Chapter Text
Everyone grew up hearing about it. It was the dramatic climax of every romance film, the chorus of every love song. Teenagers rejoiced the first time it happened to them and would tell everyone they knew "Look, look at my eyes!"
No one knew why it occurred and while there had been numerous scientific studies the majority of people never questioned it, it was just another wonder of the human body like breathing or swimming. It was simultaneously taken for granted and celebrated.
For some people it happened all at once; they'd wake up with it or gasp with shock when they next passed a mirror. For others it was slower, sometimes one at a time and gradual, so much so that they almost doubted it had happened at all for a while.
However, there was always the same outcome; once you fell in love with somebody, your eyes would change colour to match theirs.
Say a brown eyed person fell for a green eyed person- their eyes would turn green for as long as they were in love with them, reverting back to brown if their feelings faded. If they were lucky and the green eyed person felt the same way their eyes would turn brown in return.
This was the way it was described to Sherlock's class in primary school. Most of his classmates seemed to have already heard it from parents and siblings but it was the first time the concept had been introduced to him. Right from the start he detested the idea. Other people were cruel, loud, stupid. Why would he want to take on a part of one of them, or just as bad, give away part of himself?
The last bit couldn't be prevented really, and over the years Sherlock recognised his own kaleidoscope eyes reflected back at him from the odd girl or boy. It was occasional thankfully, while the brunette knew he was attractive he was also keenly aware of his own popularity, or lack of it.
His resolve on the former remained strong however, his eyes would never change colour. For Sherlock, they defined him, separated him out from the murky browns and or run of the mill blue's. No, his pale eyes were different. He'd even heard them described as beautiful before.
It wasn't really about vanity though, it was the thought of belonging to someone and being at the mercy of someone that scared Sherlock off. Surely there was no one who he would ever trust enough to let have that sort of claim over him? Because that's what it really was, a claim. Pedestrians could romanticise it as much as they wanted but ultimately it was a statement- look at their eyes this person belongs to me.
He also saw it as a sign of weakness, Mycroft constantly reinforcing this- "caring is not an advantage Sherlock."
So that's why his eyes had never strayed from their curious mix of blue, green and grey, and he never expected them to.
John Watson had heard about the phenomenon long before he learnt about it at school, and ever the romantic, for a while it was all he dreamt about. His navy eyes were alright, but the thought of being in love, of one day seeing the eyes of a beautiful girlfriend looking back at him in the mirror was thrilling.
He did not have to wait long, even before John reached eighteen it had happened to him twice (once requited once not so much), and by the time he was invalidated home from the army the doctor was up to a count of six times. The only problem was that it was never in both eyes. This was an endless source of annoyance and frustration for John; he was clearly in love, the other eye had bloody changed for God's sake, so what was wrong with him?
It was common to have just one eye changed during the process of falling in love, but he had surely reached a lot further than that with at least some of the women, right? Whatever the reason, it was a nuisance that had led to many fights and even the end of a couple of relationships as his girlfriends were convinced that he didn't really love them.
So when John woke up the day after he'd shot the cabbie to find two pale blue eyes watching him in his bathroom mirror, it was a bit of a surprise to say the least. Except at the same time it kind of wasn't, Sherlock was... like no one he'd ever met before. While his gender had had John convincing himself he admired the man in a purely platonic way, that was clearly not the case and during their Chinese last night the doctor had found himself feeling this warmth in his chest that he hadn't felt for a long time, maybe ever.
"Shit!" He exclaimed, leaning in and peering at his eyes from every angle. Maybe it was just a trick of the light? However, even when he closed the curtains he was still bereft from his familiar navy irises.
He couldn't move in with Sherlock like this, judging from his reaction to John asking if he had a boyfriend yesterday, the man would not be happy. He seemed to have some kind of repulsion to the whole thing.
Going online, the doctor quickly found contacts in his colour and bulk ordered some. Many people thought that using contacts was unethical as they could be used to cheat on your partner or fake your feelings, but right now he was very thankful for their existence. John had used them once before during his last relationship when his stubborn eye refused to change yet again, but it was going to be odd having to use them on both now.
He tried not to think about what it meant and tried not to feel angry about the fact that the one time he didn't want them to, both had finally changed.
A couple of days later, his eyes safe behind a pair of navy contacts, he moved in with Sherlock. John didn't really have any expectations, all he knew was that he had to get away from his bed sit and all the depressing, grey weight he felt with it.
The doctor had secretly hoped that maybe what he felt for the brunette was just a brief infatuation, and that once he moved in and got to know the real Sherlock his eyes would darken again.
That was not the case.
Living with Sherlock Holmes was infuriating, impossible, and absolutely incredible. As for the man himself, to John's dismay his feelings for him grew more intense by the day. Even when he was pissed off with the detective (which was often) he was still overcome by how brilliant, attractive and strangely lovable Sherlock was.
John knew loveable was likely a word that most people would never associate with his flatmate, and for all his apparent ego the doctor thought sadly sometimes that the brunette didn't think himself it either.
However, John knew the true Sherlock. He saw all the bits most people saw, the arrogance, the charm, the deductions and as antagonising as some of those traits could be, he loved the brunette desperately for them. But he also saw the bits few others were privileged enough to glimpse: Sherlock’s unexpected but brilliant sense of humour, his vulnerability when he knew he'd done something wrong, and what it felt like to know that the great man cared for him.
Obviously not in the way John wanted, but it still set his whole body alight whenever he was in danger and six foot one of panicked, blazingly angry detective crashed in and did everything he could to ensure the blond’s safety. Of course he had returned the favour on many occasions too, and the relief and gratitude on Sherlock’s face- though quickly covered with a facade of indifference- only made him fall in love with the man even more.
God he was so obvious sometimes, so pathetically, helplessly adoring of the brunette he wouldn't be surprised if everyone- including Sherlock himself- knew.
Crime scenes were the worst. The moments when the genius was utterly in his element and stalked around all commanding and excited. It was sweet and sexy and agonising all at once, and far too often praise would fall out of John's gaping, worshipping mouth.
Still, he used the contacts and forced himself to date women: nice, bland ordinary women who would put up with him for a couple of months then get tired of knowing that for John, they would never compare to Sherlock Holmes.
His latest girlfriend had been the worst. Usually when he stayed the night he woke up early to put the contacts in, but he'd overslept one morning at Sarah's and when she'd brought him breakfast in bed it had been instantly over. Apparently she hadn't appreciated a replicate of Sherlock’s unusual eyes peering up at her as she'd woken John up.
"Get out! Just fucking get out!" She'd cried, tears filling her eyes, one of which the blond realised was starting to turn navy blue.
John had felt heavy lashings of guilt for weeks.
One night, over a month after the Sarah incident, Sherlock had woken him up at 3am. He didn't turn John's bedroom light on, but the door was open and light from the hall was glaring in.
"For God’s sake wake up!" The blond had come to from his nightmare hearing Sherlock plead.
"I'm awake." The doctor murmured after a moment, his heart still distantly racing. "Sorry if I kept you up."
Sherlock stared at him. "Don't be ridiculous John, we're in the middle of a case, I wasn't planning on sleeping."
The blond was about to reprimand his flatmate when the horror of the situation struck him.
Sherlock was in his bedroom.
And he wasn't wearing his contacts.
Hoping with all his will that the light was too dim for his eyes to have betrayed him, John quickly turned over and shut his eyes, screwing them up at his stupidity. "I'm fine Sherlock, try and get some sleep."
He heard a quiet scoff and what sounded like "Sleep? Dull."
John breathed a cautious sigh of relief. His flatmate wasn't acting any differently, so hopefully he hadn't seen his incriminating eyes.
If he had had any normal flatmate the blonde would've forgotten about the whole ordeal there and then, but John's awareness of the detective’s frighteningly sharp deduction skills put him on edge. If Sherlock hadn’t already figured out John’s secret it would only be a matter of time before he did.
He decided he'd have to do something to throw the man off the scent, just in case.
Mary had been working at the surgery for less than a week when she met GP John Watson. They got on well and as their lunch breaks often lined up, frequently spent time eating together.
They were sitting in the canteen one day when the receptionist began complaining about her friend's and family's incessant interest in her "finding a nice man so she wasn't all on her own in London", especially her mother- who had attempted to set her up with a string of endlessly boring men.
At some point John turned from sympathetic to thoughtful, regarding her with a curious but hesitant look.
"Mary, this is going to sound crazy, but I think we can help each other."
Then John raised his fingers to one of his eyes and to Mary's surprise a moment later he held out a contact lens, and was staring hopefully at her with one kaleidoscope eye.
"Wait you- you're in love with- Sherlock?" She stammered, connecting the dots as she remembered a similar pair of eyes looking down at her when the detective had picked John up for an emergency last week.
"Please don't tell him"
Mary shook her head. "Trust me, I would never."
"Ta, I appreciate it. I just- I don't think he..does relationships and I don't want to make things uncomfortable so I've been hiding it." John let out a steadying sigh. "And that's when you come in- I mean, if you want."
Mary frowned. "I don't understand."
"Well the thing is, you've met Sherlock and heard me talk about him- you know what he's like. It's impossible to keep anything from him. Last night something happened and I think he's getting suspicious about... you know." John gestured at his eyes. "So I was thinking.. what if I told Sherlock I was dating you, to throw him off track, and you could tell your friends and family that you're dating me and you won't have to be set up anymore."
"John." The receptionist said slowly. "That's actually a bloody brilliant idea, I can actually phone my mother for once without getting nagged about my 'biological clock ticking'."
John chuckled and breathed a long sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, I can't tell you how grateful I am."
"Don't worry about it, seriously."