In their first days they met. The universe, or whatever supernatural force swirls these things into place, couldn't help it. They were beautiful together, fit completely and perfectly. Without a fault. One without the other seemed wrong, but they couldn't meet.
Not yet.
So the universe decided that, on one of their first weeks in this world, they would meet. One was older, of course, hospitalized for breaking his leg. The other had just been born. They passed each other twice.
Years later, a small young boy with curly brown hair sat outside the gates of his huge London home. Crying his eyes out at his dead dog a small blonde boy noticed him and sat down with him.
He left before they could ask each others names.
Three years later they met again, passing each other in the streets. One looking for work and one avoiding his brother. They saw each other and nodded briefly, because that is what you do in the streets, walk past and nod. But something, maybe it was the weather or shops or just the look on each others faces, made them turn around and look at each other again. Smiling, they walked away without exchanging a word.
On the tube they met six times, each time not saying a word.
They even split a cab once, on a lonely snowy night in December. Neither recognized each other or found anything strange.
Then, one day, when the younger man was sitting alone (that happened a lot these days) someone came in. He was shorter than him, with dirty blonde hair and a cane. He looked at him closely and wondered- really wondered- where he had seen him before.
The other man too looked at the other. Who could forget a man like this?
"Dr Watson, Mr Sherlock Holmes."
It had all been building up to this moment. All the chance encounters and accidental meetings. And when they shook hands, they both smiled. The universe smiled back. It's work was done.