There was blood on the floor again.

Damn, he'd probably get kicked out of the army-issue flat this time. Fourth time this month, and his 'doctoring' charade hadn't help up too well. If you've got control over the elements that rest just out of reach for most of the population, keeping a low profile is generally necessary. As John Watson was doing.

People who had demons using their bodies as transport generally showed the symptoms of someone with a vague illness. Thankfully, paranoia was at an all-time-high and it was demon season for the hunters of the world. Contrary to popular opinion, holding up a cross does not rid you of a demon, simply gives it one more fear to exploit. Once you feel a slight emotional depression, you are an easy target for the supernatural realm to latch upon. Usually it is unnoticeable, just little quirks that happen all the time; losing feeling in a limb or sensory attachment, and then a sense of nausea as the being co-existing with you steals your functions and control over yourself. High-tolerance for fault and pain usually, in John's case, lead to a difficult separation of the carrier and spirit, such as had happened four times within the month. John may have been an Aware, but he was in no way invincible, or able to perform an extraction within minutes, relying on little to no sleep. In any case, it had not been an easy month.

-m-M-m-

One month earlier

This was what people wanted, right? To be sent home? Away from Afghanistan, away from the days of countless souls, deaths and blood, all of it blurring into an obscure scar, away from the hell on earth, that was his life before that one bullet. Although, due to his awareness, he probably should have seen, but extracting a particularly clingy goblin out of a boy was proving difficult, and the awareness came back just as a 9x19mm copper-jacketed bullet was inches away from his shoulder. It ripped through, and the goblin, seizing its chance, clawed through John's leg, rendering him unable to walk and with a fever for weeks. As the hallucinations had faded and consciousness had returned, the nurses informed him that he was to be sent home, and it was a close call. They had, helpfully, informed him that the fever was 'illogical', to which he spared a small ironic chuckle. All the souls, flitting around in the world, completely ignorant of the supernatural beings that existed in such close proximity, both good and bad.

Upon his return to London, he began performing impromptu rituals, separating people that were too closely bonded with the spirit. Most people have one, and most are unaware. The effects are different for each. For some it is rage, as it is with the goblins. Goblins are thick in the Army, and people that have given the being free reign have ended up going into a berserker state of rage. There are incubi and succubae, who deal in lust. There are the demons, sounds plain old and boring, right? But there is a spectrum. On one end, the demon will bring a state of depression. On the other, the demon will invoke a black hole of emotions, drawing people in, and feeding on their happy thoughts, leaving them with a heart of stone. Demons are manipulators of emotions, greedy and cold. They are by far the most devious of all other-worlders, for they bring peace before drawing the last of the strength, and turn the carrier on themselves, believing that they are causing their own problems. Demons will use a person in more subtle ways, using friendships for all they are worth, and spitting out the remains, casting the blame on the person. Then there are the good. There are the fae, who find what their carrier wants and employs skills and assets that said carrier owns in order to attain it. The fae are normal, common, but most are weak. An abrasive soul can wear out a weak fae, and the fae may fade on its own; but if the fae is strong it can turn the soul of the person. As a regulation, fae usually care about their carriers above all else. There are the pixies, less common, but stronger, and many other kinds. They are simply the easiest to recognise, and the norm for supernaturals, but other kinds exist, John just hasn't met them yet. He'd seen so many kinds of evil, so much gore and hate that every good he saw made him glad that not everybody had been lead astray.

Let's fast forward to the blood on the floor. The ritual went wrong, again, and he needed iron to enhance the sayings. Unfortunately, the demon was a clever little bugger, who had appeared in the flat before John and thrown all his iron related materials into the skip outside his window, so he had to use his own blood. However, the ritual worked, and John stood, swaying from blood loss, needing to move a scrawny young fellow out of his flat, onto the pavement before he woke up and comprehended the freedom of being without his demon. Said demon was currently losing consciousness in a jar in John's flat, turning from a wisp of wind into dust as his carrier was dragged onto the street. John stumbled and limped up the stairs and promptly fell, unconscious, onto the bed.

Knowing it was only a matter of time until the landlord took a quick tour and spied the mess on the floor, John took a walk around the park, to see if there was anyone he could help with a handshake. 'Walk' was a bit of an overstatement, however. The memory of the talons burrowed into his leg haunted his walk, although his psychiatrist said 'it's psychosomatic, you need to take your mind off of it, and it will simply fade into nothing, the same with your nightmares.' A load of clap-trap, in John's opinion. The night terrors did not fade, and likely never would, seen as he is haunted by his work. Since the Army had destroyed his walls, the spirits found a way to show him they could send one last hate message before they left forever, and they sent it to him. The powerful ones that could access dreams were the worst. Weeks of sleepless nights, because every time he closed his eyes, the things he didn't want to see were displayed, in horrifying clarity. Getting his walls up could happen, but it would take a force of will he wasn't sure he possessed.

He limped along, vaguely cataloguing people he passed. There were fae, so many fae. It made him smile, there was a mass amount of fae in London, and they all seemed to be here. There were pixie congregations and one lucky enough to have a guardian, before his attention was diverted elsewhere.

"John, John Watson?" John turned and stared. It was impossible not to. He briefly recognised the man as Mike Stamford, a guy in med school with him, a guy with a weak fae. Not too interesting. Easy to ignore. It appeared he'd got rid of the fae, and now had a Kin.

Kin, (n) [kin] someoneorsomethingof the same or similar kind. Kin, (n) [kin] a spirit with a matchmaking tryst, exist rarely, and are incredibly powerful. Can see who is most compatible with others, and uses carrier to bring them together. It is the only spirit with a physical form. While all others are hues surrounding the soul, the Kin is able to separate itself from the carrier, although the viewing of them is still restricted to Aware's.

"Yeah, I got fat," Mike said, in response to his dumbfounded look. Yeah, you're also carrying a kin, John thought, still slightly in awe. A few minutes later brought a sense of stability back to John, along with a coffee for them both. The Kin was watching John, most likely deciding who it'd match him with. John sighed, and knew that whoever it was, wouldn't want to get to know him. I mean, how are you meant to introduce yourself; "Yeah, hi, I'm John. I separate demons from the souls of the unfortunate humans that they latch onto. Oh yeah, and this limp? And this bullet wound? Both caused by a goblin. You?" Even without the obvious drawbacks, at heart he'd simply become loyal to the people he wanted to, and consider them the highest priority. A bit like a fae. Unsurprisingly, this made him a majorly difficult man to live with.

"Who'd want me for a flatmate?" There it was, the cinching question. He was just poking fun at the Kin, giving it a bit of a challenge. In response, he saw it grin widely, as Mike huffed a laugh.

"You're the second person who's said that to me today."

"Who was the first?"

-m-M-m-

Everybody that he'd seen in St Bartholomew's was normal. Simple, ordinary, boring, no use for John to try to get to know. They kept walking, so he knew the Kin had other ideas, and he was getting nervous as he limped through the door, into the, apparently final, room. He shifted his gaze, noting the up-to-date technology.

"Bit different from my day." The statement was blunt and unemotional, simply a view as he looked around again.

"Mike can I borrow your phone, mine has no reception down here,"

And then John was star struck for the second time that day.

In front of him, without a care in the world, stood a Pure, and John knew that he'd go anywhere, do anything for this spectacle of a man. Even before he had spoken two sentences, before he knew his name, he'd give anything up.

Pure, (adj) [pyoor] free from anything of a different, inferior, or contaminating kind; free from extraneous matter. Pure, (n) [pyoor] an untarnished soul.

A/N:Aw man I finally got around to writing my first fic. Yeah, this is going to be continued and um all mistakes are mine, I have a sortof storyline in place but you're going to have to waaiiittt(; Please review, suggestions, ideas, prompts, mistakes that I've made, even if it's just to say 'never write again' I'd love to hear it (; More will be up soon.

Love, hugs, hedgehogs and tea.