Cuz I gave up quickly,

To fly like a bird on the breeze,

And I fell down swiftly,

Shaking the fruit from the trees,

Tearing holes in the knees of my jeans,

So don't make the same mistakes as me...

: :

Blowing up the chemistry lab had not been his fault. Just because he had to show two idiotic fledglings what an exothermic reaction was and (very accidently) caused an explosion was not his fault. If anyone's' it was those two idiots.

Seriously who doesn't know that an exothermic reaction gives off heat and an endothermic one uses heat?

Elementary really.

"Can we not have a repeat of this Mr Holmes? This is the third incident."

"Of course Sir. Not again." The headmaster- who missed his sarcastic tone- had (boring) chestnut brown wings to match his (boring) chestnut brown hair; so boring, dull and safe. Sherlock despised him and his utter idiocy.

"And I'm sure you'll try your upmost!"

"Yes sir."

"Okay, now head back to lessons. I want you to give a hundred-and-ten percent in all of them! And about costs-"

"That's physically impossible sir." Sherlock glared at the (boring) man, honestly if he didn't talk so damn fast he would've interrupted sooner.

"What is boy?" The headmaster snapped. He (obviously) didn't like being interrupted.

"I cannot physically give a hundred-and-ten-percent sir. It's impossible...sir."

"What?" The man seemed confused now, too confused to be angry.

"Sir. Percent means per a hundred. Literally. It is impossible to give a hundred-and-ten out of a hundred."

"Don't back chat me boy."

"No sir." Sarcasm seeped out of those two words and tainted the atmosphere in the room.

"Get back to lessons now boy, before I decide to punish you for insolence."

"Yes...sir." He left quickly striding down the hall. But he didn't go back to lessons; what was the point? They were all idiots. He was miles ahead, sometimes even the professors and lecturers.

Instead he went and sat under the large apple tree he'd found two months ago. It was out in the grounds, secluded.

He climbed to get an apple, ripping his jeans and messing up his hair and shirt. It didn't matter.

Afterwards he sat against the mossy trunk with his wings outstretched, muddy but reasonably happy, for now.

: :

And you'll rise up gently,

To float like a bird on the breeze,

And you'll glide down slowly,

Taking defeat gracefully,

: :

John was still trying to fly; he'd convinced himself he didn't care but to be honest he did. People liked him, said he was nice and sweet. They always said his wings were a nice soft grey with light brown primaries, people liked them. He was likable.

And yet if they found out his secret they'd always back off, leave or run. He'd had a girlfriend once who'd literally run away. It wasn't a common problem and she was disgusted when he answered truthfully about why he couldn't go out flying with her.

And yet life went on. He'd made it into medical school, hadn't caused trouble and was passing acceptably.

He couldn't wait to fore fill his dream of joining the army. Mostly it comprised of those born wingless. He couldn't help but be grateful that he hadn't been born a 'wingless' so he wouldn't just be cannon fire but he couldn't fly properly so he'd be more readily excepted by them. The other winged would probably look down on him but he didn't really care about them, flyers had been looking down on him all his life.

But he couldn't help but think that he might as well have been born without any wings.

: :

Sorry this has taken so long! And sorry it's going quite slowly right now. It will pick up soon we just wanted to introduce them as characters and their predicaments.

Anyway we will update this and all our other stories soon! Thanks to everyone reading/alerting.

Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Also you can come and see us on tumblr! We'd love to chat.

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From M and C.