the steady murmur
always in my head...
or, ten universes that John and Sherlock could have met in:
1. Natsume Yuujinchou (Natsume's Book of Friends)
There is a shadow on the pavement.
There are no trees or buildings to obstruct the sunlight from hitting this area of the ground, but there is a shadow.
Sherlock approaches the area with tentative steps, only to find it slowly moving away from him. He peers at the moving shadow-there can't possibly be a shadow, there's nothing there in the first place, it's impossible but it's happening and he needs more information-as the sunlight batters at his drained form. He quietly wonders if he deleted information on shadows.
"There's something there," he murmurs to himself as an afterthought, his gaze clear and trained on whatever it may be.
There are other people that look at the space and move without even a caring glance, but there is something alive that continues to shy away from his presence and he has to know what it is. If possible, he would even like to analyze it, slowly take it apart and put it back together.
A man raises his voice in the midst of the uncaring crowd.
"They're called youkai."
Sherlock looks up from the shadow and towards the voice.
"The thing that you're looking at, it's called a youkai," the voice clarifies. The owner of the voice is watching him with half-amused eyes, shining a calm blue in the sun.
"Can you see it, or are you just looking at the shadow?"
"There's more to it?" Sherlock demands to know. "What is it? Why can't I see it?"
John glances at him, watching the tall, dark man with knowing brown eyes. "As I said, they're youkai. Ayakashi. Spirits, demons, monsters, call them as you may." He sighs. "There are some people…gifted…with sight. To be fair, it's not really a gift at all. You don't have the entire gift, but it's still amazing that you can see anything at all. Most people can't see even the shadow."
"I'm partially gifted," Sherlock grits out, furrowing his eyebrows. "Partially," he hisses, as if the word is burdensome all on its own.
John does nothing to move towards him, too busy staring at the youkai in front of him. It has one large eye that stares at him and the tall man with the color-changing eyes back and forth, but it doesn't seem to have any intention to harm. It's too far away from Japan for its powers to be completely effective-there aren't enough believers in this area. There are some youkai that have been brought here by the Japanese immigrants: enough to see at least once a week, but not enough to immerse him and drag him into that lifestyle.
"Yes, partially," John says with a roll of his eyes, seemingly half-amused as he glances at Sherlock. "You're better off that way."
"Who are you?" Sherlock demands. This person is an anomaly. Anomalies must be thoroughly analyzed and noted, and—this person especially.
"It's usually normal for the person asking to introduce themselves, but fine. I'm John Watson. It's…not exactly a pleasure, but interesting-to meet you."
Sherlock tries to ignore the feeling in his stomach. It's fluttering-for god's sake, this is perfectly illogical-and heaven forbid, this man is interesting from the get go.
"Pleasure," he states. "The name's Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective," he adds with a flourish, as if proud of that title.
"And you can see shadows," John adds, voice laced with good-natured humor.
"And you can see…youkai," Sherlock throws back, still not used to the foreign word on his tongue.
John shrugs. "Touché," he replies flippantly. "Is this the first time you've seen one?"
"First time?" he echoes. "'Seen one'? How many are there, and tell me how I can see them. I need to know."
John scoffs. "Are you asking or demanding?"
He has seen a lot of men scoff at him, but this is one of the few times that it actually conjures a feeling inside of him. It's not completely exasperated, though-not like Mycroft's, or Lestrade's-but there is also another emotion underlying it.
Emotions. Paltry things-he's deleted most of them from his mind palace. It takes far too much space for something utterly mindless. But at this moment in time, he wishes that he kept even a tidbit about human emotion and social cues that are directly correlated to them.
"It's just something people have," John replies. "I don't know how to explain it-it's just there."
"What does that…youkai…look like?" Sherlock halts slightly on the foreign word with a bitter edge. His calculations, all the deductions that he had procured over time are now obsolete because of the fact that with these things comes irrationality.
"Shoulder-length black hair. Large brown eye, looks around…twenty-three years old, European features, looks human. Her shadow's saying quite a different thing, but I wouldn't trust it: it takes less effort to morph a shadow than their actual forms, so it's probably some type of protection against others like you that can only see it partially," John explains.
There is no logic in this-things that can change shape? Beings that are hidden, deep in the shadows? Where is the science? The logic? He must have said the last two sentences out loud-he looks up to see John watching him with wary eyes.
"There is none," he states. "All my life, I've been able to see these things. And they make no sense at all."
With this, John gives him a small smile, weariness tinged at the edges of his lips. "Nothing good comes out of associating with things that nobody believes in. Not now. Not ever."
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