Hey, this is an AU one shot that is a crossover with Northern Lghts (Golden Compass) as in that everyone has a daemon that is their soul in a shape of an animal. It is all explained in the story (hopefully).You don't need to know the story to understand this fic.
This is a johnlock fic, so if that isn't your cup of tea, sorry, and there is one small part that involves intimate relations between them, and it isn't extremely graphic, so I haven't labeled it as M, but it does refer to sexual relations rather obviously, so just so you are all aware of it.
Please review and let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.
Everyone knew that to touch another's daemon, unless you were their Partner, was bad. Horribly bad. As in so bad that if you did do it then no one would want you, not even your parents and they would send you away. Everyone also knew that you had one Partner. Just one, and you either found that Partner or lived and died alone. Your daemon knew your Partner, and would tell you when you met them, but until then, you were alone.
Another thing everyone knew was that your daemon couldn't go more than a few metres from you, and that their species reflects your personality and character. As children, everyone wanted rare and exotic creatures but when you reached a certain age, different for each person, the daemon would settle, and if you weren't happy with that animal, then you had issues with yourself that needed to be sorted out. Daemon's generally picked their form around 14, 15, just after the start of puberty.
John Watson was different to everyone else. Different, but not. His daemon had decided her shape when he was eight. She could shift if she wanted to, but they both knew she would keep her form of a Siberian Husky with a pure white pelt that was always muddy or grey with dirt. When he turned nine, his sister, Harry who turned sixteen, and her daemon left home with a woman who wasn't her Partner, but neither cared and ignored their daemon's warnings and arguments. When he turned ten, his father became an alcoholic. Not abusive, just always drunk and slurring, depressed and weighed down by his memories of the war and the horrors he had committed. His daemon, a noble eagle, would sit solemnly beside the man, protecting him and when he became enraged and angry, calming the man so he didn't do anything rash. When John was eleven and nine months, his mother and father were in an accident, dying at the site of the car crash, in each other arms, their daemons mourning together until they faded into gold mist. On John's twelfth birthday, he had been passed through his uncles, aunts and cousins, until his great uncle and great aunt sent him to a boarding school for boys and girls.
Standing in his room, empty save for him and his daemon as the other boys were at dinner, he let himself bury his face in soft, warm fur and cry for the last time. His father had always told him that Watsons don't cry, they are strong and protect everyone else. By the time the other five boys in his room had returned, he was sitting quietly on his bed, waiting for the supervisor to return. They'd grinned and greeted him like an old friend, as his daemon barked greetings at the other daemons.
It took a mere two weeks for John to settle into life at boarding school. He made friends, played sports, did well in classes and obeyed the rules. The first year passed quickly, and he was soon one of the old boys, greeting the newbies.
There was one boy in their room who was new, his bed was above John's. They had been told to be nice, and make him welcome, that he was only ten but very smart and shy. The boy sitting on the bed stared at them all with big, blue-grey eyes, framed by dark eyelashes and a mop of messy black curls. They all tried to greet him warmly and introduce themselves, but with a few quick, curt words, the ten year old had insulted them all and this caused the boys to leave him alone, all but John.
John approached the bed and stood on his, so his head was sticking over the top bunk. He was short for his age of thirteen, and while he knew he had yet to have his growth spurt, the Watson men were always short in his family. "I'm John. I don't care how rude you are to me, you're my bunk partner. Every time there are activities, we'll be partnered up so I'm not just going to ignore you because you're shy and acting defensive." John told the boy who blinked in response.
John's daemon leapt up onto the bed and barked a greeting. A black shape on the boy's quilt uncurled and moved to the edge of the bed, opposite the large dog. The small black feline animal leaned over to where the other daemon sat and studied the dog closely. The size difference was comical. The large dog and small feline.
'You're our Partner.' The black cat announced.
'You're ours. Does this mean your human will talk to mine?' the dog responded eagerly.
John and the other boy watched their daemon's talk briefly. No one else noticed. Daemons could choose who heard them and who didn't. "You're my Partner?" the boy asked, his voice still guarded but not as rude as when he had insulted the other boys and drove them away.
"Looks like it, Nix wouldn't really be wrong about this sort of thing, would your daemon?" John asked, tilting his head slightly at the younger boy.
"At is never wrong." The boy spoke softly, his voice had dropped the guarded hoisted himself onto the boy's bed.
"My daemon's a husky, I call her Nix, which means snow. I'm John Watson, I'm thirteen, fourteen in a few weeks and I have no parents, they died in an accident last year. I'm here because none of my uncles or aunts wanted me, but weren't cruel enough to just ditch me in an orphanage or foster family or anything. I have an older sister who I haven't spoke to in four years, nearly five, as she ran away with someone she said she loved, but wasn't her Partner. I haven't had a growth spurt yet, but will always be on the short side, but all good things come in small sizes. The supervisors said you were very smart, but shy, so I don't expect us to immediately be friends or whatever, just because our daemons announced us as Partners, so, yeah. We have a games night every Friday, so tomorrow night, and we're partnered in our bunks, so until now, I've always been with either one of the girls or a supervisor, but now, we're so going to win." John grinned at the other boy.
The black cat padded across the bed to curl up in the boy's lap. Nix jumped onto the bed and sat at John's feet, resting her chin on one of his legs.
"I'm Sherlock Holmes, I may be ten but I'm not stupid, and I can't stand idiots. Atramentum is an Iberian Lynx, and we're going to stay in this form. I have an older brother who I hate. My parents are alive, and sent me here because one of my experiments caught on fire and I got caught." Sherlock responded, face emotionless and solemn.
"Experiment?" John asked.
"I was testing to see the flammability of different household chemicals, such as detergent, bleach, milk and a few others." Sherlock explained.
John grinned at the boy. "You ever filled a bottle with soft drink, sealed it and then boiled it?"
"No."
"It blows up. I'll show you Saturday, looks brilliant."
Within a few months, Sherlock and John were as thick as thieves. They were always found together, whether it was while John studied or did his homework while Sherlock practiced the violin, or while they tested the effects of something on something else, their daemon's watching intently, ready to grab their humans and pull them away from harm. Their age difference never bothered them, Sherlock was mature for his age, and much smarter than other ten year old boys, as well as John himself.
A year later, Sherlock was eleven and John was fifteen, and Sherlock was visiting home for Christmas. He had stayed at school last year with John, as his parents had travelled overseas, but this year they had all but ordered him home. John hadn't been in the room to hear the conversation over the phone, but Sherlock had emerged, sulking and complaining about going home. John tried to cheer him up, hiding his own feelings on the matter. He had thought he was successful for all of five minutes, before Sherlock looked at him with his sharp eyes and analytical brain and said, "Don't be stupid John, the only reason I am going to be able to survive this trip is because you are coming."
John had stared, shocked and touched. "Did you ask or are you just assuming I'll be welcome?" John checked. You could never tell with Sherlock.
"I informed them, once they made it apparent they wanted me home for the holidays, that I would only do so if you would be able to come with, and stay with me the entire time. They, naturally, agreed. I could tell they were excited to meet you. Ignore Mycroft, he is an idiot." Sherlock shrugged.
"I'll try to." John grinned, before jumping off Sherlock's bed to pack.
They climbed out of the car that had picked them up and John stared in awe at the huge house in front of them. John slung his backpack over his shoulder, and then hoisted Sherlock's suitcase up under his arm as the boy lead the way up to the front door and knocked.
The eleven year old grinned at the fifteen year old, one of his rare, warm, genuine grins as At and Nix waited behind their humans, silently conversing without letting their humans listen to their conversation.
The door opened, and a young adult stood in the doorway. His hair was a lighter colour then Sherlock's, and his eyes a different colour but his nose and face held the same proud shape and when he looked at them curiously, he looked like an older version of Sherlock.
"Go away Mycroft." Sherlock scowled.
John nudged him to tell him to be polite and offered his hand to the twenty year old. "I'm John, you must be Sherlock's arch-nemesis."
"Mycroft, pleasure to meet you." Mycroft shook his hand. "Mummy and Father are in the study, I'll take you to meet them." Mycroft spun on his heel and led the way into the house.
"Just put the bags by the door, we'll get them later." Sherlock told John, who did as he was instructed and then followed the Holmes brothers. Mycroft's daemon, a small red fox slinked alongside the man for a few steps, before lagging behind to circle John's feet and study him intently. Nix barked a short warning and Mycroft waved a hand. The fox slinked back up to his human and ignored the pair behind him.
John glanced at Sherlock who didn't say anything. John looked forward once again, but slipped his hand into the younger boy's. Sherlock squeezed it briefly and didn't falter in his steps before Mycroft led them to a door. Sherlock dropped John's hand, and followed his brother inside.
"Mummy, Father, Sherlock and his friend arrived." Mycroft called out, entering the room. There was a wall of shelves and books, a desk in one corner and a couch opposite to the books. A man sat behind the desk, while a woman relaxed on the couch, reading a book.
"Ah, hello my dear Sherlock." The woman stood, walking to Sherlock and kissing the boy's cheek. Sherlock didn't force a smile, but he didn't start pouting or sulking.
"Hello Mother." Sherlock greeted the tall woman. And she was tall, easily towering over John and Mycroft as well, with black hair that fell to her lower back and the same nose that the Holmes brothers had. Her eyes were an emerald colour, similar to Mycroft's. "Hello Father." Sherlock called out, not bothering to move from his spot near the door. His father had light brown hair that was turning slightly grey and the same electric blue-grey eyes that Sherlock had. He stood from his desk and offered his hand to John.
"You must be John Watson, I'm Simon Holmes, pleasure to meet you. This is my Partner, Abigail."
"The pleasure's all mine, sir, ma'am." John shook the offered hand and smiled politely at the woman who smiled back.
"Well Sherlock, how has school been? Just how much trouble have you gotten in since you started there?" Mrs Holmes asked. John watched as At curled himself around Sherlock's feet and the boy stayed silent.
"Sherlock." His father sighed, a warning in his tone.
John took one look at the boy. His shoulders were tense, fingers curled up slightly and he was staring at the wall behind them all. "If I may," John interrupted. Sherlock didn't look away from the spot on the wall but the other three occupants turned to stare at John, shock, surprise, annoyance and interest flickering across their faces (the interest on Mycroft's, the annoyance on Mr and Mrs Holmes'). "I do not mean to step in and tell you how to parent your son or anything like that, please don't take this that way, but I do wish to point out that you immediately assume he has done something wrong. You didn't ask if he did or didn't get in trouble, but how much, implying you were expecting him to have misbehaved. Surely if you treat someone that way, they'll act that way, especially a child who looks to you as role models." John paused, and Nix pressed her nose against his palm, encouraging him to continue. "If you had asked how has school been and if Sherlock had been in trouble, that is understandable, it's Sherlock, but you just assumed he would be in trouble. Although you should already know this, being his parents and all that, he is top of all his class, has a near perfect attendance, aside from a few times he has fallen sick and doesn't start any fights or anything like that. The supervisors know of all his experiments and when he does them, and allow him to do so, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone or himself and doesn't damage anything. He is a genius and a truly remarkable person and while I understand why he might've gotten in trouble at school, as his mother and father, you should not just assume he was bad."
Shocked silence filled the room when John fell silent. "I'll show John to his room, we will come down for dinner." Sherlock muttered, before spinning and walking out the door. John followed, ignoring the blush spreading across his cheeks.
Sherlock led the other boy up the stairs, grabbing their luggage on their way, and opened a door at the end of the corridor. John followed the boy into his bedroom. The room was empty for a child's room, the bed had plain sheets, the walls bare and the bookshelves had books that looked unread and turned to stare at John. At had stayed against Sherlock's legs the entire time since entering the house, but once the door was shut, he moved to Nix, lifting his head to her. She lowered her head to him, pressing her nose to his.
"You defended me." Sherlock spoke, staring at John.
"It wasn't really that big of a deal, I shouldn't have spoken or anything, they're probably going to thing I'm a big-mouthed, rebellious teenager who is no good for their son." John blushed, looking away from Sherlock's intense gaze and studying the plain white carpet.
John was then shocked when Sherlock was suddenly in his arms, hugging him. The younger boy had his arms wrapped around the blonde's neck; face buried in John's shoulder and was clinging on tightly. John responded, wrapping his arms around his waist.
"Sherlock, I meant what I said, yeah? You have a bloody brilliant mind, an amazing personality and are fantastic. I don't care what others see and expect of you, I know you, the boy I've shared a bunk with for the past year and is my friend. If no one else can see that, then screw them. All those things you tell me about what you see, that's amazing, the fact you see all of that and can make the logical decisions about what they mean and then know a person's life story is pure brilliance. Yeah, you're eccentric, but that's what I like about you." John told the boy, who shuddered in his embrace and John soon felt his shirt growing damp.
They stayed like that for ten minutes. Sherlock was the one to pull away first. "Forgive me John," he started.
John placed a hand on his arm. "Don't. Don't ever apologise for needing a moment or a hug or help." John told him. "It's what I'm here for."
Sherlock stared at him again. "Are you fifteen or thirty?" Sherlock demanded.
John laughed. "Come on, I brought Cluedo with us, we can finally play our first game and see if it's any good."
John was expecting dinner to be an awkward event. They came down, sat down at the table and stayed silent as the other three Holmes sat down as well.
Mr and Mrs Holmes continued as if John had never told them off. They asked the pair of boarders about their studies, their fellow room members, and then turned to Mycroft and asked him about his university classes.
After dinner, when Mrs Holmes made Sherlock help clean up, Mycroft took John to the side and casually said, "From my understanding, you are more than just a close friend to my brother?"
John took one look at the older boy, and finally understood Sherlock's warnings that John should just ignore the older Holmes. The boy had told him several times to avoid Mycroft, each time with hidden worry in his eyes. Sherlock was terrified of what Mycroft would say to John, and whether that would scare him away or not. "We're Partners, yes. I am going by the assumption you are just looking out for him, but I also know he hates you sticking your nose in his business. I won't hurt him, I will look after him, as much as one can look after Sherlock Holmes and I won't betray him. If something goes seriously wrong, I will let you know, but I'm not going to tell you his secrets or what he shares with me or what he does all day every day, so don't bother asking me to."
Mycroft's mouth twitched and he smiled at the blonde teen. "Of course. I was merely curious about my little brother and his friends, That was all."
"Of course."
When they returned to the boarding school after the holidays, Sherlock started to seem reserved, aloft and cold towards everyone, even John.
It took a few weeks for John to figure it out. They'd been sitting on their own beds, while everyone else was at dinner. John had been trying to talk to Sherlock, and get the boy to talk back.
"Give up John!" Sherlock snapped. "I'm never going to keep you happy, whether because I don't talk, or I piss you off or I insult you too much or am too selfish, OK, just give up and leave now before it is too late for the both of us." The recently turned twelve year old then got up and began to make his way to the door to storm out.
He stopped at the door and turned to glare at John who had stood up. Nix had pounced forward and had At pinned to the ground, who was struggling to get up.
"Let go of him." Sherlock ordered.
"Not until I get to have my say." John said. "I won't keep you here if you don't want to be here, but I won't let you storm away without listening to what I want to tell you. Sherlock, I don't know what's happened between us, what I did to make you think that I should leave, let alone want to leave, but I do know this. I love you. I completely, and utterly love you, and not just because you're my partner and I have to. I am happy to be your partner. You are a remarkable person, someone who can look at something, and see the whole picture, the little things and figure out the story. You are wonderful, intelligent and amazing. You are clearly not selfish, because you are obviously telling me to leave to protect me, at the expense of yourself, because I am almost completely certain you don't want me to leave. You are abrupt with your words, and frankly, I get frustrated to hell with you, and we're only teenagers, but I can tell you right now, I'm never going to be unhappy with you. And regardless of that, it's too late for me not to get hurt, if we were to part now." John explained. He nodded at Nix, who let go of At, and stepped back, and then continued, "Now if you really want to leave, you can Sherlock, I'll still be here for you. Only, before you go, tell me who the hell it is I have to bash up for planting these stupid notions in your head."
Sherlock stared in shock at the fifteen year old and then slowly moved back to his bed."Everyone says it." Sherlock muttered. "You're the golden boy, and I'm the know-it-all, freakish child who knows everyone's secrets and who everyone hates."
"They don't know you, if that's what they think." John corrected. John sat next to the boy. "Sherlock, I'm not leaving you. I promise."
Sherlock nodded once and then stood, "I need time. I'll be back." With that, the twelve year old left.
Their conversation wasn't forgotten, but it wasn't spoken of again. Until the bullies turned up.
A boy named Sebastion led a group of boys, all a year younger than John, that went around terrorizing people they hated. And that included would corner the boy when he came from classes that didn't have John in as well, as the boys knew John would fight back and hurt them.
"Look it's the freak." Sebastion would call, as his friends laughed.
They would push and shove, calling insults, telling him John lucked out in his Partner, that the older boy didn't want to be saddled with a freak or baby. It continued for a few weeks, under John's nose without the boy figuring it out. Sherlock wasn't any better, snapping insults back, calling them up on their secrets and hidden desires, enraging them further.
Even so, the bullies never went further than shoving and pushing, until one Saturday morning, when John was playing rugby, and Sherlock was leaning against a tree, watching from a distance from the rest of the crowds. Sebastion and his crowd cornered Sherlock, grabbed him and dragged him away from the crowd and out of sight, and proceeded to punch him up. The only thing Sherlock could do was curl up and cower, as the bullies daemons nipped at At and kept him pinned, as their humans mimicked the actions on Sherlock.
They paused in their bashing and Sherlock carefully looked up, insults already growing on his tongue to get his revenge, even if it wasn't the smartest thing to do. The words choked him as he saw Sebastion turn to At, with an evil smirk on his face. His hands were already reaching out for the dameon, as his dameon held the squirming lynx in place.
Sherlock flinched and mentally prepared himself for the horrible sensation of someone touching his daemon, the horrible feeling of being breached like that, worse than any physical pain they could inflict on him.
When that feeling didn't come, Sherlock looked up to see a white dog standing over At, Sebastion's daemon, a ferret, on the floor a few meters away, as Nix had already thrown her away. A low, terrifying growl rumbled in her throat, as she barred her teeth at the boys and her ears laid flat on her head. She was a terrifying sight to all but Sherlock and At. Sherlock looked over to Sebastion, who was being held by a teacher, spouting a bleeding nose, before John was suddenly crouching in front of Sherlock, talking.
"Sherlock?" John asked, as Sherlock just stared.
Another teacher moved to help Sherlock, but he flinched away.
John offered his hand, and Sherlock gripped it tightly, allowing John to help him stand, and wrap an arm around his waist, supporting the young boy who was shaking from pain, fear and relief. The other boys were being held by other teachers as well, as Sherlock was led away by John to the infirmary.
Sebastion and his friends were expelled, and Sherlock recovered. The night before Sebastion was picked up by his parents, John and his rugby mates cornered the younger boy and whilst all of them insist they just talked, whatever they said caused the bully to leave with his parents the next day, with a look of fear on his face, as John stood in the doorway and waved goodbye, grinning widely but not warmly.
Sherlock was never more grateful for his Partner. Especially when John and Nix continuously reminded them that they were perfectly and completely happy with Sherlock and At as their Partners and would never want that to change, ever, even if they were arguing and fighting.
Sherlock and At believed them. With good reason to.
The whole incident with Sebastion got around the school, and Sherlock became untouchable, the people who insulted him and bullied him were terrified to say a word out against him, as it would bring John, and his rugby team down on them. Meanwhile, Sherlock, despite his blunt remarks and cold demeanor, was accepted into the rugby team, not as a player, but as a member regardless, and under the protection that being in a team brought. They accepted his eccentricities, because he was with John, who was one of them man's well likened, and eventually Sherlock stopped making snide remarks towards them. He wasn't friendly, because that wasn't who he was, and he didn't treat them like John, because John was John, and no one else could be, but he wasn't rude to them.
A few more years passed, and soon John was seventeen, nearly eighteen and had to consider what he wanted to do with his life. Sherlock was fifteen, and wasn't worried about his future. "John." Sherlock announced, one night while John was on his bed and Sherlock was on his bed above the boy. Everyone else as at dinner.
"Yes Sherlock?"
"I, I," Sherlock stumbled over his words, which caused John to climb up and lay down next to the younger boy.
"What's wrong?" John asked, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist, pulling the boy flush against him. Sherlock let him, appreciating the contact, despite claiming to hate touching people.
"I know, that you and Nix have always wanted to join the army." Sherlock spoke, softly, obviously not wanting to say it. He was quiet for a moment longer, then sighed and whispered, "So do it."
"Sher –"
"No, I know it's been your dream for ages now. You want to be an army doctor, and go save lives and be a hero." Sherlock rolled over in John's arms to face the boy. At moved to curl up above Sherlock's head. Nix climbed up and jumped up, lying at John's back, resting her head on top of her human's, to stare at At.
"We won't leave you two." Nix said for her human.
"So don't." At shrugged, "Go fight and heal, then come back afterwards. We'll not stop you from doing what you want."
John frowned, and studied Sherlock's face. "I'll think on it." John announced. Sherlock nodded, and then buried his face into John's shoulder.
John spent a month considering what Sherlock had said, but it was a conversation with Mycroft that helped him make his final decision.
The older Holmes had turned up to talk with John.
"John, my brother is very selfish. He offered you the chance to live your dream, because he truly cares for you, and doesn't want you to turn around in ten years and resent him for preventing you from living out your dream."
"I would never –" John began to deny it.
"No one can know for sure if you would or wouldn't, I am certain you wouldn't let it cloud your love for Sherlock, but I believe you would be upset over it. Become a doctor, go fight and then return. I will keep an eye on Sherlock while you are gone." Mycroft told the young man.
John nodded and promised to think on it and left.
That night, he told Sherlock that he wanted to do it, but only if Sherlock was honestly OK with it.
Sherlock had responded with, "Obviously I will miss you, constantly fret about you and then feel stupid for letting emotion cloud my mind, but I do not mind, because it is what you want to do. Just," Sherlock paused at this. "Come home every time."
"I promise."
Both knew it was not a promise John could guarantee, but they both ignored that knowledge and pretended it was.
John and Sherlock graduated, John enrolled into the army doctor course, and went through med school. They shared a small apartment, a one bedroom place that was tiny, but enough for them.
A few months after they had moved into the flat, and out of the boarding school, Sherlock had walked up to John with At in his arms. John was sitting on the couch, reading a book, with Nix curled up at his feet. The dog had continued growing, even when John had stopped, and if she stood up on her hind legs, her head reached John's height.
"John." Sherlock said after a few seconds, when he hadn't looked up.
"Yes love?" John asked, not looking up from his book.
At looked up at his human, who nodded slightly. At then jumped out of Sherlock's arms and on top of John's lap. John's free hand moved to steady the daemon automatically, but paused inches from the black fur.
"Sherlock?" John asked, eyes wide, looking up at Sherlock just as he knelt at John's feet.
"Please?" Sherlock asked, "I'm ready and you're more than ready."
John kept his eyes locked with Sherlock's as he lowered his hand and gently stroked At's back. The lynx curled up into John's hand and Sherlock groaned, gripping John's knees to stay upright. Sherlock was breathing heavily as warmth spread through his limbs, as John stroked At. At lifted his front paws to lean on John's chest and curled up in the man's arms, as John continued stroking. Sherlock began to tremble slightly as John continued, feeling as if the man was touching his soul, and the feeling of having another so close was slowly overwhelming the youngest Holmes. Sherlock slid off his knees so he was sitting cross legged on the floor and reached out towards Nix. The dog moved willingly and butted his chest with her head. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back up and down, as warmth tingled in his fingertips. John groaned and gripped At tightly for a moment, causing Sherlock's breath to hitch for a second, before John continued to stroke At gently. Sherlock's head spun with the heady mix of having someone else, of having John touching his soul, not only touching but stroking and holding it like it was the most precious thing in the world coupled with the warmth and knowledge that he had John's soul in his arms, licking his check and pressing against him, as if wanting to crawl inside him and stay there.
Sherlock kept his arms around Nix, tangling his fingers into her pelt and looking up at John to see At wrapped around John's neck and shoulders, squeezing tightly and squirming as if wanting to be under his skin. John gripped At firmly and carefully and stood shakily. "Bed. Please." John gasped, eyes blown wide with lust and love.
"Yes." Sherlock gasped back, as John offered a hand. Sherlock stood, and kept one hand tangled in Nix's fur while the other gripped John's tightly. They stumbled into the bedroom and At jumped down from John's shoulders to land next to Nix. Nix shook Sherlock off and the pair of animals entwined themselves together.
Their humans were too busy to notice, and soon were to enthralled by each other to notice anything beyond the bed they shared. It was messy, awkward and brilliant. Nix and At remained intertwined, nipping and licking at each other, doubling the feelings that their humans were experiencing as the humans' feelings of desire and love grew until they peaked and they soon relaxed together.
They drifted off to sleep in each other arms as Nix curled up at the foot of the bed on her side, below John's feet, with At settled between her paws and stomach.
Their few years left together before John left to learn how to fight and be put out on the field diminished quickly, and they soon had to say goodbye. Shortly after John's 22nd birthday, he had to get on a plane and fly out, leaving 19 year old Sherlock to fend for himself. Their last night together they curled up on the couch, with John in Sherlock's lap, just hugging and kissing. Nix was over John's legs, curled around to tuck her hind legs and nose behind Sherlock, while At was on John's chest.
They fell asleep late, and Sherlock reluctantly let John get ready the next morning, while listening to what John was saying and making promises he wasn't sure he would be able to keep.
"Don't forget to eat." John said as he shaved while Sherlock showered.
"Don't forget to sleep." John said as he made breakfast and Sherlock sipped his tea.
"Look after yourselves." John said as he put his shoes on and Sherlock held his luggage ready.
They stood at the airport, where John's flight was departing in a few minutes.
"Don't forget that I love you." John said as he slipped his jacket on and Sherlock stood silently.
"John," Sherlock whispered, "Don't forget to come home."
They embraced each other, hugging tightly.
"I will Sherlock. I'll write every chance I get, and I've asked your brother to keep you informed of what I'm doing, in case I can't get a letter out on time." John told him. "Please be careful, and follow your dreams."
"A detective is much too constricting for me." Sherlock scowled, having had the conversation before.
John grinned and kissed him one last time, "Make up your own job then, a Detective who anyone can consult."
Sherlock smiled at the shorter yet older boy, "A consultant detective?"
"You can call it whatever you want. I love you."
"I love you too."
With that John was gone.
A letter came once every two weeks without fail.
Sherlock lived for those letters. Every second Wednesday Sherlock dashed to the letter box downstairs in the entrance of the apartment building and rushed back up to read his Partner's words.
The first time John missed a letter, Sherlock spent hours curled up around At, both silently staring into nothing, reliving their memories with the army doctor and husky.
Mycroft turned up five hours after Sherlock found no letter and told him John was fine, there was a bomb and he was working non stop in surgery, stopping only to sleep and eat.
The letter turned up the next day, with dark red fingerprint smudges. It was short.
I am fine, there was a bomb, but I wasn't injured. Working non stop, will write when it calms down. Love you.
A week later the next letter turned up, and it was longer, apologising for the last one. John's letters never said anything about the way he lived, fought, or what he saw. They were always saying what John missed, what he wanted to do on leave, answering Sherlock's questions or describing the desert, with describing the bloodshed, death and fear.
The first time John got leave, they spent the first week alone in their flat together, and the last few days chasing after a criminal, for one of Sherlock's first cases.
The letters continued, the adventures when John was on leave grew in size and they had fun with the little time they had.
John ran after Sherlock, chasing criminals, chasinge vidence, the whole lot, holding hands, laughing and giggling together, enjoying what time they had together.
The months passed, and during the stretches of time when John was deployed, they lived for the letters between each other. Sherlock described each case, each detail and how he solved them, while John described each live he saved, and the things he saw, leaving out the death and gruesome details but describing the sandy plains, the sunrises and the comradeship he developed with his army mates.
Each man treasured each letter, tracing each letter written by the others hand, as they kept in touch despite the distance, and treasured each moment together.
A few years into John's deployment, when John's commanding officer turned up, with orders too send John home for a few weeks that originated from high up in the government, he knew it was Mycroft, and that meant Sherlock needed him. Nix helped him pack and they were on the plane home in hours.
Mycroft picked him up from the airport and drove him straight to the hospital.
John spent his first night in London sitting at Sherlock's hospital bed. The man woke up in the morning and groaned to find himself in a hospital bed.
"Last time we spoke you said you were fine. I'm trying to understand not only why you would lie to me, but why would you think damaging yourself was the only option." John spoke quietly, causing the man to bolt up right and stare at him. At who had been curled up on the pillow sleeping launched himself at Nix.
Nix caught him so he wouldn't hurt himself, but placed him back on the bed.
Sherlock frowned. "I didn't overdose. It was controlled and sterile and safe. It was to help me focus and think for the Work." He shrugged.
"No. Sherlock, listen to me. You do not do drugs. I don't care whatever your reasoning. They will destroy your mind, and kill you." John ordered.
"You do not get to appear out of nowhere, tell me what to do and go swanning off, expecting me to follow your orders like an obedient little pet." Sherlock snapped back. "You gave no idea what it is like for me. You have no right to tell me what is and isn't good for me."
"You have no idea what it is like for me!" John snapped back. "Every night I go to sleep with more blood on my hands, faces and names I am never going to forget, people with Partners and kids waiting for them, People waiting just like you for that one call that will ruin your life. This is the first time in a month Nix hasn't had blood staining her, and the only thing keeping me going is the thought that you are here, becoming a consulting detective and living your life and being brilliant while I am trying to make the world a better place for you to be brilliant in."
"I never asked you to use me as your shining light of hope." Sherlock spat.
"You're my Partner, who else will I use?" John snapped.
"I didn't ask to be your Partner." Sherlock spoke quietly, his full of hate and venom.
John recoiled, as if physically hurt, and stood up. "Goodbye Sherlock." He left, Nix walking along side him.
Sherlock curled up in the bed, with his daemon in his arms for the first time since he was twelve.
They didn't talk again for a year. John forfeited all his leave until they told him to take a month off and sent him back to London.
He landed in Heathrow and picked up his duffel bag. Nix walked in front, creating a path through the crowd, heading for the door.
She stopped, causing John to stop and look up at what was in the way.
Sherlock stood with At at his feet.
"I overdosed. And Mycroft put me through rehab." Sherlock spoke up. "And I know this doesn't make up for what I said, but I am sorry. I need you, I never asked to be your partner, which I am glad, because whenever I asked for something, Mycroft always took it from me. I don't expect you to forgive me, I was wrong and out of line, I just, I am relieved and glad you are alive."
John stepped forward and hugged the man. "Of course I've forgiven you, I am sorry too,"
"You had every right to be angry." At interrupted, from where he had wrapped himself around Nix's front paws.
They left the airport and headed to get a cab. "I moved out. I couldn't stay there without you." Sherlock explained, ashamed of his actions. "I'm certain Mycroft kept your stuff, I, ah, I attempted to break it all and then leave it behind when I moved."
John took one look at his new flat, with dirty walls, rats and a dodgy lock and said, "You're moving."
They spent days looking at flats and places, everywhere either being wrong for one of them or too expensive. John found an add for a place to rent at 221B Baker Street and from the pictures though it perfect. And just a tad too expensive.
"I helped Mrs Hudson to have her husband who was a murder put inn death row. I can get a discount." Sherlock told John, who grinned.
"One of you're cases? Tell me more."
They started renting the place and moved in before John returned to the front lines. During this time, John helped Sherlock solve crimes and listened to the detective's stories of previous cases.
John returned to the war, but started writing again.
A few years later, Sherlock was at a crime scene deducing the murderer for Lestrade. Donovan was there, listening with her usual disdain and disgust as he announced who did it.
She opened her mouth to insult him as he finished, but was cut of by the sound of ringing. Sherlock fished his mobile out of his pocket and much to the surprise of the officers (they all knew Sherlock hated talking on the phone) he answered it. "Hello?"
Donovan watched as the man's face turned white, and his daemon nearly fell off his human's shoulders.
"Sherlock?" Lestrade asked as the man hung up and stumbled backwards, his legs suddenly giving way under him. Lestrade and Donovan managed to catch him before he fell to the ground and had no choice but to gently lower him to the floor.
"Oh God, please let him live." Sherlock muttered.
Mycroft soon turned up and took Sherlock away from the crime scene.
Pain. Burning agony in his shoulder and thigh were the only to things he was aware of. The pain filled his mind and he couldn't focus, couldn't think beyond it. He struggled through it, trying to hold but the pain became too much. He knew when he was giving up, and his only thought was of Sherlock and At.
In amongst the pain and burning, a sharp pinch on his hand made him think of Nix.
'Don't you dare give up. We are not going to leave Sherlock and At. I refuse to.' Nix spoke to him.
John gritted his teeth and threw himself into the flames.
It took two months for John to recover enough for transport back to London.
When he woke up in the hospital, At was curled up on his chest (above the blankets) and Sherlock was gently stroking Nix.
"Never do that again." Sherlock announced, as John looked around.
"I don't want to." John muttered, moving his right hand from under the blankets to rest on At's back. That was all he managed before he fell back asleep.
Healing was a long process for John, physiotherapy for his shoulder and thigh seemed to cause him more pain than help, but John knew it was necessary.
He was meeting with Sherlock for lunch, a month after John had been invalided home and was limping on his cane into the hospital. Nix walked along at a slower pace for her human. They went down to the morgue, and found a young woman working on acomputer with a squirrel daemon studying a petrie dish.
"Hi, sorry, I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes, have you seen him?" John asked the woman.
"He just went upstairs to grab his coat to leave."
"I am back though." Sherlock announced, entering the room. "I'm ready to go. Goodbye Molly."
The pair left, and on their way out, Molly watched as Sherlock's daemon, who had been curled around his shoulders, fell off. Molly winced in sympathy, aware Sherlock would feel the impact as if he himself had fallen, but froze and stared in shock as the man he was going to lunch with caught the black feline. Sherlock shuddered slightly and even from her limited view through the open door, Molly saw the smile Sherlock showed the man, as At licked the man's chin then jumped down to walk along side the white dog.
She was glad no one was there to see her tears as she hugged her daemon to her chest. She wasn't his Partner, but she had always kept herself in denial about it, hoping against hope Sherlock would turn to her one day and see her.
Lestrade knocked on the wooden door and waited as footsteps approached. Sherlock opened the door and stared questioningly at Lestrade.
"I've come to check you are ok, and I have a case, if you're interested." Lestrade explained, brandishing the file as if it were the holy grail, which in the case of Sherlock Holmes, it is.
Sherlock stepped to the side and let Lestrade in. Lestrade walked in and said nothing about the surprisingly clean state of the flat. It wasn't neat, but the man had obviously tidied up a little. "Some spring cleaning?" Lestrade asked. His daemon walked quietly at Lestrade's side, the labrador observing everything and sniffing about as discretely as she could for the smell of drugs of any kind.
"John needed more space to walk around." Sherlock muttered, walking past the detective inspector into the kitchen, where the older man assumed At was seated. Lestrade followed him and stopped in the doorway to see At sitting on the floor, in between the arms of a massive white husky, while the dog was licking it as if giving it a bath. The man belonging to the daemon was sat at the table, right leg stretched out straight and propped on a chair, while his left arm was in a sling. He had some material and needle in his lap, which he had put down when he heard Lestrade be invited in. He had dirty blonde hair cut in a military hairstyle. His eyes were a sparkling blue color and his skin a dark golden colour that couldn't have come from the London sun (or rather, lack of London sun).
"I didn't mean to interrupt." Lestrade blushed slightly, as the husky paused in it's movements.
"We weren't doing much." the man cheerfully shrugged his good arm.
Detective Inspector Lestrade, Kala, Dr John Watson and Nix." Sherlock introduced in a tone that expressed his boredom.
"Pleasure to meet you." John smiled warmly, offering his hand.
"Likewise." Lestrade shook the hand, only glancing curiously at the man's injuries before repressing it. "Sherlock, are you OK? Last time you were at a crime scene, over two months ago, you freaked out."
"The call informed me of John's incident, and I hadn't known whether I would see them again." Sherlock sighed, as if he hated explaining.
"Incident?" Lestrade asked the man.
"I was an army doctor, until I was caught in an explosion." John explained, gesturing to his thigh and shoulder. "Naturally, they contacted my Partner and kept him informed."
Lestrade managed to keep his mouth from falling open in shock and turned to only partially gape at Sherlock, "Partner? You never said you had a Partner, what if something had happened to you during a case, how were meant to know to contact Dr Watson?"
"John." John spoke up, but was ignored.
"First off, Mycroft knew to contact John should something happen to me, so it did not matter whether you knew or not. And secondly,"
"You wouldn't have been able to contact me anyway, and until recently Sherlock was the one who had to worry about me, not the other way round." John interrupted.
"You still worry." At spoke up, scaring Lestrade. The daemon barely ever spoke in front of anyone else but Sherlock. Lestrade's had been present to hear the Iberian Lynx talk twice before this moment, and Lestrade's had known Sherlock for years now.
"Of course we do." The husky, Nix, scoffed, licking the top of the felin's head fondly.
Lestrade handed the case file over and left the consulting detective and his Partner, although, it wasn't the only time he saw the blonde, ex-army doctor. Whenever Lestrade went over to 221B Baker street, John was there, and often available for a cuppa while Sherlock studied the case file and determined the answers. He found out the pair met at boarding school, and the detective inspector learnt about the pair's journey growing up together. He found out that John was going to help Sherlock on cases, doing the legwork, (to keep him safe, despite Sherlock's protests he was always safe and able to look after himself) once the army doctor healed up and could use his leg and arm.
They became friends, as Sherlock continued his work on cases.
Sally stepped out of the car with her daemon perched on her shoulder, watching as firemen scuttled back and forth, putting the blaze out, trying to determine if there were people inside the burning building. Lestrade had received a text from Sherlock, saying the murderer they were chasing at killed again, in this building, and they had turned up, like usual, only to find it on fire.
Lestrade was talking with the Chief Fireman, "Listen, there is at least one person inside, name is Sherlock Holmes. You need to find him."
"We can't go in, it is too dangerous, but the moment we can, I'll send a team in to look." the man promised. There was a shout, and every one turned to look at the door. Two figures and a dog were outlined by the flames, the dog half supporting, half carrying one of the figures. The moment they were clear of the flames, the firefighters rushed in, supported them and helped them into the ambulance.
Donovan was shocked to see it was the Freak and another man. What was shocking was the fact that the other man's daemon, the dog had been carrying Sherlock, the man letting the Freak touch his daemon. And what was even more surprising, was upon closer inspection, the revelation that the man had been carrying the black lynx, who was unconcious. Donovan shoved the surprise away; they had probably found the Freak nearly dead and ignored social conventions to save his life. It was rare, but it did Lestrade and Donovan made it around to the hospital to see what Sherlock had found, they walked into his hospital room to find him sitting on the bed, in between the legs of the man who saved him, with the dog dropped over their stretched out legs and the black feline between the dog's front paws.
"What the hell?" Donovan let slip out, just as Lestrade greeted them.
"John, good to see you again. How are you both?"
"Sherlock isn't allowed to run about for a week, and my healing has been delayed slightly, but other than that, we are all fine." the man named John replied, grinning back at Lestrade.
"Who the hell are you?" Donovan demanded. "You're letting the Freak touch you?"
"I'm Sherlock's Partner, John. I would very much appreciate it if you didn't insult him." John replied, face hard and cold with protective anger.
"Who the hell would want to be your Partner?" Donovan snapped at the silent Consulting Detective.
"Me." John answered.
At the same time, Lestrade said, "Donovan, wait outside."
"I was just asking -"
"Now!" Lestrade insisted.
Sally stalked out in a huff.
Sally Donovan found John with Sherlock on crime scenes from that point on, quietly following the man around, being his shadow and to Donovan, useless. He was a quiet, ordinary man who wasn't stupid, but wasn't a genius or anything.
Over time, she realised that assumption was wrong, and realised the quiet unassuming man was fiercely protective, loyal and intelligent. He defended Sherlock form criminals and traders alike, with his fists and words, to the surprise of everyone. What was more shocking was the way Sherlock treated the man, waiting for him at crime scenes, explaining things for him, and addressing him with a distinct lack of cold and bluntness, but a surprising amount of warmth and fondness.
The day Sherlock Holmes jumped and died, was the day that Sally Donovan realised that John wasn't just putting up with Sherlock, accepting him for who he was simply because they were Partners and stuck together, but because John Watson loved Sherlock Holmes.
They were called onto the scene to investigate the suicide, and they were required to speak to John, to find out what happened, and the broken shell of the doctor scared Donovan.
The normally cheerful, determined man that never seem to express emotion beyond, calm, reassuring warmth and happiness, or stoic seriousness didn't seem to care that tears were falling down his cheeks, leaving tracks of red across his cheeks and nose as he shuddered and shaked, hands buried in his daemon's fur as Lestrade tried to get him to speak.
"I can't...Sher...I need..." the broken man was breathing heavily and couldn't manage to form a sentence. Donovan willingly helped the man into the hospital, and got him checked in, just in time before he fainted from the shock and pain.
She wasn't there when he woke up, or the months afterwards, but she was aware, from Lestrade, how he was coping. She saw the tiredness and worry in her boss, as he visited John n a regular basis.
She even visited him one night, when Lestrade was feverish and sick, and had to be sent home. She promised her boss that she would check on the man still struggling to live without his Partner.
Mrs Hudson let her in, and she went on up to find John sitting at the table, staring at a full cup of cold tea. "John? I'm sorry to turn up out of the blue like this, but Lestrade is sick, and asked me to check on you." Sally explained gently.
"Like I have told him before, he needn't worry about me offing myself or anything like that." John muttered bitterly. "Nix wouldn't let me to begin with, and I wouldn't be able to bring myself to do it."
"I am sorry, Dr Watson, for your loss." Sally said.
"You hated him."
"That isn't a secret, but that doesn't mean I wanted him dead, nor for you to go through this pain." Sally told him.
"He isn't dead." the white dog spoke up.
Sally couldn't keep the pity from her voice as she spoke, "You can't both just ignore what happened, you need to accept it to be able to move on from it."
John laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I have to believe he isn't dead, Sergant Donovan. I believe in him, and I know you don't, I know you believe him to be a fraud, just like everyone else does, but I know him, and I believe in him and his abilities and amazing talent. And if anyone would be able to fake their death, it would be him. Which is why I have to believe he isn't dead, because I would never forgive myself if he turns up, and I've given up on him. And if I believe he is gone, then I don't know how I would be able to continue on living without him. The only reason I can cope now is the thought that I need to stay here, waiting for him so he has someone to return to."
Donovan left soon after that, shocked at the depth of the man's believe and love, but also his pain and despair. It made her wish she had found here Partner by now, to be able to love someone that much, but at the same time, made her kind of hope she never loved someone that much, so she didn't experience that much pain.
She, like all the other yarders followed the orders to set up a perimeter around a hostage situation with a terrorist to find John tied to a chair, by a man named Sebastion Moran, who turn out to be Moriarty's right hand man, who was in actual fact real. Which meant Sherlock was also real, and not just some pyschopath who staged years of his life and all those around him. Moran also had Sherlock as his prisoner, but not at the warehouse where John was surrounded by snipers and henchmen. With some help from MI5 they managed to arrest Moran and his people and rescue John, who immediately turned to the man who had been giving orders, a man in a suit with an umbrella, and demanded permission to find Sherlock. The man responded by handing over a gun and letting John and his daemon turn to leave, only to find Sherlock standing in the street, in the rain that had been falling all night.
"Sherlock." John had managed to say, though his voice was strangled and pained, and Nix yelped once, that sounded tortured but relieved. Both John and Nix took several staggering steps forward, as did Sherlock, until they met in the middle, and wrapped their arms around each other, sinking to theirs knees, as Sherlock buried his fingers from one hand in Nix's coat and the other gripped John's shoulder. Sherlock's daemon moved from Sherlock's shoulders to John's and was gripping tight to the man, while he clung to Sherlock with both hands, and Nix curled around his back, protecting him and completing the embrace.
Donovan wasn't the only yarder who had to subtly wipe tears from their face, and she was glad to be able to go up to the pair, who had manged to stand, and stand next to each other, still clinging on to each other, but now able to talk and face others, and tellthem both that she had never been more happy to be wrong, and that while she knew nothing would make up for what she had done, she realised she had been wrong, and was sorry. And so happy they were reunited.
Sherlock didn't speak, just nodded once, while John grinned widely, warmly and wholely, and thanked her.
She watched them leave, still clinging to each other as their daemons remained clinging as well, and the sight of relief, love and happiness that was evident in both their faces, despite Sherlock's attempt at keeping his normal emotionless mask in place made her wish for her own Partner to be found.
John woke up the next morning in Sherlock's embrace, with At curled up between them, and Nix laid across their legs. He tightened his grip for a moment, as his Partner began to wake up and clung to him.
"I am sorry, my dear doctor." Sherlock whispered, still half asleep.
"I know." John whispered back.
"I did not mean to be away for so long, but Moran caught me and I couldn't escape until last night, when I knew he was planning on hurting you." Sherlock continued.
"And we did try. Desperately." At added.
"I know, I understand, and I forgive you." John whispered back.
"Just, promise you won't do it again." Nix added herself.
"We can't." Sherlock began.
"We will always do whatever is required to protect you two. Even if that is to give up our own lives. But we will promise to try and do everything else that is possible first, and to avoid leaving you again at all costs, unless it is the only way to ensure your safety." At explained.
"We can protect ourselves. And we are meant to protect you two." John frowned.
"At least promise not to do something like this again, without discussing it with us, and don't trick us like that again, please?" Nix asked.
"We'll do all we can to avoid planning without you, and tricking you again." At promised.
"We will always do whatever if needd to ensure your continued living though, even if that is to leave you, to trick you. Just like we know you would do the same, even though we don't want you to." Sherlock explained.
"I can't lose you like that again, I don't think I will survive it again. I nearly gave up and shot myself." John confessed, "I love you Sherlock."
"And I you, my dear doctor. Always."
They laid together as the sun rose, and remained in their embrace until Lestrade knocked on the door, ready to take their statements now they had recovered from their shock.
The End.