One: Sweet Dreams

Mycroft Holmes never put much stock into the concept of soulmates.

Of course, he'd read about them often enough. Countless books and binders on the subject lined his walls and crowded the bottom drawer of his desk. Pages upon pages of information pigeonholed in his head for reference.

But it wasn't a part of his reality. He didn't go to sleep and expect the warmth of a hand closing around his fingers. He didn't close his eyes and expect comfort or even kindness. While others went about finding and marrying their other halves almost on a weekly basis, Mycroft Holmes remained ever on his own.

Ever lonely, as his younger brother was always quick to point out.

According to his research, Mycroft should've been sharing dreams with his soulmate for decades now, but that had never come to pass. He didn't know why. His dreams were always empty. His insides always hollow and cold every time he closed his eyes.

So when one night he collapsed on the rich leather sofa of his library and fell asleep, he didn't expect to dream of anything. Empty halls and empty hallways and the wind whistling through the empty spaces of his consciousness where his other half was meant to reside.

He didn't expect the alarmed blue eyes of a woman he'd never seen. He didn't expect soft pink lips parted in surprise or auburn hair unraveling from a bun.

"This can't be," she breathed. Mycroft immediately liked her voice. Strong and beautiful and dripping with command. "This cannot be. What am I doing here?"

He cleared is throat. "I believe this is a shared dream," he said cautiously.

"I don't dream," she snapped, blue eyes flashing gold.

"You certainly do now. With me." He watched her inspect the walls of his consciousness slowly. "Which naturally would make us—"

"Soulmates," she finished for him. "I don't have a soulmate," she finished gravely. "We don't have soulmates."

He didn't know what she meant by 'we' or 'I don't dream', but if she noticed his confusion, she didn't bother with an explanation. For the longest time he wondered if he'd have to chase her through the shared setting they'd subconsciously chosen for their meeting. She looked like she wanted to flee.

"I'm supposed to be dead," she said at length, collapsing on a hazy chair he thought might've been something he'd conjured from his office. "I'm not supposed to be here."

Mycroft stepped up to her hesitantly. Her sharp blue eyes flicked his way and followed his movements until he'd knelt in front of her in a show of surrender. Decades he'd waited for her. Decades where he'd convinced himself he was an scientific anomaly at best and an aberration at worst. Decades where he'd wondered if there was anything wrong with him only to conclude caring was not an advantage.

He offered her his hand. "As long as you're here," he said respectfully. "My name is Mycroft Holmes and… well, I've been waiting for you a very long time."

She eyed his hand for the space of a few heartbeats before she reached for it. Even here her skin was warm and soft to the touch. Real as anything ever could be. She met his eyes again. "Naomi, Angel of the Lord," she introduced herself. "We have much to discuss."

Two: Stars Fading

When Naomi fell to Earth there was only enough Grace in her vessel to survive the earth-shattering impact. She couldn't move. Couldn't bring herself to open her eyes and take in her surroundings.

She was broken. But she was alive.

She'd survived Metatron's cruel attack on her vessel despite the odds. She'd managed to salvage what little there was of her Grace and escape. All for nothing in the end.

Heaven was closed to her now. She'd been shoved out of the only home she'd ever known, along with every other angel in creation. Her brothers and sisters scattered across the Earth. Her mission failed. Her very essence in shimmering ribbons and tatters she couldn't tie or sew back together.

Dreams and soulmates were the very last thing on her mind when the darkness took her. Mycroft an unexpected knot in the already tangled thread of her existence.

Some angels had soulmates, Naomi knew. She'd seen enough of them come and go from her chair to know that it was possible under the right circumstances.

She'd also fixed enough of them to know what happened they gave in to temptation. Cut through the tether of love too many times to give in to it herself.

She wasn't supposed to be here. She wasn't supposed to have a soulmate or fall in love or abandon her mission. Yet here was Mycroft Holmes, kneeling before her with tenderness in his hands and longing in his eyes.

He knelt before her many times in the following weeks. Naomi couldn't wake up, unconscious as she was somewhere out there in the real world, but he came to her every night when he fell asleep. Sometimes the setting changed. Sometimes it stayed the same. Sometimes they walked together through remembered landscapes, present and a billion years past. Sometimes they walked among the stars.

But they had millennia to catch up on, and she wasn't sure how long she had before the flickering light of her Grace was snuffed out.

Mycroft was aware of their predicament.

Soon enough their conversations turned from casual to urgent, with him trying to glean whatever information he could of her location. During the day he searched for her through his many contacts. He scoured the Earth like a starving man seeking nourishment but there was little to be found.

She'd learned many things about him those few weeks. She'd learned he was a man of infinite patience and endless understanding. She'd caught glimpses of deep emotion, unrelenting loyalty and fearlessness in the face of inarticulable danger. She'd learned that despite the ice in his demeanor he always softened and warmed beneath her touch.

She wondered what it'd be like to take it a step further. Deepen their connection the way others deepened theirs.

Time was running out to satisfy her curiosity.

Almost a month after they'd started sharing dreams, Naomi began to fade. Unnoticeably at first, but while she'd been waiting for him to arrive she'd held a hand up to the flickering light of a fire and through her skin had seen the flames.

"Mycroft," she spoke quietly when he finally made it to her. "We have to talk."

He knelt in front of her the way he always did. "You're fading," he said seriously, but there was unmistakable determination threaded through the hooks and sweeps of his words. "I've hit upon a reliable lead today. All you need to do is hold on, Naomi. I will be there. I will find you."

He believed his words, but Naomi wasn't quite so ready to embrace hope. Hadn't she stolen enough time already? Hadn't she tempted the commands of an absent Father long enough?

She leaned forward in her chair and for the very first time cupped his face in her hands. "I have faith in you," she said earnestly. "Will you let me show you?"

And a moment later their lips came together in a kiss that felt at once familiar and new. Naomi threaded her hands through his hair. He pulled her closer with his hands on her hips. Hours went by in the midst of tangled limbs, rustling feathers and centuries upon centuries of memories shared between one breath and the next.

When the sun rose and Mycroft disappeared from her arms to begin his day, Naomi closed her eyes and faded to nothing.

Three: Sunbeams Find you

Mycroft refused to believe Naomi was gone. She was an angel. Surely rules that applied to human soulmates couldn't possibly apply to her?

He wasn't ready to accept it. He wasn't ready to give up.

Relentlessly he followed his last lead.

He called in every favor. He tapped every source at his disposal. Revisited his research with the intensity of a madman and pored over each and every word. He didn't even bother with sleep anymore.

Around him everyone was eager to help. Mycroft was surprised and humbled by the support of so many he'd alienated with his coldness.

Sherlock was the first to offer. His soulmate was a spy and together they took up his case, digging through intel and data and backroom whispers. John went as far as asking Mary to get in touch with old contacts from her A.G.R.A. days, a task she'd readily agreed to.

Even Anthea put forth all her free time into tracking the unconscious body of every caucasian female the world over.

In the end, it was Sherlock who turned up at his door, four days into their search.

Mycroft let him inside almost absently, until he noticed the woman standing behind him short steps away. She looked the same as he remembered. Soft auburn waves lose around her shoulders. Pink lips parted in a hesitant smile.

"Found something of yours," his brother quipped, stepping aside to let her through. "Thought you'd want it back."

Naomi stepped forward at the same time Mycroft did, bodies colliding in a tight embrace. He could feel her laughter against his shoulder. Her fingers curling into his shirt, digging into the skin underneath.

She was soft and solid all a once.

She was real and warm and for the first time in his life, Mycroft Holmes felt truly like he'd come home.