I got my inspiration for this story from the book Hawksong by Amelia Atwater-Rhode. I do not own Sherlock BBC and its characters!
Chapter One
Sherlock ruffled his wings in annoyance, shivering involuntarily as a gust of icy wind hit his back. Since he was on a spying trip where speed was essential, the Avian only wore black silky garments, which did nothing to block the freezing wind. Even though his wool coat seemed appealing at the moment, it was not an option because of its bulkiness and its strong scent that could attract the Wolves' uncanny sense of smell. The only thing he could do right now was to wait for the Wolf guards to change their post by the Palace, which meant that he would be trapped on the tree for a while.
With his black outfit and dark wings, Sherlock blended in with the shadows of the tree fairly well. Aside from the boredom, the ach in his muscles, and the fact that he was basically alone in the middle of nowhere with dozens of starving Wolves circling around him, he was actually managing well. The biggest problem and discomfort for the time being was the cold that seemed to seep into his bones.
Sherlock drew his long wings around himself tighter, hoping to conserve some heat. The last thing he wanted was to be captured because of something as mundane as slow movements caused by numb limbs. He glanced at the rolling waves of clouds in the sky, and signed.
It would rain soon, and he could not fly well in the rain.
Maybe that was the most urgent problem right now.
Sherlock peeked from his hiding spot, and observed the five men guarding the gate for the fourth time to pass the miserable time. One man was apparently as eager to leave his spot as Sherlock was, for he kept tossing the blade between his hands, clearly impatient to be done with the day. From the way the man stood, Sherlock could see that he was wounded with an arrow to his tibia about eight months ago, but not cared for properly, which lead to a massive infection and a bad limp. And the man next to him, married to a tall wife and had three kids, two of them died and the third would be joining the army next year-
His stomach suddenly rumbled in protest and Sherlock realized how long he had gone without any real food. His last meal, which was roughly three days ago, were several pieces of dried fruits he carried with him on this trip; and to a bird of prey like Sherlock, fruits were not considered legit things to eat. Meat was the only type of food Sherlock would tolerate. Unlike other Avians, Sherlock could last a week without eating, mostly by his will power alone. However, after days of flying without much rest, even Sherlock couldn't take it any more.
Trying in vain to ignore the overwhelming hunger and cold tugging at his consciousness, Sherlock could not help but feel annoyed at the thought of his brother currently sitting at the table eating a warm meal inside a warm house. The image almost made Sherlock groan in frustration.
A flash of lightning wiped through the sky, snapping Sherlock out of his thoughts while signaling the inevitable storm. In less than a minute, the sky started to pour. The heavens heaved and roared, spilling raindrops as large as pebbles. The wind added to the chaos, blowing the drops of rain apart, and sent them down like needles. The tree provided as much shelter as a stick would, and soon Sherlock was drenched to tips of his wings. He knew that he had to get out of the woods fast, or he might be trapped if a lightning decided to light a tree on fire.
Sherlock peered through the leaves, seeing with satisfaction that the guards had been quite distracted by the storm. Bracing against the choking wind and coldness and rain, Sherlock leaped down from the branch he was perching on like a diver, and gained height slowly with his wings strained against the unpredictable wind pattern.
Suddenly, coming out of nowhere, an arrow with a strange head slammed straight into Sherlock's left arm. Sherlock gasped in surprise and tried to pull the arrow out. To his relief, it did not catch his bone; but the feeling was short-lived. The moment the arrow left his flesh, a wave of dizziness hit him like a wall and his wings stopped beating. His usual keen sense of direction was gone and he was left tumbling uselessly in the storm. Panic washed over him as he saw the ground spiraling closer and closer towards him. The world was shifting in color and shape, his vision was faltering, fading in and out like a candle in the wind… Sherlock could do nothing as his body fell heavily into the ground and darkness wrapped him in its wings.
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