A/N Yep, new story, completely unbetaed and out of the blue.

What would you see if you look at the other side?

Sherlock is in the middle of an emotional turmoil. He had just gotten back from the dead and as could be expected, he did not receive a warm welcome. In fact, John had punched him and had warned him not to get near him for at least a few days or until he gets over the fact that he mourned for nothing. Lestrade punched him in the other cheek, called him an outright git and then walked away. Mrs. Hudson slapped him, called him awful, told him he's not welcome anymore in 221B and slammed the door to his face. But she then opened it again after a few seconds and pulled him in a bear hug. Molly, who knew he was alive all this time, had the most peculiar reaction. She merely stood at the sidelines and silently watched as he got punched by John, but she didn't rush to his side when he was knocked on the ground nor did she try to defend him or explain on his behalf. She was still there as he got punched again and she still didn't rush to his side when he kissed the ground for a second time. When their eyes finally met, she simply smiled, nodded and then walked away.

His tired and beaten body collapsed on his old chair by the fireplace. He won against Moran, succeeded in wiping out Moriarty's network, and had restored his name, but at the back of his mind he was questioning if it was all worth it. His name was soiled, he jumped off a roof, suffered physical pain for years only to what? Get punched twice, slapped once and cast away by people he died for? His thoughts raced into tangents until he was faced with an old question that had long haunted him.

Was being a genius worth it?

'What do you think?'

He jumped as a voice answered from the shadows. Quickly, he was up on his feet and was demanding for the intruder to come out and show himself. The shadows moved and slowly, a figure emerged from the dark. Sherlock's eyes widened as light from the fireplace bathed the foreign body.

Standing in front of him, face to face, was him.

He was looking at a face that he sees everyday in front of the mirror. Same wild curls, haunted eyes, tall nose and cupid bow lips. The only difference was that the apparition was sporting a leather jacket, plain blue jumper, black trousers and trainers. The other man looked like an everyday Jack.

Sherlock's brain demanded for an explanation. In the corner of his mind, he thought he finally lost it.

'Oh no. You're not insane. No, wait. You are insane, but not in the way that you are thinking right now.'

The spectre spoke, but despite it's assurance, the mere fact that it could speak, much more that it could speak with his voice, only drove the nail further into the angle of insanity.

'Wait, that came out wrong. Sorry. What I mean is that you are not really crazy, like mental-hospital crazy. You are just insane in a sense that you are a genius. Did that make sense? I hope it did.'

If there is one thing that assured Sherlock that he did not relapse to drugs and that he is not seeing a hallucination, was the obvious difference in speech pattern and choice of words of the…thing. He will never speak like that.

'Oh come on, don't call me a thing!'

Also, his hallucination would never whine like that.

'I'll accept hallucination, although I prefer spectre. It's more mysterious.'

The fact though, that this thing could read his mind, is making him reconsider the hallucination theory.

'I'm not really reading your mind because I am you and you are me, so we are technically sharing the same mind frequency although we are working on different planes. But the hallucination angle is still up for debate.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as his mind tried to process what was just said, but he settled to thinking that he is only talking to himself in some brain-induced situation. It had happened befor. He looked around his flat and wondered since when did he fall back to his mind palace?

'Well you are not really talking to yourself because we are not really one and the same. But, as I said before, I am you aaaaand you are me. Only, I exist in a different universe and you exist in this reality.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to question the logic behind that sentence but he was cut-off by the spectre.

'What is happening now has everything to do with logic. Though I suspect that it is something that you won't easily understand since the nature of reality has not been fully discovered yet, in this time.'

The crease in between Sherlock's brow only deepened, but he remained silent as he could see that the spectre or whatever it is, isn't quite finished yet.

"I told you, I am you and not a whatever-it-is. But let's just move on shall we? I don't really have much time. No, that's not quite true also, because in truth, Time does not exist. But you…you are still confined to your perception of Time so you are the one who doesn't have…well, time.Let's just get on shall we?'

Before Sherlock could protest, or block the action, the other him had grabbed his hand and the whole room instantly became blindingly bright.

The next thing he knew, he was standing in the sidewalk outside of Speedy's. People were rushing around minding their own business, cars were honking and weaving their way through traffic and Molly Hooper is walking towards him.

"Hey Sherlock!"

"Good morning Molly."

He answered.

Except…it wasn't really him who answered, because he was still too stunned with the previous events and his lips had remained glued the entire time.

The voice which answered came from behind him. He turned around but immediately regretted it, because he was again hit by the same feeling of panic and confusion. For the second time today, he was staring at the eyes of another him. This time though, this Sherlock is wearing a faded Beatles shirt and jeans.

However, before he could voice his confusion for the nth time, he felt suction in his midsection, and to his immense horror, he looked down and watched as Molly Hooper walked through him.

It did not end there.

Molly Hooper walked through him and straight into the waiting arms of the Beatles clad Sherlock who happily encircled his arms around the petite pathologist, before bending down and giving her a short kiss in the mouth.

As if things have not reached the peak of weirdness, Sherlock felt an arm hook around his shoulders. He turned his head to his side, and realized that the arm was from the earlier leather-clad spectre.

'Welcome to London 2010, the Other Reality, where the Sherlock Holmes who exists is not a genius but is still quite brilliant at his work as a consultant. He also goes to Tesco to buy milk, takes the Tube and happily kisses his girlfriend in the middle of a busy side walk.'

The spectre patted the stunned Sherlock.

'So, shall we watch his life?'