It's been three weeks.
Three weeks since the admiral's visit,
Three week's since the doctor's compromise,
and three weeks since the great detective's agreement.
Three weeks have gone past like any other.
Well, if you can call reuniting a yellow-masked girl with her family, solving the mystery of a carbuncle in a goose's stomach, and discovering the truth of a ridiculous situation involving redheads, a week like any other.
But of course it was. For Hatman and Robin.
In the early morning of a perfect Sunday, the phone buzzed chaotically in the flat of 221 B Baker Street. Two very tired minds dragged their limp bodies hurriedly towards the ringing device, praying to God that they could answer before they wake their seemingly sweet landlady, Mrs. Hudson.
As anyone who personally knew her knows that one does not simply disrupt her sleep on a Sunday morning. A lesson very much learned by Sherlock the first time he took his boredom out on the wall at 5:30 AM.
Finally finding the phone buried deep in the crevices of the detective's armchair, John Watson cleared his throat and gave his most professional sounding voice for a man who only managed to get an hour of sleep. But before he could even finish his greeting, an asperous voice of an old man wasted no time for chit chat.
"Ah, doctor Watson, I presume,"
Recognizing the prominent voice of a superior, John instinctively returned to his soldier's posture.
"Admiral Eugene! Yes, this is John Watson, are you perhaps calling about the project, sir?"
Noticeably eager, Watson shushed a staring Holmes with a finger, mouthing out the Admiral's name only to receive a roll of the eyes from the detective.
"I am here to invite you and all the other participants for a brief meeting at Starfleet's laboratory before we conduct the project next week. I hope you and Mr. Holmes are available to attend?"
"Oh yes sir, very much so." Another grunt from the childish man.
"Superb. I'll have someone email you the date and time right away. Until then, doctor."
"And you, Admiral."
Once the click of the phone indicated the end of a short conversation, Sherlock stared at John for a brief moment.
"So," Watson continued, not noticing the man's gaze. "We have a meeting to attend to."
"Are we going?"
"Wha-? Why of course we're going!"
With that reply, Sherlock once again sighed and rolled his eyes, bounding his way over to the kitchen and attempted to make a cup of coffee, an action simply made to irritate his strict flatmate, who is all for not letting Sherlock Holmes cook or create anything made to eat in the kitchen.
John Watson, already used to this childish behavior, ignored Sherlock, and logged in to his laptop to check his email, mumbling about silly tantrums and 'grow up will you's'.
A week like any other.
A hundred footsteps made it's way through Starfleet's large corridor. From a distance, the abounding amount of men and women behind one fully uniformed admiral looked as if they were preparing for war. Although they were not getting ready for battle, they were, however, getting ready to become soldiers.
Superhuman, to be exact.
Next to the admiral professor, doctor Watson walked with him, introducing the great mind. The admiral himself at first thought of the detective as an over exaggeration of brilliancy, but once they met just a few moments ago, his opinions of him were changed when Sherlock was able to deduce his morning breakfast by just the shake of the hand and a smile.
"Well," John started, "I never thought there would be this many people in one division." he observed and turned to Lestrade who followed behind him.
"The more the better, I say. Just be grateful for the humongous laboratory they've gifted us." laughed the admiral.
As the two chatted like old mates talking about their experiences out on the field, Sherlock scanned the entirely white building with glazed eyes. Sure he was impressed with the vastinity, but it was all too plain boring to him.
They soon reached a great door which slid open to reveal an extravagant room filled with brilliant science equipment that could make any scientist of every field drool with pleasure. Monitors were hooked up to every space on the walls, tables were lined with every medical and research tools known to mankind, people adorned with lab coats hustled and and bustled about, and a hundred pods lined the entire edge of the room, all hooked up to a gleaming heavy piece of machinery in the center of the lab.
Upon drinking in the beauty of science before him, Sherlock, for a split second, stood gaping at the wonder.
"Oh my." was all John could breathe out as a response.
Admiral Eugene turned to look at the centuplicate group, feeling proud of his work as he saw wide eyes and jaws drop.
"Welcome to Starfleet's Research and Medical Component. This is where the Eugenics Project takes place, and where you all will be working in for the next few months." He gestured the group to follow him for a grand tour.
"In this very room, this is where our team spent years working and experimenting. Every piece of equipment you see is a tool of the future. During the beginning of the experiment, you will be in here where we will conduct your tests and analyze every speck of you to determine how your advanced form will be like. The first step is always the hypothesis, you see. This will take about another few weeks or so."
The admiral professor continued on and with a wave of his arm, he indicated to the pods lined perfectly next to each other, stretching along the exterior of the room.
"And these, will be your beginnings. Think of these as the wombs in which you will come out of, but stronger, more brilliantly, acutely, more than you are right now. You will be in these chambers for a few days, less than a week and when you wake, we will go back to testing. Research, Hypothesis, Experiment, Analysis, then Conclusion. No matter how extraordinary a project may be, the scientific method will always be applied. It is as simple as that."
All nodded, remembering primary school science projects to the testing of different cadavers. What they got from the professor's speech was: it is all surprisingly simple.
"Now, after all this, you will all head to headquarters to enter in Starfleet Academy. There, all of you will be trained together and also individually."
"Headquarters? Where's that?" a voice from the crowd asked.
"San Francisco."
Mixed reaction waved throughout the entire room, yet none expressed negativity for they all knew what they signed up for and were all secretly excited.
Well, except for one.
Sherlock Holmes grimaced at the idea of flying out across the world all to train. Sure he considered himself fit and capable running around London and dodging bullets, but actually being told to exercise and on a daily basis repulsed him. It was like the school's physical education all over again.
Trying to hide his distaste, his eyes flickered to John's, not at all surprised at the former medical soldier's unfazed reaction. Even though he was only a doctor, Sherlock knew from the very beginning that John received the same amount of preparation of those out on the battleground. Not to mention he had already seen his flatmate's physique at nights in which he walked out of the shower with only a towel on. He allowed himself a quick smirk when the memory of it was brought up, thinking back to how the flustered Watson quickly ran to the living room pointing a finger at the detective as he meddled with his experiments, clarifying, "Not gay, I just left my robe on the couch...not gay." and grabbing his things with lightning speed and left.
"Now," the admiral started once again, "Before the week has started, we'll all need you to do some paperwork and one more important and crucial thing. In this very building, you won't be Mr. Lestrade, or Mr. Watson. Your names will be completely confidential. Both for your sakes, and for the people of London."
Lestrade, already being handed his paperwork, spoke up, adding in another question for the admiral. "How so?"
"The people of London wouldn't want to know that almost half of their Scotland Yard is being experimented on, so confidentiality is key."
However it wasn't Admiral Eugene who answered as Lestrade turned his attention to Sherlock, who cocked his eyebrow cheekily and earned a disapproving stare from his doctor.
"Yes, that's correct. Even though we are confident with our success, Starfleet must always remain worry free and avoid setting off any tensions from the public as we are still a growing organization. So! All you have to do after you read your paperwork, is to sign with your alias. You will be able to choose yourself. One name. One identity. In this room, in this building, anywhere in Starfleet, that is who you are."
And with the return of the wrinkly old smile of his, Admiral Professor Eugene dismissed the briefing.
"Hmm...a name...one simple name-ugh why is this hard?!" John paced the small space of their living room waving around the stapled sheets of paper they have received from the meeting. Immediately after they had arrived back in Baker Street, the two read the entire agreement and instructions form together. John looked it over twice and Sherlock scanned for any loopholes or mistakes. All were clear and passed the detective's eyes. All except for John's dilemma.
An alias.
A name in which they would have to keep for the rest of half of their lives. For John, however, it was like naming his own child right of the blue.
'Hamish?' he thought. 'No, that's already part of my name, it's too obvious.'
As he struggled, Sherlock walked passed him with ease, setting his paper down on the coffee table and snuggling himself in his own armchair across from the doctor.
"I don't know why this is difficult for you." he began to mutter, taking out his laptop to search for unsolved crimes to read about.
John looked up, scrunching his nose. "And I don't suppose you have already picked one?"
Sherlock, waiting for that question to run out of John's mouth, finally found his chance to impress the blogger detective and took it. Shutting his laptop close, he grabbed his papers and presented them to John.
"Why, but I have, dear Watson. Khan."
"Khan?"
"Yes. Very short, one syllable, foreign too so it doesn't connect to me."
John looked over his papers, seeing all the lines filled out with sharp signatures of Khan."
He nodded his head.
"And I guess you could also say I've derived it from the Great Genghis Khan, emperor of the Mongol Empire. I've concluded that if I am to become a genetically engineered superhuman, might as well have fun with it and base my alias from a superior being." Sherlock brought his hands together in front of him, watching John leaf through the papers.
The doctor had to admit, he was impressed. Yet knowing Sherlock, he knew the man was rarely sentimental and a simple name would always remain simple.
He handed the papers over.
But Sherlock went babbling about. "I could even stretch out the name if I needed to. I've already decided. Khan Noonien Singh. Noonien for-"
"Alright I get it!" Watson stopped him.
He sighed. He can only be impressed by the great Holmes for so long until he becomes just a bumbling pain in the arse.
He took a look at his own blank papers. It was honestly difficult. He wondered how Sherlock managed to just accept a seemingly random name like that. 'I could simply do the same thing.' he thought. 'Um...Ricky? Leonard? Hikaru?' Although all desultory names, John can never have it in him to keep any of them.
Then he thought about what names really were. They were almost always an homage to someone. Even Sherlock's Khan was, he realized. It may be pulled out of the blue, but it was pulled from someone: Genghis Khan. Everyone names someone or something from something significant. And so John thought deeply.
"Maybe I could use Mrs. Hudson's surname?" he spoke aloud, making Sherlock, across from him, look away from his article of the variety of blood diseases and stare.
"Hudson?"
"Yes, but I don't know-"
"What about your sister?"
"Huh? Oh! Harry? Yes that could work fine also, but it's so common."
John tapped his chin.
"Hudson would be a great name to honor Mrs. Hudson. And Harry is very fitting name, you know my mother wanted to name her son Harry, but of course my sister was born first so she changed it up a bit with Harriett, but then I came in and she just couldn't name me Harry after she already had Harriett. Hmm..."
While John babbled on Sherlock looked at him with uninterested eyes and went back to reading, sighing heavily about this idle situation.
But it wasn't long until John Watson had reached a compromise. Feeling accomplished, he quickly grabbed a pen and signed on every line as if the name would escape him if he didn't perpetuate it in paper.
This very act had the detective curious, lifting his eyes once again away from the screen.
"Well, what is it?"
He waited till all the lines were signed and John handed him the papers with completion. Flipping through them all, he recognized the flow of ink on paper containing the brilliancy the blogger had concocted. One name. One identity. An homage:
Harrison.
A/N Okay, this was a fun chapter. :D Did you get all the references?(There was a bunch!) Did you like my headcannons? Clever, yeah? X) Oh! And next week, I'll be away for a few days for vacation, so just expect maybe a week's break from updates, but not too long though! I'm having a blast writing this. Reviews are helpful and welcomed! :3