A/N Okay, so this is a concept I have been toying with for a novel I am thinking of writing. I wouldn't use these characters or anything but it is in this universe. Basically there are Humans and Naturals. Naturals have magical abilities and are enslaved to the human race. They are bound to humans, so that they can only access their magic when they are given a special crystal that has been linked to their magic. They can only use the magic needed in that moment and if they try to use more they are punished. Sherlock is a Natural and John is his Handler, or the one he is bound to. Let me know what you all think. Enjoy <3

"Bring in the Natural." The Seer declared, the people that filled the large building cheering at his words. John twitched uncomfortably, he hated this ceremony. It was cruel and unnecessary. He wouldn't have even been here if the whole thing wasn't intended for him.

His father was gifting him with a Natural, a sign of peace between them. They had recently come to terms with their differences and the elder man wanted to show the town his prodigal son had returned. John fussed with the cuffs of his dress shirt and glanced around the room. He was clearly the only one here that was uncomfortable.

He had been to three Binding Rituals in his life, and he had hated every single one of them. He caught sight of movement at the back of the church and focused on the actions. The crowed got louder as a large pair of guards made their way slowly up the aisle, dragging a struggling form along with them. As they got closer, John could start to make out details of the man they were dragging.

He was tall and thin, but not sickly. He was clothed in robes that were far too big for him, hanging loosely off his shoulders as he was pushed and pulled along. His hair was a mess of unkempt, dark curls that hung low over his eyes. They reached the front, stopping at the bottom of the steps that led to the ceremonial table. The man's knees were roughly knocked out from under him and he grunted as he hit the stone floors. The people were still cheering as the guard roughly gripped the man's hair and yanked his head back, exposing his face to John.

John felt the oxygen leave his lungs as though he were struck by a train. The man was beautiful, pale skin stretched across sharp cheekbones. Pale eyes filled with pain and fear, but also a hint of pity hidden in their depths.

"Does this Natural suit you Doctor Watson?" The Seer asked, his loud voice silencing the crowd. John nodded, clearing his throat before speaking his assent. He could have sworn he heard the Natural growl over the crowd. "Then let us begin."

John stepped up to the table and watched as the guards pulled the man roughly to his feet. They forced him up the stairs and threw his thin frame roughly against the stone.

"If you would be so kind as to not break him." John snapped at the guards, sending them a withering glare. The muttered their apologies and continued their task, using much less harsh hands to remove the Natural's robe. His chest was a vast expanse of pale, unmarred skin, the sight leaving John a little weak in the knees. John watched as the man was forced to bend at the waist so his chest was pressed into the cold, unforgiving marble. His wrists were bound to avoid any struggle that may lead to more pain.

John made his way to kneel by the man's face.

"What's your name?" He whispered, keeping his voice low to avoid his gentle words being overheard by the guards or the Seer.

"Why do you care?" The deep baritone voice sent a chill down John's spine.

"I don't want this." The man's pale eyes met his and for a moment he could almost see the harsh comment building. Then something changed, and he gasped softly, understanding filling his eyes.

"I believe you." He whispered, his voice shaking softly. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Well Mr. Holmes, try to stay awake. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker." John stood, stepping back and watching as the Seer approached Sherlock's prone form, brandishing a white-hot iron.

John closed his eyes and fought to ignore the screams that followed.

Sherlock was fighting to button his shirt when he heard a timid knock at the door. The door opened and his new Handler entered, looking nervous.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Sherlock shot him a glare and continued to struggle with the buttons. His hands were shaking almost violently and every move sent burning pain along his spine. He adjusted his shoulders and winced as the damaged flesh along his spine caught on the fabric. "Did they at least put gauze on the brands?" his Handler sounded genuinely concerned.

"You really think they would give medicinal aid to a Natural?" He couldn't fight the sneer his voice held. He knew what the humans thought of him, what they felt of his powers. He was a Natural, old magic flowed freely though his veins. He felt gentle hands on his shoulders an allowed himself to be turned around. The man that he had been so brutally bound to stood before him, tears filling his eyes as he studied his face.

"They should have." His voice was a broken whisper as he moved to push Sherlock's Shirt from his shoulders. Sherlock could sense where this was going and he mentally braced himself. He knew many Naturals that were forced to preform sexual acts for their handlers. He had been forced by his former Handler more than once. "I'm not going to hurt you Sherlock. I just want to check the burns." He was still whispering and Sherlock couldn't contain the shiver that traced his back. He nodded and allowed himself to be turned once more.

He could hear the sharp intake of breath as his Handler and closed his eyes, not wanting to picture the damage done to his skin.

"So, what am I supposed to call you? Doctor? Master?"

"What did you call your last Handler?"

"I won't discuss him."

"Fair enough. You can call me John." Sherlock felt sparks as the shorter man ran slightly calloused fingers across his skin. He heard fabric rustling and stones clinking together. "Turn around." He followed the command silently, seemingly unable to object. He looked down into the dark eyes of the shorter man, finding his normally quick mind slowing to a near stop to process him. He took in the dirty blonde hair, the softly tanned skin, the genuine concern in his eyes and the set of his thin lips. He felt a cold, heavy prism press into the skin of his hand. "Heal your wounds."

"I don't need to use magic to heal. My body does that on its own."

"I won't see you in pain Sherlock, use the stone."

"Why do you care if I am in pain John?"

"I'm a doctor, it goes against my nature to see people suffer."

"You are also a soldier."

"I am, how did you know?"

"You are tanned, but not below the neckline of your shirt. You were somewhere sunny but not on vacation, so army it is. Your haircut is like that of military requirements, you don't like it that short, but you are reluctant to let go of your past." Sherlock bit off the rest of his deduction, not wanting to get punished for his words again. His last handler, Moriarty, hated it when Sherlock would deduce without being asked.

"That was amazing." John whispered, awe overtaking his strong features. That wasn't the reaction Sherlock was expecting.

"What?"

"That was brilliant. How do you do that?"

"It's just how my mind works." John grinned, stepping back from the taller man. Sherlock tensed at the action, shying away from a fist that wasn't coming.

"Hey, hey it's alright. Sherlock, I'm not going to hurt you." He seemed to keep his distance, unsure as to how to handle the tense man before him. Sherlock calmed himself down enough to catch John's eyes, breathing deeply and gripping the crystal tightly. He nodded and allowed his shoulders to relax, the lack of tension causing the pain to subside slightly. John stepped closer, taking the pale wrist of his new Natural as gently as possible and glimpsing the green crystal wrapped in his pale fingers.

"Use the crystal Sherlock." The shorter man whispered, his voice and touch sending fire through his veins. He nodded and closed his eyes.

There was nothing like the feeling he got when he accessed his powers. His entire being would fill with a crackling sort of energy, his fingertips trembling and starting to warm with the heat of his power. He had to touch the wound, direct contact was the only way to heal a wound inflicted by a Seer.

"Do you want to see something cool?" He asked John, smiling as the older man nodded. "Take my hand, the one with the crystal." John did as he was told, his warm fingers engulfing Sherlock's. "Now place your other hand over the burn." John looked uncertain for a moment, but set his jaw with determination. He stepped closer to Sherlock, leaving less than an inch between them as he reached around Sherlock's thin frame. Sherlock could feel his shaking fingers hovering just above the skin. "I am going to use your body as a channel for the magic. It may hurt slightly, but it won't be unbearable." John nodded slightly, maintaining eye contact with the taller man. Sherlock could see how terrified he was.

He closed his eyes and focused on sending the power along his own wrists, forcing it to bridge the gap between his skin and John's. He heard John gasp and felt him tense as the magic entered his hand. Sparks flew as his mind caught up with the magic. He had done this once before, with Moriarty, when the man had demanded and flogged him into submitting to his demands. That time had been painful for Sherlock, the greed and anger in Moriarty seeming to rip its way into his veins. He had been left feeling violated and aching.

This time was different, as his power connected with John, he felt safe, whole. He felt as though he was loved and respected. The air was pulled from his lungs and his knees felt a little weak. John's head fell against the taller man's chest and he tightened his grip, pulling him closer than before. Sherlock felt his wound start to itch as the burn started to heal.

When the skin stopped moving, Sherlock stopped the flow of magic, pulling the remainder back into his own system as he did. Residual magic left in a human could be fatal. He dropped the crystal and hugged his Handler, struggling to breathe. John allowed himself to be held, moving the hand that had been gripping Sherlock's to his shoulders. They clung to each other for a long while, both trying to recover from what they had just experienced.

"Ever heard of something called Completes?" John was the first to speak, his voice no more than a soft whisper against Sherlock's bare skin. The taller man nodded, uncertain as to where John was going with this.

"Two halves of one whole, only spoken of in the sad legends of old." John pulled back slightly, a soft smile on his face. Sherlock tried to read his face, and felt a spark of confusion at what he saw there.

"I want to try something. Do you trust me Sherlock?" The taller man nodded, John had not hurt him yet. John moved his hand off his shoulder to rest at the back of his neck. Sherlock felt him apply gentle pressure and allowed him to guide his head down. John pressed up and within seconds their lips met.

Fire, ice, magic, energy all combined in this kiss. It was soft and gentle, but Sherlock felt as though his heart stopped at the minor contact.

"Please tell me you felt that to." John mumbled against his lips, sending more fire throughout Sherlock.

"Yes." Sherlock was whispering, as though he feared losing the moment. They kissed again, deeper this time, John's tongue dipping into Sherlock's mouth and teasing his tongue. They were both on fire, and for the first time in years, Sherlock felt his brain shut off completely.

They were breaking every law, being together in such an intimate way, but neither could bring themselves to care. They had found each other.

They were complete.