So...Hi. I'm really sorry that I've kinda abandoned this story for so long, I am honestly stuck where to go with it I guess. But here's something! SO there's that I guess? This is rough and unedited and I literally wrote it in 15 minutes but it's something so...enjoy I guess?

John, if he was to be honest to himself, barely remembered most of his lives. There had been so many, countless, that blended together with each year he lived in a life, and each time he was reborn. Significant ones stood out, but most were lost to time. Years before he had remembered so much more, yet the human brain was fickle, and only so much could be remembered.

Every time though, every rebirth, there was a point of his life when he simply knew that he had lived many lives before. It never began with memories of the lives he had lived, but the knowledge that his soul? His identity? His being of a human was not new. He had lived as conquers, slaves, mighty warriors and meek villagers. and often it overwhelmed him. It usually began with dreams, dreams that led to random flashes of memories that led to full-fledged identities that he had lived as. Sometimes he saw it in the eyes of people he passed, recognizing them from past lives. Usually, they walked past, oblivious to the connection they shared. But sometimes, usually not more than once in a lifetime, if he was lucky, they would remember as well, and his burden could be lifted if even for a conversation. He would no longer be alone in his age and for a while, it would put him at peace. He had even married a few of the people he had met before, if he could not find his grey eyes, or if they were already married, or in the worst case dead. It was usually a marriage of convenience and comfort, and it gave him a small form of solace in the lives that he could not live with them.

No matter what he saw though, no matter what he remembered the first thing was always the grey eyes. From birth, he'd know that the person who wore those eyes were the one that he was to find and to live with for the natural span of his lifetime. Whether by science, or some strange ancient magic, (which as lives went on John would begin to believe in though he would never say it allowed).

If being with his soulmate in this lifetime meant living with the impossible Sherlock Holmes, well John was willing to accept it. He would be willing to put up with heads in the fridge, or eyeballs in the microwave (he drew a line on the sugar though. He liked his tea sweet, and he was not going to let anyone, even his soulmate mess with it) all to be in the same room with his grey-eyed soulmate.

Sherlock Holmes was not an easy man to live with, and it took nearly every ounce of patience that John possessed to not either murder the infuriating man, or kiss him until he either remembered or at least was shocked enough to jolt something, anything. John could hope though, that Sherlock would one day just remember and sweep in and tell him so and he could finally rest his mind of the matter. Reality was much more harsh though, and John was left to wait.

If he didn't kill the bloody man first, soulmate or not.