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This is perhaps the strangest hallucination I have ever experienced. Tactile is not generally a component nor do I tend to believe I've lived two different childhoods. Can't be H.O.U.N.D. and I haven't used. Lucid dreaming, perhaps? Most likely though in that case I have rather lost control. Very odd indeed, but then I do seem to harbor the belief that this book will populate itself with responses and that I'm at a school for learning magic. It hardly does to only call one thing odd when so much is absolutely ridiculous. But I believe it. That shouldn't be possible.

I'll have to consider carefully how to move forward from here. I'm not sure how but it could be Moriarty. Makes as much sense as anything.

[ooc - replies with not_a_hero. 4th wall breaking is A-Okay]

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[That makes Sherlock a bit disgusted as well.]

That would be hilarious if it weren't so revolting. My brain must be running faster than my mouth again.

No, no no. Not Mycroft. Mycroft loves himself, Britain, and pastries. Hardly room for much else. I meant your Sherlock.

Edited 2013-04-24 02:46 (UTC)

[Oh.

Staring at Sherlock in surprise, John nearly trips over a gnarled root. He manages to catch himself, however, and the near-trip finally seems to jostle some words out of him.]

He loves me?

Not in the way Mycroft loves cake, I take it.

I really don't want to ever get into an analogy that includes Mycroft's unsavory desires.

It's ridiculous and hopelessly one-sided but he thinks of you as the prime example of humanity. You are the redemption of all normal people and proof that he himself is not entirely unlovable, simply unloved. Consider it another universal constant. Don't worry. Nothing will come of it.

[John can feel his face heating up over the praise. He knew he wasn't unlovable - he'd been in relationships before, after all. But he never considered himself exceptional in any way. And now here he is, faced with the admission that Sherlock - mad, brilliant, amazing Sherlock - loves him.

He'd been agonizing over these unusual feelings for weeks. He'd told himself it was just lingering confusion, that it was just strong friendship, that he'd get over the emotions that were so powerful and so familiar, yet targeted to someone who was decidedly not female. Right now, he could say nothing. Sherlock sounds resigned, and John could exploit that and continue to doggedly refuse the very idea that he could be anything more than 100% straight. He could let Sherlock continue to believe John could never love him.

But that would be horribly unfair and, most importantly of all, untrue. And after tonight, after the fight with that creature, part of John can't bear the thought of SHerlock dying without knowing the truth.

He takes in a deep breath and steels himself.]

You've got part of that wrong.

[Sherlock looks rather confused by that before ignoring it.]

I don't think so. I have access to all of his memories after all.

[Oh Sherlock, you amazing idiot.]

Not the part about his feelings, emotions, or memories.

The part about how his feelings are totally unrequited.

That part.

[Sherlock nearly stumbles over his own feet. That's not.. how it's supposed to work.]

I thought we already established that you don't actually know him very well. What do you mean it's not unrequited? Of course it is. You like women.

And I still do like women. And for a few weeks now, I've tried very, very hard to convince myself that's all I like.

It hasn't really worked.

[Sherlock looks at him for a moment but says nothing. He's sure he should be happy that the younger, magic self has a John that loves him. But he's not really. Mostly, he'd very much like to tell him every reason why he shouldn't. So he stays quiet and concentrates on getting them out.]

[John remains silent as well as they make their way out of the woods. He'd expected... what had he expected? He'd only considered telling Sherlock about the nature of his confusion once or twice, but he'd dismissed those thoughts entirely. Yes, Sherlock had been oddly fixated on proving whether or not he was capable of attraction and love, but John never thought he was at the core of that.

He wonders if, ironically, he's made the situation worse with his admission. That'd just figure. He tries to understand why Sherlock has gone so ominously quiet and, finally, the silence is too oppressive for him.]

I'm sorry you've had to get dragged into this. You, the older, magicless Sherlock, I mean. It must be pretty awkward to suddenly partly be another version of you, especially when he has feelings for someone who's just a friend to you.

[Sherlock shakes his head.]

I've lived with John for over a year. I take him on all my interesting cases, give him more terror and thrills than he is likely to find anywhere else and besides my work there is nothing else I value above him. He's brought home four different girlfriends in that time and my efforts to prove my superiority have cummulated in his not believing I am capable of normal human emotion on the level of love or affection. I am everything I ever wanted to be when he looks at me. Except I was wrong. And I hate you just a little bit for being the wrong John.

[John frowns. Should that sting as much as it does? He's not the John this Sherlock is talking about. Isn't he? It's all very baffling and uncomfortable.]

I really am sorry.

But are you still insisting at every turn that you're not capable of love and affection? I used to believe that too because Sherlock was very adamant about it. Up until recently, anyway. And even when he did start to suspect that he was capable of those feelings, I never would have thought that it was because of me. If you hadn't said otherwise just a few minutes ago, I would've gone on thinking that.

[He's silent again for a few long seconds.]

Basically we're all bloody disasters when it comes to communication, aren't we?

I think it's more we're very bad at accepting changes in our own perspective. If I hadn't met him, I wouldn't be capable. I wouldn't be a lot of things I am now. Its easy to say something if one is mistaken about someone else. Saying one was wrong about themselves after thirty years of believing things to be one way is... well, we're both set in our ways.

I doubt I'll retain knowledge of this so it doesn't matter if I say anything. He won't know and better still I won't either. I wonder if you will. Or if your Sherlock will get my current memories or just be confused as to where the time went without them.

[John sighs.]

That sounds about right. Sherlock is the most stubborn person I've ever met, and I can freely say that because, technically, I've never met myself. I wonder if things would be different for you if you and your John had met when you were younger.

I... I don't see why I wouldn't keep these memories. I've kept my mind and memories, after all. Though if I really am using your John's body, I expect he'll be wondering what happened to his knees and your side.

I don't know how I'll even begin to explain everything if my Sherlock doesn't remember any of this, though.

If he and I get to keep out battle scars, I'll have a pleasant time trying to solve that for weeks.

[He rubs at his ribs now that he's thinking about them. Bit itchy. Thanks nature. They find their way out of the forest though with no further danger.]

Are you going to take the short cut back or shall I walk you to the Shrieking Shack?

[John sees Sherlock rub at the spot where he was clawed. He frowns in concern.]

Before I can decide that, you'll need to tell me if that wound's acting up. And deflecting or outright lying is not an acceptable response.

[Sherlock scowls at him.]

I'm filthy, I've been walking through the woods in the spring where there is enough pollen, animal dander and other assorted allergens to discomfort even the healthiest individual, with an uncleaned wound tucked under linen while I continue to move about, rubbing against said linen as I hike. I'm sure your scrapes are loving the sting of sweat and grime just as much. Nothing soap and water won't fix.

[John rolls his eyes at the snippy tone, but he's pleased that it does just sound like general irritation and not something serious.]

You'll have to excuse me for being concerned when there are decent odds of your skin bubbling off around the scratch. Injuries from magical beasts can be nasty, and as much as I want to be a Healer, I don't want to be in a position where I have to practice on you.

Some other time, I'm sure.

[Get used to snippy. He had to adjust to sass after all]

So, do we part ways now or shall I continue to escort you back into Hogsmeade?

[John's expression turns a bit more serious.]

Either is fine with me, but from everything that was said earlier, I'd understand if you've seen enough of me until our minds and bodies are sorted out properly.

John, I wouldn't so much as bat an eye if you intended to share my bed with me, understanding, of course, that I know exactly what that sounds like but maintain that you know me well enough to know in which way I mean it.

I knew what you meant. You've said far more brow-raising things unintentionally.

[After a moment's thought he sighs and gives a little nod.]

I suppose I'll take you up on Hogsmeade, then. The last thing I need with my banged-up knees is to try to take on that evil-minded willow on my way back to the castle from the shack.

[Sherlock smirks and leads the way.]

For a seventeen year old, you're actually rather fun.

[John smirks.]

And for an adult who ought to have the decision and planning portion of his brain fully developed, you've got almost no self-preservation instinct.

But you're also Sherlock, so that was gonna be a given.

[Sherlock chuckles a little.]

As if I'd live up to the expectations of normalcy.

Hungry?

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