroft was taller and older man who had someone drive for him. The guy had money on him, by the look of his suit. He was also just as clean and dapper as Sherlock and seemed to be disappointed in him for some reason. He also was holding an umbrella despite the fact the sky was nearly cloudless.
“Could you explain what happened?” Mycroft asked as soon as they sat down on the upholstery. He chose to sit on one side and Watson was in the middle
“Our suspect had rigged an explosive to go off and your brother was caught in the blast,” Watson explained. “A bit of a miracle there wasn’t a scratch on him.”
“I’m fine,” Dean said as he looked at Mycroft. So he was Sherlock’s brother. Good lord what kind of epidurals was their mother on to name them that. “Just wondering why you weren’t at the hospital watching over me.”
“Does seem like something a brother should do,” Watson said as he glared at Mycroft.
“I had obligations to keep, John,” Mycroft said. “And really Sherlock you actually expected me to be there?”
“Well…I guess,” he searched their faces for answers. “I guess not.”
“Are you certain you are all right?” Mycroft asked. He stared at Dean with his lips pursed, making him feel like he was under a microscope. “I feel like I am looking at a stranger.”
“With all things considering I am fine.”
“You haven’t talked about the case,” Watson said in a surprised tone.
“Sorry, John, but you did say the suspect was captured?”
Watson nodded. “Lestrade and his men have her in custody.” He had his eyebrows turned up in concern for a second though.
“Then case closed,” Dean said and shrugged. He knew that sounded cold but the eye roll from Mycroft and the satisfied smile from John seemed that it was the right thing to say. He also learned what he needed to know. Sherlock and John either worked for or with the police.
“You can tell me about it later,” Mycroft said as the car came to a stop. “Or I’ll read John’s blog. Give Mrs. Hudson my love.”
“Yeah thanks,” Dean said as he stepped out of the car. He was in front of a sandwich shop and a building marked 221. The street they were on was named Baker Street. He looked around him, staring at the sights and people and only stopped when he felt John’s hand on his shoulder.
“I think you should take it easy,” John said as soon as the car drove off. “You are acting a bit off.”
“I did get thrown across the room,” Dean answered and followed after him. “Nobody is going to be perfect after that.”
“I still think you should sit back and rest. Don’t take on any more cases until you have rested.”
They entered the building and Dean was about to follow after John when he heard footsteps behind him and caught a whiff of the type of perfume that old women preferred before he felt himself pulled into an embrace. He found himself staring into short strawberry blond hair that was most likely dyed.
“Oh Sherlock,” an older woman said as she continued to hug Dean. “I was so worried about what happened. I wanted to come visit but they would only allow John and Molly.” She reached up to give Dean a gentle pat on the head.
“Sorry about that Mrs. Hudson,” Dean said. “Mycroft gives you his love.”
“Too busy to actually stop in himself is he?” Mrs. Hudson said and shook her head. “Are you hungry? I made a full breakfast for both of you boys.”
“Thank you,” Dean said as he inhaled the scent of eggs, sausages and coffee. He followed the scent to a kitchen table that had two plates and two mugs of steaming coffee. Each plate had two eggs, two thick sausages, two slices of toast with butter and grape jelly. There were also beans, sliced tomatoes and fried mushrooms.
“Eat up dear,” Mrs. Hudson said. “You need to regain you strength.”
“Will do.” Dean sat down and picked up a fork and knife.
“You weren’t kidding about being hungry,” John said as he sat down in front of him. “When was the last time you ate?”
Dean shrugged. “Been a while.” He took his first bite and smiled. He didn’t care if he looked strange as he ate. He continued to shovel the food into his mouth only pausing to take a few gulps of coffee. He had two servings of the hot beverage before he had finished his meal.
“I can’t remember the last time I have seen you eat like this,” John said when they had finished.
“That was satisfying,” Dean said as he patted his stomach.
“It was,” John said and continued to stare at him. “Are you ready to return to our flat?”
“Shouldn’t we help with the dishes first?”
“Don’t worry your head,” Mrs. Hudson said as she removed the plates. “You just work on your recovery.”
Dean took a good look around the apartment as soon as they stepped inside. The walls were covered in different kinds of wall paper. There was a yellow-tan leather couch against one wall, two arm chairs in front of a fire place and one had Union jack pillow, a small table with two desk chairs, a coffee table, night stands with lamps, a fireplace with a skull on a mantle. There were plenty of book cases; one of them had a flat screen.
Dean took notice of the different forms of art including a skull painting and a painted animal skull. There was also a yellow smiley face on one wall that was full of bullet holes.
“Cozy,” Dean muttered as he walked around. They had standard kitchen with a table that was full of scientific equipment. He found his or rather, Sherlock’s bedroom and of course bathroom.
“You are going to be all right by yourself?” John asked. “I have asked Lestrade if I can speak with the suspect on your behalf. I know you want to question her yourself but after your accident I don’t believe this wise.”
“I won’t burn the place down,” Dean said as he sank down in the couch.
“Please don’t say things like that,” John chuckled weakly as he stepped out. “Try not to become too bored while I’m gone.”
“I won’t,” Dean promised as he placed his hands behind his head and his feet at the other end of the couch.
As soon as he heard the door close he stood back up. Sam. He had to call Sam. He pulled out the phone and dialed Sam’s number only to get a busy signal. He tried again. There were several rings and nothing.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled. It did give him some time to think. Nobody that this Sherlock knew was aware of the supernatural and they wouldn’t believe in things like spells that causes people to switch bodies. He was positive that Sherlock didn’t want to be in Dean’s body any less than Dean wanted to be in his. They had to figure how to reverse it, but he had to get through to Sam and he had a feeling that Sam had his phone turned off, or he left it in the car.
He might as well take a shower.
It didn’t take long for him to get the shower going. It was odd to scrub a body that was not his own and felt just as strange washing those dark curls but he did manage to get clean and he tried not to stare too long at his borrowed equipment. He also restrained himself from doing what he usually did in the shower, especially when he thought of that one hot nurse he had. It was not cool to play with another man’s toys.
“Now try,” Dean said after he slipped into some new clothes. He found a pair of pajamas and a bathrobe and wrapped his head in a towel. He dialed the number and waited. There was one ring, two rings, three rings.
“Hello?” Sam answered on the other end.
“Oh thank God,” Dean said and sat down. “You do not know how good it is to hear your voice, Sammy.”
“Uh who is this?” Sam asked
“Dude you been through this yourself. It’s me, Dean. I know you have to believe me.”
“Yes it’s me.”
“He was right. You did call.”
“I knew you would believe me,” Dean said as he sank into one of the chairs.
“Of course I believe you,” Sam answered. “And he did tell me everything.”
“Wait he who?”
-A/N: Next chapter will focus on Sherlock himself. Enter your cut contents here.