slenderlock:

moonblossom:

slenderlock:

soulmate AU where everyone has their soulmate’s name on their wrist and John has “William” on his but after he meets Sherlock he decides to ignore it because he knows that this man is going to be the most important and amazing person he’ll ever meet and then Sherlock dies so he meets Mary and then Sherlock comes back and tells him his full name and John just understands

William.

William.

Shit. Shit shit shit.

John rubs his wrist, heart shattering into a million shards as the plane taxis down the runway. He walks back to Mary, an invisible anchor dragging behind him, fighting him with every step.

If she can read anything on his face, she says nothing. Let her just think he’s missing his friend.

Suddenly her face lights up, and John blinks, confused. She points and he turns to see the plane turning around in mid-air. His heart swells, painful, filling his whole chest. He can’t breathe.

As soon as Sherlock steps back off the plane, John runs. Doesn’t walk. Runs. Floats.

“John.”

“Sherlock. I… there’s…”

Fuck it, the words won’t come. John clenches his fist. Relaxes. Clenches. Relaxes.

He raises his arm, pulling his sleeve back.

The smile Sherlock gives him could light up the dark side of the moon. He reaches up, rolls up his own sleeve, revealing the flowing script on his arm.

“I know, John. I know.”

William. Such a boring name. Sherlock hated it. Since childhood he’d demanded to be called by his middle name, because it was him, truly. And it would throw off any idiots who would try to convince him that they were soulmates, that he needed them. He didn’t need anyone.

John had a woman’s name on his wrist. It was obvious. The constant streams of girlfriends in and out every week told him that. It had to be a nickname of some sort, something that more than one woman could easily have. The four letters on Sherlock’s wrist burned every time he saw  John with someone else, as if they wanted to claim John as his. 

It seemed that fate had miscalculated.

It’s his last chance, now. His last chance, last hope. With nothing left to lose in case this goes wrong, Sherlock doesn’t care. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” he recites, and watches John’s face fall ever so slightly. 

He almost doesn’t want to believe it- they could have had an infinity together and now they’ll never- but the evidence is there. Sherlock keeps his mask on, doesn’t sway. 

And then he’s gone.

And then he isn’t.