Once again, sorry for the long wait! I've been really busy (again), with my holiday abroad and everything, so I barely had the time to rewrite more of the Omegle logs into fiction format! I hope you enjoy! :)
Sherlock could almost feel the pain just by looking at hydrogen peroxyde. « It's fine, I guess. Not to worry, » but of course that was a lie. He just wasn't keen on showing how much he was hurting. He was just dying to take his clothes off, and spread his wings. He hated being confined like that. John smiled at his answer nonetheless, before looking around. Baker's Street... Left, so he turned left. « Is this Mrs. Hudson a... a... bareback ? » he asked, in order to know how to act around her is he was to meet her. Also, because he wanted a subject change. Sherlock shook his head. « No, she's like me. Her husband was a wolf, she was his mentor and my nanny... » He smiled. « She's more of a mother to me than my Mother will ever be, » he murmured to himself, not really knowing why he had made that comment. « My brother is a bareback. And so is Inspector Lestrade. Expect regular visits from both, specially the latter. »
John nodded at the comment. « Lestrade... Wasn't there something in the papers about him ? » he frowned, before looking up, gold letters on a door indicating 221b. Well, one good thing about this Mrs. Hudson having had a wolf uhsband was that at least she'd know how to act around him. Sherlock answered his question. « He consults me sometimes. And by sometimes, I mean more than it would be considered healthy for someone in the force. He's a Detective Inspector for Scotland Yard, » he slid the door open and gave way to John. « Mrs. Hudson isn't home at the moment. She's at her sister's in Hexham. Your belongings are already upstairs. »
« Alrea- oh, » John started, before realising it didn't matter how his things had gotten there. There had probably been a plot or maybe Sherlock had gotten someone at the W&W to do the moving via a text, or something. « So, you've lived here a while ? » he asked, not knowing whether he should stay downstairs or walk up the stairs.
« Moved in a couple of months ago. The landlord of my last flat was... » Sherlock trailed off, placing his scarf and coat on the hanger by the door. « An acephalous idiot. »
« Oh, » John said again, before taking off his jacket as well, following Sherlock upstairs. He gazed around, noticing the antlers on the wall with headphones on, smiling at the sight of it. He noticed the silver around his windows and on the door frame, pursing his lips. He didn't like the sight of silver, as Winged didn't like certain chemicals. « It's... nice, » he said, as he noticed some of his belongings standing in the living room.
« I wasn't expecting you so soon. I meant to cover the silver on the windows and door frames with stripes of wood. I'll do that tomorrow, it's already too late... Do you mind ? » Sherlock asked with a pained look in his eyes. He needed to get his suit off as soon as possible. « Oh, no, it's okay, it's fine... It's better than jail bars anyway, » John stated. « And, please, please, » he then said, about the jacket and suit, before he went to go through the bags which had been packed by somebody else for him. He found his belongings, the wolfbane tablets he always carried with him, and thought with relief that everything else would probably be there. Sherlock urgently stripped off his suit jacket and shirt, immediately spreading his wings far and wide, almost hitting John in the process. « Sorry, » he murmured with an apologetic look. John had avoided the wing which had suddenly come toward him by ducking under it, and straightened up again afterwards, chuckling. « It's alright. »
He lolled his head back as he flapped his wings the best that he could, the raven-dark feathers shimmering in blue with the change of ligt. « Oh God, that's good, » he whispered, bringing his left wing to sight and frowning. It was bleeding now. It wasn't bleeding when he had patched it up. « Damned Angelo. »
John walked closer to Sherlock, looking at the wound. « Are you... Sure you don't want me to look ? » he asked. But, damn, Sherlock's wings were beautiful. He'd seen white ones, ginger ones, fiery ones, brown, black as ebony, but these were... really, beautiful. Matched Sherlock's hair. As wings usually did.
Sherlock frowned, looking at the wound, and then back at John. Then he gingerly nodded, lips pursed in a somewhat adorable pout. He didn't like to get hurt. It always brought up the child within. « I don't want to trouble you, » but John crossed the short distance between him and the injury in a half second, before smiling at Sherlock's expression. « You're not, I've seen much worse, » he stated as he inspected the wound. Like an acid burn. Hydrogen peroxyde would do that to you. « Should wash it clean before bandaging it with some creme of sorts, aloe vera ? » he asked.
« Mrs. Hudson gave me a pot with some ointment that she uses to her own wings. I guess I could try it out. If she uses it, it's because it's good. The thing is on the kitchen table, » he murmured, flopping down on the couch. His right wing curled over himself as a blanket, the left one stretched on the floor. It was common knowledge that when stretched out, both wings would reach twice the carrier's height. Sherlock was about 185 cm tall, which meant that both wings would reach around 370 cm. It wasn't always an advantage to be that tall.
John had gone to what he'd figured was the kitchen, and gotten the round bottle with the ointment before coming back into the living room. He studied the components and smiled, « It's good, » he stated, before looking at Sherlock. How in the whole wide world could he hide those wings under one jacket ? They were huge ! « Do you want to do it, or should I ? » he asked, putting the ointment down on the table. « Cleaning the wound, etc. » he stated, afterwards a faint smile on his lips. Not that he liked a Winged being wounded, it just made him feel needed. 3 monhts of just waking up, eating and going back to sleep had been boring.
« I can't reach it that well, » Sherlock answered, « You can probably see by the half-arsed patch, » he chuckled. « I would end up making it worse. Mrs. Hudson usually attends to my injuries, so,... » He trailed off. « Besides, you're a doctor. You can't run out of practice, » he smiled, looking at John as the man looked at his wings. « Something wrong ? »
It made John snap out of it. « No, nothing at all, it's just, your wings are huge, » he said, turning his back, walking into the kitchen. He poured some hot water from the tap onto a clean towel he found beneath the sink, and made it wet, before coming back into the living room. « Must be the biggest ones I've seen, » he continued, as if he hadn't left for 5 minutes, and bended over the wound, gently pressing down on it with the wet towel.
Sherlock's right wing started fanning himself lightly. He closed his eyes and his lips quirked in a smile. John was as gentle as Mrs. Hudson, maybe even more. « That feels really good, » he murmured, frowning. His wings were probably the most sensitive part of his body and he neglected them more than he should. Mostely because they were almost always in the way. Then, John's comment seemed to have clicked in. « Yes, too big for my liking, but it's not like I can cut them off. »
« It would be a shame to cut them off, » John said, after a few gentle strokes on the wound with the wet towel. He reached for the ointment and got enough out of the little bottle, before applying it gently with his index and his middle finger. He smiled as Sherlock seemed to compliment him. « I've patched enough wings together to know it's your most sensitive part, » John said, remembering that one time where he had been too harsh and the wing had jerket open, hitting him on the brown and opening him up. Better be safe and be gently with it. He fell back, with a look that said 'voilà' before wiping his fingers into the towel.
Sherlock smiled as he looked as his wing. He slowly stretched it, careful not to hit John. He got up, and flapped both his wings experimentally, closing his eyes. « Whatever it is, it numbs that pain. I should buy supply for a year, » he grinned widely at John, one of his rare, genuine smiles. « Thank you. »
John looked up at Sherlock, tilting his head slightly to the side. « You're welcome, » he said, before looking around, and going towards his stuff. He looked around, suddenly having thought of something. « Ehm. Is there someplace specific where I'll have to stay during the fullmoon nights ? » he asked, realising that if he had to change in the living room, he would probably tear it to pieces, silver on the windows and doors or not.