reposting this so I won’t have to scroll through the ridiculously long Sherlock thing in the OP

“If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?”

It was standard practice for one to go to the doctor at age eighteen and get a tattoo flashed on your wrist by now. It counted down the decades – and for the lucky ones, months – until its wearer met their soul mates.

The ability to see the future was discovered about seventy years ago, and not even ten years after, laws had already been put in place to prevent the general populace from trying to get a hold of the machines, nicknamed “Doc Browns” by a doctor who was a Back to the Future aficionado. Their uses had been restricted…and restricted further…and further and further until the only legal use was in the form of a tattoo on a person’s wrist, counting down the days until The Day, as everyone called it.

The day when you met the person meant for you.

At eighteen, you went to the doctor. She’d have you step into a tiny box, decorated to look like a Police Public Call box (thanks to the Whovian engineers), and she would instruct you to close your eyes.

Even though you squeezed your eyes tightly shut, when the bright blue light flashed you knew something was going on. You stumbled out of the box, a bit dizzy. Your doctor looked at you, a weird device in her hand. “Wrist, please,” she said. You held it out obediently. She pressed the tip of the machine against the inside of your wrist, and when she lifted it away, a timer was ticking down.

Three years, six months, seven days, and fifteen and a half hours. You looked up at her. “What happens if it reads all zeros?”

“Then you’ve already met The One and it’s up to you to figure out who it is.”

“Why don’t you flash us at a younger age?”

“Because you need the dating experience. Why else do you think you were pushed so heavily into dating in high school?”

You leave the office soon after, glancing down at your wrist every so often to make sure the flash hasn’t faded.

Two years and a half later you’ve gotten used to it and most days you forget it’s even there. You look at it while brushing your teeth but it never really registers.

One year, six days. You get into a relationship that you both know is going nowhere fast, since they only have six months before The Day. Still, it’s nice to have a companion for a bit. On their Day they gush excitedly to you about the person they met…and you smile, happy for them. You stay together for two more weeks before they leave you for their One.

Five months, one week, six hours. You realize you’re looking at your wrist more and more. You start working at a new job, wondering where you’ll meet The One.

Two weeks, three days, seven hours. You lay awake at night, watching the seconds count down in your bedroom, barely able to see the black numbers ticking by in stark contrast to your pale wrist. You wonder if they use a different color ink for different color people. Probably. You remember seeing someone with darker skin, and their wrist…you concentrate for a bit and remember seeing dull white outlines of numbers. Makes sense.

One day, seventeen hours, forty-three minutes. You realize you’re hyperaware of the numbers ticking by on your wrist, counting down until you meet The One. You wonder what they look like. How they act. They’ll be your perfect complement, you know, but you still wonder. Your boss swings by and tells you that there’s a trip you have to leave for in twelve hours, sorry for the late notice, you can go home and pack right now if you’d like. The hotel and flights are already worked out and paid for. He’ll pay for a pet sitter if you need one. You sigh and wish he had better forethought, but say nothing aloud of the sort.

Nine hours, three minutes, ten…nine…eight…

You try to not obsessively look at your wrist. You know you’re going to see them tomorrow morning. Breakfast, perhaps. You force yourself to go to sleep.

Three hours, twelve minutes. You wonder why the hell you’re awake this early, and try to go back to sleep to no avail. You stumble into the bathroom, splash some water on your face, and stare at yourself in the mirror. Ugh. You look exhausted. You turn on the shower and let the steam surround you before you finally get in.

Two hours, thirty-five minutes. You stand naked in front of your suitcase, agonizing over the fact that you didn’t bring anything suitable for The Day. How the fuck was that possible? You knew that it was going to happen…ugh. You mentally chastise yourself repeatedly for being such a thick-headed idiot.

One hour, fifteen minutes. You’re finally dressed, and as ready to face the world today as you’ll ever be. You wait for the elevator, trying to resist the urge to look at your wrist. A pretty girl walks up next to you. “Anxious?”

“You could say that.” You do this half-smile-half-smirk thing, nerves shot.

“Good luck with whatever it is.” She smiles widely, completely genuine.

“Thanks.” You return the smile as the elevator doors open and you both enter. You ride down in silence.

One hour, ten minutes. You go take advantage of the breakfast buffet provided by the conference, scanning the crowd all the while. Who could it be? you think.

Six minutes. You’re positively vibrating with nerves and anxiety, and you realize you’re late for a meeting across the street. You dash back up to your room to grab your briefcase, and run in a most undignified manner back downstairs.

Thirty seconds. You’ve forgotten entirely about The Day now, and The One, and you’re only concerned with getting to that meeting. You rush out of the revolving doors, only to bump into someone who’s getting in. You apologize quickly and hurry on.

As the meeting concludes you realize that you missed The Meeting entirely. What the fuck kind of cruel joke is this? Life has one hell of a sense of humor, and you hate it. Absolutely loathe it.

You trudge back to the hotel, your mood a complete 180 from where it was just an hour earlier. You wonder if you’ll ever meet The One again.

Two days later, you fly home, alone.

originally posted here http://notquitepublic.tumblr.com/post/42988649648/allonsyforever-one-lastmiracle