Chapter Text
Sherlock was lying on the couch when John got home. At the sound of footsteps, he lolled his head over towards the door and drawled,
"First Tuesday of the month - back from your usual trip to the British Museum, then?"
John nodded. The British Museum was one of the many sites in the world where one of His artifacts of worship was stored. In fact, it had several of them, but only one on display to the public, and that is what concerned him. He gained a bit of power for every visitor who stopped by to admire His figure - just a fragment, but it was enough - and he liked to visit it regularly and think of times gone by.
"I don't see why you go so often, John. It's not like there's anything interesting there."
"There's plenty of interest there, Sherlock - the place is huge! You could spend weeks there and still not see everything."
"Yes, but you're not trying to see everything, are you? You go for an hour, two at the most, once a month after work, and always to the same section. It's not like that part changes regularly, either."
"How do you...? Never mind. It's interesting, that's all. Don't you ever think about how old the world is, the people who've lived and died in the expanse of human history?"
"Irrelevant," sniffed Sherlock. "Ancient history doesn't affect the present in any meaningful way."
John just shook his head, staying silent. He wouldn't argue with Sherlock on this one. He couldn't win the argument without revealing more about himself than he'd prefer.
~~~
There were some facts that were important to take into account when you considered John Watson.
John had been raised human. Or had been enough for all practical purposes, anyway. In truth, when He decided to become John Watson, he simply integrated himself into the already existent Watson family. Harry Watson remembered her brother because he'd always been there, even if He hadn't. He remembered his childhood with her, even if He hadn't lived it at the time.
He started "from scratch" every now and again, but he found being a child aggravating - it rendered him dependent on others and unable to wander as he wished. Jumping in a bit later in life was far more expedient.
He had enjoyed medical school, and had originally planned on going through this lifetime embracing His Aspect as a healer, but when an opportunity had arisen to go Home (for he still thought of the land of His origin as such) he had been unable to resist - he hadn't visited since 1880.
Killing people didn't bother him, though he was not indifferent to their sufferings, either. In the past, in His prime, he would help those that worshipped Him, or interested him; but he had a different outlook than mortals when it came to matters of life and death. None worshipped Him now, but he still came to the aid those who crossed his path, from time to time.
He couldn't read minds, unless they were bent towards Him in prayer. He was very good at reading people, however, with eons of experience to draw on. He was not all-knowing, nor all-seeing, but he could monitor beings and places if he desired, if they knew him. He could view the lands where He was once worshipped, or target his gaze on any person known personally to him or one of his Aspects.
He enjoyed sex. After all, that was one of his Aspects as well. He could as easily bring pleasure and life as he could pain and death. His very human body could get injured or become ill if he didn't use his power. If it died, He could simply move onto another form - but he was rather enjoying this one.
~~~
"Good day at the clinic?" Sherlock yawned, stretching his reclined figure.
"Yes," John said simply, heading into the kitchen to make some tea.
It had been. John avoided showy miracles, but he would gently nudge things in the right direction if he had the opportunity. He liked to be of use. Someone who had come in for the flu would walk out without the tumor that they never knew they had. Today he had saved three lives that no one would ever know about, or thank him for.
He tended to only help when asked - but if you were walking into a doctors office, surely that meant that you wanted to be well.
He'd told Harry once, offering to help her with her problems with alcohol, reduce her cravings - something he would not do without her permission, since he didn't like interfering with peoples minds. It had ended badly. She had thought he was joking at first, but when he manifested some of His power, she had panicked. It ended in a huge argument, where she blasted him for his interference in the same breath as she accused him of selfishness.
"But you could help people!"
"Who says I don't?"
He ended up erasing the discussion from her mind (after she had screamed that she wished he had never told her), but their relationship had always been slightly soured afterwards. These things left traces. It was one of the reasons he had never mentioned it to Sherlock.
~~~
Living with Sherlock was an adventure in and of itself.
When John first met Sherlock and the detective had rattled off that ever-so-clever string of deductions, John had been surprised. Considering who and what he was, the unexpected wasn't something he came across everyday. Sherlock had been correct on all counts - he'd just missed the underlying bit about John's Other nature - and really, that was an understandable oversight.
He did limp because he was bored. But it's hard to explain to a therapist that you are bored not just because you miss the battle, but because in uncountable millennia, you've seen just about everything, and been pretty much everywhere. He'd just about given up on being John Watson when that chance encounter with Mike Stanford occurred. Sherlock was INTERESTING. He couldn't predict which way the sleuth would jump next - and for all that John could see if he focused, it was fascinating that this mortal man could pick up on details that John would generally have ignored and interpret them so accurately. And when you are dealing with eternity, something new is always worth examining.
And the crimes! These were puzzles he couldn't simply Will up the answer to. What was past was past and outside His View - he could only see the here and now, so he usually couldn't just peek at who'd done it and why. And even when he could, he usually didn't. Watching Sherlock's process was fascinating. Occasionally, he'd drop a hint by saying just the right thing at the right time (not that he necessarily knew why it was the right thing to say - that wasn't the point of Inspiration), but that was usually the extent of his interference beyond what any other person could do. Besides, when he took up the mantle of humanity, he preferred not to cheat too much.
He had cheated a bit with the cabbie, though. He had no need to carry a weapon, nor a real use for one, but when he witnessed the scene through the college window, he had wanted this new, fascinating human to live. And it was much more convenient to smite with a weapon of humanity than with His Will. No need to draw undo attention. And so, he had kept his service gun with him when he was released from the army, and was carrying it with him as precaution, even if it hadn't occurred to Him to do so prior to that moment. And his shot, of course, was impeccable.