Constellations Strung With a Shooting Star | Sherliam

Chapter Three

Sherlock isn't exactly ashamed of his mark. He doesn't desperately try to hide it, and if someone asks, no harm in telling them.

Although, what ruined it for him was the meaning behind it. He doesn't like what it ultimately leads up to, and had genuinely started to believe that it would never happen. There weren't any recorded cases of such a thing happening, but there was certainly a reason for that. Perhaps writers wanted to flaunt happier endings opposed to sadder ones.

So he keeps that locked within his mindset. At this point, the soulmate mark acts as a stunning looking thing to admire. Not quite a promising sign that it originally would have meant. Holmes constantly told himself that there was no one who could match up to him enough that he'd end up attracted to them.

... Until the Noahtic happened.

Of all things, he didn't predict that he'd end up smitten with someone on the boat he decided to sneak onto. But it was grand in that sense, and it probably couldn't have been any better.

Such a thing was a bit embarrassing to admit, even to himself. He'd yet to tell his new flatmate or Miss Hudson about it, even though the latter already knew all about the mark and what it always meant for him. John, the new flatmate, hasn't seen it yet. But he would know eventually.

But that didn't make it any less true. And who was the person that he felt was his soulmate, you ask? Well, none other than a random man he just so happened to come across.

He'd yet to look for his name and investigate the public information about him, but he knew that he was a maths professor. A maths professor that actually impressed Sherlock. And God, would he be lying if he said that he wasn't utterly flustered when they met.

Since it happened, there were multiple things that the ravenet took into consideration. Firstly, it would be very hard to confirm it. Sherlock's mark was over the left side of his chest, which meant that the blond would have it on his back. Noblemen like him especially rarely wore anything that would reveal their back.

Secondly, he was a nobleman. That itself could arise problems, when one considers that successful romances rarely happen between different classes. The other was probably expected to be in an arranged marriage one day.

"-rlock? Sherlock...? Don't fall asleep on us!"

The blue eyed ravenet's eyes shoot open, looking over at where that came from. It came from in front of him, to his right; John. And to the left, there was an irritated Miss Hudson, patiently waiting for her beer.

"Yes, that'd be very improper. But it wouldn't be the worst thing you've done," she huffs, crossing her arms as she glares up at the black haired man.

"Yeah, yeah. Complain all ya want," he grumbles, then shoves his hands in his pockets for the time being. "Anywho, what were we talkin' about?"

"Ah. I was just telling Miss Hudson what I liked about the apartment, and I noticed you were drifting off. Maybe you shouldn't have alcohol tonight," John chuckles, resting his chin in his hands as his elbows rest on the table.

"Well, that didn't really concern me, so I don't see the need. Whatever though," Holmes shrugs, closing his eyes to think again. But he focused a little bit more than last time, to make sure he doesn't miss it when the beer arrives.

When it does, he grins as he takes the mug. He holds it up wearing that exact grin, all in an attempt to help his landlady brighten up.

"... Then here's to tonight. Cheers!" After their drinks clink together, he immediately downs a decent amount of the mug. But not nearly as happily as Miss Hudson did; she probably drunk half of the serving in that single time.