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Sylph: (noun.)Slang for human with Fairie ancestry (see Fairie). He/she may possess physical/mental traits of the Fairie species (i.e.: oddly colored eyes, increased height, control of respective elements, anatomical abnormalities).
John knew he didn't have a drop of fairie blood in his veins. That made it a bit hard to get a job, especially in the medical field, where sylphs, especially water-sylphs, were so valued for their talents in stemming blood flow and enchanting certain objects (or liquids) for healing purposes. Finding a position in the military had been easiest, where most of the men and woman on the front line were for the most part completely human. Nobody wanted fairie blood spilled, after all. Most of the power was kept safely behind the lines, a battle of wills and intellect rather than tact and flying bullets. Gorgeous, tall, angelic beings in tight-fitting suits that spoke with smooth and persuasive voices, issuing out commands as their impossible eyes flicked over the soldiers about to give their lives for Queen and Country. And give their lives they did. Or perhaps an arm, or a leg. You signed away your peace of mind when you entered the army. You signed away your good night's rest, your trust, your being. Everyone knew it. But they gazed right back into the impossible eyes and listened anyways.
The room was uncomfortably quiet, a silence broken only by the rustling of papers and muffled coughs. Occasionally the sound of feet shuffling would fill the room as the line of people moved forward, a new person handing in a sheet of official-looking yellow paper covered in black print, detailing the person's age, name, annual income, and a plethora of other tiny details. People didn't meet each other's eyes, instead opting to look at the beige floor tiles or white, undecorated walls instead. No one wanted to be here. John leaned heavily on his cane as the line moved forward once again, his other hand rummaging in his pocket for his own paper.
John let out a tight smile as he handed the yellow sheet to the middle-aged lady behind the glass. She gave a strained smile back, dropping the paper into a file folder and typing a few things into her computer. Her eyes were a dark red, fiery color, the shade of magma rising from the ground, but her face was soft and the color of earth beneath brown hair that was tied loosely in a ponytail. She was an earth-sylph. Earth fairies were the most human looking to begin with, but judging by the lack of green highlights in her hair and her dead-end government position, whatever fairie blood she had was quite a few generations back. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she finished her typing, looking back up towards John and passing him a small white slip of paper that would have to be kept carefully. It was his only source of income as of the moment.
No pleasantries were exchanged between them. They were both perfectly fine with that.
"Thank you, Mr. Watson. Exit's to your left."
John had been in the low, concrete building exactly twelve times since he had been invalidated from the war. He reminded himself for the twelfth time to ask the lady's name the next time he went in.
AN: This is just an idea that I'm willing to expand upon if I get good feedback...this little chapter was just to kind of build the universe. I fear it might be a little confusing, so I am just going to post the first few paragraphs of the first chapter until I get a yes/no on whether you would be interested in reading this story. It WILL BE EVENTUAL JOHNLOCK if I decide to continue.