A/N: This is a soulmates AU where your soulmate's name doesn't appear on your forearm until after you've actually met and touched (skin to skin contact) - but the physical contact isn't enough; the soulmates have to actually be 'worthy' of one another. There will be one more chapter after this one. :)

Be he worthy of ye, his name shall appear, Soulmates forever, eternal held dear.

It was a rhyme every child in the UK knew, had heard since earliest childhood. The rhyme existed in various forms in every culture on Earth, literate or not, since the Soul Names happened to almost everyone, sooner or later. Of course there were the poor unfortunates who never met their destined mates, whom others might pity or whisper about behind their backs.

Unfortunates like Molly Hooper, aged 33 and still no name on her forearm. One day, she'd always believed, she would meet him, the man meant for her; they would touch, the vital skin-to-skin contact would occur, his name would appear, and they'd live happily ever after.

Or so she'd believed until the fateful day she met Sherlock Holmes and knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that no other man, Soulmate or not, could possibly hold a candle to him.

She'd been so instantly smitten – by not only his ethereal good looks and his velvety smooth voice, but also by his blinding intelligence – that as soon as they'd shaken hands she'd expected…something. Some people felt a tingle on their flesh when their Soulmate's name appeared; some described it as more of an electrical shock, others reported a sensation of warmth or cold, but just as many others felt nothing and had no idea their world had been altered until they rolled up their sleeves or shrugged out of their coats and found a name scrawled on their flesh in their Soulmate's handwriting.

Oh how she'd hoped that to be the case, but after Sherlock left, sweeping Mike Stamford in his wake, she'd been disappointed to see not a single line forming on either forearm. Not then, not an hour from then, not days or weeks or months from then.

After she'd come to know Sherlock a bit better, she thought maybe her instant infatuation – which she forced herself to call it as years passed and no name ever appeared in her flesh, his or anyone else's – had been Fate's way of telling her to give up on finding her Soulmate and try to find happiness elsewhere. So she did; once she figured out that Sherlock was either uninterested or completely oblivious to her interest in him, she tried dating other men, most disastrously of course being "Jim from IT" Moriarty.

After his identity had been revealed – and after she'd breathed a silent relief at the bullet she'd dodged when his name hadn't appeared on her arm, although she'd been disappointed at first – she'd given up on dating for a good long while. Why not? It was clear that she'd already found the man she would love for the rest of her life, Soulmate or not, and no amount of attempts at replacing him in her heart would ever work.

Then, Christmas. She'd taken her courage in both hands, donned a sleeveless dress that bared her forearms (as if anyone who knew her didn't already know there was nothing inscribed on either of them), carefully wrapped Sherlock's gift and placed it on top of the bag holding the other gifts, and gone to Baker Street. She'd been so nervous, and then it had happened.

No, not Sherlock tearing her to shreds in front of the shocked eyes of the others in the room, although he'd never done that to her before. Certainly not with such an unexpected viciousness in his voice and eyes. Yes, that had been awful, but she'd been proud of how steady her voice had been when she called him out on it. No, the surprising thing had been his apology, and then he'd done the even more unexpected – he'd kissed her on the cheek, just a swift peck before his orgasmically-moaning phone had taken his attention away from her.

She touched that spot on her cheek now, years later, smiling softly at the memory, although the smile faded as she recalled what had happened immediately after she'd returned home to her silent flat and her sleeping cat and shucked her coat. As she dropped heavily onto her sofa, she'd felt a searing pain in her left forearm; crying out, she cradled it in her other arm, staring down in disbelief as the name appeared.

But not the name she'd half-feared and fully hoped for. Not 'Sherlock', but 'William'.

"William." She'd said the name aloud, feeling a distant sense of disappointment that was rapidly replaced by puzzlement. "Who the heck is William?"

She'd wracked her brains for a good hour before it came to her – her friend Meena was dating a new bloke, Molly had met him a week ago, wasn't his name Bill? Yes, it was, and Molly had shaken his hand upon being introduced and this was the absolute worst possible thing that could have happened! She'd dropped her head in her hands and groaned; there was no way she was going to be able to face either of them again! And, oh God, even worse! Was her name now inscribed on Bill's forearm? Meena would hate her forever!

Molly spent the next few weeks on tenterhooks, waiting for an explosion that never came. What if her name hadn't appeared on Bill's forearm? What if it had and he was hiding it from Meena? What if Meena had secretly murdered him and was plotting Molly's own demise? No, silly, of course not, Meena was her friend, she couldn't look at everyone she knew through the suspicious lens of how she'd been used by Jim Moriarty! Besides, she'd known Meena since uni, and even if it turned out that her boyfriend had her best friend's name written on his forearm, she'd be reasonable…after an initial meltdown of course.

Two weeks later Molly was left even more confused than ever when a beaming Meena and Bill revealed each other's names on their forearms and announced their engagement.

Clearly, Bill wasn't the William on Molly's skin. So who was he, then? Some stranger she'd brushed up against on the Tube, a taxi driver who's hand she'd touched when paying him the fare? The clerk at the Tesco's where she'd bought her groceries? It was frustrating, knowing her Soulmate was out there, that Fate had deemed someone worthy of her and she of him, but not knowing who he was!

She remained in a state of frustrated confusion as her ex-boyfriend Jim dragged Sherlock into a deadly new game, watching in horror as he was tried and acquitted for crimes she damn well knew he'd committed. Then the wrenching night when Sherlock came to her and admitted that he expected to die, asked her for her help, and told her he needed her.

Of course she helped him. He might not be her Soulmate, but he was still the man she loved; she would do anything for him. 'Anything' in this case meant working with his brother to fake his death, and not seeing him again for two long, lonely years.

Two years made even lonelier after she filled out Sherlock's Death Certificate. It had taken her a long time to do it, even knowing it was fake, and as soon as she pulled up Sherlock's file on the computer she'd nearly burst into hysterical laughter.

The first line was 'Name' of course…and when she saw Sherlock's full name for the first time she understood the rather cruel joke that had been played on her.

William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

Sherlock was her Soulmate.

Molly laid her head on her folded arms and cried.