Chapter 2

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John was playing around with his gun in his room when he heard a voice, a cry for help, he closed his eyes and tried to listen properly.

"I'm worthless and weak and pathetic and I might as well be dead!" The voice exclaimed sounding agitated.

"Hello?" John asked aloud, begging for an answer.

"Who's there?" The voice asked, sounding concerned.

"My names John, what's the matter?" Joh replied, clenching his eyes shit and realizing he could see another image, a mans hands looking down and seeing a blade in his hands, long fingered pale hands.

"I don't need to live anymore, no one will notice my existence whether I'm dead or alive, I don't even know why I'm talking to you" the voice sounded irritated but it wasn't towards John.

"Don't do anything rash, talk to me, what's your name?" John asked, trying to distract the man from what he knew couldn't be fixed.

"Sherlock" the voice sighed.

"Sherlock, for me, put the knife down and step away from it, talk to me" john said softly, watching carefully as the knife was shakily set down on the floor and the man moved away.

"How did you know I was holding a knife?" Sherlock asked confused, tugging at his hair and John felt it too, gasping in pain.

"I can see you" John said simply although he didn't quite understand how this was happening himself.

"Where are you, I can't see you?" Sherlock said aloud, looking about the empty bedsit.

"I'm not there, but I see everything you see." John explained. "Close your eyes and I'll open mine"


On the other side of London, Sherlock was hearing someone talk to him, they felt close by as though they were a guardian angel or something, but he had no idea how, the voice was called John. Such a nice simple name for a complicated and unique personality.

"Close your eyes and I'll open mine" John said, and with nothing else to lose, Sherlock did, but when he closed them he wasn't greeted with blackness he saw a room not unlike his own, small, cheap but not affordable.

"John?" Sherlock questioned.

"Yeah?" John replied.

"Is this real?"

"It would seem so, I can't believe it either but I don't understand any of this" John admitted.

Sherlock punched at his skin to see d he was dreaming and John winced in pain and rubbed at his arm.

"Did you just pinch yourself?" John asked curiously.

"Yes, i was seeing if I was awake, why?"

"I felt it too"

"So if I feel pain you feel it too?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah I think so, hey did you once get beaten up and knocked unconscious?"

"Yeah, happens often enough, how did you know that?"

"I fell asleep at my desk in school and I could see another classroom and then you were punched in the face but I felt it and the pain didn't stop until I fell off my chair and was out cold"

"So we feel each other's pain" Sherlock muttered to himself as he watched John stand and walk around the room, picking up the odd plate and cup and taken them to the kitchen sink. "Did you once get injured on the shoulder?"

"Yeah I was in Afghanistan and I got shot in the shoulder trying to save a soldier, he was a friend of mine"

"You were unconscious for three days?"



Sherlock paced around his room, picking up the knife and returning it where it belonged, he wouldn't have any more moments like he had earlier.

"Are you okay?" John asked softly.

"Yeah I'm fine, so what do you do for a living?"

"I'm an army doctor, what about you?"

"Consulting detective, only one in the world, I invented the job"

And so there conversations became more regular, Sherlock would ask John's opinion whilst on a case and the Scotland Yarders got used to him talking aloud to himself and going to his mind palace.

John would talk to Sherlock when he was bored and Sherlock was happy because he'd never had a real friend before.

And after a year of conversing John got up enough courage to ask what he'd wanted to know for a while now.


"Yes John?"

"I want to see you"

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