Title: Wings.
Pairing/s: John and Sherlock; Jim and Sebastian (Sort of).
Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, that belongs to BBC. I am doing this for my own fun and not for profit in any way, shape or form.
Warning/s: Wing!fic; Fairy!Sherlock; Fairy!Mycroft; Fairy!Jim; [insert mystical creature here]!John (I don't want to give it away); Slightly AU; Fluff.
Chapter/s: One-shot.
Summary: John has never see Sherlock shirtless. So of course, when he finally does, John's surprised by the wings tucked tight against Sherlock's back. Wing!fic, one-shot.
Prompt: John has never see Sherlock shirtless. So of course, when he finally does, John's surprised by the wings tucked tight against Sherlock's back. Any rating.
Author's Note: This is for the johnlockchallenges (at johnlockchallenges .tumblr .com) and also for godsofmischief whose prompt it was and who I wrote the fic for. Here to you liking the fic godsofmischief, finger cross that you do! *Crosses fingers*.
- Jade.
You know how when you were a little kid and you believed in fairy tales, that fantasy of what your life would be, white dress, prince charming who would carry you away to a castle on a hill.
You would lie in bed at night and close your eyes and you had complete and utter faith.
Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming, they were so close you could taste them, but eventually you grow up, one day you open your eyes and the fairy tale disappears.
Most people turn to the things and people they can trust.
But the thing is it's hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely cause almost everyone has that smallest bit of hope, of faith, that one day they will open their eyes and it will come true.
-Mimi Schmir.
Sherlock's wings haven't given him trouble in all the years he's been in the human's world. They have been hidden under his skin, a painful process but one out of necessity if he was really going to become "human", and most of the time Sherlock forgets he even had wings to begin with.
For the past few weeks they had begun to prickle under his skin and just generally caused discomfort once every other day. Sherlock ignored it and eventually it went away.
Then came the burning. It started off just a sting every few hours, before it grew and became more painful. Mycroft seemed to be having the same problem when he came over to the flat asking for Sherlock to look into a case for him. To a casual observer he looked normal, as normal as Mycroft can look, but to Sherlock it was obvious he was also feeling the pain of their wings.
This caused panic to rise up within Sherlock because if his wings were demanding to come out something definitely not good was going to happen soon.
And the waiting was the worst part.
John's eyes flickered open, wincing at the sharp pain the originated from the back of his head, causing him to shut his eyes again. The strong smell of chlorine hit his nose hard, burning the insides of of his nostrils.
"Oh, look who decided to wake up. And just in time for the show, goodies," came a high pitched voice to John's right, forcing him to open his eyes again. There stood a short man in a dark blue two piece suit, smiling manically at him. John took a look around the dim room, finding both his hands and feet tied tightly to an uncomfortable plastic chair, rendering him unable to move.
"Wakey, wakey, Johnny boy," the man spoke in a sing-song voice, snapping his fingers in front of John's face and causing him to move his head away from them. "You're awake? Yay, let the games begin then."
"What-"
"I almost forgot! You're not wearing the right outfit." His dark eyes lit up, making his futures appear lizard like, a small smile in place.
"Who the bloody hell are you?"
"Oh! Didn't I say? Jim. Jim Moriarty." He gave John a dazzling smile as John's eyes widen in recognition and horror.
"Now where did I put it," he muttered, glancing around what seemed to be a storage room. "Sebastian!"
John looked around as well for this Sebastian person but no one appeared, making him even more confused than he already was. Then draped over a stack of more plastic chair appeared a brown parka jacket along with what seemed like bombs, out of nowhere. John was too shocked to form words.
"Thank you, love," Moriarty continued. "Now go back to your position, it's almost time." John blinked, agreeing with himself that this man was completely crazy, talking to things that weren't there.
"Now, be a doll and put this on, then the real fun can begin." He untied John's hands. John was all but ready to punch the man that caused all those deaths in the face but found he couldn't move his arms. He looked down and saw something black and cold covering his wrists.
"What the hell is this?"
"Mmmm? Oh that," Moriarty looked to where John was staring at the black ring in horror. "That's a Shadow. Nifty minions they are, do everything I say."
With the thing that Moriarty called a Shadow's help he managed to get John's jacket off, strapped the bombs onto him and covered them with the parka. Not without John putting up a fight, squirming and wiggling to try make it hard. This just seemed to amuse Moriarty.
He put an earpiece into John's right ear with a smile and patted his cheek. "You be good now and do what I say, or boom, bye bye Doctor Watson."
He giggled excitedly when Sherlock's voice could be heard echoing. "Show time."
John was instructed to walk out first, with a slight encouraging push from Moriarty. John watched in despair as betray flashed onto Sherlock's face but John kept repeating the words, otherwise bye bye Johnny and Sherlock along with him.
When Moriarty came out of his hiding place Shadows seem to surround him. They were too dark to be ordinary ones and seemed to follow his every move.
He and Sherlock talked, Sherlock aiming the gun steadily at him, laser pointed at John and Moriarty completely unguarded, except for the Shadows still encircling his feet, which terrified John because he had no idea what they were, an unknown foe, but John did know that they were definitely not from this world.
Most of Sherlock and Moriarty's conversation bewildered John, words that included castors, elders, fear and shadows being the most used ones. This seemed to be conversation only the two of them were able to follow.
When Moriarty walked off talking into his phone, Sherlock dragged John home, the cab ride there was tense and you could have cut the air with a butter knife. They both went to their rooms without a word to each other, John too drained to form a sentence let alone a goodnight. Shutting the bedroom door, John collapsed onto his bed, still fully clothed.
Sebastian wasn't a Shadow to begin with, none of them were. They were all once living creatures, no matter how long ago, they lived. They all know what emotions feel like, not just the pulse of them that you can feel from those that still live, but they all had emotions once, even the most basic ones they felt, but now they were nothing more than ghosts, past memories, figments of the dark. Shadows.
He didn't know why he knows his name is Sebastian, just that it is and it has always been. He never gave thought to it before and Master calls him Sebastian so he must be. He knows he was male, was a two leg like Master and that he was in great pain at one time, but never knew why or how he gained this knowledge; it was always there, just as you know the sun will rise tomorrow. You don't question it.
Sebastian never gave a name for his kind, he knew he was in charge of them, but other than that nothing was ever created. Master calls Sebastian and his kind Shadows, so Sebastian assumes that's what his kind is, Shadows. What else are they?
Sebastian is to follow Master's orders, without thought or consideration. Barley any thought is made, once Master gives you an order, you follow.
Sebastian sometimes wonders what it's like to be living again...
A loud noise finally penetrated John's sleepy mind, making him groan and try to bury himself further into his bed, pulling the covers over his head and praying the noise would stop. John finally recognised the sound and cursed out loud. His stupid alarm clock. It just had to go off, didn't it. Why couldn't it have magically decided not work just for today?
When the beeping became too annoying to ignore any longer, John sat up and with as much force as his tired limbs could muster, he slammed the snooze button. With a satisfied smile, John got out of bed and went to the bathroom. No use lying in bed when he knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep, not any that won't include nightmares he's sure of. And he was determinedly not thinking about last night.
Yawning, he walked down stairs, his clothes now extremely wrinkled from the night before and the sleep. With his body on automatic he walked into the kitchen, spotted Sherlock and gave him an absent wave before heading straight to the kettle and putting it on to make tea, popping two pieces of bread into the toaster and getting the milk and jam out the fridge while he waited for the kettle to boil and the toast to be done.
"Good morning, John," Mycroft's voice travelled into the kitchen. John blinked from where he was pouring milk into his cup, decided it was too early for him to be there and said good morning back.
John shuffled into the lounge area, taking a sip of his hot tea and sitting at the table. He picked up a piece of toast and was about to take a bite of it when he glanced at the Holmes brothers.
He placed his toast back onto the plate, looked at his tea wearily and took a sniff of it. Smelled like tea and looking at Sherlock, he still had wings. He gave himself a hard pinch on the top of his hand, eyes still on Sherlock, who looked back at him blankly. Not a dream either it seemed.
"Sherlock, did you drug me?"
"Don't be ridiculous, John. If I were to drug you, you wouldn't have figured out I did until it was over."
John nodded, not exactly reassured. "Then why am I seeing you topless with wings? Is this for a case? Does some murderer have a wing fetish or something?"
"No, John, not a case. It's because the infuriating things won't retract," Sherlock said with a huff.
"Retract?" John asked slowly, completely confused.
"You see, John, fairies can hide their wings," Mycroft was the one to answer, sitting with his ankle on his knee, his umbrella propped on the side.
"Fairies?"
"Oh for the love of God. Yes, fairies. Do try and keep up, John," said Sherlock, picking up a piece of John's toast and taking a bite.
"I'm sorry if I'm having trouble taking in the information that you might be a... fairy." The word tasted weird to John, unnatural. He sighed. "Just... bare with me okay, I'm a little, well I don't think there's a word for how I'm feeling right now."
"Out of depth? Overwhelmed?" supplied Mycroft, seeming quite amused.
"Yeah, let's go with that. So, you're a fairy?" John asked Sherlock, licking his bottom lip nervously.
Sherlock nodded curtly. "As well as Mycroft."
John blinked then shook his head. Looking at Mycroft he said, "Of course you are. Are you part of the fairy council then?"
"Fairies don't have a council, John," said Sherlock, rolling his eyes at his friend's ignorance.
"We have Elders," said Mycroft, standing up and picking up his umbrella. "And as fun as listening to our history is, I have to go. We will talk about our next move later, Sherlock. Goodbye, John," said Mycroft, the sharp heels of his shoes making a clicking sound down the stairs.
"Right," said John after a short silence. "Why am I only seeing your wings now?"
"As I've said, they don't want to retract," at this Sherlock gave his wings a glare.
Sherlock's wings were certainly something. A dark midnight blue colour and the type that one would find on a dragon fly, one on the top and one on the bottom for each side, delicate and paper thin. They moved from time to time, just a slight movement of up and down, nothing too drastic but looking restless. John resisted the slight urge to go up and touch them, to see if they were as thin as they looked and what they would feel like against his fingertips.
"Are most people fairies or...?" John let himself trail off, trying to move the conversation along and to distract himself from his thoughts.
"A few, not many."
"Why are you here and not in the Fairy Kingdom or whatever you call it?"
"I wanted a challenge and I was curious as to what the human world held. Plus, the fairies were unbearable to live with."
"I can only but imagine," John muttered. "Can you fly with those?" He indicated with his eyes at Sherlock's wings.
Again, Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Of course, what's the point of having wings if you can't fly?"
"It's just that they look... Well, not able to hold a human's weight."
Sherlock sneered and with a lift of his chin as if taking John up at a challenge, he let his wings flap up and down until eventually his hair was brushing the ceiling. He gave John a smug smile, his wings lazily fluttering behind him to keep him in the air.
It just so happened that Mrs Hudson decided to walk in, bringing a tray of biscuits that she has just baked. "Boys, I made some biscuits, it's just so miserable today and some nice baked food would be good right about now, don't you think? And-"
John was trying in vain to get Sherlock down by pulling on his arm. He hissed at him to come down, not wanting Mrs Hudson to see a floating winged Sherlock. Sherlock refused to, wings flapping a bit harder to resist John's tugging.
"Um, hello Mrs Hudson," said John awkwardly, giving up on getting Sherlock down, fingers still curled around Sherlock's wrist.
"Oh don't you worry, John," said Mrs Hudson, depositing the tray on the small space on the kitchen counter. "I already knew." She gave him a smile before turning around and walking to her flat.
"How come she knew before me?" John looked up at Sherlock, feeling slightly betrayed.
"Her mother was half fairy, she knew about us but she doesn't obtain any of our powers." Gradually Sherlock descended, landing in front of John who still hadn't let go.
"I guess that makes sense," said John, still trying to absorb Sherlock having wings and being a mystical creature. "Wait, what do you mean by powers?"
"Obviously, fairies have special powers, depending on what family you come from."
"Family?"
"Yes, you see, the colour of your wings makes you part of a different Family so you get different abilities. We are all able to fly, have higher senses and can heal faster than humans."
"That will explain how you're not dead yet," muttered John with a slight smile. "What's your special power?"
"I'm able to read a person's past by touch," Sherlock said with a sneer. "I don't use it here; I like the challenge of being able to figure a person out just by senses, makes things a little more interesting."
"Is Moriarty a fairy?" John's voice became softer.
Sherlock nodded sharply. "He's a Shadow Caster; he lives off fear and can manipulate Shadows to do his bidding. We thought Shadow Casters all died off some time ago."
"What are Shadows exactly?"
"They are what you might classify as ghosts; most are actually Shadow Casters that have died, but with less control of their minds, their body can take on any shape, they are attracted to Shadow Casters and if the Shadow Caster is strong enough they might be able to control a human's body."
John shivered a bit at that bit of information; he let of Sherlock's wrist and gave his own a rub where the Shadow had touched him. "He's powerful, isn't he?"
"He is, but not powerful enough to allow his Shadows to take people's body, we're hoping to stop him before he can get to that stage, but he is able to feed off a fairy's fear, which is worrying." Sherlock put his hands together underneath his chin.
"Why?"
"Because fairies can't use their powers on each other, Shadow Casters shouldn't be able to feed of a fairy's fear, so how is he able to do it?"
"Why can't fairies use their powers on each other?"
"There was a war and the Elders cast a spell so we didn't kill each other off."
"Oh," said John, not sure what else to add. He walked back to the table and frowned at his now cold tea, not even too sure if he still wants to eat his breakfast anymore. He's wondering why he isn't screaming around and panicking at the news that fairies are real but he guessed so much has happened that his mind can't deal with the stress and is now just going with the flow.
"Catch," said a still shirtless Sherlock, throwing John a slightly warm biscuit. John's hand shot out a caught the flying treat, he smiled at Sherlock and took a bite of it.
Sherlock's wings eventually retracted again, and John refused to think of how Sherlock's wings went under his skin, making a disgusting squishy sound and bones groaning as they moved to make way for them, nope, he wasn't thinking about that at all.
Moriarty hadn't made any form of contact with them over the past few months, probably hoping to lull them into feeling safe before making his next move. John still sometimes has nightmares about that night but there wasn't much he could do about it except lift his chin up and keep moving forward.
Everything went by as normal, well as normal as finding out that fairies exist and that your flatmate it one of them, but John thought he was doing rather well considering.
That is until two weeks ago.
Sherlock and John were on a case, Sherlock was stuck trying to figure out where the thief his the necklace and demanded John that he and him go out for a walk, just for a change in scenery and help Sherlock's thought process. John had no other choice but to agree.
It was while they were walking down the streets of London that Sherlock suddenly pulled John towards an ally way, whispering in his ear that they were being followed by a man, 6'2 feet tall, black hair and a black trench coat and for God's sakes don't look at him. Then without warning Sherlock kissed him.
To say John was surprise would have been the biggest understatement of the century.
John took a sharp intake when Sherlock put his lips against him, his heart thumping so loud it was hard to hear anything else and he was sure Sherlock could hear it to.
"Make it look good," mumbled Sherlock, lips only moving away from John's to say that before connecting again. John parted his lips in surprise, Sherlock taking that as an invitation to slip his tongue inside and John briefly wondered where the hell he learnt how to kiss like that, responding without thought.
After a few seconds Sherlock pulled away. "He's gone," was his only explanation, walked out of the ally, presuming John would follow, which he did, after he caught his breath and tried to come out of his lust fogged brain. He realized Sherlock most likely kissed him so that to anyone it would look like they were overcome with lust and need a few minutes alone. John gave himself a shake and jogged to catch up with Sherlock.
John often thought of the kiss, but with mixed feelings attached to it. Confusion, exhilaration, nervousness, and done right joy. It's the last one that gets John scared.
He's straight. He knows he's straight; he likes boobs and soft bodies. So then why is it that every time he thought of the kiss he wished for it to happen again, and maybe more?
John has also been catching himself staring at Sherlock for long periods of time, admiring his ever changing eyes, his sharp cheek bones, his lips that were as kissable as they looked, his-.
That's where John has to forcibly remind himself that he is straight and not attracted to men at all, more so is it's Sherlock, who is married to his work, who John was sure didn't own one sex hormone in that tall, lean, angular body and oh so pretty wings and-.
John was doomed.
He has also noticed a few changes in his appearance. He wasn't too sure but he thinks he's grown shorter, just an inch or two, and his back has been giving him problems, at the most random times it would ach or burn, and it was always at the upper part of his back. He did the human thing which was ignoring it and it might just go away.
It didn't. If anything it just got worse.
John groaned when his back began to burn again, squeezing his eyes shut. He gave up on shouting for Sherlock about half an hour ago, the Consulting Detective either didn't hear him or chose not to. He managed to get to his cell phone and sent a text to Sarah saying he won't be coming to work before the pain came again, lying on his stomach so to not put pressure on his back.
John was contemplating the idea of getting up and going to the toilet or to wait until he couldn't hold his bladder in any longer when Sherlock entered his room unannounced.
"Don't you have work?" came Sherlock's voice.
John has his eyes closed and was too tired to look at him, grunting as his answer.
A short silence followed along with ever more pain that it made John feel faint, clenching his hands against it.
"John?" Sherlock said, breaking the silence.
"What?" groaned John, breathing heavily when the pain stopped.
"Don't become alarmed, but you have wings."
"What!" John sat up so fast he felt dizzy. He craned his neck over his shoulder and sure enough, wings were there. They were much like Sherlock's, thin and delicate, but his were see through except in some places where they caught the light, making them glisten. He looked at Sherlock in alarm.
"I'm a fairy?!"
Sherlock frowned; examine his wings before shaking his head. "Not a fairy, none of us has clear wings."
"Then what the hell am I?!" John was defiantly panicking now; his wings flapping in dismay making him panic even more.
"I'm not too sure..." muttered Sherlock, stepping towards John.
"This shouldn't be happening to me, this shouldn't be happening to me," repeated John in a whisper, completely scared.
"Relax, it's not the end of the world," said Sherlock, giving John's wing a light tug.
"Hey, stop that!" John swatted Sherlock's hand away. "It feels weird."
"Their similar to mine," Sherlock concluded a few minutes later of pocking a probing them. "But not quite. Their smaller, the colour is different, more flexible and seems to have a thick layer of magic surrounding them."
"Magic?"
"Yes. Well, you're a magical creature, how you became one over night and what you are is still unknown."
"I'm not human?" John asked with wide eyes but Sherlock was already walking out of the room, muttering to himself with his hands under his chin.
It turns out that John is a pixie.
Sherlock thought pixies were extinct since most have died for not finding their mate in time to reproduce and keep their kind living. Pixies are very choosey when it comes to mates and the only way to find one is from a kiss. Once they have located their mate they come into their powers, getting wings, healing powers, strength, anything really, depending on their mate and what they need to protect them. Pixies are very protective over their mates, their mates are everything to them and if they die before the pixie the pixie will follow soon, after they have seek revenge if their mate has died by some else's hands, dying from a broken heart.
A pixie can still fall in love with someone who isn't their mate, they still feel attraction and everything other emotion to form love, but if their mate is found then they will choose them over anyone else, without thought or hesitation.
Once a pixie has found its mate, an unbreakable bond will start to form. That bond would only be complete - and when it is emotions can travel along it letting the pixie know what their mate is feeling and the best way to please their mate and will also let the pixie know where their mate is, if they're in trouble and needs them, and if they've died - if their mate has agreed. It's very rare that a pixies' mate rejects them, but if they do the pixie will die, not being able to live knowing their mate will never love them.
The mate could not agree nor reject to be a pixies mate that way the pixie will still live but with a void inside of them. Some kill themselves because they couldn't bare the sight of their mate happy with someone else, others move away so they are able to never see their mates again, some couldn't bare that thought and stay through the pain, sometimes getting married and have a family, but know this is second best to what they could have had.
If a pixies' mate is in danger, the pixie will change in appearance. Long claw like finger nails that can cut through bones, their wings will pulse with magic, releasing it with rage and they will stop at nothing to destroy whoever hurt their mate.
Pixies also don't appreciate the taking away of their mates. They are possessive creatures and can go into a jealous rage quickly. It's best to leave a pixies mate alone if you don't have a death wish.
After hours of practicing, John is able to retract his wings so on one could see them, the feeling and the sound of them sinking beneath his skin making him wince every time.
Sherlock has self appointed himself as John's flight instructor, and very early morning them will go to an abounded warehouse, an open field would be much better to practice in but London is unfortunately low on them and hard to find one where people won't see two grown men up in the air, one's wings clearly visible because of its dark colour, so the warehouse it was.
It took two weeks before John was able to master the ability to fly, his stomach always giving a flip when he looked down, thinking his can't be possible but somehow it was, a giggle always bubbling up.
Sherlock then taught John about magic, though John wasn't able to have magic until he gained his mate, and anything else he knew on pixies, and it was on a night like this where Sherlock was talking about them that he asked John who is mates was.
"What?" asked John dumbly, thrown by Sherlock's question.
"You heard me John," huffed Sherlock. "You have wings so you must have found your mate."
"Um, well." The truth was John hasn't thought about his mate, he was too busy concentrating on his wings and learning how to control them for such thoughts. And if he was honest with himself, the thought of who his mate might very well possibly be terrified him. "I'm not too sure."
Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Who did you last kiss?"
John looked down and began to fiddle with his hands, not looking at those eyes that seemed to be able to look inside him and read his mind. John eventually sighed, accepted the unavoidable, and gathered up his courage to look into those eyes and said "You."
Silence followed after that, so quite that John's breathing sounded like close thunder.
John looked down again, not able to face Sherlock's shock expression anymore. He refused to be the first one to speak and waited patiently, a bit anxiously as well, for Sherlock to take in this information about him being a good chance his mate.
In the end John couldn't stand the silence, breaking his oath not to speak. "I'm going out for a bit." He grabbed his coat and walked out the door, not before looking back and seeing Sherlock looking into the distance, sitting very still.
Life at 221B carried on as normal, s if John didn't proclaim Sherlock as his mate at all.
Sherlock neither agreed nor denied to be John's mate and John didn't pressure him to choose, liking to live a little longer thank you very much, and if he was truly being honest with himself he's terrified that the answer might be no. And in a way it was, it was Sherlock's way of rejecting him but not outright so John can live, but the silent 'no' was there, hanging between them.
So, they continued going, Sherlock solving crimes and leaving body parts in the fridge, John blogging about the cases and complaining about said body parts.
Even though John knew he wasn't in immediate danger of death by bond, he felt hollowness inside him, one formed by knowing who your mate was but not knowing if your feelings were returned. It's like reaching for something you really need but no matter how much you stretched, no matter how much you strain, your fingertips barely brush it, and it was driving John insane.
Unrequited love's a bitch. A half formed bond was even more of one.
Then, everything went to hell for John when Irene Adler showed up.
Sebastian watched Master work on the small glowing box, his fingers fly across it. Sebastian knew that the glowing box had a proper name but what it was, was locked behind one of the many doors that was his memory, just needing the right key to unlock them, but the name for the glowing box has yet to be found. Sebastian was forbidden to touch it, not after last time he tired and almost destroyed it.
Sebastian looked at the other Shadows surrounding Master's home. They were restless, moving around and changing shape ever few second, eager to feel the race of terror that always surrounds their next target. Sebastian had more control than them, being able to stay still and in one form for long periods of time, just watching.
"Seb," called Master, standing up from where he was sitting on the floor, stretching. Sebastian circled Master's feet, ready for his next order.
"I think it's time to go meet our next client, don't you?"
If a Shadow could nod Sebastian would have been. Without further instructions, he went behind Master, taking the shape of him so it would seem he had a shadow.
If someone looked really closely they would find that his shadow was 0.5 seconds delayed, but not every person is that observant nor does anyone really look at a shadow to see this.
John didn't like Adler; as a matter of fact he disliked her, bordering on hate. Sherlock was his mate, sort of, and her appearing naked in front of him nearly sent John over the edge.
It just got worse as they continued seeing her, and how Sherlock seemed interested in her, downright fascinated, and that was scaring John like nothing ever could. The thought of losing his mate... It wasn't a thought that didn't come except accompanied by strong alcohol.
When the news of her death came John should have been happy, elated even, but the look on Sherlock's face and his decreasing mood took all the joy out of him. John might have his mate within his grasps again but what good would that be if his mate was miserable? The thought of him being happier with someone else crushed John but at least he would have been happy and not writing sad music.
When Adler "returned from the dead" John felt mixed emotions; shock, confusion, angry, jealousy, and worst of all acceptances that Sherlock might never be his, but at least he will be happy.
She stated they were a couple, but that was only real in John's best dreams, and when he proclaimed himself not being gay, it was the complete truth. He wasn't gay, only for Sherlock. He has no idea what that makes him, and he doesn't really care for the labels.
Adler in 221B was very disturbing on so many levels, her in Sherlock's bed was even more so. When Alder entered the wrong key code, he got very uncomfortable at their long stares that John said the first thing that came to mind, which happened to be his middle name, making him wince after he suggested it as a baby name.
John felt a lump in his throat as Adler leaned in to kiss Sherlock on his check, and the lump grew as Sherlock began to speak, managing to break the code in record time, mostly likely to impress Adler but John is going to neatly denied that fact and just think Sherlock wanted to prove he's smarter than 'the best cryptographers in the country'.
John just stared in shock when Alder said she will have him until he begged for mercy and was relieved when Sherlock told him to see if he was right, anything to not have to look at them staring at each other.
John hated to leave Sherlock alone with Adler, more so when he was in his 'mind palace' but he just couldn't sit there anymore, wondering when Sherlock was going to leave him for Adler.
When Adler was truly dead, John was both delighted and crushed. Mostly crushed because of what to say to Sherlock, because he was defiantly going to be the one to tell Sherlock, if felt he had to. He told Sherlock that Adler was alive, not bearing to tell him otherwise.
Ignorance is bliss, right? Maybe not so much for Sherlock, but John couldn't sit through and watch him go through a broken heart all over again with the knowledge that he caused that, in a way.
The news of Jim Moriarty's return brought protectiveness out of John, but also helplessness, because without Sherlock agree to be John's mate John was as good as mortal, and what was the point of having wings if you could barely use them without people seeing you?
John hated not being useful, it was one of the main points of becoming not only a soldier but a doctor too, so he could help people to the best of his abilities, and being able to help Sherlock... John wasn't too sure if he could live with himself if anything would happen to him.
Sebastian acted as Mater's shadow as he tricked all those mortals, feeling himself grow stronger as Master fed off their fears. This was the best part about always being in Master's presence, he gets the strength first before any other Shadow.
The best part was going to the place where the fairy that Master is interested in lives. The fairy doesn't feel fear as strong as the mortals do but his emotions were strong just as they were, and almost as good as a substitute for fear.
Sebastian listened to Mater and the fairy talk, not bothering to listen to them and more so with looking around the place, sometimes finding the fairy watch him.
It seems a pixie lives here as well, nothing interesting about that creature though, barely a pixie at all so Sebastian didn't think it was anything important and continued to grow a bit stronger from Mater's feeding.
Mycroft told John that there were three Shadows within close range of Sherlock and him, and not just Shadows but mortal assassins as well, the Shadows were just there to make sure the assassins did their job and also to feed off the victims dying emotions, and that they should be careful.
It turns out that they were after some computer key code that Moriarty had left in Sherlock's possession and also why John was feeling uneasy while walking through his flat, looking at every dark corner with some distrust.
It's hard to get away from the feeling of being watched.
Sherlock standing on the rooftop was the worst thing John has ever seen in his life, and he has seen a lot of bad things in his life.
But hearing him talk, saying all those things, was even worse. Before Sherlock said his last goodbye he added, "I agree to the bond."
Feeling the rush of magic that followed those words should have been amazing, but watching Sherlock jump off the building outweighed it. The powers left him unstable, tingling. He tired to ignore the feeling, resisting the urge to use his wings to get to Sherlock quickly, not knowing why he was thinking of what other people might say when his mate was dead.
The thought made him chock on his own breath. His mate was dead.
John jolted awake, breathing heavily, cold sweat running down his back, wings having come out and were fluttering helplessly and eyes blinking fast, trying to get into grips with reality.
John cursed silently to himself, trying to calm his beating heart. That was the 8th nightmare in the past two weeks and it wasn't about war anymore, not always, but more on Sherlock falling and being powerless to stop him.
He flung the covers off of himself, not liking the idea of lying in the dark and replaying the nightmare God knows how many times, and went to the kitchen to make himself some tea, retracting his wings along the way.
John had no idea why he wasn't dead yet and if it was a blessing or a curse. A blessing because there might be hope that Sherlock isn't dead. Not yet. A curse because John has no idea if the bond did fully form or if something went wrong during the process, very little were known about pixies and nothing has been written about a pixies mate dying just after agreeing to the bond, for he couldn't feel Sherlock's emotion nor know him whereabouts, and it was worrying to say the least.
After Sherlock's death John made a vow not to return to 221B, knowing the memories will be too hard to deal with but John couldn't seem to stop himself from going back and then eventually moving back in. Mrs Hudson didn't say one word when receiving less than the full amount for rent and John didn't either.
The flat had a bittersweet taste to it, if a flat could have a taste that is, reminding John of what could have happened but also what has happened. The place was full of Sherlock, lounging on the couch, shouting at the TV, peering down his microscope. John both loathed and loved it.
The days slowly past, turning into weeks, months and then eventually years. John managed to get into a routine, wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, have supper, get ready for bed, sleep and repeat it all again the next day. Sometimes he'll go out for drinks with Greg and those were enjoyable but they were a poor substance for what Sherlock gave him.
John didn't date again, not only because he didn't want to but also he couldn't, the bond didn't allow it and that was okay for John.
Even after all this time there was still a hole in John that would most likely never be filled again. Not with Sherlock dead.
John frowned at his mobile when it beeped, wondering who would text him this late at night, checking the number and seeing it blocked.
Hi eyes widened when he saw the text, grabbed his coat, rushed out the flat and flagged down the first cab he could get, the message still running through his brain.
Sherlock would love you to come
and play at the pool.
- JM x
John walked into the pool area, the smell of chlorine heavy in the air and his shoes hitting the tiles echoing loudly, looking around for any signs of Sherlock or Moriarty. He very well knew that this could all be a trap but if his mate really was alive, and in danger, then John was sure to go there no matter the consequences.
"Dr Watson," said Moriarty's voice, stepping out from the shadows and giving him a smile with a hint of danger to it. "So nice of you to have made it."
"Where is he?" asked John, voice soft with a silent threat, barley containing the urge to rip off the infuriating smug look on Moriarty's face.
"Who?" Moriarty asked with fake innocence, making a face of confusion. "Oh!" he exclaimed after a short pause which was filled with John's warning growl. "You mean Sherlock. He's good, fine, great. Ish."
"Ish?"
"Well, one being restrained from their powers can be rather taxing on the mind and body, but then again, he did deserve it, trying to destroy my web and all." He gave John sharp smile.
"Where is he?" John repeated again.
"Now where's the fun in telling?"
"Where the hell is he?!" John's shout echoed loudly in the pool.
Moriarty tutted quietly to himself, shaking his head. "Quite a temper there, doctor. You should really learn how to control that."
"I will not ask again, Moriarty."
Moriarty let out a heavy sigh. "If you insist, though it'll be less fun this way." With a snap of his finger Shadows began to appear, moving quickly across the floor, some overlapping one another before breaking away to become single shape like figures, always changing form and hardly staying one for more than a few seconds.
"Your precious Sherlock is back there." Moriarty indicated with his head towards one of the doors. "I was done playing with him, and I got what I wanted anyways. Have fun with your mate." With a wink and a wave of his fingers, Moriarty disappeared out of thin air, along with his Shadows.
John stood there blinking for a few seconds before rushing off to where Moriarty might have kept Sherlock, breathing a sigh a relief when he saw Sherlock there, unconscious but clearly breathing.
What John didn't think would happen was the rush of something else, something that left his gasping and holding onto something so he didn't collapse from the feeling of it.
He felt whole.
Sherlock blinked, squinting at his surroundings. He blinked even more when the recognised the wallpaper staring opposite to him being that of John's bedroom in 221B. He sat up and looked around the room, confirming it was John's room. But why he was in John's room was the big question.
He didn't have to ponder too long before John himself entered the room, relief clear on his face, a bowl in his hands.
"Oh thank God you're awake," said John, his eyes running over Sherlock.
"How did I get here?" Sherlock frowned fiercely at himself, not able to grasp the answer and it was frustrating.
"I'll answer that later. Here, eat," John handed him the bowl of soup, which Sherlock curled his lips in disgust and John giving him a stern look. "You need to eat, you're body is seriously malnutrition."
Sherlock opened his mouth to tell John he did not need to eat and what the hell happened but got a spoonful of hot soup instead, stopping him from saying anything he was about to and for John to grin smugly.
"Now eat the soup," John commanded stilling grinning.
Sherlock did, although he complained a lot and he grudgingly admitted to himself that the soup was rather good, homemade, and he was rather hungry. Once the soup was consumed, John sat on the edge of his bed, licking his lips nervously.
"How is it that you are alive?" asked John, swallowing heavily, pain can be heard easily in his voice.
Sherlock sighed and started to tell John his story, knowing that he needed to hear it before Sherlock gets his answers.
- 2 Years Earlier -
Sherlock felt the Shadows push him onto a very expensive looking couch, deep red with a golden frame, before it glided away into a darken corner of the room.
The room was one that wouldn't be out of place as a sitting room in a mansion. Seats purposely placed in certain positions, a glass coffee table was situated between Sherlock and the seat opposite him with a tray on top containing a teapot, two teacups, small milk jug, and sugar pot. A thick red rug with a golden flowery pattern as its border ran through the room, the fire in the fire place caused the room to be a few degrees above warm.
The person in the seat opposite to Sherlock looked all as if he belonged to a room like this.
"Death has treated you well," Sherlock was the first to break the silence.
"You too it seems," Moriarty returned the compliment, staring back blankly.
Sherlock looked at all the Shadows that were hovering, not completely surprised to see that the number of them were fewer from the last time they met, dismissing the thought of some that might not be in this room.
Moriarty saw Sherlock tracking his Shadows and with a snap of his fingers they slinked away from the room, all except one.
Sherlock looked at it pointedly at the Shadow who was hidden under Moriarty's arm chair. Moriarty shook his head at him, indicating that the Shadow was not to go; Sherlock raised an eyebrow in response.
"He's not like the others, not a past Shadow Master."
Sherlock frowned at the Shadow. "An animal then?"
"Nope, thought he is a bit of a tiger." He gave Sherlock a sharp grin.
"What is he?"
"Human, it seems." At Sherlock's both raised eyebrows Moriarty nodded. "I was also surprised when he came to me, human Shadows are ever so rear, though I'm not complaining, he's a rather adorable little thing."
"Intriguing."
"I know."
"I assume you brought me here for a reason either than to tell me about your pet."
"Well, you are destroying my web, no hard feelings though; I'm bored of them anyways, you can keep going, I suggest you go after Yake next, he's in Paris, kill him and most would follow. Aren't humans just too cute thinking they are the superior beings? Tea?"
Sherlock nodded once to the offer and Moriarty picked up the flower printed teapot and poured the tea into the matching china cups. He picked up the milk and sugar and added some to Sherlock's nod or shake, then handed it to him before preparing himself his own cup.
"You see, I'm bored playing human, it just becomes so dull once you've learned their patterns and their responses, it's hardly even funny anymore."
"And what do you propose I do about it?"
Moriarty glanced at the Shadow that was begun to move around, seeming to become slightly restless.
"You want me to turn you into a Shadow?"
Moriarty gave a heavy sigh. "Please, if I wanted to be one I would have done it myself, though whoever wants to be one I will never understand, being controlled by the next Shadow Master that waltz along? No thank you." He wrinkled his nose at the thought, taking a sip of his tea.
"Then what?"
"I want Sebastian over here to become human, and for that I will need more power."
"Living off fears not enough?" Sherlock drank the rest of his tea.
"It's tedious. You feed off fear, get more powers, get more Shadows, feed off more fear to keep your power going and the Shadows, get more Shadows so you'll need to get more fear and, you get the point."
"And once the Shadow's human?"
"Then I can show him the Fairy World, terrorize the Elders for a bit, maybe get rid of my powers as well, playing one is different from being one."
"And for that you need my help."
"It would seem."
Sherlock and Moriarty stared at each other before Sherlock nodded, putting his teacup down.
"Where do we begin?"
- Now -
"You worked with Moriarty? Why?" John sat there shocked, knowing his mouth was hanging open slightly.
"He's a mild threat now; he gave up his powers at the beginning of this year." Sherlock waved off John's words.
"But he's still out there!"
"So?" Sherlock didn't see the problem with this. "He's no threat to us. Most humans, yes, but I'm sure he'll leave us alone."
John opened his mouth but the closed it with a shake of his head. "Never mind, not important right now, I'm just glad you're back." John smiled tenderly at Sherlock, who returned it before holding out the empty bowl.
"Do we have anymore soup?"
John giggled a little, kissed Sherlock's temple and went downstairs to get another bowl leaving a smiling Sherlock behind.
The End.
Author's Note: And that's it. Please review and tell me what you think *looks hopeful*. And please try not to flame, thank you. A big huge THANK YOU goes to Jen for going over this fic and helping me plan it, so thank you Jenna.