John was on a bit of a personal mission. To figure out just what was going on between him and Sherlock.
On a cellular level, of course.
It was perfectly obvious what was going on in general way. They were two good friends with benefits. Flexible. Hard. Mutually satisfying benefits.
The cellular level was clear, it just made no sense.
What John learned from analyzing Sherlock's blood was that he had about as a high a percentage of augmented DNA as it was possible without actually being produced in the labs by those arsehole scientists.
But he'd known that about five seconds after meeting him. His scent alone told John that.
Admittedly, the lab part of that statement was all a bit speculative, because after three hundred years of Augments and Normals mixing their genetics, there was no way of knowing. And after both the Eugenics wars and the WWIII, all the original labs and their records had been destroyed.
It wasn't as if John had the clearance to get genetics samples from wherever it was that Khan Brittanus and the other Eugenics Era Augments were being held in cold storage.
John examined the single-neucleotide polymorphism (SNP) in Sherlock genome to see the genetic variations in his nucleotides. Which John had to admit was an incredibly intimate thing to do. There was nothing more private about a person than their genome.
In a comparison with his own genetics, Sherlock's SNPs showed a significant number of variations in some really interesting places.
He found a report by Doctor McCoy talking about something he'd done to heal Captain Kirk from being very dead using something from Khan Brittanus. It was a little vague on the specifics. Since Doctor McCoy and Captain Kirk were not available given the hundred years that had passed, he couldn't ask them.
Course, it was over the morning briefing that John realized that he was an idiot.
Not just the idiot that Sherlock always called him, but a true idiot, because everyone wasn't dead.
Donovan looked at him suspiciously when he sat next to her in the galley. "What do you want?"
He shrugged. Trying to look as if he didn't care. "Trying to fill in some information about early Augment DNA and try as I might, I can't find any details about what Khan Brittanus did to cure you."
She clutched her coffee mug. "Just as happy to have history fucking forget me."
"Yeah, but still. You had a neuropathic illness that was killing you. Now your immune system is in the ninetieth percentiles of Human norm. What happened?" He threw in the plausible lie. "If there's a possibility that something in Augment physiology could help people, I want to know."
"You want to publish," said Donovan flatly. "Your boyfriend published his big story about Andorian reproduction and now you want a spot of glory."
"The Commander isn't my boyfriend," said John, quickly.
"Ha," she quirked a look at him, "But you knew who I was talking about when I said boyfriend." She sipped her coffee. "I don't care. I don't know. Mum said Brittanus showed up with Dad. Gave me a serum. She seemed to think it was made from something in his blood. Makes me a bloody vampire, it does. Nothing in the last three hundred years that says Augments have magic blood. So, I don't know. Fucker could build death ships. Who knows what else he could make."
John was inclined to think vampire wasn't far off. If by vampire, Donovan meant that there was something in the blood cells of the earliest Augments that had certain healing factors that hadn't been passed on through succeeding generations. Most likely because those very factors had made reproduction itself difficult for the earliest Augments.
He reminded himself that he was on a personal mission and asked the question. "Can I have your permission to look at your genomic data on record?" Without her permission, or a genuine medical emergency, John wouldn't be able to access that section of her records.
Donovan laughed. "Good fucking luck."
At his blank look, she said, "Watson, I came into Starfleet before Augments were allowed in."
"But how could they keep Augments out if they didn't test to see who had augmented genetics or not?" It made no sense.
Her look was wry. "Sort of thing I didn't think much about at eighteen and itching to join."
Still on a personal mission, John asked for and eventually got, after promising to not mix it with her medical records, a spit sample from her. Not that he had a sample of her genome before Khan had made his alterations. However, Donovan and Sherlock shared hundreds of SNPs in areas associated with immune responses. They weren't relatives. Donovan had been born a hundred years ago in East London and Sherlock was thirty something from a mining colony primarily settled by Humans from the Appalachians.
There were also, as to be expected, significant differences. None of the white blood cells in the blood sample that he eventually convinced her to give him behaved any differently than Normal white blood cells. While Sherlock's actively worked to repair damaged tissue.
It was a certain something that Sherlock had going on downstairs too. Because he'd done something to heal John's reproductive system. Because fallopian tubes that had been sealed didn't grow back on their own. Even down to repairing the scarring. It was as if it had never happened.
A week of research and John was no closer to figuring out what was going on than when he started. So, sitting at dinner with Sherlock, who was ranting about an ongoing conflict on the planet of Neural, and looking absurdly attractive, John blurted out "Let's keep it simple. Tomorrow. Eight hundred hours, come prepared for a day at the beach on Risa," he hadn't intended to say that, and with Sherlock staring at him with those gorgeous changeable eyes, he added, "and bring a horga'hn."
Looked back down at his pasta.
That effectively ended the discussion about the endless war on Neural.