The first time John meets Sherlock, he has just turned six and his parents haven taken him and Harry to the zoo in London's Regent's Park. It's a lovely day at the beginning of the long break and the zoo is brimming with excited children. His parents have got him an ice cream cone and he is happily licking away at the fast-melting ice when a baby catches his eye. Their eyes lock and then the smaller child reaches out his small hand for John, for his ice cream. Normally, John would snort of the idea of sharing it, when he had fought hard for the privilege (his parents are both dentists and don't particularly like their children to eat sweets of any kind). It's only because of his birthday that we was allowed it. Yet the baby looks at him so imploringly and its light eyes look so hopeful, that John takes the few steps forward and holds the cone out for it. He attracts the attention of the baby's parents and he looks at them sheepishly, suddenly very shy, but he can't help it. It seems they at least are not dentists and don't mind their child to have a bit of sugar. The mother coos at him and the father smiles fondly and in a moment or two the two families acknowledge each other and start talking about the weather and the zoo. John doesn't listen. It turns out the baby didn't want his ice cream after all and is much more interested in John's person.

"His name is Sherlock," a boy, clearly belonging with the other family and a bit older than John, says. John thinks he must be as old as Harry maybe. He is immediately awed. Boys that age usually don't talk to him.

"I'm John," he says when he remembers his manners. And, "Hello, Sherlock." The baby laughs at him and it's the sweetest sound John has heard in all his life, at least the part he can remember.

John is six and all he knows about soul mates is, that Jenny Lauser has asked him to play soul mates with her a while ago. All the children are always playing it. He also knows that Harry once talked very seriously and in hushed voices about it with her friends. She seems to know all about them, but then she is already eight years old and eight-year-olds know almost as much as grown-ups do. John wishes he was eight already too.

John has never heard of the Pull, because for all that everybody, even six-year-olds, know that soul mates exist, they are rare and the strange thing that pulls them magnetically to each other is even rarer. He doesn't know that there are different grades of soul mates, or really what it all even means, or that the little smudge on his left middle finger means he will at some point in the future met his. All he knows on that summer day in the London Zoo is that the little boy in his buggy really has the most lovely laugh and astonishingly blue eyes.

(No-one will remember it and later they'll say it was because he has grown so much and so fast that year, but a few days after his visit to the zoo, the smudge that only almost closes around John's finger becomes a full-fledged ring. The truth is that the bond between John and Sherlock was founded that day. It wasn't strong enough because they were still children, but it was the foundation of what was to come in later years.)

The second time John meets Sherlock, he is twelve and knows now that eight-year-olds know nothing of the world. He has forgotten all about the little baby boy he was so enchanted by six years prior.

His parents have taken their family to Brighton on vacation. It's all terribly exciting, even though the pebbly beach stings his feet unpleasantly, but he has been given enough of an allowance that he can ride some of the rides on the pier every day and have ice cream. Ice cream is the best thing about summer, John thinks privately.

The smudge on his left middle finger has grown distinct over the last few years and now forms a remarkably solid line that has all the adults, even the men who are usually much cooler when it came to romance , cooing at and over him.

" You're so lucky, John," they say, and, "I bet she is a pretty girl. A Ring that dark always means it's a pretty girl." John hopes they are right. If his soul mate is at least as pretty as Suzy Daniels he will indeed be very happy. Although he knows it's not Suzy Daniels, because she has no line on her finger like him and so cannot be his soul mate.

John now knows about the different grades of soul mates and he knows that his Ring is the reason why Harry has become so unbearable lately. She's fourteen, has one crush after the other and no Ring.

Rings are rare.

Only one in thirty thousand people have one and they are the only ones who are guaranteed to meet their soul mate in life.

Every person on Earth has a soul mate, but not everybody meets theirs. There are too many people on Earth, John's teacher has said, and the chances of meeting them are slim. Still, about one in every 40 people finds theirs and that is good enough to keep your hope going. Most people only find out after they've met that they are destined for each other. For some its instantaneous, they shake hands or touch accidentally (but touch is necessary) and the ring forms. Others have to have known each other for ages, a year or so, before the slight discolouration of their skin begins. It's not always a ring, sometimes, most often even, it's only a dot like a freckle, but it's always on the middle finger of their dominant hand. The colour and strength is important, too. The darker the colour, the stronger is the bond. If you take for example John's almost black line, that is a good indicator. The best even. Even as a twelve year old he is guaranteed a person, somewhere out there, with which he will spend his life.

Some people think that's unfair. That kids should have that reassurance when they don't even understand what love is. Harry is one of those people.

Anyway, John is on the beach and strolling along the pier. It's the eighties and his parents are cool with not seeing him all the time, but then of course John is no baby any more. He only has to check in with them every hour or so and can chill the rest of the time. There's loud music coming from where the shops are and he is magically pulled towards it so he follows the sounds. But then he stops, because there is this little boy, a baby almost, he couldn't be older than six or seven at the very most (and that's being generous because he's, like, this tall), that is talking rapidly at one of the shop keepers. It seems he wants her to give him a plastic sword and she laughs at him.

"Come back when you have three quid," she says but it's not malicious. She seems amused and the little boy doesn't give up.

" It's not worth three pounds," he explains and John can practically hear the eye roll in his voice. "It's cheap plastic, made in China, and you paid only one pound for it yourself. No, 50p. I'll give you £1.50. If you can't add, that's three times what you paid for it yourself." John thinks the boy sounds rather smug and knows there is no chance in hell the woman will give him the stupid plastic sword now . Still, he is impressed the boy can do maths so fast.

John is right and the boy is turned out of the shop. He is fuming and stomping his little foot quite adorably.

John doesn't usually talk to children that much younger than him. He plays football and has a Ring and is really, really popular so he has a reputation to uphold. But none of the other kids from his school are here, he thinks, and also he finds the kid amusing so he talks to him this time.

"It's a shit sword, anyway," he says consolingly. "It's not even real. The most damage you could do with that is if you stick it into someone's eye."

"Of course I know it's not real, do you take me for some kind of simpleton? Bladesmiths don't usually stamp their products with 'Made in China', but even you should have been able to see it. You can read, can you not?" The little boy is eyeing John dubiously as if he seriously considers the possibility that John isn't yet able to read. John gapes. The baby insulted him, with big words too. He should be annoyed, he really should, but he finds himself laughing.

"What's your name?" he asks when he finds his breath again. The little boy puffs out his chest and stretches, reaching up to John's chest now.

"Captain Scott William, the black Pirate, conqueror of the Seven Seas, feared in ports from Clew Bay to Port Royal." John finds himself gaping again at the confidence in the boy's voice and is at a loss of what to say. The boy doesn't notice or care. He points at a rather big piece of drift wood and John blindly turns his head to where he points. When he speaks next, it's with a tone of authority John's strictest teacher can't muster.

"This is my ship. Come along, I'll show you the cabins and then you can start cleaning before we set off to Jamaica. I've found a treasure map. We shall be rich before the winter solstice. You can cook as well as read, correct?"

For a moment, John is stunned. All he can say is, "No," but his voice is hoarse and he has to clear his throat. "I can't. Cook." The boy, who might or might not be called Scott, sighs dramatically.

"Then you will have to learn," he says and marches off. Not once does he turn around to see if John follows, but John? John does. He can't explain why, but he feels his face splitting in two by a huge grin. He has never played pirates and Scott's enthusiasm is infectious.

John has learned loads about soul mates in school, but the Pull was only mentioned in passing. Grade 1 soul mates are so rare that almost no-one has experienced it and it has become almost a legend. Like a fairytale. So of course John doesn't recognise it, and neither does Scott, or Sherlock, what the boy is really called. They just play at the beach, pretending to be all alone and spinning their stories and it's great fun.

When they part for dinner John hurts a bit. There is an uneasy feeling in his stomach that won't go away for the whole next day either. But John doesn't see him again afterwards for many years, but this time, at least, he remembers him a bit .

(John later learns that the reason Grade 1 soul mates always find each other is, in fact, the Pull. He always imagines it as something that hurts and is a bit afraid of it, if he is being honest. It just is that Grade 1 soulmateship is so strong, that their souls will always find a way to meet, even if it means they have to cross the world for it to happen. But he thinks that he is too young yet for that, because that has to do with love and even if John fancies Suzy Daniels a bit, he knows it's not really love yet. He has no idea that playing pirates with the little boy at the beach is already the second time they've been pulled together.)

John is 24 the next time they meet. He doesn't make the connection, doesn't recognise Sherlock for the boy at the beach half a lifetime ago. That's because now, Sherlock is tall, much taller than he is, his hair is almost black and his face has lost all traces of baby fat. In fact, he could do with some fat on him, John thinks.

John has never been attracted to men before and still firmly believes his soul mate is a woman. But when he sees Sherlock, he can acknowledge that if he were wired that way, Sherlock would be his type. Extremely so.

They meet in the cafeteria at Barts where John took a break from his rounds and is just enjoying a (bad) cup of coffee and a few minutes of quiet. Of course that changes when the man falls down into the chair opposite him and starts talking .

"The coffee here is atrocious, but I suppose it's fitting that we already are in hospital when the inevitable nausea and vomiting will set in. The cheese cake, on the other hand, is downright acceptable." He takes a bite off said cake. John stares at him. He is tired and should be annoyed that someone interrupts his ten minutes break, but he isn't. Strangely he isn't.

"It's good then that this is a hospital and not a café," he remarks. The man looks at him for a moment, then grins. He holds out his hand.

"Sherlock Holmes," he introduces himself.

"John Watson," John says when they shake hands.

Nothing happens and none had expected anything, honestly. They don't realise who they are sitting in front of. It doesn't always happen like this, not even for Grade 1s. All John knows is that he is content here, with Sherlock, and there is a calm inside of him that he really enjoys.

Sherlock is reading chemistry at King's and appropriates the labs of Barts from time to time. He's struck a deal with someone who lets him use the equipment. Once, John asks him why he hasn't gone on to Oxford or Cambridge as would be befitting for his intellect and, clearly, money, and then Sherlock explains that he has always had this clear knowledge that only London would ever do for him.

They become something like friends, even if they don't see very much of each other. Most of the time they accidentally meet for terrible coffee between John's shifts and the rest of the time John is caught up in his studies, his work and his girlfriend.

He considers proposing to Mara. She is not his soul mate, hasn't got the ring on her finger to show for it, but John can't imagine even falling more in love with someone than he is with her already. Mara is perfect. He plans to make up for the missing black ring on her right middle finger with a golden one for her left ring finger, but he wants to wait until he can afford the one she deserves.

In the end he doesn't do it.

Her eyes aren't right. They are green.

(For no reason at all, John had always just known that his soul mate would have blue eyes. For as long as he could remember he had dreamt of pale blue eyes, so unlike his own, and even though he knew that Mara wasn't destined to be his partner any way, it was even harder to shake the image that came to him whenever he slept.

The eyes in his dreams changed after he met Sherlock proper, became grey at times and blue at others when they weren't greenish for a change, with a brown freckle in the middle of one. John knew who these eyes belonged to, he wasn't stupid, but he chalked it up to them just being the most fascinating set he has ever seen and therefore to mean nothing.)

He's 29 and at the airport, waiting for his flight to start boarding already , when John sees the airport café and has this sudden, strong urge to get a nice, big, hot cup of overpriced, mediocre coffee. So he goes for it.

He is actually honestly surprised when he sees Sherlock sitting at one of the small tables.

But then, he hasn't figured it out yet.

They haven't been in contact those past years, after John obtained his doctorate and began training as a surgeon or after, when he signed up for the army. But even so, the moment he sits down in the free chair, he feels this calm settle down on him that only Sherlock had ever been able to produce. John is happy, he realises. So happy to bump into him here, at Heathrow, on this miserable, snowy winter day, when the storm is delaying his flight for who knows how long.

" The army, John? I see you have finally lost all of what little brain you possessed in the first place. Risking your life for Queen and Country?" Sherlock greets him. He doesn't say hi or how are you? or any of those things that normal people say. John doesn't mind and takes a good long look at him.

"Well, you look like shit," he says around a sip of his coffee.

"Fiancée left you and you're taking it out on poor foreigners?" Sherlock asks in mock politeness.

" I broke up with her . I'd say heroin, but knowing you that's too pedestrian. Cocaine?"

"Both, at points."

They stare at each other over the table. Sherlock really does look like shit, but they probably only have an hour or so and John would like to spend it talking like they used to and not arguing. So he asks, "Truce?" and Sherlock gives a curt nod.

They talk for five hours (really bad storm) and drink more coffee than is medically advisable but then John's flight is called for the last time and reluctantly he takes his bag.

"Get help, won't you?" he says and holds out his hand. Sherlock shakes it weakly and mutters something that could be an excuse or acquiescence or anything really and doesn't look him in the eye.

John walks away and doesn't turn back. A pain, a terrible ache, settles in his chest and he knows, he just knows , that this was the last time he bumped into Sherlock Holmes. He's been a doctor long enough to recognise the signs.

(It wasn't.)

It's 7 years before they meet again and John doesn't even think about Sherlock if you don't count the dreams where his eyes have replaced those of John's soul mate permanently. John won't allow himself to think about the other man which he assumes dead or worse by now.

He's never felt the Pull that was promised to him as a kid and John thinks the whole soul mate thing is rubbish. The only thing ever coming close was his constant need to get back to London. At times when John is especially maudlin he jokes that his real soul mate is the city.

But now he is here to stay, a bullet in his shoulder gives him an excuse never to leave again, and he hates it. One day in Winter he follows his therapist's advice and takes a walk, even though it hurts and it's cold, and then a voice calls out for him. A quarter of an hour later he is invited along to meet a potential new flatmate, and he feels it again, this calm , inexplicable quiet, that he only ever experiences in Sherlock's presence and he is happy. Because it means Sherlock is alive and well and only a closed door away. He grins, suppresses it again (it's difficult) and opens that literal door.

Sherlock is already waiting for him on the other side, back ramrod straight and obviously nervous, he's fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. He looks good, a huge step up from when John saw him last, but he's still underfed. But clean, and God, really good, yeah? Really, really handsome.

"John," Sherlock greets with a nod. He almost sounds breathless. (He still has those eyes. Which is a stupid thought, because why should they change? But John notices, oh he does.)

"Sherlock," John replies. Mike Stamford, an old friend from uni who has brought John here, looks from one man to the other.

"You know each other?" he asks and is ignored by both.

"Heard you're looking for a flatmate. Do you still steal body parts from the morgue? Wait, don't answer that, that one's obvious," John says and can't help it as his smiles breaks through.

"I ask for permission now," Sherlock informs. The smile on his face is not as big, but every bit as genuinely happy as John's. "Do you still waste time and brain cells by watching those utterly unrealistic spy movies?"

"They've made four more, got them all on DVD. Wanna marathon them?"

"Indian take away? I know this place close to our new flat, owner owes me a favour. He always uses the good spices for me."

They grin at each other until Sherlock, sadly, sadly has to leave, but not before he gives John the, their new, address and tells him to come by the next night. John does but the Bond marathon has to wait, because nowadays Sherlock is a consulting detective , of all things, and there's a serial killer on the loose. Who John then shoots dead, because he doesn't take kindly to people threatening Sherlock and also he already thought Sherlock dead once and if anyone gets to kill the berk, it's John, thank you very much.

They've been living together for almost two months when the penny finally drops.

"What happened to your fiancée? Mary? Manda?" Sherlock asks one evening.

"Mara. And I never proposed," John corrects. He's sitting in what has become his chair, reclining and letting the long day drain from his bones. He's so calm, so relaxed. "Figured she wasn't the right one for me after all and broke up with her." Sherlock halts for a moment, visibly looking for the right words to say and John finds it adorable. These last weeks he found that he is intensely attracted to the man and wouldn't mind them taking their friendship a bit ( a lot ) further, but Sherlock had made it very clear that he is not interested in anything outside of his work.

"How did you know?" Sherlock asks. John shrugs.

"Dunno. Just never had a good feeling around her, you know?" Sherlock shakes his head and John sighs, because he had always thought that someone like Sherlock would understand, if nobody else could. "I mean, like for example you. Whenever you're around I feel calm, like everything slows down around me and everything seems less dire. When I was working in hospital and you were there, I felt the stress just … melt away." John makes a strange, vaguely wave-like motion with his hand that feels stupid and has Sherlock squinting his eyes at him. So he stops mid-wave. "Helped me a lot. I was a better doctor when you were around." Sherlock looks at him strangely and for the first time John questions if this is normal.

"Don't you know what I mean?" he asks warily.

" No. No, I know exactly what you mean. It's," Sherlock clears his throat. "The same. For me. When you're here. My thoughts slow down and I can see the connections clearer." John is relieved.

"See? That's what I meant. I never had anything similar with Mara. But when I tried to explain it, she didn't understand. I suppose it's only Grade 1s and 2s who are this sensitive. For a lack of a better word."

"What?"

"Grade 1s and 2s. We're more aligned to that kind of stuff."

"You think because you're a Grade 2 you can feel if somebody is better suited to be your friend?" It was John's turn to ask, "What?"

"Because I've read up everything on soul mates, and never does anybody mention something like that," Sherlock explains but he got it wrong.

"No, I mean, why do you think I'm a Grade 2?"

"Because you said Grade 1s and 2s, clearly meaning both of us. That means you're a 2. Even if I knew that before."

"I'm not a 2, I'm a 1!"

"But I'm a 1 too!"

For a moment they stare at each other. Then suddenly, Sherlock shoots up from his seat and runs both hands through his hair and walks through their lounge in big strides.

" Stupid, stupid, stupid ," he mutters, than nearly yells. He pulls at his hair and John is at a complete loss.

"What's stupid?" he asks and feels it's him. Sherlock snorts.

"I thought you were a 2 and that Mara woman your mate and that you gave up on romance after it didn't work out with her." John, privately, had always thought something similar about Sherlock. Sherlock has a Ring, a very clear, charcoal two millimetre thick ring around his right middle finger. He's always had that, as long as John has known him. Rings like that only form after soul mates have met, but since he never saw a woman with Sherlock, he just assumed his soul mate must've died. And the reason he never mentioned it was because he was understandably upset about it.

"You haven't met your soul mate yet?" John asked dubiously, trying to figure out what Sherlock obviously already knew. Rings like that also form for Grade 1s. John is proof of that.

In a flash Sherlock is sitting astride his lap. John leans back as far as he can. He's dreamt of that, but that doesn't mean he's ready for it so fast.

"What are you doing?" he stutters.

"Touching you," Sherlock says lowly but he isn't. Touching him, that is. He places his hands on the back of the chair behind John's head and John gets what he is implying.

" But we've touched before. A hundred times. We've touched, Sherlock," he implores. It makes sense, in a twisted way. John never considered being attracted to men until he met Sherlock and then he suddenly was. Come to think of it, he never felt anything like what he feels around Sherlock. Oh-so-slowly he puts his hands on the other man's hips to test the hypothesis and in that moment the world stops moving.

Not really, of course, but John doesn't hear a single sound except for his own heartbeat and Sherlock's breathing. He is hyper-aware of him and only him, everything else has ceased to exist. It's the calm he already knows, but magnified a hundredfold. It's just him and Sherlock and everything is so clear right now.

He's been in love with his eyes forever.

Sherlock leans forward yet he doesn't kiss John.

"Never like we wanted to," he breathes. "The moment I first saw you I wanted to push you against a wall and kiss you, devour you. A handshake could never be enough after that." John stares at his lips, so close to his own and looking so lush and kissable. It would be so easy to kiss him right now but still he waits.

"Are you afraid to kiss me?" Sherlock smirks teasingly. "They only faint in cheap romance movies." It's kind of a trope in films that the people swoon aesthetically when Grade 1s first kiss each other and honestly, John is a bit afraid. He knows it will be overwhelming. He has wanted this for so long. Has wanted Sherlock for twelve years.

"Yeah? And how many of your soul mates have you kissed so far that you can tell?" John teases right back. Sherlock smiles but not for long, because then John kisses him. And

It's perfect.

(It's not just any touch that bonds soul mates to each other. It has to be meaningful. Like the first kiss after a lifetime of longing for each other, for example.)

More than a year later, when Sherlock, for whatever reason he thinks justifies it, steps of the roof of St Barts, the very place they first met, John doesn't realise that the pain feels wrong. He feels like a man who has seen the love of his life take his own life, yes, but he doesn't feel the sharp pain that accompanies the severed soul bond. But it takes him a few hours to notice, which can be excused under the circumstances.

Because John and Sherlock had rows before, of course they had. They might be soul mates with thick, now night-black bands on their middle fingers to show for it, but that doesn't mean Sherlock is not an utter idiot who needs to be yelled at on a regular basis. And when that happens, John usually steps out and takes a long walk and every time, every single time , it hurts him. When he returns to Sherlock after they had a fight, he is always still angry with him, but the thought of not being with his mate when he is hurt (mentally) doesn't sit right with him. They find comfort only in each other and by now have found a way to use the Pull for them.

So, when John thinks about how he will never be in Sherlock's arms again, he notices that the Pull is bad, yes, but not excruciating. And it quite literally pulls him somewhere until he stands in front of a door in a house he's never stepped foot in and when he opens the door, there is Sherlock looking shy and embarrassed.

"I can explain, John," he starts. John interrupts him with a hug that is bone-crushing.

"I hate you so much right now," he whispers frantically but stops himself from yelling at least.

"It seems I haven't thought this through," Sherlock admits close to tears.

"You're an idiot," John laughs while the tears stream down his face. Sherlock explains the plan and John lets him go but it will be the worst two years of his life.

"It's strange that we've met so late in life," John ponders one night. Sherlock doesn't even look up from his experiment and John doesn't let that deter him. "Most Grade 1s meet much earlier than we did."

"But initially, he wanted to be a pirate," Sherlock's brother tells John. It triggers a fond memory in John's mind, of a day twenty-five years ago under the Brighton pier and a little brown-haired boy with big mischievous blue eyes that bossed him around a piece of drift wood.

"Captain Scott Williams," he mutters absent-mindedly.

"Oh, he told you? Yes, that's what he used to call himself," Mycroft asks and pulls John back into the present. John musters him for a moment, thinks about whether he should tell Mycroft and decides against it.

"Yes," he says, and thinks, hmm . He goes home and snogs his soul mate for a very long time.

"He was the most adorable little boy," Sherlock's mother tells John. "Such light hair and eyes you have never seen." John smiles.

"Do you have any photos?" he asks, partly because he would love to see and partly because Sherlock groans so nicely at the words.

"Oh for Christ's sakes," he utters disgustedly in the background. Everybody ignores him. Violet starts showing John picture after picture and even though they are all in black and white, he can see that Sherlock really once was almost blond. Violet hands John another photo.

"Here we were at the zoo in London. He made a little friend there, you can see. He was so charming before he started talking properly." She winks at him, but John doesn't hear a word nor sees the wink. He stares at the picture in his hand.

He can see Sherlock's little baby face and not much of his "new friend", except that the boy was very light-haired and much bigger than the infant. But in the background, a metre away, he recognises his own sister and parents clear as day. John is stunned.

"Sherlock," he says when he finds his voice again. Sherlock is already by his side. John points at his sister and parents.

"That is Harry, and those are mum and dad," he explains.

"Do you mean…" Sherlock starts before he too fades off, staring at the photo in John's hand with new eyes. "What you mean to say, is…" but he can't finish it. Thankfully, Violet helps them. She smiles widely.

"That's the family of the little boy. I can't remember his name now, but I definitely remember his whirlwind of a sister. Harry." She grins and then she leaves them to give her boys a moment. John flips the picture to look at the date printed on the back.

"1978," he says in awe.

"I've known you almost my entire life," Sherlock adds soundlessly.