Ch. 7
Namesakes and Army Doctors
"Life has to end,' she said.'Love doesn't."
― Mitch Albom
2007
It could only be considered stalking if the participant was uncomfortable with the idea of being watched, Sherlock convinced himself, and this Doctor Watson neither knew of his existence, nor objected to his surveillance, so there was no harm in checking up on the doctor, really. Whenever he wasn't busy collecting souls, Sherlock went searching for Doctor Watson, studying the man. At first he convinced himself that he wanted to find out how the blond had kept Sherlock from taking the soul of Murray, but all too soon he realised that he was merely curious about the man in general. Not that the protection of the soldier's soul became unimportant, but rather became one of many reasons why Death found Doctor Watson so interesting.
Two years after discovering the existence of Doctor Watson, Sherlock was still unable to figure out the secret behind the man. He was a man of solitude, and a man who had many friends. He was cheerful, sombre, snarky and polite. This was a man of many facets, all coming together to create a cohesive whole. Sherlock couldn't get enough.
The man was extraordinary in his own right. Sherlock had spent thousands of years studying the human race, both part of it, and completely separated from it, and he had never met a man as interesting as John. Sherlock, though he probably wouldn't have noticed John right away, would still have been intrigued if he hadn't had the ability to save souls.
Not that the army doctor realised he was doing it, of course. As Sherlock studied John, he realised that the man couldn't see the aura that souls produced. John began working hard before the aura appeared, and his hand stayed far longer than necessary on whomever the good doctor had saved that day. If he could see the aura, he would wait until the soul began to shine before placing his hand on the patient's chest.
It was there in the hot Afghani sun that Greg found him. It had been a long day for the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, and the doctors at the camp were busy trying to rescue the soldiers that had been shot during the small scuffle between themselves and heavily armed locals. Sherlock had managed to take two of the men before Doctor Watson showed up, making it impossible to retrieve any. Sherlock sat outside the camp, watching the men walk around with little interest. He would be in the medical area, but John seemed to catch glimpses of him more often every day, and the idea of a mortal being able to see him without his express permission made Sherlock wary.
"I've never seen you take such an avid interest in a mortal before." Greg's voice floated from behind him, and Sherlock turned to glare. "Not even with your name-sakes, or Otto."
"How do you know my name sakes?" Sherlock asked, avoiding the topic of Otto. Though it had happened so long ago, the memories were painful.
Greg grinned at Sherlock, sitting down next the brunet. "Easy, really. Your given name, Sheol, was missing a few choice letters. Those letters happen to fit up with your more interesting deaths."
"The 'C' comes from Cain's name, and his death was hardly interesting." Sherlock huffed.
"No, you're correct." Greg mused. "But he is the cause of the first soul you had to reap."
Sherlock stayed silent for a moment, annoyed that Greg was correct. Angels could be difficult to deal with on the best of days. "And of the 'R' and the 'K'?"
"The 'K' comes from Kublai Khan, one of your most interesting adversaries. I don't believe I've ever met someone so unwilling to die. The 'R' is for Raphael, the Renaissance painter." Greg replied easily. "Simple enough for anyone that knows you. Now why this man?"
"I assume you are talking of Doctor John Watson?" Sherlock said, his patience growing brittle at Greg's words. He was correct of course, and that did nothing to improve his mood. "He's interesting."
"Interesting how?" Greg asked curiously.
"He has the power to steal souls from me." Sherlock stated, watching as Greg's face went slack in shock.
"What do you mean, he can steal souls from you?" Greg asked slowly.
"Have you lost the ability to understand basic language?" Sherlock snapped. "I said he steals souls from me. They begin to glow, and he pushes them back into their bodies without realising it, no matter how hard I tug."
"But…that's impossible." Greg frowned. "That shouldn't-oh!"
"What? What is it?" Sherlock asked, surprised when realisation dawned on Greg's face. "What do you know?"
"I am not positive if I know anything." Greg replied, "But I must go, and so must you. There is an American daredevil whose time has come. He shall be an interesting man to meet." And with that, Greg vanished, leaving a very annoyed Sherlock behind.
Sherlock glowered at the spot Greg had been in for a few moments before vanishing as well, making his way towards the United States. The silver haired angel might not have told him anything today, but it never took long to get information out of him. It was how Sherlock had managed to avoid Mycroft for so long, though the arch-angel had insisted on monthly meetings ever since they had been reunited in 2005.
Sherlock would find out what Greg knew about John, even if it was the last thing he did.
A/N:
-The daredevil I am referring to is Evel Knievel, who died on November 30th, 2007 from pulmonary disease in Florida.
Today (August 31st) is my birthday, and as a birthday gift to all of you, I have decided to update this fic! (I just...I really enjoy giving presents, okay?) I apologize profusely that it has taken me over three months to update, and that it's not ten times better than it is. Some personal drama happened as I began this chapter, and it has been difficult to get to my computer and sit down to write. You all deserve so much better than this, and I promise I will work harder to get chapters out in the future. You are all such lovely people, and you shower my measly little fic with your beautiful favorites and reviews.. Seriously, I would hug you if I could. I am so so so blessed to have you read this, really I am. Keep being amazing, okay?
Summer days and Milky Ways,
Robottko