A/N: I'm making the car confrontation their first meeting in this, and it is also my first fic so bear with me please! Constructive criticism is great, but flames are not appreciated. Enjoy!
Soulmate marks are an old concept, the earliest known incident recorded in Ancient Egypt. No one knows exactly why or how, but the first words of your soulmate are imprinted onto your skin once you both exist in this world, typically on the forearm. Although it is possible to find love elsewhere, it is widely accepted that your soulmate is your best chance at happiness.
Each civilization has some sort of artistic contribution to the fantastic legend that was the soulmarks. The Egyptians thought of them as a gift from their gods for their service, and much like their ideas about the Sun, the words would keep appearing in exchange for continued loyalty and sacrifices. They thought that there was no greater tragedy to live a life bereft of your soulmate, and would do anything to appease their gods.
Modern day stories are filled with movies and novels focusing on soulmate marks, often silly things with over the top romances that promise a happily ever after if all they could do is find each other.
The Greek philosopher Plato theorized that originally humans had four arms, four legs and four eyes, along with two noses two mouths and two eyes. But the power of humans threatened Zeus, and in fear he split each human into two, cursing them to wander alone to the end of their days, in search of their other half. There are legends of the Titan Prometheus defying Zeus and bringing fire and words to humans in an attempt to make them better. The fire was to help them survive but the marks on their skin was to help them live.
The only problem was that the words are not a guarantee. They are a gamble, a chance, a small flickering flame of hope for happiness that could easily be extinguished if you aren't careful. Just because words on your skin suggest that this person is the best to make you happy doesn't mean that they will. People still have choices, and the ability to choose is everything, making success that much sweeter, but failure that much more painful.
Joan was eight when her words appeared. The alarm clock gave off a soft blue light, the numbers indicating that it was 2 o'clock, the soft light and the distant noises of car engines spilling into the room, a consequence of living in New York City. There was a burning sensation spreading throughout her skin on her upper torso and it was getting worse. She hugged the pillow to her chest and bit down on her fist because she's not a baby she's eight and eight year olds can't cry anymore and she can't cry because she'll wake up Oren but it hurts and all she wants is it to stop hurting and it won't stop please please please-
As abruptly as the pain started it ends. There's a metallic taste in her mouth and a ringing in her ears, but her entire body sinks into the mattress and her breathing starts to even out. Joan lies still for a moment, but then takes a deep breath and pushes herself out of bed. Taking care to make sure that none of the wooden floor boards start to squeak, she quickly tip toes to the bathroom, careful not to wake her new stepfather.
She turns on the bathroom lights and closes the door, eyes dilating and she blinks a few times. She climbs up onto the step ladder in front of the mirror and turns on the faucet, first washing away the small trickle of blood on her knuckles, leaving behind only an imprint of two baby teeth, and then splashes water onto her flushed cheeks.
She takes off her nightgown, brows furrowed, head slightly tilted. Starting from her collarbone neat, beautifully crafted words (she can hear her mother humming in approval. Joan tries but no matter how long she practices her writing always looks like chicken scratch) end around mid-torso. Joan is reminded of the calligraphy classes Mom always makes her take, but these possess an artistic quality that Joan has never been able to produce (maybe they will take calligraphy with her and she will meet him there).
Of course Joan knows about soulmate marks. Doesn't everyone? Her parents had each other's mark, and Oren's had appeared when he was about two (she was playing with him in the sandbox, but she can't ever remember him being in pain. All she could remember is Dad laughing and promising to buy them ice cream). Most of her friends also had them. But unlike them, she stopped daydreaming about what her future soulmate would be like after her father left when she was six. Joan knows that the words are not the end all be all that Disney sometimes sets out to portray, and just because there is one potentially perfect fit doesn't mean that you will be free from tragedy (but all of this reasoning doesn't prevent the small fluttering in her chest from occurring).
But these marks were…odd. For one, most people's marks were on their arms, and they were always black. These words were the same as the color that was on her knuckles just a few moments ago (later in her first anatomy class Joan would have trouble memorizing all the different veins and arteries in the human body, until she figured out that the words were placed along the lines of her major arteries), and very rarely are people's first words to a random stranger this long (maybe they're a nervous sort of person and like to ramble?). Not to mention that she didn't understand quite a few of the words used, and resolved to look them up in the Webster dictionary.
Joan yawned, put her nightgown back on, and decided that she should just go back to bed and deal with it in the morning. She burrowed under her covers, feeling her eyes droop shut before her head even reached the pillow. Her last thought before unconsciousness took her was What kind of name is Sherlock?
A/N Ok, the Egypt thing was completely made up but the part about Plato's theory of soulmates was something that was thought at the time. Thank you for reading, hopefully you like it!