Disclaimer: Nothing mine.

A.N. I adore this AU and I can only hope that I will do it justice. The Dark Wave theory(not with such a name) I found on Tumblr a long time ago. If you know who it belongs to, let me know and I will give proper credit.

The Holmes marriage is the thing of fairy tales.

When people reach puberty, on their wrists appears a name. It is the name of their soulmate, the one person in the whole wide world who could give them perfect happiness. Their one destined love. Not everyone finds it. Most never do, in fact. It would be weird, if pairs were always born next door, or even in the same nation. It is sad, in a way, but it is half of a blessing.

When your soulmate dies, the name will blur to a shapeless blob. It doesn't mean anything – unless you found them already. If you bonded, touching name to name, and one of you dies, the other won't be late in following.

Richard Holmes' name read "Shéherazade", and that would have been enough for most to decide finding her was impossible. Not Holmes, though. He went into politics and managed to become a diplomat, because where was he supposed to find a Shéherazade in England? Damascus, now that's more likely. He finds her in Paris at the end, instead, but that's beside the point.

Their mother insists on giving both her offsprings the weirdest name she can think of. It won't matter who their significant other is. Her children won't have to worry, to wonder, not even to search. Their soul mate will only have to pick a phone book to find them, because really, how many Mycroft will be out there?

...Now if only My wasn't so keen on secrecy and security and being unreachable, in all senses of the word, mom's plan would have gone a lot better. If Mycroft hadn't been left alone to deal with a difficult (to be polite) little brother because their parents were soulmates, the exact reason mom followed so swiftly after dad's accident, perhaps he wouldn't loathe the very concept of soulmates so much – and love too, for good measure.

A teen Sherlock isn't so much against it. Actually, having someone not despise him would be great, and he thinks a soulmate should guarantee that at least. Now, if only the name wasn't the only data he had. Or said name wasn't so desperately common. John, really? There are way too many around, and most of them concur with the rest of the populace: Sherlock is a freak.

The continuous cycle of meeting – hope (vicious, vicious hope) – reciprocal verbal abuse – disappointment is nothing but wearing. He decides he's not interested in searching, when he has no way to find. He has better things to do (even when he doesn't because high, or bored is still better than disappointed). He locks his emotions away at the best of his ability and promptly loses the key to that room of his mind palace.

John's name is a puzzle. Because, really, what is Sherlock? Nobody ever heard of a name like that. They don't even know if it is supposed to be a girl's name or a man's. Watson senior, though, decides it is a female name. "God can't hate me so much as to want our family to wither away," he proclaims once, when John is 15 and his sister 17.

"Clara and I might have a child, you know. With a donor," Harriet points out angrily.

"Having a third someone's intervention is not right. We wouldn't have our soulmate's name revealed to us if these things were meant to be," her father objects. He's one of these who believe the names are God's will, and takes it very seriously.

There are some other explanations. John loves the one which says that particles side by side during the Big Bang aim to reunite, and that the naming process sends some sort of wave that influences them to take a shape. It's called the Dark Wave theory, since there's no actual proof yet. He knows better than to say it at home, though.

Henry Watson – his father – likes to think that he's obeyed God's will and found his soulmate, though reality later will prove him wrong. A homonym – it happens often. People settle with the first Mary, or Tom, or whatever that they can stand and fool themselves into thinking that they are one of the lucky few to have their soulmate by their side.

"I'm sure Sherlock is a lovely girl, dad," John says, trying to appease. He's never looked at a man twice anyway. Shouldn't he have been interested in one already if his soulmate was a man?

"Pity that you won't ever find her," Harriet hisses, venomous as always when John, in her opinion, plays daddy's good boy.

"Why?" he replies, hurt. He wants his Sherlock. Very much.

"I'm pretty sure that isn't an English name," she states triumphantly.

"You might have a point, dear," their mother agrees.

"Mom!" John protests.

"It sounds Swedish to me. Or Norwegian, maybe. You might still find her, you know. A tourist, or someone on a study trip. Would you like one of these blond beauties, love?" their mother ponders.

John grins. He'd like one very much.