Author Notes: This story will have multiple chapters and I will try to update as often as possible although I can't promise anything, because RL keeps me very busy right now.

Appreciation: Thank you, Tstui1gos for taking the time to beta-read this story. Your help means a lot to me.

Strings

The sharp tug in his chest woke John with a start.

Memories of gunshots and blood slowly faded before his eyes as he stared into the darkness of his room. That was right, John assured himself as he took a slow breath to calm down, he was back in London. There was no war here. No wounded soldiers and no desert. No one was going to shoot him or ask him to perform an amputation on a boy that was barely old enough to grow a beard.

John smiled grimly as memories of his service in Afghanistan flickered through his mind. He had spent his first tour at a First Aid station, close to the front. It had been hell. John couldn't remember a night or day when they hadn't operated on some wounded soldiers while under fire. Still, he doubted that he had ever performed better in surgery than while not only fearing for his patients lives but his own as well. That was, until he had ended up under the knife of a fellow doctor.

John rubbed his chest absentmindedly. He had been lucky, the bullet had passed through his shoulder without injuring any nerves. Nevertheless it had been touch and go for a few days according to the other doctors. In the end though John had survived without any lasting damage and while others would have accepted a ticket back home after such an injury, he had stayed.

John shook his head in fond memory as he recalled Harry's exasperated voice over the phone. She had wanted him to come back home and John hadn't found the right words to tell her why he needed to stay. There was no way to describe to her how he thrived on the adrenalin whenever he fought for a patient's life in the warzone. She would have believed him to have some kind of god complex and John hadn't wanted to argue about it at the time. Harry had only been appeased when he had informed her that he wouldn't be stationed directly at the front anymore but at a MASH unit.

John snorted into the darkness of his small bedroom and leaned back against the wall. Everyone had believed that he would work in a safer environment this time and he hadn't doubted it either. Not until the bullet of a sniper had torn through his left shoulder... again. This time John hadn't been as lucky and after suffering from infection and hovering between life and death for weeks, he had been sent home. Honorably discharged, not that he could buy himself anything with that.

John's lips pulled up into a grim smile and he rubbed his chest again which felt a little sore. And wouldn't that be ironic if he were to suffer from some sort of complications when he was alone for the first time in months?! He had spent days at the field hospital then weeks at a bigger hospital in some city. John only remembered snippets of both stays. He had been out of it for most of the time. His body fighting its own personal war against the raging infection in his shoulder. After he had survived - which had been termed a miracle by his doctors - John had been sent to rehab before being shipped home two months ago. Why he had believed it a good idea to stay with Harry for some time, John couldn't say anymore. Maybe he hadn't wanted to be alone and his sister had also been sober for a year. Therefore he hadn't seen any problems with kipping in her guest room. Somehow John had apparently forgotten how they managed to argue about everything even when they were both sober. If it hadn't been for Clara, John would never havesurvived two months with his sister. As it was, he had packed his things as soon as he had found a bedsit in London and... here he was.

John grimaced into the dark room as his chest gave another throb. It would be his luck to have to check into yet another hospital after less than 24 hours in London. With a sigh John finally switched on the lamp on his nightstand and froze as he stared down at his chest. There was a red string. A red string that started somewhere around the area of his heart and led away from him... or rather towards someone else.

John squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief and pinched himself before he stared back down at his own chest once more. The red string was still there and pulling rather insistently at his heart. John shook his head even as he got up to get dressed, glancing down at the string every now and then to check if it was still there. He had never believed he'd belong to the lucky ones who experienced the forming of a soul string. Of course he had hoped - like most people - that one day a red string would form and lead him to his soulmate. Nevertheless John had been aware of how slim the chances for that to happen were. No matter that soulmates found each other in every second novel, it very rarely happened in real life. Scientists had only started to examine the phenomena about a hundred years ago. At the turn of the century reports of soul strings had increased, although they had probably been around since the beginning of time. Since no one but the respective soulmates could see their own strings it was hard to conduct a survey. And while this meant that most of the inner workings of the soul strings were still unsolved, scientists had come to a consensus on some things.

Firstly, that a soul string would tug at the hearts of both soulmates until they finally met. It was one of the reasons why John decided against shaving as he grabbed his keys and hurried out of his bedsit. He really didn't fancy having his soulmate knock at his door when he was living like this. No he would rather crash into them in the streets as they both hurried to follow the tug of the string. John had treated a couple once that had run head first into each other because they had been so eager to meet. They both came out of it with matching scars at their hair lines. A small chuckle escaped John's lips at the memory. It was another thing that scientists agreed on: soulmates didn't know where their strings would lead them. They felt the pull in a certain direction and then it was like a scavenger hunt until they found their soulmate... or not.

John marched to the next tube station and prayed that his soulmate wouldn't be too far away or else he would have to live on stale toast for the rest of the month. Unfortunately John could only be sure that his soulmate was in a 100 miles radius from him. Which might mean as close as the next tube station or as far away as Calais. Somehow - John had forgotten the details - scientists had figured out that a soul string would only form if the soulmates were somewhere in a 100 miles radius from each other. Following this theory two people could be soulmates without ever meeting each other because they lived too far away for the soul strings to form. It wasn't a surprise that after this theory had been published, people took to travelling more. Especially students - fresh from school or university - decided to take a gap year and travel the world in the hope of finding their soulmate. Most came back with a lot of new experiences but without their soulmates. Which wasn't surprising since they might have either missed each other or they just hadn't been ready to meet their soulmates. The discovery that soulmates had to be emotionally ready for their match had been made purely by accident. Two people had been living next to each other since the day they had been born but only when they had both been in their forties had a string formed between them. A fact that complicated the search for one's soulmate even further and also why John had never tried to find them. The odds hadn't been in his favor and neither had he had the money to travel the world instead of working. Nevertheless, John couldn't hold back his excitement now as he boarded the tube. He only hoped that he wouldn't have to drive too far before meeting his soulmate... and that he would really meet them.

John sat down on an empty seat and bit nervously on his lower lip. It wasn't uncommon that a soul string would only lead a person to a place where their soulmate had left a trace before they had left the radius. Scientists were still arguing about said trace. Some claimed that it had to be the last place where the person had been and others said that it was the place where someone had felt a strong emotional impulse. Considering that most dead ends were either airports, harbors or train stations both theories sounded logical. At least to John, who had only picked them up in passing without giving them much more thought.

The string pulled more insistently at his chest as they got closer to their next stop and John regretted that he hadn't shown more interest in soulmate studies. He didn't even know if they had finally figured out how long it took a string to form until the soulmates noticed it. Nor was he aware if the pull of the string felt different if it led someone directly to his soulmate or only to a leftover trace. If John had known the answers to these questions, he certainly wouldn't have felt so nervous as he exited the Plaistow tube station and followed the pull down the street.

This part of London was completely new to John. Of course he was aware that he was in the eastern part of the city but that didn't give him any idea where he was going. His only hope was that his soulmate would have a better knowledge of the place or John doubted that he would make it back to the tube station. Especially with so few people wandering the streets at this time of night that John could ask for directions.. His musings came to an abrupt halt as he almost collided with a wall.

John glanced up and felt the blood freeze in his veins. He wasn't an expert and he might be wrong - God, he hoped he was wrong - but the wall appeared to surround a cemetery. His heart pounded heavily against its ribcage as he rounded the wall until he came upon a sign. East London Cemetery & Crematorium it read and unease settled in the pit of his stomach but he tried to ignore the feeling. There was no use in getting himself all worked up over where he was going to meet his soulmate. A cemetery certainly was a nicer place than most clubs at this time of night.

Squaring his shoulders, John marched along the wall to find a way inside while trying to calm his nerves further at the same time. He had never heard of someone being led to the grave of their soulmate so the person he was looking for probably had their reasons for being in a cemetery, in the middle of the night. A reason other than being dead.

After walking for about five minutes John was finally lucky enough to find a tree growing next to the wall. Some cursing and embarrassing attempts at climbing later, he found himself on the other side of the wall. The string pulled harder at him and John barely thought of turning on the flashlight of his phone before he followed a path between tombstones. New looking tombstones, so his soulmate probably wasn't a nutcase who was searching for vampires from the 19th century. That was something at least.

John couldn't say how long he had been walking when he finally realised that he was there. It was like a pulse running through the string that signaled John that he had reached his destination. Holding his breath, he shone the light of his phone around, following the red string to... a tombstone.

"No," John whispered in disbelief as he looked around wildly, certain that there was a mistake, that someone had to be here. Someone who was breathing and alive and not buried six feet in the ground. But there was no one there. Just the tombstone that had a red string slung around its cold marble. Their soul string.

John's legs buckled and he sank to his knees as he kept on staring at the tombstone. Here he had dared to believe that something good was finally happening to him. That after enduring pain and loneliness, Fate had decided to smile down upon him. But if she had smiled then only in mockery. A cold grave with his soulmate in it. This had to be the most terrible meeting of soulmates that had ever taken place on this earth.

The cold seeped through John's clothes and clutched at his skin, but he ignored the shudders that wrecked his body as he kept on staring at the grave. He should have known that nothing good could ever come of him meeting his soulmate. Watsons weren't destined to meet their one true match. At best they managed to live together with someone without killing each other and at worst... A while ago John would have said that Harry driving away the woman she loved with her drinking was the worst a Watson could experience, but now... he doubted it. What was worse than being led to a grave by your soul string?! What was the use of it?! He would have certainly been better off not knowing that his soulmate was dead. Or at least the soulmate that he was emotionally ready for at this point in time. Some people believed that every person had more than one potential soulmate they could meet in their lifetime.

The thought did nothing to squash the growing loneliness and despair that was trying to swallow John whole. Even if he had another soulmate, how likely was it that he would ever meet them? His chances had already been close to nil this time around and now... "Get a grip, Watson!" A commanding voice that sounded like his officer ordered him. "Until today you hadn't even hoped to find your soulmate. They are dead, so nothing has changed."

"But it has," John whispered to the ground. Everything had changed, because now he knew. Besides if death hadn't severed the string then it would always stay with him. Invisible to others and - after the first meeting had taken place - not tugging at him anymore but nonetheless existent. There to remind him what he could have had if only... John closed his eyes against the burning sensation of tears and swallowed a few times before he dared to open them again. It was no use crying over lost potential, he had learned that lesson early in life.

"But maybe it's fine to cry for someone who has died?" John nodded at the internal question. Yes, if he was despairing here, he should at least learn the name of the person he had lost.

Sherlock Holmes

John's gaze wandered over the strange name and then flickered to the dates. 31 years old. His soulmate had been three years younger than him and had died about two months ago. Two months. John choked on a breath as he realised what that meant. If he hadn't stayed with his sister. If he had come to London right away then he might have met this man. His soulmate. He might have even have been able to save him depending on how he had died. Guilt settled on top of the despair and John wished that he hadn't left his gun in the bedsit. It would have been easy to escape from the pain with only one bullet. One bullet was all it would take to reunite him with Sherlock. One bullet and...

"Stop it!" John was surprised at how raspy his own voice sounded, but the words managed to tear through the dark fog in his head. There was no evidence that he would ever meet his soulmate in death. Of course there were religious groups that believed just that, but John was skeptical. There were too many unknown factors to make such a statement. Still if he couldn't be with his soulmate while alive and death probably wouldn't bring them together either, what was there left for him to do? Especially now that he had broken into a cemetery - with no way out - which wouldn't open until ten in the morning?!

John glanced at his phone. Still five hours to go until he could try to sneak out of the main gate. On the plus side though, his phone was still at ninety percent. His eyes flickered to the letters on the tombstone once more and before he could second guess himself, he had entered the name into the online search engine. It was an unusual name and John had hopes of finding out something about his late soulmate, hopes which were amply fulfilled.. The site showed thousands of matches and it took John three articles in the The Times to realise that they were all talking about the same man. The newest one talked about investigating the accusations that had been made against Sherlock Holmes before he had jumped off the roof of 's.

"Suicide," John murmured in disbelief. Somehow he had assumed that his soulmate had died differently. Cancer or a car crash. Something that no one could control, but if he had killed himself than this was different. It meant... John wasn't so sure what exactly it meant but he vowed to find out for himself.

The sun rose and crawled across the sky as a new day started but John didn't pay it any mind. His eyes were glued to the screen of his phone as he searched for the oldest articles that mentioned Sherlock Holmes and worked his way up from there. Slowly a picture of the man started to form in John's mind as he read about all the cases Sherlock had solved or helped to solve. He had been some kind of consulting detective. The only one in the world, as he had stated in one interview... or rather growled at the journalist if she was to be believed.

"Mad... but brilliant," John whispered in awe as he searched through Sherlock's own blog. The Science of Deduction. It seemed to be utter nonsense, but combined with the other news reports John dared to believe that Sherlock had been able to deduce the life of someone by only looking at how they combed their hair.

There were also pictures of Sherlock online and John laughed at one in which he wore a deerstalker before his fingers touched the prominent cheekbones on the screen. His soulmate hadn't only been brilliant but beautiful as well. A rare, wonderful creature and John prepared himself mentally for learning why such a man had killed himself. Nonetheless it was harder than he had expected to read about the accusations against his late soulmate. The journalists had started to attack him right after Sherlock had accused a James Moriarty of being a criminal mastermind. They had painted the consulting detective in the darkest colors when they had praised his every step mere weeks earlier. Sherlock had been accused of staging all the crimes he had solved himself. That he wasn't brilliant but only a fraud who had hired Moriarty to play his enemy. A month ago - a month after Sherlock had killed himself - the articles had still been in consensus that Sherlock had been fake and killed himself because he didn't want to take responsibility for his crimes. After that the tone of the articles changed. There were speculations that Sherlock had been the victim of a conspiracy and had in fact been the genius he had claimed to be. Investigations were launched as some people tried to clear his name. Private clients of his as far as John understood it. He didn't know if it was only because Sherlock had been his soulmate but John couldn't believe that he had been anything but innocent. The press was fast to turn on someone they had worshipped before without considering the consequences of their actions. At least, the journalists who had written most of the condemning articles had apparently been of such a mindset.

Anger pushed most of his other emotions away and John clenched his hands. This brilliant, beautiful man - his soulmate - could still have been alive if only people had believed in him.

John wondered if there hadn't been anyone who had stood by Sherlock's side as his life had crumpled to pieces all around him. Had there been friends who had tried to comfort him or had he been all alone in the end? Had he been as lonely as John and was that why they had been destined to be together? Because they were both alone in this world and had been broken by it?

John was startled out of his musings by the voices of people that came from the main path some feet away. He glanced at his phone. It was already past ten o'clock. Time had flown by as he had read about his soulmate. Slowly John struggled to his feet and placed a hand on the tombstone in a silent goodbye before he started on his way home. His feet grew heavier with every step away from his soulmate. The string a painful reminder of what he had lost without experiencing it in the first place.