Fly
Sherlock took in the deduction without putting too much stock in it. It was statistically unlikely- no, it was impossible. But it was what it was. He thought that he had to be dreaming and, given the circumstances, he became one-hundred percent that he was. The knowledge that it was a dream didn't change the fact that he was experiencing in, albeit in an unconscious setting. It was still there, prominent in his mind's eye. He was witnessing it, first-hand.
Enhance the dream, then.
He had wings.
He wasn't sure why this particular appendage had happened upon his unconscious musings, unless the conversation about not being an angel with Jim had stuck in his mind. Or perhaps it was taking a dive off of St Bartholomew's. He wasn't sure.
But he had wings. Angel wings.
Sherlock flexed them experimentally, finding that their motions were as simple, as embedded into his motor function as moving his arms or legs was. He unfurled them from around his body, letting them stretch to their expanse of... countless feet. He couldn't do the math in his head right now; there were far too many other points of mental stimulation for him to calculate a wingspan. It was an impressive wingspan, though.
With the flex of his wings came a blast of cold air and Sherlock noted that, despite his usual wardrobe being correct, he wasn't wearing his coat. Logical, as how his coat had no place for wings, but what about these clothes? Were there holes cut in the back of his clothes now? That thought was marginally distressing... but this was a dream. No matter.
He drew his wings back close to his body, wrapping them around his body. The feathers were black, jet-black, very similar to a raven's look. In the direct light, they almost took on a blue sheen and Sherlock ran his fingers gently over the feathers with eyes narrowed in thought. They looked coarse from eye-level but they were softer than down when he actually touched them. They were exceedingly warm around his body and all encompassing, cocooning himself in a soft comforting blanket of a kind that he had never been able to experience.
He carded his fingers through his feathers again for a moment before smoothing them back down. Fascinating dream. Wings were... fascinating.
And, as was wings for, flying. How did he fly?
The dynamics had to be as simple as it sounded, so Sherlock unfurled his wings again and tilted his head as the cool air rushed against them. Strange sensation. He wasn't sure that he disliked it.
He experimentally gave his wings an upwards movement, immediately followed by pushing the air down in a flapping motion. It was also a strange sensation, stranger than all of them put together. It was sort of a stomach-jolting moment as well as a sense of awe as well, because this was something that he was not supposed to be doing. It was exciting.
"Sherlock!"
Sherlock jolted awake with a start, snapping his eyes open to stare at the ceiling of his own bedroom.
"Sherlock, there's a new case on the blog!"
A case? Right. The angel thing had been a dream. Of course. He had known that. So, why did he feel illogically disappointed that John had woken him up before he could go flying?
But... he had a case. That was just as good. Better, actually, because it was real.
"Coming," he called, kicking the blankets away.
The dream gradually faded as he got dressed and joined John first at the blog, and then through the consultation. But when they got to the crime scene and there were black feathers scattered about the room, all Sherlock could do was tilt his head and smile.
Perhaps being on the side of the angels wasn't so bad, after all.
Oh. Guilty announcement. This is one AU that I actually like. Mostly because I saw a beautiful picture that someone drew online of Benedict with huge black wings and yeah. Not to mention the whole conversation between Sherlock and Barts lends to imagination.
So, while I'm not creative enough to know about this AU- I don't watch Supernatural, which is where I think most people get their things- I wrote my own version of it. :p
I do not own Sherlock. Thank you!