Johnlock Oneshots

Soulmates

I'm trying a soulmate AU! I'd love feedback! Credits to BBC Sherlock for John and Sherlock's conversations!

I look back on my life with Sherlock Holmes a lot since the day he "died".

After that fateful day with Mike the world filled with "color". I'd known the concept since I was a young child, you see the world more vividly after you meet your soulmate. It was an old maid's tale of sorts. I'd always taken it with a grain of salt, for all you know the pizza man could light up your world. I hadn't wanted another person changing what I thought I knew about myself; and then Sherlock came along. He changed everything I believed I knew like the fact that I was straight, that was 100% false. I believed the world was a dark place and I was a burnt up used man, that was 100% false too.

The second I layed eyes on Sherlock in St.Bart's my world burst into "color". His hair was black, his skin was pale like white but warmer like the sun, his eyes were my favorite part: they were marbled with bright life-sustaining color. He looked at me wide eyed in suprise, I likely looked at him the same way I suppose. I remember being startled yet soothed by his voice. Mike broke the moment.

"This is an old friend of mine, John Watson."
"Obviously, Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Sorry?"
"Which one was it? In Afghanistan or Iraq?"
"Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you...?"
The conversation definitely didn't go how I expected but I remember it to this day. This moment did not go at all how I expected, yet I'll never regret it.
A young women suited with a ponytail walks in.
"Ah, Molly, coffee, thank you. What happened to the lipstick?"
"It wasn't working for me."
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. Your mouth's too small now."
"Okay..."
What the hell kind of exchange did I just watch. His attention snaped back to me.
"How do you feel about the violin?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I play the violin when I'm thinking and sometime I don't talk for days on end. Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other."
I turned to Mike, incredibly confused. I thought to myself and I quote 'No fucking way'. I never thought things would work out but I suppose I was much more pessimistic then.
"You told him about me?"
"Not a word."
"Then who says anything about flatmates?"
"I did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with an old friend clearly just home from military service in Afghanistan. Wasn't a difficult leap."
"How did you know about Afghanistan?"
Sherlock is still like that, you slowly fall in love with it.
" Got my eyes on a nice little place in central London, we ought to be able to afford it. We'll meet there tomorrow evening seven o'clock. Sorry, got to dash, I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."
" Is that it?" I was never opposed to moving in, in fact I wanted too.
"Is that what?"
"We've only just met, and we're going to go and look at a flat?"
"Problem?"
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."
"I know you're an Army doctor, and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan. You've got a brother worried about you, but you won't go to him for help, because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife, and I know your therapist thinks your limp's psychosomatic, quite correctly, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with, don't you think? The name is Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221B Baker Street. Afternoon."

He brushed past me walking out, if I concentrate hard enough I can still feel the chill it brought, a pleasant sensation. Sherlock Holmes gives me chills everytime he touches me, it's like electric.
I turned to Mike and raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, he's always like that."
All I could do was nod.

I moved in with Sherlock a day later. I think that has to be the second best day of my life behind our first kiss. The  worst day began with three words "I love you".

I vividly remember the big discussion that lead up to the moment. By now we we're quite comfortable living together, like an old married couple. I burned with curiosity about Sherlock and the colors I could see. I remember the beautiful violin composure he played when I went to sleep, I've since discovered it was written for me, the first time I asked him about the colors was on a cold rainy night when not even the violin could sooth my curious soul.
No sooner had I stepped into the living room than was I address by Holmes, he stopped the composure and turned to me.
"Can't sleep, Dear Watson?"
"No."
"What's troubling you?"
"Curiosity."
"Ahhh, Something that troubles us all. Is it anything I can address?"
He used his smolder eyes on me, to this day I wonder if he knows the full effect his eyes have.
"Holmes, Have you ever heard the tale about 'colors'?"
"Why yes, Watson, I suppose every child has. Why?"
"Do you suppose it's true?"
I remember the odd hurt look he gave me.
"Did I not color your world as well?"
I ambled over to where he stood, I stood less than an inch away, we held eye contact. Without breaking our gaze I slipped an arm around his waist, the air crackled with electricity.  I raised myself to the tips of my toes to match his height and I did something I wished I'd done a long time ago. I kissed him, he kissed back, taking it as an answer I suppose. The kiss seemed to last for hours but in retrospect it was probably only a few seconds. At some point I had to break away for air but I kept my arm around Sherlock's waist. He chuckled a bit.
"That was much better than the answer I'd expected."

The first time Sherlock told me he loved me was over the phone on a crisp autumn morning. We had been at St.Bart's together, but I'd lost track of Sherlock. When I heard my phone ring icy dread filled my heart.
That's how he began the call.
"I love you, John." It took me aback.
"Where are you Sherlock?"
"This phone call, it's, um my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note."
"Please Sherlock." My voice cracked. My veins pumped with adrenaline, my mind screamed at me to get my ass in action and save him.
"Sherlock, where are you?" I was yelling at the phone by that point.
"Look up." I remember Sherlock's coat fluttering around his form on top of the roof. I remember tears clouding my vision. I remember his voice in the phone next to my ear.
"Goodbye John." I fell to my knees sobbing as I watched his feet leave the ledge. I think I may've passed out because I couldn't remember much after, just lots of screams and sirens. I do remind crawling back to my feet, fighting with the police to let me through, Sherlock's body, pure panic. But I remember something else too, still seeing all the colors of the world. I remember the confusion. I remember feeling crazy believing he was alive but I believed with every fiber of my being that Sherlock Holmes was my soulmate. He had to be, he colored my world and repaired the cracks in my soul. Logically I concluded that if I could still see color than Sherlock Holmes had to be alive. I went home that night with a feeling of utter loneliness. I stood at his grave and spoke to him the next morning:
“I was so alone, and I owe you so much, but, please, there’s just one more thing, one more thing, one more miracle, Sherlock, for me. Don’t. Be. Dead.”  Something tells me he heard me and I like to believe that little voice inside.

A.N.: Should I do a part two or the same story but from Sherlock's P.O.V. or both? Comment and let me know!