I FOUND THIS IN MY OLD NOTES FROM 2014??! IT'S SO WILD?! WTH IM SCREAMIVN I SAID "I WANT A SOULMATE AU AND I'M GONNA FUCKIGN WRITE ONE" AND I JUST WENT OFF THE RAILS

im caCKLING

"Sorry, do I know you?"

He's standing right there. Right in front of me, with a strange haircut and glasses. John doesn't have glasses. He's never had glasses.

"Why are you wearing glasses?" I say, because no one in their right mind would wear glasses but not actually need glasses. Isn't that supposedly - weird? Or something?

John gives me a look. The look that means: strange, beautiful, confused, do I know you? And of course he knows me, "Of course you know me."

"Med school?" he says, ignoring my question. "Come on. Are you that Gary bloke?"

I stare at him, squinting. Apparently, in this universe, I remind him of Gary. I remind John Watson of a man named Gary, who I've never encountered in any of my lives. It's difficult, remembering everything. "My name is not Gary, idiot," I bite at him. He is so slow. EVERYONE IS SO! SLOW! And I hate his hair. It's too long and stringy. And I hate the way it curls. Twenty one bloody years, and he looks like a stoner.

"I have never met you, sir," John says, bewildered. I want to gouge my eyes out. I hate this bit. The explaining.

"John. I am Sherlock. Do not be so tedious."

"I do not know you!" and then he clenches his fists, adjusting his square glasses and scratching his stubbled face. Suddenly, his brow twists. "Wait. How do you know my name?"

Because you know me, idiot, I think. This is the part where John asks who I am. Wait for it, wait for it. Any second now.

Currently, we're in the library of his university. He has books in his hand. He loves books. At least, the previous John did.

But - oh, they're about monster trucks. Did I get an idiot, this time? Not that I'd mind. I mean, sometimes it's tiresome, but he kisses softer that way. It's nice. I usually don't admit it to myself.

He's twenty-one. It took me twenty-one years to find him. I'm getting worse at this; the looking.

But the looking is rather exciting. Once I travelled to Ukraine to find a specific set of coordinates where John was being stationed. I had to kill someone. Strange, watching light leave someone's eyes.

He was employed by MI6, that time - and oh, he didn't have those fucking glasses.

I rip them off his face and stomp on them, just so he won't ask what my name is - because I just told him, and those glasses make me want to fly off several buildings at once, all in different lifetimes. He shouts something incoherent. Something about, "Who are you?" and he's intrigued - mad, but definitely intrigued, oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

"Glasses don't suit you."

"What the fuck!"

I usually have a bloody nose by this point. I've learned that putting it gently doesn't really get the point across any longer. All his reincarnations are becoming more and more intelligent, quick to the punch.

Also, a bit more calloused. Usually he hits me by now.

"John Hamish Watson. You have a sister. You want to become an army medic, although sometimes you don't mind the idea of firefighting. Are you a bartender this time? Or a valet?"

"Huh?" His eyes are on fire. He's not going to punch me, not here. The librarian shushes us. I don't care. She's obnoxious, anyway.

"Can I just tell you something?" I say, knowing he won't respond. My stomach heats. "I hate your hair," I state. "Cut it all off."

My skull hits his fist with a crack.