Yeah, it's been long. I apologise for that. If it's any consolation I will be updating every week on Friday 22:00 (UTC) up until the grand finale of Never Trust a Fortune Cookie.

Enjoy!

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Property a la Gatiss, Moffat, ACD

Clutching the tiles with a strength only mild panic could induce, John cautiously peered over the edge of the rooftop. Ant people were crawling around ant cars on ant roads. He felt dizzy. Closing his eyes, he latched onto the tiles even harder.

Sherlock was showing Irene the body speared on the TV antenna, still in John's body of course, and being irritatingly careless. He stood not holding onto anything, even leaning over the edge too far for comfort.

Oh yeah, John thought, feeling he would be sick. Never mind my body. Let it fall to the ground and break apart. Surely, I won't mind.

Even Irene seemed bothered, keeping herself to the hatch and the ladder back into the attic. Not that she let any of her worries seep into her expression.

"- and that is why this is just like the case of the banker in Thames this morning. This man climbed onto the antenna. He speared himself. He wanted to." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow. "Now we have to find out for whom."

John gritted his teeth. "Can we please do it inside?"

Irene looked back and forth between them with a cheeky smile on her scarlet lips: "Wow! I know that I said that smart is the new sexy, but I seem to have been wrong about you, John. You, Sherlock and I – threesome?"

John imagined the scenario in his head and blushed. This did not escape the woman.

"I see the great detective seems pretty keen at the idea."

To escape the situation, John blurted out: "What about that lunch, John?"

Sherlock shrugged ambivalently. "Might as well. I need to be somewhere quiet anyhow. I am expecting Lestrade to call anytime now."

John thanked all stars in all heavens as they descended the ladder and were once again safe and sound on the ground. Passing by a mirror in the corridor, he saw how Sherlock's skin had taken on a greenish tone. He credited it to being the fault of Sherlock's body, which was tall and gangly and difficult for John to control. The closest comparison he could think up was walking on stilts.

The three of them left the dreary part of London and escaped into the centre where they settled down in a deserted bistro. John couldn't help but notice how much attention his new body was garnering. He knew why but he couldn't help feel a pang of jealousy. Then he remembered that the consulting detective was oblivious to almost all kinds of male or female attention.

With a rumbling stomach, John ordered himself a large club sandwich with chips. Sherlock in John's body drank a cappuccino. I might actually benefit from this by losing weight, John thought.

Irene winked at him as she sucked on a chocolate-dipped strawberry. "I am glad that you aim to fill out a little. Much more flesh to slap."

Sherlock and John looked at each other. Awkward.

As Sherlock had predicted very well, the phone in John's pocket went off.

"Lestrade," John spoke into the phone. "They found another one? … Oh god, a girl? … I do care, of course of I do, why would you … I know, but … Never mind, we will be there in an hour."

Sherlock leaned back and rested his head on his hands. "Let me guess? They found the daughter. Young girl, seven-eight years of age, still in the uniform of the school she never managed to reach in the early hours of yesterday's morning…"

John noticed Irene squirm. "Sherlock," she began, gingerly.

It took a while for John to realise it was him who she was addressing. "Hm, what?"

"In light of the new evidence that your inspector friend has uncovered," she continued, still unusually tame in her demeanour, "I suspect that your case might be linked to mine. You see – correct me if I'm wrong, though I won't be – not so long ago a very dear friend of mine was threatened. The only way to save her was to …. kill myself. In not the most pleasant of ways." Her eyes blazed with fury. "They gave me a deadline."

Sherlock sat up straighter. "You let her die."

Her smile was bitter. "Collateral damage, some would say," she said in who she thought to be Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock put his hands together under his nose. "Ah."

John hid his frustration. He himself was trying his hardest to maintain the Sherlockian persona but Sherlock continued to behave like himself, making it seem like there was something very wrong with John.

Wiping the edges of his mouth with a napkin, John declared himself ready to go to New Scotland Yard. Sherlock hesitated.

Irene handed John her phone with a gloved hand. "Help me and I will repay the favour. I want to know who killed my submissive." Her tone was enough to chill the marrow in John's bones. "I want to claw their eyes out."

Sherlock and John proceeded to excuse themselves and left the bistro behind. As they walked over to the tube, John stopped and grabbed hold of Sherlock's arm. Surprised, Sherlock turned around, deep in thought as always.

"Listen, Sherlock," John said sternly. In the turmoil of the situation it was easy to forget that their relationship had not improved in the least. "You know; we never get to really see ourselves. Even a mirror only shows how we see ourselves, but not how we actually are. Just keep that in mind. If this ever goes way, just promise that you learn something from it."

Sherlock appeared taken aback. "I … I promise, John."

Satisfied, John continued on toward the tube. Their ride was crowded and uncomfortable, but for the first time since waking up in Sherlock's shoes, John felt oddly content. It was surprising how refreshing the change of bodies was. It felt like taking a shower after a long, dusty day and donning new clothes.

Back at Thames, the rain was pouring down and Lestrade was not happy. His coffee cup had filled up with water and he was suffering under the withdrawal symptoms of caffeine. But the prime cause of his discontent was the young girl lying on the cold ground, skin bluish-grey in colour, wet hair plastered across her forehead. There was something vile about killing a child.

Sherlock and John attached themselves to the small group of inspectors. Lestrade didn't have to speak. The scene spoke for itself. Sherlock had a look at the body again, this time though, he whispered to John what to say.

John couldn't hide his discomfort, even through the mask of Sherlock's face. He regretted his decision to have such a hearty lunch.

Suddenly, there was a shout from behind.

"John!"

A street-smart dressed woman approached the small gathering, giant Ray-Bans concealing her face, despite the showers.

John looked up, but she walked straight past him and headed for Sherlock, whom she hugged with an unsettling familiarity. Sherlock took a step back, completely flabbergasted.

The woman finally took off her useless sunglasses.

"What's up, bro?" said Harry Watson and smiled.

That was this and this was that. Review, favourite, make a pizza – anything you feel like. Remember that any feedback is always welcome and do do do remind me when I'm being lazy with my update schedule.

If you feel like something more grim, check out my other Sherlock fic "Lionhearts" here on FF, just uploaded today.

Thank you all for your support and I hope to see you in the next chapter!