John watched helplessly as Sherlock stood vigil beside his body. So many words unspoken, so many actions undone. As he watched Sherlock press a kiss to his cold forehead, he could feel his still heart break. Everything they could have had. Everything they could have been. All of it snatched away by a madman seeking a distraction.
He had thrown himself from the building, the only thought in his mind to save Sherlock. His best friend. His soul mate. The man he expected to spend the rest of his life with. He laughed joylessly when he realized that he did in fact spend the rest of his life with Sherlock. One moment he had been falling, and the next he was standing on the rooftop watching Sherlock struggle to contain himself as he peered over the edge at John's broken body below.
Instinctively, John knew what he was now and what he was supposed to do. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder though the man couldn't feel it. His wings, browns and tans mottled together, wrapped around them both as he did what he could to help his friend cope.
He stood with Sherlock at the funeral, a well attended affair. John recognized many people and would have been surprised by some, Anderson and Donovan in particular, if his attention hadn't been on Sherlock. Never had he seen the man so broken. He was a shell. He had lost his heart. John ran his hands through Sherlock's dark curls, and when the man tilted his head in the direction of the touch, John smiled.
John followed Sherlock as he carried out his vengeance. To John he looked an avenging angel, fire and ice, pulled forward by pure rage. And when he reached the end, John stood with him at the top of St. Bart's once more. As Sherlock looked at the ground, John urged him to reconsider, cried for him to carry on. But Sherlock stepped to the edge, murmured a single word, and fell to the earth. That soft sob of "John" propelled the man into action, wrapping his arms around his falling friend, shielding him as best he could from the pain of impact.
And then, he reached out, took Sherlock's hand and pulled him in to his arms, into eternity. Tears shown in both their eyes as John cupped Sherlock's cheek. "My beautiful idiot," he whispered, voice heavy with emotion as he kissed Sherlock's soft lips. Together, they walked to their future, hand in hand, raven coloured wings brushing softly against desert coloured ones.