So this is a story that is a crossover from a movie I have recently seen! It's called In Your Eyes, and all the credit goes to this movie. It is a very good movie and you should watch it! I highly recommend it, now I hope you enjoy! Oh right! P.S. I have no idea about war and military background, so it's a bit sketchy there. I am also an American, so there is that.

OoooooO

A little boy with golden brown hair, and dark brown eyes watches as his breath floats in front of him in white puffs. He is wearing a blue puffy jacket, mittens which make his hands itchy, and snow boots that were a size too big for him. But, he didn't care. He watched excitedly as the other kids took turns sliding down the snow covered hill, his heart thumping in his ears. He waited eagerly as his mother led him up the hill, dragging his wooden sled along behind him.

It was finally his turn, and he couldn't stop staring down at the hill. He positioned himself onto his sled, laying on his belly, his hands holding tightly to the front of his sled. His cheeks were warm, his mother giggling behind him.

"Are you ready, John?" His mother's voice was soft and calm, and John waited a few seconds until he finally nodded. And with that his mother gave a gentle push, and down John went, a big smile plastered to his face.

OooooooO

At the same time, across the United Kingdom, another little boy was in school. His black curly untamed hair sat upon his head, his greenish-blue eyes were staring into a book, absorbing all the knowledge.

"Sherlock Holmes, put the book down."He tried to ignore the voice, but it repeated itself again. His eyes flicked up to meet the dull brown eyes of his teacher, Mr. Hughes. He placed a piece of paper upside down on Sherlock's desk, who simply ignored it, knowing it was a graded test which he passed.

Sherlock set the book down, sighing in boredom as he stared forward at the backs of the other students. No one ever looked back at him, afraid that he would ridicule or abuse them with words. He found everyone so stupid, because they all were. He shifted in his desk, placing his hands over the edge in front of him.

He felt cold for some odd reason, as though he were outside in the snow. He didn't know what was happening, but he clung to the desk as though letting go would lead to something terrible. He felt his vision blur, as though he were looking through blurry glasses. He saw snow, and trees, lots of trees. Sherlock felt himself begin to shake, his hands gripping tighter on his desk. He felt like he was sledding, and he shivered in the cold. As he went down what was a steep hill, he saw that he was approaching a tree, and could not stop.

Apparently he was making a scene, and everyone was staring at him. His teacher was approaching him, but Sherlock didn't understand what he was saying. The tree got closer and closer, until he finally hit it. His vision was black, he fell out of his desk and felt the cold floor beneath him.

"John!" He heard a woman's voice, before he fully blacked out.

OoooooooO

John had hit the tree with his sled, yelping out on impact, he had been knocked off and was lying in the snow. He felt like he was bleeding, and he heard a faint voice come from somewhere.

"Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up…" It sounded faint, and John didn't know who was speaking.

"John! John! Please get up, please…" His mother's voice was frantic, and she was gently moving him to get him up. The cold snow seemed oddly comfortable, and he felt a warm liquid matting his hair.

0oooooooo0

John didn't hear the name Sherlock for a while, until he was in Afghanistan. He was currently being shot at during a raid, and the fact that he was seeing nothing but a needle in his arm was a bit unsettling. His vision was blurring from the desert floor, to some dirty room with dark lighting. John squeezed his eyes shut, bullets flying past him in a blur.

John was breathing hard, sweat sticking to his military gear. He tried to move, but his brain was fuzzy, as though he were high. He stumbled from his spot, falling onto the hot dirt floor. He heard someone yelling at him.

"Capitan! Get back!" Someone yelled, but John couldn't move. For a second he felt like he was floating, but then he felt something go right through him. It happened so fast, and John did not know how to react. He fell to the floor, his body numb, and his shoulder on fire. He'd been shot.

"He's down! We need a medic!" He was being bragged away from the line of fire, yelling out in pain.

"He is the medic!" Another voice yelled back, making John grunt at the irony. He was being hover over by another person, his vision no longer blurry, and he couldn't see the needle in his arm anymore. He saw the look of shock the other man had on his face as he was putting pressure of John's wound.

"Capitan, stay awake...we need you to stay awake!...Capitan….awake…" John was losing consciousness, and he felt blood pooling under his gear. He was breathing hard, and he was trying to stay awake. He felt cold, and was shivering, his teeth chattering.

"Sherlock!" He heard someone whisper aggressively, making John concentrate on the voice. "What would mother say?" The voice sounded smug, and cold. John gave up, thinking he was going crazy and let himself slip into slumber.

OoooooooO

John left the army. Or he was discharged, leaving him with a limp and a tremor in his hand. He still saw things that weren't really there, and heard voices that were only in his head. The name Sherlock popped up every now and then, making him want to throw something. He was crazy, he decided, and for a while there he lost himself.

OoooooooO

Sherlock began to work with the Yard, chasing murderers and solving mysteries. Shooting heroin behind closed doors, and passing out with a needle stuck in his arm. His massive intelligence made his brain work as fast as a computer, and whenever it would overheat, he would shoot up to calm his senses.

He lived life to many extremes, and whenever he would have an 'episode', he felt as though he weren't alone in the world. He saw many things. Bloodshed, tons of it, enough to last a lifetime. He saw a woman; presumably a therapist, speak of getting used to normal life again, and ways to deal with depression. He also saw lovers, a lot of woman lovers, all different each time.

Sherlock recalled them calling him John, but he didn't know any John's and for a time there he though he were crazy, these episodes disrupting his life. The 'episodes' would occur at random times, whenever he was chasing a criminal, conducting experiments, ridiculing the Yard for their incompetence, and or when he was shooting up.

Basically it annoyed Sherlock, and he wanted to find a way to make this stop. Ever since he was a child they bugged him, and he wanted to find who this John was. He went to his older brother Mycroft, which was a terrible decision, resulting in him going to a mental institute for three months. Sherlock never trusted anyone ever again, even though he never did in the first place, but this just made him more isolated.

OoooooooO

For months, neither of them had an episode, and it was as though all their problems were gone.

OooooooooO

John was on a date when he first spoke to Sherlock.

He was out on a date with a woman named Sarah, a colleague from the clinic he was currently working at. John really liked her, her nice smile, her long legs, and her long brownish red hair. They got long, and John thought maybe they could have a relationship afterwards.

They were at a restaurant called 'Crewshaw' (obviously a fake restaurant). Chatting about the day, and laughing at dumb jokes John was telling every now and then. He didn't notice it at first, his vision blurred as he looked at the menu. First there were words, then he saw a violin. He was looking at the strings of a violin, and fingers were wrapped around it, holding it up against his chin.

John was stunned at first, setting the menu down and excusing himself from the table.

"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, and John nodded his head quickly.

"Just need to use the loo real quick," he replied, and before she could say anything else he was gone.

He calmly enter the posh bathroom, ignoring the person washing his hands. Making his way to the nearest stall he secured the lock, and sat on the toilet. Taking deep breaths he tried to calm down, his vision still blending in with the violin. He never expected to hear it be played.

The melody was making him forget how to breath, because the violin was new to him. He had never heard it before, and he was a bit appalled.

The song played for a while, and when John heard it end he felt tears in his eyes.

"That was beautiful," he said.

OooooO

"That was beautiful," Sherlock heard from nowhere, making him whip his head around.

"What?" He answered, to who? How would he bloody know?

"What?" The voice replied, equally shocked, "can you hear me?" it asked, a bit low.

"Yes...I can..?" Sherlock did not know what was happening, and he did not like not knowing.

It was quiet for a bit, both not knowing what to say, and John was worried that something had happened.

"Hello? You still there voice in my head?" He asked, making Sherlock scoff.

"I am pretty sure you are the voice in my head." He answered, making John smile.

"Where am I?" John asked, seeing a plush armchair from across him, and a kitchen just beyond that.

"My living room...why am I in a stall?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the porcelain floor he was staring at, and john laughed.

"I escaped to the bathroom because I suddenly saw something besides my menu in front of me, so I ran away from my date." John forgot he was on a date for a few moments there.

"Ah, a date?" The voice asked, and John cleared his throat.

"Yes...It's when two people who like each other have dinner," he teased, making Sherlock roll his eyes.

"I know what a date is…" Sherlock said, and john sighed.

"Right...Well I should get back to mine...Now voice in my head, do you go by anything else?" John was getting up from the seat, unlocking the stall door.

"Like I said, you're the voice in my head. And the name's Sherlock Holmes.." John felt his body stop.

"Sherlock Holmes?" He repeated, his eyebrows knitting together.

"And you are?" Sherlock asked.

"John...John Watson." He answered, finally leaving the stall. No one was around, so John went to the sinks to wash his hands.

"So that's what you look like..." He heard Sherlock say, and John felt his ears heat up. "Nice to put a name with a face," he continued.

"I'm not much to look at, but its better than some wart skinned weirdo right?" John joked, but Sherlock answered seriously.

"That is a good thing though. Having a 'weirdo' who is in my head would be...a major mood killer." He said, making John laugh.

"Thanks mate, that makes me feel better. I think?" Someone entered the bathroom, giving John an odd look. John cleared his throat and looked back down at his hands which were still under the water.

"You should go back to your date. I think she's waiting for your return." John shut the water off and looked back into the mirror.

"Right. Uhm...would you like to continue this conversation later?" John felt nervous, afraid the other would say no.

"I'll be up all night. So if you want, then yes." Sherlock replied, making John smile widely.

"It's a date." John said, and without knowing how he did it. He cut the connection off, and returned to his date with Sarah.

"Did you get lost?" Sarah asked, humor in her eyes. John cleared his throat as he sat across the table from her.

"Sorry about that. Just uhm... Just..." John didn't know how to explain what had happened, so he didn't try to. "Well anyways. I'm back, so let's order?" He smiled awkwardly, and so did Sarah.

"Right, yea." She said, looking back down to her menu. John did the same, his thoughts filled with the baritone voice of the mystery man in his head.