His Guardian Angel: Telling Mycroft.
"Mycroft—Ugh!—you don't need to come! He's okay!" John said, but was answered by Mycroft hanging up.
He scrubbed his hand across his face. This was just what he needed. He stood and went back to the door of Sherlock's room. The dark haired man was still sleeping soundly. He watched him silently.
He was surprised when there were steps on the stairs. John turned as Mycroft entered the kitchen. He quietly shut Sherlock's door and motioned to the sitting room. They sat down and stared at each other. John had no doubt that Mycroft was deducing everything from him.
"He's alive?"
John nodded and the man's shoulders slumped in relief. "But there's something you should know—"
"You have something to do with his return," Mycroft observed. "I'd say you knew that he was coming back, but you're not a very good actor, Dr Watson. So how are you involved?"
John opened his mouth to explain when Sherlock's door opened.
"John?" Sherlock called, rubbing his eyes sleepily. His wings rested close to his body to keep him warm.
John looked over at Mycroft. The man's eyes were wide and his face pale. He didn't know if he should worry about the man having a heart attack. "Christ," he muttered as he dropped his head into his hands. At least he could be thankful that Sherlock had pulled on pyjama bottoms.
"I had planned to tell you differently, Mycroft," John said, words muffled by his hands. He looked up. "We're angels."
Mycroft turned his head back to John. (John considered going to get his stethoscope.) "Angels?"
Sherlock sat on the arm of John's chair. The blonde absently batted feathers from his face.
"Yes, Mycroft, angels," Sherlock said. "As if the wings weren't indicative of that."
"Sherlock, do shut up," John muttered and, surprisingly, the man listened. "The point of telling you, Mycroft, was that we need help explaining how Sherlock is alive, preferably not a feathery reason."
Mycroft slowly began getting his colour back. "I believe I can arrange that."
"Mycroft," Sherlock interrupted with an anxious look down at John. "There were three snipers watching—"
They have been identified and are being taken care of at this very moment," Mycroft replied. "They will not be a threat for much longer."
Sherlock nodded.
"Dr Watson, you said that you both are angels, but you do not have wings? Am I to take that to mean that they can be hidden?" Mycroft noted.
John nodded. "I'd prefer not to show you quite yet," he glanced up at Sherlock and the back of his head bumped one of Sherlock's wings. "I believe you have enough to come to terms with Sherlock."
Mycroft nodded and stood. "You've given me a lot of work to do, Dr Watson."
John stood as well. "It's better than the alternative."
Mycroft nodded and stepped to his brother's side. "I am glad that you are still with us, brother."
Sherlock blinked up at his brother, seemingly confused. Then he raised his hand and Mycroft smiled as they shook. Mycroft quickly left.
John stared at Sherlock, frankly shocked to witness the display of brotherly love between the two men that had once called each other their 'arch enemies.'
Sherlock's wings flapped, irritated from John's gawking. "If you're done imitating a fish, I'm hungry."
John shut his mouth quickly and shook his head before going to the kitchen. Sherlock followed and sat at the table, watching John work.
It was as John set the kettle to boil that he remembered what his flatmate had asked Mycroft. "Sherlock, what were those snipers watching?"
He glanced over to see Sherlock cover a yawn. "Think, John."
John looked back at the kettle and suppressed a sigh of irritation. "Sherlock, can't you just—"
"John."
He almost growled, but did as he was asked (told). Of course, if he wasn't going to tell him, Sherlock would just have to listen to John think it through.
"Okay, three snipers watching something—three different things," John mused aloud.
"Good, John," Sherlock muttered.
"They would have to be important to you. A sniper means that their living, probably human. So three important people," John paused as the tea began to boil. He poured it into two mugs. "Mycroft would be surrounded by his people, so, even if the two of you were closer, he would be safe. So it's not him. So that leaves Mrs Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, and myself. Now Moriarty, who I have no doubt arranged the assassins, would have to know who was important to you. Mrs Hudson and Myself are obvious, so that leaves Lestrade or Molly. When we met Moriarty that first time, you were rude to Molly, so that most likely leaves her out."
"Mhmm," Sherlock murmured his agreement.
"So three killers watching us…Sherlock, was that why you jumped? To keep us safe?" John turned, but stopped at what he saw.
Sherlock was asleep once more, slumped over the table. He looked much more young and innocent than he did when he was awake.
John smiled softly, watching his flatmate begin to snore. He turned and shut off the kettle. Sherlock wouldn't want food for a while. He put away the food stuff he had already taken out.
Finally, when he heard a particularly loud snore, John turned back to Sherlock. He carefully lifted him from the chair and moved smoothly to Sherlock's room.
"John?" the mostly asleep man whispered and snuggled closer to John. "Can I have pancakes with strawberries?"
"Of course, Sherlock," John whispered just as quietly. He lay the men in his bed and he snuffled against his pillow.
"Will you be here when I wake?" Sherlock asked with a yawn.
"Always, Sherlock," John said and bent to kiss his brow. He moved only slightly away to speak into his ear. "After all, I am your guardian angel."