In Plain Sight - AU - Locked to seaweed_writes

[ihadabadday]

No one knew how long Gods had walked among the mortals. They just knew they had. Some remained in their country of origin, some branched out and traveled. Others started business or charities. Some just went through existence simply being. Belief didn't have much to do with how the Gods chose to lead their lives.

This tale though, it focuses on the Greek Gods of old and Mount Olympus (which is a real place and traditionally is where Zeus is said to live with Hera).

John Watson didn't care for the politics of the Gods that surrounded them every day. He had other things to focus on, to pay attention to. Like medical school, and then the military. It wasn't until he was shot and laying in the desert, bleeding, did he whisper things to the God of Death, to Hades. To a god he didn't believe in. Blood whispers they were often called. And gods hardly paid attention to them, most believed they were the whispers of dying men.

But John Watson survived when others with the same injury had died. What was different about him?

He returned to London on an army pension and a cane. He shuffled through his life, a constant ache in his chest, like there was something missing. Though he had little to no idea of what was missing. He helped others where he could, donating his time and what little money. A homeless veteran (it boiled him so to see those who helped their country be left behind) once called him a beacon of light.

A beacon of light huh?

Most days he didn't feel like one. Most days his mood was dark and everything was shit.

One night when he was limping slowly back to his dismal bedsit, something caught his attention. He glanced down an alley and saw a tall man dressed in black, being mugged by some ratty youth. The man was far too posh for this neighborhood. So why was he here? But that didn't matter. John, on two strong legs, charged into the alley and used his cane to knock the criminal away. He didn't notice, but there seemed to be a light around him, an otherworldy aura to him.

He held the cane like a sword and pointed it at the would be thief. "You need to leave here." John commanded. It had been easy for some to forget that he had been Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers in Her Majesty's Army.

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[ihadabadday]

He squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled. He was happy to see Sherlock. He had spent the past fifty years hoping that he would see the man again. And now here he was and he could die in peace. He closed his eyes, the life fading from him.

John Watson was gone.

But his soul could not be taken to the Underworld no. He was a descendant, it would go elsewhere to be reborn.

[seaweed_writes]

There were no final words. He had come just a bit too late.

But John had known that he was there. And he guessed that would have to be enough for him.

As his heart monitor flatlined, he watched John's soul leave. He tried to grab it, but it was like smoke in his fingers. It faded away, and John was gone, truly gone.

He didn't really notice the doctors and nurses come in and pushed Sherlock to the side. They tried to resuscitate him, but Sherlock knew that of course it was no use.

They called the time of death, too busy with John to see that the man that had been there faded into nothingness.

Sherlock arrived back in Hell a moment later.

"AHHHHHH!!!!" In a fit of anger, he shot of bolts of lighting all around, screaming up to the heavens, destroying the rock around him. Even Cerberus retreated into another room. It had seen his masters very rare foul moods, and knew better than to get int he way.

Sherlock stormed around, destroying whatever he could find, until he was drained. He collapsed into his chair, his head in his hands.

[ihadabadday]

Greg appeared, he wasn't sure how long it was since John Watson had passed.

"You look terrible." He told his friend as he crossed the room. He noticed the rubble and how it looked aged and how Sherlock was still appearing as a human.

"John Watson was reborn today."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock had no idea how long it had been, and honestly he didn't care. He hadn't even bothered to change back to his normal form since he had come from the Overworld.

Sherlock looked at Greg, flashing him a look.

"And now he will grow up having no idea that he is the descendant of a god, or that he had ever been to Hell. So what does that have to do with me?" He grumbled.

*HIS* John was gone, and he would never come back. It didn't matter how many times he was reborn, he would never have the man he... well.. whatever he felt about him back.

"He won't know me. He is John Watson in name only."

[ihadabadday]

"He will have the memories, but they will be locked away." Greg walked over to Sherlock before kneeling down in front of the man.

He touched the man's shoulder. "Sherlock... There is a way, but you would have to relocate."

[seaweed_writes]

Locked away? What was he talking about? There was a way that he could get his John back?

"He won't be the same, he won't look the same or act the same, he won't be the same John, even if he does get the memories back." Sherlock argued.

"Why would I have to relocate out of Hell to make John remember again?" It made no sense. He had no want to go back to the Overworld. "Besides, I can only go back and forth from Hell once a year. It wouldn't be very .. convenient to ferry souls."

[ihadabadday]

Greg explained. As many of the gods, who often had the same limitations, were bypassing them. By moving their realms into Overworld in the guise of businesses. It allowed them the same luxuries as other gods who were able to walk among those in Overworld entirely.

He explained it would take time to build it, to transfer everything. And when someone was reborn, a descendant, they would eternally look the same as when their power first manifested.

[seaweed_writes]

"So, I will have to move to the Overworld and try to figure out some sort of... mortal business to get into so I could set up shop up there. And then I will have to both run whatever this company was and do my job to ferry souls to Hell." He said in a rather bored voice.

It wasn't like his job was particularly hard, but he didn't really relish taking on additional responsibilities.

"What could Hades do in the Overworld that would interest those... humans?" A smile filled his face.

"A crematorium." It would be a nice way to get the dead bodies' souls and then dispose of them as well.

If he had to do this to get his John back, so be it.

"What do I have to do?"

[ihadabadday]

"That could work. But I'm told there is quite a business in souls. People selling them for things that they want. Power, fame, money..." Greg stood up and stepped back.

"Whatever you decide, I will be there to support you." The Fates was eternally wound with Hades. Over and over they would rotate around one another. Each other's support.

[seaweed_writes]

The evil smile grew on his face. Of course Sherlock had listened to countless Blood Whispers, but they weren't the same as offering a soul.

"So I could give people what they want, and then collect thier souls after they die. Which I am going to do anyways." He said. He gave Greg the first real true smile while his mind pondered all of the possibilities. "Are the humans really that stupid to offer thier souls for a quick fuck or a quick buck? And.. would I have the powers to actually grant thier wishes? It would certainly be easier than cremating. I wont need any machinery or such to give those greedy bastards what they want."

[ihadabadday]

Greg nodded. "You will. I will make sure of it." He answered. He then extended his hand to Sherlock.

"Shall we?" he asked.

Mortals were desperate. Always so desperate for everything, for things they didn't have, couldn't have, yearned for.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock shook the man's hand, feeling the magical tingle of a binding contract between them.

The next couple of years were mostly a blur. Thankfully, Sherlock needed very little staff, as he had a hard time keeping people for long with his personality. He found a little building in London to work out of. People were hired to advertise and run the actual business part of the business. They were selling their souls, but there was still money involved as well. They had power bills to pay, after all.

And in the basement of the building, behind two locked rooms that only Sherlock could get to, and magically sealed, was a door back to Hell.

He often went back to Hell, sometimes several times a day to watch the reincarnation of John Watson grow from a loud, annoying crying baby, to a toddler, taking his first steps and saying his first words.

[ihadabadday]

The Fates ran most of the day to day staff, allowing Sherlock to do most of the deals for mortals souls. He was the people person of the two of them. Supporting the mortals through tears and screams of fear, want and fright.

His name was still John Watson. It seemed the Fates was right that every incarnation would be John Watson through and through.

He was a dynamic child, vibrant and curious. He grew up to be an equally dynamic man. One who defended those weaker, less able. He rose above circumstance and worked hard to get into medical school, a good one. He wanted to help people.

[seaweed_writes]

The man had been in his 30's when Sherlock met him the first time.

Sherlock was patient, but the more that he watched John become closer and closer to the man that he had known now coming close to a century before, he decided that the time was coming nigh to.. introduce himself again.

But how to do it?

And how was he going to unlock those memories?

One night after work, Sherlock cornered Greg.

"John Watson, his 30th birthday was soon. I believe that he was about 35 when I met his first incarnation. It will soon be time for me to meet him again. You said that I can unlock his memories, but you never told me how. How do I do it? How do I make him the John Watson that I knew?"

[ihadabadday]

Greg looked at Sherlock. He could see hint of the god that lingered under that human skin. "Emotions. He needs to feel the same about you as he did prior. Emotions will unlock the memories. It will not be easy on him. A life time of memories crashing into him. He will need your support, your care."

"I have his address for you. You can scope out the pubs that he likes to frequent and perhaps you can seduce him there."

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock sighed. If there was one thing that Sherlock was not good at, it was emotions. He was going to have to really turn on the charm.

He took the piece of paper from Greg. Since he had lived in London for almost 30 years now, he knew the city like the back of his hand. He knew where this group of flats were, and knew of a few bars around. Since coming back, he had slaked with libido by having a few little anonymous flings with men in back alleys and dark rooms. They never meant anything, but it kept his lust at bay, for now.

"Do you have the address of where he works? I will need to break into thier computers and get his schedule. "

[ihadabadday]

Greg silently handed him another piece of paper. John's schedule at the hospital he worked. He knew Sherlock would want to know everything, would want to suss the man out.

He stepped back and winked. "Have fun and don't scare the poor man too badly just yet."

John was in his element in the busy A&R at the hospital he was employed at. There had been a building collapse, those involved rushed to hospitals across the city. He was currently working on a patient that had his arm crushed in the collapse, working to save the arm.

[seaweed_writes]

One nice thing about being a god, he would walk around without being seen by the humans. Usually he didn't give a shit , but it was nice to prowl around sometimes.

And this was a time.

It wasn't too hard to find John. As soon as he came into view, Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. It was John... HIS John.. He was a little younger, less worry lines around the eyes, a little lower hairline, but this was HIS John.. He wanted so badly to reveal himself, but that would have been a terrible idea, so he watched the man work.

This was one soul that Sherlock was not going to get today, John saved his life and his arm.

[ihadabadday]

After his shift at the hospital, John went to a nearby pub that most of the doctors and nurses went to. He waved them off and sat at the bar. He ordered a beer and ran a hand through his hair. The day had been... Hard. They had lost some patients, saved others. But it was what came with being a doctor.

He picked up the beer and took a sip. He wasn't hungry, but he knew he needed to eat something. Maybe.

[seaweed_writes]

Sherlock shadowed him for the rest of the day. Bonus, he even got to reap a few souls that John wasn't able to save. So he could use the excuse that he was gathering souls, he thought with a smile.

When John went into the pub, Sherlock stopped outside. He waited for a while, made himself visible in an empty alleyway, then walked in, taking the seat next to John.

One other good thing about being a god, he could get John drunk and he would always be fine.

"Pint of stout, please." He told the bartender getting the same thing John had.

He looked over to John and nodded his head, giving him a little smile, a nod of greeting. It was what humans did, apparantly.

[ihadabadday]

He glanced at the man and there was a flash. A flash of something...? He smiled and then turned back to his beer. He downed the contents of his glass and ordered another.

"You remind me of someone." John told the strange man sitting next to him. The handsome man sitting next to him.

[seaweed_writes]

Hmmm.. that was interesting. There was almost a moment of recognition, then like a dagger in his breast, it was gone again.

"This guys tab is on me." He told the bartender, then turned towards John. "You look like you could use a drink or two, or three." He told the doctor.

"Sherlock." He offered a hand to the man.

[ihadabadday]

John reached out and took the man's hand, shaking it. "John Watson." He answered, "This may sound odd, but you remind me of an imaginary friend I had once upon a time."

The blonde chuckled and then ordered another beer.

[seaweed_writes]

Oh, by the gods, touching his hand again, it was electric, so many memories came flooding back to him, his touch, his smell, the noises he made.

No. He couldn't think about that now. This was not his John. Not yet, at least.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at that. "Oh, was he a devastatingly handsome tall bloke as well?" He asked with a little smirk.

[ihadabadday]

John laughed, a flush crossing his face and going to his ears. "Yes. But he was the God of Death..." He answered. Everyone knew about the gods that walked among them. But that one, very few knew about or had seen.

He nodded his thanks to the bartender for the second beer.