001: [TEXT]

[drpsychosomatic]

Alright, own up. As hilarious as this all is, Sherlock, and by god, I’m sure you’re going to love explaining all of this, I’ve had quite enough. Not sure exactly what you’ve done to irritate Mycroft this time round, mind you, but I’m guessing it probably has something to do with nearly getting both of us killed.

Again.

So, assuming you’re even out

Comments

[sh_consulting]

[It took several minutes of staring at the comm, while curled up in his coat on his chair (freshly back from New Zealand), until Sherlock could bring himself to answer the post. He read it over five times, frowning further with each read.

It could be a trick. He'd already made... enemies... here, and more than a few knew more about him than they should. But the comm number was brand new, and it didn't seem to be proxied... And the googling. Most who recognized him here seemed to expect something different than what he was. Older. Much Older. The previous Sherlock had proven that. So there was something genuine to this ranting text post that... put him off. No one he knew would speak to him like that. Except...

Dr. John Watson.

Not that the man had ever said anything of the sort to him before, but Sherlock had learned more about the man here than he had wanted to know.

It took even longer for him to write a reply.

First he wrote "Dr. John Watson", then "Watson", then "John" and then decided to leave out names altogether.]

I assure you that your present situation is none of my doing. [At least, he hoped. He hoped the Porter didn't hold grudges...]

Believe it or not, I do not have the power to track someone's room number from a text.

SH.

[Text for absolutely ever until someone shows him how to use this thing]

[drpsychosomatic]

In that case, Sherlock, you might want to tell me where to meet you. You've got a lot of explaining to do.

text. because that's all sherlock uses anyway.

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock glared down at the comm for a minute. What a ridiculously familiar way to speak to him.]

I assume you are in the MAC.

Meet me on the roof.

Five minutes.

SH.

[textity text text]

[drpsychosomatic]

To be honest, Sherlock, I have absolutely no bloody idea where I am. I think I can find the roof.

Action??

[sh_consulting]

[... No Bloody idea? What has he been doing if not immediately trying to figure out where he was? He honestly came here expecting Sherlock to simply walk him through this? Why?

Ghost's words suddenly interrupted upon his consciousness. 'To someone who knows you, the thought of you without Watson is difficult to conceive of. And of he without you. '

Ridiculous.

However, Sherlock sends a picture of the MAC - just to make sure the man at least has the right building - and just in case, directions from the Porter building. Then, since he already has his coat on, he immediately dashes up to the roof.

And waits.]

IT WOULD APPEAR THAT WAY.

[drpsychosomatic]

[John paces a little more before grabbing his coat and making his way up to the roof. It's cold, which he supposes suits them down to the ground, and he can't help feeling a little ridiculous as he catches sight of Sherlock's familiar silhouette. The relief is tangible as he closes the distance between them.]

Sherlock.

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock turns at his name, the familiar blue wool coat swirling a bit dramatically. He had still be half expecting Crane or any of the other resident psychopaths of the city, but no. That is most certainly Dr. John Watson.

He doesn't say anything at first, his eyes immediately taking the man in.

He's changed.

The limp is gone. His strides are more confident now, more assured. Good. It had been merely psychosomatic anyway. His hair is longer... maybe about two months growth, but with evidence of a trim. So three months, give or take.

And he knew Sherlock. Knew him much better than Sherlock knew him.

He slid his hands into his pockets, eyes still narrowed and studious, grey and piercing.]

Dr. John Watson. [He plays with the words as if he's testing them out, but says nothing more.]

[drpsychosomatic]

[He frowns, his fingers curling at his sides until he realises what he's doing, folding his arms instead. Sherlock's looking at him all wrong, somehow, and its horribly unnerving.]

...That's me.

[sh_consulting]

[It's a long moment before Sherlock pulls his eyes away and looks over the city. On the eve of destruction. With a man whose name was supposedly irreversibly bound to his own, for reasons he didn't even know.

He's thought about this meeting more than a few times. ]

... What is the last thing you remember?

[The question is oddly quiet, but then he turns to look at John and there's a burning curiosity deep in his eyes. This is important.]

[drpsychosomatic]

[He clears his throat, stuffing his hands firmly in his pockets and looking skywards with grim, fixed resolve.]

You're not Sherlock. Are you. Any more than this is New York.

[sh_consulting]

[Flat out denial. Interesting.]

[Sherlock raised a long, thin, eyebrow.]

No?

We met at St. Barts. Stamford brought you. You still limped, then, cane at your side. But you didn't sit, of course. You lent me your brother's phone.

[He tips his head slightly, eyes narrowing.]

I estimate that it has been approximately... three months, since that day, for you.

[drpsychosomatic]

[He offers Sherlock a tight-lipped smile, his weight shifting a little as his whole body stiffens up, shoulders squaring. (His left, of course is a little lower than the right. Still not entirely recovered.)]

My brother's phone. Right.

[sh_consulting]

[Sherlock looked at him through the corner of his eye. The man was closing off. Not surprising, he assumed, but it wasn't helping Sherlock's curiosity. Was he wrong about the brother? A cousin, maybe? But no. He put it aside for now.]

However... You are correct.

This is not New York.

And I... doubt very much that I am the same person you cried out for so thoroughly as soon as you arrived.

[drpsychosomatic]

[John baulks at the phrasing not-Sherlock uses, though he manages to keep most of that reaction to himself, fingers curling into fists in his pockets. Cried out for, indeed. Well, it's good to know this man shares Sherlock's love of dramatics, at least.]

So who are you, then? God knows the universe couldn't handle two of you.

[sh_consulting]

Oh. No, you misunderstand. [His own hands are in his pockets, but loosely. Easily. At least, so it appears. But every muscle is taut beneath the surface.]

... I am still Sherlock Holmes. [a pause.] And I... am fairly certain, with as much accuracy as I can have, that we are from the same universe.

[A pause, and then a small shrug.]

Just, obviously, not from the same time within it. [He thought he'd made that clear with the 3 month comment, already, but he was continuously surprised at how often people needed things repeated, so it was hardly new.]

[drpsychosomatic]

Well, that makes absolutely no bloody sense.

[And because there's very little else to do he laughs, a little forced and painfully stiff, eyebrows raising in a hopelessly bemused expression. He'd like to believe it, honestly, but on top of everything else he's had to deal with today...]

Which, considering who you're supposed to be-
Fine. All right. We're from the same universe, which isn't this one, and you're Sherlock, but not the one I know. Does that cover it, or..?