Hello peeps! This is just a little something I wrote so I could have a break from my superlock fic so sorry if it's not great. The soulmate idea in this fic is totally original so I'll be posting the rules for the fic at the end, you shouldn't need them, it makes sense on its own (I think) but if anyne thinks the rules wuld be helpful, leave it in a review and I'll post them.

Happy reading!

Everyone found their soulmate. It was just a known thing, the Earth orbited the Sun, grass was green, everyone-no matter who, when or where-found their soulmate. Except him, it seems.

At first John had been eager to feel that pull to someone, he had wanted to find the person he belonged with but as time went on and he met more and more of his potentials, he started to lose hope. All 12 of them had felt the pull same as him but when they touched: nothing. There was no pain to indicate they were mates. He remembered when he had met the first one in high school, John had thought he would be one of the lucky few that found his mate early on in life but no, it wasn't to be. They had parted ways amicably and John dismissed it.

It was totally normal to have one or two potentials but after number five was one of his patients in Helmand, he started to be more wary. John's friends named him three continents Watson after having found seven, eight and nine on three separate continents and that was when he started to actively avoid any potentials he felt. God was it difficult, he was essentially defying biology or fate or whatever but if anything, it did help him develop an iron will that many soldiers seemed to take comfort in whether he was leading them on a mission or stitching them back up after one.

And if when he got an email from Harry informing him about her level 2 bond to lovely girl called Clara, he was a bit resentful, John believed it was justified.

Ten, eleven and twelve were touched in the months leading up to him being shot and as he felt the bullet tear through his shoulder John was not afraid. He had not met his mate, he could not die. That did not stop him praying, please God let me live but whether that was to keep him alive or to relieve him from the misery that was his existence, he did not know.

When he returned to London with a limp, a tremor and a prescription for anti-depressants, John was the lowest he had ever been in his life. There was no bond at the back of his mind to comfort him and he didn't think he could take another failed potential so he stayed holed up in his tiny bedsit and counted away the days. If he eyed the gun in his bedside table more often as time went by, there was no one there to worry about him, was there?

To start with, Sherlock was not a psychopath or even a highly functioning sociopath, he was just a boy. An extraordinary boy, much like his brother but that's all he was. He was no different than anyone else and when his Mother sat him down at the dinner table and proceeded to tell him about the different bonds in the world, he was as eager as anyone his age.

"Sherlock, there are 4 types of bonds, ranging from level 1 to 4, the higher the number, the stronger the bond." Sherlock adored his Mother and listened with rapt attention every time she explained this to him. He wanted to go looking for his mate, he wanted to feel that pull to someone, and he wanted someone to understand him as no one else could.

His enthusiasm dwindled however, once he got to high school. People started to change and so did Sherlock as his mind developed. Mycroft had left for university and there was no one for him to practise his deductions with so he tried to include his classmates but instead of looking at him fondly like his Mother and brother did, they called him a freak and he didn't understand why.

"I can see by the stains on your rugby uniform that you were with one of your team mates behind the equipment shed and that your girlfriend doesn't know about it." The massive brute had actually smacked him in the mouth for that one but when he went to his Mother for help, she said it was his fault, that he shouldn't say his deductions out loud as they could upset people. Sherlock still couldn't understand and became withdrawn both at home and at school and as the years passed, all the information on mates was steadily deleted as a new vice stole his attention. Drugs changed his mind in a way he had never felt before, taking cocaine slowed down his mind, he was able to let go and not think for hours while his high lasted and the world seemed easier to handle.

Sherlock sometimes spent days at a time completely oblivious to everything around him and he loved it, evidently it had been inevitable that he would become addicted fairly quickly. Eventually Mycroft put an end to his 'habit' with a stint in a rehab facility in Sussex and once he was of sound mind again, the first thing Sherlock did was put up walls so that no one could ever get close to him again and break him like before. He never wanted to be that vulnerable again, to rely on the idea of a person he had never met to save him from the world was foolish and not worth his time any longer.

His true salvation however, was not blocking himself off, it came in the form of a crime scene a few weeks after being freed from the hellish countryside. Sherlock could see everything that had happened to the victim and made connections so quickly that his mind felt clear and unburdened for the first time since his early childhood. He found that he wanted to investigate more and broke into the crime scene, it was much easier than it should have been, and for the first time in years, he let loose his deductions at the DI in charge.

Of course, they put him in handcuffs but once they got the evidence they needed, the DI (Lestrade he later learned) came and asked him to explain again but this time, a little slower. Someone was listening without disgust or annoyance and he felt truly happy so when Lestrade offered him a cold case to look at, Sherlock took the chance with both hands and completely deleted everything he had learnt to do with mates to make more room for blood splatter patterns in his mind palace. He solved it within minutes and he realised he had found himself a new addiction.

John had not spoken to anyone in days, or was it weeks? He couldn't remember but his fear of potentials had kept him inside for far too long and for once he had woken up with the will to move instead of sitting on his bed staring at the wall so he picked up his cane and stepped out into the bright sunshine. He almost had to shield his eyes as he was so used to the terrible lighting in his room.

John hobbled steadily to the park near his bedsit as his mind wandered, not very far though as while part of it was constantly scanning for threats (the soldier part), another part was awaiting the pull in his gut that came with a potential (the stupid, irrational part). People would probably think him foolish for being afraid of finding a potential as they were normally so rare but he couldn't help his terror at the idea of feeling that pull, the thought of seeing someone's eager face fall to the disappointment he was so accustomed to, made his stomach twist violently. He was so preoccupied in fact that it took a few shouts for Mike Stamford to get his attention.

"John! John Watson!" He spun around in a perfect about face. "Ah Mike of course, hello."

"Yeah I know, I got fat." It was true. He had. But John, ever the gentleman, just shrugged it off. He tried to keep a straight face as they spoke about him being shot but it was difficult and his skin was starting to itch the longer he was outside.

"How about a coffee? We can catch up." Reluctantly, John agreed and they sat down on a bench in a sort of awkward silence until Mike broke it. "So, staying in London then?"

"I'll stay as long as I can but it's a bit difficult to find an affordable flat in London these days." He stretched his leg as the phantom ache returned.

"Why don't you get a flat share, might make thing a bit easier?" John considered it for a moment but then dismissed it, with all his issues, who'd want him as a flatmate. It later transpired that he had said this out loud but instead of the sympathetic scoff he had been expecting, Mike just smiled and said, "You know, someone said that exact same thing to me just this morning."

He agreed readily and they made their way to St Bart's but as he drew closer, he could feel a twinge in his gut. He considered making an excuse and turning the other way but his body would not obey his mind, his iron will failed him and he found himself walking stiffly as he tried to resist. He could feel his heartbeat speeding up and his breathing becoming erratic but no matter what he did, John could not stop himself and ultimately gave in and let his body carry him towards another potential, all the while trying to prevent the panic attack that had become an unwelcome side effect of his phobia.

As they drew closer to the door, the pull in John's gut became an acute pain that was stronger than anything he had felt before but as hope started to grow in his chest, he was consumed by the memories of all his failures and it took everything he had to collect himself as he walked through the door and into the lab. His mind cleared somewhat as he got closer to the potential and he struggled to regain control over his traitorous limbs before he full on threw himself at the man bent over the microscope on the other side of the room.

John dare not speak in case he said something stupid. Well, he told himself that was the reason, in reality, he was a bit too short of breath from his almost panic attack to form any sort of coherent sentence. On the other hand though, the man in front of him showed no signs of feeling the pull, John knew he was hypersensitive to such things but from this distance the other man should have been feeling something. Maybe he had finally broken, he was feeling potentials that didn't really exist. If that was the case, he really needed to consult a doctor, preferably one with a straight jacket.

"Mike, can I borrow your phone?" John could feel the tension in his gut increasing as he refused to move but as he watched the tall, well-dressed man exhibit no signs of the pull, his resolve strengthened while his mind crumbled at the thought of starting to create a pull where there was nothing.

"Sorry I left it in my coat." Mike didn't seem that apologetic but John wasn't concentrating on that as his hand was reaching into his pocket without his consent and holding out his phone. "Here, use mine." The words were forced through clenched teeth and he was frankly surprised he was capable of speech.

Doubt started to cloud his mind as he realised that his symptoms were too vivid to be in his head, it wasn't just his mind creating pain like for his leg; this was his body acting against his will to get closer to the potential. He had never heard of a person not feeling a pull although John was sure many of the potentials he hadn't touched would beg to differ. Perhaps this man was the anomaly. Maybe he would be able to get away with not touching him considering the other man clearly felt nothing.

This did nothing to stop his body trying to get closer, he was shaking with the effort of just holding out his phone to the other man and not grabbing him when he stepped closer.

"Afghanistan or Iraq?" John's eyes had been focussed on his trembling hand but he raised them to look at the man that was now only a few feet away. He swiftly let go of his phone when a hand reached out to take it, not wanting to run the risk of touching him. It was only after a long moment that the question registered and he started having not expected it.

John turned to look at Mike but there was just amusement coming from him so he turned back around to stare at the man before him. "Sorry, what?"

"Army doctor, invalided home from military service, where was it, Afghanistan or Iraq?" His phone handed back to him along with an appraising glance which he ignored. This man was something else, he somehow knew about John's military service and he couldn't feel the pull between them that, at least on his end, was getting stronger.

But there was something that he had observed while watching the strange man. His hand kept twitching and while it could have been a tick that he didn't know about, he was willing to bet this was a sign that the pull was starting to have an effect on the man before him. After noticing that, it was only too easy to see the slightly confused scowl that now adorned the man's face and the tension in his shoulders.

Maybe he could feel something after all.

"Afghanistan but how did you-"

"Sorry John but I've got to get back to class, we'll talk later though alright?" Mike was moving towards the door and John nodded absentmindedly. This man was by far the most intriguing person he had ever met and definitely better at masking the effect the pull was having on him than John. The tremble wasn't just in his hand anymore and he pulled himself to attention to try and win back some of the control he was famous for.

From somewhere behind him, he heard the door close and the change that overcame the once poised man almost scared him.

He rounded on John and loomed over him, no longer masking the manic look in his eyes as cold indifference. Oh, he could definitely feel it, he thought triumphantly but that feeling was soon washed away as the man spoke.

"You're an Army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic; more likely because he recently walked out on his wife. And I know that your limp is psychosomatic so why the hell, are you a potential for me. What could possibly interest me about you?"

The only thing he could do was stop and stare in sheer disbelief but soon anger sparked and took its place. He knew it would be bad-the Watsons were known for their vicious temper-but there was nothing he could do to stop himself throwing a response back to the man when he knew he should have just shrugged it off and tried to walk away.

"Yeah, and you're some ponsy git that thinks he knows everything. Who do you think I am, God? I have no idea why I'm a potential for you or vice versa so how about we stick to questions that can actually be answered. Now who are you, and how did you know that stuff?"

Over the course of his rant, the volume of his voice had grown and he was almost shouting by the end. The tension in his body fell away though, almost as if by just arguing, they were getting closer to satisfying the pull. There was a moment of silence between them as they glared at each other but soon the other man was talking again.

"Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says military. But the fact you know Mike said trained at Bart's so, Army Doctor-obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists. You've been abroad, but not sunbathing. Your limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic. Wounded in action, then. Wounded in action, suntan – Afghanistan or Iraq. Then there's your brother. Your phone. It's expensive, e-mail enabled, MP3 player, but you're looking for a flatshare – you wouldn't waste money on a phone like this. It's a gift, then. Also the scratches. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. I doubt you would treat your one luxury item like this, so it's had a previous owner. Next bit's easy. You know it already."

It felt like he was reading from a script when he replied, as if this had been written millennia ago and they were doing nothing but acting it out:

"The engraving."

"Harry Watson: clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin, but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live. Unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now, Clara. Who's Clara? Three kisses says it's a romantic attachment. The expense of the phone says wife, not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently – this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble then – six months on he's just given it away. If she'd left him, he would have kept it. People do – sentiment. But no, he wanted rid of it. He left her. He gave the phone to you: that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation, but you're not going to your brother for help: that says you've got problems with him. Maybe you liked his wife; maybe you don't like his drinking."

"How could you possibly know about the drinking?" They had maintained eye contact throughout the monologue but it seemed to have softened, they were no longer glaring at each other. If John had to say anything, he would have said the man looked intrigued but that seemed unlikely considering his earlier outburst.

"Shot in the dark. Good one, though. Power connection: tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

The shaking in his hands had completely abated and he felt a sense of utter calm envelope him. This man had just stripped him bare but he wasn't angry or annoyed, no, he was stunned, amazed, he would even go so far as the say the look on his face was probably reverent. It was clear the man was waiting for something but he needed a moment to collect himself. The pull barely registered anymore but he could feel it in the back of his mind.

"That…was…amazing." The other man's eyebrows shot into his fringe.

"Do you think so?" The surprise in the pale grey eyes astounded him, how could this man before him think that was anything but brilliant.

Of course it was. It was extraordinary; it was quite extraordinary." John wanted to reach out and touch the man so badly, he wasn't afraid anymore and the only reason he held himself back was because he didn't they were ready quite yet.

"You did however, make one mistake," Anger quickly filtered back into the man's eyes but before it took hold, he spoke again.

"Harry is short for Harriet." That one little statement changed everything, the man whirled away from him and took his head in his hands while mumbling about his mistake. John carried on talking regardless.

"You were right about everything else though. I mean, how could someone, who's clearly a genius, have any interest in a little old army doctor with a limp, so go on, walk out of here. It's not as if either of us wants to touch the other so fine. Walk out." He stood his ground and hoped his hunch was right and tried desperately to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that had made a reappearance and was telling him to run before he ended up with another failed potential under his belt. John couldn't believe how strong his voice had sounded, he certainly didn't feel that confident.

The taller man looked round at him, clearly astonished by his dismissive attitude but he stayed exactly where he was, his expression challenging.

"You can resist the pull. But why would an ordinary person like you want to?" The man was coming closer again and the tension was leaching back into John's shoulders, he would either have to touch the man and get it over with or move away. He definitely sounded interested now though and he couldn't resist taking one last jab at the arrogant tosser.

"That's for me to know and you to never find out." Despite the bond that was trying to force them to touch, it took everything he had to reach out with his right hand and keep it steady as it hovered in mid-air. This was the first time in years that he had wanted to reach out to someone and he didn't dare think about what he would be like after if this touch failed, that is if the other man accepts it at all.

"Doctor John H Watson, heard you were looking for a flatmate?"

Please.

Please God let this work.

The other man sent a calculating look towards him before speaking and holding out his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective."

Their hands clasped with a strong grip.

They waited for the pain in their heads, they stood there for minutes waiting for any indication that it had worked but as time passed, he felt his good mood falling away to be replaced by the consuming lethargy he had been feeling for months.

He didn't know what he would have done if the other man, Sherlock, hadn't pulled his hand away and made to walk out of the door, he stopped just before he opened it.

"How do you feel about the violin? I play when I'm thinking and sometimes I don't speak for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other. I've got my eye on a nice little place that we should be able to afford, 221b Baker Street. If you are still interested, be there at 7pm tomorrow." With those parting words, he swept out of the door seeming almost relieved that the touch had failed.

After holding himself upright just fine for so long, the phantom pain returned with a vengeance and he found himself sliding to the floor. Another potential had failed, he didn't know how many more he could take before he finally met the one but he was a soldier. He would carry on.

He would move in with the strange man he had just met and he would try his very best to get over his fear of bonding. Yeah, like that's going to happen, he thought bitterly.

This fic is complete but ass I'm going on holiday I won't be able to post the rest for a while, after that though, it'll be a chapter a day :)

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