Chapter Text
Find Me
Part One
“Alright class,” Mrs. Littleton said, calling her class to attention. “Today we are going to practice writing your Soul Mates name.”
Greg Lestrade straightened in his chair like the rest of his class did. Only last week had they learnt to write their own names, practicing it every day until they could spell it with ease. His soul mates name had been swirling in his mind for as long as he could remember and as soon as he had a simple grasp of the English Language he had finally spoken that name out aloud.
“I’m going to come around and copy down the name then I want you to practice writing it on the lined paper I’ll hand out,” Mrs. Littleton explained.
Greg tried not to be too impatient as his teacher started at the front of the classroom and made her way around. Like every other student, Greg listened as each person said the name they had known since their birth. There were multiple Tom’s, a few Jessica’s and a handful of Harry’s. As Greg listened his excited smile grew softer until the corner of his lips were tugging downwards.
When Mrs. Littleton finally approached his desk, laying a sheet of lined paper on his desk Greg very much did not feel like sharing and refused to lift his eyes.
“Alright Greg, what’s your soul mates name,” Mrs. Little asked, her pen poised on the paper ready to copy it down.
“It’s not like everyone else’s,” Greg told her through a mumble and he picked at a spot of dried glue on the desk.
“That’s alright dear, lot’s of people have different names.” Mrs. Littleton smiled. “There’s no need to be nervous.”
Greg looked up from the table and found his teacher crouching closer and giving him an encouraging smile.
“What’s your soul mates name?” she asked.
“Mycroft,” Greg said. His frown deepened when he heard her give a small gasp of surprise and the way her eyebrows flew up towards her hairline.
“That certainly is unique,” Mrs. Littleton said with a little hitch in her voice.
As she started writing the name down Greg saw that her hand was a little shaky and he swallowed nervously.
“Is it okay that his name is Mycroft?” Greg asked as she slid the paper around to face him.
“Of course it is,” Mrs. Littleton said and now she looked a lot happier then before. “A soul mates name, no matter what it is, is the greatest gift we can receive.”
Greg nodded and as she walked away he looked down at the complicated letters that lay out in front of him. Greg took out his pencil and his sharpener and twisted the pencil until the tip was pointy. He poised his pencil on the paper and examined the letters.
“Mycroft,” Greg huffed. “This is going to be tricky.”
“How do you write ‘Sherlock’?” John Watson asked. As soon as they words left his mouth he wished he could retract them. The air in the kitchen vanished in an instant and he shrunk back in his chair as his father’s eyes met his across the table.
“What did you say?” Mr. Watson demanded.
John swallowed and chanced a look at his mother. She had been at the sink washing dishes but as soon as he had spoken the plate she had been holding slipped back into the soapy water and was now looking at him with wide eyes. They darted to her husband and then back to John, her lower lip starting to tremble. All the colour had drained from her face and she looked as if she wasn’t even breathing.
Even Harry had stopped moving and didn’t dare look up from her plate where a half piece of toast was abandoned.
John jumped when his father’s hands slammed down on the table, making the glasses and cutlery laid out rattle. “Answer me!”
“How do you write ‘Sherlock’?” John repeated in a small, shaky voice.
“Where did you get that name?” Mr. Watson growled.
John swallowed and pressed himself further into the back of his chair. “It’s just a name in my head.”
Mr. Watson moved quickly. He chair skidded across the kitchen floor and tipped over landing on the ground with a bang that echoed through the small kitchen. He stalked past harry who flinched, eyes slamming shut. Before John had a chance to escape his father had grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him out of his chair.
Scrambling for a grip, John clung to his father’s wrists as he dangled in the air, the collar of his jumper digging into his neck. He kicked out, trying to pry the fingers off him but his father was so much bigger and stronger.
“Oh don’t,” Mrs. Watson moaned but her husband simply shoved her away from the sink.
“Let me go!” John yelled, kicking out frantically but it was as if his father couldn’t feel a thing. Panic ripped at his chest as he was twisted around. He couldn’t gasp in enough air as strong forearm wrapped around his wait and a large hand cradled the back of his head.
“I’ll wash that damn name out of your head,” Mr. Watson growled.
John had enough time to suck in a panicked breath before his head was being slammed into the sink. Water rushed around his head and into his ears and mouth. He struggled, kicking and squirming. His hand gripped something and he tried to push himself out but his father’s grip was too strong. He screamed, soapy water rushing into his mouth.
Just as suddenly he was yanked out, the world a dizzying rush of colours as he coughed and spluttered, trying to suck in more air and the sound of his mother screaming muffled by his blocked ears. Then he was being shoved down again.
And again. And again. And again.
Finally he was pulled out and dropped to the floor. John hacked up the water and frantically wiped his face as he pulled in grateful gasps of air. His whole body was trembling and he couldn’t tell if he was sobbing or coughing. He heard a door slam and then flinched as smaller hand cradled him.
“Don’t ever mention that name again,” his mother told him frantically as her hands fluttered uselessly around him. “Don’t ever say it again.”
“Do you know how many people are called ‘John’, Mycroft?” Sherlock glared at his older brother.
“Do you honestly think ‘Greg’ is any easier to find?” Mycroft rose an eyebrow.
Mrs. Holmes rolled her eyes as she deposited a plate of breakfast in front of her sons. She had heard the argument many times ever since Sherlock had learnt what it meant to have the name of your Soul Mates name embedded in his mind since birth.
“You will both be grateful that you have names,” Mrs. Holmes scolded them lightly. “And there is nothing wrong with having a common name. Look at your father.”
Mr. Holmes smiled at his wife and accepted the quick peck on the lips, grinning as his son’s both made disgusted noises. “How lucky I am I found my darling Wanda.”
“And that I found the correct Tim,” Mrs. Holmes laughed. “How many I had to go through before I found you.”
“That’s my point!” Sherlock said, looking accusingly at his mother. “I don’t want to wait.”
“It’s worth it,” Mrs. Holmes said. She moved closer to her youngest son and tried to smooth out the mass of dark curls that were getting more and more rouge these days. “Solving the puzzle is half the fun.” She turned and winked at her husband.
Sherlock eyes sparked at the challenge of solving a puzzle but his mouth stayed firmly in a pout.
“How about a wager,” Mycroft said.
Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and the pout slowly slid from his face.
“The first to find their soul mate,” Mycroft continued as Sherlock’s silent intrigue.
“Mycroft,” Mrs. Holmes clicked her tongue.
“What does the winner get?” Sherlock asked.
“A favor,” Mycroft said, ignoring their mother. “To be called upon whenever with no limitations or questions asked.”
Sherlock pondered this quietly. Finally he nodded. “Accepted.”
Mycroft lips curled into a soft smile. “Excellent.”
Mr. Holmes chuckled quietly at his geniuses. “And what if your soul mates find you first?” he asked. He hid behind his morning paper to hold his laughter as both his son’s scoffed at the possibility.
“Mum! I need some sticky tape!” Greg yelled as he raced into the kitchen.
Mrs. Lestrade looked up from the stove where she was stirring something in a pot. “What do you need tape for dear?”
“To hang up my name,” Lestrade said, carefully showing his mother the lined paper where Mycroft’s name was written over and over again.
The letters were clumsy to begin with but grew stronger and clearer as he grew confident with his writing. He already made the decision to practice Mycroft’s name until it was perfect and then he would hang the better copy up but for now he had this.
Mrs. Lestrade smiled fondly at her boy and from a draw produced a roll of tape. “There you go dear.”
Greg took the tape with quick thanks and raced back to his room. He jumped on his bed and started pulling off bits of tape. His tongue stuck out with his determination and when all four corners were stuck to the wall Greg stepped back to admire his work.
He nodded and sat in the middle of the bed and stared at the writing.
“Mycroft,” he said. He tapped his chin thoughtfully and made a soft hmmm. Suddenly his back straightened and shot off the bed and raced back to the kitchen.
“Mum? Do you think Mycroft’s name will be in the phone book?”
Mrs. Lestrade held back her giggle and said, “Why don’t you check? It’s by the phone.”
As soon as her son was gone she laughed with delight, shaking her head fondly. She wasn’t surprised when he came back, the heavy phone book thumping on the table as he crawled up into a seat.
“You’re becoming a little detective,” Mrs. Lestrade said.
Greg perked up at the idea as he opened the phone book. His excitement dwindled rapidly as he searched through all the M’s in the phone book, coming across a lot of name that he couldn’t pronounce but not one of them was Mycroft’s name. When he reached the last one he closed the book with a sigh that was far too heavy for someone his age.
“Don’t worry dear,” Mrs. Lestrade said. “You’ll find him one day. You mustn’t be disappointed.”
Greg shook his head and puffed out his chest. “I’ll just have to become a detective and find him myself.”
This time Mrs. Lestrade had to hide her face so her son wouldn’t see her laughter and throw a tantrum.
John lay still on his back, one hand thrown above his head with his sheets pooled loosely over his chest. He didn’t dare make a sound, ears straining to hear any movement from his parent’s room just down the hall. He could still taste the soapy water in his mouth and his stomached gurgled ominously at the memory. He was scared that his father was going to come back and try wash Sherlock’s name from his mind again.
A creak in the hallway made his heart hammer in his chest and his blood turn cold. He scrambled up when his doorknob turned and he debated whether hiding under the bed was a good idea or not. Before he could attempt to hide the door swung open and a figure darted in.
John’s heart slowed from a gallop to trot when he saw that it was only his sister Harry but his body didn’t relax. He watched her as she crossed his room and climb onto the bed.
“All right, Johnny?” she whispered.
“What are you doing here?” John whispered, eyes darting to the door.
Both knew what the punishment would be if they were caught still up, way past their bedtime. They had only ever made that mistake once.
“I’m checking on you,” Harry hissed.
John shrugged but didn’t say anything.
“So Sherlock huh?” Harry whispered, shifting around quietly on the bed. “Interesting name.”
John only looked up when Harry’s hand lay over his.
“Don’t forget the name,” Harry said, her face the most serious John had ever seen it too be. “Don’t let dad make you forget him.”
John’s eyes darted down to the cigarette burns that were on Harry’s thighs when she had first announced the name Clara.
Harry pulled her shorts down over the marks. “We’ll find them one day but for right now we must never speak of them. Ever. Don’t forget but never speak their names. Do you understand, Johnny?”
John nodded as he could feel the phantom dishwater in his nose, mouth and ears and he shivered.
“Don’t mention it to any one,” Harry implored. “Not to your friends not to strangers, nobody. Who knows who will tell dad? Say it Johnny.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” John promised.
Harry nodded and slid of the bed before silently crossing the bedroom to the door. She paused at the door, listening for any movement before she slowly turned the handle. Then she was gone and John sunk back on to his back and pulled the sheets over his body, right up to his chin.
“Sherlock,” John whispered, committing to the way his mouth shaped the letters and how his tongue curled and moved to sound the letters for that would be the last time he would say his soul mates name.
Sherlock had already eliminated the entire John’s at his school and deduced that he would not find his soul mate until he reached university. He was satisfied with this for it would give him much more time to develop his skills and be more impressive like Mycroft. However, Sherlock would like to meet him now, so that he may have a friend.
For now though he would be satisfied with his first mate Red Beard and the adventures they played. He was a loyal dog and Sherlock hoped that his soul mate was just as much.
He wondered if he could develop some kind of mathematical equation to find John. Mycroft had an advantage over Sherlock with his seven-year age difference. He was already at High School and it wouldn’t be long until he was introduced to more potential Greg’s when he left for University. It wasn’t cheating, just evening the playing field.
Sherlock found his mother in her study and eyed the mathematical books while he approached her.
“Yes, Sherlock?” Mrs. Holmes asked, not once looking up from the pages she was correcting.
“Is there an equation that would help me identify which John is mine?” Sherlock asked.
Mrs. Holmes finished marking the current equation before putting her pen down and turning to face her youngest son. “You don’t need an equation.”
Sherlock explained the advantage Mycroft had over him and if they were to have an even chance at winning their wager then Sherlock would need a handicap to make it even.
“You mustn’t worry about the wager,” Mrs. Holmes smiled. She lifted Sherlock into her lap and he wiggled to get comfortable. “Both you and Mycroft will find your soul mates when you are ready for them. It may be tomorrow or it may be many years down the track.”
“I want him now,” Sherlock said.
Mrs. Holmes kissed the top of his curls. “I know you do, darling. I’m afraid there is no equation you are looking for. I could help you work on one if you like? Once I have finished my markings.”
Sherlock nodded. “Yes.”
“Please.”
“Please,” Sherlock repeated.
Mrs. Holmes put him down and pushed him lightly to the door. “Go play and once I’ve finished I’ll come find you and help you with your equation.”
Sherlock nodded and ran from the room, calling out for Red Beard.