A/N Hey My Lovelies!!!! paulie_lover sent me a request for this story, a different take on the Soulmates AU. In this AU, everyone has a Countdown on their wrist that shows how long until they meet their soulmate. Enjoy<3

Sherlock absentmindedly scratched at his wrist as he studied the data the computer had spit out. He was testing a theory about chemicals reacting with different blood types, an experiment he had been planning for months. He had finally convinced Molly to let him use the lab for the day and wasn't going to waste a minute.

"Anything interesting?" The sweet, timid voice of the Pathologist wormed its way into his thoughts. He glanced up, still scratching his wrist. He fought back a mild irritation towards his wrist, resisting the urge to glance at the skin.

"Nothing yet, but I am only halfway through A Positive."

"Does Lestrade have no cases for you?"

"If he had cases for me, I wouldn't be here." She nodded, they had this discussion every time he managed to snag some lab time.

"What wrong with your wrist?" She asked, clearly noticing how he had been scratching at it.

"I must have spilled something on it, it's nothing serious."

"Isn't that your Countdown?" He glared at her, rolling his eyes before returning to his work.

She wasn't wrong, the skin where his countdown lay, ticking away, was what was irritated. He hated the thought of the Countdown. Then the clock reached zero, he was supposed to meet his soulmate. He didn't waste brain power on such boring things. Soulmates were real, he had witnessed several people meeting theirs, he just had a tough time believing that there was someone out there for him.

It had been years since he looked at the numbers on his wrist, and he wasn't about to start now.

"I have to let these samples cure for a few hours, I will be back shortly." He stood, grabbing his coat as he hurried out of the room. He needed coffee.

John had the overwhelming urge to go get a coffee. He had no idea why, he hated coffee. He decided to follow the impulse and started walking in the direction his own legs seemed to want to go. All his years in the army had taught him to follow his instincts, so when he would suddenly get the urge to go somewhere, he always followed it.

He scratched absently at his wrist as he walked. His Countdown was bothering him again. It had happened once before, years back. He had seen the young man that was supposed to be his soulmate, but before he could reach him, he had been shot in the shoulder by a stray bullet.

His Countdown stayed at zero after that.

He had missed his soulmate. He knew that the clock wasn't going off again, he had found out a few years later that the young man he was meant to be with had been killed less than a week after he was shipped home.

He brushed away thoughts of his lost chance and continued walking, still scratching at his wrist.

As the looming form of Saint Bart's Hospital appeared on the horizon, the irritation on his wrist seemed to worsen. He tried desperately to ignore the pain and found the café he wanted to go to. Just outside the door, he stopped, unable to ignore the itch any longer. He rolled up his sleeve and glared at the inked numbers on his skin.

The Countdown now read 0:00:0:30

"What the-" His thoughts were cut short by someone shoving him roughly. "Oi!" He shot a glare at the man that bumped him. The offender was standing just to his left, slightly ahead of him. He was reaching into his jacket for something.

Alarm bells sounded in John's head.

"Hey! Holmes! Go to Hell!" Man shouted, drawing a gun out of his jacket and aiming in front of him.

John immediately jumped to action.

He grabbed the man's wrist, pulling the gun down violently, causing the gun to fire and strike the foot of the man. Before the now-injured gunslinger could react, John kicked his knees out, sending him sprawling. People around them started scattering, screaming and covering their ears. John disarmed the man and stepped on his neck, pinning him to the ground as he dismantled the weapon.

His arm was practically on fire at this point. He silently prayed this man was not his intended. He caught a glimpse of the man's wrist and noticed that his Countdown was still going, showing he had more than a hundred days before he met his.

"Well, I must say, I am impressed." A deep voice cut through his thoughts, sending them scattering as he looked up at the pale man standing before him.

"What the-"

Sherlock had caved as he reached the café just down the street from Bart's. He pulled his jacket away and glanced at his wrist, certain he had spilled something.

0:00:0:30

"What the-"

"Hey! Holmes! Go to Hell!" Sherlock looked up to see a vaguely familiar man pointing a gun at him he didn't have time to react before a shorter man stepped around the gunman. Sherlock watched in awe as the new man disarmed and incapacitated the suspect with ease, pinning him to the ground by his neck and taking the handgun apart. He glanced at his wrist again, an uneasy feeling welling in his gut.

0:00:00:05

He took a steadying breath and approached his savior, feeling his arm start to burn as he got closer.

"Well, I must say, I'm impressed." He managed to keep his voice steady as he spoke, trying to appear calm. It worked until the man looked at him.

"What the-" The man before him muttered, looking as though he had just seen ghost. The pain in Sherlock's wrist flared briefly before disappearing entirely. He felt as though his entire body was alit in a vibrating energy when the man looked at him. He grinned, unable to contain himself. He extended his hand, his body thriving for this new man's touch.

"Sherlock Holmes." He introduced himself, nearly trembling with excitement as the shorter man timidly reached for his hand.

He felt a jolt of electricity comparable to the time he had convinced Lestrade use his Tazor on him. This shock hurt far less and left him feeling rather pleasant inside.

"J-John Watson." The shorter man said, clearly having experienced the same feeling.

"Well, John Watson, I believe we are soulmates."

"It would appear so, Mr. Holmes."

"Would you join me for dinner?"

"I would love too."

"Good. I know a lovely little Italian place-"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes, John?"

"I think we should wait for the police."

"I hardly think a police escort is necessary John- Oh, right. The gentleman you are currently pinning beneath your feet. I will inform Lestrade of his location and we can cuff him-"

"I don't think so Sherlock." A new voice interjected, causing both men to jump slightly. "What the hell happened here?" Lestrade made his way over to the pair, looking incredibly irritated, as always.

"This man attempted to shoot me. He is the brother of Jacob Williamson, angry that I put his brother in prison."

"Who is this?" Lestrade pointed at John, seemingly unsurprised by his brother-in-law's story. Lestrade was Sherlock's older brother's soulmate.

"He is with me."

"Yeah, but who is he?"

"My name is-"

"Ask Mycroft, I'm sure he already has a full history on him."

"Sherlock, please just answer me."

"His name is John Watson, and it would appear that he is my soulmate. If that is everything, we have a date to get to." Sherlock grabbed John's wrist, dragging him away from Lestrade and the now unconscious man on the pavement. "Oh, and Gavin-"

"It's still not Gavin."

"-Do me a favor and do not try to contact me for three days." He spun away, John following close behind, a deep blush taking over his cheeks.

"What exactly do you have planned for those three days Mr. Holmes?" The shorter man asked. Sherlock could hear the devilish grin in his voice. He stopped walking, pulling John tight against his chest and capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It only lasted a few seconds, but the force of emotion that went with it left both men breathless.

"I plan to learn everything about you Dr. Watson, and I don't intend to be interrupted by my brother or his husband."

"That was your brother?"

"Out of everything I just said, all you retained was the word brother?"

"Oh no, I got everything else. I'm just trying to steer the conversation in a more family friendly direction."

"Why?"

"We're in front of a playground Sherlock."

"Oh. Dinner?"

"Starving."