At the request of zeynel here is more. It's sort of turned into an almost crossover, but I'll leave it here becuase they're not actually the same character.

Adjusting is difficult.

I was bred for war, not for a normal everyday life. No matter how different I was my purpose remained, always there, in the back of my mind, the urge to dominate, to destroy.

Dr McCoy's progress was slow, but it was progress nonetheless.

Psychologically, there was nothing medicine could do.

Physically there was a chance, a chance to be normal.

'I can't guarantee that it will ever work, or that it won't hurt like hell.'

'Physical pain I can deal with.'

McCoy was smart enough to read the subtext. Emotional pain, something I was now acutely aware of, was something I couldn't.

Surprisingly we only have one major argument and it's to do with surnames of all things.

'Are you going to use Harrison or Khan or something else?'

'I don't know.'

Deciding on Sherlock had not been a problem, Leyna had made that decision a long time ago and it had stuck. But now I was expected to make the decisions.

I had not been bred for such trivial things.

Eventually we settle for Holmes.

It sounds poetic to my ears, even more so when the crew begin to address her as Mrs Holmes.

McCoy recruits a bright retired Starfleet doctor, wounded in action during the Nero crisis to help with his research.

He was correct in one regard. It is not painless.

But it is worth it.

With every treatment I feel more human.

The new doctor is called John Watson. Leyna finds it hilariously ironic. I don't understand until she passes me a book, a genuine paper one because she knows I prefer them.

'The Complete Collection of Sherlock Holmes.'

'I think it's time you know what I expect you to live up to.' Her grin is teasing, easy. The kiss is brief but cleansing.

I finish the entire collection within a week.

John Watson and I become good friends. It is the first true friendship I have ever formed.

Once, they contemplate waking another Khan.

It nearly undoes all the good work I've achieved.

'You can't!'

'Why not? You turned out alright in the end.'

'They are not the same. You wake one of them and destruction will fall upon this ship and this crew.'

'You can calm them down.'

'They never accepted me. They certainly won't now.'

'But you're a Khan.'

The words strike closer to my heart than is comfortable. Instinctively I strike back, venom in my voice.

'Not anymore.'

Somehow those two words make me sound more like a Khan than I have in nearly a year.

The gym suffers that night.

In the end even I am surprised by where the help comes from.

It is not John, my closest friend, nor Leyna, my wife.


Help comes from the one crew member who has done their best to avoid me.

One afternoon, during a break from that day's medical experiments I am unexpectedly joined by Spock.

Neither of us have ever been good with social interaction.

'The doctor tells me you are struggling with your emotions.'

'What of it?'

'I believe my advice would be beneficial. It is logical.'

A pause. The next words seem to be a battle.

'You are not the only one who has struggled with emotion.'

Spock teaches me to meditate. To categorise my mind even more effectively. To identify, experience and acknowledge my emotions.

I have never felt more drained, or more content with my identity.

Sometime during the night, tutoring Khan, Holmes, to control his emotions Spock stops hating him.

It was an illogical feeling to begin with.

Physician, heal thyself indeed.

It takes a further two months for McCoy to perfect his work.

I cannot remember much other than pain. It is a familiar feeling from the days of experimentation.

The results, however, are infinitely more appealing.

'Congratulations Sherlock.' Watson greets me when I wake. 'Your DNA is officially 100% normal.'

My mind is most definitely not, but I wouldn't have it any other way.

I have new brothers and sisters now.

With my permission McCoy keeps a vial or two of my previously superhuman blood. With it, he is able to synthesise countless cures.

I meticulously keep count.

The day the number I have saved surpasses the number I have killed I finally feel clean.

'So, any idea which department you want to settle in?' Kirk, endlessly compassionate Kirk, asks once my rehabilitation is complete.

From my experience with Chemistry the decision is easy. Decisions have been coming easier for a while now.

Blue, apparently, suits my eyes.

Kirk begins to request my presence on away missions. My reflexes may be slower, my strength less, but my aim is still as good as ever.

I save Kirk's life again and again. Often, I don't realise, at considerable risk to myself. Eventually my luck catches up with me.

I wake in sickbay, groggy and aching.

According to McCoy I took a bullet meant for the captain. It had been close.

When I am released Spock tentatively (or as tentatively as a Vulcan can) invites me for a game of chess.

I lose the game, but emerge victorious.

After all, I would do anything for my family.