Mirror Mirror

Chapter 11

Mirror Universe: Regular John

They finally parted, got out and dried off. John's knees felt weak, and he wondered if he would be able to stand up and dress. Sherlock noticed and handed him a towel giving him a dark chuckle.

"After you've dressed and eaten, we've got some business to attend to," Sherlock said cryptically.

God, John thought, what now? He chose some clothes from their shared wardrobe and put them on. He ran his hand over the unfamiliar shirts that were obviously his and grinned despite the unease of being in unfamiliar territory. He sat on the edge of (their) bed and put on socks and shoes dreamily revisiting the feeling of Sherlock's hand on his cock bringing him to completion. He shuddered and called up the warm curl of lust rising at the thought of Sherlock's finely sculpted hand caressing him.

The kissing had been amazing, but when John's hand strayed down to touch Sherlock's erection, John's hand had been gently redirected. They'd kissed and kissed, and John's memory lingered on lips pressed against his insistent and tender. But as soon as it began, it was over. John could have kissed the detective forever under the warm spray of water, but too soon Sherlock reached for the knob leaving him shivering in the shower.

John did know where that left them or what Sherlock supposed their relationship to be now, but he found he wanted more between them. He wanted to know what it would feel like to touch and stroke Sherlock's warm skin as they lie in bed together. He'd never thought the detective would know how to seduce him so thoroughly or that he'd ever be interested in exploring a physical relationship with anyone.

But, this new intense version of Sherlock felt different. Was he a completely different human being or was he just a different version? If he believed he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and that he now inhabited another John Watson's life, then how could he do this? Should he allow himself to have what he'd always dreamed of having? He didn't even know how long he might stay in this world. Perhaps a swift punch in the jaw might restore him back to his version of the other universe, or he might be here forever.

He met Sherlock at the front door. "Bring your gun," Sherlock reminded him.

He retrieved it and tucked his Browning into the waistband of his jeans while following the detective out onto the curb. Baker Street still held onto a respectable façade showing little wear from the recent wars. Cars sped along at a reasonable pace and pedestrians walked about in relative safety.

Sherlock walked a few steps, and John saw the black sedan pull up alongside. Instead of rolling his eyes as he usually did when Mycroft's cars pulled up next to him, he immediately opened up the door and motioned John to proceed him into the backseat. They were alone in the car except for the driver who seemed to know their destination. The slid into traffic and proceeded to the city center.

John still couldn't help staring at certain familiar buildings that had been either reduced to rubble or had been barricaded with enough security fencing and barbed wire to put off a military squad. Most of London's landmarks had remained unharmed. They passed by Parliament, and the London Eye and John couldn't help wondering how they'd managed to stay standing when so many other historical buildings had been shattered.

"It's like being in the Twilight Zone, Sherlock," John said as they turned into an underground car park under a nondescript office building.

"Never heard of it," Sherlock said opening his door and jumping out in his most impatient fashion.

"We watched a marathon once. It's an old Telly show where all the stories had weird twist endings and no one ever ended up where they thought they'd be," John explained.

Sherlock shrugged. John sighed. "Where are we?" he asked.

"Mycroft has arranged for us to speak to a scientist here. I told him about your theory, and he suggested we speak to Dr. McGreevy. He's an expert in a number of experimental, scientific fields," Sherlock explained. "We're very lucky to have access to him. He's usually busy, and only people with the highest security clearance may speak to him."

"Why are they letting us at him then?" John asked.

Sherlock smirked. "Mycroft loves having me in his debt. And, I will owe him after this."

John felt a stab of guilt at that. Sherlock was pulling out all the stops to help him with this.

"Oh, don't worry, John," Sherlock said with a devastating smile while reading the guilt on his face. "You'll be helping me pay him back."

They took the elevator up to the top of the building, and John hoped this McGreevy could help him find some answers to his strange travels. Part of him hoped he wouldn't be able to help at all. The longer he stayed in this world, the deeper he seemed to be falling for this Sherlock Holmes.

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