Questioning My Masculinity (A Moriarty Gender Bender) [Sherlock Fanfic]

Something Seems Wrong

Jim Moriarty wasn't sure what it was about that morning that threw him off. Before he was even fully conscious his mind was screaming at him that something was very wrong. Along with the red alert his brain was in, his chest felt heavier than usual, and his head seemed to be pounding. Brown eyes fluttered for a few moments before he found himself staring blearily at the wall in front of him, much too exhausted and sore to actually move yet. He just lay there in bed while he waited for his brain to kick in and the pain to die down a bit.

I didn't do anything odd last night. I wonder what it was. As his head started to clear Jim started to notice other odd things: like how his bed seemed to be wet. With a subtle groan he forced himself up onto his elbows, then shifting to a sitting position in order to get a better look around the room. Nothing seemed to have changed from the night before: his phone sat plugged into the wall on his night stand, the pistol was still loaded under his pillow, and his shoes were scattered across the floor from when he came in the night before.

Jim rubbed at his eyes wearily before forcing himself to stand, shuffling through the room to head towards the bathroom and take a shower. Still being half asleep his brain didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, instead just going through the motions of stripping off his nightclothes and turning on the water. Once it was warm enough he stepped in, sliding the curtain closed and getting to work cleaning himself.

It was the same process every morning: he started with his hair because the soap ran down his body, scrubbing at the black locks robotically because for some reason his brain just wouldn't kick into gear. He sighed as the combination warm water and soap ran down his body, enjoying the sensation it gave him before moving on to his other parts. He took the bottle of soap in one hand, squeezing a fair amount onto the other before putting it away. Rubbing the two hands together caused lather to form, which to started to rub all over his body, making sure to get his most sensitive parts...

"What the fuck?"

Jim's hand landed on absolutely nothing when he had gotten down to his crotch. At first his mind was plagued with simplistic confusion - which he hated with a burning passion - but that confusion turned to panic as he looked down and tried to figure out what was wrong. Sure enough when he looked he found his mind hadn't tricked him; his privates were indeed missing. Not only that, but there were now two large -

No, this isn't right. Jim immediately turned off the water and staggered out of the shower, overcome by a primal panic to make sure he wasn't seeing things. He stopped in front of the mirror, not having bothered to wrap himself in a towel or at least make an attempt to dry, only to find the thing he was fearing staring back at him. Instead of his normal reflection he was looking at a woman: she had short, spiky hair, the same brown eyes as him, decent sized breasts and stood around his height as well. When he reached up to touch his chest the reflection did also, but instead of his chest he met the breasts of the woman before him.

"What -" He clamped his mouth shut when he heard a female voice instead of his. What is going on? This can't be happening. This isn't real. Focus Jim. He turned around slowly and took a deep breath in and out, closing his eyes and trying to focus on anything other than what he saw in the mirror. He had obviously been drugged - that was the problem, and why he was so tired and sore when he woke - and the image in the mirror was just a side effect, as well as the voice. Once he had convinced himself that it was all just an illusion he turned around to face the mirror again.

Only to find the female still staring back at him with a look of shock that Jim was certain echoed his own. His hand slammed down on the light switch, plunging him into darkness and forcing his next maneuver into the bedroom. His chest was heavy up and down with his panicked breaths as he made his way over to the closet to find his clothes. If he could show himself his things then maybe it would cure him of the illusion.

He threw the door to his walk in open to find it full of things a woman would wear: skirts, blouses, jeans and shorts. Sandals were lined up on a shoe rack on one side, and on the other was a small dresser. Further investigation revealed that the lingerie inside was all his size - as far as he could tell - so he uneasily lifted a bra and panties out of the drawer, confused as to how to put them on. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to get the bra hooks together, and adjusted the bra until his 'breasts' stopped hurting.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Jim realized he wasn't alert as he normally would be. He should have been able to tell instantly that the lingerie inside was his size, and that important body parts were missing and had been replaced by others before he even got up out of bed. It pained him that he had to think like a normal person; being so ordinary pulled at his pride more than he wanted to admit. But at the moment he had more important problems to deal with.

He wasn't quite ready to get dressed yet, wanting to further examine himself and see if he could get rid of whatever drug-induced illusion was tormenting him. He moved from the closet to the main bedroom, remembering thinking the bed had been wet earlier. So he made the decision to take the two steps over and pull the covers back to see what was wrong.

The sheets were covered in red. Jim could only assume it was blood; it had the same color, and the smell was almost identical. He had been around it enough times to recognize it. But he couldn't think of why there would be any on the sheets. When he had looked at himself earlier he had found no signs of injury, or any cuts that could have reopened. His feet made their way to the bathroom of their own accord, obviously taking him with them until he was standing in the bathroom again. For some reason he was drawn to the cabinet below the sink, and once he saw the products there the answer to the blood was staring him straight in the face. He eyed between the pads and tampons underneath the sink, wondering which would be the better one to use.

After his first attempt, he came to the conclusion that tampons were useless.