John looked down at his wrist. He couldn't believe his sister had managed to convince him to get the TiMER, and yet, there it was. With only two hours before it would hit zero. He certainly wasn't ready for his soul mate, what with his limp and no way to support himself in London. John pulled his sleeve over the device, and tried to do something with his blog.

He rubbed his face, the thoughts of the TiMER wouldn't go away. He remembered how happy Harry was when she saw how little time he had to wait, how Harry was trying to stay with Clara no matter how many problems arose.

John shut his laptop and gathered up his cane. He wanted to get to his therapist on time.

He didn't mention the machine counting down the seconds on his wrist at all during the appointment.

When Mike offers to get some coffee, he doesn't complain. His army pension isn't letting him live a luxurious life (not that he wants one), and when Mike brings him to the Morgue Department at Bart's, he can't help but shift on his feet. His TiMER was only seconds away from ending.

John swallowed thickly, ignoring Mike's strange look at his hesitance at opening the door to the lab, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the door.

Simultaneous rings was all he could hear in that one moment when his eyes met those of sharp blue.

Then those eyes blinked, and time continued on.

Mike was looking at the both of them strangely, and John did his best to ignore him. It would be the strangest minutes of his life... before he moved in with his soul mate, Sherlock Holmes.

Everyone wondered how he could put up with Sherlock. Some knew all of the reasons (Mike and Mycroft), and the rest couldn't see beyond the surface.

When he looked through the window to find the very same man about to swallow a pill with the serial killer cabbie, John didn't have to think. The gun was out, in his hand, and aimed at the cabbie's head. He wasn't about to lose his soul mate in a bout of stupidity before he even had a chance to know the man.

One shot, and he was gone.

After he watched Sherlock fall from the roof of Bart's building, he couldn't stop staring at his TiMER. It continued to say that he was still alive, and he had had it checked by many professionals in the field; it wasn't broken.

John wondered why Sherlock had faked his death, because the man never did anything without a reason. He decided that he would go along with whatever Sherlock had planned, but the next time they met, those cheekbones will be having a bruise.

He pretended to mourn, accepted the condolences from everyone with a grim face, went back to his therapist, and visited the fake grave to stare at the simple font of Sherlock's tombstone for sometimes hours at a time only for the chance to glance at the thin silhouette near the tree line. He never gave away that he knew he was being watched.

The three years weren't easy on John. He had gotten used to opening the fridge or microwave or cabinet to find some grotesque body part in his face, to strings of music or noise at a time when nothing should ever be awake, to making more than a single cup of tea during the time he had Sherlock as a flat mate. But time wore down on him, and eventually those expectations faded away.

John sees Mycroft every once and a while, but only in passing with a strange look from the man. Mrs. Hudson still cares after him now and again with her usual phrase, and he still works at the Surgery.

He walked out of the elevator on Lestrade's floor to disorder. And there he was with his billowing black coat. John walked up to him, gaining attention with every step forward until he was in front of him with a smile.

Then he punched him. A promise was a promise after all.

Sherlock hit the floor, and John finally spoke. "About time you came back."

As John watched his soul mate get back up, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't gotten the TiMER. If the TiMER never existed in the first place. Then he dismissed the thought, watching Sherlock rip into Anderson like a child and wrapping paper. TiMER or no, John would have met Sherlock, gravitated toward him if he believed in destiny, and would have been at his side; Sherlock was what John needed, and it was the same way in reverse. It will probably be like that until the end of time, and John didn't feel like that was going to be a problem.