The Holmes family was one of the most influential avian families in the world. They had their roots in England but their branches reached into almost every government in the world. They were one of the few avian families that managed to make it through the dark ages without being killed off. They knew how to hide what they were until it became imperative for one to know. The avian families had figured out in ages past that they could hide their wings by folding them in close to their backs. This was how they survived the hunts and this was how Sherlock survived the first thirty-five years of his life.
The Watson family was the complete opposite. They were one of the avian families that were hit the hardest. They wanted to do some good in the world, but in the process they had almost destroyed their family. By the time that John Watson went to college to become a doctor the entirety of the family was down to three people. Then when Dr. Watson went to join the army there were only two of them. Then when the ex-army doctor got sent home he discovered that he was the last family member alive, his brother Harry Watson Jr. was dead, and Dr. John H. Watson was completely alone in the world.
This was how Sherlock and John found each other. Sherlock was weary with the years of being called a freak and John was weary with the memories and the burden of being the last man standing. They say broken people gravitate towards other broken people and that's what happened with them, they found each other and then they stuck. For years they were careful to keep what they were from each other. But then on one fateful case Sherlock's shoulder got badly stabbed and John didn't realize until they were back in the flat how bad it really was.
"Sherlock let me see your shoulder," said John when he saw that the right shoulder of Sherlock's coat was dark and wet with blood.
"John I'm fine I can deal with it," Sherlock said trying to take off his coat without wincing, he failed.
"Sherlock you need help, come on," John preceded to lead Sherlock up the stairs and into the larger of the two bathrooms.
"John," Sherlock started to protest as John stood in front of him and tried to take Sherlock's coat off of him.
"What Sherlock?" Are you afraid I'll see your wings? They're nothing I haven't seen before," Sherlock was so stunned by John he stopped fighting and let John deal with the four-inch long gash on his shoulder.
Two hours later Sherlock was lying on the couch wrapped up in his beautiful black wings and John was typing up his blog as he sat in his arm chair. "John, why are you so calm?" For once in his like Sherlock was stumped.
John didn't say anything, he just stood up and got some tea, but as he returned he rolled his shoulders and a set of silver gray wings unfurled.
"Oh, that would be why," said Sherlock sitting up.
"Yeah, I actually haven't seen someone else's wings for about fifteen years," John said sitting down next to Sherlock.
"How is that possible? I mean there are a fair amount of us," this was one of the only topic that Sherlock didn't know everything about.
"Yeah, but most are like us, hiding what we are from the world, and anyway my family were about the only ones left crazy enough to enter the army anymore."
"I'm sorry," said Sherlock with his head in his hands.
"For what?" John asked slightly amused, Sherlock was acting human.
"For being an ass."
