Children of the Sun and Moon
Long ago, the Sun was born. A beautiful birth full of condensing and exploding everything. A nebula of gases and elements swirled and spun until its gravity pulled it into the disk forming the burning center to our galaxy. The poetic dance of elements and fission resulted in a giant and caustic environment, giving of life and giving of pain. Chaotic, never still, never stopping, lashing out in glorious screaming ropes of plasma to scorch the cold silence of space.
The Moon was also born. A gigantic collision with the Earth thrust it into being. Violence and chance created the still and watchful angel in our night sky. Calm, the moon governs the tides with a steady hand. It doesn't waver. Protecting, even when born in such chaos and destruction.
Upon the Earth there has always been a Child of each the Sun and the Moon; they have been there since the beginning, and will be there till the end. One is violent, and rushes across their life. One is calm and will protect the ones they love. One is bright and shining, one is dark. One shines with their own light, one is only appreciated in the reflection of the other.
They may be born miles from each other, on different continents or just down the street from one another. They may be born in the same instance, other times one will come into the world just as the other has left it. They are the two halves to one whole. They need each other. They must find each other. One cannot exist in full without the other.
But the world is not fair, the world is not always right. They may live entire lives living next to each other and never talk, never catch the other's eye, never meet. One may die and let the other live and wither alone. One may be taken by someone else and push the other back.
They may be drawn together too close, too fast, and break upon each other.
They are angels. They walk the Earth as the Children of our Sun and Moon, drawn by their natures to their destiny. They may never know, if they never meet.
But that first look, that first meeting of eyes, and they become aware. A life's worth of veils are drawn back and wings unfurl. The Child of the Sun will have found their precious thing to protect. The Child of the Moon will have found the source of their own Light.
They will have found each other and nothing in the heavens or on Earth will be able to stop them.
The Sun is our ego, it gives us purpose in life, gives us direction. It is our adult, the Sun is what squashes the inner child. The Sun is our governor, our basic identity and an entity of self-realization for not only itself but for others.
The Sun is what we are learning to be, what we are becoming. It is an agent of change and growth. It is the here, the now, what will become our future. No matter what you hope to become, what you dream and wish and yearn to be, what you ARE will always be the Sun. The Sun is purposeful, directed, proud, and creative…
The question "who are you" is answered with the Sun.
The Moon is our unconscious, our deepest habits, our desires held closest to our bones. The Moon is reactionary, taking the situation in reflection and going from our instincts, spontaneous and often childish. It is our inner child.
The Moon is how we protect ourselves. It mediates our inner world and the outer world. It can be irrational, it can be impulsive. Habits and prejudices are ruled by the Moon. The Sun may overrule and drown out these urges, but the Moon creates them, basks in them, and is what causes them.
When you know what you mean, but can't say it-this is our Moon knowing and our Sun unable to articulate. The Moon rules our thoughts that lie so deep and close to our bones that even tears cannot touch them.
The wordless ecstasy, the mute sorrow, the secret dream, the esoteric picture of yourself that you can't get across to the world, or which the world doesn't comprehend or value - these are the products of the Moon.*
When you are misunderstood, the Moon feels betrayed; when you are sure you should do something, but can't understand how, it is the Moon that wants to act but can't do it. Words that slip out are the thoughts of the Moon. Art is the Moon.
The Moon is the past. The Moon is inarticulable emotion. The Moon is moody, restless, inconsolable, irrational.
The question "who is the real you" is answered by the Moon.
One day, the Child of the Sun was born. Five years later, the Child of the Moon.
The Child of the Sun went to War. The Child of the Moon hid.
The Child of the Sun was injured, broken and beaten, but would not give up. The Child of the Moon was despised, feared and rejected, but railed against.
The Child of the Sun returned to search for a Home. The Child of the Moon discovered their home was no such thing.
The Child of the Sun searched for something to save and be saved by. The Child of the Moon searched for a champion and a companion.
The Child of the Sun walked into a cold and sterile lab. The Child of the Moon could see for the first time.
John H. Watson, Child of the Sun.
Sherlock Holmes, Child of the Moon.
An orbit was restored, a story set in motion. Two halves started to become a whole, and wings unfurled in the dark light of day that evening.
A/N- So, what do you guys think? This is actually an adapted short story of mine that while working on it I realized that John and Sherlock fit my angels. So I'm rewriting it to fit the fandom. If anyone wants to read the unaltered version... I suppose you can ask me to share it :3