Chapter 1

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His whole life he'd realized he was different form everyone else, living in London and having a rich family didn't mean you were liked no matter how much you had, it all depended on character.

Sherlock Holmes was 15, and he was the 'freak' and the 'queer' one when it came to secondary school, he couldn't fight back because he didn't want the trouble, but besides his eccentric character that made him stand out in a crowd, he'd been having this weird moments his whole life.

He'd been having what he called phases, they were unexplainable by doctors and psychiatrist but sometimes he would feel something that wasn't actually there and it confused him so much.

A few years before he had felt a blow to the head from what felt like a glass bottle only to be that he was sat down at his school desk but somehow he was still knocked unconscious and was taken to the hospital, but there was no damage, it all appeared psychological.

And then years later he had heard a voice, a voice begging for help but then the voice had disappeared and he was in his bedroom all alone and he had never heard the voice but he felt like he'd known it his whole life.

By the time he was 24 he had been working on an experiment in his small bedsit on the outskirts of London when he had felt an agonizing pain in his shoulder and he screamed for help and he could feel his lungs burning like breathing in sand and he collapsed to the floor, it felt like someone stabbing through his shoulder and tearing out the other side and he was unconscious for three days, lying in his flat, his throat raw.

Sherlock had learnt to accept the pain as a part of him, it was normal in his eyes even though no one else had ever experienced this. Random blows to the head, voices he'd never heard and feelings he'd never felt, emotions he couldn't handle but he accepted it.

But little did Sherlock know, one other person had also felt the same things as he did, one other person had felt pain that wasn't there, heard a voice that wasn't his and had also been unconscious on several occasions for no reason.

The one he recalled the most was when he had fallen asleep in class and had the same view of a desk but a different color, he saw hands that were pale and long that were attached to him as if they were his own, but then he felt a kick to his shin, and he looked to the side only to be punched in the face and fall backwards off his chair, he felt blood run from his nose but when he lifted his hands his face felt thinner and he could feel his cheekbones were more prominent.

And then he received a blow to the side from a heavy foot and he was screaming in agony and when he opened his eyes he was lying unharmed on his class floor, still in agony at every invisible blow and writing his on his class floor and everyone was looking at him but he couldn't care and then he had one kick to the head that wasn't really there and he was out cold.

John Watson was loved by friends and family and everyone wanted to be something to do with him, he was well known in school but yet he still felt a little different from the rest of his classmates.

At the age of 24, John was on the frontline as an army doctor and was shot in the shoulder whilst trying to rescue one of the soldiers who was bleeding out in front of him. He tried to breathe but he could only taste the hot desert sand and the feeling of his own blood pulsing out of the hollow hole on his shoulder.

He had been invalided from Afghanistan and found himself in a small B&B in central West London, struggling to live off his army pension.

But what was there to do, life went on as normal, sometimes he felt agonizing pain that didn't appear to exist and sometimes he found himself unconscious, knocked out cold by a non existent attack.

Unconsciously they both accepted this as psychological, a figment of their wild imagination that maybe one day they would grow out of the weird feelings that they never understood.

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