This is my first attempt at a crossover, and was inspired by a picture, and a conversation. I'd like to dedicate this to my good friend Mrs Noggin as a belated birthday story, and also I'd like to thank MapleleafCameo who was not only in at the beginning of this, but checked it through before posting.
Please take note of the warnings in the summary - I have no wish to offend

Disclaimer: I own only the original characters, the rest belong to far greater minds than mine.

My master, my maker; yet he drove me from his house as he could not bear to look at me but I was the product of his big scheme, his experiment.

I ran, naked but for the cape he had thrown at me, away from his presence to hide myself among the people living in herds, rushing, pushing past me and paying no heed until she –

She sought my help, and although I had no knowledge then of how I had helped, she was grateful. At least until she looked upon my form and saw me as I am, hideous and scarred, a creature to be feared.

Through village after village I ran, away from the people who jeered and threw stones, up into the mountainous regions where lonely hill farms and secluded cabins dotted the landscape and that was where I found him…

~O~

The short blond haired man stood looking out over the tree covered slopes, his thoughts far from that beautiful yet lonely scenery, turned inwards to another time.

A flash of drab colour on his peripheral vision awoke his soldier's senses and he tensed slightly, yet not enough to give him away.

From beyond the tree line, a figure moved forward, slowly, cautiously and yet he couldn't be said to have crept towards the small cabin, it was more the sidling of a frightened child.

"Are you lost?" the blond man asked gently, turning to face the newcomer.

A startled grunt was the only answer he received as the barefooted and cloaked figure stopped and peered out from under his hood.

"Can I help you?" the man tried again, taking a small step forward and holding his hands out to show he meant no harm.

Another grunt, this time accompanied by a violent head-shake and a physical withdrawal, fear evident in that small movement.

Turning away the man entered the building, leaving the door wide open. Inside, he lifted the lid off a large pan of vegetable stew and the mouth-watering aroma wafted out towards the other man.

Creaking floorboards told him that his ploy had worked, that whoever this stranger was he was hungry and had been tempted to step inside. His smile broadened as he took two bowls from a cupboard and ladled food into them, putting them on the table beside a plate of bread.

Sitting down he gestured to the other man to do the same, then grabbed a chunk of bread to tear and dip into the rich stew.

After a moment or two the stranger sat down, mimicking his host's action while remaining hidden beneath his cloak and hood. He proved to be an adept student, learning quickly that it was far better to blow each spoonful of food so as not to burn his mouth.

"My name," the blond haired man said between mouthfuls "is John Watson. Do you have a name?"

"Nnnng?"

"A name?" Watson persisted. "What do people call you?"

A vague shifting of shadow within the confines of the hood gave the impression of a child trying a newly learned skill.

"Mmnss…"

John waited patiently.

"Mnstr…" he tried again, rocking slightly in frustration.

"No matter," John reassured him. "You'll find your tongue eventually."

Quiet descended over them as supper was finished and the dishes cleared away. Glancing over his shoulder as he worked, John saw his new companion putting his fingers into the hood, every now and then making strange gagging noises.

His chores done, John placed the kettle on the stove and eased himself with a sigh into an easy chair beside the fire.

"Come and…" his voice faded as he saw the other man had grasped his tongue between his finger and thumb and was trying to pull it out of his mouth.

"Hey, hey stop that!" he said, leaping up and reaching for the other's hand. "You'll hurt yourself."

As he reached forwards so the other man jumped back, flapping his hands as if to ward off a threat and in doing so he knocked the hood from his head.

The material slipped softly down to rest on the stranger's shoulders, and both men froze.

Despite his years spent soldiering, John Watson stared at the sight before him, shocked and sickened by the scars of many operations, and the bruises and cuts where sticks and sharp stones had rained down upon him.

"My God! What have they done to you?"

"Mnss…. mnstr… Monster!" finally he managed to say it, the word that had followed him as he was driven from place to place.

"What?" John's voice was incredulous. "How can they say that? This surely is none of your doing?" he gestured to the thick ridges of scar tissue and cringed as his guest flinched and tried to back away.

"No, no," softening his tone John reached forward once more. "I won't hurt you. I'm a doctor; let me look at your injuries."

"Monster!" the stranger beat at his chest as he said the word.

"No, you're not; whoever called you that are frightened ignorant people." Gently he took the other's arm and coaxed him back to the table. "May I remove your cloak?"

Scraped and bruised fingers clutched at the material as wide fearful grey-green-blue eyes stared up at him.

For a moment John's heart seemed to stop and stutter painfully as he looked down into the eyes of an innocent, lost lonely and afraid, and all his doctoring instincts kicked in. He crouched in front of the other man.

"I won't take it away from you; I just want to see if you have any other injuries." John gently peeled open the clasping fingers and eased the cloak off hunched shoulders.

Transfixed with horror he stared at the stitched flesh – a classic 'Y' of autopsy examination decorated his chest and his naked body was marred with scabbing cuts and abrasions, and purpling bruises.

The strange creature stared at John as he in turn continued to stare at the marks of surgery, and a whine rose from his throat. He was confused. This doctor, this John Watson, he was not screaming or yelling, not hitting or hurting, not chasing him away. Confusion made him shake.

The kettle whistled on the stove and John removed it from the heat, pouring it into a large clean bowl. Adding cold water he grabbed cloths and a towel and carried them back to the table…

~O~

He washed me gently as if I was made of the finest porcelain, every touch feather-light as he removed the grime of my journey.

And John talked as he worked. He talked about his life, his time spent as an army doctor in foreign lands before he returned home to England.

Tears filled my new friend's eyes as he spoke of a loved one, a detective; and he broke down completely on telling how, having lost his reputation the detective took his own life. I realised at once that this gentle soul was as lonely as I.

Reaching out I placed my hand on his shoulder, and strangely he seemed comforted by that simple touch; he looked up and smiled then stood to pat the water from my skin.

I remember that moment as if it were yesterday, John – his tear stained face turned up to mine, smiling gently, but I am getting ahead of myself…

~O~

John sat that night by the bedside of his strange guest, watching as he slept; a full stomach and warmth conspiring to overwhelm his senses. Someone, somewhere had performed operations or experiments on this poor creature, then left him to fend for himself without benefit of a voice.

But John was a doctor, a man of compassion – he hadn't naturally assumed that this was some madman who had endured a failed attempt to correct his brain. No, John had heard for himself how quickly the man had learned to use words, it was just a shame he had learned the word 'Monster' and applied it to himself.

Next morning John turned from preparing breakfast as his guest appeared – naked still – in the doorway of the small bedroom.

"Good morning." He said quietly. "I have found some clothes for you to wear."

John grabbed an old pair of his uniform breeches and a loose-fitting shirt.

"They'll be a bit short on you, but they'll do for now." With swift clinical movements he dressed the man, smothering grin at the bizarre sight of slender limbs far too long for the borrowed clothing.

"Come and eat, then we can discuss how I may help you"…

~O~

He called me Adam, after God's first man. With infinite patience he treated my injuries, and although he was unable to prevent my wounds from scarring he made them appear much less frightening.

With the same patience he taught me to read and write, encouraged me as I found my voice once more, and flew into a rage when he found me reading the journal that I had found many months earlier in my maker's cape pocket.

I saw for the first time a look of horror akin to the looks I had encountered in the villages, but it was my maker Victor Frankenstein who was the object of John's not inconsiderable wrath. He was horrified that Frankenstein could do this and then cast me out into the world, alone and friendless.

Suddenly the anger drained from him and he turned aside…

~O~

"Yet should I be standing here castigating Victor Frankenstein as the villain of the piece, when really I want to…"

"Want to what?" Adam stepped up beside him.

"Thank him." John breathed softly. "He sent you away and you found me, alone and contemplating how much longer I could bear the weight of my loss…"

"Your detective?"

"My lover. I never thought to love again, but you…" John's hand reached out to cup Adams still thin cheek. "You have changed everything." Licking his lips he looked earnestly into Adams beautiful multi-hued eyes. "You have given me reason to live."

Slowly stretching up he pressed a soft kiss against Adams pale lips, then as he stepped away he watched the young man's trembling finger press where John's lips been seconds before, a look of wonder in his eyes.

As Adam stepped forward to repeat the experience John stepped back.

"We should not – must not."

"Not?"

"Maybe it would be best if I move on, before I condemn us both."

Adam followed as the smaller man walked through to the bedroom, moving between the bed and the couch that Adam slept on to pull his clothes from a linen chest.

"Why must you go? I don't understand." Adam cried.

"I dare not give in to this attraction, for both our sakes."

"Is it wrong?"

"Adam…."

"No! Have I no say in this?" He wrenched a shirt from John's hands and flung it away from him. "Will you leave me to die alone, unwanted, without a friend in the world?"

John opened his mouth to refute the statement, but Adam gave him no chance.

"You have shown me friendship, taught me love; yet you say you will walk away, that our attraction condemns us – I must truly be a monster."

"Never!" John reached for Adams hands, clasping them tightly as he tried to sort his jumbled thoughts.

"We live in unenlightened times," he started cautiously "and my feelings for you are considered unwholesome, wrong. I will not risk your life, because no matter what they say you are not – and never have been – a monster in my eyes."

"Then what of my feelings?" Adam asked, tears in his eyes.

"I understand Adam, but the wisdom…."

"Wisdom? I have listened, and I have learned the wisdom of Solomon – 'for wisdom will not enter a deceitful soul, nor dwell in a body enslaved to sin' – is it a sin to love?"

"Don't," John whispered.

"I must! You have to see that it is deceit to deny what we are, what we feel."

The magnetic pull of need, want and attraction drew them together, and blindly they reached for each other…

~O~

That night, and every night thereafter John and I shared more than just a home – we shared a bed and a love that was deeper and more meaningful than anything known to those poor narrow minded fools huddled in their towns and villages at the foot of the Alps.

Sometimes, as we lay in each other's arms we talked about moving on, over the border to Switzerland, maybe one day John would take me back to England. Often and fondly he spoke of it, but it seemed the very thought of the place triggered night-terrors, and he would cry and cling to me, sometimes calling out the name of his dead lover, yet I couldn't find it in my heart to be hurt by his memories, for that was all they were.

In the end we stayed and our life settled into a peaceful rhythm. We would go together to forage and gather food, which he would supplement with the gifts villagers bestowed upon him for treating their ills and dressing their wounds. And while he was away I would collect wood for the stove and fire.

I would have lost count of our years together had John not made it our little joke, presenting me each year with a candle-lit supper and a small gift. I treasured every one.

Shortly after our fifth anniversary came the turning of the century…..

~O~

"John, do we need more firewood?"

The doctor handed Adam a mug of coffee then gazed out of the window at the snow-covered landscape.

Moving up behind him Adam slipped an arm around John's waist and rested his chin on his head.

"Or maybe we could preserve what we have and find other ways of keeping warm."

John chuckled "Yes, but this weather won't break for a while, we really should stock up while we can." He turned in the taller man's arms. "Later, eh? We can barricade ourselves in and not move 'til spring. The cupboards hold enough food – just!"

True to his word, once they had returned laden with wood and an extra rabbit or two John dragged Adam to their room where they explored some very creative ways to keep warm.

Entwined beneath the thick blankets, sated and warm, they slept until their slumber was disturbed by a fist hammering on the door and a voice yelling hoarsely.

"Dr Watson? Dr Watson we need your help."

"Okay, okay" John called sleepily, dragging a robe around his shoulders and shuffling through the cabin to answer the door.

"Bernard! What brings you all the way out here on such a night?"

A local farmer stood on the doorstep, hunched against the driving snow.

"It's Anya doctor, her labour has started and it's much too early!"

"Come in man, I'll get dressed and you can take me to her. We'll get your child safely delivered."

Bernard Huber stepped through the door, shutting out the icy wind and watching as the doctor returned to his bedroom.

A murmur of voices reached Huber's ears but his mind was too full of his labouring wife at home in the care of their eldest daughter.

At last John was ready, and as he followed the farmer out into the night he picked up his medical bag…..

~O~

Neither of us gave consideration to that night's event's – Baby Huber was born, a little small but showing promise of strength to come. So we settled down to our peaceful existence and little realised that the miracle of new life could spell disaster and death. We were happy, and had grown careless…..

~O~

"What's wrong?" Adam looked up from his book as John pushed his way through the front door, his arms clutching fewer provisions than normal.

"I don't know; there seems to be a strange atmosphere in town." He dumped the food onto the table and slumped into his favourite chair. "And some of my regular patients were feeling well enough to forego their medical checks."

"It's spring, and according to some of your favourite poets a time for renewal."

"But not for miraculous healing." John frowned.

"Maybe not, but I still think you are making too much of this." Adam slid from his chair to sit at John's feet, his head resting in John's lap.

"You're tired." He said softly as the doctor's hand smoothed over his hairless scalp, fingers gently tracing the remnants of his scars.

"Yes I am." John smiled, continuing his gentle ministrations. "And where would I be without you to keep me sane?"

Adam looked up, frowning.

"The night I arrived here – what were you thinking, standing alone in the cold?

"Has it taken five years for you to ask that question?"

"No, it's taken that long to find the courage to hear the answer."

John slipped down to sit beside the other man.

"I was considering suicide," he confessed quietly. "I was lost and alone, far from home and the one true friend I had left in the world."

"Lestrade." Adam stated.

John nodded. "He helped me escape the persecution in England, yet all the while I berated myself for being a coward, unable to follow my heart."

Adam leaned down and placed a swift kiss on John's thin lips.

"He sent you here to me."

Pulling him close their lips met again, the kiss deepened and the world around them shrunk to encompass just the two of them…

~O~

We were so wrapped up in each other we missed the sound of voices outside and the faces that peered in the window, it was an act of neglect that was to cost us dearly.

That last day John had gone to the village as usual, his medical bag slung over his shoulder. His patients had become fewer of late, but he was optimistic that it was just a passing phase.

As evening drew near I began to worry….

~O~

Torn between his fear of approaching the villagers and his concern for John, Adam paced the cabin until he thought he would go mad.

When he could finally stand it no longer he reached for his cloak and, ignoring the trepidation gnawing at his insides he set off along the sloping path that John had taken earlier that day and was soon out of sight of the cabin.

In the half-light of dusk he saw a movement ahead of him, and with a cry of anguish he dashed forward.

John had been beaten to a pulp, yet despite his injuries he was trying to drag himself back home.

"John!" Adam skidded to a halt, sinking down to lift the doctor into his arms. "John, what have they done to you?"

"Adam?" John peered out through swollen eyelids, forcing words from his bloodied and broken mouth. "Adam you must run. The villagers… go…. go now and be safe…."

"No! I cannot leave without you."

"You must….. I can't…."

"Don't say that!" Tears flowed freely as Adam tried to staunch his friend's wounds. "Why did they do this?"

"We are discovered." John struggled to draw breath, and his eyes lost focus. "Please, if you love me, go before they find you…"

"No."

"Remember me Adam….I'll always love you…." With a gurgle of blood the last breath pushed its way past his lips, and the light finally left John's eyes.

With an anguished howl Adam clutched his dead friend and screamed his rage to the heavens…..

~O~

That was how the militia found us. I could no more leave John than fly.

I barely remember them dragging me from John's lifeless body, marching me, manacled and chained to the village stronghold.

They charged me with John's murder, yet I never spoke a word in my defence, because without John I didn't wish to live.

For the sake of her child's life Anya Huber brought comfort to me in the shape of this, my journal, and a drawing I had made of John at work, a beautiful likeness…..

Now, as I sit awaiting the arrival of my executioner from Ingolstadt I put my final thoughts in this book. I cannot be sorry that I met John Watson, doctor and soldier. He made the life given me by Victor Frankenstein a life worth living, showed me love where others had shown fear and hatred, taught me – for a few short years – all that life was meant to be.

My journal, this story of our life and love, I send to you Mr Lestrade, so that you may know your friend John Watson brought and found love once more, knew happiness again.

Remember him, Mr Lestrade, and pray for both our souls.

Adam Watson

Baugy Stronghold

May 1800