Chapter Text
Everyone has a soulmate. How do you find your soulmate? You bear a lock of their hair, either from birth or developed later, depending on when they are born. On average, everyone's soulstreak(as they were officially dubbed) appears within a few years, if not at birth.
It is not without its challenges, as some people bearing common hair color, like brunette and blonde, have trouble finding the one that the hair belongs to. Once they find a prospective mate, one must examine the specific shade, texture, natural style, and condition of the hair in order to determine if it is a match.
T'was the dilemma for two English gentleman, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, by name. It took years of friendship before realizing they were each(secretly) pining for more. Once they realized(with a little help from Sherlock's scientific examination of a lock of each other's soulstreak) they immediately bonded.
But this is not their story. Rather, it is the story of their mutual friend and colleague, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade.
There are some who never notice their soulstreak because it happens to be the same color as their own hair. Such occasions are a bit of a crisis, as it is impossible to tell if the person even has a soulmate to begin with.(it is theorized that this occurs when one half of the destined pair is stillborn or dies very young. If they both bear one another's soulstreak and one dies, then the soulstreak of the living partner fades back to their natural hair color.)
Lestrade was a man who, for most of his life, believe that he was one of those few unfortunate people whose soulmate either died, or they just weren't meant to have one. Though he tried not to despair and still dated around, he couldn't deny that his own soul always felt empty, like one half was missing.
From the day he was born, Greg Lestrade had raven coloured hair, black as pitch. Every morning when he awoke, he would brush his fingers and comb through his hair in the hopes that, eventually, the soulstreak of his destined partner would appear, but it never did.
"Cheer up, luv.", his mother would encourage, "Maybe your soulmate just happens to have a head of gorgeous raven hair like you.", and then she would give him a motherly kiss on his forehead.
Although it gave him hope, he couldn't help but feel that finding his other half would be no easy ordeal.
Unbeknownst to Greg, around the time he was about 27 years old, his soulstreak eventually grew in. But he barely noticed, as it was - though not quite as dark as his own - black as well. Sometimes when he brushed his hair, he thought perhaps he could see a bit of more brown-black in his bangs, but brushed it off as just a trick of the light.
By the time he was in his mid 30's, he had all but given up on finding his soulmate. That was, until he met a lovely lady with black hair, like his. Although he didn't feel the "instant connection" that was supposedly meant to occur, he wanted to hope that his search was at an end, and she was the one he'd been looking for. They spent over a decade together, and Greg was...content. He could almost say, happy. But, deep in his soul, he still felt an emptiness. He ignored it in favour of making this marriage work, because he had no way of knowing if he even had a soulmate, if she was the one, or if the person was still out there. This was stable, this was good, and he wasn't going to ruin it just for some unknown, unreliable possibility.
It wasn't until he had reached his late 40's that he found out that his stable marriage was anything but. He had begun to suspect that his wife was cheating on him, probably had been for at least a few years. If he had to pick a moment when it probably started, he would have to say that it was when they both discovered that a section of his hair, about where his bangs were, had remained the same dark, brown-black shade while the rest had begun to go grey...as did his wife's. Not only that, but the soulstreak had also begun to take on a soft curl, not kinky, but more wavy. And his wife's hair was straight, straight as straw. Perhaps it was then that she realized that they definitely were not each other's soulmates, and she wasn't as interested in making it work despite that.
It was pretty much confirmed when one day - well, night actually - Greg met a drugged up but brilliant man, about 10 or so years younger than him, staggering and skulking around his crime scene. When Greg tried to get them man to leave, he was immediately bombarded with detailed observations, and not just of the crime scene.
"It was obviously the brother that murdered her. Also, your wife is cheating on you. Probably because you've both recently realized that you aren't soulmates after all.".
Greg stood gaping at the man for a moment before asking, somewhat defensively, "Alright, who the bloody hell are you, and how did you know that?".
The man smiled lazily, and it was that and the bloke's blown pupils that told Greg that he was high off his tits.
"Simple.", the man drawled, "There are several things to observe about you that tell me all I need to know.".
"Okay, fine. So how about you tell me all about it once you've sobered up in a cell tonight.".
The man had frowned, but seemed to think for a moment before saying, "On one condition: let me assist you on cases.".
"You out of your mind? I can't let a civilian on official police cases!", Greg argued.
"Fine.", the man scowled, "I'll sleep it off in a cell, and when I'm sober, I'll tell you how I knew about you and your abysmal marriage. Then will you at least consider it?".
The temptation to know how the man could possibly know anything about him was too great, so reluctantly, he agreed.
"Fine, you win.", Greg agreed, and then instructed an officer to put the younger man in the back of his car.
The next morning, when Greg came by the cell they were holding the intriguing addict in, he smiled softly at the sight of him asleep on the cot.
He cleared his throat loudly, which startled the man awake, and had to suppress a snicker at the rather ungraceful way the man sat up, like a bloody giraffe.
"Now that you're awake and more clear headed, shall we have a talk?", he asked.
The younger man, rubbed his tired face and then smiled up at him, bleary-eyed, but alert.
"Of course. You wanted to know how I knew that your marriage was failing because of your unfaithful wife. Right.", he said with a know-it-all attitude.
Greg's jaw clenched, but he nodded. "Right, yeah. Well, get on with it, starting with your name.".
There was a moment of silence before the man spoke. "The name is Sherlock Holmes. And I didn't know, I observed.".
"Right. And what did you observe?".
The man - Sherlock, and what a name that was - then went into a rapidly delivered speech, listing all the details that led him to his assessment.
"Did I get anything wrong?", he asked, his gaze piercing into the D.I.'s.
Shit, how did I not notice those eyes before? They're unbelievable...
Greg stood staring for a moment, feeling equal parts impressed and flayed open.
"Jesus, that was...impressive, actually. Though I can't imagine you win many friends that way, spelling out their entire lives. Personal information and secrets and all.".
"You'd be right.", Sherlock said, something like sadness passing over his face, but it was gone in a blink.
Greg gave the man a once over, the realization now hitting him that this bloke's hair matched his soulstreak. He sucked in a breath, trying not to get his hopes up, but unable to stop his heart from beating faster with anticipation.
It didn't matter that it was another man. Greg was a grown-ass bloke, and he had no problem admitting that his sexual preference was like a saloon door, swinging both ways.
He just needed confirmation. He just needed to see if Sherlock's soulstreak was a sliver of greying strands amongst the dark curls...Yes, he was brushing his bangs back, and...Oh...
Blonde.
Bugger.
"So, can I come out of this cell now? And what about the cases?".
The man's voice cut through his thoughts, and he forced himself to get over his depression at yet another false alarm to answer him.
"Uh...I'll see what I can do. Just show me what led you to believe that it was the brother.".
"Fine.". He stood and walked up to the bars as Greg instructed an officer to open the cell.
Sherlock stopped in front of Greg as he stepped out, sweeping his calculating gaze over D.I.'s face once again.
"Oh, I see...You thought I might have been your soulmate.", he observed.
Flustered, Greg opened his mouth but before he could say anything, he was cut off by a dismissive wave of Sherlock's hand.
"It makes little difference to me, Detective Inspector, as I have no interest in romantic relationships. Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, and caring is not an advantage.".
Greg couldn't help but feel like that sounded rehearsed.
"And anyway, my mind is better spent on more interesting things...experiments..and cases.", he looked up at the D.I. hopefully,
"Besides, look what it got you. A lifetime of disappointment and heartache, and an unfaithful wife.".
Greg scowled, pushing the man forward. "Just get walking to my office before I punch you.", he groused and led the way.
.........
About five years later, Greg was divorced and that drugged up, brilliant man had gotten sober and was now working as a consultant for him on cases, as well as working his own private ones.
As for Greg's search for his soulmate...well. He'd all but given up the search. He was going on 50, and still had no progress aside from a few dates that went no where because they ended up being more false alarms.
To make matters worse, Sherlock - Mr. Romantic-entanglement-is-beneath-me - had even found his own soulmate in one Dr. John Watson, formerly Captain Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, RAMC. From the moment the two men met, Greg just knew that they were made for each other, even without needing to see their soulstreaks. (Though of course, the good doctor had a rather obvious patch of nearly black hair amongst his sandy blonde.)
For a few years more, he watched as they danced around one another until they stopped being idiots, found that their soulstreaks matched(which came as no surprise to anyone, really), and soon were making plans to make it official.
Greg was truly happy for them, and agreed to be their best man at the ceremony. And, although he had pretty much given up ever finding his destined partner, he still couldn't help but feel that emptiness in his soul whenever he saw his two friends.
Then one day, Greg woke up and looked in his bathroom mirror to find that his soulstreak, which at this point was a stark, dark contrast to his now fully silvered hair, had changed.
"What the hell?", he said, brushing his fingers through the section of his bangs which once were dark brown-black, but now were purple.
Purple. Who the bloody hell had purple hair? Then he remembered those experts saying that even when your other half did things to their hair - like dying it - it would appear as such in your soulstreak. Though they still weren't exactly sure of how that was possible.
/So, who is my soulmate supposed to be? Some young punk hooligan type?/
God, he was staring to sound like his dad. But who else dyed their hair odd colors like that?
Not that he had anything against those types. Hell, he remembered having a quite a thing for them back in his Uni days. But he was getting older now, and couldn't imagine some young, spry, pinko-heavy metal kid being interested in an old man like him.
Going to work like that was not a fun experience. Everyday for the next several months, everyone who saw him teased him about his plum purple streak of hair, saying how he looked like an aging punk rocker trying recapture his youth. It was all in good fun, he knew, and he laughed along with them, but it was only serving to remind him, even more that ever, of the missing aspect of his life.
If his colleagues weren't bad enough with the teasing, he didn't even want to think about when he would need to call Sherlock in on a case.
And unfortunately, today was one of those cases. He was sat at his desk, dreading the impending ribbing from the former Army Doctor and the calculating analysis from the consulting detective as he awaited their arrival. He just hoped that they could get past it quickly and get on with the investigation.
When said men arrived, he sighed at the surprised looks he got from them both, dropping his pen on the desk and reaching for his coffee.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. Go on and have your laugh.", he grumbled, taking a sip.
"No, no!", said John, wearing his friendly expression as always, "It's good. Look at it this way: it brings you one step closer to finding your soulmate.".
Sherlock did stare at Greg's soulstreak analytically, but there came no observant dressing down for it. "John's right. It does narrow it down. You only need to search every purpled-haired individual until you find a matching soulstreak.".
"Can't be too many of those, I imagine.", John added, somewhat sarcastically, knowing all the "alternative"-type gangs of kids in London.
It didn't serve to make Greg feel any better.
"Well, if you two are quite done cheering me up about my miserable love life, we should get on with this case.".
Both men sat before his desk and went over the files together, Greg's love troubles all but forgotten for a while.
.........
It turned out to be an exciting case, and by the day's end, Sherlock was thrumming with the excitement of having solved it. All there was left now was going home with John to make a plan on how they would catch the perpetrator.
But he had something else on his mind as well. Something he had long figured out before now, but put it at the back of his mind in favor of the case. Now that they were back home, he could spare a moment to bring it up to his beloved.
"So.", he began as he sat in his chair, fingers steepled as he watched his fiance putting on the kettle,
"Lestrade's soulstreak. Rather interesting, hm?".
John looked over at him with a lopsided smile, "Why Sherlock, are you actually taking an interest in a friend's love life? Other than to tell them that they're being cheated on, or their partner is actually gay or married.".
Sherlock smirked at his beloved. "Sentiment aside, there was something about it that made it interesting to me. Do you remember the color to which his soulstreak has inexplicably changed?".
"Yeah, uh..some sort of dark purple. Why?".
Sherlock gave him the patented 'don't be an idiot, do keep up.' expression.
"Honestly, John? I can't believe it hasn't occurred to you yet.".
John brought their cups into the sitting room, handing Sherlock his and sitting in his own chair.
"Well then, Mr. Genius Detective, ", John said sarcastically, but in good humor, "Do elaborate.".
Sherlock blew the steam from his cup before taking a sip.
"Yes, it was purple. A very familiar shade of purple, don't you think? Where have we seen that sort of hair before?".
John frowned in thought, and when it hit him, he felt like a complete tit. His eyes lit up in hopeful recognition as he leaned forward and said,
"You don't mean...".
Sherlock hummed in confirmation of John's suspicion. "According to what I've gathered from the other Yarders when we worked with Dimmick or Hopkins, his soulstreak changed about six months ago. Exactly around the time Baker Street gained a new tenant. Someone who moved here all the way from America to get a fresh start?".
John's expression had slowly turned happy and optimistic as Sherlock dictated the facts.
"What are you thinking, love?", John asked, setting his tea aside and getting up, sliding onto his fiance's lap.
Sherlock smiled softly and lovingly as he set his cup aside and welcomed John with loving arms.
"I think I'll finally take our lovely neighbor's offer to check out her book. What was it? The 'Encyclopedia of Serial Killers'?".
John raised an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.
"Perhaps I'll have her bring it up to me? And if I happen to request its delivery around the same time of Lestrade's visit to discuss the plan for catching the thief, well...you know what they say about coincidences.".
John leaned closer and brushed their noses together. "Who knew Sherlock Holmes could be such a romantic?", he teased.
Sherlock's loving smile grew wider. "I learned from the best.", he purred, and captured John's lips in a sweet, passionate kiss.