An Unusual Development
"The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker Street," the man said. He winked at John before dashing out the door, as if he hadn't just shattered all of John's preconceptions with two perfectly innocuous words.
Sherlock Holmes.
They matched the cursive scrawled across John's chest – the largest soul mark John had ever seen.
John had just met his soulmate, and the bastard had buggered off to who knew where without even getting his name!
"Yeah, he's always like that," Mike said, bringing John back to the present. They were standing in a well-used laboratory in St. Barts; an eccentric scientist's dream.
"Fuck me," John muttered, and pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was pounding, and he felt flushed, intoxicated.
"You alright, mate?" Mike asked, a frown forming on his face. "He's a bit abrasive."
John shook his head to clear it. "Yeah – fine." He huffed a laugh. "Damn. 221b Baker Street. Right then."
"He's an odd fellow," Mike said. "That's true enough. Decent chap, though."
"Hello," called Sherlock, hopping out of a cab. John had just knocked on the door to Baker Street.
"Mr Holmes," John greeted him.
"Sherlock, please. Bit of an oversight, actually - didn't catch your name earlier," Sherlock said genially. He was smiling and projecting an air of innocence that instantly made John suspicious.
John took the time to look over his soulmate. He was tall, strong, and almost seemed to have a glossy veneer, as if each movement, each word, had been calculated.
"No, you didn't," John said, and enjoyed the mild twitch of Sherlock's eyebrows when John didn't respond with his own name.
The door had yet to open. Sherlock checked his watch, and grimaced.
"The landlady, Mrs Hudson, often goes to bridge on Tuesday nights. Hopefully she's only running a few minutes late." His smile turned sharp. "What should I call you, then?"
"Oh, you can call me by my name," John said.
He smiled back, baring his teeth a little. "John Watson, at your service."
Seeing the shock on Sherlock's face was a peculiar kind of vindication. Sherlock's hand drifted toward his collarbone before he got a hold of himself, and then he visibly pulled himself together.
"Well, well," Sherlock said, eyes narrowed. John felt as if he was being speared by his gaze. "This is an unusual development."
John huffed. "An unusual development! We're soulmates – it's a lot more than that, surely!"
"Mmm," Sherlock said. "Yes, you're right of course." He swiped a hand over his face, a moment of honesty John somehow felt privileged to witness.
"Look," John said, suddenly feeling bad for springing this on the man fate had 'destined' him to spend his life with. "Let's get a cuppa, and talk about this?"
Sherlock tilted his head, contemplative, and then something behind John caught his eye.
"We can talk in the cab," he said.
"What cab?" John turned to see a man slam shut the door of a police car, and stride over toward them.
Sherlock smirked. "The one we're about to get, obviously. Where?"
"Brixton Gardens," the man said. John blinked at the change of pace. "This one's left a note."
Sherlock opened his mouth as if to ask another question, glanced at John, and snapped it shut.
"Come along then," he said, a feral grin upon his face. "We'll meet you there, Lestrange."
John allowed himself to be hustled into a passing cab.
"So, uh, what are we doing?" he asked when Sherlock just stared out into the city lights.
"Hmm? Oh, we're going to catch a serial killer," Sherlock said, seemingly delighted.
"Right."
John frowned and tried out several sentences in his head. None of them seemed to work, to cover the breadth of the questions he wanted answered. They sat for several minutes in silence, and John tried to comprehend the day he'd had. He snuck the occasional glance toward Sherlock, who'd closed his eyes, obviously thinking too. John could admit that he found him compelling and knew that he'd love to actually get to know him. He was handsome, as well…
"John." Sherlock's voice interrupted that train of thought, and probably for the better.
"Yeah?"
Sherlock appeared to be looking at him with an expression of true sincerity. "I'm a consulting detective, the only one in the world. I help the police solve crimes that baffle them, buffoons that many of them are. I am married to my work, so to speak."
John gritted his teeth, hoping he wasn't about to be entirely rejected out of hand. Sherlock seemed to notice that and hurried on.
"That doesn't mean I'm not interested… however, I've been told I can be difficult. A word of warning, I suppose."
"You can't be worse than a tour in Afghanistan," John said with a sigh.
A smile played about Sherlock's lips, as if he was thinking about disputing that and chose not to.
"Fair enough." He glanced out the window. "We're here."
John followed Sherlock out of the cab, still bursting full of questions. However, he was glad to have had the most important one answered. Sherlock saw a future for them, or at least the potential of one.
They walked toward what looked to be a crime scene, and John realised that he really had no idea what was going on.
"What are we doing?" he asked. Sherlock ignored him. Somehow, John wasn't surprised.
At the edge of the crime scene stood a female police officer, watching them approach. She would have been pretty, with dark curly hair and brown eyes, if not for the unpleasant expression marring her face.
"Hello, Freak," the woman greeted them, glaring at Sherlock, disdain dripping from her every word.
John's jaw dropped, and he saw red.
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade," Sherlock said, as if she'd not insulted him out of hand.
John cleared his throat. "Excuse me."
Both the woman and Sherlock turned to look at him, Sherlock raising a brow. John squared his shoulders, feeling fury building in his gut.
"I think you should apologise," he addressed woman. She looked taken aback.
"Why?"
John stepped forward so that his arm brushed Sherlock's.
"Because you just called my soulmate a freak. It's not very polite – I'm sure it was a mistake."
The woman gaped at him.
"Well?"
"Is this some kind of joke?" the woman asked, staring between them.
John crossed his arms and scowled at her. "Do I bloody look like I'm joking? I don't take verbal abuse lightly."
"Huh," said the woman. "Right. Sorry…"
She didn't sound particularly sincere. They were attracting attention, however, and John didn't actually know how well Sherlock would take John's impromptu defence of him.
"Thank you," he said through gritted teeth.
"A pleasure, as always, Sally," Sherlock said, sounding smug, and ducked under the police tape. John followed as quickly as he could. He calmed as they walked away, and found himself mortified by his aggressive behaviour.
"Sorry," he muttered as they approached the building. "Don't know what came over me."
Sherlock turned to him and smirked. "Oh, don't worry. I liked it."
John nodded slowly, still mildly embarrassed by an instinct he'd hardly realised he had.
"Now," Sherlock said, and rubbed his hands together with delight. He jerked his head toward the house that was swarming with police officers. "To the crime scene."
John smiled wryly and took off after him.
Word Count: 1238
GGE for the wonderful Bex, who requested Johnlock, Soulmate!AU, and Issues by Julia Michaels
Auction 30. Restriction: no using the word 'but'