"This phone call – it's,.. er it's my note. It's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?"
John stared up at Sherlock in horror. Sherlock was still standing on the edge of the rooftop, and it seemed like he had every intention of stepping off.
John pressed his phone to his face again.
"leave a note, when?" he asked, although he knew exactly when people left a note like this. He refused to except it though.
"Good bye, John." Sherlock answered. John watched with a growing feeling of terror as his best friend dropped his phone, spread his arms and leant forwards.
"No, SHERLOCK!" John felt a burst of power, and he ran towards the hospital, completely ignoring his surroundings. The only thing on his mind was getting to Sherlock, and he desperately wished that the world would stop.
When he finally reached the pavement, chanting: "Don't die, Sherlock, don't die." In his head over and over, he got the shock of his life. Floating barely 10 cm above the ground, was Sherlock, unable to move anything but his eyes.
John turned around, and watched how the world around him was motionless, as if somebody had just pushed the pause button of his life. There were birds hanging still in the air, cars that didn't move, as if London was holding its breath.
What happened afterwards was a bit of a blur to John. He remembered embracing Sherlock, who had franticly pushed him into Bart's after John let him go, making sure they were away from windows. Sherlock had called Mycroft, and after a hushed conversation over the phone -which John knew he loaded, because the detective preferred texting after all- he told John what happened on the rooftop.
x-x
Now John found himself outside the office of Charles Xavier, one of the most powerful mutants the world knew. Because that was the explanation for what happened during the fall, as John had started to call the incident in his head, John was a mutant.
John was shaken out of his thoughts when a young girl opened the door from the inside. She had dark hair with white strikes, and she wore long gloves.
"Are you okay?" John asked gently, reaching out to put a hand on the girls shoulder. The girl's teary eyes widened and she backed away, as if afraid of the touch.
"I'm fine." She replied, a little too quickly, before wiping her face with a gloved hand and hurrying away.
"Come in." A gentle voice said, and John entered the room. In front of the fire place was a bald man in a wheelchair. 'Sit down Dr. Watson, I bet you have a lot of questions."
John's eyes widened slightly, he had heard Charles speak clearly, but the man hadn't moved his mouth.
"In my head?" John muttered, and Charles smiled at him.
"You are fast." Charles spoke out loud. John laughed at this, he was sure Sherlock would disagree. He sat down on one of the many chairs in the room and looked at the man in front of him expectantly.
"It's quite extraordinary for someone like you to stay unnoticed this long." Charles told John gently.
"Yes, so why only now? I thought people found out about their mutation when they were teenagers" John asked, deciding to voice his thoughts. The older mutant was probably able to see them anyway.
Charles leant forwards a bit and looked John in the eyes.
"That's a good question, Dr. Watson." He said. "What do you know about mutants?"
John thought about that for a while, and then told Charles what popped up into his mind.
"A while back, Sherlock got a case where a mutant was killed, we did research together. The mutation is caused by a gene which is different than that of ordinary humans, and can range from invisibility to controlling the weather."
"Ah, you've read about Storm." Charles smiled.
"It's true that the mutation is caused by a gen which is different, and that there is a wide range of them. You can say that the mutation is another step in evolution, a new way to protect the specie. The gene activates when the carrier experiences heavy emotions or fear. Teens feel like that a lot, don't they?" It was a rhetorical question, but John nodded anyway.
"So why didn't it happen sooner? I felt like every other teen, and I've been in quite a lot of danger, I invaded Afghanistan. I live with bloody Sherlock Holmes! Believe me, I could've used a bit more protection quite often." He exclaimed.
"But you're also quite an adrenaline junkie, aren't you?" Charles stated, and John was quiet for a moment.
"So I've been told." He sighed eventually.
"You've always liked the danger, the thrill of the chase, so to speak. But what happened three days ago, wasn't fun. You were desperate, frightened that you would lose Sherlock." Charles said calmly.
"There is a possibility that your body thought you'd be able to handle it without help." He continued.
John raised an eyebrow. "Getting shot in the shoulder?" he asked cynically.
"there was a chance that bullet would've gone into your heart, wasn't there?" Charles remarked, ignoring John's tone. John thought about that, maybe it was true, and his body had changed the path of the bullet.
"I'm a mutant." John muttered softly, the realisation just hit him. He put his head in his hands and let out a long breath. "What now?" he asked uncertainly. Charles drove his wheelchair closer and put his hand on John's shoulder.
"That's entirely up to you, Dr. Watson." He answered. John raised his head to look Charles in the eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You have a few options. You could go back to London, forget about what happened, and continue your life like a normal person, or you could stay here, learn how to control your powers, meeting others like you." Charles suggested.
John took a while to think about the proposal before answering.
"What about Sherlock, can he stay too?" He wondered out loud. "I mean, he isn't a mutant, so..." He drifted off. It wasn't like he was protesting, he wanted to keep the detective as close as possible, certainly after the events of the Fall.
Charles simply smiled at him.
"You can't exactly say he's normal either, can you Dr. Watson?" he inquired.
John chuckled softly at that, and wanted to agree when somebody burst through the door, interrupting their conversation. The man in front of them had short hair and red tinted glasses.
"Professor!" he panted, ignoring John completely. Charles turned to face the new man.
"What's wrong, Scott?" He asked calmly.
"Somebody managed to break into the underground labs."