He had been John Watson for almost a decade now. He'd spent the better part of the twentieth century trading one disguise for another. He often played the part of a doctor as his healing Gift was now one of his strongest and had quickly become his favourite. After flying of course, but since only the White could do that, he often pretended that healing was his only Gift and that it wasn't strong enough for him to have joined the Priesthood.

It was easier to avoid suspicion that way because, although his disguises were easy enough to maintain, the story of Jayan the White's disappearance had become legendary and the entire world was on the lookout for him.

His disguises had become lax lately. This one looked very similar to himself but was shorter and his hair a faded version of itself. His eyes were duller and he walked with a fake limp.

It got worse when Saru chose the Priestess Auraya as the last of the White in the 1960's. The only thing preventing the White from being complete was his absence and there was a brief frenzy among the people that the White would never stand together as five.

Five. The holy number.

The people felt it was a bad omen to have only four White protecting them as all five had now been chosen.

"Why has Jayan gone?" They would ask "What have we done for him to abandon us?"``

He spent most of that decade in extremely remote places like the Brazilian rainforest out of shame. He could not return yet, it would be agony after his brief taste of freedom. He was not yet done living amongst the normal people and could not bear to reveal himself in fear of them looking to him with reverence instead of friendliness.

It was almost time to move on again, to become someone else. He'd felt his time as John Watson was drawing to a close especially after he'd been hit by a nasty curse while serving in the army and invalided home. Any normal person would been crippled by such a curse and so he'd had to pretend again. It was a shame really because in actuality Chaia had removed the curse almost immediately.

Chaia still popped into his head occasionally to make sure he was still alright and to see whether he would come home. Those were Chaia's words. John wasn't sure where home was yet.

…

As he pottered around the old bedsit in London and slowly broke contact with all of John Watson's friends, something utterly remarkable happened.

He met Sherlock Holmes.

They met at St Bart's; introduced by one of those old friends he thought he'd left behind. Sherlock had turned to look at him and it had felt as though he'd looked right through him. Those bright blue eyes had pierced through him as though looking into his very soul. For the first time in over a hundred years he truly felt as though he had been discovered, laid bare as Jayan the White once more.

The moment had passed but John had been no less amazed as the remarkable man in front of him had thrown the story of his current lifetime back at him. Even the details he'd faked to provide himself with a backstory were spotted instantly and accurately.

It was entirely exhilarating. He felt more alive than he had in years. So when this new acquaintance assumed he was looking for a new flatmate he jumped at the chance.

He could afford to be John Watson for a while longer.

…

The next day was at the same time thrilling confusing and slightly alarming. It had started normally; he'd made an awkward impression on his new landlady, who assumed he was gay, and insulted his new flatmate, by calling his stuff rubbish.

Then Sherlock had invited him to a crime scene for the first time and his life, the life he'd been looking for all this time seemed to fall into place.

DI Lestrade and the rest of the NSY police force seemed utterly baffled to his presence. It wasn't difficult to assume that Sherlock may have trouble making friends, especially after the cab ride to the crime scene. Sherlock had been utterly stunned when John had called him amazing and had informed him that most would have told him to 'Piss off.'

John had to swallow the response that wanted him to tell Sherlock just how unlike other people they both were.

Then things got really interesting as Sherlock proceeded to demonstrate his extraordinary Gift of Sight. He could see things most people would never dream of and his mind moved just as fast as his Gift creating patterns and connecting seemingly random bits of data. He also had a small amount of the Gift of telekinesis and things would revolve around the room so he could study them without contaminating evidence.

Sherlock then took off and abandoned John at the crime scene and after exchanging a few unpleasantries with Sergeant Donovan who seemed to think those Gifted like Sherlock, whose minds moved faster than their emotions and so could not display empathy as quickly as normal people, were somehow freakish. He would normally have taken the time to educate her but he was tired and wanted to go back to his flat.

He was subsequently kidnapped by a faceless man and his nameless assistant. It was a bit tedious really and not at all frightening. The only interesting part of the ordeal was that his kidnapper seemed to be someone of great influence and his magic was similar to Sherlock's. So similar in fact that John could only assume that they were related.

Sherlock did nothing to confirm this suspicion and seemed mildly put out that John had not accepted the bribe, as though he had to reassess his opinion of John's moral character and he had no time for it. He also seemed bemused that John did not mistake him for a murderer upon presenting the pink suitcase.

What followed were some of the strangest events imaginable. Dinner (where he was once again assumed to be gay), a cab chase (with an unimpressed American), a fake drugs bust (were those really eyeballs in the microwave?) and then finally he had to give chase to the mad genius who had apparently gotten into a cab with the murderer.

Willingly.

Later he stood by the police tape and watched Sherlock give his statement to Lestrade. This was the first time he had ever killed to save a life. He'd used magic to make his aim true but Sherlock would just assume he was an expert marksman. He smiled inwardly as he watched Sherlock pause midsentence and turn to look at him as the clues fell into place in his brilliant mind. His new flatmate shook of the police detective and started to walk in his direction.

A warm voice chose that moment to speak to him.

He's special this one. You like him don't you?

He didn't bother to answer. Chaia could draw his own conclusions. Sherlock Holmes was special and the world was better off with him in it. He would remain John Watson for as long as he was able and keep him safe. The trick would be to see if he could hide his true self from someone as perceptive as Sherlock Holmes or even from his brother as he once again encountered the mysterious kidnapper who it turned out was called Mycroft. Poor sod.

This would be an interesting experiment to be sure.

A/N So John is bisexual in this fic before you ask and prefers to identify as such, so gay is technically incorrect. Things should get more interesting soon but this chapter was all about setting the scene.