First Sherlock fanfic. Wrote this very quickly around 2 a.m. Not brit-picked or beta'd. Just wanted something short, sweet, simple, and rather to the point.
Enjoy.
"Oh look Sherlock, you found your soul mate!"
The man in question froze, glancing down to his hand where the splatters of colour were spreading from his fingertips up his palm and leading to his wrist. When he first realized the colour, shortly after "A Study in Pink," the detective was almost convinced it was ink smudges, the dancing of purple and blue smeared across his pale skin. Frantic scrubbing did nothing to reduce the colours and upon almost burning his hand with unmentionable chemicals, the man had no choice but to admit that fate had finally done him in.
He had found and made physical contact with his soul mate.
He was doomed to fall in love.
The more love he felt toward his destined, the further the dancing splash with travel until it reached the heart and would become an all consuming love.
"Apparently," he dismissed easily.
"When?"
Sherlock scoffed at his companion, "I have no idea."
John was innocent enough still to his presence to buy his lie. "Well, do you know who it is?" His grin was boarding on a suggestive nature.
"No."
This made the other man puzzle for a moment. "Can't be that hard to narrow it down," he started. "Must be someone you've had a bit of recent contact with but also someone you come around a bit judging by the progression."
Sometimes Sherlock found himself hating how clever John could be when the right time would ar ise . The need to change the subject quickly sparked when the detective noticed just the shimmer of the stain creeping upward. "Looks like you've found yours as well."
John jumped at this, looking toward his hand immediately and gaped dumbfounded at the spots leaking from his own fingers. "Oh god, how long as this been here?"
"About a month or two," Sherlock shrugged before going back to reading his book.
"A month? Or two? And it's still this..." John blew out a breath, "Still this small."
"That tends to happen when you don't show signs of love for your destined. It will grow once you do."
"Yes, yes I know that, just.. Wait."
Sherlock looked up a bit alarmed by the sudden tone change from the ex-solider. "If your marks have spread then that means you are starting to love your destined."
"Well I'm not heartless, honestly John."
"But you are a liar."
The detective narrowed his eyes into a glare. "Excuse me?"
"You told me you don't know who your destined is but you are starting to love them already. Clearly you know who they are."
The man buried his entire face into his book, "Just because I know doesn't mean I want to share."
Instead of getting angry, John simply laughed and went about his day.
*
While Sherlock's colours spread up past his wrist and up his arm, John's marks stubbornly made their way barely up his fingers at a snails' pace. Neither one mentioned their progress to the other. One out of shame and one out of respect.
The night they officially met Mo riarty at the poolside as the madman he is, John's colours exploded up his hand and snaked it's way viciously up his arm. While John was too shaken to even realize for himself, Sherlock kept silent as his own adoration bloomed in his chest.
"Sherlock, take off your shirt."
The man's gaze rose very slowly to meet the doctor's own piercing stare. Sherlock couldn't help but note that this was not the first odd request John had issued since meeting the woman, Irene Adler, but it was by far on a new level of strange for the unassuming man.
"Think of it as an experiment," the man tried to reason. "Please."
There seemed to be an audi ble click within the detective's mind. No doubt John had finally figured out who his own colour's were meant for and needed to confirm that it wasn't an incredibly rare one sided bond. Without breaking eye contact, Sherlock began to work at his buttons until draping the shirt off his shoulders for it to flutter to the ground. His colors were dangerously close to encircling his heart by now and he feared that one more positive appraisal would be all it took to seal the deal for good.
John in turn also shed the layers he dressed himself in to reveal his own smudges to be in a stri kingly similar state. He was visibly nerve wrecked, breathing coming in heavy gulps as he took a step forward and Sherlock had to close his eyes against his own nerves, readying himself for whatever the doctor had in store.
The first press of lips against his own sent an electric pulse through his body. Not originating from the contact against his mouth but rather from his fingertip and jolting all the way up his stains. The detective couldn't help but groan into the kiss as he physically felt the snare around his heart finally linking. He began to feel fingers card through his curls and found that some how his own hands had found themselves on the warm skin of John's waist.
A small peak through the corner of his eye confirmed that the doctor's colour had also trapped his heart and a smile broke over both of their mouths and soon they pulled apart to huff gentle laughs at each other. After a moment, Sherlock leaned back in to kiss his destined again.
He was doomed.
He fell in love.
And he couldn't have been happier.