It wasn't the fact that John was jealous of Sherlock's wings, (he wasn't) it was the fact that John didn't need to see them 24/7. He walked around all day (complaining endlessly) strutting through 221bs corridors and opening and closing his wings like there was no tomorrow.

"Aren't you cold?" John would ask, as Sherlock stood topless Infront of his board, trying to solve a case.

"Shut up John I'm working." Was always his reply, followed by him opening his wings and whacking everything off the work surface.

"I hate you sometimes." John would reply, brushing feathers off his paper.

"You love it really." Wink, flash of wings , back to work.

That was always the way.

Until one day in December, two weeks before Christmas, Sherlock didn't show his wings. He wore a shirt around 221b, his head down. He didn't say a word, just sat Infront of his board and stared. John doubted he was working. Just staring. Staring into nothing. Seeing nothing.

John sensed his mood and said nothing. He sat on his chair reading the paper, drinking his tea. Saying nothing. This went on for three days until John had had enough.

"Alright! Sherlock you are going to tell me what is wrong or I shall force it out of you!"

Sherlock turned, innocent as a puppy. "What have I done now?"

"You're mood!"

"What's wrong with it?"

"What's wrong with you?"

Sherlock huffed and tried to hide in his dressing gown (but failing). "There is nothing wrong with me!"

John sighed. "Then why are you wearing a shirt?"

"I'm cold." Said Sherlock indignantly.

"You're never cold."

"I felt like it. "

"Yeah right." Said John.

Sherlock glared at John. "Am I not allowed to wear a shirt?"

"Yes of course but you never do!"

Sherlock crossed his arms. "Fine. Fine if you must know..."

He unbuttoned his shirt, slowly taking it off and letting off a sigh as he unfurled his jet black wings. When they were stretched to their full length he turned his back.

The tips of his wings had charred off, burnt. On the top where the burn was it was red and raw. Sherlock quickly folded them back in and turned to John.

"See? Happy now?"

John laughed and threw his paper down. Standing up and putting his coat on he grabbed Sherlock's arm.

"Where are we going? Sherlock asked.

"Come on we are going to the burn clinic right now." John started to drag him out the door.

"But it's cold! I haven't got a top on!"

"I thought you were never cold. Come on."

Sherlock was shivering by the time they got to the clinic, but John just laughed.

"You totally deserved it." Was all he would say.