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Sherlock was always content to live unmarked. His skin was no one's but his own, and that suited him. He didn't feel a longing for another's color the way so many others did. Even the marks from his mother and father had faded with their passing, and Mycroft's silver spots were gone, mementos from a time when the brothers had exchanged affection freely. He walked as a blank canvas in a colorful world, and was at peace.
Then he met Victor.
Suddenly, he was no longer just pale skin and dark hair. His skin was decorated with splashes of vibrant yellow, Victor's brushes and caresses evident on his entire body. Sherlock wore his marks as badges of honor, and paid no mind if people on the street scoffed or stared; he was in love. If his own violet marks on Victor were fleeting and pale, he took no notice. The fact that they were both marked by each other made his heart soar. So when Victor came to his flat one day absolutely covered in lime green brands, Sherlock ran.
It took weeks for the yellow marks to fade, time which was spent high and alone. Once he resurfaced, Mycroft swooped in and brought back Sherlock to his old flat, now removed of Victor's things. Armored now with gloves, sleeves, and a thick black coat, Sherlock rejoined the world. He began helping a new Detective Inspector when he was desperately lost in a case. Greg Lestrade was warm, with a few strong marks on him in a sample of colors. Once he became useful enough to require more than a few venomous remarks from Sherlock, he became a trusted acquaintance, if not a friend. Greg had offered his arm once for Sherlock to mark, which Sherlock simply regarded with a withering look and said,
"Marks are distracting and unnecessary, diverting people from observing what is truly important and clouding their perceptions of others. I have no use for them."
After that, it became widely known around NSY that Sherlock was untouchable, as emotionally distant as he was physically. He became somewhat of a legend, regarded with disdain by some and awe by others, but always aloof and beyond reach. It had gotten to the point where even the new officers knew not to ask to touch or be touched, and that was the way that Sherlock liked it.
Until John Watson.
When Mike Stamford had let John Watson into the lab, Sherlock had been too focused to look up at the new arrival. Once he had seen all he could from the microscope, he raised his head and took in the man who was to be his new flatmate. And sat stunned for a few seconds.
Where Sherlock was absolutely devoid of color, John Watson was riotous. He was covered in a multitude of small marks in a rainbow of colors. None of the colors were particularly vivid or reoccurring, no long term romantic partner or even friend, Sherlock's brain supplied, but the sheer amount of marks dazzled Sherlock. To have such an effect on people and to be affected in turn seemed either incredibly tedious or overwhelming. Once a phone and information were exchanged, Sherlock fled to the safety of his flat to ponder this new development. He broke out of his daze once Mrs. Hudson brought him tea, and met John outside of the flat, but things went out of control from there. He wasn't supposed to have let John accompany him to the serial suicides, but he simply couldn't make him stay away. Never mind that the man was incredibly interesting and his colors were intriguing, he was too tenacious to leave.
So he stayed. Once the case had been solved, John Watson simply didn't leave. It wasn't just Sherlock at the crime scenes anymore, it was SherlockandJohn. They presented an interesting dichotomy, one unblemished and the other an explosion of color. Even after a sergeant tried to warn John away, he still remained by Sherlock's side, now an integral piece in Sherlock's life. Through proximity and shared danger, the pair became incredibly close, each existing happily alongside the other. The only thing missing was a mark. Sherlock had made it very clear early on that he was not interested in sharing a mark with anyone, and John had kept to himself accordingly. They originally kept a safe distance away from each other, although the line was quickly becoming blurred. As they got more comfortable together, Sherlock began to feel lost in a way he hadn't felt since before Victor.
He would often catch himself watching John when he hadn't meant to, or cataloging exactly what shade of blue John's eyes were. He was stuck between the stormy blue of a thundercloud and the brighter blue of a clear sky.
This was not helping.
Even more distracting was when Sherlock began to take note of all of the colors that would appear on John's body. Lestrade's dark green would be present after a pub night, Mrs. Hudson's white after tea and biscuits, and if John was lucky, the color his new girlfriend created. In return, they would have John's crimson mark to wear for days. The feeling of loss and want always was greater when a new color was detected on John's body. Sherlock was still trying to figure out a cause.
At the moment, all Sherlock could do was sulk until John got back from one of his dates, waiting to see if the woman of the month would put her new claim on him. He heard the front door slam, and waited for John to appear at the top of the stairs. John was obviously in a bad mood, the lack of color and look in his eyes signaling that this was the end of another relationship. Despite his appearance, John didn't actually seem angry. He appeared to be frustrated.
"Tea?" Sherlock requested, remaining in his curled position in his chair. John grumbled, but set to making the tea anyway. He turned and gave Sherlock a searching look, seeming to reassure himself about something before sitting in his own armchair and picking up the paper. He rubbed a hand over his face, smudging a bit of ink on his cheekbone. The kettle whistled, and John went to get the tea ready, but Sherlock called his name.
"John, wait," Sherlock said, getting up from his own chair, "You have something..." He reached a hand to rub the smudge away, but paused before he made contact, searching John's face for a sign of any kind. All he saw was openness and curiosity, so he continued with the movement. His fingers rubbed away the smudge, and left behind the most vibrant streak of violet he had ever seen; a mark that strong could only be a soul mate mark, permanent and brilliant.
Sherlock's shock must have shown on his face, because John looked worried at this intense reaction.
"Sherlock, are you alright? What's wrong?" John reached out to Sherlock in return, placing a gentle hand on the side of his neck to steady him. John's eyes widened as he pulled his hand away, staring openly at the mark that Sherlock knew would be present on his neck.
"Oh," John breathed, "That's what you were staring at." He tilted his head to inspect the mark from another angle. "It's kind of pretty, isn't it? And its-"
"A soul mate mark, yes. I'm sorry, John, I know I'm not your first choice to be marked with. I don't want to make things awkward, but it seems I've already gone and done that."
"Not my first...? Oh hell," John seemed shocked and irritated, so it only confused Sherlock more when John threaded his fingers into Sherlock's hair and brought him down for a kiss.
Sherlock's first thought was that kissing Victor was nothing like this. Then his mind went blank, so he didn't have any room to compare the two anymore. John's mouth was soft under his, and the hungry noise he made as Sherlock opened his mouth in response made Sherlock feel warm all over. When he opened his eyes and pulled away, he saw John gazing at him with a smug smile and a glint in his eyes. John was now stained with violet, and Sherlock could see splashes of crimson up his arms and on his sides.
"There is no one I would rather have as my soul mate," John murmured, pulling Sherlock towards the bedroom, "I've been in love with you for months."
"Months? How could I have missed- Oh," Sherlock was cut off as John's mouth fastened onto his neck, kissing and sucking right where his soul mark should be.
As they stumbled toward the bedroom, Sherlock gasped, "But John! What about the tea?"
John chuckled in response, "Damn the tea," as he closed the bedroom door.
-
Now, Sherlock doesn't feel so out of place anymore, walking the colored streets of London. He might not have many colors, but every time he sees his crimson streaks and their violet matches on John, he knows he has the only color that matters.