AN: Happy New Year to you all. For me in Germany it is already 2018. As promised Chapter 1. I try to upload every week one chapter. My project for 2018. Filled with History, Relationships and the trouble time-travel brings.

Until we meet again, my friend

Chapter 1: Deep End

'Present, London'

The call came unexpectedly. Agent John H. Watson could safely say he had never done anything to catch the attention of his boss. Or better the boss of his boss. He had been promoted and had more medals than he should but he had never been the target of any bad attention like right now. He had been called to the boss' office and that could never be good.

He was back in London after a long time being away; back in Great Britain… he couldn't really remember how long he had been away. His flat was basically just a storage room for his things and even that wasn't much. He only had the flat because it was expected of him. The boss' office was in a gentlemen's club where no one talked and you were accompanied to the right room by guards to make sure you really didn't stop to talk to London's elite.

Standing in front of the door John searched his brain a last time looking for a possible reason for him to have been called up here but he found none. His last mission had been a success, the hostage situation had been solved without body count and it hadn't even slipped through to the press that one of the members of the royal family had gone missing for two whole weeks. He had done everything right. Sighing John knocked and entered the office.

"You asked to see me, sir?" John didn't waste time with introducing himself; the man behind the desk knew exactly who he was.

"Yes. That's true. I called you because I have a new assignment for you." The man showed John the chair in front of the desk with his hand signaling for him to sit. Which John did without hesitation but he didn't touch the file prepared for him, on his side of the desk. Never touch something without asking to do so. Especially something that could have confidential information inside.

"What's the mission, sir?" It wasn't usually done this way. Normally he received a message telling him about the next job and hopped onto the next flight to whatever country he was supposed to work in next. The briefing happened most of the time on board of the air plane.

"That's the thing agent; I can't tell you what job it is until you have signed up for it." The eyes of the man, who hadn't introduced himself, looked down to the file. "I can tell you that this new assignment will be different from all your other missions. But I'm sure a man with your abilities will master it without problems." A secret mission, John thought, but why can't he tell me at least part of it.

"Before you accept, there is one thing I can and will tell you and I want you then to consider carefully if you feel up for this mission." John nodded signaling to the man to continue. "Your mission is sort of a guarding mission." A baby-sitting job, great, was John's first thought.

"You will follow one person and watch this person. You are not allowed to interact with said person in anyway. You are only allowed to intervene when something isn't following the script." Okay 'script' sounded wrong.

"Who is this person?" Please don't let it be one of those snobby rich kids.

"Can't tell you until you say yes; if you accept the file will tell you who it is." John had already decided to accept. If only for the reason that he had been chosen to do so. As he reached out and took the file a hand stopped him.

"Are you sure? There will be no way back. That assignment is to be pulled through until your death." John only hesitated for a second and took the file.

The first picture wasn't what he had expected; like the whole afternoon, to tell the truth. It was the photograph of a painting done by cavemen. The rock where some people had made their art unforgettable wasn't in a cave; the rock was in a museum and it looked kind of familiar to him. He had seen those paintings before. "I have seen them before." John spoke out loud without intention.

"I know. I watched you do so." That earned the man a very suspicious look and John a tiny smile. "My name is Mycroft Holmes. The rock with the painting you saw during the visit to the museum with your family had been brought to that place to that time for only one reason: for you to see it." John was confused. How did that man, Mycroft Holmes, what a name, know about that trip? It had been a decision taken on the spur of the moment as they couldn't back to their house because their dad was drunk and his mum hadn't wanted him and Harry to see their father like that. She also wanted to avoid getting hurt. It hadn't been planned; it had been raining that day so they couldn't go to the playground they normally went to.

"How did you know about it?" John wasn't sure what he meant: the visit, the rock, his family or the fact that the man had watched him.

"Someone, that someone who is your mission, told my uncle, the leader of this agency before me, to do so." That made no sense. "I know that all sounds a bit crazy right now but I would like you to follow me. I was always a fan of throwing people into the deep end of the pool. The only way to learn swimming or diving, depending on your lung capacity." John watched Mycroft Holmes stand up and walk to the second door of this room. "Are you coming Agent Watson?" It wasn't really a question and John closed the file, stood up and followed the man through the door.

He hadn't looked at the rest of information inside the file, hadn't asked what he was expected to do or where they were going but you learned to stop asking questions you never got an answer for. The painting, something about it had burned itself in his mind. He couldn't remember anything else he had seen that day in the museum, but this picture, which had made him sad that day, had stayed. It was as if the artist himself had talked with him about it. Discussed it. Described it. But that couldn't be. He just had feeling as if he had.

He had had at university a roommate who studied art and they had often had discussions about paintings and with the explanations of the person, his roommate, who knew how to 'read' them, he had been able see art from another side too. The side of the artist. It was the same with the caveman's painting.

After walking through a long hallway, they entered a room. It didn't look like it belonged in that old Victorian building, more like inside a spaceship from a science fiction movie. In the middle of the room was some kind of ball with a something that looked like a seat from a jet.

John had a secret Doctor Who fascination; you could say he was a fanboy. One of his few possessions was the complete collection of Doctor Who DVD's and he was proud to call himself owner of the old episodes on VHS tapes. His grandmother used to record them for his grandfather; he had shift work and couldn't watch them. She had never deleted the episodes and given the cassettes to John when he had told her about his fascination for the show, the episodes of the early years. Grandmother and Grandfather were no longer in this world but one of the many memories with them was watching this show and talking about it. He loved these afternoons at his grandparents' house. Away from his father and forgetting the real word for a second.

"Agent, welcome to your new point of operation. Meet your colleagues; they will support you with everything you need. You can introduce yourself later, they will do the same. First of all I want you to sit in this seat over there, close the seatbelt and when you arrive to not destroy anything.

"Destroy what?" He didn't receive an answer and followed the orders. He sat down and closed the seat belt. "Oh and don't leave anything behind."

One of the women from his new team, if you could call it that, whispered something in his ear; he only shook his head. "Can you hear me?" Another female voice came from inside his little capsule. "Yes." No further explanation.

An automatic door started to close and locked John in his seat inside of a small chamber. "Agent Watson I wish you luck and hope we will continue our conversation when you are done. In order to be able to return, you have only to change the time on the clock to the word home. It brings you back to the present but adding exactly the amount of minutes/hours you were there." Where was there and what did it have to do with time? He looked at the clock; it showed no actually day time. The first thing it was showing was the date '15.000 BCE' but John didn't have more time to wonder. Something shifted and he moved.

'15.000 BCE, somewhere in Europa'

When John opened his eyes again he was blinded by sunlight. That couldn't be, because he was inside a house in London on a rainy day. The door opened and John climbed out. He felt a bit of nausea but he forgot all about it as his eyes finally got used to the light and he could see again.

He wasn't in the building anymore. Looking around he even doubted he was anywhere near London. Mountains rose in the distance, a never ending forest surrounded him. Only a few open areas like this one could be seen. He had landed on a small hill and wasn't sure what to do next. His boss had told him that he could come back easily but he had some kind of mission here. He didn't know what it was but it had to be something that was related to the caveman painting.

John saw smoke not too far away and walked down the hill. At the bottom he heard noises that were definitely not coming from any animal or from nature itself. Slowly he closed the distance between the fire and himself. He hid behind a huge tree and as he looked around he saw a campfire. That was the first thing he saw, but then he looked closer and saw the people around the fire, naked, only partly covered by fur, primitive weapons and tools lying around.

John took cover behind the tree again. What he was seeing was nothing he could explain by using pure logic. There, not even a hundred meters away from him was a group of cavemen. Real living caveman. Taking a deep breath to slow down his heart he turned back to watch them again. It reminded him of the scene on the painting. The painting. Suddenly John looked around and startled. If this was really the past, and he meant 'the past', then he had time-travelled to the time and place where that painting had been created. He could meet the person who had drawn the picture that had stayed in his mind all this time. What other reason could there be for Mycroft Holmes to show the photograph to him? Quietly so as to not disturb the group around the fire John walked to the left, feeling the man was there. He saw the painting in his mind again. The group had been on the right side and the man on the left.

Only later he realized that it was quite dangerous to walk around in the forest considering that it could be seen as the territory of the group. He could have been attacked by the people or animals or something else but nothing happened and John arrived to the cave entrance.

With his back turned to John there was a man, a tall man. Far taller than him, yes John was small but still taller than the caveman and this man has the size of a modern human. The fur of a black bear was around his shoulders and the head of the bear was covering the man's head like a hood. He was working on the painting, although it didn't have the form it had had in the museum. John walked closer until something broke under his foot. A piece of wood caused a crunching noise and the man in the bear fur turned around.

His eyes, he remembered them, they were the same. All those years ago in the museum, he now remembered the man that had told him to find him and give him his hand. But this was John's past and it looked like he was way too was far in the future for this man. He didn't look at him with his warm eyes like the last time, but still they had galaxies in them. The galaxy-eyed man, he used to call him in his mind. Now they looked suspiciously at John as he could mean danger.

Mycroft Holmes had given him two rules: don't destroy anything and don't leave anything behind. He had never said anything about not being allowed to interact with his target. That was what this man was right now. His new mission. Despite the fact that John had just traveled through time, he had an assignment and he would do whatever it took to fulfill it.

Slowly he walked over to the man, holding his hands where they could be seen, no weapons or anything dangerous in them. The man had a small pouch in his hand containing the paint he was using for his painting. The picture already showed the group around the fire but the man was missing from it. Knowing that language would be useless, John stopped right next to the man, tipped his fingers into the paint and started to paint the figure from his memory.

The man watched him painting and after a short moment he continued his own. They stood together, feeling each other. The painting looked like the one in the museum now, after John had painted the man, put a few animals and trees around them. He found a lighter color in another pouch with which he painted the light around the figure on the rock.

Next to him the man finished his work and looked at John. He seemed to be interested in John. John wasn't sure what to do next. There was still the communication difficulty but when the man smiled for him John forgot his worries and smiled back. He couldn't stay for much longer. What would happen when one of the cavemen discovered his time machine? But he didn't want to leave the man, not without knowing his name.

John stood and looked directly into the man's eyes; he laid his hand on his own chest and said: "John." John repeated this a few times and then he pointed with his hand at the man's chest with a questioning look on his face. John was sure that they had names. The man started to understand because he lifted his own hand, pointing to his own chest and said: "Sherlock."

The man's… Sherlock's voice was a bit smoky like he hadn't used it in a while. A strange name but it could mean something in the caveman's language. Thinking about it, John knew nearly nothing about the Stone Age, only the things you got to know through cartoons and comics in your childhood.

John nodded and started to leave; he couldn't stay forever and he had gotten what he wanted, a name. He wanted to see the man again, soon. Sherlock didn't follow him; he seemed to understand that John was going someplace where he couldn't follow. He stayed alone with his painting and John disappeared between the trees.

The way back to his time machine, the word still sounded strange to him, was easy to find. John climbed up the hill again and found his vehicle untouched. Inside he closed his seat belt, changed the time to 'home', closed his eyes and let the machine bring him back, away from Sherlock, the galaxy-eyed man.

'Present, London'

This time the nausea crushed him and he climbed swaying out of the machine and got sick on the flour with all his limbs shaking. So he decided to let himself fall to the side. Worried voices and hands appeared out of nowhere and after someone had helped him up, he was half carried to a chair. A blanket around his shoulder and a glass of water in his hand later John felt able to open his eyes again.

"Time travel sucks." He said directly into Mycroft Holmes' face, earning him a smile from the man himself.

"I heard the side effects stop after a few times." John took a sip from the water and emptied the whole glass after he noticed how thirsty he was. "Did you meet your charge?"

"You mean Sherlock right?" Mycroft's eyes opened surprised. "Yes, nice guy, a bit of an artist. Would be nice to know what I should do with him."

"You talked to him and got his name?" His boss looked a bit suspicious now.

"Well, I wouldn't call it talking; I introduced myself and he told me his name. At least I think it was his name or he might have said something else. I am not sure, I don't speak Stone Age." John felt a bit angry. He didn't like to be used and sent on a mission without the right information or knowing what his task was.

"I'm sorry agent but in my experience it is the best to just show people. You wouldn't have believed me if I had told you before." He was probably right, still it was no excuse.

"Will you explain my mission now or do I have to figure that out the hard way too?"

"No. Your mission is to visit every time period in which we found evidence of Sherlock's appearance. You have to confirm his whereabouts and what he is doing. Especially if he is changing history or leading it in its normal path. You will be his guard in these times of change and we would like you to collect all the information you are able to about his actions."

"So his name is Sherlock and he is immortal or what?" There was no other explanation for this mission.

"We think so." After a second. "To both of your questions. Agent Watson I would like you to go home for today. Tomorrow your will find yourself with a new time period to visit. You can read through the file I gave you and you will get a proper introduction to your travel device and your colleagues, as well as a medical examination." John nodded. He was too tired and to filled up with information to do anything else.

He waved good bye and found his way home to his rarely used flat without thinking much. Time travel, an immortal and him as a… yes what was he really? Watching a man that wasn't able to die. Watching him living or existing between humans. Collecting information about the man and how he interacted with the time line.

Sherlock, a strange name, but when you lived for thousands of years and had the same name all the time, it had to be something old or unknown. These eyes, the man who had talked to him in the museum, was the same as the man he had stood next to and painted the painting.

John shot up in his sofa suddenly. HE HAD CHANGED SOMETHING. Panic rose in his chest. His boss had told him to not destroy and or leave anything behind. He had painted a picture in the Stone Age that wouldn't have existed in that way without his intervention. Ok, no one would notice, because the picture was exactly as he had seen it the first time. Does it mean he was destined to travel through time and change things along the way? His head hurt when he thought about it. He should just go to bed. Tomorrow would be a long day and he would meet Sherlock again.

The time traveling agent fell asleep and dreamt about stars and bears and fire. And Sherlock looking at him.

AN:So that was the first one of 39+Epiloque
At the end of every chapter you get the name of the next.
Chapter 2: They call me Aeon.
Can you imagen the next time periode John will visit.
See you next week.