sortinghat_rp | (no subject)

This was all round-about fourteen years ago for me. It's not as though I remember it all as if it were just yesterday. Meet me in the great hall for breakfast. Ravenclaw table. We'll be able to get a better idea of how everyone else might be effected as well.

[John made his way to the Great Hall, hoping in the back of his mind that he'd be able to get back to his bed at all without his magic. Granted, Hufflepuff's doorway didn't require a display of magic or anything of the sort, but sometimes when things were this weird, a little paranoia could serve you well.

Though it meant more confusion and problems for others, he is still a little relieved to see that others besides himself and Sherlock had been afflicted by... whatever this is. He sees quite a few changed bodies, some far more than his own. As he finally makes it to Ravenclaw, he spots a head of curly hair and-

Ah. Sherlock is familiar, and yet so different from the boy John knows. He seems to have grown into some of the features that didn't really fit well on his teenaged frame; though he still has some unusual qualities to his face, they're more striking than they are awkward. And of bloody course he'd have grown a little more while John, though looking 20 years older himself, hadn't grown an inch.

John approaches and clears his throat when he's near.]

Sorry I didn't send an acknowledgement message or anything, but I thought it'd just be quicker if I changed and got here fast instead.

[Sherlock smirked at John. He didn't carry himself like a soldier anymore. It was rather odd but there was no denying that this John was different from the one he knew.]

I thought that was probably the case. I'm sure you saw the other students and teachers on your way in. This is a school-wide phenomenon. I'm very curious to find out what I'm doing here, though. By my best guess, I've taken the place of the Sherlock of this place somehow, same as you have come to occupy the body of my John. The only difference appears to be that your memories superseded John's while your Sherlock's appended themselves to my own. Might just be a matter of superior intellect but a wider study would be needed and is available.

[John rolls his eyes and sits by Sherlock.]

The suggestion that I'm too stupid to hang onto memories that aren't even mine is really appreciated, thanks.

Do you think there's anything we can do to fix this, or are we just going to have to ride it out like some of the other magical mishaps?

Edited 2013-04-20 14:40 (UTC)

Well, my John was the one who wasn't able to maintain control over his own body. Really, he comes across as the greater idiot.

[Sherlock pressed on, not the least bit bothered.]

As far as I can gather from my combined knowledge, logic alone cannot combat magic. As I am not able to use magic, I'm rather stuck to make any changes to the situation at this time. We'll see what the word is from school officials. They may know best what is going on.

Edited 2013-04-20 14:46 (UTC)

I don't know if I should be more offended for the sake of a John Watson I'm not now nor ever have been, or point out that I didn't always have control over my body. A general sort of offended probably works.

[John sighs.]

That's what I thought. I don't know how much good it'll do if they end up changed themselves.

[His shoulder feels a bit stiff and he rubs at it. He's not used to seeing two wounds there, a matching pair of scar tissue on the front and back of his shoulder.]

You say you've got memories of some other me. Could I ask a question about something that might've happened to me... him?

[Sherlock eyed John curiously for a moment then just nodded, face returning to normal.]

He's a war veteran. Shot in Afghanistan during the war. Had a psychosomatic limp, actually. You two have that in common as well as its relief being found in, well, me. Is it always like this, I wonder? I wouldn't have expected the details to be unimportant but the effects to be the same.

[John nodded at Sherlock's description of this other John, fascinated.]

A soldier, huh? I thought my scar looked more like an old gunshot wound now.

[Still, it's interesting to hear that that John is a soldier. When John was a kid, before Hogwarts, he'd considered it as a career path. While enlisting in the Muggle Army didn't seem as big of a draw as it once did, John knows deep in his heart that if another war erupted in the wizarding world, he'd be one of the first to put himself in the line of fire in order to fight back.

If what this Sherlock and his strange amalgamation of memories is saying is true, maybe he and that John really aren't so different, aside from the magic thing. He smirks a little.]

So, what, you think it's a universal constant that no matter where you are, somewhere out there there's a Sherlock Holmes doing mental things and a John Watson trying to keep him alive?

Perhaps. I do have two perspectives on the matter, anyway. Obviously there are some very large differences, paramount being that he met you when he was 16. I didn't meet John until last year. What a spoiled brat. I see you have your hands full now and then but if you stay, it will undoubtedly get worse. He is me, after-all. Fundamentally.

[John frowns and leans in a bit, concerned.]

What makes you so sure he'll get worse, aside from the you-are-him-kind-of-but-not-really argument? If you went through some kind of event that set you down a bad path, I'm not sure that means the same HAS to apply to my- er, the Sherlock I know.

I know him better than you do. Tony knows him better than you do. Really, John, of the small list of people who are close to him, you know him the least I would imagine. And our "bad path" has little to do with our choices and everything to do with who we are. We think and feel the same, really. And we gravitate to the same vices for comfort. It's extraordinary, really, to see my life and an alternate one side by side. Almost makes a convincing argument for fate.

[The blow rather stings, as it's rather true, in a way. John suspects there are things Sherlock hasn't told him, or has attempted to mislead him about, particularly about being a so-called sociopath.

There are many ways he can proceed, and given that Sherlock does so love to steamroll over his points, the one he chooses to go with has just as much of a chance of getting brushed off. Still, it's worth a shot.]

Sounds a lot like giving up to me. You don't even like to take orders from your family. That's not really the kind of thing you see out of someone who's resigned to being a pawn in some game of fate.

Oh, I'm not resigned to fate. It's just very interesting to know, even with some key changes to my childhood circumstances, and even to the changes in how we met, some things seem.... well, universal. As you said, there's evidence enough to consider the possibility that there may be yet another Sherlock Holmes somewhere doing mental things and a John Watson trying to keep him alive. What else would you call that but fate?

Ah. Yeah, when you put it that way, it is interesting - all the similarities between your memories and the fact that multiple versions of us seem to have ended up friends.

I suppose it makes sense, though. If the other Watsons are anything like me, than you trying to drive us mad keeps us sane and happy. However that works.

Is that really what you think? John, you really are a child. You need excitement, there's no escaping that, but I do not believe you have ever described our lifestyle as beneficial to one's sanity. The severed head in the fridge, for instance, seemed to be quite off putting.

A what in the -

[It takes a second, as if John needed to translate what Sherlock had said, but finally the severity of it sinks in.]

A WHAT in the fridge?!

How the hell did you get your hands on one of those?!

The morgue. Same place I get the thumbs, the eyeballs, and other assorted body parts.

[Sherlock raises a brow in curiosity.]

Problem? It's all in the same of science after all.

Do you work for the morgue? You're not supposed to be able to just... just take stuff like that, you know!

[John sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose.] Let me guess. All those other body parts end up in your fridge for "science" too, huh?

I work for myself. Consulting detective, only one in the world. I created the job.

When required, I obtain all sorts of human remains for my experiments. Fridge, microwave, counter tops, sink, oven, stove, they're all helpful in maintaining the environmental parameters I'm testing.

[Oh God, John can imagine it. He can just see the bits everywhere.]

And you've never caught some hideous bacteria from having human parts so close to your food and water?

I'm not even going to ask how you entertain guests with a flat like that, mostly because the Sherlock I know wouldn't be interested in that even if there weren't chunks of human lying all over the place.

You think I'm stupid enough to cross-contaminate my experiments with food? Takeaways, John. And prepackaged, ready-to-eat food stuffs. Cooking takes far too much time and encroaches on my work space.

As for entertaining, you're quite right. The last time you had anyone over to our place was Christmas I believe, and that was only after marigolds and bleach.

Considering how cavalier you can be about your body, I'd say the cross-contamination thing was a pretty valid concern.

And hold it, we actually do live together where you're from? I know Sherlock briefly mentioned it as a possibility once if we both worked in London after graduation. Maybe that's another part of that universal constant thing.

[Sherlock smirks but it's not exactly in good humor.]

It's how we met. You were looking for someone to share a flat with after you returned home from war. I knew a place we could afford together. You decided to live with me after only knowing me for less than a day and then killed a man for me.

Looking forward to following in that trend?

[John sits up a little straighter, his expression a bit more serious. His personality may be out-of-synch with the age and experiences of his current body, but for a moment, he looks the part.]

You're really insistent the two memories you have of being two types of Sherlock are pretty close to identical, when you get down to it. That even if there are some changes, you're basically the same person.

Then that means that even if I don't have his memories, I'm an awful lot like the John whose body I'm in. I know I wouldn't kill someone unless I had a reason so good that I wouldn't regret it for a second, so he must've had one when he killed someone for you.

And if he's stuck around and lived with you for a year even with all the body parts, then there must be some good in it.

[Sherlock's smile ripens into something real.]

There you are. I suppose there is a bit of the soldier in you too. You wouldn't be much use without it. Caring and concern will only get you killed, especially considering I've gotten you kidnapped, oh... two or three times, not including Mycroft's many summons, generally under threat of execution. You can't sass bullets away or talk several pounds of semtex explosives into not going off. Then there's the girlfriend who was almost murdered as well.

You'd have to be crazy, really. Most people think John is in some way to put up with it all. Are you crazy, John, or do you think magic is going to save you? I think it's probably the same thing.

Do you want to know more about the insanity of the war hero or have I quelled most of your curiosity on the subject of John Hamish Watson?

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