Sherlock 1. Chapter 1

Ever since John Watson went into high school he kept his wrist covered, be it with an ace bandage or long sleeves. Once he reached the age of 12, kids started to make fun of him for the scrawly penmanship that was printed there. But it wasn't that messy script that was the problem. It was the name that was written there. But then again it wasn't the name either. William was a perfectly good name for a young bloke. The problem was that the name was in fact a name for a male.

Now, John had always fancied women. It's not that the thought of being gay bothered him; so much as he had never been attracted to guys. However, being called out on his "soul-mate scratch" made him uncomfortable. So in the long run it was just easier to keep it covered then to get shoved into lockers by some of his rugby mates.

Sherlock Holmes was not ashamed of the chickens scratch on his wrist, he was infuriated by it. He wasn't so much upset that he got made fun of because it was a male name. In fact, up until right around the age of 16 he showed his soul-mate scratch proudly, thinking to himself that somewhere there is someone all for him and only him. When Sherlock turned 16 he started to crave intimacy and companionship... but "John" was the most common name on the bloody planet!

So without any friends and no hope in his eyes to find companionship the gangly teen closed himself off; Sherlock used his mind as his companion, putting away his wishes and emotions. He tried as hard as he could to put this "John" character out of his mind focus on much more important things. Even though he didn't show it, John was always there nagging at the back of his mind. Whether he like that fact or not wasn't clear.

John Watson was not by any means a coward. The fact that he currently was seated on a plane bound for Afghanistan proved that. The anxiety bubbling in his gut could be because he was being shipped off to war. On the other hand, literally, was the fact that his wrist was in view to the public eye, and he could not strategically cover it up like he was used to.

Having the window seat John was comfortable and not worried about wandering eyes as the man next to him was fast asleep. But that peace did not last long as a baby started screaming causing the man to wake up. John could feel his fingers start to twitch as the man looked over.

"Good afternoon" The man said still sort of a drowsy tone in his voice.

"Eh...err... um… Afternoon." John said clenching his hand and turning to look out the window for a quick moment before looking back. When he returned his glance back to the man his eyes landed on his wrist. His stomach dropped at the sight. "John" was written plain as day. "Excuse me sir, but... I don't think I've caught your name."

"Geoffrey. And yours?" The man asked.

John's heart sank a bit. "Ah... um... John..." He said hoping the man wouldn't question it. John could see the man's eyes light up with hope.

"Um... uh..."

"-Mine isn't Geoffrey." John interjected before the man could continue. They both awkwardly turned away and slid into an uncomfortable silence.

"SHERLOCK HOLMES YOU WILL NOT DROP OUT OF UNIVERSITY" Mycroft Holmes boomed over the phone.

"And who was it that informed you?" Sherlock groaned. 

"SHERLOCK, I HOLD A VERY HIGH POSITION IN THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT IT DOES NOT MATTER WHO TOLD ME, WHAT MATTERS IS THE FACT THAT YOU, ARE. NOT. DROPPING. OUT."

"You are not Mummy, I will do whatever I please. Now goodbye, I have better things to trouble myself with." And with that he hung up the phone.

He didn't know where he was going to go. But what he did know was that he was not staying at this blasted university for a moment longer. How dare Mycroft tell him what to do. He needed to stop doing that ages ago. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. Sherlock shoved some of his belongings into a backpack, making sure he had what little money was left in his wallet and his belt as he slipped out of his dorm.

His head was swimming with thoughts. No matter what he told him, Mycroft wouldn't understand. 'Mycroft was practically the British government, if he wanted to find his soul mate – which he didn't – he could spend a few minutes on a computer and come up with him.' Sherlock thought before scoffing to himself. He tripped on a crack on the pavement and went tumbling, long limbs flailing around him as he hit the concrete.

Once he caught his breath he sat up and looked down at his feet. Damn it, he had tried so hard. He thought he had found the one... he thought he had found _His_ John. But the damn bastard had lied to him! He pushed himself up off of the concrete and broke into a dash. He had to get away from here. He was done looking.

John was startled by the sound of people bursting in to the building – a patient. John dashed over to his station pulling out things he expected he would need.

"Any open stations?" One of the people called.

"Over here!" John cried shifting things off the bed.

"His name 's Will. 23. Gunshot to the abdomen." One of the soldiers said in a panicked voice.

He went into doctor mode, immediately putting pressure on the wound. "Nurse I need a numbing agent!" This man's name was Will. Or... William? Damn it he needed to save this man! "Shh Will, it will be alright. Deep breaths." he said to the man, even though he couldn't hear him. He had passed out from the pain long ago.

"Damn it, Nurse?!" He shouted but she was right around the corner. He knew he was going to be too late. Damn it this could be his chance. His only chance! He shoved the IV needle into Will's arm, draining in the medication. But he saw no motion in his eyes under the drawn lids.

John pressed his fingers onto the man's neck hastily searching for a pulse. There wasn't one. John Watson, an army doctor, who saw several deaths a day was almost in tears. He picked up the patients other wrist and looked down at it. His heart sinking a bit before he finally willed himself to look.

Looking down at the man's wrist he was finally able to breath. The name on the man's wrist was Hannah. God, this was the last time he was getting his hopes up. He took a deep breath and wiped his face with his sleeve.

"He's Dead. Take him away" Dr. Watson turned with a solemn expression and began to clean up his station.

A grubby 23 year old, with a wild mess of dark matted hair, sat huddled in a back alley of London. He was shaking severely and his arm itched. God, how his arm itched. It had been three days. God he needed a fix. Maybe he could go steal some from the bloke down the road.

He managed to get on his feet and a pain shot through his stomach. When was the last time he ate? Oh what does it matter, food is boring. What he needed was something better, something to sooth his aching mind. He stumbled down the road looking for Jim.

He came around the corner when he spotted him. "Hey Jim, you got what I need?" He asked. Jim nodded. Sherlock's current plan was to take the drugs and run. "Always do," He smirked, pulling a baggie and waving it tauntingly. This was Sherlock's only chance. He grabbed the baggie and turned on his heels breaking into a full out sprint.

A gun shot rang through Sherlock's ears and he couldn't stop himself from mumbling "Dammit Jim" as he turned around to face the angry little man having not made it far. Sherlock immediately took the gun out of the picture, by slapping it out of Jim's hand and across the alley. He was not prepared for what was next. Jim quickly sucker punched him in the nose, and Sherlock could hear the terrifying crunch of the bones as blood spurted out. He threw a blind punch in Jim's direction, only to have his momentum used against him, as Jim threw him to the ground, continually kicking him in his ribs. Sherlock moaning in agony as each kick bruised his ribs more and more. The pain was getting unbearable, and then the kicking subsided.

Jim approached Sherlock "Better Luck Next time!" he chimed as he collected his drugs, strutting out of the alley.

Sherlock began to think death might be welcome. It was clear to him he would probably never find his soul mate John, who's name dark on his wrist teased him so. He hoped that death would collected him soon, so the pain that rang through his body would be gone, but he mostly wanted death to get rid of the stronger pain in his heart. Why couldn't have that man just been his John. He wouldn't be here if he had been. Sherlock curled up in a ball and waited for death.

As a shadowy figure approached, he thought it was the figure of death himself, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the pain to be no longer. But the figure spoke "We're going to help you, don't worry, I'm here." It wasn't death after all, it was Greg Lestrade , and the police sirens could be heard howling in the back ground as he faded in to unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

"So your name is Sherlock?" The DI asked writing down some stuff in his pad of paper.

Sherlock just nodded at him. He had just come out of the ER with a broken nose and a few bruised ribs but not much else. Much to his dismay, even if Lestrade had not came and picked him up, he wouldn't have died there in that alley.

"Is there someone we can call for you..?" Lestrade questions hesitantly as if expecting him to say no.

"The British government would probably work," Sherlock said sarcastically.

"W-what?" Lestrade asked confused. How did this man have any connection to the British government? He looked bloody homeless.

"My brother _is _the British government," Sherlock clarified. "I'd give you a number to call him but he probably already knows that I'm here and should show up in 3... 2..." the door opened and Sherlock sighed. "Hello Mycroft."

"M-Mycroft?" Greg said, grabbing his own arm.

"Yes," Mycroft said walking across the floor to shake Lestrade's hand. "Thank you for finding my brother Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"M-Mycroft?" Greg said still in shock to see the man with the name he had searched for, for so long.

"That is my name detective. But if that is all you are capable of saying I might need to have you removed from your position," Mycroft snapped.

"N-no. Uh..." Greg said rolling up his sleeve to reveal the other man's name written there in elegant script.

"If you thought I was unaware of that you must be pretty thick. As my brother has most likely made you aware, I hold a minor position in the British government. That being said I found you about 5 years ago."

"And you didn't contact me?!"

"I found it... unimportant." Mycroft said simply turning back to Sherlock. "Now brother of mine, you will-"

Greg cut him off. "Now wait, you mean to tell me, you knew where I was all this time, and you didn't say one bloody thing to me?!"

"I thought I made that point clear. Now if you will excuse us." 

Sherlock made a noise of dissatisfaction at the bickering. Mycroft was throwing something away. God he was lucky, he had his soul mate right there! 'He _knew_ about Greg and hadn't even said anything. That ungrateful son of a-' 

"SHERLOCK! You are thinking out loud again. As I was saying, you will be admitted to a rehab center so you can get your life back together."

"The only person in this room that needs to be put it in a rehab center is you for your _cake _addiction." He snapped.

Greg was still just standing there staring at Mycroft in silent rage. Mycroft just looked at Sherlock with a dull expression on his face.

"Childish whims won't save you now, brother. Athena and a car are waiting for you outside."

The younger Holmes let out an exasperated sigh and pushed himself up off the chair, sulking out the door, leaving the elder Holmes and DI in an uncomfortable silence. Mycroft turned on his heels and headed out.

Greg cleared his throat stopping Mycroft mid stride. "Will you be coming round again?"

"That remains to be seen." He said exiting the door slamming behind him.

Now in many rehab centers people don't get visitors unless it's for family counseling. However the case was not the same for Sherlock. Mycroft had used his "minor position in the government" to make a few tweaks to their rules. Sherlock was to visit with his mother and father once a week for 30 minutes minimum. The only other visitor Sherlock got was Mycroft on the occasion to make sure he wasn't being too stubborn. So it came to a surprise when he had been informed the DI that had picked him up was here to see him.

Sherlock got up and put some clothes on, as he wasn't wearing much before, and went to go see Lestrade. He wouldn't let on but he was actually kind of excited to have a visitor other than his parents, even though Lestrade was only coming to talk about his brother.

When they were both sat in the conference room at a table with some coffee, Lestrade looked up and Sherlock for a moment before speaking. "Hello Sherlock. I wanted to talk to you about-"

"My brother, yes I know. You have been through a lot looking for him and you're irritated that he has known about you but not contacted you. You are upset and lonely and have even gone as far as sleeping with one...two women? I also know you haven't been getting enough sleep, most likely because of the situation with my brother. I can tell by the wrinkles by your eyes, and the dark circles. I can also tell that your work has been rather uneventful, not too much excitement, and... you're looking for a promotion in the next month or so."

Greg just stared at him for a moment. "What?" 

Sherlock looked at him for a moment in confusion. "Would you like more?"

"No no, that's alright. I suppose I'll get right to the point then. You are correct about me wanting to talk to you about your brother." 

"Ugh dreadful alright let's hear it then."

"I was wondering if you thought he would ever come round. You know, it's been about three months and I haven't heard a peep."

"I wouldn't count on it. Mycroft keeps to himself. He is so lucky to know where you are, but he decides to be an ungrateful git. If I were in his position I would take you up in a heartbeat but unfortunately I'm stuck John-less. I thought he was the one you know, that bastard." Sherlock began to think out loud mid-sentence causing him to spew information he didn't necessarily want the DI to know.

However Lestrade was interested now, and wanted to know more, he had always been one for gossip. "Wait, you thought you found your... er... John?"

Sherlock sighed. He didn't want to talk about this with Lestrade. He didn't want to talk about this with anyone really. "Yes," Sherlock relented. He didn't continue. He didn't want to give information that wasn't required of him.

"And... What happened..?" The DI inquired.

A strange feeling started to bubble up inside Sherlock and he just needed to get it out. He had never wanted to talk to anyone about any of this before. Of course he had told Mycroft and his parents, but for some reason he felt a compelling need to tell everything to the unfamiliar man sitting in front of him. "I- I was at university," Sherlock started. "I had met a man. His name was John. Naturally, I had inquired as to if his mark had read my name. He told me it did but that he wasn't comfortable showing me. That he had been in some form of accident that made is mark unreadable and he didn't want me to be repulsed by it," Sherlock took a shaky breath before continuing. "I should have known that something was strange then, but I had just wanted it to be My John that I believed him."

Lestrade felt a compelling need to reach out and comfort the poor young man in front of him. He knew that Sherlock would never allow it though. So he sat quietly and listened intently as Sherlock continued. "It was a year and a half of my life I wasted with him. He was a bloody liar!" Sherlock shouted startling the DI and all of the other occupants in the room. "One morning I hadn't knocked on the door of the bathroom and he had just gotten out of the shower and I saw his arm. It wasn't disfigured. And it didn't say my name. The next day I dropped out of university and met Jim."

"Who- who's Jim?" Lestrade questioned.

"The one who got me into this whole mess. The reason we ever came to be in contact with each other." Sherlock replied.

Lestrade felt a surge of pity in his gut. He just wanted to hug the boy and tell him it was going to be alright. "I'm sorry to hear that." He stood up awkwardly "Well. When you get out get a hold of me yeah? I'll get you a job, keep you out of trouble. You seem to be pretty good at looking at someone and knowing things."

Sherlock perked up a bit. If there was one thing he wanted around the same amount as his John, it was a detective job. "Alright."

"I best be off then. Send your brother my regards" He said and walked out.

8 months later Sherlock was riding back to his flat at 221B Baker Street, having just finished a case with Lestrade. He had been on 13 cases since he got out 2 months ago and decided to label his career now as "Consulting Detective". This also meant he's the only one in the world. God was the police force thick. They missed _everything _important and almost convicted the wrong guy! Again! Nevertheless, Sherlock had found the right killer and had him convicted, so it had been a pretty thrilling day.

Besides his lack of a companion, his life was pretty good. He paid the driver and walked up the stairs to his flat. He only so much as sat down before Mrs. Hudson, his land lady, called up and said he had someone wanting to see him.  
"Oh for the love of god, who could want me now? I've only just arrived home!" He grumbled throwing himself out of the chair and throwing open the door.

Ms. Hudson was at the landing with a young woman with a round face and dark hair and eyes. "She says she thinks you can help."  
Sherlock raised an eyebrow but nodded so the lady walked up the stairs and followed him into the flat.

"Sir" The dark haired woman started. "I want help finding my Robert" she said quietly.  
He looked at her in horror. "I'm a consulting detective not a private detective, get out."

"But sir, please!"  
"Get Out."  
Tears filled her eyes but she obliged. As she was walking out Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He knew how awful it was without his soul-mate. He had to help her. "Wait. Sit down, I'll help."


	3. Chapter 3

There was darkness around John. Only it wasn't a deep darkness that just keeps going on forever and ever. It was fuzzy. His whole body felt fuzzy. Only when he tried to move, pain shot from his shoulder down the end of his arm and out his fingers one way, then straight down his leg and out his toes the other. It was almost too much but the fuzziness started to fade and he started to lose consciousness again.

When Dr. Watson finally came to, it was a huge contrast from his previous state of being. The room he was in was bright white and there were familiar beeping machines all around him. Familiar, only because they were like the ones he had worked with every day for the last couple of years. He tried to lift his head but the moment he got it an inch off the pillow his vision blurred so he gently set it back down. He was trying to remember why he was there; he closed his eyes thinking back to what had happened.

It had been a normal day. Just one casualty and a few cuts and scrapes here and there. But then there was yelling, and gunfire. Gunfire that wasn't in the distance. John's heart started beating faster. He hadn't been in actual combat yet, not really. He had grabbed his gun and in an adrenalin rush of a daze he stumbled out of his camp ready for what was to come.

The gunshots grew louder, but as they did so did the pounding in John's ears. His feet were stepping heavy, too heavy. He was doing everything wrong. His training wasn't setting in. He heard yelling behind him so he turned around. But that was a big mistake.

He felt it before he heard it. Sort of a delayed reaction. But the pain was like nothing before. The bullet ripped right through the back of his shoulder. He didn't have time, or the will to shout, or scream. He just fell; right then and there. After he hit the ground he thinks there were more gunshots. Or were they footsteps? Either way, he was too tired to find out.

When he opened his eyes again there was a pretty looking nurse at the end of his bed smiling at him softly. "Afternoon Mr. Watson. How are you feeling?"

He did his best at smiling back at her and thought about her question. "A bit cloudy, but alright I suppose. Better than I thought I would be doing."

She shook her head slightly. "You should be out of here in a few weeks. You are making a fine recovery."

"With Nurses as pretty as you in here I might not ever want to leave"

The Nurse rolled her eyes and set the food she had been holding down on the table next to him and left the room.

John looked over and groaned. One, shitty cafeteria food had never been his forte. Two, it was meatloaf. This was going to be a long few weeks.

Meanwhile back at 221B there was an assortment of things being tossed about. Beakers, books... teapots. Mrs. Hudson, being who she is, was freaking out– even though this happened for many different reasons on a regular basis – and came bounding up the stairs as fast as her hip would carry her.

"Sherlock, dear, what on earth is all that racket about?" she asked opening the door slightly. A book came flying in her direction and she didn't even flinch. It was not the first time she'd almost been hit by a flying object in this flat.

"It _smudged!_" He roared.

"What is smudged dear? Are you practicing that special calligraphy again?"

He practically ripped open his shirt sleeve and shoved his arm in her face. "Do you see this?" He squawked. The letters on his arm were twisted and turned. The name there was now barely legible.

Mrs. Hudson gasped. She knew what this meant. "Sherlock, dear, sit down." She knew he needed to be seated to hear this kind of news. "Would you like some tea?"

"No I would not like any bloody tea! Just tell me what is happening!" Sherlock screamed at the old woman. Mrs. Hudson threw her hands up and started to walk away making her bimbling little noises. Sherlock stood and grabbed her arm. "Please," he said quietly, his eyes tearing up a little.

"Okay dear, calm down. Have a seat," she told the young man in front of her. Sherlock obeyed and took a seat, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "Sherlock... remember that what I'm about to tell you could fix itself. It could end up okay..."

"Please. Just please tell me," Sherlock begged her.

"This happened to me dear," Mrs. Hudson said. She rolled up the sleeve of her shirt to show it to him the morbidly twisted letters there.

"Wait... so... you mean... My John..?" Sherlock broke into tears.

"He could still be alive dear. Just... injured," she said trying to calm him. Sherlock took a deep breath. His John could be dead. Or hurt. Either way, he was in danger of losing him. All of the emotions he tries so hard on a daily basis to keep concealed hit him like a wave. A wave that was dragging him under again and again and he just couldn't get enough air.

Mrs. Hudson just stood there and stared at him, watching him collapse from the inside out. She couldn't do anything to help him. "I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say. "Goodness, Sherlock, I'm sorry."

Sherlock pulled his knees to his chest and turned facing the chair. His whole world was tearing apart again, and there was nothing he could do but sit and wait for it to fix itself.

Funny enough it was his leg that was hurting John the most as he made his way out the hospital doors. It ached with each step as he hobbled out with his cane and hailed a taxi. It was odd being up and around. Also it was odd that he was provided with a small flat. His whole situation was odd. He shifted uncomfortably in the cab seat looking around when he noticed the cabbie had a picture on his dashboard of him and a young woman, probably his wife. So John decided to strike up a conversation.

"Looks like you've got yourself a pretty one there, hmm?" He said a bit awkwardly.

"Oh, yeah. That's my fiancée, Lauren. We found each other by using that fellow Sherlock 'olmes. Ya know, the detective guy? 'es really good at that sorta thing. 'e found 'er in less than a week! Me and 'er and gone to 'igh school together! Can you believe that?..." The cabby kept rambling on but all John could think about that maybe this Sherlock bloke could be his last chance at finding his William.

John's head buzzed with excitement that night, and for the first time since he returned from the army, he didn't have a single night terror.

The next morning, John barely remembered to eat breakfast. He was far too busy researching this Sherlock Holmes bloke. He happened across what claimed to be the man's official website and... Wow, was it strange.

The thing was his website didn't say anything about being a private detective, and John was utterly confused. So he looked further into it checking the local paper websites. He found a bit about Sherlock helping the police solving murders and things. He didn't really think that was entirely legal, letting armatures work on crime scenes, but whatever. He went back out to the search page ready to close the laptop and call it quits, that's when he hit the jackpot.

Apparently there was a fan site for this mysterious man. John clicked on the link to the page and the first thing that popped up was a picture of this Sherlock character. He had high cheekbones and a mess of curly hair, oh and his eyes. 'Wait... his eyes? Am I finding him attractive?' John asked himself. His heart beat a bit irregular for a moment. He had not once, in his years had he _ever_ found a man attractive. It spooked him a bit as this was the first time so he quickly scrolled down.

There were at least a hundred comments about Sherlock finding people their soul-mates and how they were so happy. That's when John decided his best choice of action was to go visit the man and see what he could find out. He longed for that sort of companionship. So really, what did he have to lose?

Before you knew it John was hobbling down the steps, cane in hand, pulling on his jacket as he went. When he reached the sidewalk he hailed a cab, with some difficulty, and got in.

"Where are you headed?" the cabbie asked. He was an older looking man with white hair and glasses sitting on his crooked nose. Attached to the dashboard was a picture of two kids, but part of it was ripped away. And the whole cab smelled of shaving cream.

John took a deep breath and replied, "221B Baker street, please."


	4. Chapter 4

"Greg, I don't know what I'm doing." Mycroft said a bit uncomfortable.

"That's okay My, I do. Just, grip it a bit tighter" Lestrade said bending Mycroft over a bit more.

"This position hurts my hips, and it didn't work the last time I tried, remember?"

"Bend your knees a bit more then, yeah? I promise it's going to be fun love, trust me."

"But there are children around this time!" Mycroft whined.

"Mycroft, come on its fine, trust me, I do it all the time"

"But what if they want to join in?"

"There are plenty of other areas for them to do that" Greg said eager for the next round.

Mycroft simply shook his head and did as he was told, spreading his legs further apart and bending his knees as suggested. Greg had been right; it did relieve some of the stress on his hips. At that moment Greg leaned over him, playfully pressing his hips into the others butt and wrapping his arms around the other, placing his hands on Mycroft's.

"Okay, ready? One, Two... Three-" CRACK. The ball met the bat and went flying towards the metal fence, behind the pitching machine.

"I did it!" Mycroft yelled enthusiastically before clearing his throat and straightening his shirt and his stance. "Thank you Greg. That was an enjoyable experience."

"Oh come on you. Don't go all 'sophisticated Mr Holmes with a minor part in the government' on me," Greg said. "You know you had fun... Do you want to do it again?"

Mycroft nodded timidly. "Maybe this time I could even do it myself. If I hit the ball from the correct angle and the right amount of force..." He rambled on some more before Greg silenced him.

"Love, don't think. Just do." Mycroft held the bat firmly again and prepared for the next ball but this time instead of hitting it the ball flew past him back into the fence behind him. "Maybe I should give you a hand again, My," Greg suggested.

Mycroft looked at him and nodded. Greg came and wrapped himself around Mycroft and they prepared to swing when they noticed the machine had stopped. Just to the left of their batting cage was tall fellow in a dark coat and a blue scarf with a mess of dark curls swinging a plug around in a circle. Mycroft jumped and went to pull on the ends of his suit jacket before realizing he wasn't wearing one and he was only in a mere, less than posh, t-shirt.

Sherlock let out an ungodly snort of laughter, which made Mycroft even more uncomfortable. "Well, Mycroft, looks like you've gotten off your high horse haven't you?"

"I would not particularly say it in those terms, little brother…" The older Holmes sneered.

"And Geoffrey, I bloody knew something was going on, but this, really? I've seen you almost every day for the past six months!"

Greg cleared his throat. "Sherlock if you have seen me for the past six months you should at least know my name."

"George…?" Sherlock said unsure.

"Oh, to bloody hell with it," Greg said. Sherlock was never going to actually remember his name. That, however, was not the point. "Your brother finally came to his senses."

"In all actuality, he messaged me multiple times until I finally agreed to go out with him once. However instead of finding the experience dull like I believed I would have, I found it quite enjoyable." Mycroft stated simply.

"So you and him have been sneaking around for ages now and you haven't told me?" Sherlock said with the slightest hint of hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry little brother, I found it unwise to make you aware of these circumstances. My relations with Greg are not the most professional for my position."

Greg wrinkled his nose and went to pick up the baseballs the pitching machine had thrown. Sherlock let out a disgruntled sound, "So it's not proper for you to tell people that you, the British government, are shagging DI Lestrade?"

Greg let out a muffled chuckle his face flushing slightly. Mycroft closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, "Sherlock, I am appalled by your insinuation."

"Oh please, you can't tell me that the two of you haven't done anything. Just look at the way Gavin over there is smirking," Sherlock spat.

Mycroft just rolled his eyes. "Well if you are finished, I have a limited time away from work."

Sherlock gave a small nod. He was actually kind of glad Mycroft got off his fat ass and decided to get with Greg. He knew where he was. Why wouldn't he take that? He turned on his heels and walked away flipping up his collar and lighting a cigarette heading to the main drag. He wished he knew where his John was.

John stood in front of the black door with the gold knocker and inscription of 221B on it. His nerves were getting to him making his leg ache even more than it did on a regular basis. He went to knock but hesitated. Was this really the right thing to do? Was this cheating? Should he just find his soul mate on his own without help like many people do every day?

John almost walked away before deciding against it. Walking down the couple steps then turning and going back up, hesitating to knock. He deserved this though. He had been through so much trying to find His William and now he was going to do everything in his power to make it finally happen. They needed each other. They were soul mates, destined to find one another. So what if they had a little help along the way?

John took a deep reassuring breath and knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer at first. He began to think he should just leave while he had the chance to escape. He turned to go once again when the door opened. His heart stopped for a few seconds. He slowly turned back around, only to find someone whom he had not come to see, but instead an elderly woman with a sweet smile and a really ugly broach.

"Why Hello Dear! Are you here to see Sherlock? Because if so, I'm afraid he is out at the moment, but he should be home soon! Why don't you come in for some tea?" Mrs. Hudson said practically pulling John inside. John was very confused. Who was this woman? She was far too old to be the detective's soul-mate. Maybe she was his mother.

"Um… Y-yeah, I am here to see Sherlock," John stuttered out.

"I figured as much, I don't get many visitors myself. Accept for Mrs. Turner. But she's obviously not you…" Mrs. Hudson rambled on leading John up the stairs to Sherlock's flat.

After she had him seated and had come back with some tea and biscuits she sat across from him in one of Sherlock's chairs. "So, let's have a look see, yeah?" She asked.

"E..excuse me?" John said bewildered by the old lady's lack of privacy.

"Your arm. That's why your here yeah? For him to find your soul-mate?"

"Well yeah. Um… do you have any sugar? No, never mind I'll get it." John said pushing himself up. He hobbled into the kitchen and threw open some cupboards. Not finding what he was looking for, he moved onto the next.

"No not that-" Mrs. Hudson began as John threw open the cupboards not finding the sugar but instead a jar of fingers.

"Um… are these...fingers?"

Sherlock had eventually got disgusted by the fact the DI and his brother were together. In all actuality he was actually pleased. He had felt bad for Lestrade, being stuck with Mycroft and all. As he got situated in the cab that was now taking him home he started thinking, wondering if he would ever find his John or if it was a lost cause for him to keep trying. Even his brother, who had always been determined that he would never be with his soul-mate had found him and was happy.

The cab slowly lurched through the busy streets and Sherlock continued to think. He had solved several cases and helped hundreds of people find their soul-mate. Hell, he was known for it, not that that is what he wanted to be known for, but regardless, he was. And yet he didn't have the ability to find his own? What a cruel world it was. A world where he wasn't allowed to be happy even after all of the stuff life had thrown at him already.

As the cab came to a stop, he threw some money at the driver and climbed out hopping over the rail instead of moving two feet to the side to go through the gate. Before anyone could tell he had exited the cab he was gone into the flat, his long dark coat flowing behind him like a cape.

He needed time to think. He pulled his coat off as he went up the steps taking them two at a time. "Mrs. Hudson, I won't be needing any tea this afternoon!" He called down the steps before throwing the door to his flat open.

"Ah I see you have already brought some…. Did you know Mycroft finally agreed to go out with Gavin?! He actually _enjoyed _it too. Six months! Six months they went without telling me!" He boomed in his baritone voice.

John was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, just staring at him. "My god he's even more beautiful in person." He breathed.

Sherlock's head snapped in his direction. "E..excuse me? Who are you?"

John's hands flew to his mouth. He hadn't meant to say that out loud. But god was it true. "Er… sorry, I'm John…"

John continued talking but Sherlock was not listening. His mind had stopped working and the only thing that was going through it right now was that this fellow's name was, in fact, John.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was blinking a kilometer a minute and his brain was sort of short circuiting. 'Was this man's name really John? Had he just… said I was…. beautiful?'

"Well John, that's very flattering, I must indeed return your words and say that you too are also rather attractive, however I don't believe that is why you are here. So if you would please stop staring at me with those gorgeous brown eyes that would be greatly appreciated. Now back to business!" Sherlock spouted. Of course, not out loud though. 

"Is he always like this?" John asked looking at the man in front of him who was not speaking or moving and just kind of staring at him.

"I'm afraid so dear. However, I'll leave the two of you to it then, yeah?" She said standing up with her old woman grace and leading herself towards the door, smiling and looking between the two smiling to herself. She knew what was there.

There was a buzz from Sherlock's coat pocket that seemed to have pulled him out of his daze.

"I'm afraid this will have to wait for another time, Molly texted." He said pulling his coat back on, pushing past Ms. Hudson, and whisking himself out the door and down the steps before John could get another word in.

"Oh… Molly." John said disappointed. He knew this mans name wasn't William, but he was rather attractive and not everybody finds their soulmate.

"Oh come on dear I'll take you to him. Come along. He's just in a mood, no need to worry." Ms. Hudson demanded gently.

"No.. er. no I wouldn't want to intrude on him and this Molly girl." He said cautiously.

"Oh…. Oh dear no, she's the lady that works at the morgue. She rather fancies him however, he really doesn't want anything to do with her." She said with a small giggle.

And before John could say anything else he was being put into a cab by who gave the driver an address and he was being whisked down the busy streets of London.

Sherlock sat in the cab his face in his hand. He didn't work with anyone who was named John, it was just simply one of his rules. But, this John…. could it be his John? He shouldn't have stormed out like that. But was it really worth it to get his hopes up like this yet again? He couldn't tell. God he hated not being able to tell.

When his cab arrived at the morgue he climbed out and headed inside. He needed to see what bruises appeared first on a corpse of a certain weight anyway. 'Might as well do it now' he thought as he walked into the lab.

"Hello, Sherlock." Molly greeted him a little too fondly. "I was wondering, if maybe… You'd like to have some coffee?"

"Black. Two sugars please. I'll be upstairs" He replied whisking away.

Molly sighed. She swore the way she felt for Sherlock was the way you're supposed to feel about your soulmate. But god knows Sherlock didn't feel the detective was all but unaware of her existence. Ever since that dreaded day she knew she never had a chance of finding her soulmate. If her family hadn't had such strict rules about seeing your soul mate mark until age 16 she wouldn't have this problem.

Molly had never even seen her soulmate's name on her skin. She never got to feel the joy of knowing that there was someone out there meant just for her. Because now there was no proof there was ever a name there. Not since the accident.

It was three weeks, six days, 13 hours, and, roughly, 26 minutes before Molly Hooper turned 16. She had been counting down the minutes for the last five years and it was so close. Soon she would be able to remove the cover that her parents had semi-permanently put on her arm to cover the name written across her skin. It had been there ever since she could remember and it was hard to imagine there would be a time when it would be gone. Her parents were strong believers in "finding the one without the mark" as they always said. But who were they to talk? They were soulmates and had found each other at age 13.

Once when she had been 14 years, 10 months, two weeks, three days, and 19 hours, and roughly four minutes old she had tried to look at it. It was almost time for her mother to change the bandage anyway. So she thought it would be smart to try and cut it apart and tell her mum and da that she had done it climbing a tree or something. That was believable right? So, being the girl she was, Molly stood on a chair in her room cutting away at the bandages. Pieces of the fabric falling to the ground as if they were strands of hair she was cutting from her head. As she was about to cut the last layer her door had flung open.

"Molly dear, I thought we could have a treat today and make some cookies. The paycheck just…."Her father stopped dead in his tracks.

Molly knew that she had been caught. She dropped the scissors and scrambled off the chair and onto the floor. She had gotten the belt for that one.

But anyway, Molly and her family was currently packed in their low class car, headed off to their vacation in Italy. The Hooper family was not particularly at the wealthy end of the spectrum. To say that was actually an understatement. The were smack dab at the far opposite end. Mr. and Mrs. Hooper had saved up their paychecks for ten years to be able to afford this vacation. And the excited atmosphere was so tangible one could probably cut it with a knife if they tried.

Molly, for one, was extremely excited. This was her first real trip out of England and it was planned just so that she would be returning home exactly on her birthday. Her bones were practically humming with excitement as she got into the car. Not only were her parents allowing her to sit in the back without a belt on -she was close enough to 16 yeah?- she was going to go to Venice! She had read so many books about it, all of the boats and the canals and things. She had never ridden on a boat before, and there was one particular kind she wished to ride on. A gondola.

Molly had it in her head that this was where she was going to meet him. A tall lean man with curly hair and beautiful eyes. He would whisk her away and hold her hand on one of those fancy boats.

She also very much wanted to try as much of the cuisine as she could whilst she was there. She couldn't wait to try some risotto, or even some polenta. Her parents said she could even try some of the wine if she wished to. (It wasn't necessary, and she didn't particularly want to but she was going to because she could!)

Molly wasn't really a people person, she prefered the company of animals or dead critters over human people. They were obnoxious in her mind, obnoxious and sort of scary. But her soulmate wouldn't make her feel like that. He wouldn't make her feel unwanted or alone. He would be there to comfort her and keep her company and make sure she was happy.

'Maybe if she did meet her soulmate they would do that meatball thing from Lady and the Tramp.' she thought twirling a finger up and down her bandaged wrist. Well.. actually no. That would be rather messy now wouldn't it. Probably cute, yeah. But messy and it didn't really make sense…. maybe he would just use his fork? Her thoughts would have continued if her father hadn't said something about to exit onto the ramp out of Switzerland and into Italy.

But that is where things went wrong. You see, when Molly's dad turned off of the ramp he didn't see the truck that was speeding towards them. Before anyone in the Hooper car could see any part of Italy a green pickup smashed into the side of their car, sending Molly, arm first, through the glass.

John got out of the cab where he was supposed to and headed inside. He wasn't quite sure where he would locate this Sherlock in here, and he wasn't quite sure why he had even gone in the building in the first place. This whole thing was seeming more and more pointless by the minute. But even as he told himself that John was shuffling down corridors until he found the right room. He opened the door and poked his head inside. Sherlock was sitting at a microscope turning the fine tuning knobs.

"Er… um. Hello." John said awkwardly.

"Hello, John." Sherlock said. The words rolled off his lips like they were the nicest thing they had ever said. They wanted to repeat it over and over again. "Afghanistan, or Iraq?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Sorry?" John asked confused.

"Which was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" Sherlock said, not looking up from his microscope.

"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you-" John was cut off by Molly walking in with a cup of coffee. Sherlock looked up at her, then his eyes locked with John.

"Ah, Molly! Coffee. Thank you." He said not looking away from John.

Molly looked oddly at Sherlock. She had never seen him honestly look at anything, let alone another human being. Her heart sank like an anchor in the ocean. "Thats okay…" She said, setting the coffee down and slipping back out of the room, tears pricking at her eyes. She could see that there was something between them.

Sherlock returned to looking at his microscope. "So, John, what can I do for you?"

John was appalled by this man. How had he known about his military history? "Um… I… how…?" John stuttered out not able to fully comprehend what was going on.

"If you are unable to create full sentences I will be unable to work with you," Sherlock said, trying to break the tension that lingered, after their drawn out gaze into each others eyes. He didn't want to get attached to one again. Sherlock sighed realizing he had hurt the other man's feelings and, oddly enough, he actually cared. "I apologize. I shouldn't have said that. You came to me for assistance. What can I help you with?"

John licked his lips and wrinkled his nose. "I'm looking for my William." he said rolling his sleeve up.

Sherlock stopped short and blinked quickly before simply staring. "Oh my god! _My_ John! He's right in front of me. God you're beautiful, John. Your eyes are the most mesmerising shade of blue. You're so gorgeous. But….. wait. Am I absolutely sure that you are _My_ John? Because if you arent... I WILL THROW YOU OUT IN THE STREETS, AND TRACK DOWN YOUR FAMILY, AND MAKE THEIR LIVES, AND YOURS, ABSOLUTE HELL! But... if you are… I've been looking for you forever." Sherlock said, stumbling over his words. A few moments passed before Sherlock realized that, once again, he didn't say any of this aloud.

"Um… Do you do that often?" John asked quizzically.

Sherlock cleared his throat and gave a small nod, not really of agreement, but more of acknowledgement. "I believe I might be able to help you." He said, and right in that moment, his phone buzzed. He had been waiting for it to, actually. He pulled it out of his pocket, nimble fingers replying to the text.

"So, when would you like me to come by next?" John inquired.

"No need to come by again. We're leaving now. Three serial suicides, and now a note! It's practically Christmas." Sherlock said pulling on his coat and heading out the door.

"Excuse me?" John asked, more confused, by this man alone, than he had ever been before.

"Well, aren't you coming?" And before John could say another word Sherlock was out the door.

Again, if someone had asked why John had followed Sherlock, he could not have answered. He just felt a strange urge to follow this man anywhere.

As the cab rolled down the street John was utterly confused. "So uh… where are we going again?"

"Crime scene. Let me borrow your phone," Sherlock said as he reached his hand out to take the older man's phone.

John reach into his pocket and handed the man his phone. "Crime scene? I'd assume you're some sort of detective but the police don't consult amateurs."

"When you walked into the lab earlier I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq?' You looked surprised."

"Yes, how did you know?" John inquired.

"I didn't know...I saw. Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says 'military'. Obvious. Your face is tanned, but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk, but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan...Afghanistan or Iraq. Then there's your brother..."

"Hmm?"

"Harry Watson, clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is."

"Wait wait wait." John said extending his pointer finger and licking his lips. "How did you know i was looking for a flat."

"Now _Clara_, ooo...Clara. Three kisses says there's a romantic attachment, expense of the phone says 'wife' not 'girlfriend'. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six month's old. Marriage in trouble then, six month's old and he's just _giving_ it away? If she'd left him he would have kept it...people do..._sentiment_, but noooo...he wanted rid of it, _he_ left _her_. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You are looking for your "William," and you need a place to stay yet you're not going to your brother for help, that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you _liked_ his wife, maybe you _don't_ like his drinking."

"How can you _possibly_ know about the drinking?"

"Shot in the dark, a good one though. Power connection...tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone, you never see a drunk's without them. There you go you see? You were right."

"I was right? Right about what?"

"The police don't consult amateurs."

"_That_, was….amazing."

"You think so?"

"Of course it was. It was extraordinary. It was quite...extraordinary."

"That's not what people normally say."

"What do they normally say?"

"Piss off."

John couldn't help but smile at that. More than smile actually, an absurd giggle rose up out of his throat and bubbled out.

Sherlock looked at John and by god he was already in way too far. His heart ached just listening to John's laugh. He didn't realize it, but he was actually smiling back. The cab came to a halt and all of that was washed off his face as he burst out of the cab, belstaff flowing behind him mixing in with the dark shades of the night.

John followed behind him, swifter than he had in a while, leaving his cane abandoned in the back seat of the cab. The cool London air nipped at the bear skin along John's neck as he rushed to catch up with Sherlock.

"So was I right?" Sherlock inquired.

"Right?" John asked surprisingly not winded by the fast pace.

"About your phone?" Sherlock clarified.

"Almost dead on. Except…. Harry is short for Harriet," John said smirking.

Sherlock swore under his breath. "Sister," he said grumpily.

When they reached the police tape sherlock lifted it up and headed under, holding it up for John to pass under. Sgt. Donovan stopped them before John could continue forward.

"Why are you here freak,and who is this?" She asked a snide tone in her voice her brown curls bouncing around as she cocked her head with an attitude.

"A colleague," Sherlock snapped.

"A colleague? How do _you_ get a colleague?" Donovan asked. Looking to John she questioned: "Did he follow you home?"

John wrinkled his nose and went to turn away "would it just be better if i waited out here?"

"Nope" Sherlock said raising the line higher for john to walk under. John shifted uncomfortably before he followed, feeling a sense of trust already forming.

The both of them shuffled up the stairs meeting with Lestrade at the top. Sherlock just raised an eyebrow at him for a moment, causing Greg's cheeks to redden with embarrassment.

"No need to blush Gavin, I've known you were shagging someone for a while, the fact that it's my brother is somewhat of a relief. I was starting to think he was going to form a sexual relationship with his cake," Sherlock said with a smirk.

Greg pulled at his collar with a finger and cleared his throat. "There's a note. Same substance."

Sherlock pushed passed him and into a room, snagging a pair of latex gloves. Sherlock ignored a few comments from Anderson and headed into the room where the body laid. After a few seconds he poked his head out of the door. "John, are you coming?" John raised his eyebrow and shuffled towards the door where Sherlock had once again vanished.

As John entered the room Sherlock had already finished examining the body and was calling John over to take a look. John went to kneel down and look at the body but froze in place as Sherlock removed his gloves accidentally pushing up his sleeve a bit too far, revealing the last two letters of the name on his wrist. His chest tightened and any air he had left in him caught in his throat.

Written clearly on Sherlock's wrist were the scribbly letters _hn._


	7. Chapter 7

_John went to kneel down and look at the body but froze in place as Sherlock removed his gloves, accidentally pushing up his sleeve a bit too far, revealing the last two letters of the name on his wrist. His chest tightened and any air he had left in him caught in his throat._

_Written clearly on Sherlock's wrist were the scribbly letters 'hn.'_

John couldn't breathe, he was beginning to feel faint. Did Sherlock have "John" written on his wrist and not tell him..? Wait. Why _would_ he have told him that? They had only just met! Thats right, this man was supposed to be helping him find his William. It's merely a coincidence that his soul scratch says John. Or did it say John at all? He could have misread it. But he swore that he saw 'hn'… what other names ended with hn?…. none that came to mind. Just John. Oh god, this was a bit not good wasn't it.

"Dr. Watson…" Sherlock's deep baritone voice rumbled in John's ear and he nearly lost his balance.

Before John could catch himself he bleated out "What does your wrist say?" His cheeks immediately turned pink. You aren't supposed to just ask people that. It was not proper. Oh god, he had screwed up, this man was going to stop helping him altogether.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks unsure of what to do. If he told John now he might lose his course. If this John wasn't his John then Sherlock was out of luck. But he wasn't sure yet if he _was_ his John. It could all be a coincidence. This could all be a horrible mistake. Sherlock had learned the downside of trusting people. But then again, if this was his John, there was no better time than now… "Er It…"

In that moment, Lestrade noticed and swooped in, knowing it was a touchy subject for Sherlock. "Er… Sherlock, you may have mentioned something of a case earlier…."

"Oh! The Case!" He said, his coat flapping behind him, as he turned on his heels and headed down the stairs.

"Wait! What Case?!" Greg called.

John tried to but in, but bit his lip to keep himself from saying anything dumb. He wanted to find his William. Even if Sherlock's wrist said John, Sherlock had no reason to tell him in the first place. There was no point in fussing over it so much. Yet John couldn't help but wonder.

"The pink case! The lady's pink suitcase!" He shouted up the staircase, and before Lestrade could question any more, he was gone.

John was still kneeling, thinking of how dumb he was. He looked over at Greg, "Er… I didn't…."

The DI shook his head "It's alright mate, he's just a drama queen."

With that, all John could do was nod.

Molly sat on her bed in her flat, cautiously running her hands over the keys of her laptop, considering her options. She could do this, fill out these stupid questions and hope that something good happens. Or, she could shut her laptop, walk away and hope that the universe will send her a miracle in the form of her soulmate.

Molly took a deep breath and sighed. Before she over thought it, she typed in answers to all of the silly questions and hit continue. The computer loaded and came up with some more questions, one in particular that stood out to Molly, "Are you interested in Men or Women?" Molly thought about it. Was she really 100% sure that she only liked men? She had never even really gave it much thought. There was a 50/50 chance that her soul mate could be female. Before she could change her mind, Molly quickly selected both options, thinking that she wouldn't be averse to trying new things.

After about half an hour of more questions, Molly was face to screen with several images of very good looking people. Most of the people either had the name of their soul-mate or, something that made Molly want to puke, that they were just looking to have a little fun before they found their soulmate, in their description. Molly kept scrolling until she came across a profile that caught her attention. There was no description. The woman's name appeared to be Irene. She had beautiful dark hair that was pulled up behind her with stunning cheekbones and red lips.

Molly hesitated for a moment before selecting the profile and typing out her first message.

"Hello Irene,

I am messaging you to see if maybe you would want to go out for coffee or something this weekend? Have a nice day

-Molly"

John found himself wandering the streets of London, not sure whether to go back to his flat or head to the pub. Today had been a strange day. When he decided the best thing he needed was probably sleep, he headed for his flat, and in that moment his phone buzzed.

"Come if convenient-SH" John looked down at it and shook his head continuing his walk towards his small flat. It could wait until morning. Another text buzzed through.

"If inconvenient, come anyway-SH" John sighed and turned around, he'd need to hail a cab for this.

John stood outside the door of 221B and considered his next move. John was unsure why Sherlock was so insistent that he come, so with a sigh, he opened the door and stepped into the flat. "Sherlock?"

"Ah, John, there you are, I need to borrow your phone"

"What?"

"Your phone, John." He said breaking out of his signature prayer pose to extend a palm out to the good Doctor.

"So, what you are saying is, that you called me all the way here, from the other _bloody_ side of London, just so you could use my _phone_?"

"Precisely."

John shook his head in disbelief but still pulled out his phone and started to hand it over.

"Actually no, never mind. There's a number, on my desk. Text it."

"But…." John began to protest.

"Just do it, say… 'I'm sorry, I was at the club, i must have blacked out'."

"At the club…" John mumbled as he typed at his phone. "Wait. You blacked out?"

"No, you idiot. Just send the message," Sherlock snapped.

John did as he was told and quickly typed out the message. There were a few moments of silence before the door to the flat burst open and in came Inspector Lestrade.

"What's all of the fuss about?" Sherlock demanded.

"It's a drugs bust," Anderson sneered.

"A drugs bust? What for?" Sherlock glared at Lestrade. "You know I'm clean!"

Lestrade felt a wave of guilt crash over him, he hated to use this excuse.

"Look! The case," Anderson exclaimed. "I knew it!"

"That isn't drugs! That's a cheap way to break into my flat," Sherlock said accusingly.

Mrs. Hudson cautiously walked into the flat, "Um, Sherlock dear, there's a cab for you outside."

"I didn't order a cab!" Sherlock shouted at the old woman. Mrs. Hudson threw her arms in the air and let out an illegible noise before quickly scurrying out of the flat.

"Wait.. Sherlock, you have the case… did I just text…. **Sherlock**!" John exclaimed.

"Yes, yes, it was worth a try though wasn't it?" He asked rhetorically.

"Wait, so if you have her bag…. her email! We could track her phone!" John said, thinking that his statement had been very valid, making him felt rather proud of himself.

"Sherlock… this Cabbie is really persistent." said climbing up the stairs once again.

" i said i didn't call a cab!" Sherlock announced once again. He turned to John "I suppose we could. Why don't you go do that?" Sherlock said hopping off the couch and heading to the laptop. John grabbed the label and sat at the desk, quickly typing out the address.

"Wait…."

"Wait what?" Lestrade asked in concern.

"Sherlock…" chimed in again.

"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU! ANDERSON, TURN AROUND! YOU'RE PUTTING ME OFF." He shouted.

"That's just ridiculous" Anderson protested.

"Anderson! Just do as he says."

"But…"

"JUST DO IT!" Lestrade yapped.

"Don't move… don't breathe…." Sherlock muttered.

"Er...Sherlock…. It says the phone is here.." John said quietly. It was a half whisper. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say anything either. I mean, he did say everyone…

In that moment there was a creaking up the stairs that only Sherlock heard, and he turned slightly to see the round face of an elderly man, with round glasses and a cabby number around his neck. He had thinning white hair and old clothing. His face loomed over 's shoulder.

Sherlock turned on his heels slightly "OH!" Sherlock gasped. That had to be it. How could he have been so stupid? A cabbie, of course it makes perfect sense! All the previous murders, and now he was coming to kill him, the only one who had a chance of figuring it out. It completely made sense. That was the only logical explanation and Sherlock had completely missed it. This guy was good.

Giving no time for anyone to say anything else, Sherlock was out the door, coat flowing behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

The group of people in the flat stood in silence, unsure of what had just happened. Sherlock had ran out without any explanation- not that that was unusual. Lestrade pulled out his mobile, found the right number, and hit the call button.

The phone rang for less than three seconds before Mycroft's voice chimed in on the other end, "Gregory, I am at work, what is it?"

Lestrade rolled his eyes at the man's sass. He could see John eyeing him wearily, curious as to who he was talking to. Lestrade sifted through his options of how to respond as to not let the former military doctor realize what he was doing. He decided on a suitable response and answered.

"An East Wind is blowing."

All that could be heard on the other end of the receiver was a hefty sigh; and after a long pause Mycroft replied, "Follow him."

"Let's go!" Greg called heading down the stairs.

"I'm going to hang up now, Gregory." Mycroft stated irritation in his voice.

Greg looked behind him to see people bustling about to collect their things and he whispered into the phone, "I love you."

There was a long moment of silence before Mycroft responded. "I will talk to you later, Gregory," and with a click he hung up.

The DI felt his stomach drop but he knew it was nothing to fret over, there were worse things at hand.

Greg hit the last step of the flat but he turned on his heel when he heard John call out to him.

"Er, let me come with you, I can help, the laptop is following him," John said quickly.

"Yeah, mate, come on."

"Where are we going, If I may ask?" Sherlock questioned calmly.

"You know every street in London, Mr. 'Olmes. I think you know exactly where we're going," the cabbie responded.

"Roland-Kerr Further Education College. Why here?"

"It's open; cleaners are in. One good thing about being a cabbie: you always know a nice quiet spot for a murder. I'm surprised more of us don't branch out."

The cab had reached it's cabbie got out and walked around to Sherlock's door.

"What, you just walk your victims in? How?" Sherlock questioned. The cabbie pulled out a small gun and held it up to him. "Oh, dull! You can't make people take their lives at gunpoint!"

"I don't, it's _much_ better than that," the cabbie assured him as he lowered the gun. "Besides, I don't need this with you, 'cause you'll follow me."

Lestrade's phone buzzed with a text but he ignored it as the police car sped through the streets of London.

"Left! Make a left!" John shouted, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was terrified yet grossly excited at the same time. Sherlock was with some strange man that could very likely be a serial killer. He barely knew Sherlock but he had a twinge in the back of his mind that told him _this man _could very well be his soul mate.

"Here! Right here!" John said opening the door and throwing himself out of the car before it even had a chance to stop. He found himself running into one of the buildings, as fast as his feet could carry him, leaving his laptop toppled over in the seat of the cop car.

Lestrade just kind of watched it all happened, but continued as protocall ordered, ignoring the fact that John had ran off, putting the thought that John might just fix all of this, maybe even Sherlock included, at the back of his mind. He decided to check his phone as he waited for the other cars to pull up.

He pulled out his mobile and flipped it open, checking the message he had received. The sight of it made his heart jump.

"I love you too, Gregory -M"

Molly was obsessively checking her mobile and her computer. Any time either one of them made a noise, she jumped excitedly only to find that it was just another stupid email from something she had signed up for when she was twelve. She knew signing up for the site was a dumb idea.

A few minutes later, a chime came from her open laptop. She tried to not get too excited but couldn't help the way her heart started beating just a little faster. When she got to the computer, her excitement turned to complete and utter nervousness as she saw that there was a reply.

Molly opened the message. It said simply, "How about dinner?", with an address, a date and a time typed under it.

Sherlock sat across from the cabbie at a long lecture table in one of the many identical rooms in the building they had entered. Between the two of them sat two identical bottles with a single pill in each.

"It's a game, Mr. 'Olmes."

"A game? This isn't a game, it's luck!" Sherlock spat at him. Even still he continued to lift up the bottles and examine them from all angles possible.

"You're a dead man walking, you've got nothing to lose here. Is that why you're doing this? Wait, no, it's your children, somehow this has to do with them."

"There's not a lot of money in cab driving, Mr. 'Olmes."

"Or serial killing," Sherlock muttered.

"You'd be surprised. I've got myself a sponsor."

"Who would sponsor a serial killer?"

"Come on now, Mr. 'Olmes. Time to take our medicine." The cabbie cooed patronisingly.

"And what if I don't?" He said pushing himself out of his seat with the palms of his hands.

"Then I'll have to persuade you a little," the elder man said, pulling out his gun. Obviously Sherlock knew the gun was fake, however he still sat down, not letting on that he had any clue.

"You know, it's a real shame you haven't told him. You might not even get the chance. You'll take that pill, and that will be the end. He'll be lost without you and you would have never got to spend any time with him."

"How do you know about that?"

"Why did you wait, Mr. 'Olmes? Why didn't you jump the gun? Were you… afraid?"

"You don't understand any of this!"

"Take the pill and see if you're smart enough to out wit me. I bet you're not, and then John will never know you're his soulmate."

"ENOUGH! Put the gun down, it's obviously a fake." Sherlock shouted jumping up once again as he came out of his mind palace. This made the cabbie practically jump out of his seat pulling the trigger, releasing not a bullet, but a flame.

John was racing through the long path of hallways, running by hundreds of identical rooms, trying to find something that could lead him to Sherlock. As his arms were moving, John happened to get a glance of his own wrist where he had pushed up his shirt sleeve. What he saw there made him come to a complete halt and almost stop breathing; his William's name was smearing, becoming grossly distorted. John knew he didn't have time right now to freak out, this had happened many times in the past and it seemed that his William had always found a way to escape whatever near death experience he was facing. However, he couldn't help the gross churning of his stomach at the thought that he couldn't be the one to save him yet.

John took a deep breath to try to regather himself and began running through the halls again in search of the man he _could_ save right now. In one of the dark rooms he ran by, he noticed a light shining in from the adjacent window and spun on his heels to return to it. John shoved the door open and ran to the window to inspect.

"God dammit! I'm in the wrong building," across the way, John could see the silhouettes of Sherlock and another man. The other darkened shape had an extended arm which John knew must lead to a gun. So without a moment's hesitation, John pulled out a gun and, with his militarily trained abilities, aimed with impossible accuracy and stealth, pulled the trigger.

Sherlock didn't really understand what had just happened. He turned around to where he had heard the gunshot come from and the sight there made his heart skip. His John had saved him. Sherlock, however, did not have time to frolic in the joy he was feeling, he needed information from this man and he needed it now.

"Who?! Who is it, your "sponsor"? Give me a name!" Sherlock demanded of the man. The cabbie shook his head, seemingly unable to speak. "You may be dying, but i can still cause you pain. Give. Me. A. Name," he shouted, using his foot to try to snap the elder man's collarbone.

The cabbie continued to refuse, shaking his head vigorously, his face growing paler and paler as he lost more and more blood. Sherlock was running out of time. He let all of his weight down on his foot feeling the snap of the frail bone through his shoe and hearing the man beneath him wail, "MORIARTY!"


	9. Chapter 9

Irene Adler's Perspective

Saturday- 5:15AM

Irene Adler was weaving in and out of her walk-in wardrobe, as calmly as possible. Tonight was an important night, thus her attire must follow suit. She was currently on her 26th hour without sleep, as her nerves were just too much - not that she would ever admit it.

Saturday- 6:00AM

By this time, Irene was pacing in and out of her closet. She was moving as quickly as possible, trying to find the perfect outfit. She had tried on her tightest and most revealing clothes, including nothing at all, and had just not really felt right about any of it.

Saturday- 7:00AM

Irene had decided to… take a break. And by that, she had completely passed out when she sat down to take a breather.

Saturday- 2:07PM

Let's just say that most of London knew when Irene awoke because it happened with a very loud cry of a very obscene word. Irene was now approximately 2 hours and 53 minutes behind schedule. Molly would be here in 4 hours and 23 minutes and everything needed to be perfect.

Saturday- 4:00PM

Irene had managed to calm down and decide upon an outfit. At this point, she had already messed up the pasta for dinner twice and had to run to the grocery store to get more.

Saturday- 4:30PM

Irene was now in the process of resolving her dinner dilemmas. She'd overcooked the fourth batch of pasta and was so flustered that she had given up on it and had just gotten off the phone with a very angry cook that was going to be making her two hour cook time meal in just one hour. It was going to cost her double the price but Irene was positive that it would be worth it.

Molly Hooper's Perspective

Saturday- 5:15AM

Molly Hooper was still sleeping.

Saturday- 6:00AM

Molly Hooper rolled over and continued to sleep.

Saturday- 7:00AM

Molly Hooper was still sleeping.

Saturday- 10:34AM

Molly Hooper woke up, took a shower, and ate breakfast.

Saturday- 1:00PM

Molly had the strangest feeling that she had forgotten something today. But, given that it was Saturday, she knew she didn't have to work and couldn't think of a single thing she had to do today.

Saturday- 2:07PM

Seven minutes ago, Molly Hooper's phone had gone off. And since her phone only has a single tone for everything (phone calls, text messages, alarms) she had assumed it was just Sherlock needing her to go into work and had unhappily picked up her phone expecting to see a text, instead, she saw the words "Date Tonight at 6:30" on her screen, and had frozen in place where she still was now.

Saturday- 4:00PM

Molly had finally unfrozen and rushed to her closet where she was now sitting on the floor in a mess of wadded up clothes that had accumulated because she'd been trying things on for the last hour and a half and had not wasted the time to re-hang everything.

Saturday- 4:30PM

Molly had given up on her outfit for a little while and had decided to go to the store to get a new pair of shoes because the ones that she had now only went with her tight red dress that she was most definitely not wearing tonight.

Saturday- 5:30PM

Molly had returned home and was now scrambling to find an outfit. She had half an hour before she absolutely had to leave or risk being late.

Saturday- 5:45PM

Molly was still throwing clothes around. She had decided on her pencil skirt but was unsure of which blouse to wear and if she would need a cardigan.

Saturday- 6:00PM

Molly was dressed but was currently freaking out. She spent two minutes trying to catch her breath and was out of the door.

6:30 rolled around and Molly hadn't shown up yet. Irene was beginning to doubt her oh-so-mysterious nature. She wasn't even sure Molly was going to show up; she had just expected her too. She sat down cross legged and was about to just give up and eat dinner alone when the doorbell rang. Irene shot up and smoothed out her outfit and checked her lipstick in the mirror next to the door before opening it.

There on the stoop stood Molly Hooper. Her hair was pulled out of her face and gently curled at the ends. She had a light touch of makeup on. Her clothing consisted of a dreadfully ruffled blouse with a yellow and grey striped cardigan, and a black pencil skirt.

The moment the door opened, Molly's jaw dropped. In front of her was the most attractive woman she had ever laid eyes on. She could feel a blush rushing up her neck and onto her cheeks as she scanned Irene over once.  
The woman was dressed in a black sheer button up, with nothing underneath and the top three buttons left loose, and a tight emerald skirt that highlighted her long, gorgeous legs.

"U-um- I-I… Uh-Hello," Molly managed to stutter out, but she still failed to pull her eyes away from Irene's basically bare chest.

"Hello, Molly. I'm pleased that you decided to accompany me tonight," Irene replied cooly even though she was internally freaking out about the fact that Molly was very blatantly staring at her breasts. Oh God. Should she have worn something different? Was this too much? Should she have worn the much more conservative white blouse that she had been considering instead? What did Molly think of-

"Um… You look really nice," Molly mumbled, finally pulling her gaze away to look at Irene's face. Her eyes were a brilliant shade of blue-grey and it was even harder to pull her eyes away from this sight.

"...Thank you, Molly…" Irene purred. "I made dinner, why don't you come have a bite." She reached for Molly's hand, and lead her into the dining room where a simple spaghetti dinner was laid out. The room was dimly lit with tall, white candles in the center of a small round table.

Molly's heart was about to beat out of her chest; she could have sworn her heart rate was going to make her faint. She let Irene lead her to the dining room and started to question whether the red dress would have been a better option, in all honesty, given that she felt kinda frumpy after seeing her date's attire.

Irene and Molly sat down at their respective seats and began dishing out their food. Both were unsure how much was acceptable to take. Irene was starving because she hadn't eaten all day, but wasn't sure if it was acceptable to fully load her plate. Molly, on the other hand, had been stress snacking and wasn't very hungry at all, so she didn't want to take too much, but also didn't want to offend Irene by not taking enough. All in all it was a mess.

John Watson was walking through a dark hallway still trying to absorb the shock of his actions; he had just shot and killed a man for Sherlock Holmes: a man he barely even knew. For once since the army, his body was calm and unshaken, however, his insides were a different story. He took the steps down two at a time and snuck out of the door of the building. There were red and blue flashing lights everywhere but he searched for D.I. Lestrade.

When John finally caught up with him, Lestrade was standing over Sherlock who was wrapped in an orange blanket, for shock he assumed.

"What...er… what happened?" John asked, trying to sound as innocent as possible.

Sherlock and Lestrade had been arguing about something when he walked over, but as John spoke, Sherlock went quiet and gave John a knowing look.

Lestrade, however, kept plowing on, "This idiot almost got himself killed! Again! What is it, the 18th time this month?! And now, he insists he doesn't need a bloody blanket!".

"I'll keep the blanket," Sherlock spoke up.

"What?" Lestrade said, surprised.

"For shock, you know… I'm in shock right? I obviously need a blanket. Let's go, John…" The detective said, standing up and pulling the blanket closer.

For a moment, John just shifted in place before looking up at Lestrade - who was giving him an eyebrow - and quickly catching up with Sherlock.

"So should I send for your things tonight or shall we wait until tomorrow morning?" Sherlock asked John, pulling off the orange, weighted blanket and tossing it in the window of Lestrade's patrol car. John quickly grabbed his laptop, then processed what Sherlock had said, causing him to almost drop it.

"I… what?"

"You will be moving in, correct?"

"I, um…" John's face was bright red but he nodded. "Yeah… yeah I will. Tomorrow will do."

"Of course, of course…. So I know this really good Chinese restaurant up the way…. Dinner?" Sherlock asked smoothly.

John looked up at him, a glimmer in his eyes, "Starving."


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock and John stepped out of the cab in front of a restaurant that John couldn't even begin to try to pronounce. John had never been to this particular establishment but it looked expensive and classy. After walking through the door Sherlock completely disregarded the hostess positioned at the front of the restaurant and continued to the back of the restaurant where an elderly man was exiting the kitchen area.

"Sherlock Holmes!" The man sounded overly excited to be seeing the detective, "How can I help you today?" The man glanced to the left of Sherlock and made eye contact with John, "And who is this?"

"This is Dr. John Watson, he's a colleague of mine," the elderly man raised an eyebrow but Sherlock paid no mind. "We'll be needing my normal table and your finest bottle of French wine."

"Of course, Sir. And would you like me to place an order for your usual?"

"Two, John has never been here so make the occasion memorable."

Sherlock spun around on his heels toward a curtained off area of the diner where two younger bus boys had just finished setting up a table with an intricate candle display at the center. John couldn't help but wonder who Sherlock was to be able to be able to set up such a thing. John removed his jacket and took a seat at the table and Sherlock did the same.

After a moment of silence in which Sherlock barely moved an inch from what John had already recognized as his 'signature thinking pose' Sherlock looked up.

"Good shot. I really am quite impressed. Your military background is definitely apparent."

"What?" John tried to play innocent, "I have no idea what you are-" Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow, "How did you know?"

Sherlock scoffed, "No man without a military background could have achieved that kind of shot. I almost started rattling off your exact description to Lestrade before it struck me." A waitress had walked up to the table and set down the wine that Sherlock had ordered, he took the bottle from her and thanked her before pouring a glass of wine for each of them. "Domaine de la Romanee-Conti Romanee-Conti Grand Cru," Sherlock said in a perfect french accent.

"How do you get French wine from a Chinese restaurant?" John was trying to ignore how mystified he was by the man's accent but it was difficult, especially in the dim light of candles where his cheekbones were highlighted oh-so-perfectly. This man was so- John shook himself out of the thought, he was here to find his William.

Sherlock smirked, "The owner here is a former client of mine and he always keeps some on hand. It's amazing the kind of favors people believe they owe."

John half-smiled, he knew that if this man helped him to find his soulmate he would surely feel that he owed him the whole world.

A couple of weeks later John found himself sharing a room in an inn with Sherlock somewhere in Sussex.

"What exactly are we doing here again?" John asked for probably the 3rd time in 20 minutes, annoying Sherlock to the extreme.

"It's a case John. Obviously." Sherlock snipped, irritated that he had to go just far enough out of London on a several day case that he would need to stay in an inn. Sherlock was actually going to reject the case when his brother had suddenly decided to take an interest and yell at him until he took the case.

"But why was it necessary for me to come along?"

Sherlock gave him a puzzled look and ignored the strange question. "Our client, Richard, is looking for his soulmate, William who is-"

"W-William"? John cut him off slightly stunned.

"Yes, his name is William. Why do you look so surprised?"

John was caught in thought. What are the chances that they would be on a case to find a man named William? Could this be his chance to find his William?

"Oh I ensure you this is not your William I have already looked this man up, we simply have to 'connect the cables' per say."

"Oh…" John said a little disappointed as he started to unpack his bags.

Sherlock watched him carefully trying to study the look on his face. He wanted to be absolutely sure. "Because of the situation we will have to make some adjustments to our day to day lifestyle."

The wrinkles around John's eyes got deeper as he scrunched up his face in displeasure. "And why should I change anything about what i do day to day just because they want to be together?"

"Well, I simply don't want to cause conflict because you both have the same name on your wrist. And also, one is very skeptical."

John was starting to get angry now. "Then why did I even come? What am I supposed to do, hide my wrist"?

"No, we're going to pretend that I'm your William."

"Well that just sounds like a brilliant idea! I'll just…." John continued throwing clothes around and slamming things. "Wait… what?" He stopped and looked up at Sherlock, his cheeks bright red. "T...that wouldn't work, they know you're name isn't William…."

"I could very easily use an alias or even a middle name." Sherlock said hoping that John wouldn't ask. If he did, Sherlock wasn't sure that he would be able to lie to him about it.

John simply shrugged it off figuring that if that were truly the case, Sherlock would have said something to him by now, after all they are sharing a flat. Maybe "Sherlock" was kind of a strange name, but Sherlock would have told him if his name was not truly Sherlock Holmes. Wouldn't he?

"Sherlock I am not going to do this!" The pair was standing outside of their client's house having a rather loud argument for being in the midst of the city.

"John, we must be convincing. If we make one move out of line it could all easily fall apart." Sherlock was honestly getting frustrated at this point. If he wouldn't give in and do this he would risk losing this case.

"Sherlock Holmes, I'm not going to hold your hand!" John shouted angrily, earning them some well deserved stares from people walking by.

"John, please. I'm trying to help these people. I need you to cooperate if this is going to work the way that if is supposed to." Sherlock was trying to be reasonable but was quite sure that John would probably still say no.

John bit his cheek. "I guess if it's for the case." He said snatching at Sherlock's hand but refusing to intertwine their fingers.

Sherlock was surprised that John had given in but decided to push is luck. "John, we aren't little girls playing house." And with a sigh he twisted their fingers together and practically pulled them towards the front door.

John reached for the doorbell, trying to ignore the tingling in his hand. He knew he was just being illogical.

A tall man with flaming red hair and round cheeks answered the door. "Oh, you must be Mr. Holmes! And your partner, John, right? Come in, come in."

"We would love to, however we are meeting Will at (Insert restaurant name here) in 10 minutes."

" Oh, so soon? Just give me just a second!" He turns and leaves the door cracked showing the open plan of the small cottage home that for some reason, made john feel more uneasy all together.

Molly gripped the napkin from dinner in her hand and scurried up the stairs to her room and threw herself onto the bed with a smile on her face. She had never felt this giddy in her entire life, and especially not about another woman. She looked down again at the napkin in her hand, It had a red lipstick stain on the right side and written next to it, it said, "16th. Be there at 8. Xoxo." Molly smiled and squealed like a 12 year old girl, rolling slightly side to side happily. She kicked off her skirt and buried her face into the pillow. For the first time in 15 years, Molly Hooper slept soundly and without nightmares about the events of that day that had disrupted it all.

Tonight was different for Irene. Had it been any other night she would have had someone in her bed, tied up probably. She didn't like to waste time taking things slow when she would only see the person a maximum of 3 times. But there was something different about Molly Hooper, something she couldn't quite put her finger on. It made her a bit uneasy but excited all the same. The 16th couldn't seem to get here fast enough. She looked down at her arm and traced her fingers over the name of the girl she had finally had the chance to sit down to dinner with. That night she slept with her fingers wrapped around Molly's name.


End file.

Sherlock, Angst, Romance