San Francisco, California.
Starfleet Academy, Presidio Starfleet Headquarters.
Training grounds.
Two years later.
"UNUS! DUO! TRES!"
The early morning sun beat down on aching bodies, their black uniforms not at all helping against the daylight's penetrating rays.
"COME ON, PUSH THROUGH!"
Strong and able hands slapped against the stone floors and each contact cracked the granite ground. Backs groaned against the thud of spine against rock, connecting with a force that could easily paralyze a human being. Blows were landed everywhere on the body, hitting nerves, denting bone, and even scraping skin.
A cringe-worthy violence was issued amongst the crowd, but this wasn't a simple, idiotic rumble, it was their daily training regime.
Fifty bodies sweated on that court with only one thing in mind; the one and only rule on the training grounds.
Fight as if to kill.
The harshness of these words struck fear into the participants once it first echoed into their ears two years ago but now they understood. Now they weren't willing to hesitate as they targeted each vital organ and broke every bone.
No, they aren't savages.
They are superhuman.
Each dislocated joint, each tear of flesh or each damaged organ will instantly heal itself to its former state, sometimes even in a better, stronger form.
These people know their own power, so with every critical hit, they harbored no guilt or worry and only focus on the strength they can achieve.
And some people achieved far greater strength than others.
One test subject was releasing more power than expected, sparring chaotically and quite destructively with an unfortunate partner who was, at this point, training more of his regenerative abilities than his combat skills.
Cracks of the body and the ground were heard continuously and the other participants flickered their eyes over to the commotion but unable to assess the situation. It was a fight after all. This one was just...unfairly matched.
The poor soul looked up from his crater on the ground, unable to get up due to his legs still unraveling themselves from their twisted form and trying desperately to heal quickly, but they were just a bit too slow. A shadow formed over the broken body, concealing the sun with his muscular back and tall figure. He rolled his shoulders mockingly, clenching his fist and ready to deliver another strike. All the doomed partner below him could do was to shut his eyes and hope for the best that he could recover fully the next morning.
He raised his fist into the air, targeting the abdomen where the fatal spot of the stomach lies. Once his eyes were locked in, he exerted everything in his strength and gathered it into his shoulder, pushing down in an incredible force and-
"KHAN."
A stiff stillness.
The menacing fist hovered just above the abdomen, the stomach sucked in deeply as a last attempt the avoid the impact. His partner just about fainted from relief as he actually felt the force of the air connect with his body before the punch. The damaged man peeked through his clenched eyes. the hand in front of him squeezed into a tighter ball, knuckles cracking in protest.
"I think our dear Christopher has had enough, don't you agree?"
Sherlock sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, getting up and facing his interrupter.
"Where. Is. John, instructor."
Ignoring the dangerous aura directed to him, the combat instructor looked up in slight confusion.
"John? Oh you mean Harrison!" He took out his tablet. "Hmm...hes not here, he's at Medical."
"You know John Watson-"
"Harrison."
Sherlock glared. The instructor shrugged.
"You know very well that he is the only one capable of sparring with me." Sherlock stepped out of the crater, completely ignoring the broken state he just left his partner in and walked away.
His mind was once again in a buzz. Closing his eyes, he began to breathe slowly, taking in the bay air that flowed from the port near the academy. He felt fire once again, but this time he was a bit more capable of controlling it. But he still didn't understand why. For two years now since he had awoken trembling and crazed in his pod, Sherlock became...unstable, though he has done his best to hide it. The only place people really suspected was at the training grounds during a spar. To be able to strike, he had to conjure up all his anger and frustration which goes loose easily. Everyone of his partners in the beginning had felt the wrath of Khan.
Aside from intellect, Sherlock was beyond powerful. Yet he didn't know why. But all this changed two years ago when his new partner arrived in front of him with a smirk.
"John,"
"Ah...still refusing to call me by my alias I see."
Just as it was during their awakening, it was always the presence of John Watson that was able to calm Sherlock's frantic mind. His body ceased fire and he found himself being able to grasp the leashes of his inner demons once again. He stared at the doctor, deducing everything that he could see.
Black Starfleet uniform - mandatory
Smell of disinfectant - just finished Medical
Shoulders wide, chest out - typical military stance; ready to fight
Stern, determined eyes - unhesitant to fight me, unlike all the others
'...So why you?'
Up above, a bell shrieked and the instructors raised their arms. "BEGIN!"
"Are you ready Khan?" John asked, shifting his body in a fighting stance. But Sherlock continued on staring.
Fight? John? He's never sparred with him before, not knowing of the doctor's newfound strength or his strength against him. Sherlock hesitated. 'John's an aging man,' he thought, 'Even enhanced, there is no possibility he can take me down-this is absurd! Plus he'll most likely go off on me about it...' Sherlock unknowingly took a microscopic step back.
John, however, saw this slight mistake of footing,
And he took his chance.
An incredible speed dashed through the space between where the two stood, and in a split second, Watson had reached the boggled detective, kicking his feet underneath him, taking him by the neck and slammed him down hard on the marble floors. The ground beneath him cracked and everyone immediately stopped to stare at the mess.
Before Sherlock could even evaluate what had just happened, John stood before him and bent down to face him.
"You're not the only one who can analyze people's actions, Holmes," he whispered. "I saw it there, you were hesitating, weren't you? You think a man like me can't fight the top combater?" John smiled at his baffled partner.
"I warned you a long time ago Sherlock, I was a soldier. I've killed people."
The memory of that repeated comment coursed through Sherlock Holmes's mind, completely erasing all his strange burst of emotions and of course, all doubts. 'Is this why?'
He gave John a sly grin and readied himself.
"Only on bad days, doctor."
Sherlock quickly lifted himself off the damaged floor using his elbows to support his body and gave Watson a solid kick on the chest with both feet. Once up, he sprinted towards his partner and tackled him back. Feeling confident with himself this time, he began to strike with excellent force.
But no one knew of John Watson's incredible strength and agility. He was always busying himself with the practices of new medicine and never got any time to spar with the rest of the test subjects. But that didn't mean he couldn't fight.
Mixing his military training with his newly acquired strength, the smaller man was able to take down the Great Khan twice,
thrice,
four,
five times.
"And old? Who the fuck told you I was ever considered old?"
Sherlock Holmes never thought lowly of John Watson since that day and declared that John was the only person who he could train with. Fighting with others triggered his mysterious burst of emotions. With John, however, he felt comfortable, more like himself, and felt genuinely...happy.
"HEY! KHAN! Where do you think you're going?" The detective snapped back into present time, still walking away from the damage he had done. Right now, his head was back in tangles, clawing their way out of his skull.
"Give me your best deduction instructor, I'll be happy to hear," Sherlock scoffed and continued on out of the training grounds.
"No! We aren't finished yet Khan, you get ba-"
"Oh come off it instructor!" Tobias stepped into the clearing and strided past Sherlock, handing him a bottle of water and passing him a quick note of information. "He's up at Medical at the chemistry labs. He's been there for a while now, I don't think you'll miss him." The detective gave a short nod and took the bottle without a word.
"Tobias! What the hell?"
"Oh come on instructor, do you really want to let him continue sparring and end up with more poor blokes like Christopher?"
Unable to find a negative to that statement, the instructor continued on the training session with a groan. Lestrade sighed. He knew Sherlock Holmes from the very beginning and ever since the start of the Eugenics Project he had become different. He noticed that he was way more expressive with his actions and even sometimes hold back an insult or a deduction and just walk away from it. Now that wasn't the annoying prick he knew, no not at all. So he had faith in John Watson, the only person who was capable of understanding the detective in a personal level, to help him.
And he could clearly see the detective improving only when John was there to restrain him or beat the hell out of him.
"Tobias," Lestrade turned, looking around for the source of that croaking voice, but unable to find it. Frowning, he brought his eyes down to his feet where Anderson laid, still mangled up and broken. "Mind giving me a hand?"
He looked at the scrawny figure below him with eyes filled with so much pity for the man.
"Oh dear. I wonder how Mycroft would react when he learns of this little incident..."
Starfleet's Medical Base is one of the best in the world. It's curriculums are like no other, focusing not only on earthly matters, but even stretching itself to new world botany and exobiology. It was enough to catch the attention of Doctor Harrison, seated now in a lone chemistry lab, eyes fixed on the open bodies of extraterrestrial plants around him. His history of being a medic and a general practitioner fueled this strange interest, leading him to apply into the Medical Academy right alongside Starfleet's regular courses.
What really got him was the extraterrestrials. Never in his life would he believe there would be signs of other worlds out in the vast universe but here he was, examining an unknown plant's bizarre organs.
'Maybe one day the Vulcans would be kind enough to send us a few of their cadavers...'
As he worked, the doctor noticed the soft sounds of padded footsteps incoming and looked up just in time to greet his visitor. Sherlock Holmes stood in front of the glass sliding doors, sweaty, dirty, and smelling strongly of the sun's rays.
"Uh...fancy meeting you here?" Pulling out his phone, John checked for the time. "You're a bit early, but I really shouldn't be surprised." He looked at Sherlock disapprovingly, but his eyes softened when he noticed the detective's distant gaze and solemn expression. It wasn't like him to be like this, usually he would have come up with a snarky remark or sarcastic smirk for the doctor.
John shed his laboratory coat, revealing the same black Starfleet uniform as Sherlock and all the others who participated in the Eugenics Project, and like Sherlock, John Watson had also gained a bulk of new muscles, strengthening his jaw line and figure. They had all gotten the physique fit for their abilities as promised.
They had all changed physically, some even intelligently, but only Sherlock Holmes changed mentally.
"You okay Khan?" John said as he took a seat on the stool opposite of the quiet detective.
"Don't call me that."
"Oh come on Sherlock, we've been over this for two years now, you should at least be able to accept your own alias-"
"But I do."
"But not from me." Watson looked at Holmes sternly, watching the slow gradation of his blank eyes suddenly scrunch up in anger.
"I hate it. It feels awful. That name."
"Don't be foolish you chose it yourself! And as if I recall, you were quite proud of it too!"
Sherlock bolted from his seat and started pacing the room, grabbing his hair in frustration and scrunched up his nose in disgust.
'Khan.' He thought of it.
It wasn't the name itself in particular, it's what it held.
Every supernova in his mind, every emotion, it all detests him. And they were all compiled together and wrapped up in a box with the name Khan.
Sherlock had to say it. He had to let someone know of the madness stirring in his brain.
After two long and agonizing years...
"Khan feels like a whole different being instead of an extension of myself! I don't know why, I don't know how, but my mind is in pieces, John! That change! That bloody awful memory of waking up from those frozen chambers still echo in my head and it keeps ringing louder and louder every day! I can't get a grasp on my emotions John! My anger! My sadness! It all flows out so easily! My brain gets so easily bombarded with information that I yearn to rip it out of my head! What's happening, John? I feel like I'm suffocating..."
The detective's outburst had succumbed himself in tears, falling down his face but with no acknowledgement. An action greatly emphasizing his situation.
John watched with wide eyes, frozen in shock.
"Sherlock..."
Of course he knew. He knew of this change, everyone knew. But what he didn't know was it's severity.
He stood up and faced the crumbling sociopath. "Sherlock how long has this been in the dark? Who have you told?!"
Worry and frustration clashed in John Watson's heart as Sherlock tried so hard to keep his composure once again.
"Sherlock Holmes!" he grabbed the detective by the shoulders keeping him steady. "You could've told the Admiral! You could've told any of the scientists in this very building! You could've told your brother! You could've bloody told ME earlier! There! Back at the lab when you woke up and I asked you what was wrong!"
Then something clicked in Watson. A cruel realization that he could feel beginning to nest in his chest.
John felt immense guilt weighing down on him as the sight of a few runaway tears on the detective's cheeks caught his eye. It was him who uttered Sherlock's name to the Admiral and he who had convinced the stubborn detective to join! He brought all this pain to him. Sherlock Holmes.
His best friend.
He lowered his arms and looked down sadly, feeling unbefitting of comfort when he had caused the problem.
But Sherlock, who saw the crinkle of skin between the doctor's brows and the deepening frown on the edge of his mouth, stopped John Watson's repugnant thoughts.
"No," he said intently, earning back the doctor's attention. "No, I couldn't have. I never trusted that madman from the very beginning, there would be no way I would call on him just to have him run more tests on me. The scientists here are all the same, all eager for results. My brother knows enough about me and what I've done, I don't need him questioning me and setting up cameras and spies to follow me everywhere I go because of it, and you, John. I joined to keep you safe. To keep all of Scotland Yard safe. It was my decision and mine alone. Understand?"
The very vocabulary of Sherlock Holmes's words of reassurance took John by surprise once again. 'This isn't like you,' he thought, avoiding speaking it out loud and stating the very obvious. But in a way...John couldn't complain. Sherlock was opening up. He could see his heart peeking through the dark veil always used to cover up his interior. But he also couldn't rejoice. A heart exposed is fatal and is currently driving him mad.
The few moments of silence hung in the air like webs as the two men wandered in their own thoughts.
John was pushed back into his memories. Awful memories of war, blood, and therapy that he had crammed into the very back corner of his brain. He remembered the feeling of loneliness in that tiny flat of his and it burned him. He remembered the memory of his pathetic leg and the fear that instilled him as he recalled the feeling of not being able to move it properly. He remembered all of it. He knows the feeling of being so alone and not being able to tell anyone about it.
He remembered the first time he had met the strange man clad in a long black coat who had saved him from his despair by fueling him with the temptation of adrenaline.
And of course, he remembered the running.
"I'll help you." John tried for a smile. "We all will, even if you don't want it." He placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, now thickened with muscle. Yes, there had been changes, but not all were completely negative.
"You're hair's getting longer," John observed, changing the subject as the he began to tidy his things before leaving for lunch. "Try combing it back for a change, the curls don't suit you any more."
Sherlock looked up at him and feeling a bit like his arrogant self again, released a cocky smirk.
"Not good?" he whispered.
"No, not at all."
Getting up, the two headed for the door, but stopped as John looked back to the taller man.
"Think of us as family, Sherlock, everyone here is a part of it. We can and we will help."
The glass door of the chemistry lab slid open with a swish, and the doctor and the detective walked out together, leaving the scent of disinfectant and the sun trailing behind them.
Sherlock Holmes had saved him, and now it was time to return the favor.
A/N Complete OOC Sherlock? Well...you'll get why. Yes I did a time skip don't shoot! I thought it was necessary for my procrastinating mind or else this story would go nowhere. And to those of you looking for Mycroft's involvement in this, don't fret. Just place a slice of cake in front of you while reading and he'll come scurrying, I promise. ;) Hopefully you guys liked this chapter! I loved it, because I got to experiment with Sherlock's transition. Reviews are very much helpful and welcomed! :3