Perhaps in a Different Life
Introduction (explanation): This is a collection of completely unrelated one-shots. The rating varies, but that will probably be smut in at least one chapter (because everything ends in pwp with me) but I'll hold back on the rating until then. Bad language, of course, too. As far as plot wise, this is more of a writing exercise. I love Sherlock Holmes (of all kinds) and I love putting characters in different situations. These are all labeled by what AU they are, so feel free to skip about, they're completely unrelated. So far, I have no plans of making any of these multi-chaptered, but if I get enough people asking for it, I'll probably end up doing it (because I like to please people). I'll put warning labels per chapter, don't worry. Enjoy!
X-Men AU
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language.
"What are you doing here freak?"
"I believe I was invited."
John Watson had no idea what was happening. He didn't know where he was or who he was with or what he was doing, but that was normal. He knew he knew a few seconds ago, but it was completely gone now.
"Why?" Alright. An irritated woman, not a good sign usually.
"I believe he wants me to take a look." A tall thin man. John could make the logical conclusion that he was with him considering the way they were standing together. Making bitter conversation with the police officer, it seemed, the man passed under the yellow tape and motioned him along. John followed habitually.
"Whoa. Who's this?"
"John Watson, a colleague." The taller man insisted. So they definitely knew each other. John held back the need to check his dog tags. Once he was alone, he'd check his wallet, as he always did in these circumstances, but it rarely helped in his short term memory. He'd never remember the last few days or so, but he'd learned to deal with it.
"You? A colleague? Did he follow you home?" She persisted. John stared at her blankly. He wasn't sure. Did he? This wasn't his new flat, was it? Someone had suggested a new flat mate for him, but again, he couldn't remember who or who they showed him to. He greatly hoped he hadn't done anything to warrant a police search all ready. He was rather good at keeping his mutation to himself and with the rising alert to keep the mutations at bay, it was essential that he didn't do anything to draw attention to himself.
"Shall I stay here then?" He suggested. At least then he'd be able to make sense of what he was doing. However, the taller male simply lifted the yellow banner and insisted him though. With his limp, he trudged along. Another man, this one dressed to prevent contamination.
"Anderson. You're wife away for long?" That was one name, at least. Not a helpful name, he was sure. He still had no idea who he was following.
"Oh, don't pretend like you figured that out. Someone told you."
"Your deodorant told me that." His 'colleague' stated cockily. Even John found it strange. What kind of situation had he gotten himself in?
"My deodorant?"
"It's for men!"
"Of course it's for bloody men. I'm wearing it."
"So is Donovan." He trudged past them with a smirk.
"I don't know what you're insinuating,"
"Oh. I'm sure little Sally just came over for a nice chat and scrubbed your floors judging by the state of her knees." Had he been picked up by another mutant? John supposed it was entirely possible. He hadn't been around any other mutants since his stay in the military and that had been more nerve wracking than anything. He wasn't a harm to anyone and he didn't want to harm anyone, but then again, a lot of people didn't believe that. It was best to keep things to himself. He aimlessly glanced down at the woman's knees with a curious smile and followed at the still nameless man.
Sherlock! Right. He was with Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective. The memories of the last few days flooded back in a fog of blurry edges and disoriented perspective. That was strange. That never happened to him. John couldn't recall a time when his memories ever came back on their own like that. As far as he knew, Sherlock wasn't a mutant, or rather, as far as he'd been told. He was simply and incredibly skilled human. He knew about his stay in Afghanistan, his sister, and even her wife and drinking habits. John feared for the worse. How long until the man realized what he was and was disgusted by him?
"Put this on." One of the men shoved a suit at him. Right, the murders. Sherlock had asked him to come along with his doctor skills to investigate the suicide murders. John tugged it on, though noticed that Sherlock did not. He remembered he was a strange man as well.
"Who the bloody hell is this?" A hand pushed against his chest, holding him back and John glanced over the older man curiously. He was pleased that they were as familiar with him as he was with them. Sherlock snapped the door closed behind him.
"John Watson. He's one of us."
"You're a mutant." The man scoffed. John's heart twisted worriedly. These were the police, after all. Hardly people to be trusting.
"I don't- "
"Don't deny it, John."
"Sherlock's a telepath." The older man grumbled with obvious displeasure. "Not that it makes him any less of a prick."
"I didn't think your memory loss was that bad." Sherlock crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly and John stared at him blankly. It was impossible to tell if he had really told his new flat mate about his memory loss. He, of all people, knew that one couldn't always trust one's own memories. It made life hard and often times unbearable, but John wouldn't have it any other way.
"I did that, you know. Gave it back to you."
"Uh. Thank you?"
"You don't sound too happy." The older man stated suspiciously. John was still making heads or tails of the situation.
"Well, generally memory loss is a good thing for me." He explained as calmly as possible.
"How could that possibly be a good thing?" He gruffed back.
"This is DI Lestrade. He electrocutes stuff." Sherlock explained.
"It's a mild static shock." Lestrade corrected.
"It's like twelve tasers."
"I tried to tell you not to touch me. That was your own damn fault."
"And I'm, if you remember correctly, Sherlock Holmes. Telepath and mild telekinesis."
"He's up to a billiard ball." Lestrade teased. The button zipper on his suit snapped up around his neck suddenly, giving a mild spark upon contact with his skin. Lestrade glared viciously at him, holding the zipper down off of his skin. John glanced between them a little wearily, but it seemed safe enough. He could remember times in the military where they would try to weed out the mutants from the humans. John wasn't sure what happened to them after that, but he was glad for his mutation in those times.
"So then, what is it you do?" The electric man prodded inquisitively.
"Mind your own bloody business, that's what!" The shorter man snapped suddenly, startling both of them. John's expression faded from rage to confusion in a few short seconds and he blinked blankly.
"What?" He questioned back with no explanation.
"Uh- your mutation?" Lestrade repeated.
"I," John began slowly. "Steal memories."
"As in-?"
"As in he could make you forget how to walk, talk, breather or think." Sherlock explained. He sounded overjoyed, actually.
"Not that I would do that!" John assured them quickly. "I mean, it's a lot more complex than that."
"Of course it is. It's far more than that. If I'm right, which I am of course, you can take memories, duplicate personalities, exchange memories, replace memories, and store them." He seemed to get more and more excited as he spoke. John wasn't sure if he should be worried or not. Had Sherlock taken that from his mind? Or was that an actual deduction?
"So you take people's memories and make them different?"
"I can't create memories, but I can switch them from person to person. I can give you Sherlock's memories and vice versa." John smiled rather shyly, but was relieved that neither of them seemed too put off. It had been a long time since he'd been with any other mutants that he wasn't even sure how they would react. In fact, he couldn't remember how the last ones acted. Sometimes he hadn't realized what he forgot until he tried to remember.
"That's interesting." He wasn't sure if Lestrade was being sincere.
"Regardless, the body?" The DI motioned to the dead woman and Sherlock scoffed as if it weren't important.
"I highly doubt she's going anywhere." He assured him before going to work. John watched him with appreciation. Mutant or not, he was an extraordinary man.
"Stop it." Sherlock hissed lowly. Instantly, John was sure it was aimed at him, but Lestrade gapped as if this had happened before.
"Don't think, DI. It's annoying."
"Do you have something or not?"
"Yes, in fact." He smirked, obviously pleased with himself. John was hit with a sudden barrage of information, nearly causing him to black out. Even so, it was absolutely amazing. Sherlock saw all of that in only a few minutes?
"God dammit! I told you not to do that anymore! Why can't you just talk like a normal person?" Lestrade demanded, attempting to sooth his throbbing head with a push to the temples.
"Normal people are boring and this way you understand better."
"If I don't fucking pass out first."
"I'm sorry," Though he didn't sound serious at all. "I'm excited."
"That's brilliant." John breathed passed his pain. Sherlock looked honestly surprised. He offered no response, though supposedly because he wasn't entirely sure how to handle a compliment, and turned back to the officer.
"There's no suitcase." Even when given the exact view from Sherlock's eye, that didn't mean they were any closer to understanding how he worked. Information was useless without understanding and that was something even Sherlock couldn't communicate to them.
"What do you mean there's no suitcase? There's got to be a suitcase." He rushed out of the room, yelping at the workers for whatever it was he was looking for. Halfway down the stairs, he had an epiphany and was gone before John could properly follow what was happening. The little army man limped down the stairs with Lestrade on his heels.
"Sad to say, but he's long gone."
"Fuck! Great. Now I have to walk fucking home." John snapped viciously. Like before, it was gone in an instant leaving behind only puzzlement. Lestrade eyed him.
"Why do you keep doing that?"
"Dissociative identity disorder. It's a side effect. Sorry." He apologized quickly.
"You do that a lot?"
"Only after," John sort of shrugged in a way that explained to Lestrade exactly, but kept the normal people around them completely unaware. He could already tell. These people weren't friendly towards them. They didn't even know Sherlock was a mutant and already treated him awful.
"It'll stop eventually." He assured the man. Even if they did find him, John would never give away anyone else. He'd simply forget. Sometimes he simply forgot a lot of things. Sometimes he wondered if his real name was even John Watson. It was pointless to draw on it, though. Right now, he needed to get back to the flat.
"Main road's that way." Lestrade pointed out. "And- be careful with Sherlock. If I were you, I'd think about getting a new flat." The warning flew over John's head. He wasn't concerned. In fact, he rather liked Sherlock. He'd never had someone give him memories before. He'd taken them and had them offer to be taken, but never given. He actually liked it. There was no harm in at least trying. Hopefully he wouldn't forget how to get home or where he lived, again.
He heard a phone ring, but thought nothing of it. Then another and a third. They were following him? John peeked into the phone booth, distrustfully glancing about. This was bad. This was really bad. Don't answer it. Don't answer it. They found you don't answer it.
"Hello?"
"There's a camera to your left. Do you see it?" Oh god. He was right. He needed to run and he needed to run now. If it weren't for his damn leg, he would have to. John would have ran in whatever direction got him away from here quickest. It wasn't until the government started taking serious action against mutants did John realized how much of a coward he was. It was frightening. No one knew what they did with mutants, what they would do with them and that was far more frightening than ever knowing.
"Who is this?"
"The camera. Do you see it?" John swallowed and glanced in the direction he was told. The camera turned away from him.
"To the right." The camera turned away.
"And the corner." This was getting worse. He was going to be kidnapped and no one would even know.
"And the last one. Now get in the car." John glanced to the street and the waiting car. This was government and he debated with himself about attempting escape again. Ultimately, it would be rather pointless. They'd hunt him down regardless. Slowly, he climbed into the tinted window car and hoped for the best. There was a woman in the back seat, texting away on her phone. She paid him no attention. He wasn't sure if that was good news or not.
Act natural. No. Act normal. Normal was good. John was totally normal.
"Hello." Alright. That was not normal. She glanced at him, taking in an eyeful before looking away again.
"Hi."
"Do you have a name?"
"Uuh. Anthea."
"Is that your real name?"
"No." She laughed and John decided that this wasn't going well. He was brought to a warehouse and he'd given up any hope of making out of this alive. This was what he expected. Taking him off the street where no one noticed him and killed him in deafening silence. If he was going out, then he was taking their memories with him. Oh, who was he kidding? That wouldn't make him any better than them.
He climbed out and bravely limped his way into the cold, empty room. On the other hand, it didn't look like a government trouble. One man? He stood a few feet away from him, calming himself.
"I know about you, John Watson."
"Okay." No violence. That was a good thing.
"You moved in with Sherlock rather quickly. Should we be expecting a happy announcement by the end of the week?"
"Who are you?" This man obviously knew more than he should, and that umbrella looked far more dangerous than it should. Another mutant, perhaps.
"Someone who's very worried about him. I'm sure if you asked him, though, he'd say his arch enemy." Arch enemy? He was with the government, then he must know about Sherlock's mutation. Very worried about him meant he definitely knew and was attempting to keep him under control. This could go either way. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he checked it without thinking.
"I'm sorry. Am I disturbing you?" The stranger questioned with little inflection but John could read between the lines. He shook his head a little.
"No." John answered simply. Lovely, Sherlock finally remembered him. He wanted him back at the flat. That would have been nice and much easier to do with he hadn't fled without him.
"I have an offer for you."
"An offer? No thanks."
"You don't know what it is." Considering everything that had happened so far, it wasn't going to be anything good. "For a generous amount of money, I would like you to keep tabs on Sherlock."
"As in spy on him?"
"If you would like to think about it that way, then yes."
"No thank you." Another buzz attracted his attention again and he earned a frown from the stranger.
"I know about Sherlock and I know about you and your ability." The man explained. John wet his lips a little, glancing away from his phone and took a moment to organize his next sentence. Never admit to anything.
"Are you?"
"Certainly not." He looked disgusted by the very thought. John tried not to scowl.
"I think it's time for me to leave." John stated plainly. He was allowed to leave without a fight, thankfully. He had no idea what this was about, but his paranoia turned to anger swiftly. He was sure this was just to intimidate him and to intimidate Sherlock. He couldn't get close to Sherlock, though. Meaning the man wasn't nearly as powerful as he tried to put on to be. Unfortunately, that gave John little comfort.
"Take him home."
o-o-o
"I –uh- just met a friend of yours." John peeked out the window nervously. Sherlock glanced toward him and instantly, he felt a stab of invasion in the back of his mind. The taller male scoffed, but didn't respond to his question.
"Can I use your phone?"
"What's wrong with yours?"
"The number could be recognized." Sure. He should have known that. He wasn't sure if he liked Sherlock invading his mind like that, either. Surely he wasn't one of those mutants that went off using their abilities as they felt like it.
"Don't. Don't do that anymore." John insisted firmly.
"Pardon?"
"I don't want you reading my mind without my permission." Who knew what he was doing in there. He brought his memory back this time, sure, but he knew telepaths to be very powerful. He didn't know a lot of them, but the ones he did know about, their abilities were a lot more than simple mind reading. Sherlock seemed mildly insulted.
"Of course. If that's what you want." He agreed. It wasn't an issue of trust; it was an issue of privacy.
"Thank you."
"Phone." Sherlock instructed, holding his palm out. With an agitated sigh, John placed it in his hand. The man returned it to him almost immediately.
"Text the number on my desk over there."
"Mrs. Hudson has a phone."
"Oh. I tried calling to her. Didn't hear me."
John Watson had no idea what was going on. He glanced at the piece of paper in his hand and the phone in the other and decided that he was probably texting someone. A small glance around assured him he was in his new flat, but he couldn't recall the last several hours. Not unusual at all.
"John?" Hazel eyes turned to the man immediately and he blinked away his confusion.
"Yeah?" John responded completely normal.
"Is this going to happen often?" So this man knew. That was a relief. Well, he was his flat mate after all. It wasn't usually a good idea to tell his flat mate when there was something wrong. This was a new thing, though. John wouldn't have told him if there was a chance he would be in danger, meaning this man was a mutant too.
"Uh. No." He finally answered. "I- before we met," Which admittedly was only yesterday and was a very broad sort of field. "One of the flats I checked out led to some trouble. He tried to blackmail me and things got a little violent." John explained. "I protected myself and got more than I bargained for. You know?" He tested the waters gently. Sherlock nodded.
"Telepath, remember? Wrong choice of words."
"Right. Well when I take memories, sometimes my own get knocked free. He must have had some awful memories. My mind is trying to get rid of them."
"And it's not doing very well. This is the second time today." Sherlock informed him, though he hardly sounded worried. Not that he had any reason to be worried.
"Yes. Well. I'm not controlling it. It must have been traumatic." Even as old as he was and as long as he'd had his mutation, he was still getting use to it. Of course, it didn't help that he'd managed to wipe his memory completely clean twice in his life. That set him back a couple years in completely understanding himself.
"Do you want me to help?" His flat mate offered almost excitedly.
"What do you want to do?" John questioned back nervously. Sherlock motioned him near and despite his anxiety, the little army man allowed him to touch fingers to his temple.
"I'll fill in your memory like I did earlier and I could try to get rid of whatever it is you are. I can probably do it without wiping your short term memory."
"Probably is the word that worries me in there." He murmured with a small sigh. He nodded a little. There wasn't a lot Sherlock could damage, he supposed. Nothing more than he could do on his own. It might have been caused from not using his gift in such a long time, he couldn't exactly risk it in the military, but there was no telling. If he really had picked up some bad memories, then things would sort them out by themselves, but if it was something else, he had no idea how bad it would get. Sure, it was his short term memory now, but how long until his mind completely self destructed?
"Done." Sherlock smirked. John stared at the green grey eyes hovering so close. Already?
"Actually," He started slowly, touching a palm to his head. "That's much better." He hadn't felt this good in years. It was a little startling. His mind was clear and he didn't have the feeling that his thoughts weren't his own. It was almost as if he were normal. John never actually wanted to be normal, but it still felt nice.
"Much better. Thank you, Sherlock." John smiled gently.
"My pleasure." Sherlock would use any chance he could to show off his mutation. "You're a very interesting man." There was no doubt about that. John chuckled a little, turning back to his phone.
"You wanted me to text this number."
John Watson saw the potential for a great friendship with this man. Anyone that could ease his paranoia was a great man in his book.