Prompt: 21 (Soulmates AU where your conscious is the voice of your soulmate.)
Character: Sherlock
Requested by: @HeroesOfOlympus287

There were times when you could only imagine what your soulmate looked like, and you'd swear up and down that you had to be right. That deep, brooding voice couldn't belong to just anyone. No. That was the voice of someone tall, dark and handsome. With sleek hair and a taste for the finer things. Someone with deep eyes that stared right through you, who was intelligent and warm-hearted. That had to be the man that voice belonged to. You were confident in it, actually.
As a desk respondent for the Scotland Yard, it had always been a wonder to DI Leatrade that you'd never met Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson. And the circumstances that had lead you to meet them were... well, let's be honest, as unruly and confusing as the detective's curls.
It had all started when you'd met a man that had almost perfectly matched your mental image of your soulmate—black hair slicked neatly back, and dark, intelligent eyes. He'd come to Scotland Yard to drop off a small box to the DI, and the moment you saw him, you thought you'd known. It had to be him, you'd thought. Dressed to the nines in a perfectly fitted Armani suit and tie, confident (but humble) posture, and a strong jaw. And the moment he saw you, he smiled the most charming smile you had ever seen.
"Hi, can I help you?" You asked, preparing to hear it: the voice of your soulmate. This was him—you could feel it! For a moment he had been caught off guard, eyes widening before he shook it off and regained his calmness.
"Hello, Darling." He said in a blatant Irish accent, voice much higher than you'd expected. 'Oh...' was all you could think. Still, you smiled at him, hoping to at least get a date. After all, you may never meet your actual soulmate, and even if you did... there was no guarantee that you were his.
Jim's ears rang with the familiar voice, shock spreading over his features. This was not the right time for this nonsense—though... you were cute. No one of importance was really around... he could spare a few minutes. The moment he opened his mouth, though... he knew. That tinge of disappointment coming over your features. That was just swell. Still, he decided to pursue it, despite the initial anger it caused him. Within minutes, you'd set a date to meet up for drinks, and you were bringing the box to your boss.

"Y/n, c'mere, I need you to meet someone..." Lestrade called once a new case had started. He began scolding the person in the room as you approached.
"Yes, sir?" You asked almost timidly, and Sherlock could feel his eyes widen. His head snapped up to look at you, a shocked look echoing in his eyes thought the rest of him was calm.
"Y/n, this is Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock, this is Y/n Eestor—"
"You're her, then?" He managed out, unsure of whether he was asking if you were his soulmate or the woman who brought the box in. You nodded, something about his voice sounding familiar with you. He wasn't at all like you'd imagined your soulmate to be. Tall, yes, but lanky. His eyes were pale, and skin even paler, with thin lips and high cheek bones, giving him an oddly feminine, yet very masculine look. He was dressed smartly, but the clothing itself wasn't anything special or high-end. And his hair was an utter mess of curls...
"Well, then, out with it." He cleared his throat, collecting himself. His behaviour rude and unabashed. This man was your soulmate..?
"U-uh.. y-yes?" You almost asked, earning an audible groan from the detective. It couldn't be—no one would be this rude to their soulmate. It was impossible!
"I need a description of the man who came in, now." He tried to focus and not vocalize what he thought about you. He couldn't get a clear enough head to actually deduce you, now that he could actually see you as a person, but he'd done enough over the years. When he was twenty-two he noted the subtle changes happening to the once clear American accent, South Carolinian, at a guess. As it shifted towards a more British one. The cause of the change was obvious: Studying abroad, clearly. And it hadn't ever reverted back, so you'd chosen to stay in England. London, apparently. That painted a picture of a rather intelligent and educated woman, and now you were the idiot who let Moriarty escape?!
"W-Well, He was well-dressed and... v-very attractive, really. He had those kind of gorgeous deep, dark eyes, and a very charming smile- sorry, I'm trying to think of something more specific..." You took a moment's pause to recall where Jim had said he was from, "Oh! He was born right outside of Dublin. I mean, he told me Dublin, itself, but I've been everyone in Ireland and his accent is much closer to a few of the outer town's scattered around Dublin—I hope that helps..." You said rather awkwardly, and Lestrade smiled softly at you.
"Yes, thank you, y/n, feel free to head home, I think your shift's over." ...maybe you weren't as stupid as Sherlock had initially thought. In all his research of Moriarty, he had never been able to pinpoint exactly where he was from. And from the video footage, you'd greatly narrowed the area down in only a few minutes of conversation. It was... impressive, really.
You nodded to Lestrade, and left, a few tears rolling down your cheeks as you headed home through a thick fog that had settled over London.