When you see your soul mate a red line will etch itself against your chest. You feel it burn into your skin and the very best can contain but for some others it's so powerful it burns you to the point of agony.
However, even if they are your soul mate you may not be their soul mate. You can never tell unless they tell you.
Scientists Theorise this due to when the particles of your existence were created billions of years your particles were near theirs at the time of the Big Bang but that could also mean your particles could be near thousands of other peoples particles too so at this point many people could be your soul mate, but the one person who has the most of the particles and was the closest will be your soul mate, even if you aren't theirs.
Religious Followers (In the mode of religions) believe that a Deity will chose for you the person who fits your personality in the way it needs. Now for one person that be you, but for you that may not be them. Thus you never can tell. Not unless they tell you.
It is law for two matching soul mates to marry one another as the children will always be great leaders and minds, adopted or no. The parents will just raise them in that fashion.
When John see's Sherlock for the first time he stutters in his already limp of a walk. He feels the burn. But he's a soldier, he's been shot. He can handle the pain. No need to let on to this man he's just met is that he's the one he loves over everything. No need to at all. He talks about phones and John can't help but offer his. He wants to see the reaction of the other.
Sherlock just looks straight through him but offers a thanks. Then he knows everything about John. And swishes out of their talking of violins and riding crops and 'he winked! Is he doing this on purpose?' John only really manages to really assess his chances at Angelo's. When Sherlock says he's not into that sort of thing, how was John supposed to react? Of coursehe lied and said he wasn't interested. Its hard finding your soul mate and finding out they weren't even interested a little in find theirs. So he co-existed with the man he loved. Fuck you all, what would you have done? Turned away and be done with it. No, John Watson did not run away from anything. And he would gladly run and kill for Sherlock Holmes. That's final. So he ended up living with the man but he doesn't man, especially when he walks in thin sheets wrapped around his torso and showing his pert arse. When Mycroft took his sheet down at Buckingham John was half tempted to peer round at Sherlock's chest but couldn't do it inconspicuously. John did note as soon as Mycroft let go he pulled it back over his shoulders.
Sherlock hated this. Loathed it. As soon as he saw John his brain ran around in circles whilst his stupid heart that has nothing to do with real emotions just bloody stopped working all together. He wanted John and started being impressive, and a show off as quickly as possible. When it got to the cab and John had called him amazing and extraordinary he was half tempted to throw himself over John and kiss him there and then. But he hadn't looked up when John walked in and saw him for the first time. He hadn't seen his bloody reaction. And even now he still hadn't seen his chest. Even after a shower the stubborn Captain would wear a dressing gown. 'Walk freely naked, John. I have no complaints.'
Why had he tried to be smooth at Angelo's? What kind of cheesy line was:
"you should know I consider myself to be married to my work, but I'd let you be my mistress."? But John was right in there with his:
"no. No. That's not what I'm saying." Reply before he could even finish the other half of the sentence and that shot down was bruising and awkward and they brushed past it and Sherlock still held on fruitless hope and he despised it.
He was tempted to poison the man just look at his chest but he figured that would be 'a bit not good' and without official confirmation it was him and not some other lowly human he would never really know. He hated John and his perfect hair, and toned body, and the way he held a gun so meticulously and that shouldn't be a turn on but it was for Sherlock! That was his asexual visage out the window. John was always so calm and strong. And Sherlock hated it but, oh he loved John. Undeniably. John was perfect for him, he knew that. Mycroft knew that. Hell the whole of bloody Scotland Yard knew it. Except for John. John couldn't just see how much Sherlock needed him so bloody much.
When they were in the pool Sherlock was hurt when John walked out. No, not just hurt. Thrilled, excited, agonised, star struck, every emotion at once? Then he started mimicking
"Gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear, gottle o' gear." And every emotion stopped except one. Relief. He could still love John. Then Moriarty appeared and he looked to John giving him a glance, 'this man shan't touch you.' Sherlock more or less barked inside his head but he already had and he was striding forward to be the centre of attention but John just looked…broken?
Then John had to put himself in danger by grabbing Moriarty, Sherlock nearly had a heart attack. He could barely control his hand shudder and his panic at John's military self. The captain was showing brightly and he had to control himself quickly.
When Moriarty left for the first time Sherlock did launch himself at John. He frantically ripped the jacket from his blogger, his doctor, his John.
"Alright? Are you alright?!" Sherlock let his hands go all over John in the split second that he could.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Sherlock— Sherlock! Are you okay?" He asked with a puff of breath but was shaking and sat down by some changing rooms. Sherlock could barely breathe but he wasn't going to upset the man.
"Me? Yeah. Fine. Fine. That, ah— thing that you did. That you, um, you offered to do. That was, um...good." Good didn't cover it. Sherlock wanted to mount him like some kind of beast at that display.
"I'm glad no-one saw that." Ah but that's a simply reminder of course Sherlock knew why he was glad, he just didn't want to admit.
"Hm?" Sherlock asked knowing well what John had said.
"You ripping my clothes off in a darkened swimming pool. People might talk." He had to be smooth.
"People do little else." Sherlock wanted people to talk. More importantly he wanted that to be true. So did John. Sherlock couldn't take it he started to lean in and walk over. Those bloody dots came back and the whole thing dispersed and Sherlock gave up on his fantasies becoming realities. Luckily they didn't die that night.
John was at an impasse. When Sherlock had seen Moriarty for the first time all John could see was Sherlock's reaction to him. He'd completely forgotten about Bart's and Sherlock's nonchalant shrug all he could see was that flicker in Sherlock's eyes. Instantly John's soul mate addled mind was jealous and heart-broken of the evil genius. How he hated that man. When he had grabbed Moriarty he had every intention of killing the man. Then that bloody sniper had to appear on Sherlock's head and he had to let go. Now Sherlock was a man of Logic and Reasoning, so it wasn't a surprise when he held the gun to the bomb. He knew Moriarty was dangerous and should be killed, not loved. So when he disappeared and they were alone, John was less than relieved. He was worried that his best friend was in love with a psychopath and that he was in love with a man who would never love him back.
When The Woman drugged Sherlock John didn't deny it, he looked. He saw the red mark and held his palm to his own and shuddered a sigh before retreating as Greg came into the room. When a drugged Sherlock awoke again and was dancing about he didn't deny himself a little touch of Sherlock's arse before leaving. Why refuse himself the little pleasures? Now he knew for definite, either The Woman or Moriarty was Sherlock's soul mate. Neither of which John wanted. John wanted it to be him. Needed it to be him. But he was refused because why would he want John, a boring old ex-army doctor, when he could have James Moriarty, a true dangerous challenge, or The Woman, a dominatrix worthy of Sherlock Holmes? There isn't a reason. So silent love it is.
Then they went up to Dartmoor in Devon. As soon as Fletcher saw John all three of them saw his reaction. It forced him down to one knee from the strength of it and he clawed John's arm to bring himself to stand. The look in his eye was that of a predator and he leaned in as John leaned away never letting go of his arm.
"Tell me you felt it too." He winced.
"I'm sorry…I've already found mine." He replied and the man's face just completely sunk,
"Do they want you?" John shook his head slowly, ashamedly.
"Not that I'm aware of." Fletcher slipped his hand around John's back.
"Then settle for me." He buried his head in John's neck and inhaled deeply. John was blushing profusely and starting to push away to the other's petulant grabs.
"Get off of me." He spluttered a little bit and was about to grab he man's arm and twist it behind him when he was physically thrown off of John.
"You alright?" Sherlock asked him and John rolled his hurt shoulder, nodding.
"I'm his soul mate. He's not mine." John responded and Sherlock nodded shortly,
"You deal with the room, I'll make sure he doesn't attack again." John nodded and went inside. Sherlock went over and loomed over the man.
"And what right do you have touching John?" He asked with a bite. Fletcher looked at him with disdain.
"What? you too? He's already met his, I doubt it'd be you. If it is, I'm disappointed in his standards." Sherlock lifted the man up by his collar and dropped him on his feet. Soul mates could always tell potential rivals, which was annoying as it would just be easier to be able to feel people who returned the sentiment. He knew very well that he could be John's and he knew why John wouldn't tell him. After Angelo's who would? So he put on his best 'He is mine' face and said,
"What if I am?" He challenged him and the other smiled,
"You aren't. Not married." He looked pointedly at John at the bar who was nicking something from the receipts pin.
"What are you going to do?" Fletcher brushed himself off and shook his head.
"You'll see, but I'm guessing you'll be here a week if Knight's off his rocker again. So I have time." He waved Sherlock off and turned away walking over to a bench and sorting out his bag. Sherlock growled lowly before shaking his head and putting on a stern look. John walked out with a drink and sighed,
"Apparently Fletcher has proof of the hound." He nodded to the attacker and Sherlock suppressed a growl.
"Can you go over, he might be responsive to you than to the person who just threw him off of you." John chuckled,
"Yeah, Sherlock I think he'll be more responsive to me." He licked his lips and Sherlock didn't miss it. He took a deep breath before sitting a little ways over from them.
"Oh hey…sorry about earlier. Just panicked a little. Simon Fletcher." He held out his hand and John shook it.
"John Watson. Just don't attack me again. If you do want to make it up to me. Guys in the pub said you could prove you've seen the hound?" He asked and crossed his arms with a smile. Sherlock needed to come up with new ways of saying 'hate'.
"Of course, yeah. Why don't I show your friend too?" He asked beckoning Sherlock over with his head. He pulled out his phone which was unimpressive but then the footprint came along. Well the mould that was. It was impressive. After Fletcher had mentioned Baskerville Sherlock had stood brushed his coat off with disinterest and waved his hand along.
"Come along, John we've got some scenery to see." He said with a fake smile to Fletcher and started walking off. John finished his drink and gave a nod in goodbye.
"You can do better than him." Fletcher said and John turned.
"I really couldn't." He gave an apologetic look and hurried over to Sherlock who put his hand on his back as he ushered him onto the jeep and looked back victoriously at the hurt competition. Before waltzing over to his side and driving off towards the Base.
The entire day had been exciting, breaking into Military bases as Mycroft just for a rabbit. Then going into the woods with Sherlock and Henry looking absolutely blown out. At Baskerville when John had given the order to that corporal Sherlock had given a smile before dropping it as John looked. Sherlock abhorred his biology for wanting John so much after such a sentence. When they were down in the labs he had an image him of locking himself and John into one of the empty cages and just plain ravishing him. He turned on his heels as a monkey attacked the bars viciously shaking his head in the process. After Franklin had gotten them out of trouble and they sat in the jeep on the way to Henry's they both started giggling.
"We broke in for a rabbit." John said through gasped breaths as Sherlock struggled to keep his eyes on the road.
"Well it was a case!" Sherlock responded and they laughed harder. So hard Sherlock had to pull over or they'd end up in a ditch. They were shaking and leaning against each other and eventually the laughter died down leaving one of those moments that just left staring at each other. 'Kiss him.' Sherlock swallowed the thought and John had every intention of embracing it but Sherlock's phone buzzed into the air and he groaned pulling back and taking it out of his pocket and rejecting it immediately upon seeing Mycroft. John started laughing again and Sherlock restarted the car with a lick to his lips and a smile on his face.
After the whole thing with Henry Knight in the forest Sherlock was shaken. John tried to help but every man had their limit and when the man he loved didn't even consider him a friend let alone a love. It hurt. So he said,
"Nah. Wonder why?" and left without looking back because looking back meant seeing the face of his soul mate and damn, it hurt, so much.
As soon as the words had left his mouth Sherlock had regretted them but he was too riled up to apologise. John had looked hurt and that drove a stake through Sherlock's cold muscle that he'd long since thought was there for the purpose of pumping blood alone. Now though as a spread of pain ran through his torso he could hardly move. He downed the rest of his drink and headed upstairs to their room. 'Why is there only one bed?' He asked himself incredulously because to be restricted to one space between him and John he'd definitely end up with John wrapped up in his arms. He sat by the window for a while before fidgeting rapidly. Then a feral growl ripped out of him as the thought of Fletcher with John emerged from his traitorous mind. He bolted downstairs and stopped mid-step upon seeing Fletcher at the bar. He had a hand against his chest and it was thrumming; he was waiting for John. Sherlock stalked around the dining room and bar searching for John's return. He wasn't but the need to get John back as his possessive nature overtook his rational nature was getting the better of him. He saw the therapist and an idea spurred in his mind. John may have found his soul mate and it may or may not be Sherlock but he wasn't going to find it with Louise Mortimer. John could still some information out of her (where Sherlock couldn't) and make it look like he wanted her in bed at the same time, Sherlock knew that, but he also knew it would never happen. Safe bet then. He texted John and smiled when the other replied, he was so pissed off you could see the anger in the text. Sherlock still found himself tucked away in a corner just in case something more did happen. It was pretty evident very quickly that although they hit it off she soon realised he pined for someone else. Add that to a few loose comments about Henry and off she stormed. John sighed and rubbed his eyes. Tired, physically and emotionally. Needs sleep. So why does that bastard sit down across from him. John had another drink and at this point was getting a little tipsy which only left him open to be more comfortable when a suitable soul mate was feeling his arm up. 'I'll kill him, chop him into bits, and dance on the crumpled bones.' Sherlock nearly growled if his hand hadn't been clamping on his leg so tightly.
John sat there and talked to Fletcher, no-one (Sherlock) had attacked him yet so what could the harm be. At least Fletcher was actually interested in him. He was intrigued by his younger days and his time in the army and did no subtle attempt at asking John if he could get a closer look at his scar. John denied and the man ordered him another drink. John knew his limitations and another pint would've been it so he declined with a shake of his hands and head and stood with a silly grin on his face.
"Thanks for tonight it's been nice, really. But I need sleep because I feel tomorrows going to be an even bigger day." Fletcher stood and smile his own grin and ran his hand up and down John's forearm before whispering lowly in his ear,
"I can make tomorrow night a very big night. I'm sure you'll be more than accommodating." He chuckled and pulled back and in John's alcohol addled mind that sounded almost…good. Swallowing he pulled back and blushed sheepishly,
"Yeah…well…night." He said and stumbled off towards the room.
As soon as John had left the room Sherlock stormed over to Fletcher and grabbed his arm,
"Are you blind, deaf, and stupid? I will rip out your throat if you so much as touch him again." The man wrenched himself from Sherlock's grasp and held his arms up in surrender.
"Fine I won't. But I won't stop him if he does." He smiled in a sickly sweet manner before dropping his hands and skulking off. Sherlock sat down at the table they'd been at with a face full of concentration. His hands steepled before his lips and he finally concluded that in order for anything to be in order he must confront John Watson about his soul-mate and who it is. Yet for now he needed to sleep if only for an hour. So he crept up the stairs and to the room and slowly opened the one bedroom that they should share and stalked in. Sherlock shed his coat, shirt, belt, shoes, and socks leaving only his dress trousers on. He slipped in beside John's sleeping form and kept his distance. It was John who moved into his arms and he wasn't going to push the other away. He nuzzled his head into John's neck and licked at his neck and the other moaned softly. His hands starting to drape along Sherlock's back and Sherlock all but melted into the touch.
"Yes, John…" He whispered and mouthed John's neck who kept rubbing up against him in the most sinful of ways and Sherlock damn near lost control and probably would have if John hadn't suddenly clutched him afraid and whimpered. John's eyes screwed shut and he tightened his grasp on Sherlock for comfort. Sherlock gladly gave in and let his arms wrap around John as he whispered sweet nothings into the others ear and he eventually calmed and fell back asleep. Sherlock let himself have a few hours himself.
John woke up alone the next morning and stretched his yawn before getting a shower. Last night had been a good night. No night terrors which after that day he was expecting but apparently not and he didn't argue with his mind. A clean sleep meant a clean mind. He went into the graveyard to pay his respects to Henry's father saying that he would at least help Henry even if his story was hard to believe. Then Sherlock came and tried to be funny and all John could do was brush him off, it hurt and that bastard made fucking jokes. Then he went deep and he said with all sincerity that John was his only friend. John had to walk away or he would've kissed him.
Sherlock was confused at why John walked off but he needed to finish this or never would. He sprinted after John and caught him,
"You've never been the most luminous of people, but as a conductor of light you are unbeatable." 'And I want to kiss you.' He added mentally and John looked around confused,
"Cheers. What?" Sherlock smiled at him and pulled his chin up.
"Some people who aren't geniuses have an amazing ability to stimulate it in others." John's eyes narrowed and he sighed a laugh,
"Hang on, you were saying sorry a minute ago. Don't spoil it." Sherlock grinned but pulled back abruptly because now he needed to be serious.
John cocked his head and flushed at Sherlock's next question,
"Who is your soul-mate? I need to know." He said simply and let John stutter about before taking him by the shoulders and pulling him down to his face.
"Tell me." John shrugged him off,
"Why?" Sherlock pushed on not letting John escape.
"Answer me, I'll answer you." He said as calmly as he possibly could.
"You don't want to know." Sherlock took him by the shoulders again, looked him straight in the eyes and said.
"I need to know." He repeated his face inches from John's and the other closed his eyes. 'Afraid.' Sherlock thought simply and John uttered out almost inaudibly,
"You." He grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his coat and pulled him into a kiss 'in for a penny, in for a pound' John thought and curled his arms around the others neck knowing this may be the last time he may ever get to touch see Sherlock let alone kiss him so he went for it. Before that massive brain could catch up he'd change his movements and let his tongue roll against Sherlock's lips asking for entrance and they actually parted. Not missing a beat John delved in and his own moan was ripped from him as he touched tongues with Sherlock for the first time.
Heaven. This is what people have religion for. So they can have a tenth or a hundredth of this feeling. What Sherlock was experiencing at this point in time was a combination of all of your favourite things and then letting them be wrapped in a freaking great bow. The grey day and graveyard had fallen away and he could see the perfect cloudless black sky littered with reflecting diamond stars whilst the full moon was big enough to look like it should be tearing the world apart. The ground had gone and there was nothing in its place while snow plastered all the dark and ugly and made it inconceivably beautiful. Then there was John and his hands. One clutched his hair tightly grabbing at the luscious locks upon Sherlock's head and gave him the push he needed to keep their heads locked together. His other hand was around the back of Sherlock's neck and pulling Sherlock down into a hunch which he couldn't give a damn about at this point in time. John's body was flush against his and it was perfection. Then he'd rolled his tongue over Sherlock's lips and Sherlock's jaw lost its ligaments and dropped open limply to let John's tongue invade its new home and then he moaned. Sherlock's hands grabbed his sides and pulled him close and then put his hand against the back of John's bent neck. He didn't want it to end and when breathing became a hard task he tried so hard to not pull away but it was John who broke the kiss. Instinctively, although both were panting hard, Sherlock pushed back in for another kiss but John pulled his head back.
"You." Sherlock replied and pulled John's hand over his heart.
"It beats for you, and you alone." He confessed and pulled John's hand along the stripe of red.
"Thank fuck. I don't want to lose you. Especially not after that." John came forward again and pressed their foreheads together.
"It is law for us to marry." Sherlock smiled and laughed.
"And adopt." John continued and ran his tongue along Sherlock's mouth.
"Oh we can wait…plus I want to experiment with you first." Sherlock grinned and John shuddered.
"Oh…fuck me…" He gasped and Sherlock laughed,
"I intend to." He kissed him again and again. They stayed there for a long while and it was probably distasteful and wrong to kiss in front of a lot of dead people but neither cared.
"I love you." John said earnestly and Sherlock kissed him with such force they ended up in a dip and one of John's legs coming up to the back of his leg.
"The sentiment is mutual, my John." He whispered against his lips and then noticed Lestrade with his phone out at the gate.
"That was just beautiful lads. The yarders will love it."
"What the hell are you doing here?" Were the first words out Sherlock's mouth and John laughed whilst blushing profusely. Both John and Sherlock went to pickpocket Lestrade and they both nodded when the video was deleted of Sherlock's very human side being promoted to people like Sally Donovan or Philip Anderson. Sherlock hated seeing John scared when he experimented the sugar theory on him and for it to turn out a waste of time was worse. It ended up with John getting first dibs on who gets to tease the other to completion. Not an entirely bad experience for Sherlock but when he's inside of John it's much, much, much better. When he got around to it.
When Sherlock looked at Franklin been blown to bits it had been new, something to catalogue, something to never repeat. Then he'd glanced at John, and he knew that the man, no…the soldier, had seen it before. When they were alone in the jeep again they started to go back to the hotel neither talked. The adrenaline still so evident they both looked at each other. Sherlock slammed the brakes down and they both jolted forward but before John could process what was going on Sherlock was in his lap and his hands were everywhere.
John gasped as he was straddled by a 6ft consulting detective in the middle of the dark country road.
"The hell Sherlock?" He yelped but his mouth was captured and he thrust up quickly to cope with Sherlock's rapid rotation of his hips. They dry humped each other in that jeep and John screamed as he came against Sherlock's mouth whilst Sherlock tossed his head back exposing his long neck and groaned loudly. They panted kissing each other for a long while before John whispered,
"Hotel now." And Sherlock climbed off of him and back into the driver's seat. They raced back to the hotel and that still took a good half hour of them sitting in their wet places and feeling like dirty teenagers but when they got back to the room shed everything and after a long session of getting both members back up they rubbed naked against each other moaning, growling and screaming each other's name into each other's mouth.
Sherlock loved John.
John loved Sherlock.
They were married less than a month later.
Sherlock jumped less than a year later.
Two years later John punched him and walked off with Mary. Mary understood the law and understood love. She couldn't come between that and accepted it when they came back from the train positively humming with renewed friendship. John apologised profusely. She understood and gladly stepped aside because if Sherlock's love made John happy then who was she to intervene? It didn't stop her from killing Magnussen after incapacitating John that night meaning Sherlock as well. Nor did it stop her from loving him. He was her soul-mate after all. But John was mated with Sherlock. You can't break that bond. Not for anything, not in this world. Maybe in another. But not in this world.
They married again two months after Sherlock's return.
John and Mary's child although conceived before the wedding was raised by all three. And like it always goes, Charlotte Watson-Holmes was a great mind and leader. She had three soul-mates looking after her.