Hello again, *waves* So another Sherlock story of mine I started a while back and am finally posting. I got the idea from a post I saw a while back on Tumblr

Imagine your OTP being reincarnated- multiple times. Only person B remembers their past lives.

So I figured I would give it a try. Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, BBC or any other characters you may recognize

He had honestly thought that the bullet would have been the end of this life. God knows how many he had lived through, happy ones, sad ones, ones so painful he could barely think of them without a shudder running down his spine. Most people ranted about reincarnation and how it wasn't true, all just a bunch of 'hocus pocus.' He could never help but laugh in the confused face of whoever said it. He had lived too long, seen too many things to believe that it wasn't true. He had always had one constant though. Through all the lives he had lived, there had always been another. The face had always changed, the body, the mind, but by God, the eyes had always stayed the same. It was how he remembered them, how he picked them out of a crowd. They always found each other, no matter where or when they were. The only problem was, only he remembered everything. All the lives, every single moment. His other always had small instincts, a memory locked away at the back of their mind never to be touched. God it hurt, when he'd find his other half with someone else, happy. He forced the thought from his mind. He still hadn't met his soulmate in this lifetime.

'What if you never do, or they're taken again?' the vicious little voice in the back of his mind whispered.

"Shut up" he muttered as he stretched out his stiff leg. With the help of his cane, he sat down on the edge of his tiny bed. John Watson, that was his name, at least in this lifetime. He had followed in the occupation of his past lives and joined the army. He was a born soldier, at least he had been told. The only divergence was that this time he had become a doctor. He had taken too many lives, fought too many wars and he wanted to do some sort of penance for it. He had always enjoyed healing, and he had been talented enough at it.

A bullet to the shoulder and a psychosomatic limp stopped his career and he moved back to London. He mused on all the many times he'd lived here before as he walked the ever so familiar streets. It had been at least two lifetimes since he had lived in London [deleted], but the layout of the city hadn't changed too much. He could still find his way around in a pinch. The day he met Mike in the park, he hadn't planned on ending up with a potential flatmate, but the universe works in funny ways, something he had realized years ago. The moment he laid eyes on Sherlock Holmes, he knew he had found it. Familiar grey eyes stared back at him and his heart sang with joy. 'Him' he corrected himself as he handed the man his phone and stared into the familiar eyes. Flashbacks of the year began to flash through his mind as he was sucked back in time.

Ra beat down heavily against the whitewashed stone pillar that Khu leaned against and he couldn't help but fiddle with his short sword that strapped around his strong hips. He had been put on palace duty and he was bored. Of all the places to be stationed in the giant stone palace, he had to be in the slowest corridor. The slap of sandals brought him out of his thoughts and he straightened. A girl was running, her bronze cheeks tear stained and the kohl from her eyes smudging. Khu instantly reacted and moved forward, securing a large hand around her own slender wrist. The girl stopped and ripped her wrist from his grip, fire in her eyes. She was dressed richly, golden necklace around her neck and small circlet around her head. Khu shot back, letting go off her grip, almost disappointed of the loss of warmth he had felt. He studied her closer and realized whom he had just grabbed.

"My princess my deepest apologies." He dropped to his knees immediately, and hoped his actions would not serve his own death. A cool, gentle hand touched his chin and he couldn't help but look up into the eyes of the princess. Warm breath flowed across his face as she leaned in close, mouth beside his ear and he knew he was lost.

The scene changed yet again and John blinked a few times before the new barrage covered his mind.

It was cool and damp on the plains, and Jandal Khan stared at his tiny band. Horses dotted fur tents and their breaths came out in puffs of steam in the cold air. He stroked his own mounts neck and slowly took him to his own tent. He took off the wooden saddle from the mighty black stallions back and removed the bridle and slipped a crude rope halter over stop. He stroked the velvet nose and was rewarded with a strong nudge. He chuckled and ran a hand over his long blonde hair.

"Another successful raid Khan?" Jandal didn't bother to turn but grunted in acknowledgement. He was not a particularly young man, almost reaching his 39th year. Raids and battles had taken their toll on his once youthful body.

"Yes," he answered shortly. He thought back to the one boy they had taken along with a large amount of other slaves. He had been a young man, couldn't be more than 18 years old. His hair was cropped just above his shoulders and was surprisingly curly, tied back with a leather thong. Something about the boy intrigued the warlord, though he was unsure what exactly. He seemed familiar, but Jandal could not put his finger on it. "Bring the boy to me," he said calmly to the attendant who'd addressed him. Jandal made his way into his tent and blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the smoky darkness in the tent. He settled in some of the furs laid out across from the doorway. He allowed himself a rare sip of shimiin arkhi and revelled the burn down his throat. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he watched as the tent flaps were pushed aside and his man walked back in, pushing the boy in front of him. The boy looked terrified though there was a defiant spark in his eyes. Jandal dismissed the rider with a wave of his hand and moved around the fire with the ease of a tiger stalking its prey. He could almost smell the boys fear in the air, and he could not help but notice the slight quiver that shook through the boy as he raised a hand to brush hair out of his face. A slave most likely, the warlord thought, something in Jandal's chest growling at the though of someone touching this boy. He placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, ignoring the intense shivers that were racking him, and was greeted with a familiar sight. Lives flashed before his eyes and a soft grin crossed a face that had barely cracked a smile in 32 years. Noting the boys terror, Jandal removed his hand and gently stroked his strong cheekbones.

"Do not fear, I shall not hurt you Bi chamd khairtai , you are safe," he whispered tenderly. The boy felt bony and awkward as Jandal reached out and drew him to his chest in an awkward hug of sorts. When he let go he moved back to see the grey eyes boy smiling.

Once more the scene changed, but only for a second, changing rapidly. Lives flashed before his eyes and he felt himself living hundreds of lives, always searching for the same soul. It nearly killed him as the man dashed off with barely a passing glance, only peering around the corner to introduce himself. Sherlock Holmes,he mused to himself, rolling the name on his tongue. He wished Mike a good day and headed back to the tiny, lonely apartment that he currently occupied, full of hope and anticipation.

shimiin arkhi - fermented mares milk that was drank by ancient Mongolians

chamd khairtai - love

So what did you guys thinK? PLEASE, please, review