Hi readers! This is my first Sherlock fanfiction so I hope you enjoy! This story will probably have around 10 to 15 shortish chapters, but maybe more or less depending on how I'm feeling. Updated whenever I finish.

This is set in parallel to the first episode of BBC's Sherlock, A study In Pink. However, it is set in an AU where everyone is born knowing the first name of their soulmate.

I should make it clear that they know there birth name and there birth name only. If someone changes there name due to gender identity or just choice, their soulmate knowledge will not change. Also, people do not know the gender of their soulmate. All they know is there birth name e.g. Tessa, Will, Alex.

Also, I would like to say that I do not claim to understand issues in this story such as PTSD. I have done some research but my understanding is minimal.

Constructive criticism appreciated Xx

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, plots of lines from BBC's Sherlock. This fanfiction is not canon and does not aline with canon.

Chapter 1 - Old Friends

He could feel the dust of the desert in his nose, making him want to sneeze. But he couldn't. The unconsious woman laying in front of him bleeding from the stumpy remains of a foot made sure of that.The air was hazy, he didn't know whether from smoke or the daze and noise of battle. Well, he wasn't exactly in battle, was he. He just dealt with the aftermath.

The woman on the table was becoming increasingly pale, the pool of blood increasing. She was not found until a full fifteen minutes after the bomb-

No. He had to keep focused. He turned around to get some bandages when the door burst open. Men dressed all in black rushed in holding guns - enemy guns. Before he could do anything more than reach for his own semi automatic hand gun, he heard the crack of the trigger, the bang of the explosion and felt the terrible pain of the bullet entering his body in his left shoulder. The noise of more guns rattled in his ears as he fell to his knees and before he knew it, there were bodies everywhere, blood mixing on the floor. So many bodies and guns and blood. Bodies and guns and bl-

John Watson woke up sweating. He glances at the digital clock, 04:32, before took a few deep breaths. (His therapist had recommended it, apparently it helped, though it didn't seem to effective.) The same dream, night after night. You'd thought you'd get used to it. But you didn't. The dreams always felt so real, but then they weren't really dreams at all. They were memories, and that was worse, in a way. He held up his left hand to check to see if it was shaking, and of course it was. It always was these days. He checked the other hand; dead still. He cringed at his own choice of words. Dead still.

He didn't go back to sleep that night.

He needed to get out the house. He was walking through the park, the silence broken only by the sound of birdsong and the tap tap of his walking stick. His leg was hurting him more than usual lately. In the opposite hand he held his coffee, the cardboard hot in his rough hands. Another night of no sleep left him tired. He had barely had a full night of sleep since he came back, and the dark shadows under his eyes were becoming more and more pronounced. The soft fabric of his jumper was comforting though, a far cry from his army uniform.

"John! John Watson!" called a familiar voice behind him. He turned around and saw a short, pudgy man with grey hair attempting a to jog to keep up with him. He recognised the man, but couldn't place him.

"It's Mike Stanford, we studied at St Bart's together."

"Oh yeah. Of course," replied John, balancing his walking stick against his leg to shake hands with Mike. In truth, he didn't remember him at all.

"What've you been up to?" inquired this new-old acquaintance. "Last I heard you were off somewhere being shot at?"

John shrugged his shoulders, staring down at his shabby trainers. "I got shot."

John and Mike sat down on the park bench, talking about stupid stuff like the weather, when John brought up the tattoo on the inside of their wrists.

"So have you met them yet?" John said in an off hand way.

"Yeah, ten years now," said Mike rolling up his sleeve, showing a single word, Jannet, in black ink. "Been married for a few. Very happy together."

"Good to hear," John said sighing. In fact, he was rather jealous. Almost all people his age had met their soulmate, and he had yet to come close. He subconsciously touched his watch strap that was obscuring the name written there.

"You still at Bart's then?" said John, keen to change the subject.

"Teaching now, bright young things like we used to be. God I hate them." They both had a quick laugh before moving on.

"You staying in town until you get yourself sorted?" Mike asked.

"I can't adore London on an army pension."

"And you couldn't bare to be anywhere else. That's not the John Watson I know."

"Yeah well I'm not the John Watson you know." He immediately wished he hadn't said that, and a good ten seconds of silence followed.

"Couldn't Harry help?" said Mike, breaking the awkward moment.

"Like that's going to happen," John scoffed.

"Why not get a flatmate or something?"

"Oh come on. Who would want me as a flat mate."

Mike chuckled to himself, much to the confusion of the ex soldier. What had he said?

"What is it?" queried John "What did I say?

"It's just that you're the second person to say that to me today."

And that's the first chapter! Hope you enjoy this chapter and the coming ones Xx